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xo-phile · 4 years ago

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Tides (M!Mer x Fem!Reader) p2

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Excerpt: “Why are you telling me this now, Willow?” you asked, chewing on your straw.

“I can’t keep my nose out of other people’s business.”

You glared at your friend and she snickered under breath, elegantly swirling her drink with a perfectly manicured hand.

“I just want you to be happy. And I don’t want to see you missing out on a good thing.”

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: thalassaphobia, situational anxiety, some spice

Author’s Note: To the readers who left such sweet messages, liked, followed, reblogged, and to the person who sent me my first ko-fi ever... YOU LIVE IN MY HEAD RENT FREE ಥωಥ. Life has been crazy with job interviews and school starting soon, so I appreciate your patience! If you would like to be tagged so you get notified for the next update please let me know!

Part 1 ✦ Part 3 🍋

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Ancient skeletons of long dead trees haunted the sands of Driftwood Beach. Petrified branches bent in all directions, reaching toward the sky, celebrating that even in death, their bodies served as an organic playground and haven for the living. Children and adults alike climbed along the writhing branches of trees fallen centuries before. Even in death, the haunted were kept loving company by the living.

You stood at the edge of the water, relishing in the way your toes pressed further into the sand as the cool water rushed past your ankles. The sun was low, coloring the skies a soft sorbet pink and orange. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as Teddy victimized the seagulls making their way inland for the night.Your eyes drifted toward the open water of Lake Obsidian, its deep blue darkening as they day neared its end. From your point of view on the beach, the water was calm. Inside, you felt a tumult in your stomach, churning at what Dresden could possibly have planned when he asked to meet you.

Suddenly, Teddy was yapping at the water and in the distance you saw a familiar, finned form waving in the distance.

"You gonna stand there all day? We're gonna lose sunlight!"

You shuffled your feet in the sand.

"I was thinking we could start small! Here seems like really good progress already!"

Even from yards away you could see the exasperation on Dresden's face. You turned to see Teddy run head-long into the crashing waves, doggy-paddling toward Dresden, big brown head bobbing happily in the water.

"You're really gonna let your beast show you up like that?" the merman chided.

Show off, you thought ruefully. You stripped yourself of your jean shorts and jacket, down to bikini bottoms and rash guard. Despite the buzz of anxiety in your stomach, you picked up your paddle board and made your way out into waves. With every step you took the water rose higher and higher, until you stopped in your tracks. Waist deep in the water, your body refused to take a step further, muscles locking up in place.

"You're doing great! Keep coming towards me!" You looked up to see Dresden’s lopsided grin cheering you on.

"Dresden, I can't do this," you blurted clutching desperately at your floating paddle board, "I want to go back."

The water around you ebbed and flowed, swaying you with a force you weren’t familiar with and there was a gentle push at your back that you resisted. If it weren't for the death-grip on your board, your hands would have no doubt been shaking. Even when you were a kid, there was not enough candy or promises of gifts in the world that would have cajoled you into swimming in deep water. This was the farthest you had ever been and the newfound sensations were overwhelming.

"Wait wait wait! Just wait for me! I'll come to you, don't move!" He dove below the surface of the water, his flukes flashing before disappearing completely. Moments later, his head resurfaced in front of you.

"How're you feeling?" Dresden asked, eyeing the no-doubt panicky expression on your face.

"Like I'm about to crawl out of my skin."

He let out a little chuff at which you glared at.

"You're making jokes. That's good," he laughed. You held his gaze, trying to ignore the vast expanse of water around you. But also out of sheer resentment.

"I feel like if I say anything else, we won't be friends anymore," you ground out through gritted teeth. A stray current, made another push at your back and you clenched even tighter to your board for what little semblance of stability it could find.

"Okay, well I swear on our friendship that I won't make you go out any farther today. Climb on your board."

Your brows furrowed in confusion, but you still clambered on, lying on your stomach like a surfer would. With your body out of the water, the overwhelming apprehension subsided. The board still rocked as it floated in the gentle water and your body tensed nervously. Dresden was beside you now, a large hand on the nose of the paddle board keeping you from floating away.

“Good, now take a deep breath and close your eyes," he said. You looked at him, aghast.

"I'm not gonna let anything happen to you," he promised.

"Dres, I don't know about this," you faltered. He considered your expression for a moment and instead of acquiescing, his bigger hand took yours and wrapped around it tight.

"The worst that will happen, is that you feel a little stupid.”

You looked at him once more with doubt but promptly shut your eyes, laying your forehead down on your arms. The board's unstable rocking made your stomach turn and the occasional wash of water sent shivers up your spine.

"Okay, now tell me everything you're feeling right now," came Dresden's calm voice. You gripped his hand tighter, the only source of stability you could feel.

"Scared. I'm really scared. I don’t like that everything’s moving.”

"Okay, that's okay. Tell me why."

“I-I feel like, I’m gonna get washed away. Or that I’m gonna get pulled under.” At your words, Dresden’s hand tightened in yours and you let out a breath that you didn’t realize you were holding. Self-consciousness washed over you at your admission. Dresden was right, you did feel stupid. You felt stupid for your irrational fear, for coming out onto the water. You should have stayed on land where things didn’t move beneath your body and the world wouldn’t threaten to swallow you up.

How lame.

“You know it’s okay to be scared right? There’s nothing wrong with how you’re feeling right now.” Dresden’s voice was much closer now, his breath ghosting your ear and calming your unwelcome thoughts. Now all you could hear was the crash of the waves on the shores behind you and your heart thumping in your throat.

“Okay, now take a deep breath in. Three-two-one.” You inhaled through your nose, the rush of cold air of the dusk filling your lungs.

“Deep breath out. Four-three-two-one.” You pushed out a controlled breath, your diaphragm straining. Your heart was not not so loud but there was still a pit in your stomach.

"Now I want you to name three things you can smell."

You hesitated at his words for a moment but focused on finding any scents you can trace. With your head buried arm, you smelled the faint coconut scent of your sunscreen. In the air, a soft sharpness of pine wafted through the breeze. Finally a scent of clean, crisp water filled your senses.

"Sunscreen, Pine Trees, and Water."

"Okay, now what can you hear."

Blood was rushing through your head and your heart was still loud, but you pushed past the sounds of your anxiety to listen to the sounds of Driftwood Beach. Beneath you, water lapped against your board, causing a soft hollow knock against plexiglass to echo under you. Above, you birds called out to each other as they soared overhead, crying into the open sky.

"Water under my board and birds."

Despite the darkness behind your lids, the world around you came into clear perception through your senses. You lifted your head and opened your eyes to find Dresden watching you intensely, mossy green of his eyes darkening faintly.

The moment between you twisted like a knot tightening with every quiet second that passed.

“You’re not gonna ask me what I see?” you murmured softly. Dresden’s hazel eyes went and wide blinked, snapping out of his reverie. He let go of your hand, and for a moment, you mourned its warmth.

“No-no, I think that works,” he stuttered, a faint blush warming his sharp features. “How are you feeling?”

The sky above you both was now fiery orange set behind the darkening green of sequoias. The water around you moved with calm purpose, still but teeming with a quiet life. A faint sense of calm overtook you and you allowed your body to feel the gentle rocking of the water with the board between you.

“Better. A lot better.“

A comfortable silence settled and you sat up on your board, admiring the white moon in the sorbet sky. The idea of leaving your board still terrified you but your gorgeous surroundings were a welcome distraction and made a mental note to come back with your camera and a sketchpad.

From the shore, you heard aggravated squawks and a sudden burst of flapping wings. You and Dresden turned to see a sopping wet Teddy, galloping across the sand chasing a flock of irate seagulls.

"I better get back. If I don't feed Teddy soon, one of those seagulls might turn into dinner."

"Right, we wouldn't want that…” the merman averted his eyes, nervous to look you in the eye. “This was probably a lot for today, so I was thinking we could meet up again in a couple days? Whatever works-"

"No let's meet again tomorrow," you blurted, "This really helped a lot." Your face reddened. Your mouth had spoken before your mind had a chance to process what you were volunteering to do. Still, Dresden’s face lit up in a big grin.

"Okay, great. I'll see you tomorrow."

The two of you said your goodbyes and you made your way back to the shore. You could feel Dresden's eyes on you as you paddled towards land. It wasn't until you were standing on the solid shore did you see him wave from a distance and then disappear under the water.

You replayed the last half hour in your head. You had always known Dresden to joke and laugh at the expense of other people and you weren’t used to the care that he took with you and the warmth of his large hand in yours.

As you walked to your car, with Teddy in tow, you wondered how you never noticed that the soft curves of his boyish face turned into angles and edges.

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Despite every ounce of fear screaming at you, you spent each sunset with Dresden, wading out into the water, pushing yourself farther and farther from the shore. And like the tides, your fear ebbed and flowed. On bad days, you would be paralyzed, muscles stiffened as you lay on your paddle board. Dresden would always hold your hand, his grip firm and solid with a silent pledge to keep you safe. His voice, coaching you through the worst of your panic, would be uncharacteristically gentle.

On the better days, you two would work through the breathing exercises and then spend time reminiscing on childhood memories or talk about your respective work. You would sit on your board, mindfully allowing yourself to drift on the water, and talk about your growing frustration with your paintings and the inescapable deadline of the gallery opening. Dresden would then tell you about how his work mapping the underwater caves of Lake Obsidian was going with the local university, complaining about one particularly grumpy selkie lead researcher and the various ineptitudes of the doctoral students.

"Wait, wait so even the mer don't know how deep the lake is?"

"Nope, at some point it gets too dark to even see. Makes it dangerous. You lose your sense of direction." The thought of endless darkness and thousands of pounds of pressure on your head gave you a full-body shiver. Dresden laughed.

"Still it's not a bad gig. Helps with relations with the land folk and sometimes, you find cool stuff you can keep for yourself."

You thought about the fossilized ammonite that sat on the mantelpiece in your living room. The opalised fossil shimmered in the light when the sun beamed through your curtains, and you would stop to admire it when the stress of emails and showing dates overwhelmed you.

You tried not to think too much about how Dresden saved something that special just to give it to you.

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It was an early Sunday morning, a misty fog was just dispersing as the yellow morning sun warmed the chill in the air. You were wandering through the stalls of Talon Point's farmers market, admiring the vast variety of produce. Some you recognized: bright red and orange tomatoes, plump as a baby's cheek, broccoli and sprouts green and freshly picked, but there were also other varieties you didn't recognize, bright purple and magenta spices that sat in a pile as tall as you were and some sort of blue fruit perfectly cubed and shiny.

Even with your giant grocery tote filled to the brim with your usual fare, you still liked to wander through aisles, admiring the strange sights and shiny crafts of the local artisans. With a sudden pull, Teddy tugged you by his leash towards the specialty bakery that made treats for humans and non-humans alike. Warm smells of fresh croissants and chocolate eclairs wafted through the air and he made a dead stop just outside the door plopping his giant behind in an obedient sit, knowing better than to barge into a doorway without your express permission. You had to chuckle lightly at his polite adamance.

"Alright, but only one today. You're starting to look a little fluffy and I don't mean the fur," he seemed to harumph in protest but stood his ground. Inside the bakery, you saw a vast array of baked goods: doughnuts, croissants, tiny cakes, and even dainty cake pops. Behind the glass counter was an orc with an immense frame, balancing two gigantic trays of honey buns in both big arms.

"I'll be with you in a moment, miss," he gruffed, sidling his way through what looked like tiny walkways.

"That's okay, take your time. Just browsing." The orc let out a soft grunt in response and made his way to the back kitchen. As you made your way down the aisles, you started to realize the variety of baked goods was immense: green pandan waffles, taro puff pastries, and Mexican conchas in a variety of colors lined the trays in the glass case. Finally, you came upon some pastries in the shape of fish with ogling eyes.

"Any questions, miss?" You looked up to see that the orc had returned and was waiting patiently behind the register for you to make a decision.

"What are in these fish pastries?" you asked, shyly. He made his way over to you to check the display.

"Ah, those are taiyaki. Normally made with red bean paste inside, but this batch has Nutella." You smiled to yourself, wondering if Dresden had ever tried chocolate before.

Can merfolk even eat chocolate? you wondered, absently, already coming up with ways to make fun of him for having the hazelnut paste stuck on his teeth.

"Can I get two of those and one dog treat, please?"

You watched the gigantic orc as he packaged your pastries, large chords of muscle sliding under smooth green skin, delicately placing your order in a crisp paper bag.

Behind you, you heard a familiar voice call your name and you turned to see Willow dressed in a baby blue sundress and gigantic sunhat.

"Fancy seeing you out and about, stranger," she smiled and pulled you into a hug. Before you two could even make conversation the orc behind the counter cleared his throat and you turned sheepishly to pay for your order. Willow smiled up at the orc coquettishly, and requested an order of a dozen cheese croissants, and then proceeded to brazenly leer at his admittedly toned behind when he bent over to pick out a cardboard box.

"Thanks, Gil," she winked as you two exited the shop. The aforementioned orc rolled his eyes at Willow and gave another huff before making his way to help out another customer. Your ears warmed and you hid your face as you exited the store.

"Excuse me, I seem to recall that you have a whole-ass husband," you chided, teasing her as you made your way through the main street, passing shop displays filled with antiques and other handcrafted arts.

"I'll have you know Romero and I have a mutually agreeable 'look don't touch policy'. Like window shopping!"

You rolled your eyes but smiled at her antics. “Is that what we’re calling it now?” You chuckled softly when her lips formed a pout at your chiding.

“Maybe you ought to consider shopping around, yourself.”

“I really don’t think I need more clothes.”

“Okay, now you’re being obtuse on purpose,” Willow huffed exasperatedly and you couldn’t stop the smug smile from tugging at your lips.

“Will, I already have the exhibition breathing down my neck. I don’t really have time to entertain any gentlemen suitors,” you sighed, stretching the tell-tale tingle of anxiety out of your neck.

“Who said anything about dating though? A fun little romp does the body and mind wonders. It’s a wonder how you stay sane when you never leave the house.”

“I leave the house! I walk Teddy all the time and me and Dresden-”

You clapped your hand over your mouth before the last of your words could tumble out. But it was too late. Willow didn’t miss your words and she honed in on you like a hawk.

“You and Dresden? You two have been hanging out? How?” Willow probed, a wickedly gleeful expression on her face.

“Oh my god, Willow it’s nothing like that. He’s been…” you sighed, trying to find your words, “We’ve been doing exposure therapy out on the water. He’s been helping me after the accident.”

Willow studied your face thoughtfully and smiled like she knew something you didn’t. You grabbed her by the elbow to look her in the face.

“Willow, what?”

“Nothing! I just didn’t think he had it in him to make a move.”

You sputtered, ears warming again with embarrassment.

“He’s not trying to make a move!” you cried indignantly. Willow smiled at you like a child who still believed in Santa.

“He looks at you like you put the freaking sun in the sky. Like, he’s literally had a crush on you since we were children.”

She smiled wickedly at your stunned silence. Despite her deceptively air-headed appearance, you knew Willow to be highly perceptive. And blunt. Willow pulled you by your wrist to the nearest cafe and sat you down in a chair of a patio table. A young tiefling waiter rushed out with menus and a water bowl for Teddy and Willow ordered two iced coffees while she waited for your brain to reboot.

“I feel like I would have noticed,” you quavered, still processing this revelation.

“You’ve been hung up on Micah for years. We didn’t think it would matter.”

The young tiefling came out with your orders, setting the sweltering cups on the table before, making his way back into the cafe. You and Willow took several silent sips.

��Why are you telling me this now, Willow?” you asked, chewing on your straw.

“I can’t keep my nose out of other people’s business.”

You glared at your friend and she snickered under breath, elegantly swirling her drink with a perfectly manicured hand.

“I just want you to be happy. And I don’t want to see you missing out on a good thing.”

You looked her in her icy blue eyes, earnestness shining through.

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All through the ferry ride back, all you could think about were Willow’s words. How could you have possibly missed something so huge? Your relationship had always seemed so simple and easy…

Or so you thought. Your mind wandered to all the sunsets you two spent together out on the water and the soft looks of concern he gave you on your worst days, when you couldn’t handle the anxiety.

You thought about the day of the accident, when he pulled you out of the water and held you shivering and wet, murmuring reassurances that you were safe. And then you thought about how angry he got at Micah, his oldest friend.

“Why else would he have gone ballistic like that?”

Willow’s words echoed in the back of your mind as you unlocked your door and made your way into the kitchen to put away your groceries. As you put away the produce you’d found the white paper pastry bag holding the Nutella taiyaki you had bought for Dresden and you eyed the crumpled paper bag cautiously.

Dresden would probably laugh when he saw the funny looking pastry. Maybe his dimples would show and the coppery fins that framed his face would twitch as he tried it.

Your thoughts halted to a stop. Why were you daydreaming about your friend? Instead of letting your thoughts whir along, you decided to do what you did when you couldn’t feel at home in your own head: you painted.

You padded to the art studio and rifled through your things for an empty canvas and acrylic paints. Instead of your usual set-up with an easel and a stool, you set the 18x24 on the ground and squirted paint onto a plastic palette. You started with a soft sand color, not unlike the sands of Driftwood Beach at sunset, and let your arm guide itself across the blank canvas. Lately, you rarely ever let yourself waste paint and a canvas without a plan, but right now you didn’t feel like thinking anything through.

You added purple shadows, painting in subtle planes of an angular face, detailing in soft cheekbones and an elegant jawline. Blues showed soft shadows cast by dark curly brown hair and a proud nose, while reds added depth and dimension to a clever face. For a playful arch of dark brows, you added grayish black to brown and touched up the curve of a playful smirk with pink an white.

When you started work on the eyes, your mind wandered to strong hands gripping tightly at your hips and back, keeping you from getting swept away. You remembered how warm hazels watched you, dark with concern and then intense with yearning.

A pleasant shiver ran down your spine at the memory. His inner irises were a rusty brown that glittered when he laughed and outer irises flashed a brilliant coppery green when serious.

You painted his facial fins to match with eyes, a uniquely striking coloring.

By the time you finished the piece hours had passed and the sun was lowering in the sky and you cursed to yourself before changing quickly and rushing out the door.

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You made your way out into the lake, this time paddling out on your knees, carefully balancing the bag of pastries on the tail of your board. It had been a few weeks and you weren’t scared to navigate your way farther and farther from shore anymore. Still, fear overtook you whenever you tried to swim out so you settled for adventuring through the water safely on your board. As you waited for Dresden, you straddled your board, letting your feet kick gently in the water, an accomplishment won once Dresden convinced you that plesiosaurs didn’t survive past the Cretaceous Period and wouldn’t try to take a bite out of your calf.

You watched as idly as the soft clouds rolled through the pink sky, noticing how the breeze shook the tips of gigantic redwoods. The final days of summer were flying by and soon Autumn would be upon Lake Obsidian. As you mused quietly about another year passed in this bustling little town, you saw a flash of a shimmering tale and a hand ghost up your ankle and calf. A surprised yip escaped your mouth as you flinched. Dresden popped up on the other side of your board shaking water out of drenched curls.

“Jesus Christ, Dresden, give me a heart attack why don’t you?”

“Sorry, couldn’t resist. You didn’t faint. I’d take that as a win.”

The merman smiled up at you with a big lopsided grin and you couldn’t help but notice the soft divot of dimples in his cheek. You looked away before you could get flustered, remembering your earlier conversation with Willow.

“I was in town earlier today and I saw something you might like.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the way the merman lit up and your ears warmed at his adorable expression. You reached behind you to grab the white pastry bag and reached in to hand your friend the little fish pastry, “It has chocolate in it though. I wasn’t sure if mer can even eat hazelnut spread.”

He hung onto your board while he observed the fish-shaped confection, turning it every which way before taking an eager bite.

“It’s wonderful,” he moaned, mouth full. You giggled as you ate yours, enjoying the crisp outside and gooey inside. You two munched in comfortable silence and you folded up the white paper bag and tucked it into the shoulder strap of your bikini under your rash guard to throw away when you got home.

“You humans are creative, I’ll give you that. Bring me more of those. I’ll consider it compensation for my services,” licking the remnants of chocolate off his lips.

“Excuse me?! This was your idea!” you cried, indignantly.

“And yet, you reap the benefits and get to enjoy the pleasure of my company,” he smiled up at you cheekily. Like you predicted, chocolate had dripped down onto his chin and you let out a soft snort.

“Pleasurable company with questionable table manners. Dres, you have something here,” you pointed on your own face where his face was dirtied and Dreden swiped on the wrong side of his own. You let out a little giggle at his confused expression.

“No, other side,” you tried again, laughing even harder when he wiped his arm across his jaw and made an even bigger mess. Dresden pouted but smiled nonetheless at your laughter.

“Why don’t you come down from there and help me,” he teased, splashing some water up at you making you shriek indignantly.

“Catch me then!” Before you realized what you were doing, you swung a leg over your board and pushed yourself off, awkwardly hopping into Dresden’s surprised arms with a big splash. Your hands found purchase on his broad shoulders as you got used to the chill of the water, and you enjoyed the way his arms instinctually wrapped around your waist and under your ass to keep you from sinking in the still waters. Your legs wrapped around his waist, steadying you in the gentle current.

“Good catch,” you joked teasingly, although you felt your heart rabbit in your chest a mile a minute. Still, you couldn’t help but grin at the dazed expression on Dresden’s handsome face, eyes wide in confusion and mouth agape. You reached up to his face with a wet hand and wiped at the chocolate staining his chin until it was clean.

“Thanks,” he murmured softly. You looked up to see his hazel gaze locked on yours, waiting in anticipation for your next move. Your fingers moved on their own, tracing the sinewy muscles under the smooth, tanned skin of his shoulders and you found them making their way up to a strong neck where they traced the delicate slits of flattened gills. At your soft touch, the merman let out a low moan that sent molten heat straight between your legs. His arms tightened around you, pulling you flush against a hard torso in an iron brace. You gasped softly, a whimper threatening to escape your throat.

Dresden dropped his head onto your shoulder and let out a deep shuddering breath. With strong, wide hands gripping your hips, he gently hoisted you back on your paddle board and pushed you to arms distance.

Embarrassment and self-consciousness crashed down around you, shocking you out of your haze.

Was Willow wrong? Did you make a mistake? He doesn’t actually want you like that.

“Oh god, Dresden, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have…” you tried, but the merman was already shaking his head, a warm flush flooding his face.

“We should take a break for a couple days,” he ground out firmly. Your heart dropped to your stomach at his words.

“O-okay… Dresden, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It’s okay. I’ll see you around,” he blurted, before diving under the water and swiftly swimming away.

You didn’t remember paddling back to shore or making your way back to your car. All you felt was the sting of rejection and the burn of tears as they filled your eyes.

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#exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster boy #monster lover #my writing

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snowwritesall · 6 years ago

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Writing update #2 Anathema + new WIP!

Hi folks, hope y'all have been doing well and staying healthy - I've had a pretty trying week and my financial situation is gonna be tight at best for the next few months but I'm still trying to maintain a positive outlook. With that being said, I'm gonna give you guys some updates and excerpts on my current WIP, Anathema, and a new novel that I started the other day (yes I'm well aware I have way too many wips but I'm dumb and listen to no one's advice :)

Anyway, that being said, onto the updates!

Anathema is my surreal sci fi novel that I came up with last year and has spent many months under development. A brief summary on the novel for you!

The tea on my novel:

I absolutely love the concept of my novel - keeping in mind that there is a lot of the plot hidden because I don’t want to spoil the entire book - however, there are a lot of things that need work. Seraph - my main character - still feels a little flimsy and underdeveloped - as well as my side characters, who have had limited interactions with Seraph throughout the novel as far - mainly due to the reason that I’ve been focusing on narrative rather than characters. The next thing that I’m finding is a problem is that there’s barely any dialogue between what character interaction I do have. I’ve been focusing a lot on the vibe and feeling of my book - I really want to create an eerie, almost alien feel, without being fully horroresque - think Coraline x Limbo.

The things that I do like about my novel:

- I really love the literary devices that I’ve come up with to help give the story that eerie vibe I want.

a) Really weird rhetorical questions

b) interjections of two unknown characters that comment on Seraph and his friends when they’re together

c) POV of animals and inanimate objects

Here are some examples of both:

a) Really weird rhetorical questions

The wind seems strangely muted to Seraph, as if moving through a half-awake dream, or sinking in murky water that chills the bones.

Why does the water hurt? This is only one of the questions hurtling through his mind, but there are many more barrelling inside his head; a turbulent chamber of thoughts and unspoken quandaries that crescendo in the night hour. He is curious. And that - that, is what will save him.

ai)

The beetles crawl up the blackened bark, wings glistening from between the cracks. They make soft, chittering noises as they climb aimlessly up the branch. Their path is strangely linear, their wings a malachite soaked fluorescent in the bitter, fuse sharp breeze. If they were to travel down the length of Seraph's spine; their strange, crackled wings fluttering against his ashen, ghostly skin; they would calm him as they walked up the shallow curve of his spine and nestled in his hair, a dim saucer of moonlight that they would bathe in.

Is the moon ever lonely?

b) Interjections of two unknown characters that comment on Seraph and his friends when they’re together

“What was it like?”

His voice shakes as he asks, still staring at his hands. Wilbur is teething his lip, his jaw hardening like clay left in the sun.

“Were there others? Are we the only ones left?”

Are we the only ones left?

They both look scared, don’t they?

No. Not scared. Doomed.

Why are they doomed?

Because they were never meant to be here.

Wilbur continues to stare out at the forest, and after a moment takes a few steps forward, shoveling his feet into the soil; the wind rifling through his clothes. He looks like a scarecrow made of marble, distant, ghostly - not real.

Were any of them real?

c) POV’s of animals

Seraph had stroked the snake gently, the scales cold and undulating under his fingers, the snake mothers eyes dark and pupils, her nose nudging the wings of the fledglings.

“Don’t eat your babies, mother snake. They love you. Don’t leave them.”

I have found my new children. My own children were buried in a sandstorm, and I milked my venom from my teeth on the carcass of a deer. There was no one to sing them to sleep as they died. I will listen to this strange boy. I will take care of my children.

I will not leave them.

ci)

The forest is very cold for us. Even we, with our wings like a shield and a fur coat, even we feel the wind. The bark splinters are like earthquakes under our feet, even though there have been no earthquakes for centuries. We remember. We remember when the earth shook and trembled, and when we would seek shelter amongst the splintering trees and scuttle for cover under broken fern leaves. He comes to see us. The boy with curious eyes that glint like the rock in the sky, his hands are as pale as the eggs the birds lay. He brushes his fingers across our coats, and we shiver; with a strange fear and an even stranger contentment. We are not alone.

He is not alone.

Here are some excerpts from the novel that I really like:

- POV of the boy that drowned in the lake. Seraph remembers this when he looks at the jars of butterflies that he keeps on his windowsill. The clear, glossy surface reminds him of how the lake looked when he watched some of the village men pull the boy’s body out of the lake.

- Seraph is remembering the first time that one of the children stuck their head in the guillotine in the schoolyard. He remembers thinking how odd it was that they would have something so dangerous where children could find it. Maybe they wanted them to use it.

Seraph is watching his school teacher polish the guillotine blade through the cover of pine trees. One of his friends, Beluah, creeps up behind him and startles him. They both watch the teacher and talk.

More commentary of Seraph and Beluah watching the teacher together:

Okay, that’s all on this novel for now, onto the new WIP!

Basically, this idea arose from two things - I felt like I was constantly writing in the same sort of style - ie, cold rivers, frost, rain, foggy forests - and I was majorly inspired by Fairytales for Wilde Girls by Alysse Near. This woman has an absolutely INCREDIBLE writing style - I would compare it to the bright and shiny treasures that magpies collect, and her plot and characters are amazing; so a big part of why I’m writing this is because of her.

The characters appeared really easily to me, and after only a few minutes, I already could feel them writhing around alive inside my mind. But, before I tell you about the characters, a summary of the novel for you!

When three dead girls show up at school with flowers where their eyes should be and birds living in their chests, Ariel isn’t sure what to think. She’s never really been sure what to think, since her mother sells beads and homemade jewelry for a living and her sister is a snake. Well, two snakes, really. Her parents keep strange things in the closet, like elephants with jellyfish swimming in their stomachs and siamese twins with leopard skins in the attic. And then there’s that strange girl that lives in the mirror.

When three dead girls demand to be brought back to life, you start to panic a little when you realise the closest things you’ve made come alive are the ragdolls in your toy chest.

It gets even worse when they tell you you only have a month or they’ll take you back to the underworld with them. Then you really begin to freak out. And begin to have a mental break down in the middle of class which involves involuntary tap dancing (Except the tap dancing is actually crying. Ariel doesn’t own tap dancing shoes. Not even doll tap dancing shoes.)

It doesn’t help when your best friends are literally ragdolls. She actually has a few real friends. I promise.

Now onto my babies/kids/characters!

Ariel Hakens:

has a big giant ball of curly red hair that she likes to dye a new colour every week. She likes glitter but also loves black. Big boots and shiny raincoats are a thing. She love to collec. She loves to garden, but her methods are...unorthodox, shall we say. Loves Edgar Allen Poe, and recites it to herself on the way to school. Does she ditch a lot? Maybe. Who knows. Can apparently see the dead and do weird stuff nobody should be able to. Favourite animals are mice and rats. Is fascinated with the legend of the pied piper. Is like a beaver in the fact that she chews pencils. They’re basically like a midnight snack for her. Favourite foods are peanut butter and cherry tarts.

(yes I am fully aware this is Leigh-Anne Pinnock from Little Mix, but this is what she looks like in my head)

Gwendolyn Spires:

She is as extra as the name sounds. She dreams of participating in an illegal dance competition in an abandoned subway tunnel. Her mother is the principal of a ballet boarding school, and highly disapproves of her daughter's skateboarding fetish. Her father is completely on board with it, and also her addiction to gumballs and love for all things haunted. Yes, those spell books are completely real. The amount of salt rocks she keeps in her bag would put a shaman to shame. African American.

Indie Brooks:

She’s basically a giant nerd, but covered with tattoos. And piercings. She actually needs those glasses, and she refuses to put in contacts for fear that the government will be able to read her mind. She has a conspiracy theory Youtube Channel, but her theories are really??weird??

Think: we are all giant animals living in a zoo for aliens

Does she have evidence: Yes. Is it sketchy evidence? Also yes.

May or may not have broken into area 51.

Native American/Latina.

Callum Prikhill:

pervy, but not in a sexual way. Will he sell you exam answers in exchange for candy? Possibly. Ironically wears caps. Unironically wears light up shoes. Likes sci-fi movies from the early 70’s. Skinny dipped and LOVED it. Is a theater boy. If he were an animal he would be a lizard. His mother is a low-end movie producer and his father is an accountant. Often stays at his nan’s place a lot because she has a hidden bunker under the house and he very much down for that. Because the acoustics are amazing.

The first time Ariel saw the three dead girls sway through the doors of Helkbud Senior Preparatory School, she was whistling Sissyneck while flipping through her collection of rained on vinyls that she’d chanced to pick up from the thrift store, her tanned dewy legs slick with snow and hail as she pushed hot pink cat eye sunglasses up her freckled nose.

They looked like nesting dolls all jumbled up in a lolly bag, corpse candy sucked dry of their colour and watermelon blush that should have twisted their cheeks into marionette smiles.

The girl in the middle wore poppy red heels that spun and shone like a disco ball at a teenage party where the parents were gone for the weekend and everyone was drinking punch mixed with vodka in cheap, crinkly red cups; and was the shortest of the three; yellow daisies and white crocuses growing out of her eye sockets, petals drinking salty tears out of a chipped watering can that dangled over her head.

Hope you enjoyed hearing about my WIPs, and I’ll keep updating about them as I continue to work on them :)

That’s all for now, folks!

- Bella.

#writing #writblr #writers #writercommunity #writeblr #reading #books #novels #lovewriting #wips #writingwip #words #my words #glitter #so much glitter in this one guys

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kclenhartnovels · 7 years ago

Text

Vendave Excerpt - Roger’s Ford

Here is an excerpt I promised @knightedwriter, which comes from book two, Dragon on the Mountain. It’s a long excerpt, but I figured she wouldn’t mind.

Okay, so for context: T'ke and Alastair are traveling together because of Plot Reasons, and they've come upon a city called Roger's Ford. They need to cross the bridge to continue, but there is a large celebration going on in the city and the bridge is closed until after the celebration is over. No big deal, they'll hang out for a day or two. Even though the city gives them both odd vibes. They hear the celebration is about the founding of the city, wherein a fisherman was dragged along by a giant albino catfish and landed in Roger's Ford. The whole city is oddly obsessed with this story, and upon seeing T'ke they all think he must be incredibly lucky. T'ke very much doesn't like the attention and is hiding in his room at the Inn. Alastair is wandering the city before the main ceremony, taking in the sights. Excuse the old writing, as this is before rewrites and it has its issues, but it's a fun scene anyway.

------

“Hey!” one of the fishermen called, waving a free hand. “Knight! You're the one that came in last night, right? You and the lucky man?”

Alastair turned, making his way towards the man. “Yes. Are you having any luck this morning?”

“I was hoping one of you would come out.” The man stood, pulling in his line and holding the hook against his pole carefully. “Come with me, I want to show you something.”

“Me?”

The fisher nodded emphatically. “Come along! There's no better luck than a newcomer on a day like this, much less someone who came with a great white man like you did.” He gestured for the knight to follow, leading him downstream, away from the the bustle and noise.

Alastair smiled some, shaking his head. “You know I've never been very lucky. I don't think I'll be able to help you catch a fish.”

“You don't have to think you're lucky, the fish just has to think so,” he insisted. “I saw her yesterday, a catfish the same size as the white one. She had to be near to it at least. Fat and with whiskers as long as my arm. I saw her downstream aways, where the river slows down and widens. I think they use all the dead logs in the water to lay their eggs. I'd bet she's a big mother, and hungry.”

“That sounds like you've got a good chance of winning then, if you can catch her.”

“That's what I was thinking, sir,” he agreed, swinging over the low wall that bordered the town and continuing downstream. They walked for some distance, until at last there was no one else in sight. Here and there echoes came across the water of voices, but at this point most of the other fishermen had found quiet spots to sit and wait, and weren't about to give away their precious treasure troves. Wading through a bit of bramble, the fisher at last led Alastair onto a sandy bank next to a wide pool that carved away from the flow of the main river. Looking down in the water, the knight couldn't see bottom, just a blue hollow and the snag of an old limb.

“This looks like a promising site,” Alastair mused. “I'm not much of a fisherman, but it looks deep enough to hold something big.”

“It's got something big, that's for sure,” the man agreed. He pulled scraps from various fish from a bag at his waist, tossing them into the water. “Something to get her hungry, then we'll see if she wants to show herself.”

Just as the chum began to disperse and sink, a myriad of smaller fish attacked the pieces, ripping off a bite and flashing back into the deep water. Soon all that was left was a thin film of oil and a few leftover scales, but no sign of the promised monster fish. The man didn't seem concerned, kneeling on the bank and humming to himself. “Come sit by me here, my friend,” he invited, patting the sand and tossing his hook into the water with another small chunk of meat attached.

“That didn't look like fish on your hook,” Alastair noted curiously, sitting at the indication anyway.

“That's just some squirrel meat. They'll eat just about anything around here, but they like a different flavor. I like using squirrel or hare myself, but just about every man uses something different for bait. I've even seen men use cheese. Can you believe that? What fish have you seen milking a cow and making it into cheese? They wouldn't even know what to do with it.”

He chuckled, folding his legs underneath him comfortably. “So do you think the big fish is still here, even though it didn't come up when you tossed all the bait in the water?”

“When was the last time you've been fishing?” the man asked instead.

“It's been years. I'm more of a hunter than a fisher. I'm much more adept with a bow than a line and hook.”

“Good! The newcomers are always the luckiest ones. Here,” he added, handing over the pole. “If you feel something tug at the line, give it a good hard pull back.”

“What? Oh,” he startled, taking the wooden stick. “Won't this mean if I catch it I win, instead of you?”

He laughed. “If you catch it, boy, you can have the winnings. Just hang onto the pole, don't let it drag you in if you hook her. If you hook her,” he added with a grin. “I'll be back in a tick, I've just got to check my snares for more bait and take a piss.”

“Of course,” he agreed, but looked at the pole dubiously. The water had stilled, and after the sound of his companion's footsteps faded, he found himself relaxing in the calm of the wood. Birds trilled overhead, accompanied by the constant bubble of the river over its large stones. The water in the pool was almost entirely still despite the eddies nearby, protected by a natural harbor caused by fallen trees. A frog croaked at his right, hopping onto a sun-warmed rock and staring at the knight. Alastair smiled, shifting his hold on the pole. “I don't know what I'm doing here, either,” he remarked to the amphibian. In response, the frog only croaked again, shifting its large webbed toes to soak up more of the warmth. The knight closed his eyes halfway, for a moment not thinking about the long road ahead, or even his family left behind. He just reveled in the calm quiet of the forest, wondering what ever happened to that young squire who had no patience for fishing even when all Sir Andrew asked of him was to sit still and hold a pole. Now how often did he yearn for those quiet moments to just sit and do nothing?

He felt a tug on the line, jerking back into awareness and pulling back on the stick slightly, but there was no more answering tugs. He wasn't sure if he should pull in and check the bait or not, so he just waited for the fisherman to return, watching the water closely as if the deep colors would suddenly become clear and allow him to see what was teasing his bait.

“Here, I'll take that back for you now, lad.”

Alastair jumped, so intent on the line that he hadn't heard the man coming back. “Oh, of course. I didn't hear you coming.” He turned some to offer the pole, craning his head back when he saw the man leaning over him. A sharp pain blossomed from his ribs, and he looked down to see a dagger caught in the tough leather of his tunic, an inch or so of the blade still piercing his skin. The fisherman shoved forward sharply, taking hold of the pole in his free hand as he did so. Alastair grappled for purchase on the sandy bank, then toppled back into the water with a resounding splash. Blood billowed in the water around him from the knife still dangling on his chest, and at first he went completely under. He kicked out, but couldn't feel bottom on the sharp drop-off. He floundered a moment, seeing a few air bubbles releasing along with the swirling red. He kicked again, untangling his arms from his wafting cloak enough to push himself up and break the surface coughing. He couldn't get enough of a breath to speak just yet, but through slightly blurred vision he could see the fisherman standing at the bank expectantly, watching the water around him instead of the bleeding knight.

“What--?” Alastair choked, pulling the clasp of his cloak off to keep it from choking him as the air caught underneath the woven wool. Treading water to keep himself steady, he reached down to pull the knife out completely. It hurt, but the wound certainly wasn't deep or dangerous. He kept hold of the knife instead of letting it drop to the bottom, swimming not towards the crazed fisher, but for one of the logs that lay half underwater and half on a mound of sand closer to where the pool connected with the main river.

“There, there she is!” the fisherman exclaimed excitedly, throwing his pole on the ground and clasping his hands.

Alastair grabbed hold of one of the trailing branches with his empty hand to steady himself, then looked back at the excited man. He followed his gaze down to the water, and saw the deep pool blocked by a dull mottled gray mass. A broad, flat head came close to the surface, small eyes and long whiskers creating a grotesque face. Though he could not see all of the body through the churning, bloodied water, the creature had to be at least as long as the knight was tall. He could see now why the catfish had created such legends--he could only imagine a white one this size, or bigger if the tapestry was any indication, pulling a boat downstream and silenced only by a hammer's blow to the head. The knight swore beneath his breath, and went for a better grip on the log to try and desperately pull himself from the water.

The catfish turned towards the sound of his kicking legs, and with one lash of the great tail that sent water spraying and soaked the excited fisherman, it lunged and clamped onto one tough leather boot. The knight yelled in pain at the incredible pressure around his ankle, the fish jerking him right back into the water. He twisted, kicking at the catfish's head with his free foot, digging his heel into one of the small eyes. The fish thrashed but did not let go, tossing him around in the water. The fisherman on shore jumped up and down, pulling a thin fishing spear from a stash he had under a bush nearby and waiting for a clear shot. Alastair took in a deep breath as soon as his head broke the surface again, then went back under with his knife in hand. The first stab didn't pierce the tough skin more than a scratch, and the fish just pulled him further under the water. The knight twisted around, stabbing at it again, this time towards the red glow of the gills.

Blood clouded the water thicker, and as the dagger wedged itself between two gasping gills, the fish let go of him at last. Alastair swam for the surface, hauling himself out of the frothing water and onto the safety of the log. The pool churned as the fish thrashed to be rid of the knife, muscular tail slapping the surface again and again. The fisherman threw the spear, lodging it just beneath the small dorsal fin. The massive flat head rose above the surface again, mouth gaping to show the flat rows of sandpaper-like teeth, stained with blood leaking from the gills. The fish sank down again, long body spasming in the rolling water. After what seemed an eternity, the knight watching from the snarl of fallen trees, the fisherman jumping and hollering from the bank, the catfish bobbed to the surface, showing off a pale white belly.

“This is it! There's that fat mother! I told you you were good luck, my friend! Look at the size of that beauty!” the fisherman enthused, grabbing the end of the tail to try and haul the beast towards the bank. It was easy enough while it was still floating in water, but as soon as he tried to pull it onto the sandy bank his feet began to sink in, and the creature would not move further. “Give me a hand here, won't you? Wait until you see the prize we'll get to split! None of the other boys will have anything close to this beauty.”

“Are you insane?” Alastair gasped, still coughing up blood and water and hanging onto the branches of the long-dead tree for dear life. “You stabbed me and used me as bait for that fish!”

“I told you you were good luck, didn't I? Look now, I didn't stab you deep and there's no harm done. I knew that was the only way to bring this girl out. Only time we see her is when people give themselves to her. I just needed you to give up a few minutes. Come on! Lend a hand to an old fisher. This is years' worth of luck all in one big girl!”

“You're absolutely mad,” the knight insisted, pulling his legs up further onto the log and flexing his ankle tentatively. Though the fish's jaws were strong and pain shot up his leg, nothing appeared to be broken. Still, he should be able to limp back to town on it--away from the crazed man. He crawled along the log until he reached the bank again, using low-hanging branches to help support his weight as he gingerly stepped down on the leg. It would hold, but it hurt like hell. T'ke would have something to help, if the albino even agreed to treat him after hearing this insane story. He touched his bleeding side, then started towards the town, keeping the fisherman in sight as long as he could.

“Send a boat back at least!” the man pleaded, still hanging gamely onto the tail of the dead fish. “We can't just leave her here like this!”

When the sound of music and voices came back at last, Alastair's calls brought a few of the other fishermen over. Even though he was out of breath and bleeding, they were able to get the gist of what happened from his pointing downstream and breathless hand gestures. Two of them went running along the bank, while two more helped support him the rest of the way back to the Catfish Inn.

“Oh my God! What happened to you, sir?” the boy manning the inn asked as he was led inside limping and bleeding still. “Shall I get you a doctor?”

“If you could just get my companion from upstairs,” Alastair gasped, sitting with the aid of the townsmen. “He'll be able to tend to me.”

“Of course, sir!” The boy nodded, sprinting up the stairs.

“Did he catch it?” one of the men asked, going to get Alastair a mug of ale, as if that would mend the wounds well enough. “The fish that got you?”

“I should think that I was more the one to get it,” the knight grumbled. “He more caused the problem to begin with.”

“That's one way to fish--using yourself as bait. You're a damned brave knight, sir!”

“Get out of the way,” T'ke insisted quietly, interrupting the enthused conversation. The two men were quick to jump back, though they hovered nearby curiously. The albino helped remove the bloody and torn tunic, inspecting the seeping wound underneath. “This isn't deep, and the water did help seal it. I'll clean and dress it, but it should be no more than sore for a few days.”

“I think I will be sore all over for a few days,” Alastair insisted. “I never thought a fish could toss me around like a child with a doll.”

“Tell me what happened,” T'ke encouraged quietly, pulling out some of his supplies and getting to work. He knelt beside the knight, listening as he recounted the entire tale. The men that brought him inside and the innkeeper's son also gathered close, though they looked more eager than appalled.

When the knight had finished at last, T'ke shook his head. He cut off the end of the cloth used as bandage, attaching it carefully to the rest of the wrap. “You can put your shirt back on,” he assured, turning his attention to his ankle, running his fingers along the joint to make sure nothing was broken. “You're certain the fish was as big as you say?”

“I saw most of it when he was trying to drag it out of the water. It had to be six feet long at least, and thick.”

“Fish like that could have swallowed your head,” one of the fishermen put in. “That will win today for sure. You're one lucky man, to have caught her! I've never heard of a man stabbing a fish to death. It's brilliant! I can't wait to see her when they haul her in.”

“I hope they'll be hauling his assailant in as well,” T'ke put in sharply.

“Well, he should have asked permission first,” the other fisher put in solemnly. “He'll have to face the council for that, and I'm sure your knight will get all of the prize for the catch, now that we've heard the proper story. Don't worry, we'll vouch for you. Come on,” he added to the other man who had helped Alastair in, “let's go spread the word while they rest up. Make sure you come to the ceremony--you wouldn't want to miss your own reward!”

“Wouldn't want to miss that,” T'ke repeated dryly, shaking his head after they had gone. “This entire town is absolutely insane. Your ankle looks fine; the skin isn't torn so there's no risk of infection. You might need to get a new set of boots before we leave though. That fish did a number on the leather. How much does it hurt to put weight on?”

He shrugged. “Just putting weight on alone is alright, but as soon as I try to turn or flex it, it hurts,” he explained. “It doesn't really feel broken, but she wrenched it pretty well.”

“It doesn’t feel broken. Let me get more bandages from upstairs and I'll wrap it securely to help keep it from twisting. But since we're riding for awhile, it should have plenty of time to rest and heal before we do any mountain climbing.”

“Hopefully we won't have to do any mountain climbing,” he noted, taking a drink of the ale the innkeeper's son offered him. T'ke went back upstairs, returning with more strips of cloth to bandage and some sort of cooling herbs pressed against the sore and swollen flesh.

When he had finished at last, the albino sat beside him. “Do you want to pack up the horses and try to find a way around the bridge, or are you willing to wait until this ceremony is over with?”

“It's foolish to search for another crossing, no matter how much of a pain this place is,” the knight insisted. “Those maps you have show no other fords or bridges for miles. We've already lost enough time, and the bridge is right here. We'll endure whatever crazy part we have to play in it, then leave. But we should have the horses packed and ready to go as soon as it's over with.”

“I can brush and pack them for you, sir,” the young man behind the bar offered. “It's the least we can do for you. You can go right to the bridge to wait for the celebration, and I'll bring them to you. Then you can leave right afterwards.”

Alastair looked to T'ke, who only shrugged. With a sigh, the knight offered a weak smile. “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

“It's no problem, sir. Is there anything else I can get for you before I tend to the animals?”

“We're fine,” T'ke put in sharply, but the lad didn't seem to notice. He just grinned and jumped to it, heading for the stables to prepare the horses. “Even Constantine's men are not so eager to serve him. I will be glad to be rid of this place.” He stood, offering the knight help to his feet. “If you're up to it, we may as well see if they're about to start, so that we can get out of here.”

“I don't think I'll ever be up for it,” he admitted, taking the supportive arm and hobbling a few steps with him before he walked of his own accord. The wrap certainly helped ease some of the strain, and it didn't feel as hot and swollen. “Never in my life would I have thought there would be so much commotion over a fish.”

“You would be surprised what people work themselves up over,” T'ke murmured. “The more I travel, the less I am startled by the oddity of people. Perhaps more so than most, as I tend to see the worst side of their superstitions and beliefs.”

“Except for here. I think they would happily let you stay as a local God or good luck charm.”

He scoffed, pulling up his hood against the late morning sun. “There is not enough wealth in the world to convince me to stay here.”

Alastair smiled, walking with him to the stone bridge. There were more people around now than before, fishermen coming back from their various spots along the river hauling fish over their shoulders or in large carts. One had a massive freshwater eel slung over the back of his horse, happily chatting with another fisher that struggled under the weight of a fat carp, its large scales like chain mail. Four men came from downriver hauling Alastair's catfish, and a great cheer rose from the crowd. They parted to allow them through, hands helping here and there to haul the massive fish over the low wall and eventually drape it lengthwise across the rail of the bridge. The fisherman who had assailed him walked behind the beast, his hands tied behind his back but still grinning triumphantly. Horns sounded and flutes twittered, calling in the rest of the fishermen from their spots along the banks. A large drum rolled onto the bridge, its heavy tolls echoing up and down the river to call everyone home. When the two travelers came into sight, they were escorted to the apex of the bridge in an honored position, despite their protests.

Only when there were no more men trickling in did an old man step up to the edge of the bridge, the keeper for the Catfish Inn supporting his arm. Instead of her usual attire, she was clothed in a long white dress, a crown of spring flowers woven into her hair.

“Good people of Roger's Ford,” the old man began, a strong voice casting doubt on his age and echoing across the water. “Today we celebrate the anniversary of our town, raising toast to its solidarity, prosperity, and above all the luck its founder brought to it by his capture of the white catfish. Today has been granted an extra special measure by way of our guest,” he added, indicating T'ke. “Surely this is a sign of our continued welfare and plenteousness. My friends, you all know that normally we would now weigh and measure the fish each man had brought it, but I think we can all agree that no man has been as successful as our visiting knight and the fisherman Maxwell. Unless any man protests, I proclaim them the victors in the competition.” He paused for a moment to listen for any dissent, but instead there was only raucous applause and cheers. He held up his hands for silence, waiting for the last smatterings of noise to die down. “This massive catfish is a sign as well, as she perhaps rivals the fabled white fish of our founder. The next year shall bring us such glory and happiness as never before imagined in Roger's Ford. All who give themselves unto the fish and the river shall receive wonders in the next life beyond reckoning, and their family left behind shall be granted such luck they shall think the rain has turned to drops of gold. Let them come forward now!”

“I don't like the sound of that,” Alastair murmured to T'ke.

“Unfortunately, I have an idea of what they're about to do.”

A half dozen people stepped onto the bridge, each wearing a simple white wrap and carrying a small dagger. They touched the giant slain catfish in passing, then stepped onto the rail of the bridge. The old man accepted a bucket of chum from another volunteer, dumping the blood and bits of meat and organs into the water. The river came alive with smaller fish, their scales catching the high sunlight and their fins making a great shimmer of noise on the surface of the water. Massive dark shapes rose towards the commotion.

“Give yourselves unto the fish, my friends. Let our prosperity continue!” the old man shouted, raising his hands and falling to his knees. The rest of the town quickly followed suit, all but the people on the rail. They took their daggers and sliced the blades along their skin, opening lines on their arms and legs. They tossed the blades onto the bridge behind them, then one by one dropped into the water, singing their goodbyes to their friends and family watching on shore. They floated or treaded water amongst the flurry of smaller fish, until at last the shapes of the larger fish became apparent. Mottled skin of catfish at least the size of the dead one on the bridge broke the surface, large wide mouths finding purchase on limbs and dragging the sacrifices underwater. The green scales of pickerel joined the action, sharp teeth ripping at both the smaller fish and the bleeding humans, caught up in the frenzy. A massive fat carp drifted up from the bottom, picking at leftovers cast off by the predators. It seemed the thrashing, bubbling water lasted forever, but not once did the sacrificial men and women cry out as they were dragged underwater. Here and there bits of white cloth floated to the surface and were washed away downriver. Only when the water had stilled completely did the people of Roger's Ford rise to their feet, cheering and calling, hugging one another enthusiastically.

“Are you alright?” T'ke murmured, not missing the green hue to Alastair's cheeks.

“No wonder that damned fish attacked me,” he whispered, a tremble in his voice. “They've been feeding them people, probably for years. What's wrong with these people?”

The old man raised his hands again, calling for silence. “Before we depart to prepare the celebratory meals of all of our catches, the prize must be rewarded to our fishermen with the winning catch.” He turned to the knight, who held up his hands.

“Thank you sir, but I don't want any prize. My companion and I have a long way to go, and we would like to get started on that journey.”

“I know, I know,” the old man chuckled. “The luck and honor is prize enough. But take this anyway,” he insisted, taking a long package wrapped in red-dyed deerskin and handing it to the knight before he could protest further. “Should you pass through Roger's Ford again, you will both be welcomed with open arms. Do not be strangers. You are family now as well.”

Alastair took the bundle, surprised at its weight, and turned towards the far side of the bridge after a murmured thanks. Cheers rose all around them as he walked away from the town, T'ke at his side leading both horses by the reins. They didn't stop walking until they were out of sight and sound of the bridge.

“What the hell is this?” the knight muttered, crouching down a moment to untie the cords around the hide. “It's damned heavy.”

“As long as it's not pieces of their dearly departed, I would be fine with that,” T'ke muttered.

Alastair shuddered, jerking his hands away from the hide for a moment. “Why would you even suggest that?” he grimaced. The rest of the cloth fell away, revealing a bundle of tools. The longest piece was a narrow fishing spear, the tip expertly crafted. There were two small three-pronged grapples wrapped in a length of sturdy rope, and the whole thing was encased by a new net not only made of strong cord, but woven in such a way to create a beautiful pattern, almost like crystals. “Not body parts,” the knight breathed, picking up the net to drape it across his legs and take a better look at it. “I don't know how much use any of this would be, but they are certainly craftsmen, for all their insanity.”

T'ke crouched beside him, inspecting the grapples and rope. “These may come in useful on the mountain,” he said, packing them into one of the saddlebags. “The hide, too. If we do end up in those stone tunnels, we'll want any additional hides and furs underneath us when we sleep to stay warm and dry.”

Alastair rolled the net carefully, wrapping it in the deer hide and tying both onto the saddle of his own mare. “That spear's a bit unwieldy, and I don't think it'll do much good against anything aside from a fish.”

“We'll leave it for one of the men to find as a prize then,” the albino offered, hoisting himself up onto the back of his horse. “We won't be back through here for them to be offended by the refusal anyway.”

The knight shuddered, mounting as well. “Not if my life depended on it,” he agreed, turning the animals up the trail again. “I was thinking about telling Constantine about this place, to at least reclaim his lost taxes and make use of all of the craftsmen. But now--no. Absolutely not. You said you thought they may have been bribing officials that came through to keep their mouths shut. I think now that they were feeding them to the river fish. I couldn't believe the size of those monsters--some of them were larger even than the one that attacked me. They had to be ten feet long or more.”

“Their sacrifices must allow them to grow to that size, especially considering we saw multiple large ones. Even the carp and pike were hefty. I can't imagine what else may live in that river. It's wide enough to house plenty of monster fish. I am quite happy to leave it at our backs.”

“I believe that's the same river that will eventually lead up to the waterfall. But that's so many miles up, and the water will be so much colder, we shouldn't have to worry about any of those nutcases being near there,” Alastair put in, easing his horse into a faster pace to make up for lost time--and put Roger's Ford well behind them.

#long post #excerpt #writing #vendave #dragon on the mountain #alastair #t'ke #the fish story

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purplesurveys · 7 years ago

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187

Is there anyone in particular that you’d like to see and, if so, who is this person? I wish I could visit Gabie’s sisters. One has dengue, and the other has a UTI. I wish I could come over and give them a hug and keep them company. I totally would on a normal day, but their grandmother recently came home from the States to visit and is a complete homophobe and would immediately be suspicious if her granddaughter’s ‘best friend’ came to visit her sisters. Have you been to the movies lately and, if so, what movie did you see? Kinda recently, like two weeks ago. The Killing of A Sacred Deer. Have you ever used a muscle stimulator before and, if so, did it hurt? Nope and I have no idea what that is or what it looks like. Do you hate it when people rudely interrupt you and do you want to hit them? Interrupting me is tolerable at best, but when people do it rudely I would obviously hate it. Yeah wanting to hit them is a given. How many songs have you downloaded in the past week and what’re the genres? I stopped downloading music after I discovered Spotify.

Have you ever owned a pet bird and, if so, what was this bird’s name? We had a chick that we won at a school fair but we never named it. A few years after we had lovebirds we named Michelle and Andy which is super fucking creepy now and I won’t even bother to explain why I picked those names because it’s the cringiest thing. Do you have a friend who’s a complete and total flirt around everyone? Nope, I don’t really make friends with those people. Do you know anyone who’s addicted to drugs and, if so, are you friends with them? No I know no one addicted to drugs. How many times a day do you worry about dying and the afterlife? Worry is not a feeling I associate with either. Have you ever owned a golf cart before and, if so, what color was it? Never owned one, wouldn’t care for one. Do you have a sibling who’s a complete deadbeat and, if so, which sibling is it? I don’t think so. My brother is a little lazy and also performs the poorest academically out of the three siblings, but calling him a deadbeat this early is too much a stretch. Do you think that these questions are a little too personal? Not at all, I’m enjoying them. How often do you get photo comments on Facebook and who’re they usually from? I never post anything on Facebook. The one time I changed my photo publicly got 175 likes though, which I guess is a lot for someone who’s pretty much invisible on the website. Do you know anyone who has a name that you hate and, if so, who is this person? I don’t hate any names. The closest one would be Marielle but that’s only because I dislike someone with that name. I like all the other Marielles I know though so it doesn’t count. Have you ever seen the really old movie The Birds and, if so, did it scare you? Just excerpts. Didn’t really scare me. Do you think kids who smoke at a young age are stupid and naive? I wouldn’t call them stupid, as much as I’m against smoking. They’re kids, must be for various reasons that they’re doing it. And tbh I feel the same about every other smoker; it really just turns stupid as soon as they become an inconsiderate dick about the secondhand smoke like people are breathing in your fucking mess Brayden go smoke in a designated smoking area plz. What’re the color of the curtains in the room you’re in right now? Dirty white. Do you own the new Guitar Hero and, if so, what’s your favorite song on it? I don't keep track of the franchise anymore, plus I was more of a Rock Band girl. How long ago was it that someone you know got arrested and put into jail? I don’t know anyone who is currently locked up. How long ago was it that you last ate Taco Bell and what did you eat there? Must have been seven or eight months ago. I had like a burrito (forgot what it’s called) and nachos. It’s too expensive for me so I don’t get to eat there often. Do you ever take pictures with random people in Walmart or anywhere else? No mainly because we don’t have a Walmart and I don’t understand the significance of taking a photo with someone there, if any. Do you ever make fun of people with disabilities and, if so, why do you do that? Let’s just make this very simple: I’m not an asshole. Do you regret any decision you’ve made in the past week and, if so, which one? Nope. Have you ever done anything dangerous enough to have risked your life? Egh. I’ve held a snake and a crocodile before, but I doubt those count because their mouths were taped. I also like to swim way too far out into the sea, which can be dangerous since I can’t swim all that well despite taking lessons. Both cases aren’t thrilling enough, though. Where’s the farthest place you’ve been from home and why did you go there? Japan. For a brief vacation. Do you ever watch MTV and, if so, what shows do you normally watch on there? I never watched MTV frequently, even when I was younger. What kind of game consoles do you own and, if you own any, are they in the room with you? PS4, PS3. Both are in the living room. Do you get embarrassed when your parents talk about when you were a baby? No. I was a baby, I wasn’t conscious about anything so there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Do you have any friends you’re ashamed to be around in public? Well not ashamed, but it’s always just a little harder to be around my journ blockmates since they’re part of the rich kid sector that I hate so much. They talk about rich kid stuff all the time, talk in straight English, etc., and as much as I love them, they aren’t my type of crowd and I dread whenever I get dragged to the mall with them. I’m much more comfortable with the friends I’ve made from my org, who are much much much simpler and easygoing and don’t obsess about the next pair of Adidas they should buy or what movie to spend ₱500 on next. For context, a normal movie ticket should cost only about ₱200 in the Philippines. /eyeroll Do you consider yourself egotistic, or do people call you egotistic? I kinda am in some aspects. But I also self-deprecate all the time, so I dunno where I fall under. What was the most length you’ve ever cut off your hair and why did you cut it? At one point my hair reached my waist but I had it cut until it was only reaching my collarbones. It got tiring having to deal with hair that long, and I wanted my showers to be much quicker haha. Has anyone ever stereotyped you in a horrible or depriving way and, if so, why? Not personally but Filipinos get enough stereotyping attacks on a daily basis. What’s one food that you absolutely can’t stand eating and why do you hate it? Fruits. I don’t even try to eat them. What’s one movie you can’t wait to see in theaters or rent? The Incredibles 2!!! Do you have any children and, if so, how old are they? I don’t have kids. How many times a day do you brush your teeth and is that enough in your world? Sometimes once, sometimes twice. Both are enough for me. Do you think you’re going to Heaven or Hell and why do you think this? I believe in neither. I just like to think death is permanent sleep, I don’t want any other consequence after that. What’s the latest you’ve ever stayed up just talking on the phone? We stayed up til the sun rose. Do you ever make random signs from sticky notes and put them on people? No. Have you ever overcome a disease that was life-threatening and, if so, which one? No. Do you think anyone who’s in the room with you right now is really mean? I’m alone in my bedroom. Is there one thing that you want more than anything you’ve ever wanted? Sure, I guess so.

#survey #surveys

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momscookingthebooks · 7 years ago

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Release Blitz & Excerpt

Title: Rough Rider

Series: Standalone

Author: Aria Cole

Publication Date:

#NewRelease #AriaCole #RoughRider #Instalove #RideACowboy #HotRead #OneClickIt

Add to Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2wE43bh

Synopsis:

After years of living alone, Nash Campbell sets eyes on curvy beauty Eden Sutherland again, the day she steps out of her brother's pickup truck and falls directly into his arms. He may have made a promise to her brother to take care of her, but it isn't long before Nash is fixed on wrangling his best friend's little sister into his bed—and his life. Eden Sutherland enjoys living alongside her brother in the old farmhouse where they grew up, but when he's deployed, she's uprooted to Circle C Ranch and dumped in the arms of her brother's best friend, irritatingly moody and maddeningly sexy cowboy Nash Campbell. The boy who pulled her pigtails and made the butterflies jump in her stomach for the first time when they were kids. She may have grown up running through the pastures at Circle C, but that doesn't mean seeing Nash again is easy on the heart. She's been purposefully avoiding this man for years, and now she has to call him roommate… Warning: When this filthy-talkin' cowboy falls, it's hard and fast. Insta-love obsessed, countrified goodness is the best way to describe this rough rider. Sit back, relax, and grab a sweet tea, it's about to he heart. She may have grown-get sticky down south.

Purchase Link: Amazon: smarturl.it/RoughRiderAC

ONE

Eden

I wrung my hands in my lap, eyes focused on the long gravel driveway that led to my imprisonment.

“You know, I don’t need a babysitter,” I spat to my brother in the driver’s seat.

“Sweet young girl like you, you most certainly do. These damn cowboys would eat you alive,” he drawled, eyes cutting to me then back to the windshield. The old truck rattled to a sputtering stop in front of the giant red barn I spent too many summer nights playing hide-and-seek in.

“I’m not sweet or young. Since I've managed to handle you my whole life, I figure these cowboys will be easy.” I shoved open the door of the truck, storming off with a desperate slam of the door for dramatic effect. But instead, it squawked on its rusty hinges. Baxter, the old golden retriever that’d been wandering this dusty ranch since the time I was eight, rambled up to me. I knelt down and put my arm around the old dog, giving him a good rub. His scent was so familiar, just as it had been all those years ago. I closed my eyes, sucking in a fortifying breath before I faced the man who inhabited this place.

“Welcome, Eden.” His throaty voice sent fire through my veins, just like it always had. My cheeks flamed, hands shoved into the pockets of my cutoff shorts when Nash Campbell’s dusty cowboy boots came into view.

I wanted to die.

Colt, Nash, and I may have grown up together on this ranch, bonfires and swimming in the pond from sunup to sundown, but I hadn’t laid eyes on him in nearly two years. And there was a reason for it.

“Hey.” Colt came around the back of the pickup and pulled two giant duffles out of the bed. “She’s not too pleased ’bout me dropping her off here, but she’ll grow up and see I was right. Someday.” Colt shot me a glare.

“I should have gone away to college,” I grumbled. I still hadn’t looked Nash in the face yet.

I couldn’t. One look into those intense eyes would have me lost. It'd been too long, and those feeling and memories were still all twisted into knots from my head to my toes. The worst place those knots tangled around was my heart.

There was too much history wrapped up in my feelings for him. Nash and my brother had been best friends since the time they were in diapers, and then I came along five years later, the annoying, tagalong little sister. They’d picked on me relentlessly, daring me to eat bugs and touch garden snakes, and then the teen years had hit, and everything changed.

Nash’s voice had deepened, suddenly sending spirals of excitement through my nine-year-old stomach. And then dark stubble smattered his cheeks and jawline, and I couldn't help thinking about what the scratchy scruff would feel like against my skin. And by the time Nash was fifteen, he was working in the field or around the barns all summer. Slinging hay bales six hours a day did a lot for his once lean, taut physique.

Nash had bloomed into a damn Adonis right before my eyes, his body rivaling the sketches of David I’d seen in my art class.

I fell in love with Nash Campbell the summer I turned eleven.

While my brother still seemed perpetually immature and annoying, Nash’s confidence grew, his eyes lighting with genuine kindness whenever he saw me. I’d never met anyone like him back then, and I still hadn’t now. Nash was a once in a lifetime dream—a dream that was unattainable. Like a mirage, a faint whisper on the wind. A man like Nash would never want someone like me, but still, that didn’t matter to my heart. When I thought of him, I was still that eleven-year-old little girl who fell in love with a boy she could never have.

That was probably why today was all the harder.

Colt was leaving for his deployment in the Army, and I was moving in here, with my brother’s best friend, at Circle C Ranch.

“Got your room all made up for you, the corner room upstairs, the one you used to sleep in when we were little.” Nash was addressing me.

Oh shit, that meant I’d have to actually look him in the face. I’d been considering a way to avoid his eyes for the entire time I was here, which would hopefully just be the summer. Colt didn’t know it, but I’d already filled out a few applications for colleges. I’d been going to the community college in our small town, but now that Colt wouldn’t be here, I didn't have a reason to stay.

Living on my own would be tight, but I was accustomed to making do on a budget. I just had to hope I would be awarded a few grants or scholarships for housing. I could afford the classes for the coming semester at least, but I couldn't pay for the housing on top of that.

And I needed to get out of this town.

I needed to get away from all these memories.

The gorgeous, impossibly sculpted, stubbled, and rugged memories. “Thanks,” I finally muttered, allowing my eyes to wash across Nash’s face for the first time.

Oh God, was that my heart beating so loudly?

It sounded like a John Deere vibrating in my ears.

“I can get this carried up for you. Dinner’s at five, so you've got some time to settle in before—”

“I’m not hungry. I had a big lunch,” I lied.

Colt shook his head at my side. “She’s lying. If you don’t force her to eat, she’ll peck like a bird.”

My cheeks flamed as my teeth gnashed together. “I thought you had somewhere to be tonight?”

Colt chuckled, taking off ahead of us toward the house.

“Still treating you like a dick, I see,” Nash said at my shoulder.

Shit, when had he moved closer?

This was too much. His body so close to mine felt like a ticking time bomb waiting to detonate.

“He says he means well, but I personally think it’s a control thing.”

“Can’t blame him. A man should take care of his only sister. I’d do the same thing.”

I chanced a glance out of the corner of my eye, catching his gaze hovering at my neckline, then dipping lower.

My stomach dropped, my feet screaming at me to run before I made a fool of myself somehow. I’d never known quite how to act around men, especially this one, when it felt like he stole all the oxygen from my lungs with one look.

“Maybe you’re on a power trip too, then,” I finally replied, stomping in the dirt after Colt and toward the house.

I was a prisoner here; there was nothing willing about it.

If Colt and Nash thought I needed a babysitter, that I couldn't be left to my own devices, I’d sure as hell prove them wrong—and have fun while doing it.

No way could they keep this woman down.

“Eden!” Nash called after me, amusement lacing his voice.

I stuttered to a halt, turning to find him hot on my heels, an intoxicating half grin darting across his face.

“What?” I asked.

“You have no idea what kind of power play I’m into. Keep that in mind.” That cocky grin deepened, and my thighs grew slick with drop-dead desire.

Oh, shit.

What the hell was I in for this summer?

About the Author:

Aria Cole is a thirty-something housewife who once felt bad for reading dirty books late at night, until she decided to write her own. Possessive alpha men and the sassy heroines who love them are common, along with a healthy dose of irresistible insta-love and happily ever afters so sweet your teeth may ache. For a safe, off-the-charts HOT, and always HEA story that doesn't take a lifetime to read, get lost in an Aria Cole book! Follow Aria on Amazon for new release updates, or stalk her on Facebook and Twitter to see which daring book boyfriend she's writing next! Sign up to get a NEW RELEASE ALERT from me! http://eepurl.com/ccGnRX

Author Links:

Twitter: https://twitter.com/authorariacole

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AriaColeAuthor/

Goodreads Author Page: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15148497.Aria_Cole

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Aria-Cole/e/B01FBKXQ7W/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1477124544&sr=8-2-ent

#release blitz #contemporary romance #standalone #cowboy #Rough Rider #Aria Cole #Hosted by Ardent Prose PR

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xx-ingie-xx · 8 years ago

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Forgotten Excerpt

My writer’s block finally lifted! Hooray! Since last Saturday I’ve been spending almost all my free time working on the next chapter, and it would be posted by now if it wasn’t so looong. I was hoping I could finish editing it today, but I might need more time. It’s a lot of content. So here’s an excerpt in the meantime. :D

Edit: Just realized I should have posted something Mother’s Day related today... oops. >_< SOMEDAY I WILL BE ON TOP OF THESE THINGS. T_T

(To give some context, Link, Zelda, and Shayne (though he’s not in this scene) went to visit the forest, and Link is leading her through the Lost Woods.)

----

“How do you know your way around here so well?” Zelda spoke, free to ask such questions in Shayne’s absence.

“I’m immune to the enchantment,” Link answered simply. “Like the Kokiri, I am blessed with the Deku Tree’s protection.”

“And that’s how you know your way around?”

Link gave a quiet laugh. “No. I know these Woods because I explored them as a boy. I discovered many interesting places, and I visited them often.”

Zelda fell quiet, wondering if he had sought refuge away from the village, where he never truly fit in. She had done something similar, back when she explored the castle as a girl.

To think that was nearly twenty years ago, she thought to herself. It feels like yesterday.

“I can understand the lure of exploration,” she told Link. “When I was a child I wanted to discover every inch of the castle.”

“I remember,” he replied, turning to her with a smile. “You showed me many unknown places in the castle. And I returned the favor here.”

Zelda returned his smile, but inside she felt another tug of sadness, a desire to remember the boy with whom she had shared such adventures… the boy she had grown to love.

“We’re here.”

Her thoughts faded as Link led her to the edge of what looked like a deep ravine. Below them lay a massive pool of perfectly clear water, disturbed only by a tall, narrow waterfall. It’s glassy surface seemed to dance in the sunlight which shone through a gap in the trees. The surrounding bank was mostly rock and pebbles, but beyond it lay a bed of lush green grass. Flowers of countless shapes and sizes colored the area, growing in bright patches among the grass, adorning vines, and sprouting from small blossoming trees.

“It’s beautiful,” Zelda breathed, letting Link take her hand as he led her down to the water’s edge.

“We used to come here all the time,” he said as they sat on a moss ridden log. “The water is quite warm, perfect for swimming. And it’s beautiful by night as well—especially a moonlit night. Certain flowers and mushrooms glow in the dark—you can see them everywhere. And when the fireflies gather… it’s quite a sight to behold. If you’re lucky, you might even see a fairy or two pass by.”

A blush warmed Zelda’s face as she realized how very romantic the place was. Just what sort of memories had they shared there? Was that why he had brought her there?

Stop jumping to conclusions, her practical side scolded her. He just wanted to show you a beautiful place.

Zelda tried not to dwell on such thoughts, focusing instead on the soothing rush of the waterfall and the birds singing in the treetops.

“I was quite wrong about this place,” she told Link. “It’s so lovely, even despite its dangerous enchantment, and it feels very peaceful here… It makes the troubles of the world seem small and far away.”

Link nodded, his eyes fixed on the lake. “Yes... it does.” He turned to her then, studying her profile. “So, how do you like my old house?”

Zelda gave a small laugh. “Very charming. But so humble, compared to your life now. Did you ever dream that you would one day become King of Hyrule?”

Link gave a halfhearted laugh of his own. “Certainly not. Though I did often dream about… visiting the castle.”

“You pursued your dream and realized it—to say the least,” Zelda said cheerfully. “Your story is as encouraging as it is extraordinary.”

Link looked away then, noticeably saddened by her words, and immediately she regretted them.

“I’m sorry,” she said gently. “I don’t know enough to say such a thing…”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. What else did you two talk about?”

Zelda thought a minute. “She told me how you came into her care, how she raised you… and how you left the forest when you were only ten years old. It’s quite remarkable, but… you were so young to be on your own. Did no one else look after you?”

“I had friends outside of the forest,” Link replied. “People I could go to if I needed them. And I could always come back here. In truth, though, I spent a lot of time with you over the next two years. My education here was rather lacking, to say the least, and you became a sort of tutor to me. We were both quite young, but you’ve always been very intelligent. You taught me a lot—history, language, grammar. We had daily lessons, and I enjoyed them immensely, as did you.

“Eventually, though, I grew restless,” Link admitted, “and I went off to explore the kingdoms beyond Hyrule’s border. My travels taught me a great deal about the world, and I did enjoy them, but… I missed Hyrule. And I missed you,” he added softly.

Zelda dropped her gaze to her hands, feeling her heart flutter with nerves. She tried to remember that Link spoke of the past, and that he wasn’t pressing any feelings upon her, but it flustered her nonetheless.

“I didn’t travel for two years straight,” Link told her. “I came back to Hyrule each spring—to visit you on your birthday. When I was fourteen, I discovered that your betrothed had finally taken an interest in you, and you were quite taken with him. Suddenly I felt… unwanted there. You were always kind to me, but you were engaged. Our friendship had become… inappropriate.”

Zelda recalled their conversation in her chamber the previous night, remembering that her infatuation with her fiance had lasted three years. Had Link pined for her all that time, burdened with unrequited love?

“I was lost again… for a while,” Link’s quiet voice brought her back to the present. “But I didn’t want to leave Hyrule, so I took up work at Lon Lon Ranch. Talon and his daughter were kind and welcoming people, but the work didn’t suit me. There was plenty to do, but… I wanted to be part of something… larger. I needed a new kind of challenge, and I wanted to stay close to the castle—and to you,” he added softly. “So I pursued the only path that made sense to me.”

“To enlist in the army,” Zelda said quietly.

Link nodded. “I was too young, though. I had the skills to be a good soldier, but mentally… I wasn’t ready for the horrors of war.”

A rush of compassion swept through Zelda, and she nearly reached out to touch his shoulder, but then Link turned to give her a sheepish smile.

“Enough about me. I’ve been meaning to ask you—did Saria say anything about… your amnesia?”

Zelda looked away, remembering the anguish in Saria’s face as she begged her to recover her past, to become the Zelda Link knew and loved.

Link watched her closely, noticing her discomfort.

“She made a plea for my sake,” he said. “Didn’t she.”

His voice lacked any inquisitive tone, as he apparently knew the answer. Zelda bowed her head, unsure what to say.

“She… She asked that I try to regain my memories; that’s all.”

Link sighed quietly, but Zelda could not recognize the cause. Embarrassment? Sympathy? Longing?

“That must have been uncomfortable for you,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. Please don’t hold it against her… She’s only looking out for me.”

“I know,” Zelda said quickly. “Any good mother would do the same, I’m sure—or even a friend... And it was a perfectly reasonable request—”

“Zelda.”

I turned when Link took my hand in both of his, reluctantly meeting his gaze.

“If you do try to regain your memories,” he said, his blue eyes gazing into mine, “then it must be of your own choosing. Don’t do it for my sake, or Saria’s, or anyone else’s. No one can force you to act against your will.”

His words swept through her with strong reassurance, but the feeling soon passed, and the weight in Zelda’s chest remained.

“But surely you want me to remember,” she whispered, looking at him sadly. “More than anything…”

Link studied her a moment, then lowered his gaze and withdrew his hands.

“I can’t say what feelings I have… or will have for the woman you are now,” he admitted slowly, “but I do respect you, and I will respect whatever decision you make—even if it hurts me. As I’ve said before, I ask only that you be a mother to Shayne, and he doesn’t need your memories.”

“I would hate to have you resent me...”

“If I do,” he said softly, meeting her troubled gaze, “then it would be my failing, not yours.”

Zelda gazed back at him, stunned by his selfless words—and his apparent sincerity. She wanted to return his consideration, to assure him that she did not oppose the idea of regaining her memories, but somehow the words stuck in her throat.

“Maybe it was a mistake to bring you here so soon,” Link murmured. “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”

“No, I asked to come here. Thank you for sharing this with me... and for being so understanding.”

"Friends do that much for each other,” he replied. “I hope you’ll at least consider me that.”

Zelda smiled. “I certainly don’t consider you an enemy.”

Link gave a short laugh. “Well, that’s a relief. Not the response I hoped for, but I’ll take it.”

Despite his playful tone, Zelda couldn’t help but wonder if she hurt him when she kept her distance in that way. Before she could figure him out, however, Link rose to his feet and offered his hand.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s head back.”

#zelda #zelink #fortitude #fanfiction #loz #excerpts

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rilenerocks · 4 years ago

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*This is a continuation of Chapter 11 – Be 278, my story of living through an orphan cancer with my husband who died in May, 2017. All previous chapters can be found on this site. They’re hard to write so there are time lapses between them.

The beginning of 2016. After the ravages of 2015, the devolution of Michael’s health from his excellent status at the beginning of the year, to his rejection from a crucial clinical trial, to his coming close to death before receiving the immunological drug Keytruda off-trial, we are astonished that he is still breathing. Somewhere in the midst of the terror, my brother, my mother and my treasured dog died. A long intimate friendship between our family and another came apart. I haven’t had any real time to process all those events. I am intensely focused on Michael and anything I can unearth to keep him alive. The winter holidays were so unexpected. Michael met with many of his former students who were home visiting, on winter break from college. He had lunch with his school colleagues and arranged some guest teaching days. He was still suffering from the toothache that had been haunting him since the previous September. He’d been on antibiotics several times in an effort to avoid any invasive procedures. Our friend Peg came from Denver for a visit. After a whirl of events, Michael, a master of understatement, said he didn’t feel 100% and collapsed with fatigue. We were expecting yet another visitor, our dear friend Brian from New Mexico. Six months earlier, Michael’s body was carrying a huge cancer load. How much is still cruising around inside of him is our daily question. Between scans, there’s plenty of time to bounce between hope and fear.

Our son was temporarily home, soon to be departing for his field work in Panama, a critical part of his biology Phd. Michael has made a wish list of things he’d like to see before he dies. Having our kid finish his doctorate is right at the top of it. I’m trying to practice living one day at a time. Shutting my brain down is hugely challenging for me. I’m constantly reading all the latest Merkel cell research, trying to stay current in case things quickly go south. I haven’t gotten over my bitterness about Michael having been denied access to the clinical trial in St. Louis, which was testing a drug essentially quite like Keytruda. The Barnes principal investigator was disinterested in us and his nurse was absolutely cold and detached, telling Michael to go back home to get sicker and return another day. On the anniversary of that rejection, I finally wrote to that doctor and his supervisor, unleashing the hostility that had been eating away at me during the last painful year. Here are a couple of excerpts from that letter. The following year I looked up the trial and found that this doctor had disappeared as the principal investigator. I hope I had something to do with that.

To add to our worries, Dr. Zhang, our second oncologist in a year, informs us that he will be departing our cancer clinic in the next couple of months. He recommends that we continue with his old friend and colleague, Dr. Zhao. We hear this news with a mixture of sadness, fear and trepidation. Zhang has proven to be smart, a positive collaborator and a risk-taker, an important combination for a patient dealing with a little understood disease.

His help in getting Keytruda off-trial in 2015 was daring. I thought of him as kind of a medical gunslinger. More adjustments ahead for us. As a pre-emptive move, I dash off letters of inquiry to other principal investigators of Merkel cell clinical trials to see what’s possible in case we run into trouble. I can scarcely believe my audacity in reaching out to these people. I tell myself that as the saying goes, necessity is the mother of invention. We move forward to the next appointment, living as well as we can in the spaces between blood tests and scans.

On January 15th, 2016, Michael and I went to Dr. Zhang’s office to be greeted with the bad news that his latest blood work showed that all three of Michael’s liver enzymes were astronomically elevated and that there would be no Keytruda treatment that day. Instead he was placed on a big dose of steroids to try to reduce the liver inflammation. Two more blood tests were scheduled along with another meeting with Zhang at the end of the week. We were completely baffled. Michael was taking antibiotics and pain meds for his toothache. Why was the doctor’s assumption that it had to be the life-saving Keytruda that was the culprit for the liver flare, rather than the other meds or a synergistic relationship between all of them? All the positive feelings about Michael’s incredible rebound seemed to fizzle away. I was filled with questions. What was certain was that steroids suppress the immune system, allowing an opportunity for the cancer to reassert itself. A nerve wracking time, to say the least. Dr. Zhang is not available for the next appointment so we meet with his colleague and our next oncologist, Dr. Zhao. The liver enzymes improved but she is convinced that Keytruda is too dangerous to administer again. My immediate sense of her is that she is a strictly “between the lines” type of doctor, which I view as a problem.

We move into a waiting period. On February 1st, Michael develops a cold and cough. What was once an average illness now carries the weight of a terrifying episode. Normal, whatever that was, has disappeared. Dr. Zhang orders a liver scan for mid-month. When Michael’s cold happily resolves, we hit the road to Chicago to just feel like we are taking advantage of the fact that despite all the uncertainty, we are still together, alive. The rhythm of our comfortability and love kick in and we shove away the fears for a few days.

Mid-February brings the liver scan. Tapered off the steroids, Michael’s his enzymes are almost normal but the scan shows a mild diffuse fatty liver. His primary doctor has weighed in with the opinion that a liver which has a hard time metabolizing drugs can mean anything is a problem. We meet for the last time with Dr. Zhang who is afraid administering more Keytruda will bring on liver failure. With the virtual certainty of cancer returning, we argue for a moderate approach – trying a half dose of the drug, monitoring carefully for enzyme problems and quickly restarting steroids if there is a flare. Zhang agrees to this, provided we wait for a month to let Michael’s body rest. We agree and prepare for another trip in our quickly devised retirement. Off we go to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico in the beginning of March.

For what seems like an eon, I’ve been feeling as if I’m living in the Mel Brooks film High Anxiety. The tension of the past year has been unrelenting. In addition to the tremendous pressure of Michael’s condition and treatment, I’ve been trying to pay attention to my own health. A visit to my doctor brings the news that thyroid nodules which she’s been monitoring in me have changed in size and now require a biopsy. As my mom had thyroid cancer, this feels unnerving to me. In addition, my knees are incredibly painful with intermittent swelling in both the front and backs of them. I think everything is cancer. I terrify myself trying to imagine that Michael and I are simultaneously sick and in need of treatment. That actually happened to my parents in 1989 when they were both diagnosed with cancer within five weeks of each other. All my childhood fears associated with my mother’s constant health problems are being exacerbated by our current situation. I am trying hard to push all the negative thoughts away so we can live in the moments we have, yanking every second of intimacy and comfort out of them. I cast money anxieties away too, knowing that this accelerated and brief retirement is likely all we’re going to have together. Stoically we board a United Airlines jet in Chicago and fly southwest in early March.

We’ve chosen the type of resort where relaxation is effortless. The place is beautiful as is our room. We intend to do nothing but stay in bed, make love, read, eat, sleep, swim and repeat the same every day. We throw in a little sightseeing but mostly this time is to restore our drained energy and forget all things medical. Michael has a sore shoulder from too much baseball and volleyball and his achy tooth. I have my bad knees. But the forgiving water helps. We lounge by the pool, ordering drinks and lunch. I lie in the water, staring up at the frigate birds which cruise overhead. Michael reads and dozes. He looks healthy, regardless of what may be happening below the surface. We soak ourselves in the hot tub. For a week, we live in a fantasy.

Then it’s over. We are back home. Together we are solid and reenergized, but indeed, back we are looking at the realities before us. I have my biopsy which is thankfully negative. Michael takes advantage of being off treatment to have his teeth fixed. He also sees an orthopedic person about his shoulder and gets a cortisone shot which provides relief. We are approaching the end of March with blood tests and a scan ahead. Michael goes for long bike rides and looks like himself. I am reading books and planning my garden. Soon our son will return from his field work in Panama and present his exit seminar for his PhD. He’s told me he’s dedicating it to Michael who will cry when he hears that. One of his goals was to live long enough to see Henry finish. Both of our kids have exceeded our accomplishments. Sharing in that together is priceless. Michael’s blood is essentially normal and remarkably, his scan shows what seem to be two potentially cancerous spots that are tiny. Conservative Dr. Zhao doesn’t want to re-challenge him with Keytruda until there is more disease. I am uncertain about this approach but decide to go with the flow. I am writing constantly in my journal. “Life is filled with such elevating joy and crushing pain. The poignance is too much.”

The exit seminar is a success. We couldn’t be prouder of our kid. It’s the end of April. Our wedding anniversary is May 1st. It’s our fifth “last anniversary” which we count from Michael’s diagnosis. Will it be our last? Michael writes me a note to go with my flowers which says he’ll do anything to get another one. He’s already gone through so much. Watching him eat a hearty anniversary surf and turf dinner gives me such pleasure and satisfaction. He gives me a ridiculous Roger Federer satin pillow case as a gift. We’ve had a few great months. Next up is a trip to Memphis to visit the Civil Rights Museum and Graceland. Describing the reality of taking our very deliberately chosen trips is complicated. Always just below the surface is the awareness that we’re not going to live to a ripe old age together. I can’t say we are entirely without hope but that hope has small dimensions instead of unlimited vistas. As Michael needs consistent monitoring we can’t go too far away for too long. Choosing our destinations means evaluating what has been important in our lives, both as individuals and partners. We made it to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and the National Baseball Hall of Fame. We made it to presidential homesites and libraries, battlefields and major historic sites. We visited art galleries and oceans. The main thing now is to make sure that we see what we only want to share with each other. Every one of those places is obviously impossible. But in Memphis, the Civil Rights Museum is essential for us who’ve shared a lifetime of activism and belief in civil rights. And then there’s Elvis, Sun Records and the famous Memphis Recording Studio, another must for music lovers like us. There’s BB King and barbecue and a manageable drive. “We are excellent travel partners. Yesterday Michael said he felt like we were the only two people in the world sometimes, in a rhythm that isn’t shared with anyone else. We still have a glorious intimacy on every level, especially amazing given all his treatments.”

We both cry at the pain and power of the museum. So much dreadful history that we grew up with, watching on our televisions while we were kids and then the history of all the horror that came before we were alive. We cried at Graceland too, thinking of how this innocent gifted singer was basically eaten alive by greedy manipulators and a ravenous, insatiable public. We spent some time at the studios where so many young rock and rollers got their big breaks, rode a riverboat on the Mississippi, listened to live music and ate at Gus’s Famous Fried Chicken restaurant. Then as fast as it came, vacation is over and we are in scan week. I am working on managing anticipatory grief. A tall order for me. Michael is working his way through a list of life goals, some small and manageable, others daunting. Some days, he’s quiet and dark. He always had days like that. I try imagining the alienation he feels from his own body and bearing the constant weight of imminent death. We know other people who’ve died recently or who are in hospice. One minute at a time. Miraculously the mid-May scan is NED, negative for disease. Michael hasn’t had treatment since December. Maybe his immune system is still amped up from Keytruda. We’ll take it.

During this health reprieve, we decide that we may finally have the time to adopt a dog. Flash had been gone almost a year. A shelter was having an adoption event at a local pet store. I went to look around and instantly fell in love with a tiny black puppy whose older, larger and beautiful sister had been adopted in advance. I called Michael who was annoyed that I’d picked out a dog without him but he came to meet her and could feel my happiness. So he agreed. We named her Gracie and brought her home. She seemed smart and easy to be with but by the next day, I could see she wasn’t healthy. The shelter had arranged a first free vet appointment with someone with whom they had a contractual arrangement. We took her in Monday morning and were given antibiotics for a respiratory infection. I felt like there was something more and arranged for her to see our own vet the next day. After her exam, the our doctor said she thought that Gracie had a neurological problem and that it didn’t bode well, especially considering Michael’s situation. We had to relinquish her the next day, after a difficult battle with the original shelter. I think that episode drained away all my reserves of love for a pet. I’ve never felt the energy of real pet love since that puppy. But we still had our little window of opportunity. There was a black cocker spaniel at the Humane Society. When Michael was a kid he had one that looked almost exactly the same, Pudding, who was hit by a car and left a hole in Michael’s heart. I was neutral but wanted him to be happy. We were chosen as her new family and so we had Rosie. Michael was in bliss despite the fact that the Humane Society said she was five when she was actually eleven. He was in love. A day later, he developed a terrible case of shingles. I was immediately terrified. You get shingles when your immune system is suppressed. Was cancer coming right behind this painful condition?

The June scans happen. It feels like there’s not enough time between them but Michael is still stable, no change in disease load. No one on his care team understands this – the facility tumor board says, “more power to him.” I have convinced Michael to sell his music collection. We sold some collectibles when he’d gone back to school but we still had over 7500 pieces of vinyl and CD’s. I knew I couldn’t face the task of unloading them when he was gone. He entertained several offers and finally chose a buyer who owned an independent store in St. Louis. Our music room would be emptied in a day, come August. That was one of the most sobering acknowledgements of the future that we faced together. Tempering the moment however, was his announcement that he really wanted to buy a motorcycle with some of the cash. I’d made him sell his first one once I became pregnant so many years before, hoping to shrink the odds of my becoming a single parent. So I said, no, don’t be absurd. Then I forgot about it. The July scan came rolling around and was again clean. Impossible to fathom but we moved forward, spending time with our kids and grandkids, taking a day trip to Indianapolis and trying to feel normal. I spend time trying not to focus on thinking about everything Michael is likely to miss in the future. I watched my mom attend my kids’ events without my dad. I can hear her wistful voice saying how much he would have loved watching them play basketball, dad’s favorite sport. I push those thoughts away.

In August, we get back to our place in Lakeside, Michigan which is brief but wonderful. Before the next scan, we squeeze in a long weekend with dear old friends in Oconomowoc, Wisconsin. So much lake time. We feel otherworldly, living our best lives under the onus of his mysterious Merkel cell which is in a deep snooze. But we’re managing to enjoy ourselves except for the occasional times when we look too far ahead. Staying in the present must be easier for people who are more Zen than me.

Another clean scan in August. We decide to go for another big trip in September. I am obsessed with seeing the National Parks of Utah. And I want to share their majesty with Michael. So I make the plans, a flight to Denver, a car rental and then a big push through Arches, Canyonlands, Zion and Bryce. I feel nervous that it may be too big a stretch for us but how do I know if there’ll be another chance? The trip is set. Meanwhile, I get furious when Michael sheepishly sits me down to give me what he says is both bad and good news. I brace myself for hearing he’s found a new lump. Instead he tells me that he sold the music collection for more than he told me and has bought himself a used Harley. The good news is that he has money left over to give me. I try remembering that I shouldn’t want to kill someone who’s got cancer. Given the circumstances, I manage to put aside my anger, knowing that his need to feel this thrill again may be the last time he has for it. A Harley. Unreal.

We head west. The Utah trip is magnificent and grueling. Michael develops gout and a cough. I waver between awe at what we’re experiencing and anxiety about his health. Both of us are glad we did it.

Michael recovers from the respiratory infection slowly through October. We have a big event that month – our daughter is being inducted into her university’s athletic hall of fame. The whole family attends that event. A few weeks later, the Chicago Cubs, Michael’s beloved sports team finally win the World Series. Ticking that long-hoped for event off his list is a huge deal for him.

The national election happens and our whole family is stunned and grieving about Trump being president. Our son is getting ready to leave for a postdoc in Guam. But first there is another Thanksgiving and another scan. We get through the holiday, amazed that it’s our fourth since Michael was given only a few months to live without treatment which might buy a year. What a road we’ve traveled. The November scan is negative. December brings departures and family going in different directions for the holidays. Michael and I zip off to Starved Rock on our own for two days. Always magical, I take this happy photo of Michael at breakfast.

I am a little worried because he’s gotten sick to his stomach twice after eating his favorite seafood dish in the past few weeks. Maybe he’s suddenly allergic? Who knows? We are navigating the political situation, bumps in our kids’ lives and our own anxieties about his disease. Michael is featured in an article in our local newspaper which follows the course of his cancer journey. Both of us feel awkward about it. On December 31st, we have our New Year’s dinner at our favorite restaurant alone for the first time in years. Our family and friends are all dispersed. The service is unusually lousy and the food disappointing. We’re both somewhat disgruntled but we go home happy to be together to ring in a new year, even though it is fraught with unknown but expected challenges. Goodbye, 2016, the year of nerve wracking remission and joy. Just like life.

The Realities of Remission – Part 2 – Chapter 11 – Be 278 *This is a continuation of Chapter 11 - Be 278, my story of living through an orphan cancer with my husband who died in May, 2017.

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