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bobasheebaby · 5 years ago

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The Walk-up: Cordonian Ruby chapter 1

Pairing: Olivia x Bastien; Ruby Rys

Word count: 1,274

Warnings: mention of decapitation, angst, smidge of fluff

Summary: Ruby’s first birthday. Minor insight on how Cordonia’s changed.

A/N: thanks @sirbeepsalot for all your graping and help. I love you boo!

Series warnings: character death, blood, surgical procedures done by non medical personnel, may go NSFW in the future. May contain gun violence, knife violence, threats, not sure how dark this will go. By requesting to be tagged you acknowledge you are at least 18 years of age.

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

Disclaimer: I only own my OC’s, the rest I’m borrowing from PB.

Bastien tugged his warm pea coat tighter around his body as the air whipped the rain around him. With each step on the worn pavement he silently cursed not grabbing an umbrella before leaving the apartment. What I really need is a fucking raincoat.

The past year had brought them many places, going by many names. They never stayed in one place for long, the fear of being tracked kept them moving, and always with an escape plan. For the past six weeks they’d called Seattle home. It wasn’t home, and it would never feel like it, but it was a safe place they could just live without worry.

Here they go by Carol and John Taylor. Next, Olivia will pick their fake names. It didn't matter because they knew who they really were.

His feet pounded against the stairs to the walkup apartment they shared, his hands carefully cradling a small cake covered in pinks and reds.

After six weeks in Seattle, he could venture out and make it home quickly. He knew all the shortcuts. He knew how they got there and where they would leave to.

- - -

Olivia’s finger hovered over the link, was she ready to see in words and possibly pictures the truth she already knew? Was she ready to see in ‘print’ what had become of her nation, her duchy since she fled like a coward instead of staying and fighting like a Nevrakis warrior? Your ancestors would be ashamed to call you kin. I left to save the kingdom. I can do more to help raising the heir than I could dead.

She swallowed as her finger pressed on the link. Let’s see how bad it is.

She already was aware that she wouldn’t recognize her own nation. Everything that could help Bradshaw fund his own foolish endeavors had been stripped from the land. She knew that the people were forced to serve Auvernal, they had three choices: work in his army, work the land, or live in squalor.

Her emerald eyes widened as she saw the name on the byline of the underground Cordonian news. Ana DeLuca? Who knew she had it in her.

REIGN OF TERROR

Today marks one year since our nation should have gone into a period of mourning. Instead of being granted time to grieve our beloved king and queen and their unborn heir we were served the heads of our slain leaders on spikes.

Those who saw the gruesome sight outside the palace gates first hand fell to their knees driven to tears. They said the queen and king were hardly recognizable, but they knew in their bones: it was them.

There have been some whispered reports that while our fallen queen had reportedly fallen prey to wolves that many do not believe our case to be truly hopeless. Could the heir be out there somewhere waiting to take flight and reclaim our fallen nation? Could the Valtorian Phoenix rise once again?

Olivia looked up from her tablet as she heard familiar soft steps behind her. “There’s my little princess!” Olivia cooed placing her tablet down.

“Is it really smart to call her that? We are trying to go undetected.”

“We’re in America, it’d be weirder for a little girl to not be called princess here.” She looked at the blonde-haired, sapphire eyed baby she’d been pretending was her own. “Isn’t that right Ruby? Everyone’s a princess here.”

Ruby leaned forward, her chubby hands reaching for Olivia. “Mama.”

Olivia pulled the little girl into her arms, a brief sadness flashed in her emerald eyes.

To everyone around them, she was Ruby’s mother. She felt guilty that she must parade a friend’s child as her own, but they needed the heir to survive.

She looked down at Ruby, a smile once again gracing her lips. “That’s right princess, now let’s go celebrate with cake.”

- - -

Ruby’s sapphire eyes sparkled with wonder and excitement as she shoved her cake covered meaty fist into her mouth. Her eyes widened as the sweet vanilla buttercream melted on her tongue with an explosion of flavor.

Bastien and Olivia laughed as they watched Ruby shove fistfuls of cake and icing in her mouth.

“Is it good pumpkin?”

“Dada!” Ruby replied leaning forward in her high chair, her hands full of smushed cake.

Olivia took a careful step back as Bastien leaned forward. “Yes baby girl, share with papa.”

Ruby’s cake coated hands reached up to Bastien’s face, her hands smearing cake into his beard.

Olivia let out a loud laugh as she watched Ruby paint his face with cake and icing.

Bastien turned his steely eyes sparkling with mischief. “I think mama wants some too.”

Olivia shook her head. “No mama doesn’t.”

“Mama!” Ruby squealed reaching for Olivia.

“You don’t want to make the birthday princess cry do you?”

She mouthed ‘low blow’ to him as she took a hesitant step forward. He knew she could never say no to Ruby, she’d lost everything already Olivia would give her all that she could. She let out a shriek as Bastien wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her into his lap. Ruby squealed, her feet kicking as she reached for her mama’s face, her cake coated fingers grabbing a fistful of hair and smearing icing on her cheek.

For one day they felt like the family they pretended to be. They weren’t on the run hiding from a tyrant. They were just them, and for that moment it was all they needed.

- - -

Olivia pulled the door to the small bedroom shut behind her with a soft click. “She’s finally asleep.”

“She had a big day.” Bastien smiled as images of their day played in his head. “Actually I’m surprised she wasn’t more worn out.”

A small smile played on her lips. “I think she was too excited to be worn out. It was nice being able to pamper and treat her like the royalty she is for one day.”

He pulled his lips into a thin line. He knew she wasn’t exactly happy with the way we’re forced to live, he knew if she could she’d spoil Ruby with all the luxuries of the world. “Well, we need to be careful, Bradshaw—”

“Bradshaw and his men won’t find us here, we were careful.” She crossed the small living room to the window looking out the third story window.

They had used multiple false identities while traveling, never using one persona more than once. She’d cut her hair into a chin-length bob and dyed it a deep auburn to help keep them hidden. They were safe.

Her lips curved down as she stared out the window, watching the rain silently hit the windows. Rain, it was nearly always raining. She missed the cold, the snow. She missed being able to hunt on her own land and eat fresh meat. She hated going to the store and speaking to a man in a bloodstained apron who knew less about cuts of meat than she did. She hated that she had to purchase meat that smelled faintly of bleach.

She missed Cordonia.

“Why did we have to stay here? It’s always raining.” She placed her hand on the cold windowpane, closing her eyes trying to imagine she was home. “We could have chosen Boston, or Montreal, somewhere where it gets more snow than rain.”

“There are multiple escape routes, easier if we have to pick up and leave.”

She nodded, she didn’t like it, but he was right. Her comfort wasn’t as important as their safety. They just needed to keep Ruby safe, hopefully, we’ll still have a home to return to.

Feedback fuels me, please like, comment reblog or send an ask. Feel free to scream, I promise I can take it.

Masterlist can be found in my bio.

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doctorpuppy · 6 years ago

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Lycea The Wolf

She had found out about her pregnancy from Neya, who cared and kept watch over all over Aisan’s ‘comfort slaves’. Lycea might not have even noticed herself for months if not for her watchful eye. Neya saw the twisted expression of grief and pain that had fallen over with that news.

“I can’t lose another one, Neya. I can’t do it again.” Lycea had begged, as if any of this were in the other woman’s hands.

“If it is one of Aisan’s perhaps some sort of bargain can be struck to keep him in house, perhaps he could work in the kitchens until he’s old enough to be trained in a proper --” Neya paused upon observing a near-imperceptible shaking of Lycea’s head. So slight even she hadn’t known she had done it. Neya let out a sigh. She wanted to inquire further but thought perhaps this was neither the time nor the place for it. “But it’s not his…”

“I won’t lose this one. I can’t.” She repeated, choking on her words.

“Then we’ll have to smuggle you out of here. Sometime in the night. The Master will not give you up easily though. There will be dangerous men set after you.”

“And spend the rest of my life running from him? Is my fate to be a prisoner all my life, Neya?”

“What other choice do you have, dear?” Neya replied softly, her voice heavy with sorrow.

What other choice? It was those words that had crystallized Lycea’s plan in her mind. That had set into motion all that would follow.

As a child the Monks had warned her, warned all the child slaves of the Master off of thoughts of defying his will. The most well-tread parable imparted upon them was that of the lamb and the wolf. The Sheep served the Farmer well, providing wool each season and bringing him prosperity and warmth. The Sheep’s master treated him and his kin with kindness. Kept them fed. Kept them sheltered. It was noble and right to be as the Sheep.

The wolf in turn only did as it pleased. Took sheep. Took hens. Took whatever it wanted. All to sate it’s own needs. All to ensure it’s own survival with no thought toward the Farmer or the hardships he might face. But did not the same Farmer then turn on the Sheep? Decide the Sheep had provided enough. Enough wool. Enough children. Enough prosperity. Enough before the Farmer turned his razor to the Sheep’s throat and spilled his life upon the soil. Took all the Sheep had to give for himself. A lifetime of noble and righteous service paid in betrayal. Lycea, even as a child, saw through the construct of this cautionary aphorism.

The Wolf had the right of things. The only thing that mattered was survival. Not kindness. Not prosperity. Not righteousness. The only loyalty owed was to one’s self. To one’s own blood. Everything else was a smokescreen. A fine and pretty thing that fools wrapped around themselves to keep the cold truth out in the dark.

She waited for Aisan that night in his chambers and through her charm and allure, brought him to bed with her. It disgusted her to have him set his lips and hands all over her body but she needed him close and helpless. There under the pale moonlight Lycea allowed him to have his last taste of her before took her taste of him.

He writhed and luxuriated above her, his face twisted into a grin as he lost himself in her. His eyes were shut as she sat up to bring her lips to his throat. He chuckled in delight, oh so eager to enjoy the affection of his most prized possession. Instead of the gentle press of lips to his skin however he felt a pressure clamping down upon him and then a crackling inside of his own skull. The next and last sensation he would know would be the rush of heat that spilled out from where Lycea’s teeth had sunk in. His head was spinning again, this time in panic and dread as he realized what was occuring. He scrambled to shake her loose but his strength was already leaving him, flooding out from the wound she had opened and spilling everywhere.

Lycea spat a mouthful of blood into Aisan’s face. One final indignity for the lifetime of indignities he had visited upon her. She crawled off of the bed and stared up into the night sky as she felt the crimson-metallic taste of his blood leaving her tongue, replaced with something else. What was it? It tasted like the moon above. Silver and sweet. Had the moon always had a taste? Always had a smell? Had it always looked so beautiful to her? She felt her body suffused with the moonlight, spreading from her face and down through her body. She felt something primal stir in her.

Lycea looked out onto the balcony at the shimmering, silver-lined shadow of a wolf. It watched her with eager, shining eyes. As Lycea locked her gaze with the wolf’s she found she knew the beast’s name. In that unspoken connection, they exchanged whole life stories without the need for a word. The silver wolf bid her to follow, for their was still much work to be done.

She stepped out into the halls, still covered in his blood. A nightmare grin across her face as gleaming white fangs shone in the moonlight. The guards tried to stop her there but she was no longer Lycea, the exotic and beautiful Icewalker slave princess. She was Lycea the Wolf now. Black as night and filled with power. Her jaws were around the first guard’s skull in less time than it took to scream. She crushed it in her jaws with the same ease one might bite into a grape. The second guard tried to draw his blade only to look down at the bloody stump of his limb and then back behind him to a second wolf, this one silver. She tossed the mangled piece of guard to the ground and leapt at him, wrapping herself firmly around his throat and lifting him off the ground. She swung him wildly back and forth until she felt the snap of his spine resonate down her body.

Lycea had been renowned for her voice and her gift of song in her other life. Aisan would invite guests from across Creation to come be entertained by his prize slave. That Lycea was lost to the world now. The only song any would hear from her this night were her howls, echoing down the halls of Aisan’s home and stirring everyone from their sleep.

Aisan’s relatives, his guards, his slaves. All woke with a start, alerted by the sudden unearthly sound. Instinct should have inspired them to flee then. But Sheep often find their instincts dulled by domestication. They stepped out to investigate. To raise an alert and a defense to this sudden intrusion.

Lycea dragged Derad Aisan’s limp corpse in her jaws and dropped it in the fountain as the onlookers gathered to gaze upon the black-coated Wolf that stood defiantly in their midst now. The Silver Wolf prowled around the courtyard, moving with an unnerving fluidity. Someone called out Aisan’s name in horror as the guards charged toward the wolves, only to be torn apart one after the other. How could mere Sheep, no matter their number, hope to repel them now?

One of Aisan’s sons, the youngest perhaps, charged at her with his father’s prized weapon in hand. The blade served him little. He swung wide, missing and driving the point of the blade into the courtyard’s paved path. Lycea didn’t hesitate. Lycea knocked the man to the ground and stamped down upon his back with her full weight, shattering him beneath her.

She looked up and around her, taking in the faces of the survivors. Aisan’s remaining relations had fled the scene. Perhaps not eager to share in the fate of the lord of this house. Lycea saw the faces of his slaves, watching her. Were they frozen with terror? Were they every bit the Sheep the monks and whips had made them?

No. Not terror in their eyes. Reverence. Elation. Excitement. Moonlight, free and glorious in their reflected in their gaze. She shifted forms before them, becoming a Lycea they could perhaps recognize. Not quite Lycea the slave, but not entirely the Wolf. Her chest heaved up and down with her quickened breaths. She was caked from head to toe in blood. She picked Neya’s face out of the crowd and they stared at one another for a long moment before the tension was broken.

Neya dropped to one knee and raised her hands to the sky in prayer. “Praise be to Lycea, breaker of chains, have mercy upon us now. Let us serve you, Great Wolf. Let us serve and follow in your example.”

Lycea wasn’t sure what to do. She searched the courtyard for the Silver Wolf, only to see it had vanished. A beat passed. Another. The air was electric. Filled with danger. She raised her face to the Moon and felt purpose, grand and terrible, fill her. She let out another howl, still as loud and wall-shaking as before. And a chorus of howls followed.

Lycea laid on the a damp pile of leaves on the forest floor, staring up at the night sky, clutching her newborn child to her chest. It seemed so much like the dreams she had beneath the roof of her former master’s home. Like it could all be pulled away from her like all the other things she had hoped and dreamt about as a slave. It had been months since that bloody night. Since she and her followers had set the Master’s home to the torch and his loyalists to the blade or the tooth.

She listened to the sound her child’s soft breathing set against that of her new brothers and sisters in blood and revolution. She listened to the sound of their singing and laughter. Neya had shown the youngest among them how to build a campfire and they’d taken to it quickly. Neya was not the eldest among them but she was the most wise to the ways of the world outside of Derad Aisan’s walls. It had been by her guidance that Lycea had taken the steps she had. And in doing so, sparked the flames of revolt inside of Derad’s home.

Her son gurgled and whimpered in her arms and Lycea felt a flood of peace and insecurity run through her. They had been on the run for months, having only just slipped past the dragnet of the Wyld Hunt that had been called upon the heretic Wolf Goddess. On the run yes, but on their own terms. Gaining strength and numbers with each day.

Just tonight they had gained one more. She looked into her son’s face and felt a tear roll down her face. Real and hot against the cold night air. This was no dream. This was real. She turned her gaze up toward the Moon. “Watch over him, as you have watched over me. Let him live a life that knows no walls, no masters, no pain as I have known. Grant me this wish and for you, Luna, for you I will personally see that your enemies never know another peaceful night’s rest.”

#my writing #bls don't be mean to me about my writing #lycea #exalted rpg #exalted 3e #lunar exalted #content warnings for violence mature stuff and implied bad stuff #sometimes it be like that on this bitch of an earth

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alexiela73 · 7 years ago

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If you don’t mind either, maybe a small continuation of the witch mercy with fem!s/o who’s a werewolf fic. Perhaps a bit of angst, hurt/comfort? Like Mercy is cornered by some bad dudes who want to hurt her, Werewolf s/o appears and protects her but gets wounded pretty badly in the fight. Mercy taking care of them and praising them for protecting her

Got ahead of myself again. Sorry its so long, I know you wanted small…

“Here you go, Mrs. Brigget,” Angela said to an older woman, standing outside her door holding a small pouch as the sky slowly darkened with nightfall. “Inside this are some ground up herbs. Just put a teaspoon into your tea once a day for the next week and your should be feeling better in no time.”

The elderly woman smiled warmly at Angela, little wisps of gray hair poking from beneath her small hat. “Thank you, dearie. I do appreciate your spells, Miss Witch. Especially when they help an old woman like me,” she said, giving Angela a gold coin before taking the pouch. The witch noticed the little boy peeking from around the woman’s skirts, clutching her dress folds as he watched her.

Smiling down at him, Angela reminded the woman, “You can call me Angela, Mrs. Brigget. Or Mercy.” The little boy gave her a hesitant smile that grew, before he fled back into the house with a giggle. It melted Angela’s heart, honestly.

Waving it off, the little old woman smiled at Mercy again, showing off a dimple. “Why don’t you come inside for a cup of tea, Miss witch? You walked an awful long way to bring us the medicine,” Mrs. Brigget said. Mercy hid her smile and was prepared to accept, finding herself a bit parched.

Mrs. Brigget paused when a gust of wind blew the chimes on her porch violently, losing its usually sweet sound. Mercy had to reach up and hold down her hat, even as the breeze seemed to tug and pull at her. Suddenly unease, Mercy turned back to the woman.

“That’s okay, Mrs. Brigget. I think I’m going to head straight home,” Mercy said, giving her a gentle smile and briefly she squeezed the woman’s frail hand in farewell. “Blessed be.” Mercy prayed for the woman’s good health and safety, knowing the herbs and her little spell could only help the woman so much. The rest was up to the woman’s will.

Leaving the house, Mercy walked down the dark streets of the village, heels clicking on the cobblestone sidewalk. Vaguely she noticed that some of the villagers were lighting the lamps along the roads, but right now Mercy could hardly focus on that.

Often Mercy would get a feeling, a vision…a premonition that something was to come. This was the first time though that her vision filled her with such unease…. something bad was coming, Mercy thought. She was sure of it. The breeze that flitted the autumn leaves down the winding streets seemed to be telling her the same thing: she needed to go home, right away.

Mercy wished she hadn’t come alone to the village to deliver the parcel. It would have been so easy to just accept your invitation to walk her there and home. Yet Mercy had thought it best to take a nice quiet walk by herself to clear our the long list of orders rattling in her head.

She saw now how wrong she had been.

The unease grew into a discomfort that seemed to physically envelope her, and soon she became aware of what felt like eyes watching her from the shadows. A soft noise of fear escaped her lips when there was a sudden sound of heavy foot falls behind her, like something was chasing her.

Angela reacted on instinct and began to run. Whoever it was following her was bigger then her, she had already deduced, though Mercy was a bit on the small size. And the pursuer was definitely a man.

Fear drove her feet to move faster, even as the chaser seemed to get closer and closer. Heart beating wildly, Angela didn’t dare glance back at him in fear of what she would find, in fear of how close he’d really be. This street was still dark, and most people were inside their homes, tucking in for the night.

A howl sounded in the distance, and to Mercy’s relief she caught sight of the forest ahead and the path that would lead her home. The gravel patch that led home lay tucked between to large willow trees ahead. If she passed the trees and made it into the woods, surely no human would follow her in there. Not while knowing what dangers lurk within those woods…

While Mercy was a powerful witch, she had her limits her magic could not be used to bring harm to a human. And humans were the most dangerous of all, for while the villagers were kind and believed in her gentle soul, many humans still would not stand to hear of witchcraft for being used for anything but evil.

Almost there, she thought desperately, just reaching the willow trees-

A large hand roughly grabbed her arm, shoving her hard enough that Mercy was knocked back into one of the willow trees, falling against its rough bark with a soft cry. The pain was sharp in her arm as the force of the shove and the rough bark scraped at her skin, leaving little bleeding scratches along her elbow and shoulder.

“There you are, witch,” laughed a deep, masculine voice. “Been lookin’ everywhere for you. We wanted to say a little hello.”

Angela lifted her head, leaning back against the tree as she clutched her arm. A bulk of a man stepped through the swaying branches of the willow tree, and she recognized he was a traveller, from his obvious wears. We…she thought, and at that moment three other fingers pushed through the branches, each of their eyes burning with a hatred that shook her.

This is what the premonition was about, she thought as terror coursed through her veins, trying to form the words she needed to protect herself. But these were large, mortal men. There was nothing you could do to fight back.

“I have done nothing wrong,” Mercy managed to say, voice quivering. “Please, let me go. I can forgive this.”

One of the men shook his head, holding a pitch fork in his hands and he smiled a cruel, gap-toothed grin. “Y’see, missy, we don’t like witches or nothin’,” said the man. “Worlds best without ‘em. Y’get what I’m saying here, miss?”

Mercy prayed within herself. Prayed for these men to stop, prayed that a miracle would happen. Prayed you would forgive her for her foolishness.

“Maybe we’ll be gentle,” the big one said and the rest laughed. “Why don’t we have a look here-” His big meaty hand reached for her, and Mercy flinched back against the tree, eyes closed tight as she waited for him to grab her.

Instead, his hand never found you. Your eyes opened as suddenly as they’d closed as a loud howl permitted the air, too close by. The men had stopped briefly, looking a bit wary. Surely they wouldn’t risk it…

“Them wolves don’t come to the village, aye,” said one of the men. “The forest creatures don’t touch the village. As long as we’re on this side of the tree, all will be fine-”

A snarl filled the air and the men let out a shocked cry, all of the stepping back and one scrabbling behind the other. Beside the tree stood a massive white wolf that came to Mercy’s shoulders. Hackles raised, large canines were bared in a snarl as the giant creature slowly stalked forward.

“W-What is t-that?!” said one of the men, as the massive one scrambled back from Mercy. None of them had ever seen such a massive wolf, one that could easy fit one of their heads in its whole jaw and squish it like a grape.

A tiny, relieved whimper left Mercy’s lips as the wolf firmly planted itself between you and the men. The wolf’s ear flicked back toward her, as if saying it was here. Here to protect Mercy…tears filled her eyes. How good it was to see you…

“Thats the witch’s beast!” said one of the men, and he immediately had his torch up. You snarled, tail straight up and your ears laid flat against your head. How dare these men hurt your witch?

The big burly man got into a stance before he launched himself at you. You easily dodged him, dodged the knife you hadn’t seen clutched in his hand. Except in that moment, all of them attacked.

Mercy let out a cry as metal met flesh and teeth tore skin, blood spraying across your beautiful pelt. There were screams, yelps, snarling and cursing as the five of you fought. And Mercy could do nothing, because the men harming you were mortal. Never had she despised such a rule in her life, for this was the first time she had ever thought of hurting a human.

And yet…

Despite being out numbered, your strength was too much. You bowled over the last assailant, sharp claws tearing his shirt as your sheer weight pressed him down into the earth. The man had sweat and blood dripping down the side of his face, and you felt no mercy in your heart as you prepared to end him.

“Y/n!” you heard Mercy’s voice, a soft plea. “Please…I…you can’t kill them. They’re cruel, but we can’t take the life of another…please.”

The wolf in you said to kill the abominations that dared to harm her mate, and yet the human in you regrettably knew Mercy was right. As much as you wanted to…this was a case where you could walk away and no one had to die. After all, they hadn’t had a chance to really harm your beloved.

“P-Please,” the man begged, trying to shield his face with his hands in defense, prepared for you to attack.

Lips curling back, you snapped at him and took satisfaction in seeing him flinch and whimper. Then you slowly got off him, padding over to where your witch stood by the tree, clutching her arm. Looking back, you watched as all the men scrambled away and ran, clutching their wounds.

You still wished you hadn’t let them go. How cruel people could be, you thought to yourself before licking at her wound gently, nosing against her. You could smell no other injury on her, as far as you could tell.

Mercy’s fingers came up, threading through your fur and gently fisting in the fur of your cheeks as she laid her head upon yours, letting out the longest breath you’d ever heard. “I’m so happy your okay, that you found me in time…” Mercy whispered, closing her eyes and enjoying the feel of your soft fur.

“I was so scared, y/n. I was so afraid…” Mercy’s eyes opened. “Your…your shaking, Y/n.”

Am I? you thought distantly. For a few brief minutes, you had felt overwhelming pain in your body. The pitch fork had pierced one of your legs twice. The big man with the knife had stabbed your back and side as many times as he could manage, which hadn’t been too much. There were spots the other two had kicked and hit mercilessly at you. And the pain had been intense…

Now though, you felt numb, as though you were floating on a cloud. You felt colder, you thought, despite the thick fur. Slowly your legs started to buckle beneath you.

That was when Mercy saw the blood coating your beautiful white fur. “Y/n!” she gasped, just as she sank to the forest floor. “Oh god, y/n! Baby, you have to change back! Change back, baby!” Mercy’s voice was distant, as though she’d somehow moved far away.

You didn’t feel as her hands skimmed over you, didn’t feel her as she looked at the severity of your wounds. You didn’t understand the tears that welled in her eyes and slid down her cheeks as she desperately tried to chant a spell to heal you. You didn’t comprehend the sobs that shook her.

All you could so was watch her with soft eyes that were slowly closing. “Don’t-Y/n, you can’t sleep! Don’t you dare! You have to change, y/n, I can’t help you like this!” Mercy sobbed. “Please, change back!”

Change back…you thought vaguely. Mercy…wants me to change…back…

The world went black around you, the last echo of her voice filling the oblivion you fell into.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Slowly you came back to the world, and the first thing you knew upon awakening..was that you were in pain. A low moan left your lips as a searing jolt went through your back. You laid in a soft bed of furs and quilts, naked beneath a large blanket. You could feel the bandages covering your upper body and both your thighs.

Eyes opening slowly, you registered the room was rather dark, but warmly lit by a fire in a large hearth. “Angela…” you murmured, looking around slowly, trying to crane your neck but each movement hurt. Candles littered the room and you could see a new pile of spell books at her desk.

The door opened suddenly, and you saw a tired looking Mercy walk in, only to freeze at the door. She held a tray In her hands, with what smelled like delicious cream and tomato soup. Immediately there was a pang in your belly and your mouth watered, as though you hadn’t eaten in days..

“Your awake,” she whispered, a wobbly smile coming to her face before she slowly made her way over. Putting the tray on the bedside table, she took a seat on the edge of the bed and immediately reached for your hand.

How warm it is, you thought, before you studied her. How tired she looks…there were circles under her eyes and her eyes slightly puffy, like she’d cried recently. It broke your heart to think she might have cried without you to go and comfort her.

“I am,” you croaked, your throat dry. “Are you…are you okay?” You could remember what happened, the men who had prepared to kill Mercy, tearing at them and knowing in your heart that you had to protect her..but it went kind of fuzzy after that.

It looked for a moment like she considered it, but after a moment Mercy crawled into the bed and gently tucked herself against your side. At first it hurt, the pressure of her body on yours, but you wanted her close and gradually the pain eased.

“You’ve been unconscious for two whole days,” Mercy said softly, her fingers gently stroking your collarbone. “I…I was so afraid, y/n. There was so much blood and you were barely breathing…If you hadn’t changed back into a human, I’d have never been able to get you home.”

Hating how her voice wavered, you managed to reach up and stroke the blonde strands from her face. You didn’t need to look at her to know her eyes were full of tears.

“I’m sorry, Angela,” you murmur, stroking her hair and resting your cheek to the top of her head. “But you know I can’t regret it, right? I’d give my life a thousand times over if only to keep you safe.”

A little laugh bubbled to her lips, and Mercy wiped at her tears before pressing a kiss to your chin. “I know, baby. Thank you. Thank you for saving me,” Mercy says softly, playing with a lock of your hair that fell across your shoulder.

“I love you,” you murmured, breathing in deeply. Just the smell of her, of candle wax and herbs and soup…all of it soothed you. “There’s no need to thank me.”

Slowly nodding, Mercy rested her cheek on your chest and closed her eyes, thankful for every blessed moment she had you in her life.

#Mercy #Mercy Overwatch #Mercy x Reader #Witch Mercy #Witch Mercy x Reader #Angela Ziegler #Angela Ziegler x Reader #Overwatch #Overwatch x Reader #Overwatch Imagines #Overwatch Stories #Overwatch Writings #Overwatch Halloween #Mercy x Werewolf #Mercy x fem! reader

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Strawberries Quotes

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• A field trip. You interested in doing something dangerous, and possibly illegal?” Does it involve underage girls, broken curfews and soorte4d fruit toppings?” I dropped the empty can into the recycling bin and leaned against the kitchen peninsula, grinning like an idiot. “Two of the three. And I could probably scrounge up some strawberry jam, if you’re desperate.” “I’m never desperate,” Tod said, only his voice hadn’t come from my phone. I whirled around to see the reaper standing behind me, still holding his cell. “But for the record, I prefer apricot.” “Yuck. Nobody likes apricot jam. – Rachel Vincent • A girl told me my lips looked like somebody had pressed strawberry yogurt against my face. – Katherine Heigl • A man traveling across a field encountered a tiger. He fled, the tiger after him. Coming to a precipice, he caught hold of the root of a wild vine and swung himself down over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him from above. Trembling, the man looked down to where, far below, another tiger was waiting to eat him. Only the vine sustained him. Two mice, one white and one black, little by little started to gnaw away the vine. The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other. How sweet it tasted! – Gautama Buddha • A man was found dead covered in sprinkles, strawberry sauce and a flake. Reports said he may have topped himself. – Frank Carson • A red rose peeping through a white? Or else a cherry (double graced) Within a lily? Centre placed? Or ever marked the pretty beam, A strawberry shows, half drowned in cream? Or seen rich rubies blushing through A pure smooth pearl, and orient too? So like to this, nay all the rest, Is each neat niplet of her breast. – Ovid • a salesman is an it that stinks to please but whether to please itself or someone else makes no more difference than if it sells hate condoms education snakeoil vac uumcleaners terror strawberries democ ra(caveat emptor)cy superfluous hair – e. e. cummings • A typical Irish dinner would be: cream flavored with lobster, cream with bits of veal in it, green peas and cream, cream cheese, cream flavored with strawberries. – Nancy Mitford • A white truffle, which elsewhere might sell for hundreds of dollars, seemed easier to come by than something fresh and green. What could be got from the woods was free and amounted to a diurnal dining diary that everyone kept in their heads. May was wild asparagus, arugula, and artichokes. June was wild lettuce and stinging nettles. July was cherries and wild strawberries. August was forest berries. September was porcini. – Bill Buford • About one thing the Englishman has a particularly strict code. If a bird says Cluk bik bik bik bik and caw you may kill it, eat it or ask Fortnums to pickle it in Napoleon brandy with wild strawberries. If it says tweet it is a dear and precious friend and you’d better lay off it if you want to remain a member of Boodles. – Clement Freud • All schools, all colleges, have two great functions: to confer, and to conceal, valuable knowledge. The theological knowledge which they conceal cannot justly be regarded as less valuable than that which they reveal. That is, when a man is buying a basket of strawberries it can profit him to know that the bottom half of it is rotten. – Mark Twain • All this talkin’ about eatin’ is makin’ me awful hungry. I’ll have two chili burgers with an order of fries, onion rings and a chocolate milk shake. And a Strawberry Ice Cream Sundae-with pickles. – George Lindsey • And a refrigerator may hold a basket of strawberries, which would be important if a maniac said to you, “If you don’t give me a basket of strawberries right now, I’m going to poke you with this large stick.” But when the two elder Baudelaires and Quigley Quagmire opened the refrigerator, they found nothing that would help someone who was wounded, dying of thirst, or being threatened by a strawberry-crazed, stick-carrying maniac. – Daniel Handler • And now — now it only remains for me to light a cigarette and go home. Dear God, only now am I remembering that people die. Does that include me? Don’t forget, in the meantime, that this is the season for strawberries. Yes. – Clarice Lispector • And when my body shall cease, my soul will still be yours, Claire? I swear by my hope of heaven, I will not be parted from you.” The wind stirred the leaves of the chestnut trees nearby, and the scents of late summer rose up rich around us; pine and grass and strawberries, sun-warmed stone and cool water, and the sharp, musky smell of his body next to mine. “Nothing is lost, Sassenach; only changed.” “That’s the first law of thermodynamics,” I said, wiping my nose. “No,” he said. “That’s faith. – Diana Gabaldon • Any chance of getting something sweet to go with my coffee?” [Finn] asked in a hopeful voice. I arched an eyebrow at him. “You mean all those pieces of strawberry pie that you ate for lunch weren’t enough?” “I’m a growing boy,” Finn said in a sincere tone. “I need my vitamins.” Bria snorted. “The only thing that’s growing on you, Lane, is your ego.” Finn sidled up to my sister and gave her a dazzling smile. “Well, other things of mine also tend to swell up in your presence, detective. – Jennifer Estep • Anyone who imagines that all fruits ripen at the same time as the strawberries knows nothing about grapes. – Paracelsus • Are you going to give a speech?’ she asked gaily. He gave a choked laugh. ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘Not for ages.’ ‘My cousin Davey gave one on his very first day!’ … ‘In the Lords, I remember. It was about how he didn’t like strawberry jam.’ ‘Be nice, Charles! It was a speech about fruit importation, which I admit devolved into something of a tirade.’ She couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Still, you could talk about something more important.’ ‘Than jam? Impossible. We mustn’t set the bar too high, Jane. – Charles Finch • As our lives speed up more and more, so do our children’s. We forget and thus they forget that there is nothing more important than the present moment. We forget and thus they forget to relax, to find spiritual solitude, to let go of the past, to quiet ambition, to fully enjoy the eating of a strawberry, the scent of a rose, the touch of a hand on a cheek… – Michael Gurian • Ask of Her, the mighty Mother. Her reply puts this other Question: What is Spring?- Growth in every thing –

Flesh and fleece, fur and feather, Grass and green world all together, Star-eyed strawberry breasted Throstle above Her nested

Cluster of bugle blue eggs thin Forms and warms the life within, And bird and blossom swell In sod or sheath or shell. – Gerard Manley Hopkins • Asking me what I think of Oscar (Hammerstein) is like asking me what I think of the Yankees, Man o’ War and Strawberry Sundaes. – Billy Rose • Assumptions are dangerous things to make, and like all dangerous things to make – bombs, for instance, or strawberry shortcake – if you make even the tiniest mistake you can find yourself in terrible trouble. – Daniel Handler

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Strawberr', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_strawberr').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_strawberr img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Blueberries, strawberries and blackberries are true super foods. Naturally sweet and juicy, berries are low in sugar and high in nutrients – they are among the best foods you can eat. – Joel Fuhrman • Bonnie who had never hurt a – a harmless thing for malice. Bonnie who was like a kitten making airy pounces at no prey at all. Bonnie with her hair that was called something strawberry but that looked simply as if it was on fire. Bonnie of the translucent skin with the delicate violet fjords and estuaries of veins all over her throat and inner arms. Bonnie who had lately taken to looking at him sideways with her large childlike eyes big and brown under lashes like stars… – L. J. Smith • But don’t forget, in the meantime, that this is the season for strawberries. Yes. – Clarice Lispector • But I’d like the pie heated and I don’t want the ice cream on top I want it on the side and I’d like strawberry instead of vanilla if you have it if not then no ice cream just whipped cream but only if it’s real if it’s out of a can then nothing.- Meg Ryan

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling]

• Cold Mountain Buddhas Han Shan Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness be dancing. Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning. The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry, The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony Of death and birth. – T. S. Eliot • Darryl Strawberry has been voted to the Hall of Fame five years in a row. – Ralph Kiner • Dating a new man is like holding a strawberry milkshake; first the taste, then the pleasure. – Marilyn Monroe • Doubtless God Could Have Made A Better Berry, But Doubtless God Never Did – Izaak Walton • Dried oregano has thirty times the brain-healing antioxidant power of raw blueberries, forty-six times more than apples, and fifty-six times as much as strawberries, making it one of the most powerful brain cell protectors on the planet. – Daniel Amen • Each moment is just what it is. It might be the only moment of our life; it might be the only strawberry we’ll ever eat. We could get depressed about it, or we could finally appreciate it and delight in the preciousness of every single moment of our life. – Pema Chodron • Eat more berries. Blueberries, strawberries, raspberries and other varieties have anthocyanins that can help reverse some loss of balance and memory associated with aging. – David H. Murdock • Eating alone is a disappointment. But not eating matter more, is hollow and green, has thorns like a chain of fish hooks, trailing from the heart, clawing at your insides. Hunger feels like pincers, like the bite of crabs; it burns, burns, and has no fur. Let us sit down soon to eat with all those who haven’t eaten; let us spread great tablecloths, put salt in lakes of the world, set up planetary bakeries, tables with strawberries in snow, and a plate like the moon itself from which we can all eat. For now I ask no more than the justice of eating. – Pablo Neruda • Every child should have mud pies, grasshoppers, water bugs, tadpoles, frogs, mud turtles, elderberries, wild strawberries, acorns, chestnuts, trees to climb. Brooks to wade, water lilies, woodchucks, bats, bees, butterflies, various animals to pet, hayfields, pine-cones, rocks to roll, sand, snakes, huckleberries and hornets; and any child who has been deprived of these has been deprived of the best part of education. – Luther Burbank • Everyone thinks you’ve been kidnapped,” he said. “We’ve been scouring the ship. When Coach Hedge finds out- oh, gods, you’ve been here all night?” “Frank!” Annabeth’s ears were as red as strawberries. “We just came down here to talk. We fell asleep. Accidentally. That’s it.” “Kissed a couple of times,” Percy said. Annabeth glared at him. “Not helping! – Rick Riordan • For those dependent on their gardens for fresh food, it was often a case of feast or famine… (One settler wrote), “Strawberries were now so plentiful that… I made 287 lbs of jam…” – Bee Dawson • Gooseberries should be mainstream berries! Why are chemically fattened strawberries a thing? Why not the delicious gooseberry? – Andrew Dost • Grapes are juicy. Strawberries. Oranges. Good pork chops are succulent,” said Dusty. “But the word isn’t accurately descriptive of a person.” Smiling with delight, Ahriman said, “Oh, really, not accurately descriptive? Be careful housepainter. Your genes are showing. What if I were a cannibal? – Dean Koontz • Happiness, I have grasped, is a destination, like strawberry Fields. Once you find the way in, there you are, and you’ll never feel low again. – Rachel Simon • He (Darryl Strawberry) is not a dog; a dog is loyal and runs after balls. – Tommy Lasorda • He had kissed her good night that night, and she had tasted like strawberry daiquiris, and he had never wanted to kiss anyone else again. – Neil Gaiman • Her hair was strawberry blond, and she had the shape of a popsicle stick: turn her sideways and she practically disappeared. – Becca Fitzpatrick • Hey baby. You’re sexy like a chocolate strawberry. – Ronnie Shields • I actually think the same things do make most people happy. The differences are extremely small, and around the margins. You like peach ice cream; I like strawberry ice cream. Both of us like ice cream much better than a smack on the head with two-by-four. – Daniel Gilbert • I also eat fruit instead of drinking juices. That’s something I’ve read up on. I think that if you drink a lot of fruit juice you take in way too much sugar. You’d be better off eating a bunch of strawberries or apples. – Kris Humphries • I don’t like it when people ask me what my favourite Beatles song is. I always get that. First of all, I don’t like having to pick a favourite thing anyway. You can’t pick a favourite Beatles song! What about “Strawberry Fields”? What about “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds”? What about “Tomorrow Never Knows”? Come on. That question is small minded to think you could even have a favourite Beatles song. – Kemp Muhl • I eat a huge breakfast every morning – it’s what I look forward to. I’ll do steel-cut oatmeal with blueberries and strawberries, an egg white scramble with mushrooms, zucchini, and onion, and a piece of cinnamon Ezekiel bread with almond butter. I could do that every single day. – Heather Mitts • I finally found something that can stop the fox. The fox cannot summit Strawberry Hill.” – Takumi – John Green • I found a strawberry blossom in a rock. I uprooted it rashly and felt as if I had been committing an outrage, so I planted it again. – Dorothy Wordsworth • I found a strawberry blossom in a rock. The little slender flower had more courage than the green leaves, for they were but half expanded and half grown, but the blossom was spread full out. I uprooted it rashly, and I felt as if I had been committing an outrage, so I planted it again. It will have but a stormy life of it, but let it live if it can. – Dorothy Wordsworth • I grow vegetables – I’m a vegetarian; I’ve got strawberries, artichokes, leeks, broad beans. – Anita Pallenberg • I guess I’ve been waiting so long I’m looking for perfection. That makes it tough. Waiting for perfect love? No, even I know better than that. I’m looking for selfishness. Like, say I tell you I want to eat strawberry shortcake. And you stop everything you’re doing and run out and buy it for me. And you come back out of breath and get down on your knees and hold this strawberry shortcake out to me. And I say I don’t want it anymore and throw it out the window. That’s what I’m looking for.” – Haruki Murakami • I have been 130 lbs. as well as 215 lbs. I have had blond, strawberry blond, green, pink and purple hair, and none of that has ever exempted me from having lewd comments flung at me in the street. – Beth Ditto • I have only to break into the tightness of a strawberry, and I see summer – its dust and lowering skies. – Toni Morrison • I like a much more Japanese style of blood, where it’s red and it almost has a paint kind of quality to it. You can put it on metal, and it has this vividness. Because, normally, what they use in Hollywood is this stuff that looks like strawberry pancake syrup or raspberry pancake syrup. – Quentin Tarantino • I like to make pies. Thats kind of my new obsession – peach, blueberry, apple, strawberry. I make a really good pumpkin pie with real pumpkin. – Morgan Saylor • I love berries. Strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, black berries, anything with an ‘errie’ in it! – Jordin Sparks • I love surprises – champagne and strawberries, all that pampering, romantic stuff. Guys ought to know how to pamper their women properly. – Danica McKellar • I may never be happy, but tonight I am content. Nothing more than an empty house, the warm hazy weariness from a day spent setting strawberry runners in the sun, a glass of cool sweet milk, and a shallow dish of blueberries bathed in cream. When one is so tired at the end of a day one must sleep, and at the next dawn there are more strawberry runners to set, and so one goes on living, near the earth. At times like this I’d call myself a fool to ask for more. – Sylvia Plath • I recycle. I have a house in the south of France and I have a small garden. My name is Dujardin – ‘from the garden.’ I grow carrots, peppers, strawberries, green beans, and things for salads, but there are lots of wild boars all around and they steal the food. – Jean Dujardin • I think drugs are like strawberries and peaches. – Edie Sedgwick • I think drugs are like strawberries and peaches..There’s no way to tell anyone who hasn’t been through it, there’s no way to explain it to anyone who hasn’t tasted it . To keep that superlative high, just on the cusp of each day, so that I radiate sunshine – Edie Sedgwick • I think he became a man who brought peace and wisdom to hi world, because he knew about war and folly. I think that he loved greatly, because he had seen what lost love is. And I think he came to know, too, that he was loved greatly.” She looked at the strawberry in her hands. “But I thought you didn’t want me to tell you your future. – Gary D. Schmidt • I think once I made up my mind that I was allergic to alcohol, and that’s what I learned, it made sense to me. And I think it was kind of pointed out that you know if you were allergic to strawberries, you wouldn’t eat strawberries. And that made sense to me. – Betty Ford • I want you to make u and go halfzies on this cake. K? But. . . I want a piece too, so i guess we’ll have to go thirdzies. . . Awwww, we’re not going to be able to split the strawberry on top though. What should we do? Maybe I should just take it after all strawberries are my favorite. . . oh! I forgot to ask Hiku-chan, Kau-chan do you like strawberries? -Hunny – Bisco Hatori • I would be lying if I said I cut out all dessert. When Im training, I try to satisfy those cravings with a slightly healthier dessert, like a piece of dark chocolate or whipped cream and strawberries. Those are two of my favorites! – Josie Loren • If ‘heartache’ sounds exaggerated then surely you have never gone to your garden one rare morning in June to find that the frost, without any perceptible motive, any hope of personal gain, has quietly killed your strawberry blossoms, tomatoes, lima and green beans, corn, squash, cucumbers. A brilliant sun is now smiling at this disaster with an insenstive cheerfulness as out of place as a funny story would be if someone you loved had just died. – Ruth Stout • If I can’t serve on grass, I can maybe help cut the grass, paint the lines and serve some strawberries. – Goran Ivanisevic • If I want to make – I don’t know – strawberry jam, I’m going to have to add something to strawberries to make it gelatinous and thick, right? I’m going to have to add pectin or something like that.But if I want to make cranberry sauce, all I have to do is pop some cranberries in a little saucepan and when it cools off, it’ll be thick and gelatinous. So what’s up with cranberries? – Ari Shapiro • If you get vegetables in season, the difference is remarkable compared to vegetables that might have been imported. You can’t beat fresh ingredients and seasonal fresh ingredients. There’s nothing quite like the taste of a beautiful summer strawberry. – William Katt • If you keep my secret, this strawberry is yours. – Tsugumi Ohba • I’ll be clickin’ by your house about two forty-five, Sidewalk Sundae Strawberry Surprise. – Tom Waits • I’ll give you this strawberry if you keep it a secret. –L (Death Note) – Tsugumi Ohba • In Bakersfield, California, a Mexican strawberry picker with an income of $14,000 and no English was lent every penny he needed to buy a house for $724,000. – Michael Lewis • in her dreams, blood tasted like fizzy strawberry soda. If you drank it too fast, you got brain freeze. When she was older, after she’d licked a cut on her finger, the taste of that became the taste in her dreams: copper and tears. – Holly Black • Instead of past, present and future, I’d prefer chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. – Ashleigh Brilliant • It’s just another of Robin’s sayings. Like, ‘Holy strawberries, Batman, we’re in a jam! Or, Holy Kleenex, Batman, it was right under our nose and we blew it! – Karen Marie Moning • It’s unarguable to say that every one of us has been moved by the beauty of what I have called snapshots, but for photographers they are charms and proverbs, and like lightening or wild strawberries. – Tod Papageorge • I’ve got it all in here ultra violets, flying saucers, strawberry bootlace come on get involved. – Noel Fielding • John [Lennon] as a singer – the way he sings on “Twist and Shout” and the way he sings on “Strawberry Fields Forever” – is a very odd voice, in the sense that it seems to be celebrating but almost mourning at the same time. There’s a quality of mourning to his voice, which is very enigmatic. – Alasdair MacLean • Kid 1: *examining my gorgeous strawberry and blueberry pies*: Wow, Mom, your pies don’t look awful this time. Me (Ilona): … ~A little later~ Kid 2: *wandering into the kitchen* Kid 1: Hey, you’ve got to see these pies. *opening the stove* Kid 2: Wow. They are not ugly this time. Kid 1: I know, right? – Ilona Andrews • Late February, and the air’s so balmy snowdrops and crocuses might be fooled into early blooming. Then, the inevitable blizzard will come, blighting our harbingers of spring, and the numbed yards will go back undercover. In Florida, it’s strawberry season- shortcake, waffles, berries and cream will be penciled on the coffeeshop menus. – Gail Mazur • Maybe we too busy being flowers or fairies or strawberries instead of something honest and worthy of respect . . . you know . . . like being people. – Toni Cade Bambara • Morning. Strawberry sky dusted with white winter powder sugar sun. And nobody to munch on it with – Francesca Lia Block • My family lived off the land and summer evening meals featured baked stuffed tomatoes, potato salad, corn on the cob, fresh shelled peas and homemade ice cream with strawberries from our garden. With no air conditioning in those days, the cool porch was the center of our universe after the scorching days. – David Mixner • My grandma used to make syrup for us because we couldn’t afford it and I just played around with her recipe. I made strawberry syrup and that didn’t really work out but I made strawberry-vanilla and that sold. Then I just went out and took marketing classes, went to seminars, learned about marketing a product and striking deals. It ended up taking orders of $1.5 million. – Farrah Gray • My guiltiest pleasure is… chocolates with strawberry cream and trashy television – ‘Geordie Shore,’ ‘Katie,’ etc. – Ellie Goulding • My mom wouldn’t let me sing ‘Strawberry Wine’ because it had ‘wine’ in it. – Avril Lavigne • My perfect last meal would be: shrimp cocktail, lasagna, steak, creamed spinach, salad with bleu cheese dressing, onion rings, garlic bread, and a dessert of strawberry shortcake. – Joan Rivers • Oh, the strawberries don’t taste as they used to and the thighs of women have lost their clutch! – John Steinbeck • Once upon a time, when men and women hurtled through the air on metal wings, when they wore webbed feet and walked on the bottom of the sea, learning the speech of whales and the songs of the dolphins, when pearly-fleshed and jewelled apparitions of Texan herdsmen and houris shimmered in the dusk on Nicaraguan hillsides, when folk in Norway and Tasmania in dead of winter could dream of fresh strawberries, dates, guavas and passion fruits and find them spread next morning on their tables, there was a woman who was largely irrelevant, and therefore happy. – A. S. Byatt • One must ask children and birds how cherries and strawberries taste. – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe • One of the joys our technological civilization has lost is the excitement with which seasonal flowers and fruits were welcomed; the first daffodil, strawberry or cherry are now things of the past, along with their precious moment of arrival. Even the tangerine — now a satsuma or clementine — appears de-pipped months before Christmas. – Derek Jarman • Only in Texas can mesquite have its own festival, then there’s a crawfish festival, a festival for strawberries, everything has its own festival, with each town having their own yearly thing. – Kevin Fowler • P.S. May, don’t these strawberry tarts just make you want to cry? – Kiera Cass • Personally I am very fond of strawberries and cream, but I have found that for some strange reason, fish prefer worms. So when I went fishing, I didn’t think about what I wanted. I thought about what they wanted. I didn’t bait the hook with strawberries and cream. Rather, I dangled a worm or grasshopper in front of the fish and said: “Wouldn’t you like to have that?” Why not use the same common sense when fishing for people? – Dale Carnegie • Poetry and music are very good friends. Like mommies and daddies and strawberries and cream – they go together. – Nikki Giovanni • Rice and peas fit into that category of dishes where two ordinary foods, combined together, ignite a pleasure far beyond the capacity of either of its parts alone. Like rhubarb and strawberries, apple pie and cheese, roast pork and sage, the two tastes and textures meld together into the sort of subtle transcendental oneness that we once fantasized would be our experience when we finally found the ideal mate. – John Thorne • Right now I just want to chill for a while. Take a hiatus from all the craziness. To clean my house, see my family. Just see some movies and pick some strawberries. – Lauren Ambrose • She has a laugh so hearty it knocks the whipped cream off an order of strawberry shortcake on a table fifty feet away. – Damon Runyon • She makes use of the soft of the bread for a napkin. She falls asleep at times with shoes on, on unmade beds. When a little money comes in, June buys delicacies, strawberries in the winter, caviar and bath salts. – Anais Nin • Some people tell you you should not drink claret after strawberries. They are wrong. – William Maginn • Sometimes you’ve just got to grab an apple – or grapes, or strawberries. Something that’s healthy but maybe a little bit more adventurous, if you can see fruit as adventurous. – LL Cool J • Soon to come in licorice, orange, cinnamon, and banana, but not strawberry, because I hate strawberries. – Terry Pratchett • Spring is super in the supermarkets and the strawberries prance and glow never mind that they’re all kinda tart and tasteless as strawberries go meanwhile wild things are not for sale anymore than they are for show so i’ll be outside, in love with the kind of beauty it takes more than eyes to know – Ani DiFranco • Strawberries that in gardens grow Are plump and juicy fine, But sweeter far as wise men know Spring from the woodland vine. No need for bowl or silver spoon, Sugar or spice or cream, Has the wild berry plucked in June Beside the trickling stream. One such to melt at the tongue’s root, Confounding taste with scent, Beats a full peck of garden fruit: Which points my argument. – Robert Graves • Strawberry fields forever – John Lennon • Strawberry Fields is anywhere you want to go – John Lennon • Strawberry Shortcake called, she wants her outfit back – Ilona Andrews • Talking of Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand, and with the other holding to my Mouth a Nectarine – how good how fine. It went down all pulpy, slushy, oozy, all its delicious embonpoint melted down my throat like a large, beatified Strawberry. – John Keats • Tell me I didn’t imagine it, Leo. Tell me that even though our bodies were in seperate states, our star selves shared an enchanted place. Tell me that right around noon today (eastern time) you had the strangest sensation: a tiny chill on your shoulder…a flutter in the heart…a shadow of strawberry-banana crossing your tongue…tell me you whispered my name. – Jerry Spinelli • Tell you what I like the best – ‘Long about knee-deep in June, ‘Bout the time strawberries melts On the vine, – some afternoon Like to jes’ git out and rest, And not work at nothin’ else! – James Whitcomb Riley • That pipe, just so happens to lead to the room where I make the most delicious flavored chocolate covered fudge.” Then he will be made into strawberry flavoered chocolate covered fudge, they’ll be selling him by the pound, all over the world!” No, I wouldn’t allow it. The taste would be terrible. Can you imagine Augustus flavored chocolate covered gloop? Ew. No one would buy it. – Johnny Depp • The days were sunny, the nights were star-studded. Indeed married life was strawberries for breakfast and loving all the time. – Marabel Morgan • The mystery of God touches us – or does not – in the smallest details: giving a strawberry, with love; receiving a touch, with love; sharing the snapdragon red of an autumn sunset, with love. – Marion Woodman • The night is a strawberry. – Louise Penny • The only vampires I’ve ever seen are the Goths trying to get a glimpse of Anne Rice’s house, who drink strawberry sodas and tell each other it’s blood. – Sherrilyn Kenyon • The police are asking through the bedroom door, why did I make a batch of strawberry daiquiris before I called them? Because we were out of raspberries. Because, can’t they see, it just does not matter. Time was not of the essence. – Chuck Palahniuk • The public never appears to tire of endless courses of strawberries and cream, and the theory that you run the risk of boring people with endless photo montages of the Chelsea Pensioners in their dress reds, or close-ups of a Pimm’s Cup sprouting all kinda of flora, has yet to be proven. People like Wimbledon in the same way they like blue jeans or even their own spouses: for the pleasure yielded by their reliable sameness. – Peter Bodo • The strawberry grows underneath the nettle And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best Neighbour’d by fruit of baser quality. – William Shakespeare • The thing I learned is that the work is getting done by people who dig in and work on a particular project: the people who spend 20 years sustaining a theater for black teenagers in Chicago; the people who reintroduce sticklebacks into Strawberry Creek in Berkeley and then wait patiently for the first egrets to show up. – Robert Hass • Theirs [the Beatles] is a happy, cocky, belligerently resourceless brand of harmonic primitivism… In the Liverpudlian repertoire, the indulged amateurishness of the musical material, though closely rivaled by the indifference of the performing style, is actually surpassed only by the ineptitude of the studio production method. (Strawberry Fields suggests a chance encounter at a mountain wedding between Claudio Monteverdi and a jug band.) – Glenn Gould • There are certain products that it’s worth buying organic just because the alternatives have so much pesticide. There’s a list of the dirty dozen that you can get off the Web. Strawberries, potatoes. A handful of crops that have very high pesticide residues if you don’t buy organic. If you eat that a lot, that’s a good place to invest. – Michael Pollan • There is a tradition in Southern cooking of recipes handed down for generations. And when I make my grandmother’s strawberry pie I feel her right with me. – Kimberly Schlapman • There is nothing particularly wrong with salmon, of course, but like caramel candy, strawberry yogurt, or liquid carpet cleaner, if you eat too much of it you are not going to enjoy your meal. – Daniel Handler • There was a tale he had read once, long ago, as a small boy: the story of a traveler who had slipped down a cliff, with man-eating tigers above him and a lethal fall below him, who managed to stop his fall halfway down the side of the cliff, holding on for dear life. There was a clump of strawberries beside him, and certain death above him and below. What should he do? went the question. And the reply was, Eat the strawberries. The story had never made sense to him as a boy. It did now. – Neil Gaiman • There’s nothing more satisfying than going to a market and meeting the person who picked the strawberries, or it’s their farm that the strawberries came from, and giving them a fair value in exchange for what they’re giving you. – Billy Corgan • This is really good,” Donovan Caine said, attacking his third strawberry pancake. “You sound surprised,” I said. He shrugged. “I just didn’t think an assassin would be able to cook like this.” “Well, I do get lots of practice with knives. You could say I’m multitasking.” The detective froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. “I’m kidding. I enjoy cooking. It relaxes me. – Jennifer Estep • This Mayagüez gold, my third consecutive with the national team, has a strawberry flavor. – Milagros Cabral • This special feeling towards fruit, its glory and abundance, is I would say universal…. We respond to strawberry fields or cherry orchards with a delight that a cabbage patch or even an elegant vegetable garden cannot provoke. – Jane Grigson • Today While the blossoms still cling to the vine I’ll taste your strawberries I’ll drink your sweet wine A million tomorrows shall all pass away Here I forget all the joy that is mine. Today I’ll be a dandy and I’ll be a rover You know who I am by the songs that I sing I’ll feast at your table I’ll sleep in your clover Who cares what tomorrow shall bring I can’t be contented with yesterday’s glory I can’t live on promises winter to spring Today is my moment and now is my story I’ll laugh and I’ll cry and I’ll sing – John Denver • Truth out of season was sourer than strawberries at Christmas time. – Eleanor Hallowell Abbott • Under the pink Harlequin sunglasses strawberry dangling charms, and sugar-frosted eyeshadow she was really almost beautiful. – Francesca Lia Block • Washington state’s 2nd Congressional District is a major producer of small fruit crops such as raspberries and strawberries. This research center is doing important work to help farmers enhance the quality, yield and marketability of their small fruit crops. – Rick Larsen • We did make use, from time to time, of candles, neckties, scarves, shoelaces, a little water-color paintbrush, her hairbrush, butter, whipped cream, strawberry jam, Johnson’s Baby Oil, my Swedish hand vibrator, a fascinating bead necklace she had, miscellaneous common household items, and every molecule of flesh that was exposed to air or could be located with strenuous search. – Spider Robinson • We do not rejoice in victories. We rejoice when a new kind of cotton is grown and when strawberries bloom in Israel. – Golda Meir • We may say of angling, as Dr. Boteler said of strawberries, Doubtless God could have made a better berry, but doubtless God never did; and so, if I might be judge, God never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation than angling. – Izaak Walton • What do we look for as reward? Some little sounds, and scents, and scenes A small hand darting strawberry-ward A woman’s aprons full of greens. The sense that we have brought to birth Out of the cold and heavy soil, The blessed fruits and flowers of earth Is large reward for our toil. – Ruth Pitter • When I think back about my immediate reaction to that redheads girl, it seems to spring from an appreciation of natural beauty. I mean the heart pleasure you get from looking at speckled leaves or the palimpsested bark of plane trees in Provence. There was something richly appealing to her color combination, the ginger snaps floating in the milk-white skin, the golden highlights in the strawberry hair. it was like autumn, looking at her. It was like driving up north to see the colors. – Jeffrey Eugenides • When strawberries go begging, and the sleek Blue plums lie open to the blackbird’s beak, We shall live well–we shall live very well. – Elinor Wylie • Who puts strawberries in a salad? Seriously, is this a thing now? Is it a thing I don’t know about? Is it an American thing? It can be. It’s freaking me out. – James Corden • Why did she give up wine for Lent? Polly was more sensible. She had given up strawberry jam. Cecilia had never seen Polly show more than a passing interest in strawberry jam, although now, of course, she was always catching her standing at the open fridge, staring at it longingly. The power of denial. – Liane Moriarty • Why the hell are we conditioned into the smooth strawberry-and-cream Mother-Goose-world, Alice-in-Wonderland fable, only to be broken on the wheel as we grow older and become aware of ourselves as individuals with a dull responsibility in life? – Sylvia Plath • You’ve gotta taste the light, like my friend and fellow shooter Chip Maury says. And when you see light like this, trust me, it’s like a strawberry sundae with sprinkles. – Joe McNally

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equitiesstocks · 5 years ago

Text

Strawberries Quotes

Official Website: Strawberries Quotes

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Flesh and fleece, fur and feather, Grass and green world all together, Star-eyed strawberry breasted Throstle above Her nested

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