#the infernal devices box set is calling my name | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tabletoptrinketsbyjj · 2 years ago

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Trinkets, Books, 10: An eclectic library of dusty tomes, fictional textbooks, pocketbooks, paperbacks, hardcovers, booklets, leaflets and magical manuals. Paper leaves and the binding surrounding them can help define a character, kick off a subplot, fuel a fetch quest or simply serve as a generic macguffin. Commonly seen in video games such as Baldur’s Gate, Neverwinter Nights, World of Warcraft and Skyrim, book items are a way to subtly world build while still handing out sellable loot. A wizard has a spellbook, a cleric has a holy text and now you have a trinket list.

An ornamental prayer book of Random Domain with illuminated pages and semiprecious stones.

Ars Optica: An ophthalmic guide that’s treasured by magicians, who read its dull and technical pages not for purposes of spectacle manufacturer, but for the construction of resonance spheres; Pressurized, lensed devices used in the contact of alien realms.

A book the size of a large man's hand, composed of ten plates of blue-black jade mounted in thin silver and bound with black silk lacing. Each plate is inscribed in silver with charts of the night sky.

The Book of Math: What seems like a boring book about maths problems is in fact all about Mathom, the God of Delays, and has this title because the author was distracted and unable to finish said title. It contains all sorts of important information on Mathom and His Priests, but is frustratingly not completely finished, as it seems that the author was unable or unwilling to finish it. Knowledgeable PC’s are aware that the books is very rare, as only a few copies were ever successfully made before first the printing press broke, then the ink supply ran out, and then the printers were raided by the police by mistake, then the building caught fire...

My Life as a Gnome Bodyguard: A moderately-sized autobiography of Mifierwa Cinibnil, a gnome paladin that served as the protector of Queen Evelyn Crystaldown.

A very old book of coastal charts, which has obviously seen heavy shipboard use in the past; the pages are marked and stained and smell faintly of salt. Next to an unnamed island on a map of a distant coast, an unsteady hand has drawn a deaths-head marker and scrawled: “blaydes dont cutt em but fires wil burn em upp.”

Blood Debt Ledger: A small book bound in wolf hide and decorated with the beast's claws and fangs. It has ninety-nine pages, each with nine names inscribed on it. Knowledgeable PC’s can discern that it originally belonged to a hag who used it to record the names of those who owed her a debt.

Tippy's Gardening Tips and Tricks: A farmer's almanac, focusing on the cultivation of herbs and their various medical and culinary uses.

A large instructional manual entitled “195 Easy Projects with Human Skin”. Knowledgeable PC's are aware of its notoriety for its gruesome, yet imaginatively intricate, woodblock illustrations.

A small personal journal penned by a hunter of the supernatural. Although the majority of the pages are too bloodied, dirty, burned or torn to be legible, a cluster of pages near the middle detail the process of an infernal summoning ritual. The book describes that a specific order of fiend can be called into the world by digging a hole in the dead center of a set of crossroads and burying a box containing a picture of the mortal wishing to make the deal, some graveyard dirt, and a bone from a black cat. This specific type of “crossroads demon” looks like a human except for their blood red eyes and are tasked with ‘buying’ souls for Hell through deals with mortals. The demon can grant the summoner’s wish in exchange for ownership over that person's soul, resulting in the person dying and going to Hell to be transformed into a demon upon death.

—Click Here to be directed to the Hotlinks To All Tables post, which provides (As you might have guessed) convenient links to all of the loot and resource tables this blog has.

—Click Here for additional Book Descriptions to give these objects even more personality.

—Keep reading for 90 more books.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

An ornamental prayer book of Random Domain with illuminated pages and semiprecious stones.

My Life as a Gnome Bodyguard: A moderately-sized autobiography of Mifierwa Cinibnil, a gnome paladin that served as the protector of Queen Evelyn Crystaldown.

Tippy's Gardening Tips and Tricks: A farmer's almanac, focusing on the cultivation of herbs and their various medical and culinary uses.

A large instructional manual entitled “195 Easy Projects with Human Skin”. Knowledgeable PC's are aware of its notoriety for its gruesome, yet imaginatively intricate, woodblock illustrations.

A History of Tea: A book bound with tea stained wood that (As its title proclaims) is a comprehensive history of tea, a plant first discovered and cultivated in the Northern land of Awn, where it remains most popular. A History of Tea denotes the conflicts, agricultural developments, and serving preferences surrounding tea over the last two millennia. Helpfully, the book contains a list of all herbs and barks capable of being steeped in addition to black tea. It is a hearty reference document for travelers and adventurers in need of a hot brew, regardless of its origin or quality.

Brobson's Guide to Decoys: A gamesmans' guide, devoted to fishing flies, wooden ducks, and other such beast lures. Written in unceasingly-energetic confidence about their use, history, composition, and construction. A book treasured by hunters of prey both mundane and monstrous, as it contains details for luring both plant-eaters and predators of varied size. Many a fisherman has thanked Brobson for his wooly bugger lure, as have countless cutters for his pattern for false goats, which is much cheaper than buying an actual goat.

A book on the proper ways to do mundane domestic chores written in large simple words similar to a scholarly document. Simple pictures take up many of the pages and it is probably meant to be used as a reference guides to young maids and scullery girls. An extremely perceptive reader will discern the book’s true purpose. When held to the light, hidden writing is exposed revealing a list of assassins, thieves, fences, sellers of illicit goods, safe houses and other black-market connections that can be found in the nearest capital city.

Identification of Irritants; A Gentleman's Guide to Avoiding Discomfort in the Field: A guidebook that proved to be too good for the purposes it was designed for by providing in depth identification guides, descriptions of growing conditions, and technical analyses of the properties of many dangerous plants, including several very rare and incredibly poisonous ones. Someone has scribbled recipes for several dangerous poisons derived from some of these plants in the margins.

A brown, leather-bound tome with the image of a knight emblazoned on the cover. When opened the book contains a riveting story of a knight, a princess, a dragon, and a kingdom in peril.

Practical Exercises for Young Magicians: An instructional book written by Amelia Popper containing intricate finger and voice exercises divided into several dozen etudes for magicians. The book consists of detailed charts and a series of movements that serve as educational practices and introductory techniques to the physical complexity of magic and spell casting. Popper's work has been used throughout many mage academy curriculums as a structured, refined method to spellcasting.

Manual of Flesh Golems: A thick tome imbued with magical properties and stamped with arcane symbols on the cover. The book contains theoretical musings on the construction and control of golems. It goes into some detail on how the reader may construct a servant of assembled, animated flesh which will obey the creator without question.

A small, thick sea captain's journal. Leather bound and filled with dense, near unreadable notes. The cover has a piece of lead shot embedded deep into it from a run-in with pirates.

Magical Bleed and the Effects of Lingering Aura: A tome of arcane theory that introduces and focuses on Sir Bleepin Loopfoodle's Model of Epi-Magical Exchange. The detailed treatise describes how magical leftovers from a spell changes the environment and soul and the impacts can differed based on the nature of the spell. The book contains examples on how intensely supernatural creatures such as venerable dragons, elder aberrations and extraplanar outsiders (Such as celestials, elementals and fiends) passively affect their environment.

The Faerie Queen: A vastly underappreciated collection of Light Cottonstream's poems about the summer court, detailing the queen's affairs, courting at the summer court, and the involvement of love potions.

Wintering with Wizards: A hard-bound, extravagant, lengthy volume chronicling the adventures of the author, Earnest Holcomb, during his stay at a wizard’s school over a long winter. It’s clear to any wizard that the author hasn’t a clue what he’s talking about.

A Comprehensive Encyclopedic Approach to All Things Draconic: A massive and richly illustrated compendium of dragon lore that covers nearly all areas of knowledge pertaining to dragonkind. With various sections devoted to prismatic, metallic, and rare dragon breeds (As well as smaller sections on drakes, half-dragons, dragonborn, and even wyverns) this is likely the most thorough text on the subject. Not many copies of the book exist and it is coveted among collectors and curators alike; finding a copy and the access to read it can be an expensive venture on its own.

Pendlesea's Scroll Compendium of Scrolls: An exceptionally long and somewhat stiff scroll safely kept within the confines of a dark leather scroll container about two feet long and four inches in diameter. The scroll contains the rambling treatise of a slightly crazed wizard named Bidoop Pendlesea. The treatise examines the various uses of scrolls and the not-so-subtle embellishment of their claimed superiority to books by the author.

A brand-new copy of “Volo's Guide to What to Expect When You’re Expecting” with advice and guides on humanoid pregnancy. A big brightly colored “Congratulations!” is written on the inside cover and the chapter summary pages are dog-eared.

A thick wood-bound chapbook of gnomish jokes.

A leather-bound book detailing the complete genealogy of a noble family.

An illustrated travelogue of remote and exotic locations rumored to include sigils for teleportation circles hidden in the text.

A pocket-sized book devoted to the ancestry and heraldry of the vampiric Bloodlines of Erubescence. This copy has been annotated with cutting remarks about the various families, sometimes revealing embarrassing gossip or secrets.

A slightly tattered but complete copy of a rare first printing of the Saga of the Sacred Cauldron, a chivalric romance recounting a quest in the realm of Elfhame involving such colorful characters as Bellstajj the Capacious, Blue-Eyed Molly, Fennrix the Blind, Fun Guy the Barbarian, the Knight of Harts Petalu Morriden, Susurrus Psithurisma, Weevil Stench, Wick the Silent, and the notorious Sparks & Mud.

A stained manuscript containing fan fiction for the popular and long-running Wendolyn the Werewolf sequence of serialized romantic novels.

Noland's Small Book of Portals Vol III: The work contains a collection of fine lithographs of man-made, natural, or magically occurring portals, in good detail as well as their destination. Not all are sized for people to fit through. Many include detailed description and measurements, and might prove useful for a magic user or scholar of the arcane looking to understand the planes and magical travel better; this may be for good or ill.

Seven Jistkan Forms of Ancient Hygh Majiks: A thread-bare tome, with pages that are more dust than parchment. Some of the pages are actually made of papyrus and were literally cut out of scrolls and sewn into this work. The runes described inside are incomplete, and use one ancient, dead language, to transcribe the words of an even older and even deader language that was destroyed by a great volcanic explosion. Most of the time the book is spent on the names of the offspring of the offspring of a myriad of gods, with incomplete glyphs and logograms.

The Case of the Disappearing Daughters: A historical horror novel that is also known as The Mad Queen and her Daughter, this is the true(ish) story of how the once capable ruler Queen Yocasta of Vallermoore went insane after her daughter's death, and how the daughters of her subjects were kidnapped to replace her original daughter and then murdered when they failed to be just like her. In the end the Queen went insane, took her dead, decaying daughter from the royal tomb and had her by her side at all times as if she was still alive.

A small prayer book with a green leather cover and indecipherable notes in the margins.

A large tome bound with unadorned black leather, containing a multitude of jumbled essays, theorems and anecdotes, all of a mystical, slightly odd or perverse nature. The more one reads or uses the book, the more the writing within makes sense but such clarity comes at a horrible price.

Dimensions of Evil; A Guidebook to the Nether Realms: A demonhide bound grimoire written in Infernal that provides information relating to the Lower Planes of the Nine Hells. Dimensions of Evil paints a fairly accurate and unflattering view of the Lower Planes and its inhabitants. Due to its subject matters several faiths of good deities have banned this book and attempt to confiscate any copies that appear. Others encourage their followers to read the book, going so far as to create multiple copies.

The Theory and Application of Force Magic: A tome that provides information relating to spells involving the use of magical force. Many wizards consider Aeroth Blith's book the best reference about force magic ever written. Well organized and clearly written, if a little dry and analytical in places, the tome examines force magic as a mysterious power akin to a fifth element. Copies of this book can often be found in universities and larger libraries that cater to war wizards and battle mages.

Commoriom: A bound manuscript written in symbols barely recognizable as a script. Its pages number in the hundreds, and splitting the book in two is a single engraving upon a thin sheet of metal; a deserted city square surrounded by tall pillars, and in the middle, a hideous, crooked monstrosity squats as it devours his screaming victims. The image is atrocious, but has some weird magnetism, and if one looks upon it for some time, a weak voice in his head says, "Beware the vile offspring of Knygathin Zhaum."

A children’s book filled with stories of long dead heroes and the sacrifices they made to light the path ahead.

De Vermis Mysteriis: A book whose cover is made of black leather with copper insets covered in a green patina. It describes the rituals and tools of priests who seek the worlds that lie beyond. An excerpt of the book reads as follows; "A R'lang is an item that the caster imbues with his soul before travel to the Beyond. To begin, one should find a shell or piece of polished wood on the shore of the ocean. It must be placed in the ground not further than ten paces from the timeline on the 20th day of the lunar month. After exactly nine days, mark the place with two circles and proper signs. Chant thrice the incantation: "Khlu Sya Asa Nmrihg Aym Eghu Akaman" to grant it its powers..."

Chaos Theory; A Calculated Cataclysm: A tattered book that seems to have had numerous pages torn from it and perhaps entire chapters. It is hard to be certain as it seems to have been rebound multiple times.

Druid's Staff Quarterly: An intriguing, regularly published journal that appears to have pages made from thin bark; these pages are jagged and irregular.

Fish are Friends, Not Food: A strange dietitian guide that encourages the reader to choose alternative protein sources to fish.

Grimoire of Devilish Contracting: A worn, leather-bound tome with an oversized silver and gold latch that requires a key to open it. If one can manage to gain access to the text, the reader will find extensive advice on how to broker deals with fiends of the lower planes and get out with one’s soul relatively intact. The volume has no information how to actually summon a devil to bargain with.

It's Hyyyydra-matic!: A peculiar book that contains a bard's tale of encountering a mighty hydra. It contains over 100 uses for various hydra body parts.

Shorthalt's Journal of Awful Limericks: A well-worn, cloth-bound book inscribed with scrawlings of horrific poems, each of which are imbued with enchantment magic. There are also bizarre, childish drawings of humanoids doing various acts of vile behavior.

Tales of a Troglodyte Named Thomas the Truthful: An interesting parable that tells of a Troglodyte named Thomas the Truthful that rose to power in a small Underdark community by virtue of his honesty and good nature.

The Arts Alchemical: A Primer: A strange volume fashioned from the hide of some unidentifiable creature. The vellum pages contained within describe the steps to creating a variety of potions.

These Furry Fellas: A notebook with beautiful calligraphy that describes the types and habits of various small beasts and critters. The accompanying sketches are quite cute.

When Life Gives You Lemons: A simple, single-page pamphlet filled with positive affirmations that emphasize the importance of seizing opportunities.

...And the Bear Says...: A worn, small leather journal that appears to be a naturalist's notes from time spent tracking a family of bears.

A is for Aboleth: A rare copy of the famed children's book. It has simple cartoon pictures and humorous descriptions of monstrous creatures, all the way from A – Aboleth to Z – Zuvembie.

A scuffed and well‐worn text written with manticore blood ink on fine linen paper, bound in aged dried leather. It bears the title “Elementary Principles of the Arcane Instrument”.

Lords of the Pit; a Guidebook to Devils: A beautifully illustrated book, bound in leather with a pentagram on the cover. It describes the various types of devils with dubious accuracy.

Gusty Fintagel’s Most Excellent Miscellany: A cheaply printed chapbook of random facts, lists and bits of trivia. It would be perfect for someone to memorize before a social event and pepper in the information to create an illusion of schooling or worldliness.

An obviously handmade bark‐covered annotated scrapbook filled with rare pressed flowers and herbs, and exotic feathers.

A blue leather folio entitled “The Fey King of Darkwood and Other Tragedies”. It was written by the celebrated bard and playwright Iancu Petronas.

A History of the Lonely Coast: A historical tome written by Brenn Unger, it is a dry account loaded with bias towards the Locher family. The book is of black leather with silver‐bound edges.

The Sampalataya: A leather tube containing a long scroll with carved wooden handles. Told horizontally along the scroll is an illustrated epic poem on the birth of the gods of the distant kingdom of Gopura. Unrolling the scroll slowly tells the story.

A torture manual bound in skin of dubious provenance, featuring disturbing etchings. It was written and illustrated by the notorious Count Vaklav of Treblik.

A heavy tome with a steel scale cover inlaid with carnelians written by Elfric Stonyfist. Entitled “Songs of the Dwarves”, the text contains the traditional versions of classical Dwarven songs as well as detailed stories of their origin.

A spellbook bound in basilisk skin, branded with the arcane mark of the wizard Vaskaren a noted abjurer.

When the Stars are Right: A book roughly bound in mottled purple leather and marked with a large staring eye. Supposedly written by Idris Bahar, it contains insane ramblings about eldritch beings from the alien realms beyond our own.

A book bound in wooden covers, with paintings of flowers and plants decorating the pages. The text contains prayers to the Nature Goddess and details various methods to commune with nature, encourage the growth of plants and speak to animals.

The Poems of Caranthir Greenmantle: A blue leather folio decorated with silver, containing twelve loose sheets, each a handwritten poem.

Decline and Fall of the Hobgoblin Empire: A painfully dry historical text bound in barghest pelt and set with three sapphires.

Common Mycological Meals: A recipe book, all focused around making food out of easily accessible fungi, mosses and mushrooms. Its pages are made out of an unusually textured material with a light-yellow hue.

A gruesome manuscript bound in what is probably dwarfskin, judging by the number of hairs still left on it. The text is written in Infernal and entitled “Sculptors of Men”. Even without being able to read the text, it’s clearly full of anatomical diagrams, runes and sigils, alchemical recipes and handwritten marginalia. Knowledgeable PC’s who can read the text are able to determine that it is a manual on how to create flesh golems and animate them through demonic power rather than through arcane or alchemical means. These changes make the construct much cheaper and easier to animate but with exponentially more risk to the creator’s soul and the ease of which the golem can be controlled.

A cheap-looking book whose cover bears the image of a handsome half-elf with a cheesy grin splitting his face. Titled “Breaking Through” it is an autobiography of the mildly famous bard Shagwyn Starfellow. The story itself is a turgid, self-aggrandizing affair with occasional spelling errors, anecdotes which are exaggerated far beyond belief, unfounded criticism of his siblings and some of the least funny jokes you can remember having been committed to parchment.

A slim volume bound in an orange-red slipcase which feels warm to the touch. Entitled “Elementary Pyromancy” it is written entirely in Infernal. The book contains promisingly detailed arcane symbols, with runes the reader immediately associates with fire and flame.

Entitled “The Atlas of Forever” and the bright blue ink seems to crackle on the page, and the reader immediately senses that the book is old and powerful.

A black board-bound book with bright bands ribbons. It’s partly unreadable with age. You think it says something like “Arcanus”

Hunger More: A book of various legends and fables all of which relate to the origin of the mythical being known as the Frost King. The compilation is entirely written in sylvan and none of the storied are marked as the “correct” version, as if the writer wanted the reader to decide which of them is the true story.

Tome of Solis: A spellbook with leather front and backing. On the front is a gold imprint of a magic circle with an image of a lion in the center of the magic circle. All text inside this book is made with gold and is unburnable.

A manuscript recounting the memories of a dying dwarf folk hero.

A notebook detailing an elvish account of an important treaty being signed over 400 years ago.

A girdle book mounted in cobalt leather backing ermine. The book itself is trimmed with brass tabs but the vellum pages are blank.

A fragmentary diary of a mercenary recruit who was separated from his squad and died in the local area. According to his own scribbled words he took on a mortal wound and has able to hole up, write his last words and will drink his flask of brandy and try to drift off peacefully.

Manual of the Numinous Realms: A book bound in orichalchum, written in silver ink on the finest vellum, and illustrated with strange diagrams that move on their own, the manual describes the interplay of elemental forces and spiritual currents that underlie the illusion we call reality. According to the text, by manipulating these fundamental levers of reality, you may accomplish great feats of magic.

A tome is filled with unintelligible runes from languages long forgotten. If somehow deciphered, it details a theory of magic one practiced by those referred to as the “Mejai” who stole the souls of those who opposed them and bound them within objects giving them great power at the cost of the spirit’s eternal torment.

A large, leather bound, gold trimmed ledger containing the complete financial information of a duke of the nearby kingdom. The archive goes back five years and the information contained within would be extremely valuable to the duke's enemies as blackmail. The duke himself would probably offer a reward of some sort on its discrete return.

A small lexicon of nautical terms.

Travels of a Planeswaler: A cloth-bound book containing lurid tales of seductive genies, underwater cities and fiery snakelike creatures.

A tome with a cover promising one hundred wonderful stories. All but one have been torn out.

A small journal titled “A Guide To Creating A World Without End”. It always smells like the delicious confectionery known as lokum.

The Measure: A massive codex of duties, laws, and crimes, the Measure serves as a guide to a strict, ordered society. The semi-religious text is written and maintained by the militant order known as the Hell Knights. Based upon centuries of legal codes from ancient empires, as well as passages from the strictures of Hell itself, this body of laws extols justness rather than justice.

An evil tome of dark construction with wrinkled patches of rough skin that have been sewn together around plates of some hard material that serves as the cover. Bones from two human hands have been fastened to the binding as if cradling the book. It’s is always bone chillingly cold to the touch as if stealing heat from anyone foolish enough to look inside. When opened, it smells of brimstone and copper. Inside, profane diagrams and hideous illustrations accompany spells penned in some fiendish script. Everything is composed in crimson but not in ink. Those who choose to read from it will discover it the spellbook of a powerful necromancer.

An old book filled with blank pages. Anything written in these books disappears at sunset.

Manifestations Arcanum: A quintessential text written by an archmage from a previous era. This enormous tome outlines the metaphysics of magic, how it works and the divine symbology, sacred geometry and the religious practices involved.

A book with no name, but it holds the true history and ascension of an old but very powerful deity.

The Clouded Mirror: A encyclopedia of portals and other means of interplanar travel, including secret paths between planes that are not normally considered contiguous, ways to reach and navigate the Far Realm, and instructions to find hidden places that are normally inaccessible.

A Deal with the Devil: A tome detailing various historical contracts that have been made with devils. The text goes to great lengths to make it sound as if it were actually very easy to find loopholes in fiendish contracts. Insightful readers suspect that the book may have been written or published by servants of the infernal powers in an effort to lure unwitting souls to believe that they can outwit a demon when the average person is in fact far more likely to lose their soul in an unholy bargain than come out ahead.

Death Eternal: A book written by an ancient dwarven smith famous for making cursed blades. It describes rituals needed to create blades that trap the souls of those killed by them, with the blades growing in strength as the number of souls trapped within grows.

Under The Silver Moon: A hidebound book that contains information on lycanthropy and the effects that it may bestow upon a creature lucky enough to be gifted it. The author makes lycanthropy sound like a REALLY good idea with little to no downsides.

Cooking with Grandma: A seemingly pleasant-sounding cookbook whose first few pages are simple wholesome recipes designed for two people working together. The book was actually written by hags, and the majority of the text goes into great detail explaining how the flesh and bones of older humans can be used to make delicious food.

Fall of Revelation: A heretical tome bound in the skin of the author, Hazeomeel (An angel), it describes the celestial's fall from the heavens because it attempted to use divine prophecy to find which humans could be killed to prevent evil from occurring.

The Endless Litany: A thick tome whose every single page of which is filled with the same phrase repeated over and over again “The end is never the end is never the end is never the end”. Despite this monotony, when a creature starts reading from the first page, they can not stop of their own volition, nor will they ever reach the end no matter how long they spend reading it as the book has an infinite number of pages.

Paradoxomicon: A bound volume of the collected works of a plane-shifter wizard who has dedicated his life to finding loopholes in magic and testing them in parallel planes of existence, collapsing each one of them in doing so.

Jerbe Kendalcanthe's 'Love Elixirs': An alchemical tome detailing the formula and instructions on how to make a highly addictive potion that possesses no benefits other than addiction. The book warns that small villages have been wiped out as every resource is pooled into acquiring the materials needed to produce more.

Into the Labyrinth: A tome bound in red leather emblazoned with the symbol of an open flame stamped in gold leaf on the front cover. In a well-practiced, easily readable handwriting, the author had penned a short warning: “This volume is strictly forbidden from being read, except by those ranked at least Bishop or higher in the Church of The Eternal Heavenly Flame. In it are detailed some of the foulest, most pernicious pieces of magic ever devised. This volume only exists in order to offer ways to defeat these spells, in the off chance these heresies ever resurface and must be confronted again. Be warned, the spells grow progressively more deranged towards the end of the book. The original scribe was driven quite insane by recording them, and ended up having to be committed to an asylum.”

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imherongraystairstrash · 4 years ago

Note

I’ve been thinking about this for a while, do you think Charles,Barbara, Eugenia and Anna were close? Anna maybe less because she’s closer in age to the merry thieves set and she probably ghosted Charles after the Ariadne engagement. Would you consider a fic of them all growing up, starting with them 4 as little kids and then slowly becoming teens and adults and then dealing with Barbara’s death. I think it would be a fun idea since nobody ever considers them to be a older merry thieves.

You can thank my social anxiety for this one bc I stress wrote it in school 🙃

TW: panic attacks, death

Title: When we were young

Characters: Barbara Lightwood, Anna Lightwood, Eugenia Lightwood, Cecily Lightwood, Gabriel Lightwood, Alexander Lightwood, Sophie Lightwood, Gideon Lightwood

Anna was sitting by the fire when Charles came into the room. She hated him. She truly did. But, somehow, at that moment, she felt strange. He looked at her and it took her many years back, to when they weren’t exactly friends, but they were far from what they are now to each other.

…

“And that was how Consul Wentworth fixed the crisis of 1687.” Charles said with a satisfied smile to himself.

The Lightwood girls were his audience. Well, sort of. Eugenia’s cheek was resting on her fist, squishing the right side of her face as her lidded eyes approached shutting completely. Anna was slumped against Eugenia, her lips pressed together tightly and her eyes opened wide, staring at a fixed spot on the floor. Their luminous dark blue glittered in the witchlight, looking exquisitely uncanny. Barbara was mid-yawn, leaning on the leg of a sofa.

“Wow, Charles. Thanks for the history lesson.” Eugenia said, monotonously. It was evident that she’d inherited her mother’s sass from the day she was born, when Barbara had woken her up by exclaiming at the sight of her newborn sister, and Genie responded by pulling her sister’s hair.

“Oh, and in 1690-“

“NO!” All three Lightwood daughters shrieked.

“I’m still not done, though.” Said Charles.

“Yes, you are.” Eugenia said, standing up and settling the matter. “We are positively bored. There is absolutely nothing to do except listen to Charles talk about politics, and if those are the only two options, frankly, I’d rather be bored.”

Charles crossed his arms. “Being an intellect is not boring.”

Little two year old Anna looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

“I swear, Thomas is having a better time than we are,” Eugenia said glaring at to where their parents were, with the tiny, almost invisible baby nestled in Gideon’s arms, his fingers wrapped around Sophie's thumb. The parents were all laughing about something, which made Eugenia scowl even more.

“To be an adult.” Barbara said, with a martyred sigh.

“We needn’t be adults to have fun.” Charles said.

“I suppose you’re going to torture us with more political trivia.”

“No,” Charles said. “I was going to suggest we go through the attic.”

The girls looked up at this and Charles smirked, clearly proud of himself at having come up with a good idea. For once.

“What is in the attic?”

Charles shrugged. “I don’t know, but there’s probably strange and obscure things. There’s a lot of that kind of stuff in our house.”

Barbara and Eugenia exchanged a look before the eldest Lightwood sister turned to him.

“We shall go and discover this mysterious attic you speak of.”

…

“What could this even be?” Barbara said, holding up a loose gear-like contraption.

“Papa sometimes builds things out of clockwork.” Charles said, sitting cross legged. “Or, he used to at least.”

“That’s…”

Genie and Charles looked at Barbara as she trailed off.

“Nevermind, I have no comment.”

Charles nodded as though that was a common reaction people had in terms of his father’s experiments.

They rummaged through boxes upon boxes, finding momentos they didn’t understand such as papers upon papers of things that said many difficult words. They could distinguish a couple of words such as “infernal” and “devices”, however there were many that made no sense to them.

“What is a Mortmain?” Asked Genie.

“I think it’s an undead horse or something along those lines,” said Charles.

“Oh,” said Eugenia. “That’s disgusting.”

“Quite,” agreed Barbara.

Anna was toddling around the room, giggling. She almost tripped over a loose floorboard, and would have, had Charles not reached out and grabbed a hold of the back of her dress.

“This is too dangerous for a small child like Anna,” Barbara said, ever the mother-goose. “I shall take her downstairs before she hurts herself.”

Anna protested at first, but acquiesced once Barbara bribed her with the promise of dessert.

…

“What are you doing here?” Anna asked.

He looked up, his green eyes meeting her blue ones.

…

Charles remembered that day like it was just yesterday.

He and Eugenia had stayed behind rifling through boxes, which wasn’t unwelcome, as Eugenia and Charles had an easy, lighthearted and, at times, profound, friendship. Despite their age gap, they enjoyed each other’s company, though neither could say why. Perhaps, it was simply because they mocked each other. Or perhaps, it was sometimes they would occasionally talk about things such as philosophy, and whether what they were seeing was true, or the world was just a figment of their imaginations. Or a mixture of the two; they’d never really discussed it.

Eugenia surprised him when she said, “do you ever feel… different from your parents?”

Charles furrowed his brows, “in what aspect?”

“Love.”

“Have you a suitor?” Charles inquired, intrigued.

“No. Actually, that was my question. I find that, sometimes, I don’t only enjoy the idea of a male suitor, but perhaps, I also enjoy the company of a woman. Perhaps.” She pressed her lips together tightly, as if forcing herself to stop speaking.

Charles looked at her, his bright green eyes wide. “I-um-…”

“But I’m not sure, of course.” Eugenia blurted out. “It’s not as if shadowhunters are precisely fond of that particular preference or-“

“Do you really think they wouldn’t like it?” Charles asked, softly. “Do you believe they will reject those who are like that?”

Eugenia looked down. “I’m afraid I’m most sure of it.”

Charles had then realized that he couldn’t have both. There was no way around it.

He knew his parents were happy and that love made them complete. However, they didn’t have to choose. They could be married and the idea wouldn’t affect their respective occupations. Charles, on the other hand, couldn’t be Consul and have the kind of love he wanted. He almost resented them because of it. They were able to do what they loved and nobody forced them to pick between one or the other.

It was unfair. So incredibly unfair.

“I guess you better get rid of your feelings towards women than.” He said simply, “unless you’re willing to let something as simple as love get in the way of your dreams.”

“Dreams?” Eugenia asked, looking confused and a tiny bit hurt.

But Charles got up to go back downstairs to his parents, aunts and uncles.

…

Charles slumped down in a chair and dug his fingers into his hair.

“She was just here.” He said quietly. “Babs, was just here.”

Anna felt sudden rage. “You are not allowed to mourn her.”

Charles looked up. “Just because you don’t like me doesn’t mean I can’t be sad. She was my cousin too. Perhaps not by blood, but she was still a cousin.” He pressed his lips together angrily and stared fixedly at the witchlight stone that was illuminating the room.

Anna, however, couldn’t find it in her to be diplomatic; she got up and left the room.

…

Anna had never seen Eugenia look this way. She was always put together, posh. But now, she looked hollow. Like a shell of who she used to be. Anna wanted to go up to her, to say something, but she felt lost for words. What did you tell someone who lost a dear sister? If Anna felt sorrow, she couldn’t imagine what Eugenia was feeling.

Her head was tilted upwards, looking up at the pyre where the corpse of her sister lay. Tears were streaming down her face, rolling down her cheeks, throat and chest, leaving streaks on her face that looked like the roots of a tree.

Sophie had her arm around her daughter. The sight of the four of them was very strange. There was a gap missing where Barbara should have been. She suddenly felt a hand take hold of her own. She looked to her right and saw her mother looking straight ahead, squeezing her daughter’s hand. Her father was looking down, holding Alex. Her baby brother was one of the few who looked up at the cousin who’d taught him to play simple songs on the piano, and had always let him sleep in her arms on New Year's eve.

She didn’t know what he must have been thinking now, staring up at the pyre.

Though, to be fair, she didn’t quite know what to think herself, as she looked up at the cousin who’s life was cut far too short.

…

Eugenia’s body didn’t feel like her own. She hadn’t felt this body was her own for a while. Even since Augustus and the secret she’d kept to herself.

This was somehow worse. To be torn away from your best friend, whom you’d shared a room with almost your entire life. Eugenia didn’t know how to live in a world without Barbara. Sometimes, in the rare moments when she forgot about her sadness, she’d call her sister’s name, ready to tell her about what had happened in her novel. Or find herself walking to Barbara’s room without thinking and then staring blankly at the door that has remained shut ever since the day she passed away.

A couple of weeks ago, she’d found a letter Barbara had sent her when she’d been in Idris. It was in between her copy of Jane Eyre. She couldn’t bring herself to read it in its entirety, but she stared at the signature blankly.

Suddenly, she got the urge to run. So she ran. That’s how, an hour later, she’d gotten a small tattoo under her ankle that said “Sincerely, your favorite sister Babs.”

It felt right to have Bab’s signature there, we’re only she could see. It made her feel accompanied everywhere she went, even though nobody else could see.

Now, looking up at the pyre, her face tight from tears she’d left to dry, her mother weeping silently, she could almost imagine that her sister was there, simply caught in a slumber and that she’d wake up at any moment and come tumbling down, throwing herself in Eugenia’s arms.

Any moment now, she thought when the pyre burst into flames.

“Ave atque vale, Barbara Lightwood.” The crowd said at once.

Eugenia shook her head and swayed on her feet. Her breathing became heavy and her fingers began prickling. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. No nononono.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, vaguely that it was her father’s.

Not Barbara.

Not Babs.

“Calm down, Genie.”

Not her sister. Her sister couldn’t possibly be up there.

“Breathe Eugenia.”

She wanted to scream that she couldn’t, that she’d never breathe again, as long as her sister wasn��t breathing with her. Why did she have to live? She would have much preferred that Barbara live in her stead.

The world was numb and fractured, never to be fixed again.

…

(Don’t worry, Gideon was able to help Genie after the fic ends bc he’s the best dad)

Tagging: @tsccreatorsnet @atla-lok143 @rinadragomir @youngreckless @autumnangel20 @julemmaes @cupcakesandkittens @no-scones-allowed @ninacarstairss @stxr-thxif @writeforjordelia @icouldnotask @jordeliasupremacy @cordelia-cardale @will-effing-herondale @axoloteca @heronstairs2014 @ilovemanicures @ti-bae-rius @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @readersconfessions812 @nightshade3465 @livvyheronstairs @zemiraa @proudtobealuthor @neurogliadudette @theenchanteddreamer @cheeseandmacarons

If you want to be on my tag list, or if you changed your url recently and your not in the tag list anymore, let me know! Also, if you want to be removed, send me a dm! I won’t be offended in the slightest :) Oh, and if you asked to be on the tag list and you’re not on it, please tell me (I’m very absentminded lol).

#tsc #tlh #eugenia lightwood #barbara lightwood #charles buford fairchild #gabriel lightwood #anna lightwood #cecily lightwood #cecily herondale #tlh fanfic #tlh fanfiction #the last hours #tid #sophie lightwood #gideon lightwood

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knightofthecourt · 5 years ago

Text

Love Bites - Chapter 8

Belatrice Gray was a TA at Belgrave University, working hard to stay on top of her marking and trying not to flunk her own studies, when a night out with her bff Randall and his roommates, changed everything.

Hamish Duke x OC fiction with fluff, romance and angst. OC description has been left out to allow for reader personalisation!

“Stupid, stupid, STUPID.” The vending machine shook as Bela whacked the side of it, earning her a dirty look from a young, blonde woman sitting at the table across from her in the student lounge.

She gave the machine another thump and her packet of Cheetos fell forward a fraction of an inch, and then stopped. Bela didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or give the irritating box a good solid kick.

“Wow, nothing gets a woman going like a faulty vending machine.” Randall joked as he joined his friend in front of the infernal device. “Don’t worry Bels, I’ve got you covered.”

He reached into his satchel and pulled out a Twix. As Bela took it with a small ‘thanks’, her eyes were suspiciously glassy. Randall grimaced, “Bad day?”

“Bad month.” Bela replied.

“Still on for our epic film night?”

Bela nodded. “When have I ever said no to The Princess Bride? We can grab snacks on the way to mine.”

As they walked Bela felt herself relax slightly, letting Randall’s easy chatter drown out the sounds of the students around them.

“We thought we’d celebrate the end of finals but Jack was busy with Alyssa again, like always - must be a Tuesday, right? I wanted to go to B&C but Lil insisted on going to that new bar down the road, the one with all the bikers-”

Bela nodded in sympathy, unwrapping her Twix.

“And then we got SO drunk, Hamis-” Randall broke off suddenly.

Bela looked at him. “You can say his name, Randall.”

“I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Who’s upset?” Her eyes flashed. “It’s totally normal to sleep with someone who ditches you in their apartment and then ignores you for three weeks straight. The kids call it being ‘ghosted’ Randall, and it’s a normal part of the college experience.”

Catching the look on her friend’s face she forced her expression into something she hoped resembled a smile. “Really,” she insisted, “I’m over it.”

“Yes, of course you are - I’m totally convinced.”

Bela had been trying her hardest to avoid drawing her friend into her little pity party over Hamish. She’d had her feelings hurt before by a guy - by a dozen guys, but this time it stung more than she wanted to admit. When Bela had woken alone in Hamish’s apartment with sore legs, a sore neck and, well, sore all over, she had been surprised. A few days and three unreturned texts later she’d been worried. After Randall had awkwardly confirmed over coffee, that Hamish was in fact, alive, she had been furious.

Despite hitting all of the usual heartbreak remedies - romcom binges, a rather satisfying round of axe throwing at the hipster place round the corner, and just plain, wallowing - Bela’s feelings were as raw as they had been weeks ago. As much as she wanted to, she just wasn’t moving on.

She’d quickly realised that talking to Randall was off the cards. He was her friend, but he was also Hamish’s friend. When she attempted to casually bring up the situation, his insistence that it was just a difficult and complicated situation (which he couldn’t explain to her), just made her feel worse. Besides, it wasn’t fair for her to put him in the middle of what was quickly turning into a bizarre and deeply depressing, failed romantic conquest.

The final straw had been last Monday. She’d been walking home from class, distracted by the thought of another late night grading papers, when she rounded a corner and almost ran head-first into him. The countless nights spent imagining what she'd do if she saw Hamish did little to prepare her. There was no apology, no awkward exchange or attempt to excuse his abrupt absence from her life, Hamish had just turned on his heels and walked off in the opposite direction, leaving Bela, and a very confused Randall and Lilith in his wake.

Once they’d all recovered from the moment, Lilith and Randall had offered to help carry the papers back to her apartment, but Bela politely and firmly refused.

Instead she walked the 15 minute journey home, closed her front door on the outside world and then, after setting the papers neatly on her coffee table, burst into tears.

“Bels,” said Randall, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Mmhm?”

“I don’t think you’re fine.” He reached over and prised the mangled chocolate bar from her fist. “Blade and Chalice?” He suggested.

“Yes, please,” Bela said with a weak smile.

- - - - -

“You’re gone and I gotta stay high, all the time, to keep you off my mind, ooOo-hoo, ooOoo-hoo.” Gabrielle warbled from a stage in the corner of the packed bar.

“You didn’t tell me it was karaoke night.” Bela rolled her eyes as the brunette milked the spotlight for all she could.

“She sounds like an angel.” Randall slurred, pouring himself another beer.

Bela squinted at him. “Do you have a crush on Gabrielle?”

“Pffft,” Randall blinked a few times, trying to focus on the stage, “She does sing it well though…”

“Right, I’m cutting you off.”

“Nooooo, hells bells-ha! Bels. Get it?”

“Yes,” Bela sighed, “I get it.”

Randall frowned. “But you’re not laughing.”

“That’s because it wasn’t funny.”

Randall grabbed his chest. “You wound me Bela. And to think I thought of you as my friend.”

“A real friend would get us a refill from the bar.” Bela shook the empty pitcher.

As Randall stumbled across the room she looked around. The Blade and Chalice was packed with students, regulars and - was that? Yep - even a few professors. They’d managed to snag a table by the door when they got there but as the hours ticked on the place had quickly filled up and was now almost uncomfortably busy. The promise of cheap beer and bad karaoke clearly drew a big crowd and though it wasn’t Bela’s usual idea of a good night, she couldn’t deny that sitting here with her friend, downing drinks and mocking the performances was actually proving to be a pretty decent distraction.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“Is it more beer?”

Randall placed the pitcher on the table between them. “No, well yes. But also I signed us up for a song.”

“Oh great, so we can be the drunk idiots everyone’s making fun of?”

“C’mon Bels, it’s just a bit of fun. Let’s do something funnnnnnn, for once in our lives! No one cares, they’re all at least five beers deep anyway.”

Bela huffed. He had a point.

“Fine, but I’m not singing a ballad.”

Randall did a happy dance and dragged Bella up to the stage. As the first chords of Now or Never by Halsey began, Bela grimaced.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Randall.”

“Big smile doll, it’s showtime!” He launched into the first verse. “I don’t wanna fight right now. Know you always right. Know I need you round with me, but nobody waitin’ round with me.”

Bela groaned as he smiled in encouragement. “Been through the ups, yeah the ups and the downs with me. Got a whole lot of love, but you don’t wanna spread it round with me.”

“Let’s take it to the chorus!” Randall shouted into the mic. Bela smiled at her friend, he was clearly having the time of his life.

Randall’s voice joined hers as they sang together, “Baby gon’ love me now, now, now, now, now or never. I want you to hold me down, down, down, down, down forever.” Randall shook his hips, eliciting a chorus of cheers and whistles from the crowd.

Bela giggled, for the first time in ages she was actually kind of enjoying herself. The beer gave her a fuzzy, comfortably numb feeling and as she watched Randall crooning into his mic, dancing provocatively in front of the crowd she couldn’t help but grin. When he noticed her smiling he grabbed her hand and twirled her round. They finished their song with a flourish and made their way off the stage.

As they stepped down Gabrielle approached Randall. “Nice dance moves,” She said, leaning close to him and batting her long lashes. “Want to buy me a drink?”.

He looked at her like a deer caught in headlights for a second and then remembered why he was in the bar in the first place. “Uh, I’m hanging with my bestie tonight.”

Bela rolled her eyes and leaned over to him. “Are you crazy? Go have fun - I’m fine!”

“No, I’m not leaving you alone”.

“Don’t be an idiot. Tonight was awesome, consider me cheered up! Now go.” She gave him a gentle shove in Gabrielle’s direction. He flashed her a hasty thumbs up and mouthed wish me luck, before following her to the bar.

Bela smiled to herself, Gabrielle was going to eat that boy alive.

She was making her way back to the table to grab her bag when she bumped into someone coming from the direction of the bar.

Lilith swore loudly as the glasses she was holding splashed over, catching the front of her jeans. “Seriously? I just got these, watch where you’re going, you drunk- oh. Shit. Hi”. Lilith looked up, her anger fizzling when she recognised Bela.

Oh God, Bela thought, if Lilith was here did that mean…?

As if she could read her mind, Lilith raised the glasses. “Uh…I’m just here for a nightcap.”

Bela eyed the drinks - a beer and a scotch. “Both of those for you?”

“Yep. What? Now only men can be alcoholics?”

Bela felt the effects of the beer evaporating quickly, along with her good mood. She didn’t really want to spoil her first good night in ages and the last thing she wanted right now was to start an argument with Hamish’s aggressively possessive bff. “Ok, sure. Have fun.”

Bela grabbed her bag and coat and headed towards the door, just as the bell above it chimed.

She noticed Hamish before he saw her. He was wrapped in a thick coat, buttoned up against the cold, distracted by the phone in his hand. Lilith shoved past her, approaching him quickly.

“Haim, sorry I didn’t realise - Randall said they were going to be at-”

He looked up to the sound of her voice, in confusion, before his eyes slid over past her shoulder and locked with Bela’s.

Bela watched in shock as he snarled - actually snarled - at Lilith and then turned and walked straight out of the bar.

Lilith huffed and slammed her drinks down on the closest table. “Really! Again?”

#the order #hamish duke #hamish duke x reader #hamish duke x oc #randall carpio #lillith bathory #werewolf #the knights of st christopher #the knights of saint christopher #love bites

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wistfulcynic · 6 years ago

Text

Their Way By Moonlight: A Winding Path (Chapter 1)

Summary: A new curse has fallen on Storybrooke and this time the Saviour is trapped inside it, deliberately separated from her son and anyone else who might help her break it. But what no one knows --including her own cursed self-- is that she and Hook are soulmates, working together within their shared dreams to find a way to break the curse and free everyone from the clutches of evil yet again. (Alternate 3B, set in the What Dreams May Come universe)

Rating: A hard M

a/n: A little taster of my new project! This one will likely update slowly. Let me know what you think!

Tagging: @teamhook @wellhellotragic @rouhn @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @darkcolinodonorgasm @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @let-it-raines @bonbonpirate @thejollyroger-writer

Anyone wishing to be added to or dropped from this tag list, please let me know!

Read it on AO3

Chapter 1: A Winding Path

The road wound through the woods, a pale streak through the darkness, dimly illuminated by the ancient headlights of an equally ancient blue pickup. Rusty around the edges and stiff in the door hinges, but with a well maintained engine that purred reassuringly in the heavy darkness of the night, the truck had been expressly chosen for its nondescript reliability. Behind its wheel a man worked the gearshift with his right hand —the only one he possessed— steering the vehicle using a special prosthesis fitted into the brace on his left wrist. When the road straightened again the man shifted in his seat, rolling his shoulders and flexing his legs, trying to stretch his stiff muscles. Driving an automobile was not unlike steering a ship in many ways, he reflected, but the hours of sitting did put rather a strain on his old bones.

He glanced over at the boy in the passenger seat, curled up in it in a way that seemed uncomfortable, his head propped awkwardly against the window. His brown hair was mussed and sticking to the glass and the man noticed with a mixture of amusement and exasperation that he still had that infernal beeping device clutched in his hand. Even in sleep he couldn’t let the thing go.

He looked like his father when he slept, the man thought, though when awake his expressive face and eyes always recalled his mother.

As the man steered the truck around another curve, lights from a motel and rest stop appeared on the left. It might be a good idea to stop for the night, he thought, refuel the truck and get some proper rest. According to the navigational device he’d rigged to the dash they weren’t much more than two hours from their destination and he judged it preferable that they arrive the next morning; their appearance was bound to cause enough of a stir without them turning up in the middle of the night.

He pulled into a parking spot in front of the motel, and shook the boy awake.

“Wha— where are we?” he asked, blinking sleepily in a way that reminded the man painfully of his mother.

“We’re going to stop here for the night, lad,” the man replied. “Get some sleep, in a proper bed. I’m going to go secure us a room, you collect the luggage.”

“’kay Dad.”

The man smiled.

...

“I need a room for the night, please. Two beds.”

“How many occupants?” The man behind the motel desk tapped at his computer, not looking up.

“Two. Myself and my son.”

“Where’s the boy now?” asked the desk clerk, still tapping.

The man’s thick eyebrows snapped together at this invasive line of questioning, but he’d learned that staying inconspicuous meant putting up with a number of things that would have triggered him to take violent action in his old life. “He’s in the truck.”

This appeared to be a satisfactory response for the desk clerk was silent for a moment, tapping away, apparently engrossed by whatever he saw on his screen.

“You got some ID?”

The man handed over his driver’s license, his breathing calm and heart rate steady as the clerk examined it and recorded the information on his screen. He had no need to worry. If anyone were going to spot the fraud of the small plastic card it would not be this man behind the desk. The forgery was an excellent one, and the man’s recent experiences had confirmed his suspicion that the people of this realm would only look closely at a card when they had some reason to suspect that the bearer intended to misuse it. The nearest thing to critical assessment he had yet encountered was a woman who’d informed him that the picture was far too flattering to be real. His heart had stuck in his throat for a moment before he’d realised she was attempting to flirt.

The clerk handed his license back and tapped for a further minute or two before reaching behind him and grabbing a key off a hook attached to the wall. “One room for one night, two double beds. Here’s your key.” He handed it over, and the man felt a wave of relief that it was a heavy, substantial metal one, and not one of those flimsy bits of plastic that he never failed to struggle with. “Checkout’s at eleven.”

“We’ll be gone well before then. Cheers,” he replied, taking the key.

“You a Brit, then?” asked the clerk, looking at him for the first time.

“Aye.” That seemed to be the consensus of this realm based on his accent and speech patterns, and he knew that when one was trying to remain inconspicuous it was best to quietly meet expectations.

“London?”

“Bristol.” His research suggested that the historic English naval port was the closest thing this realm possessed to the city where he had attended the naval academy, a city long since lost to the sands of time. Although the haze of that same time had settled heavily on the memories of his years there, far more heavily indeed than his youthful face would suggest, he recalled them as some of the happiest of his life. Bristol seemed a fitting point of origin for the man he was claiming to be.

“Huh,” grunted the desk clerk, his brief spark of interest clearly extinguished.

The man nodded and returned to the truck where the boy was waiting, a suitcase, duffel bag, and battered leather satchel at his feet. The man slung the satchel over his shoulder and scooped up the duffel with his blunted left arm, leaving the boy to handle the wheeled suitcase. “Room 5, lad,” he said, then indicating the suitcase “Are you okay with that?”

“Yes,” sighed the boy, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He always took the suitcase and always had to reassure the man that he could handle it.

The man opened the door with ease, thankful again for the style of the key, and automatically tossed his bags on the bed closest to the door. Once they were securely locked in the room, with the curtains tightly drawn, he withdrew a large, gleaming hook from the satchel, clicking it firmly into his brace and sighing in relief. He had come to appreciate many of the wonders of this realm, including the remarkable medical technology, but as impressive as the new mechanised, lifelike prosthesis buried in the duffel bag was, nothing carried deadly reassurance quite like his hook. The likelihood of anyone, or anything, having followed them on their winding path from New York was slim, but he was taking no chances.

The room they found themselves in was both odd and familiar, with the grim, grimy aspect shared by the many others they had inhabited on their journey— the stiff and serviceable bedding, the solid furniture, the black box whose controlling devices were barely functional all exactly what he had come to expect. Yet something in this room called to much older memories of a more faraway place. Something about the pattern on the bedspread, the colours of the walls and curtains, the large iron tub in the bathing area, the old-fashioned key. Perhaps the influence of their destination was more far-reaching than they had expected, the man thought. Perhaps some of it was seeping out.

The boy removed his coat and scarf, hanging them carefully on a hook by the door as the man watched in approval. He wheeled the suitcase over to the far bed then flopped himself down upon it, still holding his beeping device but not looking at it. The man could sense he had something on his mind, and waited.

“How much farther is it?” the boy inquired, after a long silence.

“Another two hours or so.”

The boy nodded, but did not move.

“Are you sure you’re prepared for this, lad? You know it won’t be—”

“It won’t be easy, I know. We’ve talked about it enough. I’m ready.”

“It’s okay to be nervous, you know. I certainly am.”

“At least you’ve seen her recently.”

“Not the her we’ll see tomorrow. It’s going to be painful, meeting that her.”

“I know, Dad—”

“You know with your head, but you may still be surprised by the reaction of your heart.”

The boy sighed, suppressing another eyeroll, for which the man was grateful. His mother would certainly not have suppressed it.

“You should get some sleep, lad. Would you like to use the bathing room first?”

“Bathroom, and yeah, thanks.”

He slid off the bed and headed for the bathing area, careful not to leave his device behind, the man noted with an internal sigh. He picked up the controllers for the black box —the television, he reminded himself with a grimace. Appalling name. Nothing good ever came of blending Latin and Greek— and fumbled with them for a moment before identifying the correct sequence of buttons to turn it on and locate a channel broadcasting the local news. His hand clenched on the controller as anxiety twisted and rose in his gut, gripping his throat tightly for long minutes before slowly, gradually relaxing as the broadcast revealed that nothing out of the ordinary had occurred that day —if one discounted the seagull that had taken over the pet food aisle of a supermarket and forced its closure, that is. The man discounted it.

Further exploration revealed that the television was able to receive precisely five and a half channels. One was showing the news, another a comedy programme he had never found amusing, the third a film he and the lad had watched some months ago. The fourth and fifth channels featured the baffling athletic ritual known as “football,” and the half appeared, from the audio, to contain some rather explicit sexual activity, though the blurred and flickering images failed either to confirm or deny. The man observed this in amusement for a moment or two before recalling that the boy would be finished with his ablutions soon, and turned the television off. This realm’s peculiar attitude to sex was something he doubted he’d ever grow accustomed to.

Pulling a thick book from his satchel, he lay back against the pillows and read until the boy reappeared, clad in his pajamas and still clutching his device. He crawled into his bed and fiddled with the device for a few seconds before placing it on the table next to his head. “I’ve set the alarm for seven,” he said.

The man knew he would awaken naturally well before that hour, but he nodded. “That will give us plenty of time,” he replied. “Get some sleep now, lad.”

“Mmmmm,” said the boy, his eyelids already drooping. The man watched him until he was fully asleep and snoring softly in a way that sent another brief stab of agony through the man’s heart. The boy’s mother made that exact noise when she slept.

Once assured the lad was asleep, the man retreated to the bathing room, drawn by the large, surprisingly ornate bathtub, wrought in iron with clawed feet and gracefully curved copper piping. He fiddled with the taps, pleased when hot water gushed forth at a generous rate. As the tub filled the man removed both his clothes and the heavy leather brace strapped to his left arm. He was going to have to wear the prosthesis for their arrival the next day so he may as well give the old stump a good clean, he thought, with the merest trace of his old bitterness. He slid into the faintly steaming water, sighing as its heat eased the ache and strain from his muscles. There were days when he could swear he felt every one of his years, even if he decidedly did not look them.

Tomorrow, he feared, would likely be one of the hardest days of his life. And for him, that was truly saying something.

He sighed again, deeper this time, closing his eyes as he leaned his head back against the curve of the tub. He forced his mind to clear, forced away the thoughts of the day he both craved and dreaded, allowed himself to be soothed by the gentle lapping sounds against the sides of the tub as the warmth of the water and the strain of the day lulled him into sleep.

He is in a large, airy room painted in dusty blue with creamy trim. Wide bay windows with generously cushioned seats below them stand open on one wall, the breeze that flows through them bearing the crisp and salty scent of the sea. At the centre of the room is a large bed with a sturdy wrought iron frame and the softest mattress he’s ever known. Curtains billow around the bed and at the windows, light linen ones that match the room’s wooden trim. The sheets are cool and smooth, and she is there upon them.

“I wasn’t expecting this tonight,” he says, sliding into the bed and taking her in his arms, the heat of her skin a delightful contrast to the sheets. She sighs in contentment and nuzzles her nose into his neck.

“I wanted to see you before you arrive tomorrow,” she says. “To— to warn you about something. Something I think you need to know beforehand, so you don’t overreact and spoil the plan.”

“I think I can be trusted to carry out a plan,” he grumbles.

“Of course you can, but you do have a temper, babe.”

“Aye,” he agrees. “I do at that. So what is this something?”

“It’s—” she begins, but the words seem to stop in her throat. “I’m— It’s about my— my—” She struggles visibly and he wishes he could help, but he knows he can only be patient. “It’s how I’m— argh, damn it, no, I can’t say it.” She looks distraught for a moment as she tries to work out how to tell him what she needs him to know, without telling him. “Just be prepared for my— my personal circumstances to be not quite what you expected,” she says finally, clearly frustrated with herself.

He’s not surprised that she was unable to say what she wished to. They have learned that the dreams allow them to discuss anything, so long as they both already know what it is. Conveying new information, however, may be done only obliquely, and with caution. He holds her close, stroking her hair in a way he hopes is reassuring. “I don’t really have any expectations to speak of, love. We’ve tried to prepare for anything, the lad and I. But I’ll keep that in mind.”

She relaxes and snuggles closer and for a moment he pushes it all away, the worry, the anxiety, the anger, and just relishes this, her, this miraculous thing they share that allows her to be in his arms despite the hundreds of miles that separate them. He wants to stay there forever in the peaceful place they made for themselves alone, wants the monsters and demons and villains that plague them to vanish away and just let them be. Let them have their love and their boy and their life. It’s all he wants. He holds her tightly against him, treasuring the smell of her skin and the feel of her hair, knowing that the next time he sees her will break his heart.

“I love you,” she murmurs, reading his mind. “Don’t ever forget that.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise me,” she says fiercely. “Promise me you won’t give up, no matter how hard it gets.”

He wonders if he should be insulted, but realises that the plea is more for herself than for him. “I promise you, my love,” he says firmly, “I promise I will never give up on you, on us. I couldn’t. I would die first.”

She nods, then kisses him, her passion tinged with anxiety. “Make love to me,” she demands, and he chuckles. She is beautiful when she’s bossy. He kisses her, open-mouthed and hot, as his hand buries itself in her hair and he drags his handless wrist down the curve of her body, pressing it between her legs, right on the spot that makes her moan. She’s brought him here without the hook, despite how much she loves the cool metal on her skin, and he knows that means she wants it soft and slow and blisteringly intense.

She bucks her hips against his wrist, moaning at the friction of the roughened scars against her clit, and he watches her. Watches her eyes flutter closed and her face flush pink with pleasure. She’s hot and dripping wet against him and he loves it, loves making her fall apart just with this, but tonight he wants to be inside her when she comes. He pulls his wrist away, chuckling at her whimper of protest, and pulls her mouth back to his, kissing her deeply, his tongue dancing with hers in the way he knows makes her wild with need. He could write books on how to pleasure her, give seminars on the subject, and he brings all of his knowledge to bear as he caresses her, his thumb across her nipple, his cock through her folds, his fingers tracing along all her sensitive places until she is gasping and pleading beneath him.

“Please,” she whispers, “Please.”

She is only submissive like this when she’s feeling insecure, when she needs his strength to comfort her. He files that information away for tomorrow, and sets about making her feel cherished and protected. Carefully he reaches out with his mind and manipulates the dream as she taught him, dimming the room until only the bed is visible, shifting the pillows to create a cocoon around them, focusing her mind on him alone as he nestles between her thighs and thrusts himself into her, smooth and deep and true, perfect as only dreams can be. She throws her head back against the pillows, her hair in chaos behind her, and rocks her hips in time with his thrusts.

“You feel so damn good,” she moans in his ear. “So perfect inside me.”

“And you feel perfect around me,” he replies, “Never anything but perfect.”

He knows, of course he does, that the dream has filed all the rough edges off their lovemaking, the awkward angles, the ruder noises, the concerns about pregnancy and the young sons who like to enter rooms without knocking, yet he still means it, as he knows she does. Whether it takes place in dreams or reality, nothing has ever been as perfect as them joined like this in the physical expression of their love. Nothing else could even come close.

She wraps her arms and legs tightly around him and he buries his face in her hair, quickening the pace, angling his hips to hit her just right every time. Her breath begins to hitch and her fingernails dig into his back, and soon she is coming apart around his cock, squeezing it, milking his release from him. He moans into her neck as he comes, her name on a gasping breath as he rides it out as long as he can before collapsing onto the bed and pulling her close, holding her as their breathing slows and evens. They lie entwined for as long as they can, foreheads touching, gazing into each other’s eyes, clinging to the precious moments of their time together as it nears its end.

“I love you,” they say in unison and the man woke abruptly in the ornate bathtub, shivering, the water around him cold and milky with his semen.

Better than on the bedsheets, I suppose, he thought wryly, pulling the plug to let water and seed drain away. As efficiently as possible he used the attached shower hose to rinse himself off, lathering his skin and hair with the contents of the small bottles beside the tub, then drying quickly and preparing for bed.

It was a long time before he slept again.

The morning dawned grim and grey to match his mood. Clouds lowered over the treetops, heavy as the fatigue that weighed upon his shoulders, a testament to his restless night. The boy at least seemed rested, his eyes bright and alert as he scoffed his breakfast in the grimy diner attached to the motel. The man ate at a more measured pace, dutifully fuelling his body though he had no real appetite.

“You saw her last night, didn’t you?” inquired the boy. “I can tell.”

“Aye,” the man replied, staring moodily into his coffee cup.

“What did she say?” the boy asked, somewhat hesitantly. The man suspected that this clever lad had divined something of the nature of their dreams, if thankfully none of the details, and was ever careful not to ask anything too personal despite how he clearly burned with curiosity.

“She couldn’t say much,” the man replied. “Though she hinted at some… unpleasantness regarding her personal circumstances.”

“What do you think that means?” asked the boy around a mouthful of eggs and pancakes.

“Chew your food first, lad. I don’t know what it means.” He had his suspicions, but wasn’t prepared to share them with the boy. “Have you any thoughts?”

The boy swallowed hugely and gulped his orange juice before answering. “Maybe she has a weird job or something. Like maybe she’s— I dunno, a garbage man or a dog catcher.”

The man smiled at that despite his mood, entertained as always by the boy’s expansive imagination. “Perhaps you’re onto something,” he played along. “What other jobs might she do?”

The boy grinned widely and launched into an increasingly absurd litany of potential employments that soon had the man laughing despite himself. He felt lighter as he paid their bill and walked back to the truck with his hand on the boy’s shoulder. Not for the first time he felt grateful for the lad’s presence, for his cheerfully upbeat nature and ceaseless optimism.

As they turned onto the road the boy attached his device to the truck’s dash and after a short squabble they settled on a playlist to carry them through the rest of their journey.

“Classic rock,” sighed the boy in the tone of one who suffers greatly. “Of course. Typical for someone as old as you.”

“Oi, lad, less of the ‘old’, if you please, I’m only thirty-four,” said the man with a grin. “It says so on my driver’s license.”

The boy snorted a laugh.

“And what’s more, I’ve heard you singing along to this song on more than one occasion,” retorted the man.

“I have not!” The boy was indignant.

“I may not be your mother, lad, but even I can spot a lie that blatant,” the man teased. “Why, just last week in the shower-bath—”

“It’s just shower, and that’s so not true…”

The forest they drove through grew denser and darker as they progressed, its shadows taking on an ominous aspect as mist began to rise from the ground, swirling around the moss-hung trees and muffling the usual woodland sounds. Within the truck the playful bickering between man and boy soon devolved into a who-can-sing-the-wrong-words-loudest contest, handily distracting them from the gloom of their surroundings, and by the time they reached the outskirts of their destination they were bellowing about the dawning of the age of asparagus at the very top of their lungs, almost loudly enough to drown out their anxiety over what lay in wait for them.

Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.

~Oscar Wilde

#cs fic #cs ff au #canon divergence #alternative 3b #cursed storybrooke #soulmate #soulmate au #dreams #shared dreams #dream smut #what dreams may come #their path by moonlight #profdanglaisstuff #captain cobra

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thatlesbiannudistcult-stories · 6 years ago

Text

Finding Goddess (Chapter 10)

The day at the office had been hell. Carol didn't know how she survived it. But somehow, she did. She mustered on, fought through the discomfort her suit gave her, and was able to wrestle her way to the day's end. And when the clock struck five, she was out of there like a bolt of lightning.

No sooner had she closed the door to her apartment did the clothes start dropping. She didn't even wait to get to her room; she just stripped every garment off one by one as she trudged purposely in its direction, leaving a trail of unwanted business attire behind her. By the time Carol set foot in her room, she was already completely naked.

"What a day," she groaned as she flung herself on the bed. "Thought it would never end."

By all accounts, it shouldn't have been as horrible a day as it felt. There were just a few manuscripts she had to comb over. She didn't need to talk to any pushy authors, let her ears get boxed by any middle management assholes, or sit through any unproductive meetings. But the constant claustrophobic feeling of being constrained in her clothes made the whole thing very trying. She had to make a few trips to the restroom just to relieve herself, and not in the way the restroom was designed to be relieved in. Sometimes she took off her top just to give her breasts a little time to breathe. Other times she lifted up her skirt just to let the air caress her bottom and her labia. But the result was always the same; get the clothes off her body, and expose as much skin as possible.

But it was over. She was home now, and she could expose as much skin as she wanted! Carol sighed dreamily as she let her completely exposed self sink into the mattress. After having to spend so long in her restrictive office clothes, it felt good to just be naked again. Unlike most days when she was done with the office, Carol didn't feel the need to get up and do something physically active. Today, she was content to simply laze around in her birthday suit.

Carol let herself doze off as she laid back in her bed, lightly caressing her body just to relish in the sensation of her own nudity. Her smile deepened as her eyes fluttered shut, and already the nudist could feel the comfort of sleep begin to wash over her with the promise of a pleasant dream to follow.

Then the phone began to ring.

"Goddess damn it!" she growled as she pushed herself upright. "Who the hell is calling now?"

Stomping to the kitchen where the phone was, Carol yanked the infernal device off the receiver and very nearly hurled it to the ground in fury. "What do you want?" she snapped, unable to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

"It's me, Katy," said the person on the other line. "I'm returning your call from last night."

Carol's annoyance was gone in an instant. "Oh, uh, right! Hi Katy!"

"Um, is this a bad time?"

"No, no, it's just...I had a long day at work is all. But I'm all better now. Especially after hearing your voice."

"Oh, that's good," said Katherine. "So...are you naked right now?"

Carol smiled deeply. If her girlfriend was standing right in front of her, she would have been flashing her best bedroom eyes at her. "Always," she said seductively.

"And will you be...later tonight?"

"You know I will. Especially since the kids aren't here."

"Oh, great! I'll be over tonight then. I still gotta do my workout for the day. Unless you want to come by the gym right now, so we can do it together?"

Carol had to take a moment to think it over. If she took Katherine's offer, she'd have to get dressed, and that wasn't something she was looking forward to. But on the other hand, she wouldn't enjoy being naked half as much if she didn't look her best. And she wouldn't look her best if she fell out of her exercise routine. She already blew the whole weekend without lifting so much as a water bottle. Though I suppose all the sex had to count for something.

"Sure, I'll meet you at the gym."

"Okay, great! I'll see you there...Mommy!"

"Uh...right."

Carol shuddered as the girl on the other line hung up. No matter how many times she heard that girl refer to her by that word, it would never stop sounding strange to the nudist's ears. For what had to be the thousandth time in her life, the mother wondered what she did to get into the kind of relationship she had with Katy.

***

Carol arrived at the gym, thankfully without forgetting to put on her workout clothes, and was immediately pounced on by her second girlfriend.

"Mommy! I'm so happy to see you!" cheered Katherine as wrapped Carol up in a big hug.

"Uh...happy to see you too, Katy," said Carol, returning the hug hesitantly. "But, uh, could you please not call me that right now? There are people here."

"Why not? Don't you always say you wished your daughters would work out with you?"

"I do, but that's different than what...we're doing. And I'd rather people not find out about that."

Carol loved Katy, really she did, but she wasn't a quasi-normal person like Henrietta. She wasn't just a girlfriend who liked to have a good time, in or out of bed. Katy had a very big oddity to her, one that had a long history tracing all the way back to her birth. Her mother died while she was still an infant, which left her to be raised by her father alone.

Now Katherine wasn't necessarily sad about never knowing her mom. But being forced to grow up without any sort of mother figure left her with a sense that there were a lot of things in life she was never going to experience. Like how it would be knowing there would be an older, nurturing woman waiting for her at home. Or what it would be like to have someone tuck her into bed, wipe crumbs off her face while she ate, fix breakfast in the morning, cook dinner in the evening, bake cookies, spank her behind when she was naughty, and...do all that other stereotypical mom stuff. Oh yes, she had her father, he did what he could to keep her loved, safe, and respectable, but Katy had explained that she just didn't think it was the same thing.

Motherhood remained a mystery to the girl all throughout her childhood, one that she would never cease to wonder about. As she got older, as she began to blossom into a woman, her curiosity bloomed into something else as well, something decidedly less innocent.

In short, Katy had a mom fetish. And in Carol, who Katy described as having "the bestest MILFy look ever," she found the perfect vessel to channel her kink into.

It was seriously the weirdest thing Carol had ever dealt with. This girl, who was admittedly young enough to be her daughter, insisted on calling her Mom or Mommy all the time, even when they were making love. Especially when they were making love. It was weird, off-putting, and more than a little creepy. Carol didn't know where this girl got her grossly misinformed sense of motherhood from, and frankly, she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Now, no one would ever imagine Katherine was her daughter. The two honestly couldn't have looked more unrelated if they tried. The girl was about a head shorter than Carol, her build was less curvy and more slender, her chest was relatively flat, and most notable of all, Katy was black. But the younger woman didn't let those minor details prevent her from living out her fantasy. If anything, she seemed like she was doing her damnedest to look as related to Carol as she possibly could. When the mother first met the girl, her hair was long and braided. But not long after they met, Katy had her hair cut and stylized into a smooth bob cut much like what Carol wore. The nudist never inquired what the sudden change was about, but she had an idea. And that only added to the creepy factor.

Even so, she was at least willing to humor the girl. Katherine thought Carol was a very attractive older woman and was absolutely gleeful at the prospect of dating a nudist, and Carol most certainly would not object to having a young lover. But...this whole 'Mom' fantasy the black girl insisted they indulge in was really embarrassing. Carol could only hope to the Goddess that her real daughters never found out about it, or else they'd never look at her the same way again.

"Aw, don't be that way, Mom," said Katherine tilting her head as she pouted cutely at the older woman. "Who's going to object to some simple mother-daughter bonding time? No one, that's who. The only one making it weird is you."

"Let's...let's just get on with this, okay?' stammered Carol." I've had a long day and really need to blow off some steam right about now."

They changed into their gym clothes, which for Carol were thankfully more bearable than her work clothes, if only because they allowed her to show off some skin. She wore a black sport's bra on top and a matching pair of biker shorts on bottom, which left her legs, her midriff, and her shoulders bare, and also showed off an ample of amount of cleavage. They felt...a little tighter than usual, but not so much as to irritate her. The important thing was she could at least breathe in them. Hopefully, she'd get through this workout without flipping her lid again.

Unfortunately, she had plenty of other reasons to be a little concerned, namely when Katherine approached her wearing more or less the same ensemble, only sized to fit her smaller frame. Her clothes even had the same brand logo on them!

"What of it?" Katy said, already sensing her fake mother's unease with her current outfit. "It's normal for moms to shop at the same store for both themselves and their daughters...right?"

"Uh." Carol couldn't argue with that. It is what she did after all. "Right."

After going through their stretches, which included plenty of gawking and appreciating of the other's body, the two got started on the treadmills. They ran in comfortable silence next to each other for a little while, just a mother and her not-daughter. In minutes, Carol could already feel the stresses of the day start to fall behind her, as if she was leaving them behind her as she ran the distance.

Running, exercising, generally any kind of physical activity had always been very relaxing and enjoyable for the mother. She had been a sporty girl in her youth, always wanting to get down and dirty in the fields with the boys. She had been quite the accomplished soccer player in her school years, and may have won it some trophies if only the rest of the girls on the team could pull their weight.

Carol sighed as the memories played out in her head. When she was a kid, she always dreamed about becoming a professional athlete. She didn't care what sport she got into: soccer was her favorite, but she also liked other things like baseball, basketball, volleyball, and hell, she would have gladly played some rugby or polo. They were all way more exciting than sitting behind a desk all day, like all the adults she knew back then. But alas, reality eventually came to kick her in the teeth; the barriers of entry were too steep to make going professional a viable career. Worse, not only would she most definitely not be able to get a job playing professionally, but once she reached adulthood, she wouldn't even be able to play sports for fun. Sooner or later, she would just have to give them up entirely, and inevitably, she did once high school came to an end.

Just another one of many things I enjoyed that I had to give up.

No, she couldn't think like that. It would only make her depressed. Carol may have given up sports, but she soon found a new enjoyment to be had from working out. Pumping iron and seeing how many miles you could run may not have been as exciting as ripping, tearing, and fighting to some arbitrary goal, but it still got the adrenaline pumping and the endorphins flowing. It made keeping her body fit and trim almost effortless actually. While other women pissed and moaned about their weights, Carol was slimming down and toning up like it was the most natural thing in the world. She didn't need to worry about fitting into a dress, especially since she looked good naked!

She sighed again. Naked...

She hadn't run naked for...for a long time. And she hadn't gotten a chance to run naked during her public outing in New Deastone. Now that she thought about it, she didn't remember how it felt to run naked at all!

It must be like the wind is blowing all around you, but harder, or as hard as you want it to. And you can feel it everywhere on you, even between your legs. Mmmm. And your boobs...they must bounce around all over the place. Sure, it can get painful after a while, but it does feel nice to feel them joggle about so freely, just for a little while. Oh, that must be so liberating. I can feel it right now...

"Boobs." Katherine's voice whispered right next to her.

"Yes? What was that, Katy?" said Carol.

"Your boobs, Carol! They're out!"

"Huh? What do you—oh, ah, AHHH!"

Her boobs! They really were out. Jumping and jiggling all over her chest. That feeling of liberation she was experiencing wasn't her imagination, it was happening right now! Somehow, she didn't know how, her sports bra had been pulled upward, exposing her breasts for all to see.

Carol was off her treadmill in a flash as she struggled to get her sports bra back in place, her cheeks burning as red as her exposed nipples.

"Are you...feeling okay?" Katherine said between huffs as she continued to run.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine," said Carol. "No one saw me, right?"

"I don't...think anyone did."

"I hope you're right," Carol breathed, fidgeting with her top some more, as if she feared it would crawl over her chest again and expose her breasts once more. "I wouldn't want to get kicked out of this place."

"Then why did you slip it off in the first place?" said Katherine as she shut her treadmill down and hopped off to speak to Carol more directly.

"What?" said Carol, turning to her girlfriend. "I...did this?"

"Um...yes?' Now Katherine was starting to look very worried. "You just...stopped pumping your arms and used them to slip your top up over your breasts. I thought maybe you caught me looking at you and decided to give me a show." The black girl's lips curved up in a smile that was as warm as it was bashful. "I did like it by the way. You have such beautiful breasts, Mommy. I wish you could expose them all the time."

"So do I," Carol said wistfully. "But, uh, obviously, I can't! And not now! Let's just forget about this and move on to something else."

In light of her...unconscious stripping routine, Carol decided it would probably be a good idea to do something that would keep her busy hands...busy. Her eyes landed on the row of pull-up rings. Yes, those would work quite nicely.

Carol took hold of one pair, Katy took another, and the two began their workout. They had a system in place where they would do the same exercises together, try to get in the same number of reps, and try to keep pace with one another. They started out with some ring rows, pulling themselves up from an almost prone position on the floor to an almost standing position. Then they did the inverse, using the rings to perform mid-air push-ups. They followed with chin-ups and dips, pulling and pushing their whole bodies upward, and lifting their legs aloft for good measure. And as the two women went through their repetitions, Carol felt Katy's eyes bore into her form every step of the way.

There was absolutely nothing unusual about that. The younger girl just loved the older woman's body, loved to see it in motion, loved to see Carol clench and tighten and stretch herself out. She wasn't very good at hiding it either, and the mother was forever thankful for that, for it meant she was able to secure another friend and lover, and a young one at that! Even if she did have to deal with Katy's odd kinks.

I bet she would appreciate this more if I was naked though.

Oh, Carol could just picture it now. Holding herself aloft on these rings, performing somersaults around them like a gymnast, doing splits in the air as she stretched one leg out in front of her and the other behind her, her every muscle on display, tingling with excitement as the air flowed into her sensitive inner flesh. Katy would see them all for herself, see them ripple, see them tighten, see them pulse. Carol would clench her glutes that much firmly for her, pull her stomach in that much harder, perform her spins that much slower so that her girlfriend could take in her every motion as she pulled herself up. Then she would roll into a ball, squishing her breasts against her thighs, and twirl in the air atop her arms as they turned rigid from holding her whole body up. Then she would unravel herself like the coiled serpent she was, planting her bare feel on the ground with a deep inhalation as all her joints flowed back into place, her entire body glistening with perspiration, making her muscles look all the more sleek and shiny. Katy would not be able to resist; she would throw herself upon Carol, thrust her head between the older woman's legs, push herself onto her birthing tunnel, and lap at it ravenously. Carol would not stop her, she would simply caress the younger girl's head and gently push it ever deeper into her...

"Mmmmm...hm? Oh!" The world of dreams vanished in a puff, and Carol was back in the real world. Which was similar to the world of her fantasies, save for the fact that she was not naked, and Katherine was not eating her out.

I really wish she was though, she thought with a grimace as she ran a hand delicately over her crotch, which was tingling and throbbing fiercely from under her shorts. Damn it, I made myself horny!

"Mommy? Is everything alright?" said Katherine.

"Huh? Oh yes. Everything's fine!" Carol said with a startled jump. "Just...peachy."

"Are you sure? You kind of zoned out after a while. Like, you were doing the routine, but

in a trance. And when you were done, you just stood there with your eyes closed. I honestly thought you were, I dunno...sleep-exercising."

"I'm..." Carol wanted to say she was fine, but she knew otherwise. Too much had been happening all day for it to be a coincidence. No matter what she did, her thoughts just kept on returning to nudity and sex, and her body was quick to follow suit. But how could she explain that to Katy without sounding like she was losing her mind? Hell, how could she explain it to herself without sounding like she was losing her mind? Because with every passing hour, it seemed more and more like she was.

"I was having a fantasy is all," she finally said, which was true in a sense.

"Really?" said Katy, tilting her head cutely. "Was I in it?"

"Mmm, yes."

"Was I naked?" Katy purred, whispering that last word as she stepped closer to Carol, hooding her eyes seductively at her older lover.

"No, you weren't. I was though, and I was working out in front of you that way. Showing off my every nook and curve for you."

Katherine licked her lips. "Sounds delicious. I would have loved to see that myself. Not that I don't love you in your current getup, but...yeah, I'd love to watch you work out naked."

"You'd love it if I was naked all the time, wouldn't you?" said Carol, stepping even closer to her girlfriend.

"Even more than you would. And I know how naked you love to be, Mommy."

Carol could just kiss her, and likely would have right there, had someone not suddenly coughed attentively to her side.

"Uh, excuse me, ladies," said a muscular guy who was looking a little unsure and uncomfortable. "But, uh, if you're done using those things, can you maybe step aside for now?"

Carol turned tomato red in a flash. "Oh, right, sorry. Yeah, we'll uh, we'll get out of your way, sir. Come along, Katy!" Hastily she scurried away, pulling her girlfriend by the arm as she did, cheeks burning hot all the way.

Katherine only giggled in amusement. "Hee, hee! Think he heard everything we said, Mommy?"

"Be quiet!"

"Do you think he actually believes I'm your daughter?"

"I said be quiet!"

"I wonder if he thinks that's hot?"

"Young lady, if you do not shut your mouth this instant, then I'll gag it shut for you and smack your bottom so raw, you won't be able to sit down for a week!"

"Ohhh, do you intend to do that when we get home...or right now?" At this, Katherine turned around, bent over, and wiggled her round, shapely behind playfully at Carol.

"Goddess, Katy, you really grey my hairs sometimes."

Katherine giggled some more. "It's what I do best!" Her smile faded as a look of confusion suddenly came over her. "And, uh...what's this about a goddess?"

Carol blinked. She didn't actually say 'Goddess,' did she? Yes, as a matter of fact, she did. Now that she thought about it, it wasn't the first time either. Lately, it seemed like every time she had to vent her frustration, she always uttered 'Goddess' instead of the usual suspects like 'God,' 'Christ,' 'Jesus,' or 'Bob Next Door.' She even did it in her head, where no one else could hear her, and now that she was actively thinking about it, she realized she had been doing that unconsciously as well.

"N...nothing," she stammered. "I'll tell you about it later. Come on, we still have some more exercising to do."

Goddess, this was getting to be a bit much. All day it felt like she had been waging some kind of war inside herself, Katy wasn't helping, and she was still horny from her earlier fantasy. She needed to unload this stress somehow. Fortunately, she was in a gym, and knew just the thing to do that.

Carol had never really been one for wailing on a punching bag before. It just seemed so uncouth and unrefined, and the mother preferred to think of herself as a lover, not a fighter. But today, it was looking very punchable, and she was ready to teach it a lesson it would not forget!

"Geez, Mom, what did that bag ever do to you?" Katy chuckled once Carol finally stepped back, panting heavily as she admired her literal handiwork marring nearly half of the big red sack.

"I was...thinking of you," Carol huffed in response, flashing her girlfriend a smirk that she hoped looked evil.

Katherine only laughed. "Oh, you always say that. 'Bam, zoom, straight to the moon!' But we both know it's never going to happen. Gravity being a tough thing to beat and all."

"Then I'll just have to get a rocket," Carol playfully shot back. She had to admit, going wild on the punching bag was a lot funner than she thought it would be. It helped that it gave her a chance to unleash a lot of the tension that had been boiling inside her; maybe she'd consider adding it to her routine in the future.

"So is that it?" said Katherine. "Should we call it a day?"

"Hmmm...not quite," Carol hummed, giving her arm a good flex so she could check the size of her bicep. "I still got a little energy left. I'd like to see how many reps I can bench."

"Sure thing, Mom!"

They headed over to the weight-lifting section of the gym. After applying her chosen weights to the barbell, Carol took her position laying down on the bench press while her girlfriend stood over and behind her head to spot for her. After confirming she was ready, Katherine released the barbell from the rack and watched attentively as Carol got started.

One...two...three...four...five, six, seven...

"Whoa, whoa, slow down there, Mom. You're going really fast."

"Right, right, sorry," Carol mumbled. Take it easy, girl, this isn't a race. Eight...nine...ten...

"That's better. Keep it going, Mom, you're halfway to beating your record!" Katherine cheered.

Carol looked her in the eye to give her a thankful smile. Or at least she tried to. From her position, she realized her face was resting dangerously close to her girlfriend's crotch. It was hovering mere inches away, wrapped neatly in tight black fabric that left little to the imagination. So little that she could even make out the indent of her the younger girl's precious flower underneath. And if she breathed in especially deeply, she could even detect trace amounts of her distinct scent that assured the mother that her fake daughter was very aroused.

I could lick her right now, Carol thought with a hungry lick of her own lips. Pull my head up just a few more inches and run my tongue down her slit. I could just pull those shorts off her right now and eat her out right here in the gym. She'd be standing there, moaning loudly, crying 'Mommy' out loud. Everyone would watch us. Everyone would see...

"Uh, Carol? I know I might be sounding like a broken record now, but is everything okay?" Katherine sounded concerned again, particularly since she was now referring to Carol by name, something she only ever did when she got serious, worried, or seriously worried.

"Huh? Uh, yeah. Why do you ask?"

"Because you just stopped all of a sudden. You're just sitting there, you're drooling, and, uh...you're holding the weight all the way up here."

"I am? Oh shit, I am! Hang it up, Katy! Hang it up!"

Katherine obliged her, pulling the barbell back onto the safety rack. Carol bolted into a sitting position, her body trembling all over, and not from the fatigue of weight-lifting. The black girl took a seat next to her and began to pull the hair away from Carol's face, her eyes shining with worry.

"Something's up with you. I can tell. You've been out of it all day. What is it, Carol?"

Carol shook her head in frustration. "I told you, Katy, I'm f..."

No. She wasn't fine. She hadn't been at all since she woke up this morning,

"You're right," she said with a relenting sigh. "I am out of it today."

"Do you...want to talk about it?" said Katherine, gently caressing the older woman's face in a way that was oddly very motherly of herself.

"Maybe. Perhaps when we get home, though. This place is too noisy for that kind of thing."

"Okay, I guess that works for me. C'mon, let's shower off. Taking a shower with Mommy helps me feel better. I'm sure it'll help you feel better too."

Carol felt another headache coming. "Okay, but could you PLEASE drop the 'Mommy' stuff for now? That's really not helping."

At least Katy was happy again. "Hmph, you're no fun."

Fortunately, the showers did indeed do a lot to take the edge off Carol's mind. Getting the clothes off and exposing her body never ceased to have that effect on her, and the lukewarm water spraying all over her bare skin was absolutely divine. For a lot of women, the gym's showers would probably be a very intimidating place, as there were no private stalls in this one; it was just one big open field of showerheads and drains, like what you would expect to find in a prison. But for an exhibitionist like Carol, they were fine. They gave her a chance to appreciate the local 'talent,' and find those who appreciated it with her.

Come to think of it, I think I met most of my lovers in shower rooms like this. You're just quietly looking around, admiring a boob here and a butt there, and next thing you know you're looking eye to eye at a girl who was doing the same thing you were. That's exactly how I met this particular girl...

As if reading her thoughts, "that particular girl" suddenly rounded her form and took hold of it in a gentle loving hug. Katherine buried her face in between Carol's breasts, her dark skin contrasting deliciously against the older woman's creamy bosoms like hot fudge on a sundae.

"Mmmm...Mommy," she whispered as she nuzzled Carol's boobs with loving grace, smiling blissfully as the soft, pillowy flesh squished and slid against her face. She looked so at peace when she did that, like she could just crawl between these two most sacred parts of the mother's anatomy and live inside them forever.

Carol wanted to sigh, wanted to push the younger girl away, tell her to knock it off and that this wasn't the time or place for that kind of talk...but she didn't. She couldn't really. For as much as Katy's fetishes creeped her out, she could never find it in herself to tell the younger girl to stop once she got really into it. Something about that gentle, seemingly innocent voice she spoke in, and the tender way she gripped Carol's body like her life depended on it really spoke to Carol's maternal instincts. It made her want to hold the girl and rock her to sleep like she was her own child.

You really are like a baby, Katy, she thought as she embraced her lover in return, running a hand daintily down her back. A baby with a well-toned ass.

Her hands came to a rest on the younger girl's waist, and her fingertips strayed nicely on her butt. It felt firm, hard even, still tense from the recent workout it had endured. It was such a cute butt, one that she would gladly hold forever if she could.

"Mmmmm," Katy purred, enjoying the contact, pulling herself even closer to Carol's form. The mother shivered as the younger girl's hardened nipples brushed against her flesh and began poking little indentations into it.

I could just eat you up, girl.

Carol responded in kind squeezing Katherine's butt even tighter as she pushed her closer against her form. She was tickled slightly when her public hairs flattened against her skin as the two bodies pressed into one another, and even more when a full bodied shudder overcame the black girl as they brushed against a very sensitive part of her.

Carol could no longer contain herself. I'll have you right now!

Katherine's eyes went wide with shock when she found herself abruptly shoved into the wall. She had only a few precious seconds to shoot her lover a questioning look before her right leg was yanked upward by a forceful hand, and something soft, warm, and tender began to press down on her exposed sex. She was pinned, her legs were splayed, and if she didn't know any better, it looked like Carol was going to...going to...

She gasped when a feeling of electricity surged through her core. She could feel Carol rubbing her down, grinding her crotch into her own, kissing her with her lower lips, again, and again, and again. She...she really was doing what Katherine thought she was doing. She was having sex with her right here in the gym showers!

"C-C-Carol...I-I-I don't think...haahhhhhh!"

Carol only giggled in response before she leaned in to nibble on Katherine's neck, biting the supple brown flesh as she continued to thrust and grind her form against the younger woman's. Her large breasts bounces playfully atop Katy's, gracing her chest with their bountiful softness, occasionally tickling her with the hardened nubs of her erect nipples.

Tits, teeth, breasts, and clits. Tits, teeth, breasts and clits. That was all Katherine could think about, all she could imagine. She knew this was wrong, inappropriate, and highly illegal, but she didn't care. This was good, this was amazing, Carol was so wonderful, she was coming onto her like a woman who always took charge, just like how a mommy was supposed to be, the mommy she always wanted to have.

"Mmmm! Mrrrrrr! Rmmmm!"

Carol was growling and purring predatorily between every love bite she left on Katy's neck, with every bob of her pelvis, with every squelching wet rub of her inner folds on the younger girl's. She was slippery with moisture all over and within, ready to bloom, ready to burst, ready erupt in a holy explosion of liquid fire, ready to...

What...am I...doing?

Carol froze in place mid-rub. She stood stock still, one foot on the ground, the other bent and wedged into the wall to keep her legs properly splayed so that she could properly meet her lover from womanly core to womanly core. Her boobs came to a sudden rest atop her lover's chest with a wet slap, and she had the distinct feeling that her clitoris was being squished at an odd angle. It felt good, it felt nice, it felt tingly, it felt wet with something that wasn't pouring out of the shower faucet.

And it was wrong.

"Oh my Goddess!" she cried as she released Katherine's body and backed away, her face scarlet with shame. "I'm so sorry, Katy, I...I don't know what came over me!"

Katherine leaned against the wall for support, her legs shaking like jelly, her own face flushed with its own mess of emotions. Arousal. Excitement. Embarrassment. Confusion. Dizziness. All were present in her expression. "What...what was that about?" she asked in a hushed, breathy tone.

"I don't know," said Carol. "Just...feeling your naked body so close to mine, touching me all over like that, it...it got me so excited, that I just...I had to..."

"It...it's okay," Katherine stuttered as she pushed herself up. "It was just...unexpected is all. I never...imagined we'd get it on in here of all places. It was kinda scary...but also kind of hot too." For a moment, she smiled, seemingly half out of nervousness from the prospect of getting caught doing something so lewd in public, and half in arousal from the prospect of...doing something so lewd in public!

However, it faded as reality began to seep back into her. "But...something is up with you, Mommy. And I really have to know what it is now."

"Yes. You do need to know," said Carol. "Let's...let's just finish up here. The quicker we get home, the quicker I can start telling you."

#finding goddess #Carol #zenrist #zenrism

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parvusimperator · 8 years ago

Text

The Smoked Salmon Incident

Some years ago, a couple of my friends and I got together to attempt to smoke fish. This ended up being quite disastrous. Like on Dragnet, names have been changed to protect the innocent. And by ‘innocent,’ I mean ‘profoundly stupid.’ Like many such ideas, it started with scotch.

Specifically, it started with a bottle of Laphroaig that my buddy Jason had bought. Jason and I were in college at the time, and figured we could have a grand time by focusing on quality with one good bottle of scotch apiece, rather than buy the usual large quantity of terrible booze. For those of you who don’t know, Laphroaig tastes and smells of peat smoke. It is a very strong aroma. Jason and I are quite fond of it, and thought that it would go really well with fish, if the fish had a strong taste of its own. Something like salmon. However, importing peat smoked salmon was out of the reach of a couple of poor college students, and the idea was quietly dropped.

A couple years later, Jason discovered that one could buy peat online relatively cheaply. He hatched the brilliant scheme wherein he, myself, and another of our friends named David, would pool some money, buy some peat and some fresh salmon and then smoke the salmon ourselves.

None of us had any experience smoking meats, let alone fish, but inexperience seldom deters youth. We heartily agreed to go along with the plan. David and I suggested splitting the cost of a smoker amongst the three of us, but Jason is nothing if not the world’s biggest cheapskate. He had seen Alton Brown improvise a smoker, and he was adamant that this would suffice for our purposes. For reasons that will no doubt become very clear shortly, I will refer to this improvised smoker as ‘the infernal machine.’

The infernal machine was conceived as follows. Take a large cardboard box. At the bottom, place an electric hotplate, atop which lies a saucepan containing the smoking media (in our case, peat). Some distance above the saucepan, lies the meat to be smoked, resting on some dowels driven through the sides of the box. A thermometer is configured to monitor the temperature of the meat, and another is configured to measure the temperature of the air in the box. The hotplate is set to a rather low setting.

Now, at this time I was a grad student living in Albany, NY, David was living in Cleveland, OH, and Jason was living in Pittsburgh, PA. We opted to meet up somewhat centrally in Pittsburgh, where Jason had all of the components necessary to make the infernal machine. Or so he led us to believe. We gathered at Jason’s parents’ place, where he was living, and reimbursed him for the peat and the salmon. We set about curing the salmon and letting it sit, and then we proceeded to play video games and drink on the first night of a long weekend.

Later that evening, when we were all at least three sheets to the wind, Jason told David and I that the electric hotplate had failed to arrive from Amazon (or wherever he ordered it) and that we would have to go buy one in the morning. By this time, none of us were in any condition to drive. Had we been informed earlier, we might have been able to go get a hotplate but it was not to be.

The next day saw us occupied with more video games and some shooting. On the way to get targets and clays we stopped at Target. They did not have any electric hotplates. They did have an electric skillet which cost $40. David and I thought we should just get this one, but Jason swore up and down that we could get the same thing for less at Walmart, so we left empty handed.

The next day was Sunday. Smoking day. We did get to Walmart, and purchased a smaller, cheaper electric skillet for $20. We proceeded to set up the infernal machine in the garage, next to the shelving unit full of flammable cleaning products and used motor oil. We did open the garage door for ventilation. And then we sat down to wait.

Before too long we noticed that we had a problem on our hands. The supercheap, useless abomination of an electric skillet we bought was unable to provide the heat necessary. We never figured out if the heating element lacked the necessary power or if some ill-conceived safety device was causing the heating element to cut in and out. Or perhaps both were occurring. All we knew as that we weren’t getting the heat needed to smoke the salmon properly. And to the surprise of only Jason, our box was leaking what little smoke we had.

We quickly agreed to split up. One of us would tend the infernal machine, and the others would seek out a new hotplate. At this time, I was furious, and opted to look for the hotplate. I reckoned that if I was left alone with the infernal machine, I would destroy it, and if Jason and I were left with the infernal machine, I would beat him with it. David opted to join me. Reflecting later, we were both of one mind on the issue, and felt that we needed to leave the garage to preserve what little chance of success we had left.

We first went to Target, but the $40 electric skillets were all gone. So we started driving around an unfamiliar city, looking for unfamiliar stores that might have hotplates or electric skillets. After about an hour of angrily driving around and finding nothing, we remembered that we had smartphones. So we spent another fifteen minutes calling different places. Again, we came up empty. We then went back to Jason’s.

He had continued to improvise with little success. He added a crock pot to the infernal machine, but that hadn’t helped much. At this point, we all thought we were stuck. But the salmon had been cured in salt and spices. We couldn’t switch to a more conventional cooking solution in the time available. So Jason abandoned the infernal machine, and came up with yet another ill-conceived idea: he would improvise a smoker using the gas grill. This was a large unit, and he set the salmon on one end, lit only the burner on the other end, put the peat above the burner, and closed the lid.

Of course, even on the lowest setting, the gas grill is way too hot for this. And it’s not very smoketight. Before long, smoke poured from the grill like we had set fire to an R. J Reynolds warehouse. Jason frantically tried to plug the vent points with rags. Shortly thereafter, he remembered to wet the rags. No great inferno ensued, but the salmon was a total loss. It was very overcooked, extremely dry, tasted nothing like peat and all too much of salt. David and I filled up on potatoes and corn beer and everything else that wasn’t fish-flavored salt. We drowned our sorrows later that night with Long Island iced teas, which did succeed in putting us out of our misery.

All I remember from the rest of the evening is wearing to one day exact our revenge on the peat and the infernal machine. We vowed to revisit the idea with a proper smoker and more time.

And we still haven’t forgiven Jason.

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