#the boatmans daughter
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2023 READS (BOOKLIST)
What an incredible year is has been with my adventures in literature. I went from not reading a complete book in years to reading 30+ whole books in less than a year. Pictured above are THE BOATMAN'S DAUGHTER by ANDY DAVIDSON (★ ★ ★ ★ ★) and MY GOVERNMENT MEANS TO KILL ME by RASHEED NEWSON (★ ★ ★ ★ ★), two amazing books I read this year, but didn't get a chance to review. In descending order, here are all the books I read in 2023:
TRUE EVIL TRILOGY by R. L. STINE (1992) ★ ★ ★
JAZZ by TONI MORRISON (1992) ★ ★ ★ ★
SONG OF SOLOMON by TONI MORRISON (1977) ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
SIDLE CREEK by JOLENE McILWAIN (2023) ★ ★ ★ ★
MUCKROSS ABBEY AND OTHER STORIES by SABINA MURRAY (2023) ★ ★ ★
TEXAS HEAT: AND OTHER STORIES by WILLIAM HARRISON (2023) ★ ★ ★
BOYS IN THE VALLEY by PHILIP FRACASSI (2023) ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
PIRANESI by SUSANNA CLARKE (2023) ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
BARACOON: THE STORY OF THE LAST BLACK CARGO by ZORA NEALE HURSTON (2018) ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
NINETEEN CLAWS AND A BLACKBIRD by AGUSTINA BAZTERRICA (2020) ★ ★
THE VIOLIN CONSPIRACY by BRANDON SLOCUMB (2022) ★ ★ ★ ★
MONSTRILIO by GERARDO SAMANO CORDOVA (2023) ★ ★ ★
THE SHARDS by BRET EASTON ELLIS (2023) ★ ★ ★ ★
HUMAN SACRIFICES by MARIA FERNANDA AMPUERO (2021) ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
DEVIL HOUSE by JOHN DARNIELLE (2022) ★ ★ ★ ★
FLUX by JINWOO CHONG (2023) ★ ★ ★
THE TROOP by NICK CUTTER (2014) ★ ★ ★
MY DARKEST PRAYER by S. A. COSBY (2019) ★ ★ ★ ★
WE HAVE ALWAYS LIVED IN THE CASTLE by SHIRLEY JACKSON (1962) ★ ★ ★ ★
BELOVED by TONI MORRISON (1987) ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE by SHIRLEY JACKSON (1959) ★ ★ ★
THE VANISHING HALF by BRIT BENNETT (2020) ★ ★ ★ ★
DRIVE YOUR PLOW OVER THE BONES OF THE DEAD by OLGA TOKARZUK (2009) ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
THE BURNING GIRLS by C. J. TUDOR (2021) ★ ★ ★
HIDDEN PICTURES by JASON REKULAK (2022) ★ ★ ★
THE BOOKS OF JACOB by OLGA TOKARZUK (2022) ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
THE BOATMAN'S DAUGHTER by ANDY DAVIDSON (2020) ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
SACRIFICIO by ERNESTO MESTRE-REED (2022) ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
SUPERSTITIOUS by R. L. STINE (1995) ★ ★ ★
THE WRONG GIRL by R. L. STINE (2018) ★ ★ ★
MY GOVERNMENT MEANS TO KILL ME by RASHEED NEWSON (2022) ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
BEST BARBARIAN: POEMS by ROGER REEVES (2022) ★ ★ ★
THE THORN PULLER by ITO HIROMI (2007) ★ ★ ★ ★
NOW DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOU ARE by DANA LEVIN (2022) ★ ★ ★
THE HOLLOW KIND by ANDY DAVIDSON (2022) ★ ★ ★ ★
A HOUSE WITH GOOD BONES by T. KINGFISHER (2022) ★ ★
A DELUSION OF SATAN: THE FULL STORY OF THE SALEM WITCH TRIALS by FRANCES HILL (1995) ★ ★ ★ ★
#books & libraries#currently reading#booklover#booklr#booksbooksbooks#bookworm#fiction#literature#book review#reviews#nonfiction#book list#2023#my government means to kill me#rasheed newson#the boatmans daughter#andy davidson#5 stars
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i got my copy of nona in and i cant wait to crack into her but first i have to finish this other book im reading
#nona my belovedddddd#also i checked and i think i might have first edition copies of all three books in tlt series 👀#i cant check gideon bc my friend has her but. it will be big if true. to me personally#the book im currently reading is called the boatmans daughter its a southern gothic horror#im almost done with it and its very interesting a lot going on#but i wouldnt recommend it to just anyone bc one of the themes is abuse towards women in rural southern america#its very russian folklore heavy too
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I'm SO restless today, I finally made progress on Black Mouth last night and I just really wanna go home and keep reading
#can't decide if i wanna start book of night or boatman's daughter next#but I'm getting ahead of myself
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The Boatman's Daughter by Andy Davidson
This book was fine; I didn't love it and didn't hate it. It had some supernatural elements, which I liked, and a strong girl protagonist, which I also liked. It felt in the vein of the Southern Gothic genre, though not so spooky.
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FORBIDDEN FRUIT
Chapter Three - The Forbidden Fruit
Chapter Two. Masterlist
Pairing: God! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader
Prompt: A prophecy written long ago stated of a human that would become the God’s wife and live in his domain for the rest of eternity.
A/n: This took a little longer than it should have. I’m still getting used to people liking what I write lol. I promise the plot will get juicer as we go too. (And sexier)
“Take me away…”
It all happened so quickly.
You faintly remember the feeling of his arm against your middle back, steeling you close to him as you heard the angered roar of Shepherd.
“Shut your eyes.” He had ordered softly. You did as you were told. Even with no vision, you could see silvery light erupt against your closed lids.
Simon struck the ground with a faint crack, the ground morphing around the two of you as the earth swallowed you whole. The uncomfortable feeling of your lungs being constricted made your legs grow weak. With several wheezes of dusty air, you collapse against his body, feeling the coolness of his gloved palms hold you up under your lower back.
He held you steady as you coughed, letting you go as you caught onto your balance once again. A small chuckle left the back of his throat.
“Open your eyes.” His voice was soft, but strange. His words echoed in your head, but your ears didn’t recall the richness of his voice.
“I can hear, but you haven’t spoke.” You whimpered so lowly you could hardly understand yourself.
Carefully you peeled open your eyes, taking in your surroundings all around you. It looked to be a cave of some sort, with slanted rock and chilling air. To your right silver water lazily babbled as it swirled upon the glimmering banks. It illuminated the dark area quite well.
“You’re in my domain. I know when someone enters here. I can converse through their minds when needed—feel their emotions.” His voice whispered through your mind again.
“Your domain?” You turned to face him, watching his eerie skull shine brightly in a dim darkness. He stood a few feet back, his hands clasped behind his back, looking effortlessly lethal.
Before he could answer, a small splash alerted your attention, reluctantly you turned your eyes away from Simon, instead pinpointing them to a small gondala that swayed against the silver waters. The wood was old and graying, as if it would sink at any moment. But the way the man maneuvered an oar over the river had you impressed.
“Your Grace, I wasn’t expecting you back so early.”
Your Grace?
“Plans changed.” Simon brought his hand up, producing a couple gold coins out of thin air. Your brain would have contorted in confusion if it wasn’t already plummeted to mush.
The man held out his hand, just as Simon stepped forward and trickled the coins down into his palm. With a satisfied grin, the boatman bowed.
With eyes gleaming of yellow, the boatman turned to you. He was tall, but there was a significant curve of his back, as if he’d been rowing for his whole life. He was in a robe of graying material, looking to be quite old. A wide brimmed hat perched on his head, dark and worn. What was most startling was his face, his eyes a pale yellow and cheeks sunken. Yet a full goatee tickled at his lip.
“This is her?” His accent was strange, but not hostile.
“Yes.” Simon snapped, as if to stop him from saying more.
“Milady, welcome to the Underworld.” The boatman bowed politely, something you were accustom to since you were the Chieftess’ daughter.
“Underworld?” You questioned with a gulp, watching as the boatman glanced amusingly at Simon.
“I apologize, your grace. I figured you would have told her before bringing her here.”
Suddenly you felt cold.
“This is Charon, yet he prefers his mortal name of Nikolai.” Simon gritted out in irritation, though his eyes were soft as they met the features of your face. He tilted his head, likely catching onto the look of fear weakly-concealed upon your skin.
“I will tell you everything when we arrive to my home. For now, you will have to trust me, and know that I vow to protect you. Say you understand?” He reassured slowly, extending out his gloved hand for you to take.
“I understand…”
With a shaky step you placed your palm upon the chilling material of his glove, with his support, he eased you into the gondala.
Simon followed afterwards, standing behind you in the back of the boat— eyes scanning ahead.
“I suggest you sit in the middle, milady. Tis’ the stablest of seats.” Nikolai suggested, just as you sat upon the wood. Carefully you smoothed your dress, feeling the chill of the air upon the river.
“Thank you.” You squeaked out, just as Nikolai began to row, dipping his paddle into the silvery river. The air grew colder as the boat tore through the currents, making your hair stand upon your arms and your jaw to clench shut in fear of noisy chattering.
It didn’t help that the river was the color of freshly powdered snow, or it was. In other currents it was the dark color of a lagoon, wisps of blue floating among the surface.
Come, join us.
We beg for company.
Take a drink.
Unconsciously, you leant closer to the water, finding oasis in the whispers.
A strong hand settled on your bare skin of your collarbone, pulling you back into the middle of the boat. As if a switch was pulled, you became aware of Simon’s intense stare as he crouched down in front of your eyeline.
“Do not look at the water, sponsa mea. Wandering souls do not like to be mocked with the living.”
“What happened?” You grumbled, bringing your hand up to your aching head. The constant throb had increased throughout the time spent clueless.
“The passing of the River Styx is not to be taken lightly. Let alone by a mortal such as yourself. You’ve reached the border between the dead and living. The dead don’t take kindly to living souls on this side of the underworld.” Nikolai drawled.
Simon’s reached to unclasp his cloak, allowing the free flowing material to drape warmly over your shoulders. It helped fight the chilling fog, but did little to stop your soaring heart. It smelt intoxicating, like merlot wine you drank during the winter, among with hickory smoke and ancient cypress.
“Thank you.”
He nodded, rising again.
“Take the shortcut, Charon. I believe we’ve had enough surprises today. She may meet Cerberus another day.”
“Da, that seems for the best.”
It wasn’t long before a pier of silver and oak appeared from the distance, it made your queasy stomach turn in delight.
Finally, land.
Nikolai rowed to the structure, tying a slim rope in a knot upon the post. “Here we are, best of luck, Milady.” He titled his head down in a bow, just as you mumbled out a quiet thank you.
Simon stepped upon the pier, before gently offering you his hand like before. Clutching his gloved palm, you stepped out of the gondala and onto the wood, already feeling more relaxed.
“Your Grace…” Charon bowed low, before untying the knot and rowing into the foggy distance.
Simon turned to you, “Come. It is late.”
He swiveled and began to make his way down the long bridge. You grew puzzled after every step you took, as if this bridge became longer, until finally the two of you reached a plot of land. It was small, enclosed in marble fence.
Your eyes sparkled at the truly magnificent pomegranate tree that stood front and center. The leaves were a gorgeous green, which contrasted the dark cave-like ceiling. It made you wonder how such a tree could grow with no sunlight or rainwater.
The fruit was ripe and round, the ruby color shining amongst the branches that made you want to reach up and eat all the seeds.
“A gift, for you.” Simon spoke from behind you, just as you approached the strong trunk and felt the smooth bark upon your fingertips.
“Why for me?” You asked, feeling his darkening shadow upon your shorter body, his cloak that still covered your shoulders did little to stop your chill.
“I saw how you lived. How you never had joy in the form of gifts, you never got to be a child, or feel any sort of freedom. I offer you an alternative.”
You cocked your head to the side, turning to watch him flex his shoulder high in the air, plucking a ruby fruit from the branches.
“This is a symbol of me, the pomegranate tree and seeds represent death, fertility, strong bonds.” His hands flexed, breaking the fruit in half. The red stained his hands, the juice of the fruit looking more of blood than sweet nectar.
“You’re mortal. I’ve shown myself to you, gave you the first bite of my kingdom. Of Death and life, yet here you stand, still before me. If you are to stay, if you are to be under my protection, it comes with a price.”
He plucked a single seed from the fruit, dropping the rest to the black soil.
He held it out to you, and slowly he dropped the seed in your palm.
“One month. Spend one month with me and I can show you how truly wonderful it is to be alive.”
You furrowed your brows, it was ironic that someone who reeked of death offered you this promise. Your stare found his through the skull mask. It was intense and powerful, flooded with mysterious possibilities.
You didn’t even speak, yet his voice trailed through your mind again. He was temptation, and you felt the pull of his offer. A chuckle echoed in your mind.
“Eat the seed.”
You brought the fruit to your mouth, placing it between your teeth before crunching on the soft flesh.
Then there was darkness.
Next Chapter
Tags: @queenqu33f @blueoorchid @lethalchiralium @eclipse-darling @galagcica @dead-noodles @agspgrwasb @toobsessedsstuff @mooniesyubi @cookielovesbook-akie @vile-villain6661 @peachlcve @soldier-lass @ghostslittlegf @rebel-soldat @erintaro @zomb1edoll @ghost-with-a-teacup @fante-di-denari @kuwizo @sollucifer @embers-of-alluring @icepancakes @bangirl134
Sorry if I missed anyone! This is the hardest part of the fic lol <3
#cod#call of duty modern warfare#modern warfare#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader
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the boatman's daughter.
dialogue prompts from the boatman's daughter by andy davidson.
i'll be back. i promise.
you're going to die tonight. this is your death.
i'm only __. i don't want to die.
what are you willing to do? where's the end of it?
you robbed me of so much.
i like the way you smell.
what happened out there that night?
i will catch you. i will keep you. i will never let you go.
you're not sleeping. you want to talk about it?
life is a series of ceaseless struggles against ceaseless currents.
bad dreams are just bits of stories.
when stories don't make sense, they scare us. you have to fit the pieces together.
what's the worst thing anyone ever did to you?
there are places we belong and places we don't.
i don't care about belief. i care about trust.
what's your real name?
put your head in my lap.
give me your hand.
no matter what, do not turn around.
has the hour finally come?
these should fit you.
you're safe now. do you understand?
you won't like the way it ends.
i dreamed of you.
i drew your picture.
never tell secrets without a drink.
i was a girl once, too.
like you, i have known sorrows so great there are no words to account for them.
there are things you cannot bait a hook to catch.
we have no time for regrets now.
all of us come from cracked eggs and nests of thorns.
we are the choices we make.
go. there is no shelter here.
yours is a heart stowing secrets.
keep your eyes on me, and tell me what you know.
i can't not help you.
you'd kill me, if you could.
i need to know you won't get in my way.
we've served evil men long enough. it's about time we served something else.
i came to see what all the fuss is about.
how long has this been going on?
i like your world so much.
we should've been friends.
what are you scared of? is it me?
i'm here now. i found you.
sometimes it keeps us safe, not knowing the truth.
the land will tell you a story.
we have the keys. why don't we just go?
i know you. you're dead.
we're getting near the end.
i like it better here. it's nice here.
it's okay. i'm taking you out of here.
you don't need a name.
i thought i knew you.
how unworthy i proved.
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Not to continue bitching about the finale, but how is Brendan gonna say that they were trying to be subversive, when we were given these endings for 3 of the most important characters?
Ted going back to form a nuclear heterosexual family with his ex-wife and his son
Rebecca reuniting with Boatman and forming a nuclear heterosexual family with him and his daughter
Beard marrying his (abusive!) pregnant girlfriend and forming a nuclear heterosexual family with her and their future child
Don't get me wrong, I do love the Dutchman and being a mother (to a child, not just the team) is something that Rebecca has wanted since season 1, so good for her! But the optics of this are, umm, big yikes! It reads like a conservative Normal Family™ propaganda ending for these 3 main characters. Like some Hayes Code era movie where the audience needs to be reassured that these characters are normal and conform to American values.
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IM NOT DONE ACTUALLY
i still don’t know if i think that that montage at the end was real or if it was ted’s imagination but either way
if trent’s whole arc last season was about becoming a part of afc richmond then why the hell isn’t he nor at beard’s wedding nor at the bbq???? for fucks sake rebecca’s unnamed boatman and his daughter is here but trent isnt???? also i think they could’ve easily put like. one player in that autograph session scene with him???? idk seems weird to me
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Day 7: Profane / Sword for @tes-summer-fest
Out on the Inner Sea, where Ebonheart had crossed to Vvardenfell with one one bold leap set in stone, the port was rocked to sleep by languid waves. Southwards lay the vast expanse of Thirr, eastwards the City of Swords over which loomed a frozen moon, and thence a ferry sailed in worn and weathered. One of the passengers, a young lady, bowed to the boatman as she disembarked.
Rather undistinguished in her clean but simple clothes, she was glad for it and took a deep breath of sea air that mixed with the cooking from Six Fishes, watching as stevedores hauled barrels and crates onto a merchant ship. For a few more paces across the cobblestone, she needn’t have been a duke’s daughter up until the bridge to the castle, so she took a slight turn at Forth Hawkmoth.
In the Skyrim Mission hall, she asked of a friendly ambassador all the latest rumors brought in on western winds, while in the neighboring Argonian Mission she exchanged a courteous greeting and hidden scrap of paper with the consul. The significance of each meeting was not as it must have seemed, and she continued to Castle Ebonheart whither the Imperial knight at the bridge led her in without issue.
The guards inside were all aglint in silver, but the mer that strode up to her was in beetle-green silk, embellished with countless shimmering wings. Uncle appeared to her more boyish than ever, though he’d never been older, as his face and hands showed no signs of age that more closely followed the working mer. She leapt into a hug, for the illusion of their friendship was always worth upholding.
“You look like a pilgrim,” he said with a smile; she trimmed the condescension off of it like the hands of Fishmongers’ Hall fileted fish and moved on, carving a smile on her own face. “I see them crossing the lakes daily now, all sorts of pleasant people, long traveled–”
“Good evening to you too. But where’s Father?” Often enough he would have been holding court at this hour, now his seat was an empty ornament flanked by his personal guard.
“Up in his dining hall. Shall we go, then?” So she took him by the hand and followed up the spiraling staircase, soon liberated from his idle chatter by the fact that the chamber with her drawers stood afore Father’s. She excused herself to go change her clothes before sitting at the dinner table, and he proceeded rather than wait for her, which was suitable just fine.
It was apt to call it a guest room, but it had more or less been reserved for her, and all the things she hadn’t taken with her were where she’d left them. She wasted no time dressing, though she did not miss the more restrictive, overly ornate clothing she’d worn at court. Her neighbors in Saint Delyn on the other hand would work themselves to the bone for a brocade blouse like hers.
Once when in Tear visiting Mother’s kin, she’d taken a liking to the airy anther fabrics they favored in the humid marshlands. Grey was their color, but the city had soon been wreathed in black after a high councilor’s undisclosed passing, strife had been sown and blood ran cold. These days the young, the dissidents, and all those who’d lost their spirits and loved ones in the war had many high seats to fill.
Her time there had taught her not the evils of slavery, for she’d already looked upon them in Empire-chartered lands, but certainly more ways to strive against it. Even with her Serano cousins had she found kindred spirits, and through them much needed contacts, Black Marsh and beyond. The Dren side of the family was truly no better or worse, distinguished Hlaalu nobles as they were, but she would put that thought aside for dinner.
Father awaited her in his golden moth robes, and she sank into a silent embrace with only the murmur of endearments into her hair and the clatter of cutlery. There was no need to say too much. He already had the perfect image of her in his mind, carefully cultivated, unable to grow beyond it even when they were alone, for too much shared grief weighed on them. The table was set for three, each with ample space of their own and the appetizer already served.
She nibbled on a wickwheat biscuit as Uncle seemed to continue what he’d been talking about, his newly established netch ranch, the fine leather it brought, and she bit her tongue in frustration. Him and his blood-stained netch leather and the yoke that pulled lives and souls asunder. The three of them were in different worlds by now, though still only a ferry away from each other in the isles where the sacred and worldly embraced with hidden blades.
Then he turned to her, wondering aloud why she’d chosen to live in a pauper’s residence. Without breaking her composure, she took a sip of her mineral water. She’d explained it enough to Father, and had lived well for a better part of the year, so where had he been?
“I’d seen it and thought to myself of what wisdom I could take from living in modesty. Our kin in Tearmarsh live simple but the light of the Three hardly touches them, unlike us,” she recited something akin to what she had before and before. Uncle whose kena had been a blademaster of Saint Felms giggled at that, and Father cut him a glance across the table.
“What? We’re not in Vivec, but in Ebonheart,” he stressed that last word with a Cyrod lilt, “I’d hazard to say the Three are asleep at the helm when the people are wanting for them.”
“The Three do not judge mere ill-spoken words, but the people do. Let us eat,” was all that Father had to say before calling the next course, ornada marinated in plum and comberry.
She continued to sup in silence, but imagined if they’d cleared the table and dueled in a knightly manner. A challenge of honor, for the gods at that, had been more common in warlike times but the custom was very much alive. Say they fought to the death, Uncle if he by chance won would get his final rival out of the way and send her to wed the King’s heir Ser Talen Vandas. Father had planned much the same, though not urgently, and he would hesitate to kill his brother in the first place but if he did, she would carry the Dren name.
What did she want, then? For the dinner to carry on in peace, not to lose her composure, and not have to marry the King's dear nephew. But perhaps a queen of Morrowind would carry power, more so than a duke, only the profane ruler of all Vvardenfell. There was a cloak of decorum about Father that fit a very refined doll, having his armor shined as if every day was a holy-day, little else for him to do but dictate legally worded letters for contractless builders on Azura’s Coast and hang his head. She could never become so complacent.
Father ate rather delicately to not stain his bead-woven beard and mustache, and his younger brother followed the lead, though prior stabbing his cooked ornada without grace. The knife he sliced with, dueling the carapace, was as her cutlery gilt and engraved to go along with the ebony plating. Overhead the chandelier of green glass hung as a sword pointed at them, a thousand shimmering blades. Cruel and acute was the castle, had been from its very first stone.
After dessert, she retreated to her chambers still chewing on the apple sweetcake. Father and Uncle having bid her good night continued talking, for which she was too tired, tired of her studies at the Temple and the fragile cover they made, of parlaying with smugglers or worse playing as abolitionists, of crossing betwixt and across sharp edges, and most of all knowing that she was ill-fit for their beautiful world even if she’d ever wanted to return.
She fell upon her bed face-first and rose back up, hair tousled from the impact giving her the feeling of peeking from a thicket. Through her eastward window she could see the lanterns of the city below, Ebonheart’s diadem. Further still across the water was the palace dome awash in cold fire, circled by celestial spheres that seemed like marbles from this distance. In there did Vivec dwell, as far from the cries of the helpless as one could be in the Ascadian Isles.
Once the gods had walked among them, before her time. Perhaps it rang true that they were asleep at the helm, or had spun the wheel and left it to turn uncontrollably as gods were wont to do. It fell to the people to take hold of, but only in hands that meant well could a better tomorrow be spun from the frayed yarn of the past.
Her bed here was softer than in Saint Delyn, only the finest, most delicate fabrics for the Duke’s household, but it didn’t let her rest easy. In the morning, or the next, depending on how much Father wanted her to stay, she would disembark once more. She would watch the waves play, sway corkbulb boats like merlings on the seaside who had been told the world was their oyster.
There was much work to be done, but it could wait the morning, or the next, as it had waited for far too long. And she cast a wish, just a small one, to each of the three moons that adorned the sky and sea.
#tesfest23#tes#the elder scrolls#morrowind#ilmeni dren#vedam dren#orvas dren#also honoring the dinner prompt in this. like half of my entries#we're done when i say we're done...#scrawling tag
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AITA for having a one-night stand/cheating on my husband/messing up confessing it to my husband?
Hi! So my (24F) dad (50M) recently (as in: *very* recently) sent in an AITA about killing the guy I had a one-night stand with (it’s titled “AITA for killing the guy my daughter was having an affair with/handling this situation poorly?”, I’ll try to add a link), so I thought I would write in because well, I was there and I have my own problems.
So additional backstory/information:
Yes, my husband (28M) is a clergyman. HOWEVER, I didn’t know that when I met him. We met a couple years ago when his boat wrecked and washed up outside our village and I rescued him. He was running from the police (because like. our country didn’t like Protestants for a bit. don’t ask.) and stayed with us under a false name, only revealing his true name and occupation around the time we got married.
And then he got called away to go abroad for several months for work and didn’t take me with him. I really don’t know why he didn’t, but. He just straight-up didn’t take me. I *could* have gone with him. It’s not like I had anything on my calendar. But he didn’t take me.
(Also, before he left my cousins [33M, who’s also my ex-fiancé, don’t ask; and 25F] came to stay with us, as did The Guy [27M].)
So I was left with three houseguests, one overbearing dad, one church congregation that’s basically just the population of the village, no husband, and pretty much nothing to do. And also my husband didn’t write very often.
So The Guy started acting really weird and trying to flirt with me, but I was having absolutely none of it at first. But as weeks and months went by, pretty much complete silence. I acknowledge in retrospect that there may have been mail issues or sabotage or whatever, but at this point I wasn’t getting ANYTHING from my husband. I love him dearly but I was really starting to resent all this and I felt like I was less important to him than his work was.
And The Guy took advantage of this. Not like That, but there was definitely some emotional manipulation going on and I know I should’ve recognized it then and I do now, but yeah, to kinda quote my dad: long story short, one thing led to another and we did indeed end up having a one-night stand. The morning after, he fled my bedroom at dawn, taking with him a bunch of letters and my wedding ring, and jumped into the river by our house. He survived that, obviously.
But I was consumed with guilt and regret basically from the moment it happened and became so sick from it that I was bedridden for several days. The Guy (who’s trained as a doctor, I don’t think my dad mentioned that) tried to come “treat me” several times, but I refused to let him in every time.
Anyway, eight days after The Incident, my husband returned home (and yes, it was also our wedding anniversary the day he came home, which just makes all this worse). So it turns out my husband totally heard the whole story about The Guy’s escape from a boatman who happened to witness it and also gave the letters he dropped to my husband, but my husband is (was?) a big believer in the power of unconditional forgiveness and burned the papers rather than reveal who was involved.
And then after everyone welcomed him home, we had some time alone. And it was…hard. Especially because he spent a lot of time talking about how while he was abroad he witnessed a lot of women cheating on their husbands and one of the things that kept him going was that he remembered me and that I wasn’t like that. Oops. So I asked him if he would forgive me if I did something like that and he said no. And then I got upset, and then he saw that my wedding ring was missing and demanded to know where it went. And well, I was too flustered and couldn’t really tell him so he got really upset.
Well, this is starting to get really long so I’m just gonna say that my dad, complicated feelings I may have about him, honestly summed most of it up pretty well (except, Dad, you were going to KILL YOURSELF??? REALLY??? AFTER YOU TOLD ME I HAD TO SUFFER AND BEAR IT???), so I’m just going to add a few bullet points:
-Yes, I did decide to write a letter telling my husband everything and yes, my dad DID tell me to destroy it because if I confessed what happened, our family would be disgraced and my husband would kill himself.
-The Guy kept trying to get me to sleep with him again. (The “homecoming party dumbass” incident involved him trying to smuggle a letter arranging a meeting with me inside a book to which we both had keys. And then when that didn’t work he FOLLOWED ME TO MY MOM’S GRAVE WHILE I WAS HAVING A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN. I told him to give me back my stuff and then leave forever. He said no.)
-Yes, I did confess everything to my husband. No, I did not know my dad had already accidentally revealed everything. Yes, my husband did try to kill The Guy after he refused a duel challenge. No, he did not actually kill him.
-Although my husband DID also say he was never going to forgive me and and cursed me or something, but in his defense he was kind of losing it at the moment and he passed out shortly thereafter.
-Yes, my husband did offer me a divorce. Yes, I initially refused because I do still love him and I absolutely did NOT want to marry The Guy. I did eventually accept, however, only because 19th century marriage rules are weird and say that my husband doesn’t have to listen to me. But if we’re not married, he *has* to listen to me because he’s a clergyman and I’m technically a member of the congregation. So I accepted the divorce only to be able to tell him my full side of the story and to tell him the truth: in spite of everything, I still love him truly.
-Yes, I am absolutely horrified that my father murdered him. Am I mad? Yes. Am I going to hold it against him? No. This is a shitty situation for everyone, and it’s by and large my fault.
So yeah—I am well aware that I am the asshole, or at least one of several assholes. My coming here is less about that and more about a) presenting my side of the story and b) asking a related question that doesn’t have its own subreddit before we have a whole meeting/service about it: is there any chance I have of being forgiven, by God and/or by my husband?
So: AITA, WIBF (will I be forgiven), thanks in advance, and God bless!
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Hermes growing up in sunshine and bright lights and pretty thrones and regality and formality and "stay still, for the love of the stars, just stay still for one bleeding second" and hearing stories about the dirty Underworld and how its damp and dreary and no one it and the people who do are weird and strange and he meets Thanatos on a war field and admires the pretty wings stretched long across his back and watches quietly as he walks through bodies and blood and weaponry laid bare and plucks wandering confused soul up from their barely breathing chests and away from the grass they're sobbing in and and he follows him like a duck to water and Thanatos pays him no mind, just deposits the soil at the foot of his older brother and descends across the Styx with wide black wings that glitter like jewels in the dim light of the Underworld.
Charon regards Hermes with little interest, collecting payment and readying his boat. There's a young boy, no older than fifteen, who has no money, but Charon just pulls a coin from his own pocket and adds it to the bucket. It's locked tight and snaps at Hermes with large fangs when he creeps too close so he batters back and follows the boat across the Styx. She's black and vicious, waters tremulous and cruel. Beneath her waves, lost souls are screaming, begging to be saved. But around Charon's boat, her waves are soft and gentle. They push his boat along as he paddles to the gray sandy shore ahead.
He pays Hermes no mind when he lands of soft gray beach beside the boatman. Just guides the souls in a long line to the wall. There are other souls walking long across the beach and they turn and run with wispy feet and crash into the newly deceased with untapped joy.
Charon's lip twitches.
Hermes wanders through hallways and rooms and there's a large court, a myriad of souls waiting with shaking nerves as nymphs and naiads and skeletons holding stacks of parchment beside them. Some are assuring them. Others are silent, simply waiting.
Out through the final door, there's a beautiful walkway into a large field of asphodels. The Lethe trickles nearby. He can hear her soft siren call to rest, to sleep, to wash away all that worries him. Poppies flock her riverbank. Hypnos shimmers nearby. He is humming as soft tune as he lays a wispy soul to rest in the water.
The first and last time Hermes met him was Pasithea's wedding. A grand affair as Hera would have nothing less for her lovely daughter. He had been sleepy-eyed, dim and unresponsive. Here he is brighter. Whispering soft assurances as the soul rolls out of his arms and into the soft lap of the river below. He waits some time then collects them. They seem smaller somehow. Wet and dripping. But their form, once wispy and deteriorated, is stronger now. Squishy and soft along the edges, but ridge.
He seals them up in a jar and sets them aside with another set of jars. He pays Hermes no mind as he walks past. Nearby Pasithea descends. She cracks a crooked grin at her half-brother, and collects the washed souls sealed away. She disappears on gossamer wings into the darkness above their heads. Hypnos continues his work, lowering one soul at a time. Some of them are wispy and some are glowing bright. But he treats them all with the same gentleness. Like a parent tucking a child in for bed.
Hermes moves on.
It is not as dark as everyone said. Jewels glitter along the walls. The poplar trees almost glow, their white back standing strong. There is no dampness. It is cold, yes, but there's a warmth there. In the hustle and bustle. Ghosts wander, but nymphs and naiads and gods fluster back and forth among them.
It doesn't feel dreary. Feels like home. Comfortable, like every village and town Hermes has travelled through. Everyone has a job and they do it the best of their ability. They step around one another with practiced ease and smile and laugh. Cows roam freely and come when called.
Macaria doesn't say hello when he drifts by. She simply states at him for moment, but she doesn't question his presence. Just turns around and continues onwards with a cluster of souls at her side. Elysium is clustered further to the back. It is saved by a large boundary wall and strong iron gates. She pulls them open easily and he follows her inside. It is beautiful and orderly. Obsidian walkways. Colourful cottages. In the center square there is a large pomegranate tree. Each fruit is golden, hanging high and neatly in dark green leaves. As he approaches, they seem to shift, pushing outwards as though enticing him to take. Macaria grabs his wrist. It is the first true acknowledge of his presence.
"Don't," she says. "Eat those while living and my father will own you as if you were dead."
The golden fruit entices him. Turns a rich red as the trees almost tilts towards him.
"Oh," he says faintly. He doesn't like to be denied the things he wants, doesn't like to be told he can't have something, and he's tempted to take it anyway. But he withdraws his arm.
She pulls her hand off him and smiles kindly. She says nothing else, just carries on her way.
Hermes states at bright red fruit in front of him. He's never really been a fan of pomegranates. They're annoying to eat, little seeds you have to chew and spit out. And they're bitter. But he wants these ones. Distantly he thinks they'll taste good, like candy, like sugar, like the sweet relief of death.
He steps back and exhales shallowly. Turns on his heels and leaves.
The castle is far off to the corner. Built in the shadowy walls of the Underworld. He wanders through hallways and a throne room, peeking into bedrooms on the second floor. Each room is carefully curated to everyone's own design. He stumbles a bit when the castle floors shift under his feet, expanding rapidly. A new door opens up. He peeks inside to spot a nursery, and a second leading into Pasithea and Hypnos's shared bedroom. It slowly decorates itself. Sleepy wisps of fog against the ceiling. A soft rocking chair beside a study crib. Glowing jewels sprout from the walls. They are sharp for a minute before rounding out gently.
There is one room that is bare of any real effects. There is a bed that sits in middle, untouched. The sheets are too crisp. There's a closet. Dark robes sit inside, all the same colour, all the same design. There is one thing, a silver handmade crown on the beside table. It isn't well-crafted, but its cute.
He steps out and continues to wander. There is a modest kitchen on the second floor, across from the line of bedrooms. It accompanied a small seating area. But that is all. The third floor is open, no ceiling, just floor and an impressive view of all that is the Underworld. He steps onto the railing and jumps off. Flies across grass and wheat and a small but bustling farm and asphodels and poplar trees.
It's not scary. He doesn't know why the others grumble so much. Perhaps they fear what is below the surface, Tartarus, eternal punishment. The Phelegathon swirls around a large staircase that descends into flaming waters. The closer he gets, the warmer it is. The Keres are dragging sobbing souls to it and shoving them in unceremoniously. The river doesn't part for her, as she flies over head, but when a soul falls from her grasp, it spits the poor sufferer back out and into the pit itself.
Hermes recognizes Alecto as she ascends from deep inside the darkness. She glares at him, unpleased, but does not say anything about his presence. Merely snaps her whip and flies off. From a safe distance, Hermes follows.
Ah. Yes. The crown jewel of the Underworld.
The mines.
The caverns are glistening. Carts and carts of jewels are stacked along the walls. Guards dogs and a couple rams hold close, growling at Hermes when he tries to sneak over. A nymph shoots him a dirty look before she returns to her parchment. Hermes floats back.
He can sneak the jewels later. Right now, he wants to know why Alecto has left her post. She flies into the caverns. Hermes follows and falls still.
He's met his uncle before. Sat near him at meetings. But the man he's seeing now and the man he's seen before do not match up. Hades had always been tall, half-covered in shadows and shifting darkness. His crown sat on his head so dastardly no one but his siblings could bare to look him in the eye. Even Ares, strong and bull-headed as he was, cowered ever so slightly when Hades walked in.
Alecto speaks low as she settles near him. He listens quietly then nods, speaking near silent. Ghosts mill around, chipping at walls and pushing carts of shiny jewels.
He seems simpler now. There is no darkness, there is no crown. His pale arms are exposed. His legs. His face.
His eyes are blacker than the void, and Hermes finds himself falling into them, falling, falling, falling. His voice is a soft thing. Coaxing. Deep beneath his bones, Hermes feels himself crave something. A falling again. To lower himself. To rip out his own beating heart and hand it over without question.
The ruby red pomegranate filters back into his mind. He swallows around thick saliva of want and wearily steps back. Alecto mutters something and flies away. Hades turns and Hermes falls.
His smile is gentle, soothing. Everything is alright, it says. It's time to go.
"Hermes," he says and his voice is like a song. Upstairs, it is rigid, cutting and sharp. Like a blade. But here it's almost like medicine, healing parts of Hermes's soul he didn't know were damaged. "I was wondering when you were going to say hello." He cocks his head, like a pup, and it's almost laughable. It's cute, which doesn't make sense. Kings of the dead should not be cute. But Hades is. In a older matured sort of way. "Did you see everything you wanted to see?"
He knew. He knew Hermes was here and nosy. Of course, he did. This is his realm, his home. It shares his name and it is him, done to the bones.
"I was curious," he says slowly.
Hades's eyes glitter. Like stars. Like diamonds. "Yes, I know." He gestures loosely around him. "They were all curious once too." He laughs and it is sweet. The souls around him shimmer and bend with the sound, as though reaching for him. "Well, except Mac, but she was born of this earth. Nothing to really be curious about when it's in your veins."
The souls wane as his laughter dies.
I am not dead, Hermes thinks. Why does the sound of his uncle instill him with such longing then? He steps back. "Sorry for intruding, Uncle."
Hades looks amused. It fits his face far better than Hermes had imagined. Here he is lively and together. Breathing in the presence of death and wealth, invigorated by what Olympus lacks.
"People don't intrude," Hades says. He pauses. "Well, that's not true. Mortals intrude when they want something. But gods don't. Our family-" He waves his hand dismissively and moves forward. Each step is languid and calm. "-tend to stick to where they feel safest. Mortals will avoid me until they need me. But our family oftens feels I am unnecessary."
Hermes blinks. "Ares doesn't think that."
Hades grins. It is a sharp toothed thing, reflecting bloody war-torn bodies and rapid burials in shredded grass. "Ares likes Thanatos. And the Keres. That doesn't mean he thinks what I do is necessary. I am not the reason people die, nor am I the creator of their deaths."
Hermes blinks and Hades looms over him. It's not scary. Not worrying. There is something comforting in the presence of his uncle towering over him. It feels... Protective.
"They worry," Hades says, "about my proximity to our father and his friends. To the souls I have. My realm will always grow, even when belief begins to fade. The dead will always need a home to come to, even if they have no home in mind. It worries them." He shrugs. "But that's not a concern you need to bother about."
"I-" Hermes falters. He looks away from porcelain skin and glittering eyes and the sweet voice that coaxes him to spill bitter juice across his tongue and stay. "I should go."
Hades steps back. "I'm not stopping you," he says. "But when you want to, try to come back during the day. Charon locks the door at dinner and I wouldn't want you to be waiting too long for everything to open up."
Hermes falters again. Distantly he knows he was going to be come back. Drift in to poke around again. Maybe try to steal some pretty gems. Explore the farm. Check out the heated punishments down in Tartarus or sit in on one of the court proceedings.
There is too much he hasn't yet seen.
But how did Hades know?
Hades just smiles and says, "I told you. No one living walks in here unless they want something." He turns on his heel, to the souls waiting before him with carts of diamonds and emeralds and gold. "You don't have to know what you want now," he continues. He shoots Hermes a pleasant smile from over his shoulder. "But let me know when you figure it out."
#my writing#my original work#hades#hermes#happy talks greek mythos#this was supposed to be a romantic thing but lmao failed at that
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Nine people I'd like to know better/get to know me tag
Thanks for the tag @cowboybrunch ^^
soft tagging @buffythevampirelover @infinnative @sunset-a-story @verba-writing @sleepyrxsetea @illarian-rambling @k--havok @ekwilliams @andyswritings
Last song I listened to: Custer by Slipknot (while writing my romance fantasy novel...)
Last thing I watched: Princess Jellyfish <33
Last book I read: Hmm, it's been awhile, but I'd say The Boatman's Daughter by Andy Davidson. Guess I should get back to reading more 😅
Things I'm currently obsessed with: Staring at my computer screen instead of actually writing : ) aside from that I have been delving into folklore alot lately.
Spicy/savory/sweet: I love savory foods. I also prefer spicy over sweet.
Relationship status: Single!
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Well I just remembered we got the Dutch Boatman (Matthijs) and his daughter's (Jelka) name but we didn't even get a name for the crimmlet or any crumbs🧍♀️
....and I'm just supposed to be fine with that and move on.
#trent crimm#ted lasso#ted lasso spoilers#ted lasso finale#crimmlet#eye-#after the finale it is so apparent that Trent has been written like an afterthought#it breaks my heart to say this but yea#whatever we got...things we could go off of were James Lances doing and I am grateful to him for that
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Mid-May update
After several days of thinking and one very good session with my journal husband counselor, I won't be leaving tumblr after all.
I'm still incredibly frustrated with the way creators are being treated, with the audacity of some of these bitches, the lack of interaction. But all that aside, I do like the fandom aspect of it.
I've culled several of my followed blogs, dropping over 300 people in the last several weeks. And I've been very liberal with that block button. I will be doing what I need to do to protect the little piece of peace that I have here.
A large part of my decision to stay has been mutuals. You guys have been incredibly supportive in so many ways over the years. The amount of you that have reached out and checked on me, that continuously poke my inbox with sweet messages, that flatter me every day is wonderful. To think that if we didn't have the internet, we wouldn't have our found family tribes, our Team Free Wills, our Avengers, our Daggers. Our covens. My life would be incredibly dull without you all.
My first week of work was tedious and slightly boring as it's all training but it's incredibly calming to have something to do during the day without relying on others to entertain me.
My gratitude for everyone through this month is indescribable. I wouldn't have made it, we wouldn't have made it without you and I will forever be grateful. You all have my love and admiration and my sword.
Now that I'm done with the blahdi blah, I'm sure you all want to know the updates on my wips, huh? Fine 😂
But one more thing first - happy birthday to my sibling, my friend, a bright spot in every day - @never--doubt. Kay, babe, I love you. I'm proud of you. And I am sending every ounce of positive energy that today goes your way. 💞💞
Five Minutes More is drafted for posting. We'll see Dean Winchester as a gamer and mechanic figuring out this little thing called love. One part currently, possibly more.
You, Me, and the Noises You Make is a honeymoon with Beau Simpson short story, under 500 words but ready to post soon.
The Replacement Bride is a new story for a new world featuring a group of mafia families spread across the country. There will be interconnected stories - already at chapter 6 and I've worked four of the six families together with a possibility of more as the story continues. I am considering the option of going straight to published with this universe, depending on how it fleshes itself out.
You'll Be In My Heart will be posting beginning in July, unless i finish a few other things first. We last left Jake standing in the bookstore staring after his ex-girlfriend (now named Allie) and his daughter, the one he never knew he had. Depending on the interaction and feedback I get, this may be the last series for tumblr.
Sounds of Someday: The Rewrite is trudging along slowly. My brain keeps telling me that I've already written this and that I shouldn't be doing it again but also that it's nowhere near good enough for publishing. My friend who has a masters degree in social work with a concentration in grief and trauma counseling will be looking over it when it's finished, hopefully between semesters for her!
I have several new pieces with original characters in progress, including a fantasy trilogy based on the song 'Labour' by Paris Paloma.
Also drafted are several moodboards for several different AUs. Due to the way moodboards are being received by the general pubic, they will stay in drafts until I decide what to do with them further.
There are more pieces of the Country Club AU in progress, including our first Boatman Bob story. I also have a collection called "A Thin Line" that I'm working on the second and third stories simultaneously for. One of those includes Fritz smut and I'm having trouble with it because he keeps short circuiting my brain.
There are two Ryan Spencer (Yellowstone) stories in progress as well as one Rip and a couple Rhett.
Sons of Anarchy is making a resurgence with a grand total of four wips.
Jason Todd has a couple of stories floating around in there.
I've got a few more Pedro, Sebastian, and C. Evans stories coming as well as stories for four different Toms, two other Chrises, a few more Jensen characters, and some new Glen, Lewis, and Danny characters.
The DC and Star Trek master lists will be expanding.
Posting of full fics will resume in June. I have one drabble that will be posted Friday and then new master lists will post twice a week until June 6. If there are still some to post, then they will posts on Tuesdays with fics on Fridays.
Fridays will be one-shots with Tuesdays being series.
What I'm also considering is restarting Patreon and including original works in there as well, and expanding it to an audience that includes my other readers. The other option is using tumblr tipping (which is powered by stripe and therefore more trustworthy than the hellsite itself) and locking posts. But that's definitely not the best case scenario.
Also in progress, while we're talking about other readers, is an actual website for my published works. Yes, I know the three I have out now are mediocre by many standards. They were really just to prove a point to myself. These next ones...not so mediocre.
My new job may take 40 hours of writing away from my schedule but let's be honest here...I wasn't spending 40 hours writing a week anyway.
#cole speaks#updates#about cole#coming soon#ocs#original content#sounds of someday rewrite#you'll be in my heart#the replacement bride#five minutes more#you me and the sounds you make#jake seresin#beau simpson#dean winchester#i'm not leaving#you're stuck with me
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rec me retellings / inspired-bys of The Tempest?
On my list already: Hag-Seed by Margaret Atwood, The Boatman's Daughter by Andy Davidson, Ghosts by John Banville
I'm not sure how closely connected the latter two are to the Tempest, tbh, I'm drawing this list based on not much info
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(Little prologue drabble uwu)
The first thing was that the girl couldn't seem to sit still. She was either fidgeting with the weird small elephant person figurine she'd snatched out of Nadine's hands, or whatever object happened to be nearby, a pen whose cap she could turn or button she could click. Nadine looked at it in some revulsion. Maybe a little secondhand embarrassment.
It was a childish and unfocused way to behave.
Maybe Nadine had been raised wound a little tighter than most people, and had a little more rank and file experience as an adult. But it reminded her more of her eight and ten year old cousins than anything.
Nadine was leaning against the side of the petrol station, eyes closed,trying to ignore the buzzing insects. Bharat packed things in front of her, glancing around, old sweaty scars just visible inside his shirt collar.
Chloe had tried to strike up conversation with him on the boat. He just smiled under his mustache and tapped his throat, and Chloe went practically bug-eyed. And for a moment, her eyes flitted to Nadine's own neck scar, like she didn't know how obvious she was being. Like she was dying to know how Nadine had kept her voice.
Nadine itched to crouch down and check the map again, but it was pointless. They were going into the middle of nowhere. Seeing it again wouldn't make it better.
Bharat had looked at her as if he was shocked her leadership of Shoreline was in this bad of a position that she would even consider this. He didn't have to say 'suicide mission' for her to shake her head.
He looked at her that way again now as the girl drove up. Nadine had seen it coming up the rural road and hoped against hope it was someone else refueling at the last truck stop before the end of paved road.
It was a bright red 4x4. The fucking Russians would be able to see it from satellite.
"Something's wrong with her," Nadine muttered to the boatman.
Chloe wasn't serious. Keeping her alive while in Asav's crosshairs was going to be more trouble than it was worth.
"Beauty, en't it?" Chloe leapt out of the driver's seat and attempted to lift Nadine's bag, but Bharat smiled and hopped out of the way with it. "W-well okay then. Didn't look that heavy, I mean."
Nadine hefted the blue jerrycan over her shoulder, gritting her teeth, and strapped it beside her bag.
"Bharat."
The man turned to her.
Nadine took a small package out of her pocket. It was eighty thousand rupees.
Bharat shook his head. Formalities. Nadine pressed it on him.
"You saved us out there. I would give more if I could. Your daughter's wedding is soon, isn't it? Spend it wisely."
The smile came again, more genuine this time. He had been overwhelmed with joy that his daughter had survived the night he was tortured in front of her. Her having lived to adulthood was his dream come true.
_________________________________________
The other thing was that she wouldn’t stop talking.
Kilometer one: “Were you sleeping standing up?”
Kilometer one and 30 meters: “Because when I left you, you were leaning against that same wall with your eyes closed as when I came back. I reckon I’ve never seen anybody stay in one position like that. Do you just like standing up? Oh, it’s a military thing, right. I mean, you could sleep for real right now. If you want. Instead of reading,” Chloe looked over at her. “You’ll get carsick. Even from my smooth driving. Wouldn’t want to start the trip chucking up all over the renta–”
“You think it wouldn’t be an improvement?”
Chloe looked the most insulted an individual with a reputation for deception, seduction, and betrayal possibly could. Her face scrungled up, nose area wrinkling in a way Nadine would never admit was actually cute.
Nadine scoffed and returned to her wikipedia page on medieval warfare. “A coat of vomit would make for better camouflage.”
“The color of the car,” Chloe muttered, “You’re sulking because I picked a car in a color you don’t like.”
“It’s not about what I like. I have red clothes at home. I don’t wear them in a jungle combat scenario,” Nadine said. “And seriously, nobody buys a red car. Haven’t your parents ever explained the adage about choosing car colors the police don’t notice?”
“I always charm my way out of tickets anyway. Is your car at home shit brown?”
Nadine was almost about to drily laugh, clicking on a link about scimitars, when the car experienced a surprising amount of on-ground turbulence. She almost dropped her phone out the side.
Chloe had swerved, to avoid a rock or some of the local wildlife, surely.
“BEIGE,” the woman said in a strangely loud and shaky voice.
“What?”
“The–the word I was looking for. Boring beige. Worst car color ever. Much worse than brown. Uh. Which is actually a nice color. Very pretty.”
Nadine’s eyes came up very slowly from the screen and her head turned like a greased-chassis turret to Chloe. The woman’s hands were clenched on the wheel and there was a pink to her cheeks that may have been there before or may be a trick of the dappled late-morning light through the trees?
“Which, er, I can’t really imagine you driving a beige car either. I mean at–at home. Not when you’re–”
“Can you stop,” Nadine said. It was painful to watch.
“Look I d-d-didn’t mean anything by it,” Chloe looked at her angrily now, teeth gritted. But was she imagining it, or was it a different anger from the dismissive, ungrateful brat she’d met on the roof? “Don’t–don’t start sulking even more because I apparently had foot-in-my-mouth juice for breakfast. I don’t–I’m not–I wouldn’t–right. Right. I’ll stop talking. Focus on the road.”
Nadine, eyebrows stratospheric, returned to wikipedia. “My car at home is gray.”
“Ah. New or old?”
“Old,” Nadine hated this. Having her arm twisted into conversation with Nate Drake’s little booty call of a brat.
“Cheapskate.”
Chloe was shoring up her own ego after perceiving a blunder even to her own upside-down values system. Predictable. “Guess you could upgrade after this job?”
Nadine tapped the link for middle ages projectile artillery. “That’s not a priority.”
“And who are you picking up in an old gray beater exactly?”
“My little cousins when their mothers are all tired of them,” Nadine dropped the phone and glared at her. “Don’t talk like that until we get out of here alive and the money is in our accounts, Frazer.”
Chloe said in a faux-sweet tone, “You’re scared of this guy.”
“I’m aware of this guy,” Nadine could feel her blood pressure going up as the road gained altitude. “Your new boyfriend you wanted to sell me out to? You haven’t even seen a hair’s breadth of what he’s capable of doing to you. And he’s got an army out looking for–”
“Bloody hell,” Chloe snapped, “Nadine, relax.”
“You picked a fucking red version of the Barbie car,” Nadine had had enough. “One stupid decision out here is going to kill us both and you’ve already made several. Relaxing won’t make it better, Frazer. He’ll see us wherever we go.”
“Here’s the deal,” Chloe said. “Next time, you pick the rental, and you can pick a beige, greige, taupe, wood-paneled 50’s sedan if you want to.”
She was being very funny, acting like there would be a next time.
“Although,” Chloe continued without a response, (kilometer twenty-seven), “This thing’s probably been around since then. I reckon that's why it was a good price.”
Kilometer thirty. “But seriously, you ought to trade up anyway after–after getting that company of yours back?”
“Not a priority,” Nadine repeated.
“Love, I said after.”
“My car is in good repair and paid off. Buying everything new is a drain on the planet,” Nadine said.
Maybe Chloe spent too much time around her American guys for whom cars were another dick-measuring contest. The woman had to be too old for that.
“And Shoreline isn’t?”
“Excuse me?”
Chloe’s voice was pointed. “Your deadly Geneva-convention-breaking mercenary group? They’re environmentally friendly?”
“As much as any company, ja,” Nadine returned in an equally nasty tone. “Better working for us than De Beers. Coughing black dust out of your lungs in your middle age before flatlining or dying quickly in a cave-in while you’re young, just so the planet can have overpriced engagement rings?”
“We,” Chloe sounded like she was actually choosing her next words carefully, “we have mines in Australia too. Wouldn’t…wouldn’t say I’d take a job there.”
Nadine scoffed. That country had far better labor protections than she knew were in place back home. There was no comparison.
“Did you have brekky?” Chloe said. A peace offering.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Like hell you aren’t, mate. You haven’t slept and you haven’t ate. You’ll be a hell of a lot less stressed and grumpy if you do.”
The girl really went there. Nadine took a deep, slow breath through her teeth, feeling the indignant heat rising in her face.
Alright. Better present complete nonchalance to her for the rest of the trip, if she was going the whole angry black woman gaslighting route. It was clear none of Nadine’s concerns were being taken seriously anyway.
She just had to think of the cost-benefit analysis. She’d only have to deal with this for a short while, get a great payday, and be well on her way toward her goal. It would be fine. She’d never have to deal with this person again. She’d worked with worse. A temporary setback.
Kilometer forty-five. “So you actually aren’t gonna eat anything.”
Kilometer fifty. “You know I can stop if you want to grab something from the back? Think I saw your friend packing you some crisps. Let’s stop for a bit then?”
Nadine didn’t answer, blinking at the sun, balanced as it was over the hills. They weren’t making good enough time. Every lost minute was conceded to the enemy.
Nevertheless, the girl pulled over, narrow track that it was, and stepped out of the car, stretching her arms over her head. “I picked up a mango at the market. We can split it.”
Nadine had her arm twisted into accepting a cut of mango despite the isotonic drink packet from her open ration pack having enough sugar. It was messy and stringy to eat, even if the fruit was at the pinnacle of ripeness and cloyingly sweet. Nadine wasted some of her canteen to rinse off her hands and make sure her teeth were clean.
She dried her face with her shirt, a habit her father would always condemn as untucked shirts even for a minute were embarrassing, and looked up to see Chloe quickly looking away.
Had she been staring…?
It was either the muscles, Nadine knew, or the scar. Some women from certain narrow-minded communities really didn’t like all of that on her. They looked bug-eyed as if she was an animal when she was at the beach with the little cousins, but were usually wise enough not to make the comments on the tips of their tongues.
Nadine didn’t have such expectations of Chloe. The woman never shut up.
“What?” Nadine said.
“What?” Chloe made a show of turning her back and re-securing her (beige) duffel on the car.
“You were–”
“That was delicious,” Chloe said, interrupting, and pacing around the 4x4 to hop into the driver’s seat again. “Never get them that ripe back home.”
“I can drive for a shift,” Nadine said.
“No.”
The girl was adamant about it. Like she was insulted at the idea of giving Nadine the reins. Nadine gritted her teeth and climbed in beside her.
Cost-benefit analysis.
#chlodine#chloe frazer#nadine ross#uncharted#the lost legacy#fanfic#please read this i stg#enemies part of the enemies to lovers narrative#misunderstandings#accidental rudeness#all my favorite things#that's not why she was staring Nadine#when chloe said you don't like anything i feel like it was 100% a reference to Nadine complaining about the car#long post
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