N is for Narcotic, Q is for Quilt
I'm sure there are people out there who think these sort of fics mean I deserve a severe beating. One of them, if she wasn't fictional, would be Granny Weatherwax. To them I say: be glad it's not Nanny/Casanunda smut. I wouldn't hesitate. Fear my awesome power!
Title: Never Again Mentioned
Fandom: Discworld
Pairing: Gytha/Esme
Claim: Discworld
Rating: PG
Word count: 250
No-one ever said witching would be easy. Gytha didn't expect it, and didn't complain when called to it. The rewards were worth it. Her busybody soul was satisfied that a year out of her apprenticeship she already knew all of Lancre's little secrets.
Even so, she drank more as the secrets piled up. Drink made life seem pleasant; so did men. She'd always liked them, or sex, at least. She knew all those kinds of secrets too.
Esme was a crone already as a girl - no liquor for her, nor any men. (Gytha knew all of Esme's secrets too. Gytha's parents were positive sweethearts compared to hers; then again, so were almost anyone's.)
Esme seethed with strength, ready for every foe. She never gave an inch. Maybe that's what Gytha yearned for in Esme, why she liked her so much; Gytha's too mellow sometimes, and Esme too hard; together, they might learn to be resilient instead.
One night before Hogswatch week young Gytha put liquor into Esme, to test this. Neither of them ever spoke of it again, and neither of them ever forgot.
Gytha remembers it vividly sometimes, usually late at night. Horrible, and beautiful: Esme losing control, Esme crying, Esme grasping her, and herself so drunk she'd kissed Esme, like men and women kiss, like she rarely jokes about even in old age because it's too close to home, and because of Esme.
Resilience is made of a mosaic of strengths - that's why there are always three witches.
Title: Her Correct Age
Fandom: Discworld
Pairing: Gytha/Esme & Esme/Mustrum mentioned.
Claim: Discworld
Rating: G
Word count: 145
Romance was nonsense, from beginning to end. Esmeralda played with it for a while with Mustrum and found the exercise mostly ridiculous. She was later confused by Gytha's bubbling sensuality in quite a different way, even drawn into it during a night before Hogswatch week that they would never mention again.
It was nonsense, and entirely improper, by which she meant it wasn't proper for her. Rushing into old age she felt for the first time that she was where she belonged: beyond sensuality, beyond expectations of marriage, beyond any possibility of children. She breathed a long sigh on her sixtieth birthday, and smiled, settling into her new rocking chair with a quilt around her legs. Gytha, who'd always be a girl no matter how old she got, gave her a queer look from the chair across, and answered Esme's glare with a hearty laugh.
Title: Never Again Mentioned
Fandom: Discworld
Pairing: Gytha/Esme
Claim: Discworld
Rating: PG
Word count: 250
No-one ever said witching would be easy. Gytha didn't expect it, and didn't complain when called to it. The rewards were worth it. Her busybody soul was satisfied that a year out of her apprenticeship she already knew all of Lancre's little secrets.
Even so, she drank more as the secrets piled up. Drink made life seem pleasant; so did men. She'd always liked them, or sex, at least. She knew all those kinds of secrets too.
Esme was a crone already as a girl - no liquor for her, nor any men. (Gytha knew all of Esme's secrets too. Gytha's parents were positive sweethearts compared to hers; then again, so were almost anyone's.)
Esme seethed with strength, ready for every foe. She never gave an inch. Maybe that's what Gytha yearned for in Esme, why she liked her so much; Gytha's too mellow sometimes, and Esme too hard; together, they might learn to be resilient instead.
One night before Hogswatch week young Gytha put liquor into Esme, to test this. Neither of them ever spoke of it again, and neither of them ever forgot.
Gytha remembers it vividly sometimes, usually late at night. Horrible, and beautiful: Esme losing control, Esme crying, Esme grasping her, and herself so drunk she'd kissed Esme, like men and women kiss, like she rarely jokes about even in old age because it's too close to home, and because of Esme.
Resilience is made of a mosaic of strengths - that's why there are always three witches.
Title: Her Correct Age
Fandom: Discworld
Pairing: Gytha/Esme & Esme/Mustrum mentioned.
Claim: Discworld
Rating: G
Word count: 145
Romance was nonsense, from beginning to end. Esmeralda played with it for a while with Mustrum and found the exercise mostly ridiculous. She was later confused by Gytha's bubbling sensuality in quite a different way, even drawn into it during a night before Hogswatch week that they would never mention again.
It was nonsense, and entirely improper, by which she meant it wasn't proper for her. Rushing into old age she felt for the first time that she was where she belonged: beyond sensuality, beyond expectations of marriage, beyond any possibility of children. She breathed a long sigh on her sixtieth birthday, and smiled, settling into her new rocking chair with a quilt around her legs. Gytha, who'd always be a girl no matter how old she got, gave her a queer look from the chair across, and answered Esme's glare with a hearty laugh.