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fintan-pyren · 25 days

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Sometimes, life is busy. You shouldn't let that stop you from enjoying a good book, but who has the time to read the same words over and over again?

For your enjoyment and convenience, I have removed all duplicate words from the first Keeper of the Lost Cities book.

blurry fractured memories swam through sophie’s mind but she couldn’t piece them together tried opening her eyes and found only darkness something rough pressed against wrists ankles refusing to let move a wave of cold rushed as the horrifying realization dawned was hostage cloth across lips stifled cry for help sedative’s sweet aroma stung nose when inhaled making head spin were they going kill would black swan really destroy their own creation what point project moonlark then everblaze drug lulled toward dreamless oblivion fought back clinging one memory that could shine tiny spot light in thick inky haze pair beautiful aquamarine fitz’s first friend new life ever maybe if hadn’t noticed him day museum none this have happened no knew it’d been too late even white fires already burning curving city filling sky with sticky smoke spark before blaze miss foster mr sweeney’s nasal voice cut blaring music he yanked earbuds out by cords you decided you’re smart pay attention information sophie forced open not wince bright fluorescents reflected off vivid blue walls amplifying throbbing headache hiding sweeney mumbled shrinking under glares now staring classmates pulled shoulder-length blond hair around face wishing hide behind it exactly kind went way avoid why wore dull colors lurked blocked other kids who at least foot taller than survive twelve-year-old high school senior perhaps can explain listening your ipod instead following along held up like evidence crime though probably he’d dragged class natural history balboa park assuming his students be excited about all-day field trip didn’t seem realize unless giant dinosaur replicas came started eating people cared tugged loose eyelash nervous habit stared feet there make understand needed cancel noise hear chatter from dozens tourists echoed fossil-lined splashed cavernous room mental voices real problem scattered disconnected pieces thoughts broadcast straight into brain being hundreds tvs different shows same time sliced consciousness leaving sharp pains wake freak secret burden since fell hit five years old she’d blocking ignoring nothing helped never tell anyone wouldn’t you’ve above lecture don’t give asked pointed enormous orange duckbill center how lambeosaurus differs dinosaurs we’ve studied repressed sigh flashed an image card front display glanced entered photographic recorded every detail recited facts twisted scowl classmates’ grow increasingly sour weren’t fans resident child prodigy called curvebuster finished answer grumbled sounded know-it-all stalked exhibit next over follow thin separating two rooms block muffled grabbed little relief nice job superfreak garwin chang boy wearing t-shirt said i’m gonna fart sneered shoved past join they’ll write another article child teaches lame-o-saurus still bitter yale had offered full scholarship rejection letter arrived few weeks allowed go parents much pressure young end discussion so attending closer smaller san diego college year fact some annoying reporter newsworthy enough post local paper chooses ivy league complete photo freaked wasn’t strong word more half rules unnecessary front-page articles pretty worst nightmare they’d newspaper complain editor seemed unhappy story run place on arsonist terrorizing trying figure mistake bizarre white-hot flames smelled burnt sugar took priority everything especially unimportant girl most ignore or used caught sight tall dark-haired reading yesterday’s embarrassing black-and-white looked seen particular shade teal smooth sea glass beach glittered flickered expression gaze disappointment decide shrugged leaning closed distance between smile belonged movie screen heart did weird fluttery thing is pointing picture nodded feeling tongue-tied fifteen far cutest talking i thought squinted brown uh yeah sure say reason felt conversation accent british somehow crisper which bothered know are suck words soon left mouth course boys cute made mushy perfect returned told hulking greenish standing albertosaurus all its lizardesque glory me do think that’s it’s absurd

isn’t see saw small t rex: big teeth ridiculously short arms fine laughed i’ll get meet turned leave just classes kindergartners barreled fossil crushing screaming knock step whole realm pain kids’ stinging high-pitched needles many once angry porcupine attacking hands darted rubbing temples ease stabbings skull remembered alone reaction locked forehead pained imagined seconds hushed blood drain mean created plenty racket shrieks squeals giggles plus sixty individual chattering away gasped solved earlier everyone boy’s distinct accented speaking totally completely silent possible whispered widened moved whisper telepath flinched skin itch gave can’t believe backed exit reveal total stranger okay holding sort wild animal calm afraid froze my name’s fitz added stepping name searching sign part joke joking thinking wobbled spent seven find someone else world tilted sideways steady here looking twelve we better question: want air jerked bolted door stumbling shaky legs rhythm sucked breaths ran down stairs burned lungs bits ash flew ignored wanted space strange come shouted picked pace raced courtyard base steps wide fountain grassy knolls sidewalk got inside because poor quality footsteps gaining wait pouring energy sprint fighting urge glance shoulder halfway crosswalk sound screeching tires reminded both ways terrified driver struggling stop car plowed right die second blur swerved missing inches jumped curb sideswiped streetlight heavy steel lantern cracked plummeted instincts hand shot pulling strength somewhere deep gut pushing fingertips force collide falling gripping extension arm dust settled floated feel weighed ton put familiar warned bringing trance shrieked dropped without hurtled watch yanking split crashed ground impact knocked tumbled body broke fall landed chest stretched flurry questions swirling coherent idea sat replaying sense need witnessed miracle tighten panic let’s overwhelmed plan resist street reached intersection north zoo where crowd during firestorm running missed hearing changed terrifying scenarios involved government agents throwing dark vans experiments watched road ready bolt anything suspicious zoo’s massive parking lot relaxed outside milling cars happen witnesses slowed walk breath promise sincere easier opened hesitated supposed am trust won’t considered father sent specific age observe report always talk frowned disappointed himself does means expected threw what’s wrong touched eyelids suddenly selfconscious figured again awe us stopped whoa hang ‘one us’ frowning spotted fanny-pack-wearing within earshot deserted corner ducking green minivan there’s easy we’re human stunned speak hysterical laugh escaped repeated shaking riiiiiight insane trusting kicked stomped telling truth minute last listen plea humans vanished gone reeling leaned argued taking clear set pole minutes ago almost three managed finally saying alien erupted laugher cheeks grew hot also relieved compose elf hung foreign object belong visions tights pointy ears danced giggling expect guess stick wavy spikes rock star good crazy agreed refused serious frodo ring save middle-earth toys hid corners showed oh ought folded slender silver wand intricate carvings etched sides tip round crystal sparkled sunlight magic asking rolled actually pathfinder spun latch top dangerous you’ll faded depends take concentrate matter happens proof prove whisk land curious harm someone’s willed palms sweat fingers laced stupid tingled everywhere scanning warning look scowled bit tongue concentrated racing seriously become those silly girls counted raising facet beam refracted tightened grip forward warm tingling million feathers swelling underneath tickling giggle melted goo keeping oozing blanket warmth wrapped faster blink eye might squeaked stood edge glassy river lined impossibly trees fanning emerald leaves among puffy clouds row castles walt disney throw rocks kingdom golden path led sprawling elaborate domed buildings built brick-size jewels each structure color snowcapped mountains surrounded lush valley crisp cool

cinnamon chocolate sunshine places exist less appear forgotten released realized hard squeezing unable castle towers oddly our capital call eternalia heard shangri-la lost cities you’d stories rarely ridiculous things elves burst quiet gentle breeze brushing soft murmur traffic hammering unspoken very silence rising tiptoes view streets ghost town building towered others stones emeralds banner flying tribunal progress everyone’s watching proceedings council basically royalty holds broken law they’re deal laws well shook wrap cringing question funniest glared funny regained control try cling remaining strands sanity sun casting ray onto leaping hitched ride headed impossible infinite travel haven’t theory relativity stumped dumbest i’ve albert einstein huh dumb argue confident unnerving harder waited feather sensation dryer scattering directions until rubber band later shivering ocean whipping glowed carved moonlight failed passed bring herself true science book read confused observed ‘hey learned smug grin best minds begin comprehend complexities reality elves’ ahead slowest trump proper education shoulders sagged sank four scenery blurred whether tears entire lie nudged hey fault believed taught i’d done works bells chimed large gateway floor-length velvet capes draped tunics emerged followed creatures marching military formation rocky pants muscles prominently flat noses coarse gray pleated folds armadillo goblins signed treaty hating trembling dressed forbidden lumenaria worlds gnomes dwarves ogres trolls mentioning focused motioned farther squatting betrayed ancient councillors intelligent rule planning war ancients violence disappeared forbid any contact devices working defend race famine problems chilled frigid wind licking who’d known must’ve after eventually evolved myths simple yes peeked glowing crucial identity clicked spinning thousand loud clang gate stepped shadows sleek cobalt home jolted mom bus bland boring stole incredible blinding swept smoky fresh surprised recognized plain square houses narrow tree-lined house ask lived coughed handle putting pollutes planet these aren’t normal chemical smells usually wildfires smell barbecue melting cotton candy burn rain arsonists admitted pocket hoping notice dad wants knows neither important meant mystery he’s happy careful please shown today thank act family doesn’t suspect squared courage telepaths special ability rarer ones thirteen six months corrected liking youngest manifest start reverberated scanned positive waking hospital moment forget hooked kinds machines hovering shouting barely separate hold happening group adults haunted worry brows narrowed doing extra private keep wall weak hated bossed answering concerned action worked imagining stretching shadow mine blurted pale process hardest worries live fumbled answers long trouble knees link amazing will tomorrow panicked battered cluttered living phone she’s receiver having reeled daggers calling wandering worried police sorry stammered convincing horrible liar scared mom’s anger concern nervously curly guy realizing lies based freaking walked trolley train teacher guard ugh complained closing adult rubbed wrinkle appeared stressed upset safe stand weirdo understood dangers teased tormented bullied deflate wish trailed close rest sister slipped pin painful tight hug welcome honey dinner ten amy upstairs kitchen unease twist stomach worn linoleum pastel tacky knickknacks ordinary glittering kissed cheek shabby briefcase table how’s soybean wink baby apparently pronouncing thousands times lid simmering pots garlic cream filled handed silverware turn crackin’ scooted plopped usual chair nine role mastered opposite lower average grades popularity sisters wondered definitely powers lowered breathing: inhale exhale repeat care nickname dizzy must lay should eat skipping acting fettuccine night favorite rich sauce sudden nausea tug eyelashes chewed bite swallow fork official thanks great homework sprinted bed hiss shattered marty pounding fluffy cat sitting tail slunk settling lap marty’s purring

confront downstairs settle explained blonde chubby brunette screamed throbbed deeper ripped apart blinked related change lots adopted poked brought e l fudges plate cookies milk getting sick palm fever tired cookie stumbled routine crawled blankets wrapping pillow dreams kissing tucked tradition breathe ella yep elephant stuffed sleep tonight um guys hugged tighter hours labor endured switched birth daughter doubt wondering anymore dreamed keebler perfected recipes liked oreos drown vat fudge woke overrated morning quick shower jeans shirt buttery yellow stripes item closet self-conscious wear gold flecks admit clipped toyed lip gloss snuck check crept yard blinking stuck contained next-door neighbor perch middle lawn forkle rearranging garden tableaux nosy checking effect beady bored hers loved sentences complaining 911 obligated gnome fraction inch gives headaches yapping interrupted ball fur streaked barking spandex jogging shorts chased grabbing dog leash clumsy lunge kneeled stroking wild-eyed panting creature drew growled strained mad sister’s hates displaying several halfmoon wounds bleeding scar suppose willing carry blocks seems winked piercing certainly yelled jogger guy’s louder chaos wonder grab drag should’ve trick react stopping tracks side man straightened height quite intimidating ordered glowered promised snorted grumbling moving explaining whenever appearance waiting incident eyewitnesses frustrating confusing bell rang lurking scream demanded loudly heads bad flashing cocky rush blush unanswered tries creepy snatch slow replayed scene remember growling forkle’s quietly quieter we’ll we’d eyeing suspected impending mischief leap english ditch yesterday strangle pull disappearing fail willingly use telepathy brushed whispering pushed further test tested permission assignment frustrated matters invading offense scrunch nod movement nearby oak drowned could’ve sworn jogger’s campus gestured tree either imagine adjusted shouldn’t anyway who’s committee sidelong heat breaking automatically furious enjoyed caused determines grinned future shield surveyed surroundings metal nearly everglen leading doors absorbs directly likes privacy stressful doubted king kong faint click swung inward striking clearing growing midnight cape fastened clasp diamond-encrusted wings lean vibrant resemblance alden introduced bow curtsy shake greet shy pleasure prominent kidding unusual flush smiled embarrassed fire alden’s injury muttered son shared kidnapping considering such might’ve paranoid has touch rude assure love kidnapper searched reassure kindness agree placed gently jacket ticked indeed fascinating sounding triumphant perfectly specifically nexus forgot covered dug cuff coat clamped bracelet wrist twisting fit snug comfortable accessory single jewel rectangle symbols letters spelled gibberish odd decorate finality safety precaution break particles carried concentration circumstances bare early fools overestimate skills fade cautious answered lose yourself able fully reform pulls forever goose bumps dimple cleared throat prefer reproving send mission collect long-lost guests wiped blooming red pink purple rainbow perfume flowers dizzying testing qualify foxfire paused fungus insulted prestigious academy named represents glow darkened comes ‘fungus’ strongest talent kiss goodbye excuse proud attend accomplishment earliest levels develops abilities continue studies elvin sneak work knowingly chills mixed night’s troubling revelation sickening councillor bronte difficult impress feels upbringing lack disqualify surprises existed miffed votes squat brown-skinned huge tended fairy tale plants slantways shuffled carrying basket twinkling fruit guessing pictured men hats statues servants stare choose safer gardens enjoy privileged taste gnomish produce lunch treat dig slimy tubers slugs hoped menu peeled meadow elegant manor entirely intricately numerous turrets gables rose tower resembled lighthouse braided foyer prism widest hallway fountains spouted streams colored water hall dead-ended encrusted jeweled mosaic

diamond unicorns amethyst spoke wealth squeezed formal dining sheer silk curtains drawing chandelier waterfall shimmering crystals platters fancy goblets figures jewel-encrusted circlets plush thronelike chairs surrounding curtsied necks clasps keys horribly underdressed fabrics except disguise kenric oralie football player toothy princess rosy ringlets met smallest cropped features finger pairs floor laughter squirmed joined pleased shape it’ll transformed noticing autorepeat: scooting oralie’s one’s died yet hurt immortal trace sorrow bodies aging reach adulthood wrinkles belongs yourselves guest uncovered grimace strips glop goop tasted juiciest cheeseburger stuff mashed carnissa root umber leaf tastes chicken animals tone ate toxic waste squirming grimaced vegetarians horror vegetables cheeseburgers tells swallowed mouthful thud discussing openly respond kenric’s jaws dry remembering warnings stay begun eight pass mentioned learn relax bronte’s icy gust common announced jaw flushing chagrined incredulous impenetrable key sentence ‘almost breached guilt conscience sounds infallible thinks likely exceptionally lift weight telekinesis recovering embarrassment shrank goblet accident raised lifting invisible scoffed unimpressed limitations unlike physical confidence clue giving blew pretending imaginary extend sharper worth saucers applauded excellent praise couple glasses determined stronger ounce core empty collective gasp including breathed celebrate cramped strain knocking thunderous collision open-mouthed shock hollered sealed clapped language guys’ enlightened leaped instinctive interesting babbling teasing noisy gripped ‘soybean’ mispronouncing blushed chuckled beside dusting waved insisted sighed suldreen stretch line rare species bird puzzle solve uncomfortable coincidence convince decision barked shoving moonlarks vote otherwise fight favor final fragile lovely empath emotions extended grasped delicate fear confusion sincerity describe azure settles revisited till adjust invoke demand probe planned arranged quinlin busy decipher fun training looks iffy ‘bothered’ dad’s reluctant emptiness exploded choked saving colder implications ditched stall punishment atlantis nowhere patch white-capped waves signs seagulls screech poop hardly continent tide pool triangular slip slick shoes match gown begged status noble members nobility offices empire waist beaded neckline dress costume seeing clothes: tunic embroidery edges pockets sewn sleeves exact size sit boots completed thankfully knowing biana comparison changing subject ledge engineered catastrophe compartment revealing bottles label bottle whirlpool uncorked flung blast whipped faces roar churning ladies suggested worse gulped maelstrom beneath salty sprayed jump push count dignity drowning flailing idiot formed tunnel dipping weaving craziest waterslide starting launched vortex sponge licked toe pack kittens minus kitten sprang cushion smoothed wet incoming rocketed slightly squishy packed sand gleaming metropolis dome beyond soared skyline bathing radiating spires network canals interconnected arched bridges pictures venice modern clean despite bottom underwater muted hum background seashell ear build stores power precisely amount changes plated reflect firelight illuminate sink wandered shops renaissance fair women’s gowns shifted advertised two-for-one specials bottled lightning fast approval spyball applications strolled hybrid chicken-lizard invented main canal hailed carriages floating almond-shaped boat rows high-backed benches elbow-length steered bench reins skimming surface eight-foot-long scorpion deadly pincers reared curled sting eurypterid stroked shiny shell eurypterid’s slice emitting low hissing petted harmless carriage quinlin’s yours fiber mutant insect doom probed gritted pressing hideous sonden’s office thrashed heebie-jeebies commute while secure needs protection file highly classified business district windows tracing bearing names treasury registry interspeciesial services unreadable random strings runes nonsense writing

alphabet clueless chin jumble nah affected gap kid option country tests dropping member broad kelp ornamentation precise read: sonden: chief mentalist cube swiped elbow ping assurances humiliating bypassed receptionist dim damp stone desk dark-skinned chin-length seat ceremony unique understatement squirm handing lick dna unsanitary tiniest hologram center: rotating unearthly breathing prentice sacrificed double helixes sacrifice reasons fears hundred seventy-eight murmured began pacing invaded she’ll greatest keeper older midstep record share trained charge protecting currently hidden karaoke game sing off-key notes clearly eavesdropping strip slid winding stairway climbed oval footage brush projected chill aerial southern california lines circle area images deepened valleys ruled reflections note interrupting communicate waving warn turning overreacting glancing shuddered desperate kidnapper’s threatened easily implied nameless faceless entity quickly threatening authorities would’ve shivered accelerant chemicals leads lighting spilling oil blowing investigate council’s position here: takes visit babysitter decent equally spying steam secrecy existence discovered hoax search updated slight bypassing distracted evillooking matches keepers lagoon glint shimmery dunes lake west shore statue topped hollow iridescent film shimmered loop apparatus resemble bubble lifted clung shrieking levitate forming touching bubble’s rumble coming geyser shoot eleven crash below bobbed where’s scary pure joy popped whisked glaring gates flash strode olive contrast youth shone nerve summoning personal shorter intimidated difference sooner exiled clench fists backward tiergan aware opinion summoned convinced tiergan’s fierce crumbled crossing expert inventory widening whatever foxfire’s newest mentor puppy officially weirding becomes provide retired given persuaded return resentment mixture surprise hone assistance reasonable restrictions pretend opportunity silencing bet terrible mood mumbling mostly irresponsible manage choice benefit stares notify dame alina returning kept bruise meantime session listed remedial schedule lessons dummies correct assumption warmed tuesday brilliant panel everglen’s grounds sessions study student subjects one-on-one nerves one-onone succeed mention level grade relearning self-doubt heavier fragmented disappear explanation aside pleasant dis arguing overstuffed armchairs woman squealed snickered wife della pinched gesturing dear vanishers smiling musical hint della’s beauty tossed pursed heart-shaped parents’ combined gangly troll interceded borrow errands frumpy files requested denied request approve grady edaline case torn radiant parcels strobe unwrapped packages clasped cord neck choker pendant elf-y anytime fund’s activated fund register money standard dollars lusters laughing luster dollar crinkled ew insult afford differently limited seventy eighty makes sad curved window overlooking silvery floor-to-ceiling aquarium wingback facing piled books scrolls anxiety remind stacks newspapers circled crossed news removed drawer theories irritation super stuttered discuss faced solution allow ours they’ve effective immediately too-simple accept kick constant discovery longer unbearable loneliness friends grasping overwhelm areas access severely restricted dead deciding gravestones became vivid: grave tearstained draw suffer struck complicated relocated jobs erase tear obvious believing shutting function erased armchair scrubbed forbade sob occurred risking twenty alert plans clothes sees wiping focus bent unshed horrors cringed buried trembled bouncing busted eavesdrop grounded hugging worrying pouted pettiness bratty obnoxious pain-in-the-butt embrace struggles play daughters mouths senses hook hurry daze rememorize room: dusty available quilt mother tripped furry crouching releasing pathetic meow disk sleeping gas release drugging physically ill backpack slung giggled elizabeth clutching anywhere couch fingered ordering thirty crumpled burying recognize crouched smearing drool snot drugged sobs

overcame jerk washers bags regret bear slept finish hawaiian family’s limp determination taken fourteen cried assured stranglehold haunting gets hope personally oversee relocation flared wrung guardians title selected enthusiasm strangers elwin’s blue-crystaled temptation shiver raked bones orphan conservatory lead backyard security choosing saved ache suffering gift raise ended abandoned wipe elwin physician medical hate doctors brave regular nightmares brief stays struggled dragging direction drop free implying biana’s glare escape punch bathed gigantic glued cushioned cot syringe goes fidget spectacles scientist snapped painless orb flasher manipulate skilled orem vacker show eclipse biggest celebrations traditions damage permanent tensed food chance innocent cells dashing depending orbs squinting lenses stunningly lit dramatic expecting toxins research rifled satchel vials liquids major detox braced medicine syrups nectar unknown fruits tingly drink youth legends enzymes essential health refreshing downed contents gulp drank medicines list follow-up checkup whistled sometimes heated lame stinky stegosaurus shame horrified production wimp doctor phobia jumping needle strap bunch shots allergic how’d concrete nine-one-one unconscious genes kicking trigger bedroom canopied chandeliers room’s gotten deserve ruined chanting mantra shut pajamas tuck asleep belonging alive twenty-five catch breakfast clock shop furniture detoxes materializing clutched ghostly exotic heartbreaker fitted glamorous shopping explosion behold wardrobe outfits extras pick beat-up sparkly casual packing leaked days unpack hungry knotted sadly dampened preserve havenfield exciting jolie deny loss wonderful booming fenced-in pastures spread scrambled versions rehabilitation centers sanctuary protected trap nessie artist endangered gorillas lions mammoths extinct thriving herd woolly colonies saber-toothed tigers slack exists rob qualities provides thrive feeding hunt diet steep cliffs caves flower-lined using ropes lasso lizard neon beast protest drama queen husky male commanded beast’s heave feat twice snaarrll bucked guardian lunged tangled writhed losing balance verdi tyrannosaurus comments meeting jaculus winged serpent feeds support contain bloodsucking snake claws snout tremble lowering fangs glinted slobber motioning glimpse dinosaur-riding chiseled feather-covered james bond robin hood balding relate handsome feathery banged pet rub rex’s stayed docile unblinking separated verdi’s wound plugged slime death rot tuna fish combination kelpie dung bites jar swear edaline’s grady’s wary compared palatial estate mansion standards columns cupola roof entryway central upper floors cascaded ceiling wispy fabric turquoise amber curls similar circles fluff presentable rex picking playing rodeo cowboy nope wash staircase sadness lingered tea mallowmelt insist gooey cake fresh-baked chip soaked ice frosting butterscotch dripping hasty slices served nook grazing linens painted china homesick woken lushberry juice pop possessed conjurer form teleporting objects coolest unfortunately scraggly slurps burps letting friend’s ached grieve fished imparter simply strangled pounded reassuring deafening third star-shaped dangled glittery weaved carpet scent canopy occupied dressing bookshelves brightly volumes bathroom bathtub swimming biting awesome assumed jolie’s tour awkward delicious soupy pizza unpacking wrinkled scrapbook wherever welled remnants dried sixteen sunrise streaks blending mirror darken awake finishing hovered doorway interrupt riser shades clap bruises conjured bowl spoon banana bread tempted impose sloppy handwriting upside symbol corner: bird’s beak tickled babble scare extremely documents cipher moisture particularly believable prescribed drawn eager fidgeting ruffles simplest bought hi kesler groaned island mysterium identical mold vendors spices sweets buzzed crowded sidewalks working-class social rank ‘talent simpler correspondingly unfair born lesser lives type designed village avoiding whispers ruewen pretended different

store crooked nursery rhyme burps: merry apothecary belched maze shelves pills laboratory beakers bubbling burners rainbow-colored lab skinny tousled strawberry periwinkle blob tubes add amarallitine dex tongs vial experiment poured beaker sparked plume dirty gag concoction exclaimed hello ‘hello impersonation sludge eda scrap sheet kesler’s brother-in-law nephew practically monday al freaks dimples burped beanpole hooded cloak vika annoyance handiwork written girl’s bald scalp meanwhile stina ’cause twitched battling sell solutions sasquatch dent bony appendages children throttle hairoids stock week wailed ogre wicked misses responsible friendly rage here’s spat helping customers potent hat flinch useless buy countered retort stina’s oooh slammed fist timkin heks helps situation traditional absolutely brings stuffy nobles happier grinning mess tweak supplies armful worktable sneaky beard dex’s evil mortar pestle teach tingle attempt fifty-seven solo property collapse practiced checked displayed sliver percent chose he’ll hawk mentors monitor weakness expelled pushes transferred exillium swallowing bile mounting attack messy juline riveted gossip interruption interest hilarious bookshelf mounted cover camera summer flipping pages naked mouse suit disneyland dizznee photos honestly movies outlets flipped technology solar powered rifling sir conley’s luck lady galvin highest rate rig calming flooded seventeen gadgets chimes arrive uniform skirt leggings shirt-vest-cape combo laceup jerkin long-sleeved slacks waist-length superhero captain blueberry rescue meaning order demonstrate rid wimpy halcyon mastodons mascot birds storm mastodon ceremonies costumes glad idiots appealing crest triangle heart: scarlet eagle soaring talons chemistry equipment theirs adopting adoption adopt temporary enrollment manticore themselves parties dies span cope calmed orphans wylie whose recover connection blames wylie’s hanging leapmaster 500 lucky authorized 250 tons rotated five-story pyramid sharply angled u stained seventh amphitheater extensive fields grass hopelessly prodigies uniforms building’s finding ducked starts orientation principal reads announcements attendance collar track peal close-up stunning porcelain caramel-colored foremost whoever reekrod weekend mark punished fullest extent threat dangle continued detect ah spotlight hissed viper’s nest ssssssophie hole crawl concludes today’s nearest exception divided wing banners bore midflight halls quad throughout sparkling sapphire chatted doorways lining atrium spectacle creating marked rune locker mirrored lock uses gross faculty picks flavors pepper sneeze croak yelped stench rotten eggs dash diaper muskog wheezy snicker whirled towering mass frizzy cackling hags stalking hairs shave earth serum friday retorted raven swishing behavior phasers ashamed apologize obviously spend detention alexine stinks beet minions kinda frog fumes catching jensi rapid-fire speech talked buckets redder instructed honest ‘human girl’ ‘sophie’ whim elementalism pride backtracked twists turns drops warped wooden session’s zapped ‘zapped’ thunderclap eighteen tray electrocuted quiver conley hitting fluted botched sending tornado tornadoes mastering elements entering foods series stalls court mall recognizable eaten tables cafeteria whom discourage joining verge perceptible message clear: focusing bigger jensi’s acne braces fairly slicked greasy ponytails drooled setting bang c’mon dude unison ‘e’ duh drooly volunteered singed universe daunting exaggerated messing ‘dude’ killing explode cough pixielike rescuing tossing petite balled braids suicide overeager marella mare nicknames obeyed enemies honored pucker licorice lemon fan prettypants rather grumpy brat brother’s dreamy willpower copying sip looped defending dizznees triplets says ‘bad match’ genetically incompatible inferior aunt uncle superstrange celebrities famous vackers superimportant marella’s sympathy grandma heartbroken helpless veins hopeless cases guarantee scooping mammoth shudder awful afternoon feared astronomical

learning astin whispery complex maps planetarium effortless excelled hour survived approaching dragon hateful invited feelings letters: extinguished stuffing fill animosity deck ‘nice uncanny royal highness bothers remembers talented ‘deck beaming nineteen thursday disaster goal sandwiched colosseum pe vanity near door: sneakers ponytail owned ship slap reply lasted compare redek squish may fool stops idle threats grouped twos tromps manifested fifty-fifty manifesting mysterious remark required variable reign terror ‘everyone’ impressive jolt supervise caton titan god informed channeling supereasy channel parts body: heights speeds normally unimpressive attempts threes bumped defense appetite startled spaceship unremarkable studying superintently snapping scraping probing concept unsettling establish forcing eighty-seven puckered brow assume cheerful scraped intended drained steadying suggest ethics attached meganeura exercise annoy fidgeted cocked wanna buzzing dived vulture-size dragonflies patted freaky-looking bug blown gargantuan proportions creepiest disco balls grown monster enclosure phys ed intense emergency weirdest part: proven trustworthy receive assignments lectured responsibility detecting discover elite avoided mesmer nauseated wow sheesh inflicting curiosity won causes dara lecture: pyramids tidal army hairy hollowing himalayas strangest mumble creeped exile interested dying supertalented fundamental guilty underground eternity ruin fluke churned abandoning illegal washer alter dump brother secluded sorted reminding effort flavored flumes spritzed shove disturbing failing smirked alchemy pupil encouraging cracking melody ominous ingredients trophies gilded items pointy-toed suspiciously midas milky liquid dancing rushing rustle red-brown updo hunter silky decorated patterns swished slightest alkahest universal solvent stored itself dissolves wood flesh taxes substance alchemist wise teaching masters tincture poultice basic serums yellowed box flask jars iron transmuting metals recipe formula labeled instructions fiddled rechecked mistakes plunged whip fizzed rumbled jelly galvin’s exquisite dissolved luxurious damaged salvage welt healing ma’am murder retrieve afterward muttering incompetence flunk sprawled hallways stark ditching keefe gulon disheveled untucked popular belva crush blame 90 certain paid accidentally cue epic alina’s ugly crying treated whiter phobia consisted rooms: treatment beds brewing physician’s paperwork slinky scurried bullhorn demented ferret banshee adorable fellow dramatically wanting seize mmm-hmm acid mimed effects destroyed salve measured whap wash present laughs clarification confirming twenty-one embellished version destruction joked bottling anwen multispeciesial 324 faxon metaphysics complimented requests brown-eye create overnight granted incredibly challenging explosions occurrence unlearn lifetime knowledge levitating rainbows constantly messed highlight skill effortlessly amazed unwanted transmit else’s psychic photograph needing patient plague suspicion snotty maruca i-hate-sophiefoster club reaching growl jealous prettiest bedlam subdue chasing rabbits antlers swinging trunk lump verminion pen boosted mammoth’s trumpeted earthshaking squeal ringing mound timid twig hiiiissssssssssss uncurled rodent bulging hamsters rottweiler-size hamsterzilla trample japanese hamster cooed snaarrrlll impressed chase steer dashed catches fifty stupidest clod mud nailed grooowwwwllll fatal flaw pinned grunted press snarling squeeze verminion’s unlocked assortment spewed whined pile gloves shed trade trudged oversize squirrels rats identify burlap sack quivering snarl steeled shriek batlike heaved wool scratches leg outbuildings carefully organized veterinarian’s laid sterile spreading limbs smeared eyedropper dripped creature’s rewarded squeaky rumbling crackly purr smiles cage barrel soapy chain-sawesque snores vibrating brattail tuber sausage imp guessed six-inch venomous stings snoring vicious describing tame yetis outnumbered conked chipper iggy strand swell

generous hugs touches gestures glistened dubious trails twenty-two sharing congested warthog roommate snuggly sleepless spoil caring ultimate splotching championship sacks cheered sympathetic secretly celebrating partnered naturally teamed splotcher splattered loses winners person wins marks smugly win splotch splat deserved colorful prize contest pardon hopes wonderboy gagging rounds beat opponent knots backing aim ow raw telekinetic flushed compliment disqualifies pumped victory hotter cheering opponents experience duel beginner’s talents mighty competition grumblings battle odds experienced evidently four: sixes trella dempsey paired hopeful muster bested winner fluttered appears competitors betraying butt preference keefe’s chant ladies’ float clenched adrenaline surged audience back-up splotches rebound phenomenon weightless collided simultaneous fate collapsed twenty-three placing compress wincing muscle injured whermiwhahapped worse: laying banshees mortal danger stirred lucid winced stiff glands zinged collected rebounded bounce specialized hammered controls actual mix matched draining practice evenly awfully sidelines wobbling auditorium applause teensy annoyed copied blushing elbowing ribs tie protested declared excused lesson rejoin splotchers acted delivered p congratulations confirm bath lathering bathers soggy instinctively besides creased drive twenty-four meter one-third younger that’d wonderboy’s precious midterms score seventy-five recommend nissa tutoring consider tutor projection gagged flavor yell daily tore prattle chewy caramel peanut butter pouch cracker jack horse mane prattles’ unicorn pins collection examined digital 122 185 number eighty-five super-rare bitterness vaguely compute unexpected development century too-little-too-late branch other’s replaced beeline simultaneously sniff aw stuck-up snob wasted invite humiliate walking ambush capable teeniest details clanged cricket chirped embroidered satin sash wringing exhaled seeming makeovers wrestling polite fortunately braid flutter dirt pitter-patter eh sayin’ shooting quest grateful team jealousy guarded raid questers tagged sentry tabs isolate general nail targets listened softer instantly presence tremendous connected forest thundered vision racked credible crashing bushes partner deceive insists hasn’t secrets toes staying chain apologizing visitors sulking funk snipe wagged there’ve weekly jokes havenfield’s defied exams panicking passing guide narrowing shipped exam brass copper transmutations ideas challenges thwarted spilled gashrooms reek pored frozen cause shattering cheated accomplished cheat ideal dreading twenty-six tri-angular apex streamed pane angle reflection examining confessed forgave neutral violated ethical regulations expulsion suggesting argument ruling obey flourish bother violating reporting stifle closely icily respect authority advises wedding flapped nor pointless cheating tolerated huffed regrets confess serve minimum assigning becoming theme slipping unnoticed what’d gloomy atmosphere desks thumbs-up siren song appreciation art nature clapping earsplittingly shrill whine whale nails chalkboard toddler uncover broadening horizons claiming repentant company brand torture ballroom belva’s sirens dances edwardian claimed valin ponytailed promenade dancers valin’s sweaty chime stars shined brighter spit wickedly slobbery octaves fanned hmm irritated flattered scored points empathy forked smirk ironing holes stack detained increased practicing leaps eyebrow empaths powerful mundane purification vein easiest transmutation lockers traded twenty-seven banging annoyingly caps disqualified chorus groans nonstop cap smurf amalgam telepathic integrity wrote essay betrayal over debate automatic 100 last-minute mentally repeating tips negative vibes stress ethic claim fame skipped skip supportive doubting brag mercifully stalled magenta berries rusty discipline chosen purify ruckleberries fifty-five nasty impurities elderly human’s alchemists methods dive knife pierced berry dribbled pinky haggard glacial quarters

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#kotlc

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eunseoksimp · 2 months

Text

Stargirl ; Anton Lee

Pairings: Shy!anton x Stargirl!reader

Genre: Unrequited Love, Angst

Warnings: None

Description: anton had passed by many eyes but he seemed to only get lost in yours. the bass guitarist for a popular college band, the supposed opposite of him, and yet all he cares about is seeing you shine, his favourite stargirl.

❦

anton had a crush.

not the regular kind that most people would experience in their lifetimes, finding another person cute, fairly tame.

for anton it was soul-crushing, it was excruciating in nature, her mere presence enough to bring him to his knees.

he never knew such beauty could exist until he met you.

it was a relatively normal day, he remembered walking side by side with sohee, listening to him rattle on about a game he was playing.

easily distracted, he wasn’t paying much attention, taking in the scenery.

a warm spring afternoon, he marveled at the different colours painting his surroundings.

hues of orange, blue and pink all worked together in a perfect harmony, the soft breeze making the hair peeking out of his beanie tickle his skin.

then, as if it were a movie scene, you appeared.

the reincarnation of an angel stood in front of him, hair blowing in the wind, the petals from a neighbouring cherry blossom tree swirling around your figure.

you brushed a few pieces out of your face, bag slung over your shoulder as you looked off into the distance, the side of your face illuminated by the sun.

he must have been very obviously looking, because you tilted your head at first, watching the star struck boy in front of you before shooting him a smile, dimples on each cheek as it reached your eyes.

it wasn’t like anton was new to the female species.

he was fairly well-known, his best friends student athletes and he himself being the student council president.

he had encountered many beautiful women, but none of them were you.

none of them were like you.

there was something moon soaked and dawn flavoured about you.

he watched you move gracefully, like art in motion.

the spark in the caramel that lit your eyes that he was sure could erase all the woes of life.

there was something so fated about that day, like the universe had planned for the both of you to meet.

or maybe it was the masterpiece that anton’s mind had painted.

but he felt himself drawn to you, to your presence like a moth to a flame.

‘who’s that?’ anton asked when he saw you the day after, stars in your eyes as you chatted away with one of your friends.

‘since when was anton interested in girls?’ sungchan teased, but nothing about this situation was humorous to him.

‘isn’t she the bassist in that band? the one that got like a million views on that youtube video,’ seunghan was not subtle at all as he spoke very loudly about the girl who was not that far away.

‘it was 300,000 views. and stop speaking so loudly, she’s literally right there.’

bass guitar.

it suited your image. the laid back nature, the short skirts and piercings littering the entirety of your earlobe.

it all made sense now.

‘i didn’t think she would be your type,’ sungchan spoke again, looking at you, then back at his friend.

he didn’t even think he had a type.

all he knew was that he found himself spending a ridiculous amount of time thinking about you, about what your voice would sound like, whether you would be surprisingly shy, or expectedly charismatic.

‘aww someone’s got a crush,’ shotaro pinched at his cheeks, while he used all of his strength to swat his hands away.

he wasn’t sure if he could call it a crush.

it felt much more sinister.

it was becoming all consuming, he woke up to the thought of you, his whole day dependent on how much of a glimpse he got to see of you.

at night he would lay awake, heart thumping at the possibility that you would approach him.

he saw you laughing with wonbin at lunch one day.

he played the guitar as well.

people around would comment on how good of a couple you would both make.

and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he understood.

park wonbin was equally as beautiful, his dainty feautures captivating the hearts of many girls.

maybe you were one of them.

he didn’t miss the smiles you would shoot wonbin whenever you both crossed paths.

or the way you say with your head perched on the body of his guitar as he strummed you a tune.

he heard the late night calls, how you would both be on the phone for hours to each other, in your own worlds.

he wanted you to notice him like you noticed everyone else.

to give him high fives everytime you both crossed paths like you did to sungchan.

to pinch at his cheeks like you did sohee.

to roll your eyes and shove him away like you did to eunseok.

to talk to him like you did wonbin.

it was starting to drive him insane.

he just wanted to hear your voice, to finally be able to talk to him.

so when you walked into his health class, the one he was sure you were never in, he swore he was just seeing things.

that the lack of interactions were causing him to become delusional.

‘can i sit here please?’ you asked, and truly anton did not think he could say anything that would make him look intelligent.

his brain short-circuited, mouth slightly agape as he blinked rapidly, a lump forming in his throat.

so he nodded, moving his bag from the chair with shaky hands, praying you couldn’t notice.

‘thanks,’ you whispered quietly, since the class had begun.

despite the wild, party girl image that seemed to stick to your name, you seemed to take education very seriously.

you said not another word, busy typing away and trying to absorb what the teacher was saying.

but anton wasn’t listening.

you sat on his right side, the slight strawberry scent making him feel dizzy.

exactly how he had imagined you would smell like.

he wasn’t sure if you had noticed, but every so often your elbow would graze his and not a single thought could come to mind.

he was in pure bliss, trying to soak in the moment as much as he could, unsure of when the next opportunity would present itself.

the faint tattoo behind your earlobe forced anton to refrain himself from reaching forward to trace it.

he was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice when the class was over, that majority of his peers had already left.

‘hey. anton is it?’ your voice snapped him out of his daydreams, he sat up extremely conscious of you now watching him.

‘that-um that is my- yes my name is anton,’ he must have looked so pathetic, not even able to speak proper sentences.

but you didn’t look at him with judgement, even though he was acting a bit weird.

you just smiled.

‘i only recently joined this class and i desperately need to catch up. do you think you would be able to help me?’

there was no way he could ever say no to you, the mere thought that you had acknowledged his existence, deemed him worthy of assisting you bringing him close to tears.

‘of-of course i would love to- i mean yes that would be fine by me,’ his attempt at being nonchalant failed.

‘amazing, i really appreciate your kindness. i’ll give you my number and we’ll go from there.’

appreciation.

his cheeks started to turn pink and he struggled to think straight.

someone as ordinary, as plain as him was appreciated by someone like you, everything about your existence ethereal.

no matter how long he spent in your presence, he could not get used to how intoxicating you were.

just the sight of those warm brown eyes, the way your nose scrunched when you smiled, your habit of pulling your pink lips between your teeth.

he was barely getting any rest nowadays, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of you.

‘are you getting enough rest ton?’ you asked at lunch, after sohee had pointed out your eyes seeming redder than usual.

‘of course. it must be allergies or something,’ he lied.

‘you guys should come to beomgyu’s party by the way,’ wonbin arrived and he noticed the way your body language changed, how you say up straight.

‘im down,’ everyone said.

everyone but him.

anton hated parties, the idea of sweaty bodies mingling together, loud music and insufferable people drinking excessively was not his thing.

but how could he say no when you looked him in the eye and told him it would be fun to have him there.

you had him wrapped around your finger, one look from you, your gaze sweet and pleading would have him at your mercy, doing anything you wanted him to.

he’s unable to fight back a smile at the way you cheer when he finally agrees, assuring him that he would have a good time.

and when the day comes he spends ages in front of a mirror, wanting to look his best so you would notice him.

often times you would coo at him, fuss over him like he was a kid and this was all due to his good boy image.

but tonight he was determined to show you that he was a grown man, one capable of being your boyfriend.

he settled for a tank top, perfectly accentuating his toned arms, jewellery adorning his neck and ears, with the new pair of jeans he had acquired.

playing with his hair, trying to find the right hairstyle, he is greeted with a laugh from eunseok, who stood at his doorway.

‘what? do i look weird?’ he was suddenly self conscious, tugging at the hem of his top.

‘no no no, you look good. i’ve just never seen you bother to look nice going to s party.’

‘do you think she’ll notice,’ anton didn’t bother beating around the bush with his question.

‘i know i’m not him, but i look decent, don’t i?’ eunseok felt bad for the boy.

he was so captivated by you, and it was hard to miss the longing gazes, the blush that would settle on his cheeks when she was around.

how he looked at her like she was his god, meant to be worshipped and adored.

he didn’t have the heart to tell him the obvious, that she felt this way about someone else, so he mustered up a smile and nodded.

‘your hair looks better up by the way,’ he calls out as he leaves to go downstairs.

grinning at his reflection in the mirror, he convinces himself that he’s ready. ready to ask you to be his.

as soon as he arrived at the party, loud music booming, a couple party goers enjoying some very illegal substances, he scrunched his nose in distaste.

the things he did for love.

he made it his mission to find you, weaving through the sea of people, hoping you would show yourself.

and then, like the heavens had heard his pleads, he spotted you.

it felt like you were the only one in the room, hips swaying to the music as your fingers worked through your hair.

your eyes were closed, head thrown back, unable to sense anything but the vibrations coming from the speakers.

the way the light shone down on you, almost creating a spotlight, anton was sure he was witnessing an angel.

‘i could stare at her for eternity,’ he was truly mesmerised by your own existence, an enigma.

how could one girl hold so much power?

sohee appeared besides him, following his line of sight and the mischievous glint in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

‘oh anton,’ he clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

‘staring at her won’t solve anything. how about you tell her how pretty she looks.’

‘no sohee i-,’ but before he could protest any further he was being dragged in her direction, pushed to the front.

like you could feel the two figures approaching you, you spun around, a wide smile on your face as a squeal escapes your lips.

you embrace sohee in a hug first before catching anton off guard by jumping into his arms, wrapping your own around his neck and your legs around his waist.

it almost caught you by surprise how easily he held you up with one hand, cautious about where he rest his hands.

‘you made it,’ you said after jumping off of him, addressing your two friends and anton could tell by your overly joyous demeanor that you were already a little bit tipsy.

‘of course, you told me to be here.’

sohee stuck around for another moment before he excused himself, telling you something about finding his girlfriend and then discreetly shooting a wink in anton’s direction.

so you turned your attention to him and he felt his heart rate sky rocket rapidly.

he stared at your mouth, but he couldn’t hear anything, and it wasn't just because of the music.

all he was focused on was the deliberate movement of your glossy lips, the way your nose scrunched as your smile widened.

the light reflecting off of your face highlighted all of your features, and for a second he feels the same type of devotion he imagined people would feel for the gods themselves.

it was like he was under a spell, his eyes turning into ones with sparkles in them, entranced by your mere existence.

"always the dreamer, golden boy," he felt his skin heat up under your touch, fingers cupping his chin, and the way your doe eyes looked up into his making his knees feel weak.

‘what have i told you about looking people in the eye when they speak to you, pretty boy,’ you practically purred, pointer finger raising his chin, your favourite thing to do.

anton’s cheeks were flushed pink, not even mustering up the strength to speak.

‘that’s better.’

he didn’t know what overcame him in the moment, but the feeling of your nails on his skin, the close proximity between you two was making his brain go fuzzy.

something about the dim lights made your eyes shine even more, as if the whole galaxy was captured within them.

the sound of his heart beating in his rib cage overpowered the music, drowning it out as all his senses were taken over by you.

‘i need to tell you something,’ she could barely hear him over the song playing, moving closer so her ear was closer to his ear.

‘say that again.’

‘i love-‘

and just as he was about to finish his sentence, the music halted, a tap of a microphone replacing it and all that could be seen was wonbin on stage.

he called out your name, attention shifting towards you, anton’s words long forgotten as you moved closer to the stage.

‘make me the happiest man in the world and let me be your boyfriend?’

cheers erupted in the room, people whistling and aawing at the spectacle of you bounding towards the stage and into his arms.

without a care in the world, he lifted you up into his arms, pulling you into a deep kiss as he spun you around.

anton almost dropped to his knees.

a dull ache began to settle in his chest, throat dry as he blinked back tears.

when he felt a hand on his back he knew it was eunseok, but the world moved in slow motion for him.

it hurt, from the pit of his stomach, to the back of his eyes.

he wished you would look at him the way he looked at you.

he wished you would love him the way he loved you.

‘i’m fine,’ he whispered, lifelessly as he watched the object of his desires, embraced with someone that wasn’t him.

but that was alright. you were always out of his league, untouchable.

like the sun you provided warmth, comfort, tranquility.

but getting too close would have its consequences.

maybe this was the way things were meant to be.

you, wrapped up in his friends arms, someone who was deserving of your affection.

he was supposed to be in the shadows, illuminating your light more effectively.

he didn’t care if you didn’t return his feelings, it would be unbecoming.

would an ant ever profess its love to a gazelle?

how could a peasant tell the queen to love him back?

he would continue to do what he knew best, upholding you on your pedestal.

all he wanted to do was see you shine. you were his stargirl, after all.

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impala-dreamer · 8 months

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A Wish Come True

A Doctor Who Story

~Rose wakes up to a very unique and lovely surprise...~

The Doctor x Rose Tyler

1,198 Words

Warnings: Fluff!

A/N: My first ever DW fic. A birthday gift for the one and only @mariekoukie6661. Only for you, my dear. <33

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

"So… I believe this is where you, uh, make a wish..."

The Doctor swallowed hard and looked down at his blonde companion. Rose was still reeling from the surprise and a little more than sleepy.

She'd woken up to a nearly pitch black control room; the usually glowing orbs were dim, the panels seemingly switched off. The air was cool, but nowhere as cold as the icy breath of space. She shivered and rubbed her hands vigorously against the backs of her arms.

"Blimey, it's cold in here, 'innt?"

There was no answer, not even the echo of her own voice bouncing off the magically cavernous room.

"Doctor?"

She stood and felt her way to the controls, blindly searching for a switch to bring the lights up. She really had no idea where it could be, but if she pushed enough buttons, something usually happened.

"Oh, come on! Where are you?"

The flick of a lighter hit her ears and a tiny flame appeared to her left.

In the glow, she saw dark brown eyes and the long lines of a beautiful face that she'd come to know better than her own.

The Doctor lit a small yellow candle and she could make out that it was smushed into a chocolate frosted cupcake. He smiled a brilliant smile, all teeth and glee.

Surprised, Rose rubbed at her eyes and smiled in return.

"What's all this?" She asked, hoping the blush burning her cheeks was hidden in the shadows.

He beamed and held out the treat.

"Happy Birthday, Rose."

Pink lips curled into a smile that nearly took his breath away. Two hearts beat fast and she took a step closer, pursed her lips and blew out the candle. She laughed a little and he couldn’t stop staring. She was beautiful and innocent and fierce, nothing he’d ever encountered before. And best of all- she was with him no matter what.

He cleared his throat and tore his gaze from her stunning brown eyes.

"So… I believe this is where you, uh, make a wish..."

“Brushing up on Earth customs?” she teased.

The Doctor laughed gently. “I do know some things.”

With dramatic flare, Rose took a deep breath and screwed her eyes shut. She held her breath for what seemed like forever and then let it slowly out in a quiet whistle.

When she opened her eyes, he was there, handsome and intriguing. Sometimes, she almost forgot that he was something like a million years old and not even human, but it didn’t really matter to her. He was who he was, and he was perfect.

Rose reached for the cupcake and her fingers brushed lightly over his. There was a spark there, and surely they both felt it, but neither made mention. They each looked away, shy and a little embarrassed.

Rose fiddled with the paper wrapper and The Doctor tucked his hands into the pockets of his blue pinstripe slacks.

The tension was as thick as the cake frosting and Rose took a taste, licking a bit of chocolate from her thumb.

“Doctor?”

He turned back to her. “Yes?”

“Why’ve you got all the lights and heat off?”

His brow creased a little, momentarily confused.

“Oh!” Answers and mischief lit a smile across his face. “All the better to see your present,” he replied.

With a quick snap of his fingers, the T.A.R.D.I.S. doors opened and Rose looked out into the black ink of space. A trillion stars shown like faerie lights, twinkling and dancing across the sky just for her. In the distance, a planet turned, bright pinks and reds swirling through the marble.

Rose gasped at the sight and stepped up to the very edge of the doorway. She peered out and smiled in awe.

“Where are we?”

The Doctor crossed his ankles and leaned against the blue wood. He shoved his left hand back in his pocket as his right tugged at his ear.

“Rhodestria Nine on the cusp of the Belovean Galaxy.”

Rose nodded, pretending to understand where she was and just how far from home they had traveled. “And… when are we?” She lifted an eyebrow, always curious to know all the details.

He grinned.

“On Earth, it is the twenty-seventh of April, in the year 2987.”

She bit her lip, recognizing the date.

“Rose Tyler,” The Doctor said, turning to look at her head-on, “it is your one thousandth birthday on a planet one thousand light years away from your home, and in about one thousand seconds, the triple suns of the Belovean Galaxy will rise over Rhodestria Nine right about… there.” He leaned close, nearly pressing his cheek against hers, and pointed towards the right side of the planet.

She tried to follow his finger but her eyes were drawn to the faint stubble on his jaw. She took a breath and his warmth flooded her senses. He was air and fire, dirt and water all mixed together in a strangely familiar scent that always made her feel at home.

He felt her stare and looked her way, smiling as heat rushed to his cheeks. “Oh, and-” He smirked. “In the local tongue, Rhodestria means ‘Rose’. Named for the swirling colors of the atmosphere.”

Her heart swelled. “You did all this for me?”

The Doctor’s eyes flickered down from her eyes to her lips and back again. “Of course.” His voice dropped to a mere whisper. “I’d do anything for you.”

Breath caught in her throat and she closed her eyes slowly. Her body moved without thought, leaning in closer to him than she’d ever dared. He mirrored her, dipping his chin, leaning down into her.

They stopped short, narrowly missing a kiss that would change everything between them forever.

Awkward laughs floated around them.

The Doctor scratched at the back of his head and then cleared his throat. “So, what’d you wish for?”

Rose chewed her lip. “Can’t tell you. If I tell, it won’t come true.” She took another taste of the frosting, licking it slowly off her index finger. She knew his eyes were fixed upon her, but she couldn’t help the flirtatious gesture.

He leaned in and threw his arm around her shoulders.

They sighed, secret smiles hidden as they watched the triple suns rise over the planet in the distance. Sunrise bathed the rosy planet in gold and The Doctor pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“I hope you get your wish,” he whispered, “whatever it is.”

Rose closed her eyes and let her head fall back against his shoulder. If she listened hard, she could hear two hearts beating steadily for her. Maybe a kiss was far away, maybe it would never come. Maybe he didn’t feel the same, she couldn’t know. But it didn’t matter in the end; he was incredible and fun, curious and dangerous, and she was lucky enough to get to tag along. He was everything she’d ever dreamt of and she hadn't even known.

He pulled her close, cuddling up against her.

Rose sighed and looked off into the warm glow, content and in love.

“I think I already have…”

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#doctor who fanfiction #the doctor x rose #ten x rose #fluff

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therenlover · 2 months

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Put Me Back In It (I Would Do It Again) Chapter Six: Moments Of Truth

Pairings: Tav/Raphael, Past!Astarion/Tav, Haarlep/Raphael

Word Count: 7,200~

Synopsis: Tav finally confronts Raphael about the holes in his version of the truth. Haarlep regains their routine.

Rating: M (+18)

Warnings: Emotional Manipulation, Brief Mentions of Past Abuse

Tags: Emotional Manipulation, Dreams, Memory Loss, Regaining Memories, Everyone Is Lying and Mentally Ill, Love Triangles, Hurt/Comfort, Unrequited Love

You can find this fic on AO3 Here or find the other finished chapters on Tumblr Here

--------

The colors in the portal room really were beautiful.

From her seat on the floor, Tav could see the combined hues of a whole universe unfolding before her through the glimmering glass of their mirrors. A miniature dragon soared over a dwarfed frozen landscape in the distance. It swooped low on the horizon before flapping its wings and flying into the distance. She watched it go with an absent fascination. Around her, the world burned.

“I told you that she would bring us nothing but problems!” Haarlep raged, wings flaring behind them.

Raphael was pacing the room. His own wings were drooping low against the floor as he picked at his claws. “And I told you to watch her! If you’d done your job for once, none of this would have happened,”

“Don’t you dare blame this on me,” The incubus stormed up to the devil. “She is your pet project, not mine. Any failure of hers is due to your failure to keep her in line,” Chest to chest they formed an odd juxtaposition. So similar, and yet Tav would know immediately which was which from the looks on their faces alone.

She smiled absently at the thought as Raphael cocked his head to the side. “Say that again,”

“This is your failure, not mine,” Haarlep hissed.

The room burst into a supernova of orange light.

It was beautiful in a twisted way. More flames soared through the heavy air, spewing sparks and ash and even breaking one of the great mirrors, sending shards of glass in every direction. Tav could feel them landing in her hair like burning snow. She still smiled, even as blood ran down her forehead.

Everything felt like a dream.

Haarlep’s green robes were singed, some of the silver tassels melting clean off in the heat of the inferno. They still stood, though. Despite everything, they didn’t back down. “Do you think you can scare me with your magic tricks?”

“I suggest you stop testing me before I have to tighten your leash,” Raphael took a step away and then it was back to more pacing, taking quick laps around his half of the room. Haarlep didn’t reply. The animosity was still there, but the smoke and fire on every side seemed to even their tempers, at least a bit. “We haven’t lost yet,”

“Haven’t we?” Something deflated in Haarlep’s chest. “They’re going to come for us, Raphael, and even if we get lucky enough to kill the first of them more will come to avenge the last.”

“Then I’ll just kill them all, one by one,” Raphael stated confidently.

“And when Mystra lends the wizard her power to make sure you’re defeated? When the full power of a vampire lord’s army descends on the House of Hope? Be honest with yourself, they’ve bested us before with less and they will best us again,”

The devil shook his head. “Things are different now. This time, they don’t have her. Besides,” The flames dulled a bit as Raphael calmed, gaining back that infallible confidence that he usually exuded with every word. “I hope to avoid the fighting altogether. If it truly comes down to it I’ll just have to make another deal,” With every passing second the devil was writing a new script to perform, setting the stage for his next great performance, and she could watch the wonder growing in his eyes as his plans solidified. He was invincible in the world he’d created for himself. Not even rationale could convince him otherwise.

Haarlep let out a sigh, shoulders wilting, and Tav watched them with heavy-lidded eyes. They had always been so kind, so strong in the face of Raphael’s power. Was that part of their responsibility while taking care of her or did they choose to show her mercy? She didn’t have the mind left to speculate. Instead, a euphoric hysteria shut down her body and kept her right there, glued to the floor even as the thick, hot liquid began to run into her eyes.

Despite it all, she felt more like herself than she had in years.

“You’re really depending on that? On another deal? After how well that’s worked out with me?” Tav asked, blood dripping further down her face.

Raphael regarded her with a burning gaze. “I suggest you keep your mouth shut,”

“Or what? You’ll kill me?” She laughed. Red coated her teeth, spewing from drips on her lips and tongue with every wheezing giggle. “That doesn’t change things for me. I’m down here with you either way. Are you looking forward to wrangling Karlach’s soul too? Or Wyll’s? Hells, you’ll have a whole party of us down here to deal with by the end of it, and for what? Because they’ve finally exposed your lies?” Tav shook her head. Shards of glass fell from her hair to the ground with soft tinkling, like the ringing of fae bells. “Which is funny, because all this time I genuinely believed I traded my soul to you in exchange for keeping the Crown of Karsus safe, but if I had, then Karlach would’ve known exactly where I’ve been all these years.”

The devil flexed his wings, chest heaving in the smoke.

All eyes were on her.

Every inch of her felt unsteady in the heat. Sweat soaked through the silk of her now-torn dress, still shimmering so brilliantly even in the horrid orange light, but she pushed herself up onto her feet. Her hands burned. Her whole body burned. She hadn’t felt that much pain in a long, long time. In some odd way, she’d missed the reminder that she was still alive, despite it all.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Tav,” Haarlep warned.

Raphael held up a hand. His face slowly morphed into an unreadable, suave mask as he clenched and unclenched the fist at his side. “Let her wear herself out, Haarlep,” His wings fluttered slightly before tucking themselves back in neatly against his shoulder blades as he approached. “No, I didn’t intend to tell you. We were just starting to be happy. Why would I change that?” He paused. “We could be happy again, you and I. Just drop this,”

Tav could feel the bile rising in her stomach. “Was I happy? Or was I getting used to you controlling every moment of my life?”

He had the nerve to scoff at her in response. “What does it matter? You had no pain. You were well kept; given a place of comfort in my home no matter how unbefitting your behavior may have been, and taken out into the world when you expressed displeasure with the place you were given. I have been nothing but permissive of you. I brought you into my family as an honored guest as opposed to a possession. What more would it have taken to make you happy?” His voice edged on desperate as he approached.

“The truth!” Tav shouted, “I want the truth!”

The closer Raphael got, the weaker she felt in his looming shadow. Ghosts of her own uncertainty swarmed around them. Only a few hours could’ve passed since she was excitedly picking at her breakfast, staring up at a man she had convinced herself that she was madly in love with. Had she convinced herself, though, or had she loved him before everything changed? If she’d never learned the truth, would everyone have been better off?

She didn’t deny that. She couldn’t deny it.

Leaving the careful sphere of Raphael’s influence, even with his blessing, had led to the destruction of all the comfort she’d built for herself. Now the life she had and the life she’d known would rip and tear at each other's throats until only a victor remained. If it were Raphael she’d expect it. Nothing would change. Grief and pain would haunt her for six more years, or however many it took for her to lose her mind in the labyrinth he’d built to contain her, but she would keep living as she had been.

If he lost though… it should’ve been the best case. Going home, gaining back her soul, finding her friends, setting off on the next big adventure; she’d wanted it so badly for so long. So why did it make the knot in her stomach expand? Why did the thought of seeing Raphael and Haarlep strewn across the bloody floor set her legs into another fit of shakes?

When had she stopped wanting to go home?

When had Avernus become home?

Tav didn’t know what she wanted anymore, besides to fill in the gaps in her memory that seemed to sit wide open like windows into her weeping mind. Her life was out of her control. In fact, it had been out of her control since she’d wound up on that Illithid ship all those years before, hurtling through the same burning skies that watched over her now.

“Do you truly want to know?” Raphael asked solemnly.

For the first time in a while, Tav made her choice entirely for herself, knowing the consequences and choosing to take them in stride. “Yes,”

“Follow me,” Raphael turned on his heel, traipsing out of the smoldering room without so much as a backward glance, leaving Tav in his wake.

She moved one leg forward, then the next. Blood was still dripping down her face and hands but it was easy to ignore when it was paired with the roiling nausea and burns that covered most of her exposed skin. Haarlep made no moves to assist her. Instead, they nursed their own wounds and made their way to the broken mirror, gathering the shards in a pile with an unseen magehand. They only spared one silent glimpse as she started her shuffling, dragging walk out of the room.

So much for that friendship.

It took far longer than it should have but eventually, Tav made her way out of the mirror room and into the House of Hope’s great round hallway. Raphael was standing a ways down at the entrance to his personal office, and as soon as he caught her eye he was quick to walk inside, leaving her struggling to shuffle after him once again. When she finally reached him for good, he was standing at the edge of his desk. He had taken his human form again, which should’ve been a kindness but instead just made him even harder to read as he turned to face her.

“Are you sure this is what you want, Tav?” He asked. She could find no emotion hiding in his voice, no rage or concern hanging from his words. Just a great emptiness. She missed his explosive dramatics now that they were nowhere to be found.

Still, she steeled herself. “Why am I here, Raphael?”

The devil didn’t answer, instead gesturing to a small, oval crystal sitting on his desk.

Tav had seen similar ones before, great crystal balls in Raphael’s displayed collections that trapped memories of some of his less fortunate souls. This one, though, was far smaller, as if it had been cut and carved to fit into someone’s palm or pocket. It glinted in the candlelight. The stone must have been ruby or garnet, reflecting a deep red against its flat face and all its small, shimmering facets along the side.

She approached the desk slowly and gathered the stone in her bleeding hand.

Her skin was slick enough that it almost slipped out from her trembling fingers, but she managed to hold it in her cupped hands, letting the face sit upright. Even when she watched the small figure rushing through the red landscape within that shining jewel she kept a fast grip on it. Because it was him.

Tav couldn’t see her own face in the facsimile, only her trembling hands outstretched before her in defense, but she would recognize the pale man she was looking at anywhere as he lunged at her, throwing her against some unknown surface.

The memory itched at the back of her brain. It floated through that open window in her mind and settled back in, slotting into its place like it had always been there, but it wasn’t quite complete. Instead, it was a red-tinted ghost, silent and sure, just as it appeared in the stone before her.

“I thought I would spare you the shame of knowing what you became after your defeat of the netherbrain,” Raphael mused, “but you’ve given me no choice,”

In the stone, the man brought his lips to her neck, holding down her trembling arms.

“No,” Tav’s voice shook. She felt the nausea building again and yet she could not bring herself to put it down.

The pale elf left her on the ground after a while, and the version of herself Tav couldn’t quite remember scrambled to a loose floorboard the moment the heavy door shut behind him, prying it up and grabbing components from their hiding place below. Her own blood was used as the final puzzle piece as she laid the items in their proper order on the floor.

“Once upon a time, you were in love with a rogue who showered you with all of his horrid love and affection. You trusted him with your fragile, mortal heart despite the fact that he was nothing more than a monster, driven by his predator’s instincts to lure you in and possess you. When he demanded power, you laid it at his feet,” Raphael brought a fist down against the corner of the desk, shaking the books and pens that littered the surface. “And as soon as he had you alone, he betrayed you,”

The name was at her lips before she had a chance to think about it, pulling the puzzle together. “Astarion,”

Raphael didn’t need to nod for her to know she was right. “You were his cattle; food for a hungry vampiric lord and his army. If you felt as though you were a prisoner here, you have no inkling of how locked away you were in his castle. None of your little friends came to save you either. They knew his power, and they left you to be victim to it,”

Tav shook her head in disbelief. She had been a hero, hadn’t she? She’d been strong enough to save all of Baldur’s Gate, so why hadn’t she been strong enough to destroy the evil right in front of her? In the ruby, she was on her knees painting the familiar red sigil and then she was up on weak legs, running through a familiar hall towards a great set of doors.

No.

It couldn’t be.

She couldn’t have… could she?

“And who stood at your side after everything? When you had nothing more than your very soul to offer for protection against the vampiric hordes that threatened to slaughter us both if they found you? Who hid away the shameful memories that haunted you, even knowing you’d blame me for your captivity because of it?”

She dropped the crystal on the desk as she watched Raphael appear before her through her past tear-filled eyes.

Something that had been teetering at the edge for longer than she could remember finally, finally toppled over. The small shred of herself she’d gained back fell into the abyss with it.

“You saved me,” Tav whimpered.

Her chest felt empty. Where was her heart? Where had it run to? She could feel every shard of glass littering the skin of her palms and scalp, but no heartbeat in her ears.

A quiet rage crept into Raphael’s words as he stepped away from her. “And now you’ve doomed us all. Those fools you called friends will go right to the man that you sold your soul to escape, and all of this will have been for nothing,”

Tav finished things for him before he could. “This is my fault,”

A cold certainty fell over the room as she wrapped an arm around herself, using the other to hold up her swaying body against the desk. In the stone, she caught a glimpse of herself collapsed in Haarlep’s arms. All of the nightmares suddenly made sense.

Those bloody nights were real. Every horrific vision she’d tossed and turned through was a mirror image of a whole life she’d forgotten at that pale elf’s side. As she tried to grasp at the time she’d lost so much was still entirely missing. She could barely remember how she’d felled Orin or saved the grove. Was that Raphael’s doing, or her faulty mind’s after six years? And how had she failed to notice until now? The answer was plain. She hadn’t wanted to think about it. She’d been so focused on her new life in Avernus that, at least after a while, she’d given up on everything she’d known before. Was she really the hero of Baldur’s Gate if she couldn’t remember the person she was when she’d saved it?

Who was she anyway?

The questions encircled Tav as they had for years now, but she finally faced them with open eyes.

She was a mere mortal in the presence of powers beyond her comprehension; a lucky, foolish mortal who’d had a chance at greatness and seemingly sold it for the love of evil men. It was almost laughable to look at the pattern she left behind. She didn’t know what she wanted. If those who had been her closest friends perished in their quests to save her from a fate she’d sealed herself, she wasn’t sure how much it would hurt. If her captors— no, her saviors— fell in the fights to come, the pain would be immeasurable.

The sun would rise and the sun would set, just not for her to see, and pain would follow her everywhere she walked, just as it always had.

Alcohol and adrenaline rushed through her veins as she brought her wet gaze to Raphael’s. He was still unreadable there, arms crossed in the dim light. Tav shamefully wanted him to reach for her, to pick the glass from her hands and lay with her in his bed until everything was just a bad dream on the horizon. She wanted to punch him so hard that his teeth scattered across the floor. She wanted more than anything, though, to cease being and just surrender to him. He’d taken such good care of her, after all, for all that time. He could do it again.

All it would take was letting go.

“How do I fix it,” she asked, voice uneven.

Raphael shook his head. “You don’t. You let me fix it, because I always clean up after your messes,” he growled, “though maybe I should leave you to pick up after yourself this time. Maybe it would teach you just how much I do for you,” There was something wild in his eyes. She embraced it. If he had decided to devour her soul on the spot she wouldn’t have fought him, she would’ve leaned into the twisted warmth of the only love she might ever know, the pathetic creature that she was. Tav stumbled into him without thinking about moving her feet.

The devil spluttered as her bleeding hands found his chest. “I’m sorry. Please fix it,” She wanted to crawl into him, feel the warmth of his hellish pulse surround and consume her. Underneath the grandeur and fear, there was a sort of home against his flesh for her, the only home this new cowardly Tav had ever really known. “Please fix me,”

“I…” Raphael raised his hands but did not push her away. His heart missed a few beats, stilling against her forehead. “What are you doing Tav?”

She repeated her apologies like a prayer, and in a way they were. The fine purple silk of his doublet was wet with blood and tears as she fisted her hands in it. No matter how he shifted she didn’t let up. After all of her time in Avernus, she’d finally gone mad with him. Insanity wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be.

He moved his mouth but no words came out as she desperately grasped at him. Her chest was heaving. She was breathing, she knew she was breathing, but the air felt thick and tight like no matter how many lungfuls she took in a breath couldn’t make it past her mouth. Her head pounded. She was so tired.

Raphael looked down at her, his wobbling, morphing face taking on something that almost seemed like baffled concern, cupping her stained cheek in his large, warm hand.

Tav pressed into his touch desperately. His searing warmth was an anchor into a body that seemed to drift further and further from her mind with every passing moment. “Please, I love you, I’m sorry,”

“Sleep,”

The spell was almost instantaneous but left her conscious just long enough to watch a shimmer of shock run through the devil’s very being. Then the misery ended.

———

Tav could smell bacon cooking in the kitchen when she opened her eyes.

Sunshine was gleaming on her face and she could hear the creaking of wheels on cobbles beyond the window she’d rested her head on for an afternoon nap more times than she could count. Outside, Baldur’s Gate woke for the morning.

Dust floated lazily through motes of morning light, covering Tav’s eyelashes like snow.

“Darling, breakfast!” A voice called.

She wandered through the room, following where she was beckoned. Everything was just as she’d remembered it. Books were still piled in the corner around her father’s favorite reading chair, waiting for him to return from another magical pilgrimage or another, while her mother’s sword and mace sat mid-polish on the low table in the front room. The living room fireplace was smoking embers from the night before. Mother must have been up all night setting up to defend some new client or another.

Did the books know her father wasn’t coming back?

Tav did.

She lingered just long enough to stroke her fingers against the well-worn covers. Those piles had always dwarfed her as a small child, looking like mountains towering over her small stature, but now they looked so small compared to the books she’d seen gathered in the tombs and homes across Faerun she’d pillaged with her friends. It still smelled like pipeweed and parchment though. She breathed him in and let him go as she passed through the warmly furnished home towards the stoney kitchen.

“I’m sure you’re hungry,” her mother’s voice called from the distance, “You’ve been working so hard, Tav. Come sit with me. Tell me about your day, love”

Oh, to sit and share breakfast with her mother one more time.

“Mama, I have so much to tell you,” Tav breathed, hand skimming the plastered walls as she turned the corner into the kitchen. Her mouth and eyes were watering. “I was a hero, Mom; a real hero. Dad would’ve been so-”

Haarlep turned from the great hearth, pan in hand, wearing her mother’s steel armor like a second skin as they poked around at the strips of sizzling meat with a spoon. Her mother's voice came from their chest as if they were playing some sort of strange thaumaturgical trick on her.

“Haarlep?”

The incubus shook their head. “Always getting into trouble with your little friends,” her mother’s laugh was like church bells, but they clanged dissonantly in an unfamiliar mouth, “I’m just so glad to have you home in one piece. You shouldn’t leave them waiting too long, though. My daughter, the hero,”

Clouds blotted out the sun. Haarlep’s orange eyes lit the room as it was plunged into shadow.

Tav’s stomach dropped.

“They’re waiting for you, Tav,” they whispered, tongue tracing their small fangs as they turned to look back down the hall behind her.

She turned without waiting to hear if they had anything else to say. She didn’t want to hear it. Not from her mother’s voice.

Every footfall was an earthquake as she followed the endless hall back towards the living room. When it appeared before her, it was bare. Tarps laid over the furniture like looming ghosts, covered in a thick layer of grime. The boarded windows hid it from the world, letting in thin streams of moonlight through the thin gaps in the slats. Moths ate the rotting pages of her father’s beloved collection. Rust gathered on the pile of left-behind equipment in the corner, armor stand long rotted and collapsed. It was all just as she’d left it.

A light flickered in the rooms beyond.

Tav followed. She knew where she’d be expected.

Her room was lit by hundreds of little candles, dripping wax around an open coffin on the wooden floor. The elf and the devil stood by with matching grins.

She stumbled into the wall. All of a sudden she was Allicent down the owlbear den, lost in the weaving paths of the faewild, and yet she was right at home where she had longed to be. Her gaze was lost in the velvet lining of the ebony box at her feet. All at once she was a small child and moments away from death.

Raphael held out a hand. “We’ve been waiting for you,”

“Come along, darling. Don’t be difficult,” The other— Astarion, she had to remind herself— nodded along and held out his own palm. “We want to help you,”

She took their hands into her own and let them help her into the bed she’d made, one cool and one searing. The world spun in a smoky haze. Astarion pulled a blanket over her shivering body while Raphael stroked her sweaty, matted hair.

“Do you love me?” She whispered.

“Yes,” they replied in unison.

The fire grew around them, creeping up the walls as the smoke got thicker in the air. Tav felt like she was floating through a grey sea as the men began to char and burn. She watched their clothing peel and disintegrate on their skin. She didn’t even scream when the ceiling caved in.

———

Tav woke in a room she didn’t recognize, tossing in sweat-soaked sheets.

There were no windows, just one large door in the stone walls that she knew would be locked tight before she even got up to try it. A cup of wine sat on the stone floor beside her cot with a small bowl of some sort of oats, long cold. Across the room, a chamberpot waited empty for her.

She sat up and pulled her knees to her chest.

Someone had dressed her in a plain cotton shift. It scratched against the burns on her legs and torso, catching on the still-sticky skin, but at least it was blissfully cool against the oppressive heat of the cell, letting small drafts flow and cool the sweat-soaked fabric. Whoever it was who’d brought her there hadn’t just dressed her, though. They’d taken the time to heal her hands, and well. The skin was flawless again. Every piece of glass would’ve needed to be painstakingly removed before the skin was sealed over, and they were. Not a single jagged bit pressed from under her soft palm as she pressed her thumbs into the fragile muscle. The absence of pain was almost disappointing.

As she wrapped her arms around her shins her bladder screamed louder than even her pounding head. She ignored it, though. She ignored it all.

———

Haarlep had always been a creature of habit, and they liked it that way.

When Tav first arrived their routine had gone ass-up. After six years, though, the incubus was once again waking up alone in Raphael’s bed. They fell back on their old ways as easy as breathing.

What’s six years to a millennia, after all?

Mornings started early with an hour of lounging, then came breakfast. They weren’t a huge eater, it was all for pleasure as opposed to sustenance, so any leftovers were taken down to the snake pit and dangled over the debtors like bait. Once they were bored of that game they’d settle down to paint or read. Before Tav, he’d finish up his hobby of the day and that was about when Raphael would seek them out for a quick tryst before he really got his day going and settled into business. Now, though, that was unheard of. Haarlep hadn’t been approached by Raphael alone since the waif showed up. Instead, the afternoon sat empty.

Sometimes they’d try to stretch out their activities or eat again. If they were feeling particularly annoyed they’d find some poor soul to torment in the halls. Most of the time, though, they just lay in bed and waited for something interesting to happen.

Not so long ago, at least in their lifespan, Haarlep would’ve expected to be called in to help Raphael with some deal or another. They were his right hand, after all. Who else could handle his most important dealings? That also stopped a while ago, though, right about the time that all he talked about turned into ‘Tav wants this’ and ‘Do you think Tav might like that’ and ‘I need to get these for Tav’.

Thankfully that stopped when she’d been put away.

The silence was temporary, much to Haarlep’s frustration. It quickly turned into more chores for the incubus and more meltdowns for the oh-so-infallible lord of the house.

That’s how Haarlep found themself on porridge duty twice a day to make sure their honored guest didn’t end up starving in the dungeon.

Her cell was cushy, as far as cells went. It was only a few stories down the great winding staircase to the debtor’s pit below and afforded her privacy and comfort most souls wouldn’t dare dream of in Raphael’s house. She didn’t appreciate it. As always, she was curled up on her cot when they unlocked the door and walked in with her newest meal.

They groaned as they kicked at the still-full bowl on the floor. The wine was untouched again too. “You’re going to dehydrate and die down here,” Haarlep groaned, switching the old oats for fresh ones and replacing the wine with water.

Tav didn’t reply, turning away to face the wall.

No matter how much they wanted to gag when they thought about it, they did worry about the girl. Even in the weeks following her deal with Raphael, she’d never been quite low. They supposed that was what happened, though, when someone’s whole reality collapsed. Bringing her down to Avernus was a bad idea from the start. This was just the natural consequence. Still, they wished something could’ve been done to avoid it.

“It shouldn’t be long now before Raph can finally let you out of this damn place,” Haarlep groaned, leaning against the wall. They had never stayed with her down here before. If it meant she might eat, though, a few minutes of discomfort might be worth it… for Raphael’s sake, of course, not hers or their own. He’d be less than pleased if his favorite pet withered away under their watchful eye. “We just need to finish fortifying the house, just in case of unwanted guests,”

Their words were again met with complete silence and stillness. Great.

“Look,” they wiped a hand down their face, “I’m sorry about what happened at the party, ok? This wasn’t your fault, and this isn’t a punishment. He’s just-”

“Are we friends, Haarlep?” Tav asked the wall. Her voice was a dry croak.

Haarlep shook their head. They wanted to say no. They weren’t friends, after all; They were competitors. Nothing about his entire existence gave the incubus the ability to have and keep a friend. They were built for physical pleasure and companionship, nothing more. They weren’t even made to be able to love the ones they fucked.

And yet… those things turned out not to be true, didn’t they? And Haarlep couldn’t explain why, so they ignored the strange sense of protection and companionship they felt every time Tav cried herself to sleep over the man she loved— Hells, either of the men she loved.

They were kindred spirits in a way, Tav and them.

So Haarlep leaned his head against the wall, relishing in the sharp crack that sounded as his skull hit stone. “Maybe not friends, I’m not nice enough to be your friend. I think you’ve gotten me as close as you possibly could to being your friend, though, no matter how much I wished I hated you.”

Tav let out a crackling laugh and rolled over to face them, lips bitten and bloody. Gods she looked awful. Her eyes were empty, sitting in deep sockets as she withered in her skin. She wasn’t quite starving yet but it wouldn’t be incredibly long before she was if she kept up the hunger strike. It was less of a physical change, though, and more of an intangible one. Her sparkle was all but dead.

Damn. Raphael had really done it.

A deep down part of the incubus burned with shame and rage at the realization.

Things had gone too far a long time ago. There wasn’t much to do now besides watch the aftermath.

“I’m glad we're friends, Haarlep. I owe you a lot,”

They shook their head. “You can start repaying your debt by eating this,”

She eyed the bowl at their feet with suspicion but accepted it the moment they brought it over to the bed and placed it in her hands, gulping the beige slop as greedily as the incubus might’ve devoured a suckling pig. They sat behind her and put a hand on her back before thinking about what they were doing. “Eh eh! No choking. I’m not going to take it from you, I promise. Just slow down, would you?”

Tav was too busy eating to reply, and Haarlep handed them the metal cup of water without being asked (not glass, they’d thought she still might be too unstable to be left alone with anything fragile and sharp). She finished the whole bowl as they rubbed her back gently.

“I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” she finally spoke, looking anywhere but their face.

“Starving will do that to you,” Haarlep chuckled. “Better?”

She shook her head no. “Why… do you know why he hasn’t come down here?”

“Because he’s a bastard,” they shrugged, “what’s new?”

Tav let out a groan, leaning into Haarlep’s shoulder. It stirred a strange warmth he couldn’t name in his chest. “Does he hate me? For the whole party thing?”

“Gods, no. He wouldn’t be feeding you if he hated you,”

“Good,” she nodded before pausing, “Do you hate me for ruining your lives?”

Haarlep almost jumped out of their skin but tried to play it off as best they could. “I thought I just said we were friends?” Why did that rattle them so much? It was an absurd claim. Completely unfounded. “Besides, why would I feed you if I hated you?”

“Because you love Raphael too much to disappoint him like that,”

Their blood ran ice cold. Rage flooded them first and foremost as they jumped up from the cot, flexing their wings a bit, but something else flushed their cheeks. “I’m an incubus, I don’t- Raphael is my master. I serve him. I devote myself to him, I don’t… no. You’re mistaken,”

Tav shrugged. “Whatever you say,”

Haarlep was more shaken than they wanted to admit, even to themselves, but the twitching in their tail was undeniable. They were quick to gather the empty bowl as well as old oats and wine from the floor as they quickly headed to the door, leaving the rest of the water behind with her. “I’ll be back later with your dinner,”

“Wait,”

They paused at the door, turning to face Tav where she sat. No emotion crossed her face. Her mask was almost as good as Raphael’s but there was no intent in it. She probably felt just as blank on the inside as she appeared. It disturbed them.

“Will you tell him I’m sorry?” She asked. “Tell him… tell him if anybody shows up I’ll tell them I want to be here, with him. I made my choice. The elf- sorry, Astarion might not take that for an answer, but the rest of them will, and that could make a difference. Nobody deserves to get hurt over this besides that man,”

Haarlep gulped down a mouthful of spit as more welled in their mouth, nodding quickly. “I’ll do what I can,”

The moment the door was locked behind them they lost the contents of their stomach onto the floor of the hall.

They cleaned up after themself quickly and tried not to think too much about anything at all on their way back up into the house, especially not that baseless accusation Tav had made. Them? Love Raphael? It was laughable. And yet when they walked into the devil’s office to find him frantically writing again, they couldn’t deny that they’d taken a few extra moments outside the door to make themself presentable.

Before he could even look up from his work, Raphael was asking about her.

“Did she eat?” He barked, quill scratching frantically on parchment. Haarlep just threw the empty metal bowl at the floor. It clattered noisily against Raphael’s own discarded dishes. “Good,”

Haarlep hated the sigh of relief that escaped his lungs.

“You look like shit,” they deflected. The whole room reeked of sweat and stress, and not in a sexy way. Usually, they wouldn’t mind looking at Raphael’s messy body. Something was so alluring about seeing someone who was always so put together at their most base and scattered physical form. It was only fun when it was for them, though, a proof of their ability to rattle him. They ran a hand through his limp, greasy hair and Raphael flinched away.

The devil huffed. “I don’t have time for this, Haarlep”

“Still drafting potential deals?”

“What else would I be doing?” He snapped. “When those damned adventurers show up I need to have a script and plan for every outcome. I refuse to lose her to some loophole I didn’t see. Wyll is giving me the most difficulty. He’s made a deal before, so he’ll know exactly what to be cautious of when setting his terms. Whatever I give him has to be nothing less than ironclad or things will end up very poorly for all of us, you included,” As he rambled, Raphael began absently chewing on the end of his quill, pressing the tip of the feather between his thin lips.

Haarlep watched with an almost scientific fascination, focusing on the way his brow furrowed as the ink stopped flowing. No one else saw the devil like this. It was for them and them alone to appreciate. Well, at least it was…

They flexed their wings. “It seems like a good time for you to take a break, besides,” Haarlep leaned against the desk, their leather pants squeezing their legs as they bent over, “I’m hungry. You’ve let me starve for weeks,”

Raphael’s eyes flitted up to theirs but went right back to his paper without even pausing for a moment on Haarlep’s bare chest. “I told you I’m busy. Go fuck one of the more deserving debtors and leave me be,”

They stumbled back from the desk. Even in the aftermath, Raphael paid them no attention, fully engrossed in his project, but of course he was! Without it how would he save his precious Tav? Anger bubbled in Haarlep’s throat but they swallowed it down. How dare she get everything they’d ever wanted after everything she’d done to them both?

How dare Raphael be capable of setting aside time for her, but not them? After all they’d done?

Haarlep took another step towards the door, eyes on the floor. “She asked about you,”

The scratching of the quill immediately stopped. “She did?” Raphael asked.

“She was wondering why you hadn’t come down to visit her yourself, and if you hated her. It was incredibly sad,” They let their voice trail off and kept gazing out into the hallway, setting their hands on their hips. “Congratulations, I suppose. You’ve finally broken her in!” When they finally turned around, Raphael wouldn’t meet their gaze.

He floundered for a bit, pushing back his greasy hair again and rubbing his stubbly cheeks with flat palms. “What a victory…” Haarlep’s stomach curled in on itself at the way Raphael’s voice trailed off. They’d never seen him look quite so weak before, except when he’d been moments from death. “Haarlep, am I doing the right thing? Do you think she can be happy here?”

They choked. “Why does that matter?”

“It doesn’t,” Raphael waved a hand, gaze drifting over to the few bolts of leftover fabric that sat stacked in the corner. He paused on them for a bit. It almost looked like he was… daydreaming. “I suppose I was just curious. She said some peculiar things after I let her see that the deal was all her idea, or at least mostly her’s. It was like she went mad. I don’t know. It’s absurd, you’ll appreciate it Haarlep. She said she loved me!”

Oh.

He loved her.

It was plain on his face and in every insane, obsessive plot he’d manufactured to lure her into his arms. All it took to kick in those romantic instincts was the right person, it seemed.

“Not that that matters,” Raphael trailed on, ignoring the way Haarlep stood frozen against the shelf. “She’ll make a fine prize once I built her back up, now that the hard part is over. I do love how malleable mortals are, though I hope she’ll keep a bit of that fight she has. She’d be boring without it,”

Was that why they’d never been good enough? Because they gave in to orders too easily? Because they had been broken long before Raphael had ever set hands on them? It set their teeth on edge. She was just being handed everything he’d ever worked for on a silver platter. The worst part? Haarlep was too damn broken in to even resist it. If it made Raphael truly happy, if it made him smile and lose a bit of that damn dramatic seriousness he wore like a coat of arms at all times, could they really resent her for it? No. They could only resent it wasn’t for them.

“Did she mention anything else?” Raphael asked, setting his chin on his palm.

Haarlep bit their tongue, looking down at the veritable pile of battle plans at his elbow. A bead of blood came up where their fang dug into the soft flesh.

“No, she didn’t mention anything else,”

“To be expected,” Raphael sighed, disappointed. He looked down at the papers and pushed up from the desk with a groan. It had probably been days since he’d last gotten up. “I suppose I could pause planning for the moment, a bath does sound nice.” He raised an eyebrow at Haarlep. “Still hungry?”

The incubus feigned a smile as they left the room.

“For you? Always,”

-----------

(A/N: Thank you for sticking with me <3 This chapter took a very long time to write, half because work was insane and half because I had to rewrite it probably 6 times before I ended up with something I halfway liked. I can't wait to rewrite all of this once the story is over so I can practice editing something novel-length, because that's what it's looking like it'll end up being. This is now, I believe, my longest project ever to date and it's been such an incredibly gratifying challenge to take on. I can't wait to finally get into the original story I wanted to tell with you guys.)

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#fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 haarlep #bg3 raphael #bg3 tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 #haarlep/tav #raphael/tav #astarion/tav #baldurs gate 3 #tav

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ask-healthy-light · 9 days

Text

After the group had carefully placed all the little Sparks back in their nest, Nuntius quickly flew around them and happily bounced from side to side, before he slowly floated down to join his little ones, gently coming to rest shortly thereafter; and every present being smiled warmly at the sight, until Nox quietly told the others that it was best to let Nuntius and his Sparks sleep for a while.

Smiles swiftly soured, but the group knew that Nox was right, so after they took one more look into the nest with many small flames, the others politely nodded to her, and turned around to head back, until Nox stopped them again with a brief chuckle; and she said that they did not have to walk away to return to their own bodies, as they were technically still precisely where they left themselves.

But before anyone of the group could ask her what she meant, Nox closed her eyes again, and as soon as they saw her horn glow, they suddenly found themselves in their bodies back in the Waking Realm, where, after they took a moment to reorient themselves, they all deeply sighed in relief; but while it felt like a long time had passed, the others swiftly found that the Sun had hardly moved at all.

Still, although they might not have been away from themselves for long, the Sun was swiftly sinking beyond the massive rocks and tall hills surrounding them, and was steadily approaching the horizon, and they knew that it would not be long before night fell upon them; so Nox trotted over to the two Kirin sitting some distance away, as she figured the confused group needed some time to themselves.

As she approached Light and Summer, the former solemnly nodded to her before turning back to Ty, as he was clearly telling them a tale of some significance, to which Light was eagerly listening, only for Nox to kindly interject to tell them that it was best they join their again soon; and after the two Kirin looked around, and quickly nodded with a nervous chuckle, she realised that they had not.

Just as she turned around, however, Nox stopped herself, and sincerely asked Light and Ty what they had been talking about since they separated themselves from the group, as she had a feeling that it did not have anything to do with learning how to control their powers of Air and Flame; and the sly tone in which she spoke with them made both Kirin look away while rubbing the backs of their heads.

With an embarrassed blush on his face, Summer told her that he and Light had indeed planned to give each other advice on how to more easily wield and more accurately control their Attunements, but he admitted that they had both become very invested in the other's story; but Light said that they had learnt many things, but most of these were simply about the other, and not their respective powers.

In response, the smile on Ty's face suddenly brightened, and he asked Nox in utter amazement if she knew of Light's past as a Ranger, as he had only ever read about their existence in bedtime stories when he was a Foal; and after Nox took a moment to recover from Ty's surprisingly quick mood shift, she discreetly winked to Light as she briefly shook her head to answer the very enthusiastic Kirin.

Before either of the two could realise, Ty leapt off of the rock on which they sat, and immediately grabbed Nox and Light by their arms with incredible strength, and brought them back to the group at winged speed; and the sudden reappearance of the excitable Kirin startled the others, who instantly reached for their weapons, until they realised that it was only Summer, and they calmed down again.

Fortunately, the Young Kirin either did not pick up on their defensive reactions, or simply did not care about it, as he merely dashed across the small circle of beings to place Light and Nox between Shining and Boom, before he leapt back to sit opposite them; but before the two had even managed to take a breath, Summer asked Light to tell him and all theo thers more about their time as a Ranger.

A sombre smile grew upon Light's face as they built a campfire in the centre, before they told him:

"These tales of mine are not brief… but I can tell you are very eager to hear and learn more."

(Thanks for reading! And if you enjoyed, please reblog! Thanks in advance!)

Send an ask or request! | Start at the beginning! | Next part!

Featuring: Nox Lunarwing, Nuntius, and Summer Typhoon from @nox-lunarwing Boomlord from @thedumbguywithaheart43

(Well, I guess I was wrong about the delay. But now I am very hungry...)

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ahollowgrave · 8 months

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Once bitten, twice shy (idiom): used to mean that a person who has failed or been hurt when trying to do something is careful or fearful about doing it again. // i keep my distance but you still catch my eye.

There is a spark of flame not far from you. You close your eyes so you don’t roll them. You make a mental note: pray for patience.

“Please, don’t smoke in here.”

From the shadows of the hallway of the house your Aunt left you is a particular silence. A certain stillness that asks: ‘What the fuck?’

The flame is snuffed out.

And when no glow of embers is forthcoming:

“Thank you,” you are pleased with how soft your voice is. How pleasant. Despite the way your stomach twists in on itself.

Then, as coolly as you can: “Oh, great Aunt, I wish you would stop looming in the hallway.”

A grunt.

With the click of a heel, and another, and another, your Aunt Odile steps into your office. She leans against the doorway in that precisely nonchalant way that makes you certain she’s practiced it. Her raven’s wing hair is pulled up and stuffed into a perfectly mussed bun.

You are annoyed instantaneously.

“Hello, blessing,” she greets you. Her voice is a sun-warmed drawl and you adore the way she drags words out. Which irks you further. (You shy away from examining why.) Odile continued: “Sure wish you’d just call me ‘Odile.’ Picked it special and all. Or even just ‘Aunt’ if you must.”

Her head tipped down and her peculiar eyes watched you from beneath dark brows.

“‘Great’ makes me feel old,” she added and you watched her face - which is your face, but not - smirk in a way you have never. Would never.

You felt repulsed.

And guilty.

She was trying which you find outrageously frustrating.

She was only trying now. She could have been - should have been - trying the whole time. She knew about you the whole time. ‘Watch from afar’ she said. Why? What was so dangerous about a child that she had to watch from afar whilst you --

Your jaw is clenched painfully tight and you work it lose with a smile. “I’ll try, Aunt,” you put a heavy layer of false reverence on the title to imply the age anyway. It is a small and cruel gesture. And any pleasure you feel is lost in a rush of guilt.

Guilt that is wasted as Odile only looks amused, further vexing you.

You are left staring at each other. In the silence you watch Odile begin to do something horrifying: work her courage up. You panic.

“However, I’m exhausted. Could this wait?”

It’s not a lie, more a half-truth. You’re a terrible liar.

Odile straightens, expression folding into that too-easy smile. “‘Course. Was just swinging by to tell you night, anyway,” a lie and you marvel at the ease at which it is spoken. As she turned to leave she spoke over her shoulder:

“I am a patient woman, little niece,” there is emphasis on ‘little.’ A shot returned. “Walls fall down. ‘Tis one of the only things they can do.” It should sound like a threat, and it would, were it not for the thread of hope woven between the words.

Your smile if only to bare your teeth.

Something inside you growls in satisfaction.

As the click of her bootheels retreats down the steps, you decide that anything Odile has to work her courage up to say is not something you want to hear. Not now. Not yet.

Your anger cools immediately, freezing crystal clear and precise. Carved of ice. It sits heavily at the bottom of your heart.

#FFXIV Write #this one got a lil' away from me length wise #(thats what she said)#but it's not like terribly long #anyway #odette & odile #Odile #[& Love is too long.]#[Life is Too Short &]#complicated family dynamics ahoy!!!!#that is a WHAM! lyric yes

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dreamlostdevourer · 1 year

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A Very Helpful Angelic Hand

The newest angel girl at my small refuge?

She's a bit too driven.

A bit too purposeful.

Too impulsively helpful.

Now, I know that doesn't sound like a curse or a problem, but. A driven angelic doll can do the silliest things in the name of helping. And we like to try and iron out the misfires in that reflex.

Anyhow, she had just arrived, newly minted, her halo not even past it's first molt.

The usual whirlwind tour, some polite bowcurtsies, some pleasantries, a few shared looks of concern, nothing unusual.

She didn't even flinch when she met the demons and the void dolls, their polite smiles and her earnest ears made it easy for them to be friends.

And she was fine. It seemed like she was adjusting okay enough.

She had the usual stumbles, 'helping' us with cooking, smiling with oblivious destructive cheerfulness as her angelic flames charred the veggies. Or calling down the sky fires on a stain.

Just Angel Things, I guess.

We focused on those overreactions first, and she seemed to understand she wasn't in trouble or misbehaving, just that she was ill equipped.

Always smiling, always listening, sometimes even learning.

Really, it was more than we hoped for! It really seemed like we had gotten through to her, but. Yeah, always a but with my stories.

We awoke to the doors in our house slamming open, then shut. It's not that unusual, with our menagerie of- Well, dolls who were no longer wanted.

Anyways, after the third lap of door slamming, I lumbered out of bed and made my way to the noisy doors, in the kitchen.

And there she was, the new girl running about. She ran off before I could stop her.

A glass of water in each hand, all the clean glasses lined up on the counter...

Shit. Gotta teach her this lesson. I hate this lesson.

Relaxed my frown into a smile, and sat down, waiting for her return. It didn't take long, and was hard to miss, what with the doors slapping open and shut.

And our poor angel, disheveled, rambling, panicked, wings and halo sparking with savior impulses. It took a minute to decipher, but her adrenaline fueled rambling told the story.

She had seen a fire in the distance, and set out to help, she wanted to prove herself useful and good, after all. So she grabbed what she could, and flew out to fight the fire!

A noble impulse, but this was a genuine inferno, a four alarm fire, a goddamn high rise engulfed in a terrifying blaze. And our angel flew out there, two glasses of water clutched in her hand, just to throw them at the fire.

She was so proud.

Her hands were slightly burned, her face and clothing speckled with soot, the fringes of her wings were charred, and her halo shone brighter than ever.

As softly as I could, I took her hands in mine, and helped her to a stool, just to get her off her feet.

"I know you're trying to help dear, but, you don't have the right tools."

Her face twisted in disappointment, then fear, then anger, but she gripped my hands so tight, I could tell she wanted to scream protests. I don't blame her for being upset, she was just doing what she thought was best.

It took us a bit to calm her down, I had to get one of her new friends, a wizard doll, to help her break out of the panic spiral. But it worked, we got her to understand that she was endangering herself, and maybe others. There were better ways to respond to the fire, and we could teach her.

She choked back a sob, a dread panic in her eyes. I grabbed her shoulder firmly, trying to reassure.

"You're still good enough, starshine! I know you want to do good, to help no matter what-"

She slumped forward into me, and I caught her in an impromptu hug. Over my shoulder, the wizard doll droned out chimes.

"Dear Doll. Using the right tool for the job? That is our job." The angel girl simply rocked in my arms, but she listened as the wizard spoke more "I can teach you about fires. Controlling. Culling. Creating."

With uncanny casualness, a slender, dull rod manifested in the air, thrumming with unreality.

"And you must learn how to find the right tool."

And our angel? She started sobbing, thrashing, wailing. She said all sorts of nasty untruths about herself, about us, about the world.

So we sat with her.

It took another hour or so for her to calm down, but she seemed to understand now. I'm not looking forward to having to reinforce this, but it's better in the long term.

Someone taught her she was useless, a useless helper, and that she has to constantly be proving herself as useful, faithful, powerful, or loved.

And when it was too much for her new owner?

She got thrown away.

And someone has to save the dolls that were thrown away.

#cw: fire #cw: helplessness #cw: ptsd #empty spaces #dollposting

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emimillerart · 8 months

Text

Bitter

A little short story I wrote for a competition once. If our emotions manifested as blooms and vines, what would suppressing them do?

Petals brim bitter and sharp in my throat. I choke them back as I watch her.

Elena.

She floats through the garden. Wildflowers strain close to kiss her tawny skin. Wisteria catches on the breeze, settling in her charcoal hair. Little lilac sailboats on the waves of her tresses.

She laughs: widely, recklessly, and the roses and lavender that foam at her lips and sprout from her veins tumble around her. When she cups her palms, white orchids unfold their wings and flutter gently. She throws me a smile, and I drink deep of her brown eyes.

“I could die happy here.” Even her voice is a song.

“What, in Nana’s garden?” I get to my feet, brushing dirt off the back of my jeans.

“You know what I mean.”

And I sort of do. The way the garden is, with tall trees and a proud fence hiding it from the world. Tui song and the hush of wind through leaves drowns out the hum of cars along Sturges Road.

Elena likes that. Being hidden, enclosed, but with the endless blue sky above. God knows the plants love her for it. A jealous green tendril writhes up my throat. I clench at it, and it withers back to seed.

When I approach her through the long grass, the dry stalks and crawling things shy away from me. Call me Moses, I guess. I snatch up a big dandelion, snap its stalk. Clear blood sticks to my fingers, and with a satisfied grin I blow its babies away.

Elena frowns at me when I do this. Fight against it, I mean. Nature. Us. I blow some of the little dandelion seeds in her face. They cling to her like snowflakes.

“Tillie, why do you hate the garden so much?”

“I don’t hate it.”

She brushes the limp strands of dirty blond hair out of my face, and I hate the way her touch makes my blood sing. She tucks one of her orchids behind my ear.

“It’s scared of you.”

I crush the dandelion stem between my fingers. “Maybe it should be.”

The sap stinks, crowds bitter and sharp in my nose. I turn abruptly and head for the winding path that leads back to the house. Since Nana moved to the hospice, I’ve been in charge of looking out for the garden. Under her wrinkled fingers it thrived, green and happy and full of life.

It’s doing alright by itself. It is. I only come out here when Elena is over, when the blossoms open and the trees hum, and the grass swirls around in a gentle dance. When it’s just me, it sits static and solemn.

Arms slip around my waist, and she presses up against my back.

“You’ve stopped talking to me,” she whispers, her breath perfume against my neck.

Suddenly it’s too much. How warm she is, how soft and comforting, and so damn at peace with everything. I squirm, trying to get out of her grip. Vines and leaves and creeping things in my veins are bursting to escape—

I clamp my teeth shut, petals and flower buds cluttering my jaw and tongue like bile. Elena feels my discomfort and lets go. The air kisses cold in the absence of her.

“You can’t just keep everything in. You need to talk, Tillie. About your Nana, about anything—”

I can hear the tears in her words, but I can’t spit a rebuttal around the flowers crowding my mouth. I open the distance between us, and it’s the maw of some monster I’m terrified will swallow me whole.

I hate myself when she cries.

Elena stops coming round. The garden begins to wilt, shrinking away in splintered yellow stalks. I stand in the kitchen, by the big window framed with empty herb planters, and watch the flowers die. They curl up on themselves like paper caught in a flame.

My phone lights up, buzzing viciously until it nearly falls off the counter. I glance at Mum’s profile pic — she’s using a dumb filter that puts butterflies around her head — then reject the call.

I yank the yellow cotton and lace curtains closed. The fabric reminds me of Elena’s favourite dress.

It comes again. That itching and writhing in my veins, heat and spark of anger, and the only way it wants to get out: tiger lilies and birds-of-paradise, spiking through my throat and clawing against my cheeks.

I scratch Elena out of my mind, and the flowers pull away, dormant. It’s easier to be like barren soil. Like the yellow clay I would dig up in the backyard as a kid. Cold and predictable.

Fixing mistakes feels better in the moonlight.

Soil clings to my fingers, gets into all the cracks and crevices, that rusty smell of damp earth. The flowers are all gone, the wisteria withered and brown. I scoop out a hole, set the tiny sprout inside. A zebrina. The boy behind the counter said it was the easiest to grow. Impossible to kill.

Grey slants of moonlight glint off the skeletal remnants of the garden around me. I think of Nana, and guilt twists my heart so abruptly I don’t stop the petals in time. I slap a hand over my mouth, vines and tendrils trying to force their way through the slits between my fingers.

Breathe.

Breathe again.

My heart hammers, but my breathing slows. Traitorous petals retreat.

I take to roaming the streets in the evenings, drawn to the warm glow and tinkling laughter of the pubs in town. Floral perfume clogs the air, mingling with stale beer and cigarette smoke. It sticks in my throat like tar.

Sometimes they look askance at me. My hoodie is stained from the Chinese takeaway I had two days ago, my white keds splattered black with soil.

I pretend I’m waiting for someone, mindlessly tapping on my phone, clutching a tote bag to my side. They soon forget I’m there, Guinness easing the laughter from their throats. With flirting and joy and dreaded emotion comes fronds and leaves and flower buds.

When they’re not looking I scrabble to pick up the cuttings from the ground, concrete wet from rain scraping my knuckles. I shove it all into my bag.

When I have enough I skulk away, back up the hill, my hood pulled tight over my head. Nana’s house sits squat at the end of the drive, the hedges of the garden leafless and brown, lined in silver from the security light. Tenuous excitement builds in my chest. I can fix it. She’ll talk to me again.

The trellis gate creaks on its hinges, the neighbour’s dog half-heartedly barking at the noise. With an erratic wildness I pull up all the seedlings that failed to take, all shrivelled up and brown like dead worms on the pavement after a summer rainfall. That Plant Barn kid was such a liar.

The stolen flowers go into the graves the dead ones left behind. It should work. They’re different, the plants that come from us. For once, the dirt feels good under my nails. Warm and full of promise.

The flowers are still there the next day. Their leaves pucker open, the blossoms waving back and forth, searching. Another sunshower glitters across the lawn, and for once I leave the kitchen curtains open.

The happiness building in my chest threatens to splinter and take root. I turn away from the window, rubbing a shaking hand across my chest, and pull my phone out. The red notification bubble on my messenger app sends a shiver of cold anxiety down my spine. I scroll through, my eyes glazing over the messages, watching the unread count spool down.

A few from me to Elena, before I stopped trying. We called our chat ‘dumb ATLA stans’. I hesitate with my thumb over the Delete Chat button. It’s a ghost of her, like the garden and the curtains and her perfume that still clings to my old sweaters.

I tap out of the app without deleting the messages, setting the phone face-down on the counter. Mum has been threatening to come by, and though the garden is a shadow of itself I let a small bud of contentment grow in my belly. I don’t need Elena to coax beauty from the garden. I’ve done it alone.

It only takes a week before the stolen flowers die. Perhaps they knew they weren’t supposed to be there, in a garden not of their blood. Tomorrow Mum’ll come over, fussing over my thrifted clothes and trying to flog off her unwanted eyeshadow palettes to me. I won’t be able to hide the garden from her.

I sit on the old blue bench beneath the pohutukawa tree. The faded paint is the only colourful thing left, splattered in red needle blossoms. Moonlight slashes silver over dead grass. A sea of shattered mirrors. I can’t sleep. If I sleep, the morning will come sooner.

My phone is on 5%, but I scroll through my social feeds anyway, the bright screen drowning the garden into inky blackness. I land on a picture of Elena, and my heart stutters in my mouth. She hasn’t blocked me.

She’s up on a mountain somewhere, the sea behind her a pale, insignificant ribbon. The golden evening glow lights up her olive skin, and she’s smiling big and bright, a knee pulled up under her chin, the breeze teasing out strands of her hair. Jasmine blossoms fall about her like rain.

It always was that way. Her: sunshine and ease and gold. Me: still and calm and blue. She said I was the ocean, depthless and unknowable. It’s clear now; I was the one holding her under, drowning her light.

My phone shuts down. I blink a few times, the pink rectangle afterimage of the screen floating across my vision. An inverse portrait of her. She fades, and the garden returns, barren as a graveyard.

My chest burns. I curl my fists so hard my fingernails break skin. Jaw clenched, breath rolling over in sharp, shuddering gasps. My heart hammers a warning, but I can’t stop. I can’t keep holding everything back.

Dawn bleeds pink over the horizon, and I finally let myself cry. For Elena. For Nana. For whoever else I trod over like they were weeds. My tears are hot and salty, and I can’t stop them. I won’t stop them. Flowers burst between my teeth.

I surrender.

Succumb to the petals unfurling and choking my nostrils with their perfume. Jasmine and orange blossom, lilies and buttercups. I grasp my hair in my hands, my sobs choked and stuttering around the vines I want to gnash at with my teeth. But I don’t. Not this time.

I wake to the sound of hammering on the front door. With a start, I jerk upright, blossoms scattering from my lap to the ground. Mum is going to kill me. The grind and clunk of the spare key in the lock. She’s going to see the garden—

The garden—

I try to blink the dream from my eyes. Life. Lush green, peppering of bright wildflowers. The wisteria blooming. Honeybees bobbing in and out of the blossoms.

It’s not exactly the same as Nana had it. There’s more yellow, all sunflowers and daffodils and marigolds. Mum’s calling my name, her voice distant as though underwater. My bare feet press into the grass, and for once, I don’t mind how it pricks my soft skin.

The wildflowers shift, wavering for a moment. Unsure. I offer a hesitant smile, and gently brush my hand through the stalks. Like wind skimming across a lake, the flowers bend toward me.

I laugh, truly and deeply and recklessly, and scatter orchids from my palms.

#short story #writeblr #i didn't win but got an honourable mention #short fiction

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makibeni · 9 months

Text

Ch. 58- To Flicker and Burn Bright

Makima twirled a pen around her fingers while staring at the mound of paperwork in front of her. It had an hour, maybe two, since she'd simply stopped, unable to continue for some unknown reason. The work was no different than before, nothing on any page that stood out or could have prompted this, she simply... couldn't. When she tried to focus the words became a jumbled mess of ink with no intent, as pointless as it had always been but now impossible for her to parse. She tried to force herself, more than once in fact, push her hand into place, dance her way along the page, scribble something, a signature or a line or even just a squiggle, but her hand refused to budge. Was this frustration? Sadness? Rage? Every idea she had a single thought that faded into nothing before she could think it through. When she tried to close her eyes everything was foggy, no sights nor sounds nor memories, just an endless haze, dancing before her. Even it wasn't there, not in any tangible sense at any rate. She tried to look for it, feel for it's presence, even thought to call out to it, though her thoughts would reach it all the same as shouting, it simply wasn't there, or didn't care to be.

It had been some time since she truly felt in control, she'd entwined her life with that girl, given all of her there was to give of herself, to watch her bloom into her arms, but lately all she could feel was the thread unwinding. She couldn't give up, not in a way so straightforward, she knew what awaited her at the end of that road and she was in no rush to get there, but the a disquieting shell had begun to grow around her heart. She wanted to wash those thoughts from her mind but nothing else would stick, she tried to think about Kobeni but all that came to her was worry, sadness, and resentment. Resentment to whom she couldn't figure, the girl had done no wrong, none that Makima would dare accuse her of, none her heart could take, lest the barbs squeezed tighter and all the pain would be for naught. Herself then, was the obvious choice, the thoughtless partner, to weak to pay the hurt that love demanded, to feeble to weather the storm of wings in search of freedom, reduced to this, incapable of even drudging through the bureaucratic minutia of her work.

"Miss Makima I- GAH!"

She looked up in surprise, noticing her extended hand and the pen she'd been holding impaled into the office door, a frightened devil hunter standing inches from the impact site.

"I-I'm sorry! I'll come back later!"

With an resigned sigh and no closer to lifting the fog from her mind she stood from her chair and decided to get some air. She stared off into the passing crowd, picking out the faces that seemed wracked with worry and regret, wondering if they too were suffering for someone they loved, if it truly is how life is meant to go, if to be human is to find a flame to light your wick and burn with as much love and pain as you can muster before you flicker out, or weather everyone must choose if they fear the agony or the loneliness more, and live their life in eternal wonder of what could have been. To her, the other path was still unthinkable, but she thought of another her, one who the inverse, who feared the hole left in ones heart when loss inevitably came, and dared not to light the spark to begin with.

"Even if I understood you, you couldn't change my mind..."

It sat beside her, staring at her for a moment before looking off into the distance. She felt no ill intent from it, for once at least, a curious glance returned before it disappeared again as swift sets of footfalls approached. Makima turned her head, eyes going wide as she saw Kobeni running up to her in a mad dash.

"M-M-M-M-MAH-HAH-HAH-MAKIMAH….!!!"

The girl gasped for breath, exhausted and exerted, hands on trembling knees before her.

"I was... I wanted... I... at home... you home... my... at..."

Whatever she'd been up to didn't matter right now, calming her took priority, and it was something very much in Makima's purview. She slid her arms around the girl and pulled her in.

"Shhhhh, rest now, you can tell me when you've caught your breath"

The girl fell into her embrace, leaning her head upon the woman's chest, floundering in helpless exhaustion and did as she was told. Makima held her, their heartbeats mixing as the woman finally felt like she'd regained a sliver of control. She felt desperate and opportunistic, but the helpless girl in her arms clung to her for shelter, for safety, for serenity and solace, her craving sated at last. When her breathing finally steadied, Kobeni tugged on Makima's shirt and pulled herself up, her eyes alight with determination accompanied by an unsure gulp.

"Makima I... I'm sorry..."

The woman stepped back for a moment, unsure if the apology was reactive or preemptive.

"I'm sorry I... I tried really hard but I just couldn't do it... I don't know how to live a normal life..."

Makima stared at her, her trepidation turned to confusion at the girl's words.

"Kobeni... What are you talking about?"

The girl pouted, trying to figure out how to convey her feelings while realizing the was still trying to figure them out herself.

"I-I went out and... I tried to be n-normal... but... I couldn't do it... I just ended up buying things I didn't want and drinking too much..."

A shot of embarrassing and uncomfortable memories came back for the pair, now with more clarity that made them no less awkward.

"And all I could ever think about was how much I wanted to be with you instead..."

Those words finally caught her, breaking through past the care and the angst to the tender heart beating below, the affirmation she'd denied herself permission to believe in.

"C-could we... go on a date together again?"

#makima x kobeni #makima #kobeni #kobeni higashiyama #makibeni #chainsaw man #yuri ship

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wardencommanderrodimiss · 7 months

Text

In time, this world will take a dark turn; for now, in Southtown, fighting bandits, Chrom, Frederick, and Lissa gain a new ally.

-----

Plumes of dark smoke rise from the direction of the town. These blasted brigands made it before the Shepherds could intercept them, leaving Chrom scrambling to catch up. He can see the flames crawling up the sides of houses and devouring brown shingled roofs; no matter how fast they move now, there’s already damage done. Hopefully they can intervene before anyone is killed.

Chrom takes the lead and Lissa follows close behind Frederick, clutching her staff as though to use it as a club. The main cobblestone road takes them in toward the center of town, past hastily-abandoned wagons still laden with bounty from the fields. The center square, when it comes into view, shows more clear signs of daily life hastily interrupted: farm stands battered and overturned, crops littering the ground. At this distance, indistinct yells and screams reach Chrom’s ears. He is ready to charge into the fray, careful approach be damned, when a clatter of footsteps precedes a woman who throws herself around the corner of the house to Chrom’s left. She collides with an empty farm stand and then intentionally catches hold of it to bring herself to a stop. Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes catch on Chrom’s and the relief spreading across her face hardens immediately into a determined scowl.

“More of you damned brigands,” she hisses, straightening up. One hand plunges into her coat as though seeking a weapon, and she holds the other straight out, fingers splayed, straight towards Chrom. “Fine, then—”

A ball of lightning begins to form in her palm, crackling brightly and loudly sparking and snapping the way the flames do. She knows magic, and she probably means to kill them.

“Wait!” Chrom throws his hands up. He’d like to be ready to draw Falchion, but he’d like a ball of lightning to the chest even less, and if he goes for his blade she will probably strike. “We aren’t brigands! We’re Shepherds, here to help!”

“Awfully well-armed for shepherds,” the woman replies curtly, not lowering her hand even slightly. “Though you don’t sound like brigands.”

She shifts her stance and her long dark coat moves with her, revealing a glimpse of a blade sheathed at her hip. This woman is no ordinary resident of a simple farming village, that’s for damn sure. But she still hasn’t attacked him, so Chrom is optimistic about his chances to calm this situation. “So what do brigands sound like?” he asks.

“Plegian,” she says. Her eyes finally leave Chrom’s face, darting briefly across Frederick and lingering longer on Lissa, who takes up the rear. Surely she doesn’t think that a girl of Lissa’s age would be part of a bandit incursion? “You don’t, but you don’t look like knights - and certainly not like shepherds, either.”

“We hear that a lot,” Chrom says.

The lightning disappears from her palm, but her hand remains raised, still ready for the situation to turn south. She looks back behind her, toward the main square, as though expecting others to appear around the corner. When no one does, her gaze turns back on Chrom, cold and appraising. “Whatever you are, if you truly mean to help, your timing is perfect. These brigands think I’m their only opposition. You can easily ambush them while they’re preoccupied.”

“Wait,” Lissa pipes up from behind. “You don’t mean that you’ve been trying to fight a bunch of bandits all on your own! That’s crazy!”

The woman draws her hand back; her other still lingers inside her coat and the tome surely hidden away there. “What else was I to do?” she asks. “Let them run unopposed?”

“Surely the danger of such a venture has not escaped you,” Frederick says. He still looks wary of her - typical Frederick - but not as though he will be the first to strike.

The woman waves her hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, I know,” she says, and she sounds just as dismissive as her gesture was - sounds as though the danger of such a venture has in fact escaped her. “Now, they’re still going to be on guard waiting for me to attack again, but if you sneak up through here” - she indicates a thin alley between two homes that are thankfully not yet ablaze - “and I catch their attention from the main square and draw them toward us, you can strike from the side while they’re distracted.”

Her strategy, while simple, seems solid, and has more thought put into it than Chrom would have (his strategy being to run the bastards down immediately). There is just one key point that he objects to: “So you are going to charge them, alone.”

“I’m not charging them,” she reminds him. “I’m getting their attention and drawing them back, and I’m hardly alone if there’s an ambush waiting on my side.”

“That’s a lot of faith to put in strangers,” Chrom says. Her life in their hands, and they don’t even know her name. And she might be a stranger, but she’s fighting for the people of Ylisse; that makes her a friend to the Shepherds and the Exalt, and they’re short on friends as of late.

“So it is,” she agrees. Her expression doesn’t waver; her eyes don’t leave Chrom’s even as she says, “And you, girl with the staff - if this goes wrong, you might be my new best friend, not a stranger. Now shall we?”

She seems to have determined Chrom to be the leader of them. He nods and looks to Frederick. He does not appear at all happy, but he does not offer any verbal objection, either. Presumably he will go along with what Chrom goes along with, and Chrom is going to go along with this plan that is only slightly insane because he has no plan at all. “Let’s.”

The woman darts off into the main square, ducking around the broken farm stands as she moves between cover. Chrom wonders why she’s bothering, if she intends to get their attention, and several seconds later, as he advances down the alleyway, he realizes that she probably intends to make her approach appear less suspicious than an outright charge.

He really would have just charged, himself.

The alley between the houses, about two feet wide, is littered with debris. Chrom crouches behind the rainwater barrel that stands at the far mouth of the alley and presses his back to the wall. Further ahead lies the bridge across the river which cuts the town in half, and on the other side, the church. Two brigands, one with a large axe and the other with a sword, cross the bridge, yelling what must be every derogatory term to refer to a woman that exists. Moments later, a small javelin-shaped burst of lightning streaks through the air, slamming directly into the chest of the swordsman. He howls as he tumbles to the ground, still alive despite the force of the impact, and his companion continues on, disappearing out of Chrom’s line of sight.

Chrom gives himself another few moments, watching the swordsman return to his feet and put his back to Chrom. Then the sound of metal-on-metal rings through the air, and Chrom decides that is enough.

He throws himself forward from the alley, drawing Falchion. Now he can see the stranger, with a sword in her hands to parry the axe that bears down on her. The second brigand limps towards the duel and does not make it; Falchion tears through his back and he falls with a gurgling sound. The axe-wielding brigand, about to bring a second swing down on the stranger, hesitates and turns towards the sound. “What the—”

Falchion arcs through the air, meeting the chipped, rusting axe blade. The brigand’s face, contorted in fury, suddenly goes slack. He looks down; Chrom, however, does not dare take his eyes off the axe - not until it clatters to the ground from now-limp hands of a man with lightning magic still sparking in his chest.

“I killed two of them earlier, before I had to run and met you,” the woman says, lowering her right hand; in her left, she clutches a tome close to her chest. “I believe there should only be one of them left—”

She drops the tome and lunges forward. Chrom has no time to react and next he knows, she has knocked the two of them to the ground. Crackling flames burst in the air above them, right where Chrom had been standing; even from a few feet away, the spell warms the side of his face and he wonders what it would be like to have taken the full brunt of it. “I thought I killed two of them,” the woman amends, falling back onto the ground away from Chrom and fumbling for her tome again, and then with a wordless yell of anger she throws lightning right back.

Chrom scrambles to his feet. Across the square, he sees another man fall, a tome slipping from his grasp. “My apologies,” the woman says lightly, as though she didn’t just strike a man down with magic, turning her head to glance at Chrom. “I didn’t expect that.”

“That’s all right,” Chrom says. “I much prefer being thrown around a little to burning alive.”

“Glad to hear it,” she says.

“Anyone need help?” Lissa waves her staff about as she runs up, Frederick still doing his best to stay ahead of her and keep himself between her and any danger. It is, Chrom suspects, a losing battle, but Frederick valiantly fights it anyway, and for that Chrom is grateful. He doesn’t have to keep both eyes on Lissa at all times with Frederick around. “We’re all good?”

“The last man seems to have been the one giving orders,” says the woman, indicating the bandit lingering on the other side of the bridge. “Let’s see if he has any bite behind his bark.”

To the little credit that Chrom would give any Plegian brigands who are ransacking his halidom, the sole remaining man is not a coward who folds once he sees his backup is dead. Unfortunately this also means a second round of fighting, and more chances for someone on Chrom’s side to be hurt. And fortunately, when the stranger catches a thrown axe, it is with the inside of her billowing coat, and not any critical piece of flesh, and Frederick’s lance puts the bandit down before he can do any real damage to anyone.

And then there is no time to waste, as the town is on fire and the four of them cannot put it out by themselves. Lissa scrambles about trying to convince the townspeople that it’s safe to come out and help, and Chrom and Frederick search for any buckets; by the time Chrom returns to where he remembers a rain barrel, he finds that the woman has scaled one of the houses and stands on a roof about fifteen feet away from the crackling flames.

There’s something admirable in her audacity, that she’s running towards danger for the sake of helping others. That’s the kind of person who would be a good fit for the Shepherds. And Chrom’s no tactician or politician, but he can read the writing on the wall the same as anyone else: Plegia’s building up to something, and Ylisse needs to be prepared to fight back.

They need all the help they can find, here and everywhere else.

It is late afternoon before all of the fires have been put out and the wounded villagers treated. Chrom has not met a person who is not profusely thankful, offering anything they have as repayment. He politely refuses offerings of meager coin pushed on him - “it’s all we have but please, milord, you saved our homes, you saved us–” - to make his way back to the center of town. A man who had earlier introduced himself as one of the village elders greets them there.

“You must at least stay the night, milord,” he implores. “We would happily toast the valor of you and your companions with a feast - where has the last one of you gotten off to, do you know?”

Chrom looks to Frederick on his right and Lissa on his left and back at the older man. “You mean - that woman? She wasn’t with us - you mean she isn’t from here?”

“Goodness, no.” The man shakes his head. “We would surely know if we had any mages in town. I have never seen her before.”

Lissa has already begun to imagine, out loud, what sort of meal they might be having when there, rounding the corner, comes the stranger woman. She stops dead when she sees an already-assembled group of people staring at her, and she flinches when the town elder calls her over. Her eyes do not linger long on him even as he extends his grateful invitation to her; they rove, suspiciously, between all of them. “That’s a generous offer, sir,” she replies, her eyes finally settling on the village elder, “but I’m afraid I must decline. I’ve been away from home long enough and my mother will be getting worried.”

“Likewise, we must be returning to Ylisstol,” Frederick says - exactly what Chrom had expected him to say. They need to report back to Emmeryn.

Lissa, however, stops in the middle of a sentence. “Wait, what? Frederick, it’s nearly dark! We—”

“We will simply make camp where we find ourselves and hunt for our sustenance - as I believe you said that you would be ‘getting used’ to roughing it?”

Frederick has a point. She did say that, and from her expression, she clearly remembers saying that and can’t accuse him of making it up. “Frederick,” she says wearily, “sometimes I really hate you.”

The woman covers a laugh with her hand. “If you’re also heading north,” she says, “my mother and I live along the road back to Ylisstol. If we leave now, we should be able to make it before nightfall and you can have a roof to sleep under for the night - and I won’t have to worry if I run into another pack of brigands on the road.”

It’s a practical suggestion, but there’s something strange about the way she speaks it - a catch in her voice after she offers them her open door, and then the hasty addition. Like her offer of assistance would be too suspicious if she didn’t also gain something from it. Like people don’t help each other only for the sake of helping each other, like there always has to be a reward, but she was here in this town fighting bandits alone and might easily have disappeared without getting anything in return. And Frederick frowns, like he does find that offer suspicious, because he finds everything suspicious - that is Frederick’s way. And Chrom thinks of Emmeryn, and will do as his heart wills him, and he answers, “I think we all would be grateful for a roof after the day it’s been - my sister especially.”

“Hey!” Lissa aims to stomp down on his foot, but Chrom gets out of the way quicker than she can strike. “You - you shut it!”

The woman lifts her hand again, obviously shielding a smile from the way her cheeks rise to her eyes. “Oh, of course,” she says, lowering her hand and failing to compose her face into a stern expression as she tilts her body just slightly in towards Lissa. “He’s using you as the excuse.”

“Exactly!” Lissa cries, and the stranger’s mischievous smile widens and she doesn’t seem to think to hide this one. “Don’t listen to a word he says about me. He’s called me delicate before - delicate! As if!”

“Let’s not start this again,” Chrom says.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have started it—!”

Frederick clears his throat. “That is generous of you, milady, but as you said - if we leave now.” He glances to the sky, tracking the position of the sun and the length of the shadows. “So we should, then, be off.”

The woman straightens up. “Of course,” she says with a sharp nod, and already her teasing feels distant or imagined. She dropped her guard and then snapped it back up, and that just makes Chrom all the more curious as to who she is and what her story is. “That we should.”

“My name is Lissa, by the way,” Lissa says. “And this is Chrom, my brother - you actually shouldn’t listen to anything he says, not just about me - and Frederick.”

Frederick gives a curt nod of acknowledgement. “Pleasure to meet you,” Chrom says.

“Likewise,” the woman replies. “My name is Robin.”

She has short hair, a pale, sandy blonde lighter in shade than either Lissa or Emmeryn’s. Her long, dark coat has maroon detailing along the arms and through the interior and, as she offers when questioned, more than a few pockets sewn within it. Frederick’s first line of inquiry - as suspiciously as he ever asks such things - as they set off down the road is where she learned to fight, and she reaches within her coat and produces a book on battle tactics. “My mother was a mercenary tactician, and a mage,” she says. “She taught me everything she knew, and the other members of her company taught me the basics of the sword.”

“A tactician, huh,” Chrom says. “The Shepherds could really use one of those now.”

“Is that so?” Robin asks. “Is the situation with the brigands getting worse? The news we get from town was always of smaller incursions such as that, but nothing more.”

She’s eager for news from Ylisstol and hangs intently on Chrom’s every word about the progression of the situation with Plegia. If she lives a few hours’ walk from such a small town, it’s no surprise that she’s not up-to-date.

When Frederick returns to the question of her skills and Robin proves, among other skills, an uncanny knack for knowing where exactly in her tactics book to find certain references or information. It’s almost like a game, as Frederick or Chrom opens discussion of a cavalry or infantry formation and Robin immediately produces pages of diagrams in her book. As battlefield experience goes, she admits to having little - but Chrom’s recruited people to the Shepherds who have none at all, and Robin has already proven that she has quick reflexes and keeps a level head in a fight.

Gods, he’s really considering this. Ylisse is in dire straits.

“Have you always lived around here?” Chrom asks at a lull in the tactical discussion. Robin has a bit of an accent he can’t place; it isn’t the Plegian accent he’s familiar with, but she doesn’t sound quite Ylissean either.

The way she looks at him suggests that she knows the question buried beneath that: where are you from? A question of allegiance - though allegiance does not always correlate with one’s place of birth - but Frederick would probably be furious if Chrom didn’t ask before he asks his other question. “I spent my childhood in Ferox,” she says. “Until I was - eight or nine, maybe?”

Her pointed gaze lingers on Chrom for a moment longer, as if asking him if that answer is good enough, until Lissa pipes up, “Isn’t it cold in Ferox?”

“I have seen snow,” says Robin solemnly, “in every month of the year.”

Lissa scrunches up her nose. “That’s horrible!”

“It would have its charms, in moderation,” Robin replies.

“So, like, just a bit of snow sometimes would be nice,” Lissa says. “Like in the winter. Having a bit of snow in moderation in the winter, like we have here, is nice. That’s what you mean?”

Robin scratches her cheek. “Yeah, that’s - I deserve that, don’t I?”

“It was pretty silly,” Lissa says. “But you’ve sounded pretty smart otherwise, so it’s okay. You know how many silly things my brother says in a day–”

“None at all,” Chrom cuts in.

“—but without anything smart to balance it out?” Lissa continues, as though Chrom did not speak.

Frederick, as ever, stoically perseveres, his eyes on the horizon. Long ago he wisely chose that he would not involve himself in petty sibling squabbles. Robin, however, has not yet had cause to make that choice. “You’re awfully mean to your brother,” she says - as if she hadn’t joined Lissa in it back in town.

Lissa shrugs. “Yeah, but that’s what little sisters are supposed to be.”

Robin raises her eyebrows. “Is that so?” she asks, glancing to Chrom for confirmation, as though he’s going to say yeah, my little sister is doing exactly what she’s supposed to be doing every day of her life by calling me a dummy.

“Do you have any siblings?” Chrom asks. He thinks that her answer may clear the matter up quickly, or add a confounding new layer to it.

She shakes her head. “Just myself and my mother.”

“Lissa is convinced, that as my baby sister, it’s what she’s supposed to do,” Chrom says. “It does not mean she’s actually supposed to.”

Lissa skips up behind him and tries to kick him in the back of the leg.

“I still don’t understand,” Robin says.

“You won’t,” Chrom says. Lissa tries again to kick him.

“I find it better to simply carry on and not acknowledge any squabbling,” Frederick says. “It will pass momentarily.”

Robin nods and steps up beside him, leaving Chrom with room to try to ruffle Lissa’s hair while Lissa continues to try to kick him in return. A part of him has concerned himself with the impression that this will make on Robin, but she already seems to have taken easily to Lissa - and most of the Shepherds could be said to be a bit eccentric. If she couldn’t handle Lissa then what would her introduction to the other Shepherds look like?

He might be getting a bit ahead of himself.

Frederick and Robin are discussing weapons training, and if Chrom has heard right, Robin has been running the same drills since she was eight. “After we left the mercenaries, there was no one to teach me,” she says, and yes, that really does sound like it - and that means that Robin was a child traveling around with a bunch of mercenaries. Her mother worked as a mercenary with a child in tow. It’s impressive, Chrom thinks, if unfortunate.

He should just go for it. At a lull in the conversation, he clears his throat and steels himself. “Robin,” he says, and she sharply turns to look at him, eyes wide and then narrowing in suspicion. “I meant what I said earlier about the Shepherds needing a tactician. I know this is a very large thing to ask so suddenly of someone I’ve just met, but you’ve proven yourself willing and able to fight for the people of Ylisse - I’d be honored if you would consider joining us.”

“Join—” Her eyes widen again. “You want me to join your… Shepherds, as a tactician?”

“I do,” Chrom replies. “You are more than free to say no—”

“Milord,” Frederick says. “This is very sudden indeed.”

“I know, Frederick. But I said to you the other day - we have to be on the lookout for others willing to help us, no matter where we might find them. Even if your answer is no, Robin, and I’d understand that, I’d rather ask than wonder.”

Robin is quiet, her jaw moving like she keeps stopping moments before a question surfaces. Finally she says, “There are more than just the three of you, I hope?”

“Wh - yes! There are.” Her answer is a question that is not an outright rejection, so Chrom tells her a little bit about the others within the ranks of the Shepherds. He explains that they go wherever they’re needed, because the pegasus knights have to focus on the border and especially the Exalt, and with the situation with Plegia as it is, there’s more and more need to keep the Exalt protected. Robin is ready with a deluge of questions, but when she has exhausted them, she gives no further answer. That she has not outright said no bodes well - though Chrom tries to temper that hope. She has not said yes, either.

The sun is gone from sight and its light fading in the sky when Robin leads them off the road, into the trees. Frederick lights a torch which he carefully maneuvers beneath the hanging branches, and Robin conjures a ball of lightning that hovers above her head and illuminates little more than the ground directly beneath their feet. Chrom can sense Frederick’s ever-increasing suspicion - it would be easy for them to disappear here.

“Before we arrive,” Robin says, stepping over a tree root which Lissa stumbles on, “I should warn you that my mother is - well, she can be - she’s rather… brusque. If she starts to make you feel like you’ve personally offended her, you haven’t; that’s just how she is, I promise.”

She stops, holding up a tree branch to let the three of them easily duck beneath it. Lissa’s furious grumbling does not cease, but she grumbles something that might be a thanks in Robin’s direction. Robin smiles, just a little.

“Just as long as you’d understand some of the other Shepherds to be rather… odd,” Chrom says. He told her that the Shepherds have come from all manner of backgrounds, with all manner of skills. And while he’s sure that when he described Miriel as a scholar of magic, Robin can probably conjure in her head an image that’s similar to the real Miriel, describing Sully as a dedicated knight doesn’t capture what makes her Sully. And then what can even be said about the likes of Vaike?

Robin lets go of the branch behind him. “I think we have an agreement,” she says, and Chrom though he wants to does not ask if that is an agreement as someone who would be their tactician, because how weird the Shepherds are won’t actually matter to her if she never meets or joins them.

Lives alone in the woods with her mother is still very much not in the kind of recruit Chrom expected to be considering, to be hoping for, but - Ylisse is in dire straights, indeed. Lives alone in the woods with her mother is the start of fairy tales of witches who eat children.

And just as it seems that they will forever be surrounded by trees, just as Chrom is seriously trying to dig up the memory of any such witch stories, they step forth into a clearing. A fence, half constructed, partially circles a chicken coop, and past it sits a plain, weather-worn house. “Mama!” Robin calls, breaking the spell of the quiet hum of nature. “Mama, I’m back! And I brought company, so don’t be alarmed!” She glances around and stares at the chicken coop for a moment longer, and then yells louder, “Mama!”

The door of the house swings open. “I heard your squawking the first three times, birdie,” rasps a voice from within, and Robin’s magic lightning-light is joined by three small white flames which pop up into the air above the stoop. They illuminate an older woman with a stress-lined face and thin hair the same color as Robin’s where it isn’t starting to gray. “What in hell do you mean, you brought company?”

Robin holds out a hand and gestures to them. “Mama, this is Chrom, Lissa, and Frederick. They’re part of a militia and they helped me fight off brigands from town. I offered them a place to stay on their way back to Ylisstol. Everyone, this is my mother, Morrigan.”

Morrigan has the same cold and appraising glare as her daughter does. Even as she approaches Robin, her wary eyes continue to rove across Chrom, Frederick, and Lissa. She takes her daughter by the chin and turns her head side to side before she roughly lifts one of Robin’s arms away from her side, like she’s inspecting her. “Mama,” Robin sighs. “I’m not hurt.”

“Hmph.” Morrigan drops Robin’s arm and, over her shoulder, meets Chrom’s eyes with that withering gaze again. “Then I suppose I should thank these strangers for bringing my daughter home in one piece.”

“Not at all,” Chrom replies. “She helped us a great deal, as well.”

Morrigan’s attention snaps back to Robin. “Then you haven’t learned a thing from this, have you?”

Robin frowns. “What am I supposed to have learned? That everyone in town was right when they worried about being attacked? That I was right when I said they had no one to protect them?

“They did have someone to protect them!” Morrigan waves her hand through the air, a broad, sweeping gesture that encompasses Chrom, Frederick, and Lissa all. “But what of you, next time you go running off alone to defend strangers?”

She warned them that her mother was brusque, but Chrom starts to think she did not warn them that they would walk right into the middle of an ongoing argument.

“I’m not going to hide away while the countryside burns around us!” Robin says. Her gloved hands at her sides tense into fists, and she glances back at Chrom. “And I won’t be alone next time. They asked me if I’d come with them and help them fight, and I will.”

Chrom has spent this long waiting for her answer and now he’s been blindsided by it. “Wait,” he says. “You will?”

He’s not sure either of the women heard him. Morrigan stands statue-still, her expression unreadable; Robin stares back. “I know what you’re going to say,” Robin says, “and I—”

“Grab more firewood on your way in, if you please, birdie,” Morrigan says, turning away from her daughter and to the door. “Since I’ll be cooking up extra for our company.”

The door snaps shut behind her.

“Oh dear,” Lissa says.

Robin’s mouth, still open, closes slowly. She stares at the door. “That was,” she says, dragging a hand through her hair, only for it to immediately fall back into place over her forehead, “not what I thought she was going to say.”

“Er, right,” Chrom says. “Listen, Robin, I know I was the one to ask if you’d come with us, but if - I don’t want to be the person responsible for ruining your relationship with your mother—”

“Oh, it’s not you,” Robin says, directing them around the house to a pile of unsplit firewood and an axe, which Frederick immediately grabs and sets to work. Chrom takes the pieces he has chopped down to size, while Robin and Lissa gather the splinters into a kindling pile. “We argued before I left, too. She told me not to be stupid and risk my life, so then I snuck out and left before she got up the next morning.”

“You didn’t even say goodbye?” Lissa asks, her mouth hanging open. Chrom knows she is imagining doing that to Emm - how unthinkable to set off on a mission without their sister knowing. But Emm would never try to stop them, either; they all know what they must do for their people. They all agree on the responsibilities and the cost. Robin and her mother, evidently, don’t.

“We would have started arguing again,” Robin says. She picks up a sliver of bark that cracked off of a log and slowly bends it until it snaps. “I’d say I couldn’t stand by and do nothing; she’d say that it’s foolish to put myself into such danger for the sake of people who wouldn’t do the same in return.”

“What do you mean by that?” Chrom asks. “That - doesn’t seem right, to assume that of people without knowing them.”

“Yeah!” Lissa agrees. “Everyone in town was really grateful! They would’ve fed us!”

She turns a glare on Frederick, presumably for not letting them stay and indulge in that feast. Frederick, however, is not looking at her - and anyway, he would tell her anyway that she still has a roof to sleep under and someone else assisting with the meal, so she cannot complain. They could, he would say, be sleeping in the woods.

“Back when we were still with the mercenaries,” Robin says, “my mother saved every bit of gold she could. After years and years she had enough that every little town we passed through she’d ask around if there was enough room for a mother and her daughter to settle. But all the same people who gladly paid for her to risk her life and drive off a few ruffians balked at the thought of actually letting her - us - into their communities.”

She stares at the pieces of bark in her hands and drops them into one of the coat pockets where she has been gathering kindling. “It’s easy to be grateful to a stranger who sets off down the road at the end of the day; harder to welcome one into your peaceful village where you’ve known everyone since the day they were born. So we keep to ourselves out here, and she travels into town every week or two to trade, and we’ve always managed like that.”

“Until now,” Frederick says, “when we find you in a town under attack, rather than keeping safely to yourself.”

He does not try to conceal the air of mistrust which hangs around his words.

“Mama came home last week telling how bandit attacks are more and more frequent,” Robin replies, “and that people in the village are afraid that they’ll be hit soon. The forest out here will burn the same as a town if we hide away waiting for war to reach us. Or, I could go to meet it and perhaps make a better defense - I understand your suspicions, but all I can tell you is the truth. I heard they were afraid and I wanted to do something.”

“And the truth is, Frederick, that she helped us,” Chrom reminds him.

“And the truth is that the task of wariness has always fallen to me,” says Frederick. “Someone must be.”

“You and my mother are quite alike in that regard,” Robin says.

Frederick nods curtly. When the four of them return soon to Morrigan with the requested wood, they find that she has not started food preparations yet; she has waited to ask for their help. And that means that Frederick has an excuse to hover by Lissa’s shoulder. Make sure she doesn’t hurt herself (of course she’s not going to hurt herself; she knows how to cook). Make sure everything that goes into the meal is something that should be there (Frederick would hover to keep careful watch of ingredients anyway, but he is polite enough that he would rather have the excuse).

(Chrom wonders if the reason that Morrigan waited was to give them the excuse.)

The house is not furnished for guests, and when it is time to take their meal, Chrom finds himself seated on the floor with Frederick and Robin. A stool in the corner goes unused; Robin had insisted that she did not invite guests in so that they could all sit on the floor, Frederick had insisted that Lissa and Chrom seat themselves before him, and Chrom had insisted that he couldn’t further impose on Robin by kicking her away from her own table.

“You’re all so stubborn,” Lissa says from where she sits above him at the table with Morrigan, and even though Chrom isn’t looking at her, he knows she is rolling her eyes.

“If they all wish to be so foolishly sacrificing, then that is their prerogative,” Morrigan says. She almost sounds as if she is making a joke.

Robin shed her long coat when everyone came inside, but she still wears her gloves. “Yes Mama, it certainly is,” she says, and as she lifts her bowl to drink the broth her eyes flicker towards Chrom in a way that he can only think means something like watch this or well this had to come back up sooner or later.

Morrigan sighs deeply. “So,” she says, her attention turning without even a glance towards Robin, “this militia of yours.”

She asks many of the same questions that Robin did, but every single one of them feels particularly pointed in a way that Robin’s didn’t. And that makes Chrom feel like every answer he gives is the wrong one, especially the times when Morrigan will glance at Robin and something will pass between them. But whether they agree or disagree with each other, Chrom can’t begin to guess.

Only once everyone finished cleaning their dishes does Morrigan finally address her daughter again. “You know what I’m going to say, birdie.”

“Yes, Mama,” Robin says.

“And you’re going to tell me none of it changes your mind, is that so?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Then that’s it, is it not? If nothing I’ve already told you will stop you, then I’ve nothing new to say that will change your mind now. You well made your point running off like that.”

It is dark outside, and in the quiet inside, even past the windows, Chrom can hear the chirping and chittering of the insects in the woods. He almost wishes to grab Lissa and Frederick and drag them out into the night; this feels like a conversation that no one else should be privy to. Robin stands rooted in place, still holding a towel for drying dishes, staring at her mother who has crossed the room and opened a door on the far wall.

“You could at least give me your blessing,” Robin says quietly. “If I’m going no matter what, I could at least not feel like I’m abandoning you.”

“My blessing to throw yourself onto the front line of a fight?” Morrigan asks, her hand still on the doorknob, and Chrom glimpses what appears to be a bedroom past that. “I want you safe. I can’t tell you I’m okay with this.”

“We’ll burn the same out here as the towns do,” says Robin. “I would rather face the bastards with the torches - die on my feet if I would die either way.”

“There’s plenty terrible fates besides death. You know if you’re captured by those bastards, you’ll be lucky if all they do is kill you.”

Lissa shudders. As royalty of Ylisse, she would be spared from death by her use as a hostage, instead, but Chrom knows that he would rather die than be used against Emmeryn in such a way, and he suspects that Lissa feels the same. Anyone else - especially a woman - captured would face one of several other dire fates.

“I know, Mama.” Robin cracks the knuckles on her right hand. That statement, at least, seems to weigh on her; her words lack the same degree of confidence as her prior answers.

“You do know,” Morrigan agrees. “You’re a smart girl despite yourself.” She sighs. “You’ve my permission to take my damn coat with you, though I can’t fathom what you like so much about it.”

Robin straightens her shoulders. “It has good pockets for tomes and other books,” she says brightly.

“You know how to sew,” Morrigan says. “You’ve plenty of coats of your own to add book pockets to.”

“But this one already has book pockets,” Robin says. “And I know it’s sturdy enough to take whatever I put it through.”

Morrigan shakes her head. “That damned coat will outlive us both if you’re not careful.”

“I’m careful, Mama.”

“Hm.” With that, Morrigan disappears into the bedroom, leaving Robin staring at the door that closes behind her.

The only sounds that follow come from beyond the windows and walls of the house. Robin sets the dishrag down and starts massaging her hand again.

“You know,” Lissa says faintly, “you really don’t have to come with us.”

Robin shakes her head. “I told you this would happen no matter what,” she says. “We argued before I left; we’d still be arguing if I came back alone. She’s just trying to protect me but I can’t just - hide here. Meeting you was - it’s safer for me to go with you than to go off alone again. And I probably would.” She reaches towards a chair but as she lowers herself, she ends up on the floor instead, her back resting against the leg of the table. “I feel like I have to go. But I can’t be angry at her. She just worries. She never wanted me to have to fight the way she did.”

“I would hope that most parents should feel the same,” Chrom says, and he thinks of the mess that his father left Emmeryn and hates him again for it.

Robin’s mouth twists into a grimace. Is it over her mother’s protectiveness, or is it a thought about another parent? What brought Morrigan into the mercenary life - what brought the two of them out of Ferox to Ylisse, alone, instead?

When Robin next speaks, she has more questions about Ylisse’s military situation, and they discuss that such situation until she retires to bed in the same room as her mother, leaving Chrom, Lissa, and Frederick to the open floor of the living area. “Better than the woods, right?” Robin asks Lissa with a wink.

“Yeah, Frederick,” Lissa says after Robin has gone. “You wouldn’t have trusted her and had us sleep in the woods.”

Chrom wakes in the morning just before dawn. Lissa is still asleep and the bedroom door is closed; Frederick is nowhere in sight, but from outside comes the sound of axe hitting wood. Chrom eases open the front door - its latch already lifted - and around the side of the house finds Frederick splitting more large logs from the firewood pile.

“I woke when Robin left,” Frederick explains. “She said that she intended to go hunting and chop more firewood for her mother before she left with us. I am simply providing my assistance, as thanks for allowing us to stay the night.”

“That’s kind of you, helping out even though you’re sure she’s going to turn around and stab us in the back,” Chrom says.

Frederick frowns at him. “I am not sure of any such thing, milord. I am cautious, as is prudent, but I always hope that my suspicions should be proven wrong.”

“Frederick?”

“Yes, milord?”

“I was teasing.”

Frederick continues to frown, as though the very concept of a joke eludes him.

Almost all of the wood has been cut down to size by the time Robin returns with a wild turkey slung over her shoulder. She grimaces at them as she approaches. “What are you doing?” she asks, as though the answer is not obvious as Frederick brings the axe down on a long branch. As though the idea of someone helping her is still so inconceivable. “I said I would handle those–”

“I was already awake and with idle hands,” Frederick replies. “This way we will sooner be able to leave for Ylisstol - and consider this our thanks for providing a place to stay the night, as well.”

This thoroughly practical explanation seems to appease her, and without further protest, she simply says, “Thank you.”

On returning inside, they find both Morrigan and Lissa awake - though Lissa is yawning a great deal - preparing breakfast. “I wondered if you had run off with my daughter and left me this one as a replacement,” Morrigan says gruffly.

“He’d regret it if he did!” Lissa huffs, staring pointedly at Chrom, though Morrigan’s you could refer to all three of them.

Morrigan’s attention turns to the turkey that Robin hands her. “Birdie, why were you out hunting?”

“I wanted to make it easier on you when I left,” Robin says. “So you won’t immediately have to go yourself.”

“I’m not infirm, you know,” Morrigan says. “Really now, worrying after me when you’re about to go marching off to battle.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m abandoning you–”

Chrom really, truly wishes that they wouldn’t start arguing again, but he suspects if he tries to intervene, they’ll both turn on him instead. Lissa’s shoulders slowly hunch up towards her ears, like a turtle retreating into its shell.

“Hell’s bells, girl, I know you better than to think that.” Morrigan sighs and shakes her head. Her tone has less bite than it did yesterday. “Even when you left without a damned note, I didn’t think you were abandoning me. You know what your problem is, birdie?” She smacks Robin’s shoulder with the back of her hand. “You keep looking back over your shoulder while you’re trying to march forward and you’ll get nowhere for it.”

“You’d really prefer I just go?” Robin asks, sounding confused and, even more than that, indignant. “Just leave without any thought to what I’ve left behind?”

“Well, I’d know that you have some confidence in the choice you’re making,” Morrigan says, “if you’re willing to burn your bridges behind you.”

“I’m plenty certain of my path, Mama,” Robin says. “Even without starting any fires.”

Morrigan huffs and turns away. “Then I suppose that will have to be enough.”

Chrom wonders what ashes Morrigan has left behind in her time.

Within an hour, they have eaten and prepared to leave. Robin has to be assured several times that Ylisstol has several libraries and large bookstores before she is willing to remove some of the books from her pack and trade them out for extra clothes. Morrigan watches silently, grumbling some answers only when Robin asks her which tomes she would rather keep here. Despite his time with Ricken and Miriel, Chrom doesn’t recognize any of the tomes; he can only guess, based on the magic she cast yesterday, that the two tomes Robin selects, each emblazoned with a yellow rune on its cover, are probably Thunder magic.

He pulls Lissa and Frederick outside soon after, to give Robin and Morrigan a private moment to say goodbye. It gives Frederick one last opportunity for questions as well: “Milord, you are certain?”

“I am,” Chrom says. “She went out of her way to help, at great risk to herself. My heart tells me we can trust her.”

“Your heart, yes; and what of your head?” Frederick asks.

“My head is telling me that this situation with Plegia will not be so easily solved,” Chrom says. “We can use the assistance of anyone willing to offer it.”

“I like her,” Lissa says. “I think she’ll be a great addition to the Shepherds! You worry too much, Frederick.”

“I find that I worry quite the proper amount,” Frederick replies, “given the circumstances.”

The door creaks open, and the object of one of those worries steps out onto the stoop. Morrigan clasps one of Robin’s hands between both of her own. “I know, Mama,” Robin says, exasperated, like she’s said it again several times already. “I know. But I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Hmph. I’ll just have to believe you, won’t I?” Morrigan pats Robin’s hand twice before releasing her, slowly, her bluster failing to mask her reluctance. “Goodbye, birdie. Don’t be a fool.”

“It’s not goodbye,” Robin says. “Ylisstol isn’t far. You know where to find us - and I’ll be home again, once everything’s calmed down.”

Morrigan shakes her head. “I don’t need you to home to stay. I just need you safe, wherever you are.” She turns her dark, piercing gaze over to Chrom, Lissa, and Frederick. “And I hope for all your sakes that I won’t hear that these skirmishes have turned to war.”

“The Exalt would say the same,” Chrom replies. And he - of course he doesn’t want war, either, but there well might come a time that these incursions turn to one, no matter what Ylisse - and Emmeryn - want. Emmeryn can hope, but Chrom has to prepare.

“Hmph.” Morrigan does not sound convinced, but she has not sounded particularly convinced by anything, especially not where the intentions of other people are involved. “But those fools in charge of Plegia hardly seem to agree, now do they?”

They call him the Mad King for a reason.

Robin steps back from Morrigan, slowly, and then another, until she stands with Chrom, Frederick, and Lissa. “I’m sorry I didn’t finish building the fence, Mama,” Robin says.

“Bah.” Morrigan waves a dismissive hand at her. The facade has sprung back up over the concern she showed mere moments ago. “If you apologize for everything you didn’t finish, you’ll be here all day. Get going, you fool girl. Stop looking back.”

“Yes, yes,” Robin says with a smile and a small laugh. “We’re going.”

“Thank you,” Frederick says, bowing to Morrigan, “for your hospitality. It is greatly appreciated.”

“Yeah, Chrom probably would’ve hunted us a bear to eat or something!” Lissa says. “Thanks for not feeding us bear!”

At that, Morrigan laughs, but it still sounds strained. Why wouldn’t it - she put these strangers up in her home and in return they stole her daughter from her. Chrom elbows Lissa, and to Morrigan, he says, “Thank you,” hoping she’ll understand that it is, really, about much more than the prospective bear meat.

He hunts normal animals, usually. Why does Lissa only remember when he brings down a bear?

“Bear’s not so bad,” Robin says, taking the lead out of the clearing to guide them back to the main road. The forest swallows them in an instant, the greenery pressing in on all sides. Robin weaves her way along a faint trail that Chrom can only see because he knows she’s following it; she stops and holds the branches of a bush back for Lissa to pass by.

“What?” Lissa says. “You’re crazy! No offense. I can’t believe we’ve let a lunatic join the Shepherds. We already have a lunatic leading us!”

“Very funny,” Chrom says, easing his way past Robin and waiting for her to resume her guidance.

But she stands there, eyes blank, and Chrom follows her gaze through the trees and the overgrown brush to catch a glimpse of the house out in the clearing, its front door already shut.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

She tears her eyes away and smiles at him. It looks strained at the edges, but the bright spark of confidence is back in her voice as she answers, “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

#i started this fic two years ago. pretty much right after i finished my first fic introducing robin's mom #since it got me thinking about how chrom/robin would've met in the original timeline/what was robin doing out in that field #when grima whacked them with amnesia.#and only now. have i finished the last third of this fic. i've had this sitting mostly done for like. a year.#roddy fanfics #fire emblem chatter tag #fe #fe awakening mamabird lore #anyway Yes the actual prologue of the game is titled 'the verge of history' everything i do with chrobin is carefully overthought #also i love to write my fics with robin or corrin where i specifically mention facets of their appearances that are #Not in line with the default appearance. i love this for me. robin has short hair that's not quite white. corrin has black hair. hell yeah.

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mushlandsandbeyond · 1 year

Text

Daily Routine

A glimpse into Marisa's unorthodox training methods. [Warning for some descriptions of violence.]

Just Paste It version: [LINK]

Written by Mod Huskies and Dorian.

= = =

Samson’s sensor detected a flash of heat, a stir in the air- just a moment later, bright magenta burned on the edge of his vision. He whirled around, leaping to the side, the magical bullet whistling by inches from his ear.

“Close one there, Marisa!” Samson called out, scanning for the young witch on the horizon. There she was, silhouette shimmering behind the disturbed sand. She was riding her broom sideways, a look of consternation on her face as she processed the miss. Her pistol, an enchanted desert bush stick vaguely gesturing at being a gun, gave off faintly rainbow smoke.

“How’d ya dodge that! Had it trained on ya n’ everything…” She yelled after him, then sighed, hopping back on her broom the right way. With a slap on the handle, it flared to life, and Marisa came flying down to him- though, she maintained her distance.

“Sure, yer magic is powerful, but it ain’t subtle.” He shrugged, a smile on his face.

“Subtle ain’t my style, and you know it!” She crowed back, sticking out her tongue childishly. A sparkle fell off her tongue, twinkling before disappearing into the sand.

“I sure do…” he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It was a wonder Maristela could stand being around the gal, considering she had all the reckless energy of a stick of dynamite. Looking back at her, he fixed her with a serious gaze: “So, what d'ya want from me today? Same as the usual?”

“Mm… first, I’ve got a question fer ya. Then, same as.” She explained, tossing her pistol aside. Her magic faded from it, and it rooted back into the ground as a scrawny bush.

“Shoot,” Samson prompted her, “-and no, that is not literal.” He cracked a smile.

She giggled. “Aw, c’mon, that only happened one time…” she said, a little bashful. “But, uh…” She quickly composed herself, face becoming serious. “Why?”

Samson stopped short. “Why… what?” Marisa wasn’t exactly the kinda gal to be asking such vague and confusing questions. Hence why Samson crossed his arms, his green poncho draped over his arms as he did so. His head tilted to one side as he stared down at the witch.

“Well, y’know. Why ain’tcha eatin’ my friend already?” Her eyebrows furrowed as she fixed him with a glare, leveling that question in the same way she’d level a gun.

That determined exterior cracked a little when Samson snickered, reaching a hand up to steady his hat as he laughed. “Marisa, do you eat your food raw?” He countered with a question of his own, meeting her gaze with a subtle smirk. Confusion turned to understanding, then sublimated into anger as her eyes widened and her broom burst into prismatic flames.

“You…!” She cried out, blazing towards him on a burning comet. “You’re irredeemable!”

He sidestepped the charge at the last moment, poncho waving in the wind like a toreador’s cape. “Most of us are, darlin’-” he replied, and as she turned to double back on him again, he gripped the handle of his revolver. “-granted, some of us more than others.” In a single smooth motion, he drew and fired, Marisa tumbling out of the way in a tight spin.

That spin dipped her inches away from the sand, and the dust cloud she kicked up was another weapon at her fingertips- quite literally, as each grain that brushed by her hand was transmuted into a homing magical bolt. The barrage of bullets came screaming out of the dust, a rainbow volley.

Samson, paradoxically, dashed towards the salvo. Allowing himself to tap into his monstrous strength, his legs shifted, and he vaulted over the attack with moments to spare. The bullets were moving so fast they could not turn sharp enough to follow him, arcing out uselessly in all directions as they attempted to home in once more. Some crashed into one another, detonating in sparks of light before falling back down as grains of sand.

As he landed, sculk flew up into the air, droplets which scattered out behind him like shrapnel. This was his second line of defense: the homing bullets were trained on his body, but not necessarily his avatar. Her magic did not discriminate between vital and non-vital. Therefore, a majority of the bullets homed in on the tiny targets behind him, detonating what was essentially a pile of clipped fingernails or shed hair. Those explosions triggered more bullets, which caused more explosions, harsh light cutting through the midnight dark.

Samson was thrown forwards, something which momentarily delighted him- Marisa was controlling her magic so much better these days! Compared to her formerly harmless attacks, style over substance, she was finally living up to the vigilante status she gave herself.

Tumbling head-first into the sand snuffed out that ember of pride. Marisa charged forwards one final time, face red with anger and grief. How could he do this to Maristela? Did he not know how this ate at her best friend- did he not care? With tears in her eyes, she concentrated her magic, colors gathering around her as she prepared to smash into him directly-

And then a pillar of sculk erupted from the ground beneath her, knocking her off her broom. She gasped as the wind was knocked from her lungs, her magic sputtering into uselessness as she tumbled uncontrollably through the air. The broom flew off into the unknown, maybe one of the craters she'd made in past battles or off towards the riverbend, she wouldn't know.

Her body skidded against sand and terracotta as new bruises and cuts bloomed on uncovered skin. Luckily, this was ample time to gather more sand, which shifted in her palms into potential energy. She got back up, ignoring her pain for a moment, and hurled more magic towards her adversary. Each grain flew at a speed not unlike a firework- bursting with life as they shifted colours and lit up the night as they flew towards Samson once again.

That wouldn't work this time.

Samson fell onto the ground and dodged the bullets as he shifted fully, his body becoming an indefinable mass of sculk that rolled towards Marisa. Some of the bullets stung his being, but it was nothing. He was still fine as he shifted back into his avatar, leaping into the air before he kicked Marisa down.

She was knocked down once more, the pain more unbearable than before. Samson made sure that Marisa stayed down as he pinned her down with his boot on her chest before he kneeled, drawing his revolver once more and pointing it at her head.

The young witch stared at Samson for what seemed like an eternity. This couldn't be the end, could it? Samson had her down, barrel pressed to her forehead. Her heart pounded, tears welling in her eyes, frozen. His eyes were cold, merciless as they pierced through her. Silently, she prayed to Maristela that she'll guide him from the afterlife, if there was an afterlife, or if she could pass her power onto her friend. Marisa closed her eyes to get it over with.

"Bang." He murmured tonelessly. Samson’s expression changed, bloodthirst replaced with calm amusement.

The witch opened her eyes, tears flowing freely off her face as she saw Samson pull the revolver away and holster it. The pressure on her chest released and Samson stepped back, clapping his hands.

"Well done," He said, wiping the grime off his hands, "that was yer best fight yet. Meet me tomorrow and we’ll go again.”

With that, he began to walk away, but not without Marisa wiping her tears away and calling out for him.

"Wha- The hell was that, Samson?!" She yelled before she winced in pain.

Samson stopped and turned. "What was what?"

"Ya had me," Marisa furrowed her brows, "Ya could've killed me right there 'n then. And yer just leavin' like that?!”

"Mhm..?" He regarded her strangely, as if she was observing something patently obvious and unimportant.

"Why?" She got up slowly, managing to kneel without getting any more sand on her.

“Haven't ya asked this one already..?” came Samson’s reply, annoyed. He turned and walked away- Marisa attempted to get on her feet to follow him, but her body wouldn’t co-operate, her limbs weak. He came back holding her broom, a bit worse for wear, but nothing she couldn’t fix. Holding her hand up, she caught it as he tossed it to her underhand.

There was a little glint in his eye, something between smugness and contentment. “C’mon, let’s get ya cleaned up.” He reached a hand out to help her up, and she glared, smacking it away. Stepping back, he nodded, turning and walking in the direction of his house.

She followed him with her eyes for a moment, still trying to puzzle him out in her head. But it was useless, especially with her wounds gnawing at her concentration.

Hopping on her broom, she floated quietly behind him, and they disappeared into the nighttime dark.

#echino mesa #writing #marisa caelum #samson #lore #the mushlands + beyond #mineblr #minecraft oc #minecraft

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elisela · 2 years

Note

Underappreciated Sterek fic recs please for sleepover ask.

okay so this is maybe cheating because i'm still reading a lot of stuff that was super popular back in the day and really only read recent sterek fics from my friends, so ... these are all from my friends

down with the recipe (bake from the heart) by @tripleaxeldiaz

“War zone” is the first word that comes to mind — every inch of their kitchen is covered in something. Flour on the counters. Streaks of egg whites running down the front of the sink. Smears of butter on the refrigerator handle. Something bubbly and greenon the oven door. And even more smells than when he first walked in — orange zest, mint, something savory like gravy, and something sickly sweet like marshmallows.

And sitting on the floor, in the eye of the hurricane, is Stiles, looking very messy and very upset.

education in the lovesick blues also by @tripleaxeldiaz

The Greek god’s smile is somehow the most stunning part about him. “Do you know which way Allison Argent’s room is? I think I walked around the school three times now and I still can’t find it.”

“Oh, you’re her sub!” He sticks out a hand, the stack now precariously balancing in the other. “I’m Stiles, her brightest and most handsome colleague.”

“Mr. Hale— Derek. Nice to meet you.” Derek’s hand is warm and strong, and Stiles has an embarrassing flash of wanting that hand gripping some other parts of his body.

He shakes his head and clears his throat. “Great, let me— I’m just gonna drop these off, and then I’ll show you how to get to her room. There’s a whole spiel too, even though she’s probably already given it to you, but I promised I’d run through it again in case she forgot anything, and who am I to break a promise to a pregnant woman?”

the things that come and go by @softboiidiaz

There was a split second of staring between them, visible concern written over Derek’s face as he took a step forward.

“I’m sorry…I didn’t know where else to go.” Stiles called out, rain pouring down on him and his breathing becoming uneven. The kid in his arms turning towards Derek, eyes flashing red.

spark like empty lighters by @extasiswings

I knew he didn’t love me, but I adored him anyway — Patti Smith

Or: Derek leaves. Stiles gets possessed. Derek comes back. What that all means...they'll figure it out.

yes, deputy by @sterekxhale

His radar reads the speed as the dark SUV comes into view, and his first thought is that he might have to seize and impound the vehicle, then he realizes who the driver is.

Bon Appetít by @nerdherderette

Stiles is the enfant terrible of modernist cooking. Derek is San Francisco’s celebrated chef of haute cuisine. It’s bad enough their restaurants are within spitting distance of one another, but when they’re asked to scout out the next location for the International Food and Wine Festival, the Queso flameado isn't the only thing going down in flames.

(okay that last one.... might not be underrated by your metrics but by MINE wherein I think everyone and their mother should be reading this fic and living for it, it is. It reminds me of growing up in a Mexican family and nothing will make me stop loving it)

sleepover weekend

#satashiiwrites #sleepover weekend #ask eli #sterek #fic recs

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bb-editing · 1 year

Text

ROXANA (Chapter 66)

“Shit, what the hell is going on? How did this happen?” Fontaine shouted from the dungeon. Somehow, it had gotten quiet- too quiet. All the officers guarding the door had suddenly disappeared.

He scanned the darkness and attempted to loosen his shackles. Then, in the distance, he heard the sound of the dungeon door opening. ‘Perfect,’ he thought to himself. He stopped moving and looked in the direction of the newcomer.

However, when he saw Dion moving towards him, his face contorted in anger.

“Where’s Lanche?”

“Are you not calling him Father anymore?”

Dion didn’t respond to Fontaine’s snark. “If he’s not inside, that means he’s escaped.” Fontaine licked his lips.

“Hey, Dion. Why don’t you send me to find your father? I’ll be taking the work off your hands, in that case.” Fontaine tried to manufacture reasons for his escape. “Initially, I hadn’t considered becoming the Agriche head; it was just because Roxana kept coercing me.” This had been the first time that Fontaine was brought before Lanche; his plan had gone so awry, and he didn’t want to die so pathetically.

However, this didn’t seem to be a bad path for Fontaine. After all, those with clear desires are less difficult to deal with. In that respect, it was the first time that Fontaine felt that he had the high ground over Dion.

In the initial stages of his imprisonment, he thought that his restraints would have been stakes through the palm, not mere shackles like these. While it wasn’t the most ideal situation, it could have been worse.

“If you let me go, I’ll wring your father’s neck with this one hand and give it to you. I had a lot of gripes with your father’s leadership, but if you were to rule, I think I could get along with you better.”

Of course, he had no desire to become Dion’s subordinate. ‘I am a man who is either a winner or a loser,’ he thought. ‘I will never submit.’

“I’ll even leave Agriche and live so quietly you’d think me dead. Just say the word. I will never disturb you in the future.”

“You must be mistaken if you think that you would ever pose an obstacle to me,” Dion’s voice rumbled.

“... What?”

“You never have been a problem for me, and never will be.”

‘This fucking child…’ Sparks flew from Fontaine’s eyes, and a sharp pain seared its way past his face. He ignored this and spat, “Then why does it matter if you release me here or not? If my existence would never pose a threat to you, why would you need to imprison me like this?”

Dion stared at Fontaine silently.

‘Damn, I can’t tell what he’s thinking at all.’

The longer Dion’s silence lasted, the more Fontaine grew irritable and anxious. “What are you thinking? It would be so much quicker if you just did as I told you to,” Fontaine urged.

“When I first entered the dungeon just then,” Dion finally said, “I was thinking of just coming in to kill you.”

“What… now wait a minute…”

“There have been so many times I’ve wanted to carve those stupid eyes out of their sockets.”

Fontaine thought he was fucked- then Dion sliced the chain open with his sword.

“You… are you serious?” Fontaine was frustrated, but it didn’t really matter to him. He’d won.

At that moment, an intruder alarm was heard in the distance. Dion, pushing through the iron gates, turned his head and stared into the distance before leaving.

‘At least he’s moving away from me.’ Fontaine exhaled deeply, as if he’d been holding his breath since the moment of Dion’s arrival.

* * *

“Fuck, what was that?” Jeremy raised his head as he walked toward the annex. ‘Ugh!’ His eardrum had been stung by the intruder alarm broadcasted all over the mansion.

Come to think of it, it had become noisy behind him. As he turned, he saw smoke and flames soar from the building he had just left. He hurriedly threw the servant he was carrying and began running toward it. ‘Sister…’

Of course, he knew she would have already escaped the flames, but with the sudden intruder alarm and general chaos raging around the house, it was impossible to know what the hell was going on. ‘So I’ve got to get back to Roxana,’ he thought.

“Move!” Jeremy bulldozed past the intruders and their weapons. Normally, he would have played with them for longer, but he didn’t have the luxury of time right now. His mind was solely occupied with the thought of returning to Roxana.

But soon, dozens of people had flocked into the vicinity, and he was blocked from making progress toward the building. Amidst the entanglement of soldiers and the shower of blood, however, a red blizzard had formed in front of his eyes.

Jeremy quickly realized that it wasn’t a blizzard, and quickly turned in the direction from which Roxana’s butterflies had flown. But before he could take another step, the space he was surrounded by distorted, and he fell into an illusion.

#roxana agriche #roxana agreche #roxana #the way to protect the female lead's older brother #korean webnovel #korean manhwa #reincarnation manhwa #isekai #webtoon #webnovel #reincarnation #villainess manhwa #villainess #dion agriche #fontaine agriche #lanche agriche #manhwa #web novel

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gunp0wderandlead · 2 years

Text

chapter one: when you get the blues

She spends a day following the road, managing somehow to avoid any additional disasters. Still, she takes comfort in the weight of the gun strapped to her side. Though she hopes that she won't have to shoot it again, — not tonight, at least, — she knows that, for better or for worse, this gun is her best chance at making it out of this thing alive.

Her saving grace, if she expects not to end up like her mother.

Her stomach churns at the thought of her mother's cold dead eyes. She reminds herself again that the alternative is much worse, that she ultimately put an end to her suffering, but she can't quite shake the image of the blood on her hands and the way that everything just… stopped.

You put a hole in your mother's head, that harsh voice in her head whispers to her. Good luck trying to justify that.

She shakes her head as though the motion might erase the thought. I did the right thing, she tells herself. I didn't have any other choice.

As usual, the voice is unrelenting. You never have a choice, do you?

This thought sends a fresh wave of nausea rolling through her as her head begins to spin. For the millionth time, she imagines a world where everything is different. A world where she doesn't have so many fucking burdens to carry. A world where she doesn't feel like she might be better off turning the gun on herself next.

Then she sees a light in the distance, and that thought slips away for the moment.

She gravitates to the faint glow like a moth to a flame. As she draws closer, the letters come into view: D I E R.

Though she would usually take the single burnt out letter as a bad omen, the familiar sight offers Randi a glimmer of hope.

A diner, like the one she spent the better days of her childhood in. Her mind fills with images of checkerboard floors, tables sticky with maple syrup, coffee pots filled with hot, dark brew. Stupid as it may be, that nostalgia has her running towards the door of the diner with all the energy of an excited child.

The bell on the door jingles when she steps inside. She takes a cursory look around, hand still positioned over the holster on her belt. She scopes the place out, checking under tables and booths, inside kitchen cabinets, in the bathroom stalls. All clear, as far as she can see.

This peace of mind is enough for her to lock the door and collapse into a booth, quickly drifting off into a hopefully-dreamless sleep.

For a glorious day and a half, Randi resides in the diner without any trouble.

She doesn't know what to chalk this up to, except for the fact that the diner truly seems to be in the middle of nowhere.

Judging by the now-empty diesel pumps outside, the place's clientele likely consisted mostly of truckers, — a fact that Randi tries not to stew on for too long. Most people who ever set foot in this place were probably just passing through, which is exactly what she's doing now.

Try as she might to hold on to the faint spark of hope that she has, Randi isn't completely dumb. She knows that, eventually, she'll have to go somewhere else, for one reason or another. Somebody else will find this place and try and take the few resources that she has, or worse, those things will find their way in somehow. Either way, she'll have to draw her gun and get the hell out of Dodge.

For now, though, she resolves to cross that bridge when she gets to it. The diner has a lot to offer, after all.

Things like canned meat, a stale loaf of white bread, and the old-fashioned jukebox in the corner.

The meat is not her preference, albeit edible. The bread, however, is too chewy to even attempt eating.

As far as Randi is concerned, the jukebox is a godsend.

She spends most of her waking hours feeding the old machine any piece of loose change that she can find, playing familiar records.

The moment that her luck finally runs out, she's sitting on the concrete stoop of the diner, pulling apart the bread loaf as Johnny Cash blares from inside. She tosses the bite-sized crumbs into the parking lot for the few birds that she's noticed congregating there, tapping her foot along absentmindedly to "Get Rhythm" all the while. She can't help but crack a smile as the finches hop along and peck at the breadcrumbs.

She wonders if people fed them here before this mess started. She wonders how the animals are faring with all of this, considering people can't be bothered to worry about them when they're fighting for their own lives. She wonders if this plague will eventually drive them out, too, directly or otherwise.

A rustling sound quickly pulls her out of her thoughts and startles the birds away.

She freezes before beginning to frantically scan over her surroundings. For a while, all is still. Tempted as she is to believe that it was simply the wind, she knows better.

As soon as she attempts to rise to her feet and go back inside, a hand catches her ankle and pulls her down.

Randi screams as her body hits the ground. A splitting pain tears through her back as she makes impact with the concrete, but she can't bring herself to focus on that when there's a dead man gripping her leg.

Her eyes widen as she observes the reanimated corpse. Her mother's face flashes in her mind again. Her eyes were already beginning to look blank, but this is something else entirely. There's no humanity left in this man's gnarled face as he hungrily grips at her. His mouth is open wide, his jaw seemingly moments away from detaching itself. Yellowed teeth threaten to puncture her skin as the creature digs its fingers in, holding her in place.

"God, no. Please, no." The pleas leave Randi's lips on autopilot as she fumbles for her gun. Mercifully, her shaking fingers soon meet metal.

She reaches inside the holster and pulls the gun out before lifting it to aim between the corpse's eyes. Her hand shakes violently as she attempts to cock the gun, resulting in her losing her grip on the weapon. It falls to the ground with a sharp clink, leaving her disarmed.

"Shit," Randi curses. This sentiment solidifies itself as she notices several more figures approaching with loping gaits, their heads twisted at unnatural angles. "Shit, shit, shit."

She squeezes her eyes shut, preparing for the inevitable. She knows that this is how the end began for her mother, — that horrible moment of helpless anticipation before the thing sunk its teeth into her and the disease started to set in.

Maybe this is what I deserve, she thinks. A terrible death for a terrible person.

As the corpses converge upon her, Randi makes peace with her destiny. She resolves to lie here patiently while they rip her to shreds, allowing them to take what they need from her. When it's all over, she'll join their horde and claim countless more lives, this time without a conscience.

Though it's not the future she envisioned for herself, she figures that it's only fair.

Yeah, that critical voice in the back of her mind chimes in. An eye for an eye and all that.

She chuckles weakly at the irony of the anatomical figure of speech just before the creature roars. Soon the feeling of fingers digging into her skin is replaced by nearly two-hundred pounds of dead weight pressing down on her.

Her eyes fly open as her lungs begin to protest, only to see that the corpse that had resolved to make her its lunch now has an arrow through its head. Though she is dismayed by the realization that the slimy substance that she feels on her face is likely brain matter, she is ultimately more concerned with the feeling of her ribs being crushed, along with the additional corpses, still approaching.

"Are you fucking stupid?" a gruff voice barks.

Randi manages to turn her head, only to see a man glaring down at her. The man is a burly, imposing figure, — the type she normally would worry about meeting in a dark alley, — but, at the moment, all that matters to her is that he is an actual living person.

"Please," she chokes out. "Please get him off me. I can't…"

The man ignores her, setting his sights on something in the distance. It is only then that Randi notices the crossbow that he's holding and connects the dots between him and the arrow in the corpse's head.

Quicker than she thought possible, the man takes aim at the two corpses that followed the first and takes both of them down with two consecutive shots. Their bodies fall to the ground with a dull thump .

Randi looks on, wide-eyed. For a moment, the pressure on her ribs isn't a concern anymore. All she can think is that she's no longer doomed to be eaten, something for which she is immensely grateful.

Suddenly, she feels the crushing weight being lifted off of her as the man tosses the dead body aside. She takes a deep, gasping gulp of air before she is pulled back to her feet.

The strange, living man keeps a tight grip on her arms as she steadies herself. Without being prompted, Randi finds herself meeting his eyes, only to be startled by the intensity of his steely glare.

"Are you bit?" he demands.

Randi just gapes at him, the words not quite registering. "I don't…"

"Did the fucker bite you?" He tightens his hold on her arms.

Before she can think it through, Randi finds herself struggling against his grip. "Let go of me!"

To her panic, the man just holds onto her tighter. "Not until you tell me," he says. "Did it bite you?"

Finally, the words begin making sense. "No," she says. "I mean, I don't think he did. I think I would've felt it if…"

"Jesus Christ!" The man relinquishes his hold on her, only to drop to his knees and begin tugging at the bottom of her right pantsleg.

Something about that gesture causes her reflexes to kick in. Before she can think about it, her foot collides with the man's face.

"You crazy bitch!" he shouts. "Do you want to get out of here or not?"

"Get out of here?" she echoes. "Why? You killed them all…"

"There are gonna be more." He reaches for her pantsleg again. This time, she doesn't kick him. "Now, I'm gonna see if I need to put an arrow through your head or if I can take you with me…"

"Take me where? " she asks.

"Does it matter?" the man responds before pulling her jeans back over leg. It appears as though she passed his inspection. He returns to his feet and wraps one of his large hands around her arm, pulling her along without threatening to shoot her in the head again. "Wherever we are, you'll have an extra set of eyes on you to try and keep that shit from happening again. I'll make sure you eat, and you can make yourself useful instead of feeding the fuckin' birds…"

Randi attempts to pull back from him. "Of course it matters," she says. "Let me go. I can take care of myself."

The man snorts. "No, princess. You can't. You can't even keep ahold of your gun."

These words are what it takes for Randi to see red. She spits at the man's face before offering the only two words that her mind can currently formulate. "Fuck you."

"Feisty," the man comments, continuing to pull her along. He stops to pick up her gun, which he thoroughly inspects before tucking it back into her holster. Randi flinches at the feeling of his hand against her hip, though the contact is mercifully brief. "There," he says. "Now we're set."

"Fuck you ," Randi repeats herself. "You aren't taking me anywhere." She continues trying to wriggle free from his grip.

The man sighs. "I see the way this is going."

Much to Randi's surprise, he releases his hold on her. Before she can attempt to run back inside, he wraps his arms around her waist and throws her over his shoulder.

"Let me go!" she shouts, thrashing against him. He simply tightens his hold on her waist as he begins walking up the road.

"You can fight all you want," he says calmly as he carries her towards God-knows-what. "But I'm saving your ass."

#the walking dead season 1 #twd season 1 #twd fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead #daryl dixon x original female character #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon #norman reedus

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