#Closing the book slowly as if closing a tomb. Feeling some part of your young self irrevocably gone | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

smolawkwardkidlat · 4 years

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ikaw ba ulit?

in which there is zero worldbuilding and pure self-indulgent crack.

inspired by many late nights, two Spanish songs, and one Discworld book. I’ll probably never post this to AO3 for personal reasons, but this is going to remain on my Tumblr for all my desperate brethren. I gotchu fam.

fandom: Noli Me Tangere | pairing: Elias/Crisostomo Ibarra aka Elibarra | other: alternate universe, a bit crack, super self-indulgent, canonical character deaths, (i have no idea how to explain this), very fantasy-ish, somewhat supernatural character?

By the time he has reached the old balete, Elias doesn’t know what the difference is between hunger and exhaustion and agony. What he knows is that they’re eating him alive and yet that he is so terrified it barely matters. It is December—the chill in the air mingles with the heat off his feverish skin and it burns without burning.

There is a boy. He didn’t expect that. There is a boy in the tomb of Ibarra’s grandfather.

Elias doesn’t know what to do.

The boy is alive, that much is clear from the way he’s carrying on. The blood on his head has dried and his leg must be on the mend. So—wounded, but not seriously. Once he goes home and gets tended to he will be fine. The woman he’s moaning over, though…

Sisa. When the boy raises his head Elias asks, “Are you her son?”

His voice is so low and rough he doubts the boy heard him, but he gets a nod in response.

That is truly unfortunate. “What will you do?”

The boy’s eyes aren’t especially big, but they still seem to fill half his face. No child’s eyes should have that kind of sadness in them. “Bury her.”

“In the cemetery?”

“I don’t have money,” says the boy miserably. “And besides, the kura wouldn’t allow it.”

Elias resists the temptation to reach out and steady himself on the gate. He closes his eyes, opens them again halfway. “Then…?”

“If you would like to help me…”

“I’m too weak,” he says, and the moment he says it he knows it’s true. He can’t even stand up straight anymore. The boy’s eyes follow him to the earth, as if unaware of the streak of blood across his own forehead.

The words he explains with drag at his lungs and his throat. The boy’s eyes follow them as well.

It must be the older son, Elias decides, what’s-his-name, Basilio. He looks too tall to be seven years old. That means—is he nine or ten? Nine—or ten—and an orphan. Nine—or ten—and left alone with his mother’s corpse on Christmas.

Ibarra must have infected him with his bleeding heart, Elias thinks sourly.

At the very least the boy shouldn’t see another death tonight.

“Listen!” he says, and damn it, his voice falters faster than ever. Nevertheless, Basilio startles to attention and stares at him anew. “Before the day comes I will be dead too. There’s a pile of firewood twenty paces from here, on the other side of the brook. Bring it here.” Basilio starts to get up, but Elias splays his fingers and he stops. He listens to the instructions with an expression going glassy from grief and lack of sleep.

Elias is happy to see him go; he has no comfort left in him for Basilio, as much as the boy needs it. Hopefully Ibarra will understand the message he has no strength left to write.

There are stars above him and songs on the wind. There is a dawn coming and freshness on the leaves. There is a thought gnawing at his heart and he only speaks it because he is desperate.

Before the numbness reaches his lips Elias murmurs one last broken prayer, and it is not the one you think.

He says, Please, God, let me—

And he is awake.

“You should have studied at the theater,” says a familiar voice, in a tone that is not at all familiar. “You’d have been brilliant.”

Everything is blurry and feels like mist. “Ibarra?” he whispers.

“I’m afraid not,” says the voice. He didn’t know a timbre like Ibarra’s could resonate like that. There is something on his head that tingles like touch. “Take your time, your death was nasty. Infection, exhaustion, and starvation all at once—not enjoyable.”

“I’ll say,” he rasps, and coughs to clear his throat. Strange, that he still has a throat. “So I am dead.”

“Yes, you are,” says that voice that still sounds uncannily like Ibarra.

His nose catches a cool, dry, musty scent like an abandoned room, with just a hint of aged leather. Then he tastes the cold, then he hears a rustle that isn’t quite cloth but that he can’t assign to anything else. He knows these things mean something, but he doesn’t know what it is, yet. He’s dead, and that means something too.

“You are—Death.”

“Not quite, but close enough.”

It stands to reason that if he can smell and taste and hear and think, then he can see, so Elias opens his eyes. What surprises him is not so much that the figure bent over him is wearing all black with a silver brooch at their throat, but that he’s still in the forest, where he died, with the ground under his back and his head resting at the foot of the balete tree.

Now that he can think about it, it was a horrifically ironic place to die.

“Are you better now?” asks the figure.

He is, in fact, better. The ache that was eating away at his insides has faded almost completely—his head is clearer than it’s been in days. “I suppose so,” he says, and finds that his mouth isn’t quite as dry anymore.

“Good,” says the figure. “Can you sit up?”

Elias tries. For the most part it is exactly as it has always been, except for the sensation of passing through his own body, which makes his stomach squirm, despite the fact that he doesn’t have it anymore. He appears to still be wearing the dirty, bloody clothes he died in, which is somewhat humiliating. “I suppose so.”

“I’m afraid we need to wait a while,” his companion says. “You awoke almost as soon as I reaped you, but the poor woman over there will take some time.”

Ah.

That’s just as well. Even the dim lights from the town are starting to hurt his eyes now, and it is much easier to focus on the figure in black than on anything else. Easier, and more comforting.

Christmas dawns slowly, especially when waiting. His companion sits perfectly still, except for the movement of breathing, and he’s seen the way they sit before, somewhere. Around them even the forest seems to be preparing for Christmas, coming alive in striking contrast to the still, dead air beside the tomb.

Christmas dawns slowly enough that when the movement in the trees makes them raise their heads, the light is only bright enough to make it out. Just when Elias thinks he might recognize the step, Ibarra limps into view and braces himself on the gate.

The past two days have clearly not been kind to him either. He wears the two days on his grimy face heavily; his entire body slumps with their weight. But even with that, he moves like a hollow banana leaf, fraying with each unsteady step. His staring eyes burn under their hooded lids, so fierce and yet so fragile that Elias wants to look away.

He does not.

He watches as Ibarra takes in the sorry state of the two human shapes in the clearing.

He watches as Ibarra falls to his knees with a sharp rustle of grass and cloth. He watches as Ibarra wrestles himself to his feet, staggers forward, and collapses again by the side of Elias’s body.

The sky is alight now.

Ibarra looks up at it. His eyes are dry, catching fire with the clouds and blazing, blazing—his eyes are closing.

Elias turns to the figure in black. “What did you do that for?”

They shrug their shoulders. He tries to imagine what their expression might look like; what he imagines is Ibarra—chin raised high and skin stretched paper-tight over rounded bones. “He’ll have enough to do when he wakes.”

He frowns. “He startled you?”

“He did, rather.”

He can hear the curl of the mouth in the voice, and though he has no living memory of it, he remembers it regardless. The identity of his companion is dawning on him with Christmas Day. “I think, after all’s said and done, you’ll startle him quite a bit more.”

“You never know. I didn’t startle you much, did I?”

“No,” he says, and he’s only lying a little. “I don’t think you ever did, except that first time.”

“Hm? What do you—” The guide freezes, as if struck by a bolt of lightning. He doesn’t need to breathe, so he does a better impression of a statue than anyone Elias can think of. “Oh, heaven, it’s you again, isn’t it? So soon?”

He smiles lopsidedly at the hint of a whine. “I almost made it to thirty this time.”

“Almost is only almost, soldier mine, and you don’t get any consolation prizes.” The memories are getting clearer—he can just about picture the expression under the cowl. It’s stranger, somehow, now that he has a living memory to compare it to. “I said when you live past thirty, and not before.”

The word comes readily to his tongue, although he rarely said it in life and can still only vaguely remember saying it in death. “Ay, you’re cruel, querido.”

The guide snorts, and Elias imagines, vividly, an impish smirk. “And yet you’re so eager to return to me that you get yourself killed just when you’ve finished having growth spurts.”

“I don’t die quite that young,” he protests.

“Time off isn’t easy to get, you know.”

“Nowhere does it say in your contract that you’re required to wait with me.”

To his satisfaction, his companion doesn't quite have an answer. “Speaking of waiting,” he says instead, “what on earth happened to that woman? This is an absolutely terrifying amount of time to wait for a soul to awaken.”

Elias doesn’t know very much of Sisa’s story, but he tells what he does know, and the guide’s silence lapses into bleak horror when he finishes. “Well, I was almost right,” he says at last, evenly. “That’s absolutely terrible.”

“I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous—I’ve heard worse, and from you, no less.” He twirls his knife thoughtfully, showing off both the sharp, shining blade and the quick, decisive hands. “Would you mind if I dealt with her alone?”

“Not at all.” Elias has always been bad at talking to the dead, despite—and perhaps because of—having so much experience with death.

The guide casts him a doubtful look.

“As long as you return for me afterwards.”

“There it is,” he laughs. “I was afraid I’d mistaken you for a moment. Don’t worry, I will—and then I’ll be all yours for nine months afterwards, if we’re lucky.” He gets to his feet. “Nearly ready now. May I have a farewell gift?”

“I have a bullet. Do you want that?” The palpable disappointment just about imagines the pout for him. “Oh, very well. Take your cowl off for a bit.”

He can feel the triumphant smile against his lips, sparkling as bright as the starlit eyes as they disappear again into shadow. “If you end up not having to take a step out of that gate,” he warns, “you’re getting this bullet too.”

“If I misjudged that badly, I deserve it!”

#nmt #noli me tangere #elias #crisostomo ibarra #elibarra #i'm sorry okay #my brain decided to hug this shit like a monkey #i had to get it out #i promise i'll write more rational things sometime #just let me have my insanity #it's a bit strange bc canon!ibarra is still there #but basically there's two ibarras here sdhfksdfs #i may or may not fill in the backstory of this later #but that's how it works out #this is mostly for en-say-mada anyway sdkskfdjs #blame her and my brain #my brain shitposts she enables lmaoo

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jmeelee · 5 years

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Trick or Treat (You look good enough to eat)

Derek didn’t mind working Halloween night. It was notoriously dead (pun intended), lacking the usual pain-in-the-butt patrons, and gave him time to catch up on his year-end book orders. Cindy made him a double batch of her famous salted-caramel brownies as thanks for covering her shift, and proceeded to show him no less than thirty pictures of her one-year-old dressed in a bumblebee costume. “It’s her first time going trick-or-treating,” she said for the umpteenth time. “I’m so grateful I don’t have to miss it.” He hummed politely at the pictures (he liked kids, just, you know, not thirty pictures of the same one) and snatched the proffered plate of caramel-chocolate goodness, mouth already watering.

“Trick or treat, smell my feet. You look good enough to eat.”

At first, Derek thought the statement was directed at him.

The words echoed through the silent, almost-empty library like a tomb. The digital clock in the bottom right corner of his monitor read 5:39 PM. The only other staff working tonight were two elderly clerks clad in sparkly pumpkin sweatshirts and the teenage page who was too old for Halloween but still wore a cat-ear headband.

Derek glanced up from the computer, over the top of his black-rimmed glasses, mouth set in a firm, no-nonsense line. It was his best librarian face, the one he slid on to deal with censorship challenges and patrons who loved to loudly announce, “I’m a taxpayer!” when the movie they wanted to borrow was already checked out. But the guy—tall, wiry, with shaggy brown hair in need of a cut—wasn’t trying to sweet-talk Derek at all.

Shame. He was devilishly handsome, and just Derek’s type.

Instead, cute-guy was buttering up the bowl of candy corn sitting on the circulation desk, next to a festive sign with smiling black bats proclaiming, “Bat-ter take one before they’re gone!” A grin stretched his generous mouth, dimpling into pale cheeks dusted with tiny dark moles. He reached a long-fingered hand into the orange plastic dish.

“I wouldn't do that,” Derek warned, voice soft but commanding.

The patron tore his laser-focused attention away from the sugary treats, large teddy-bear brown eyes going wide when they landed on Derek’s face. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. He dropped a single tri-colored kernel back onto the heap, cleared his throat and slowly reeled in his hand. “Oh, uh…sorry? I thought the sign said they were free.”

“They are,” Derek informed him. “But they’ve been sitting here since my shift started at noon, and about a dozen kids have dug through them.” Derek inclined his head and lowered his voice, tone intended to strike terror. “And Dave, too.”

The candy corn caper’s eyebrows furrowed, and he leaned a little further over the desk. “Is Dave the monster who made you work on Halloween night?”

Derek took great satisfaction watching the guy’s reaction. “No. He’s a regular who always picks his nose.”

“Gross,” the cute guy said, looking at the bowl with a grimace. “These things are terrible, but they’re my favorite and I couldn’t resist. You really did me a solid.”

He stepped away with a sad sigh. Derek found himself not wanting to break the spell, so he added a flippant, “Trust me, you’re better off buying a discount bag in a day or two. Less chance of contracting the plague.”

The guy threw his head back and howled with laughter, the sound liquid and warm, hitting Derek’s veins like a double shot of espresso, giving his heart palpitations. “Well, thanks—“ big brown eyes slid down Derek’s face, his neck, catching on the magnetic name tag clipped to his tan cardigan—“Derek, for saving my life. Unfortunately, there’s no corn-syrupy goodness lurking in my near future.”

He gestures to a young, brown-haired boy bedecked in a DJ Yonder outfit, quietly pulling puzzles out of the activity bin. “I’m Stiles, and that’s my son, Jordan. He has some pretty serious food allergies. I only have partial custody, but I don’t keep anything in my house that might cause a reaction. He’s anaphylactic to most nuts and has celiac disease.” Cute patron—Stiles—shrugged, holding his large hands away from his body in a what-can-you-do gesture. “Hence why we’re visiting the library on Halloween, instead of Trick-or-treating.”

Derek blinked, brain working overtime to absorb the information dump. Cute guy. Lickable moles. Pornographic hands. No ring on his finger. Sweet, well-behaved kid. Single dad.

“You guys didn’t want to hit up some Teal Pumpkin spots?” Derek asked.

Oh. Add adorable nose crinkle to the list. “Some... what?”

Derek spun forty-five degrees in his chair, kicked off the file drawer and rolled to the reference shelf, where he pulled down a green binder.

“Impressive.” Stiles raised an eyebrow as Derek glided back to the desk and stood, opening the binder and handing it to him.

“A lot of people are starting to provide non-food treats for trick-or-treaters since food restrictions are so prevalent. It’s called the Teal Pumpkin Project. You put a teal-colored pumpkin on your porch, and add your house to the online map.” Derek pulled a copy of the local map and an informational brochure out of a laminated sleeve. “This map was printed yesterday morning. You can have it if you want.”

Jordan looked up from his puzzle, eyes hopeful. “Can we go, Dad? Can we?”

Stiles turned toward his son, face softening, and Derek found himself wondering how it would feel to have such unadulterated joy directed at him. “Sure, dude. Let’s give it a shot.” Jordan hooted, fist-pumping the air.

“Thanks again,” Stiles said, waving the map between himself and Derek. “I can’t believe I’d never heard about this. You’re a lifesaver.”

Derek shrugged, half-satisfied at providing excellent customer service, and half-guilty for not wanting Stiles to leave so soon. “That’s what I’m here for, to help you find information.”

“And to protect me from contaminated candy corn.” Stiles winked, and Derek’s stomach swooped like he’d eaten one-too-many brownies. “Not all heroes wear capes. Some wear cardigans.”

“Have fun tonight,” Derek said to both of them in parting. It was the first time in ten years on the job that he didn’t want a reference interview to end. “And be safe.”

Jordan dragged his father toward the automatic doors, and Derek definitely did not lean over and covertly check out Stiles’ retreating back side from behind the staircase to the second floor.

If he hadn’t been paying such close attention, Derek might have missed Stiles halting them at the door with a soft, “Hey bud. I forgot one thing. Wait here for a second.” As Stiles turned and jogged back to the desk, Derek quickly grabbed some loose papers from the desk, shifting them around in his hands and burning holes in them with his eyeballs. Too late he realized one sheet was upside down.

“Hey, Derek?” Stiles asked, a little breathless.

Derek cleared his throat and laid down the paper armor. “Yeah?”

“I know stuff like this probably happens to you all the time, since you look, you know…” Stiles gestured to Derek’s face and broad, sweater-clad shoulders. “Like that. And I promise I’m not trying to be creepy here, though technically Halloween is the perfect night for creepy-”

“Stiles,” Derek expertly interrupted. “How can I help you?”

“I was wondering… I was hoping…” He took a deep breath. “I have to drop Jordan off at his mom’s tonight at 8:30, and if you’re free after work…”

Derek exhaled the manic butterflies tickling his ribs. “You want to go trick-or-treating?”

Stiles blinked, then burst out in a cackle loud enough to rival a witch. “As long as it involves you, me and some caffeine, I’m game for anything.”

Derek scratched at his bearded jawline. “Well, there’s a live ghost story reading happening at the coffee shop down the street. It starts at 9:00. I could meet you there?”

And oh. So that’s what it felt like to have Stiles’ soft, happy look directed at him. It felt frighteningly good.

“It’s a date,” Stiles said, backing away, smile big enough to make sweet little laugh lines crinkle around his eyes . “See you in a bit.”

Derek munched another brownie and watched the swing of Stiles’ slim hips as he walked away.

Yeah. Definitely good enough to eat.

#sterekhalloween5 #eternalsterek #sterekweek2019 #sterek #haleinski #halloween #sterek fic #photoset #moodboard #a HUGE thank you to sterek week!!!! you guys are the best

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samesongxox · 5 years

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Savior: Chapter 7 (Its Been, One Week)

Summary: (Hellboy 2019) AKA Turning a New Leaf AKA Good Samaritans Need Love Too. The B.P.R.D is tasked to infiltrate a black market creature trafficking ring led by a powerful warlock. Hellboy rescues Phyrra who is found being held hostage, a slave for her magic. He must protect her as she is hunted by her master and his gang of monsters. (AU where Broom isn’t dead/Abe wasn’t found)

It will be rated M, it will include violence, swearing, smuttiness, all the good things in life.

Disclaimer: Hellboy belongs to Dark Horse Comics/Mike Mignola, I don’t own anything except the AU and my OC’s.

Hellboy walked into the library, following the sound of Phyrra laughing. Now don't get him wrong, it was quickly becoming one of his favourite sounds. Top three in front of the sound of a beer opening and a nice clean shot from a new gun. It wasn't just the sound of her laughter though, joining it was the sound of his father talking animatedly about a topic Hellboy wasn't quite sure he was hearing it.

"He was a handful alright! I remember many Christmases all Hellboy wanted was a Howdy Doody doll of his own. He was beyond ecstatic this particular morning."

He watched as Phyrra cooed over the photo in her hands. He felt the cold wash of shame. Oh on. No, no.

"Dad, Phyrra. What's going on?"

Phyrra's eyes shot up and she blinded him with her smile. This wasn't good at all.

"Oh Hellboy! You were such a cute baby! Look at your little tail!" Hellboy felt very conflicted as he found himself pleased at Phyrra's bright smile, her utter delight. He supposed he could live with some severe embarrassment if she looked at him like that.

"Thanks, dad." Trevor just shrugged, flipping the page of the photobook. Hellboy took the chance and sat down beside her, figuring she was distracted enough by the mortifying pictures.

It had been a week since Phyrra's arrival to the B.P.R.D.

Seven excellent days of being in her presence, holding her attention, being able to talk to her. Seven days of watching the elf girl graceful moves around him. Seven days where he couldn't bring himself to ask her out.

Since the trio returned to HQ, something had changed between them and they had managed to become less nervous around each other. Everyone had taken to spending alternating shifts in the library and the warehouse a day, the majority of the creatures were harmless, able to be liberated to find their homes again. Trevor had phoned up some old friends running the sanctuaries for the harpies, a basilisk. Elias had seemed to even come into the possession of a dragon, a majestic beast that was currently on its way to Northern Ireland to stay with a Mr. Li-Yang, a most generous benefactor for those types of creatures.

Last night in the library, he thought he might have found something. Some ancient elven tombs he couldn't read, he had found on the highest shelf, even he had to stretch to reach it. He had voiced his interest to her so Phyrra had come over and leaned over him to look at the book, casually putting her hand on his shoulder to steady herself. She seemed to understand some of the languages and was able to decipher. He turned his head and gasped at how close their faces were. Phyrra was busy with the text in his hands, he stared openly at her in this new perspective.

Her skin seemed so soft, so pale and supple. Her tattoos fixated him in the graceful swirls that ran down her nose and cheeks. He couldn't stop imagining himself following the trails they made down her elegant, swan neck into the blouse she was currently wearing. He had become so enraptured he continued his inspection until she fixed her gaze on him.

"This is interesting. Nórë-o i taurë…" Her brow furrowed as she seemed to contemplate something. "May I have it for a moment?"

"Y-yeah." Hellboy snapped out of his daze as Phyrra had stood there for a moment, the book cradled in her arms as she scanned the page, face still puzzled. "May I continue reading this?"

Hellboy barely nodded before she was turning back to the armchair she had often claimed in the days, placing her slight form into the mass of cushion. She was enraptured by the book all afternoon until she seemed to reach her limit. No one voiced anything as they had parted ways for the night, but something was on Phyrra's mind.

Cut him some slack here, it wasn't like he was some pro at this.

Alice was right about Phyrra being proper. She was a serene girl, amiable and respectful to a tee. She was often silent and only smiled pleasantly at Alice and his antics.

The most passion he ever saw from her was when she was in the kitchen. Dad had tried so hard to not allow her to make their meals, stating that the B.P.R.D did have the main cafeteria. Chefs from all over the world were brought in to make fantastic meals for the many staff members of the organization, but Phyrra was strangely insistent.

So he saw glimpses of it, her being carefree.

And at this particular moment. Hellboy looked from her joyful face to the horrible pictures in her hands. Moments from his past that while not necessarily bad memories, but something he didn't want the girl he was crushing on to see.

"I'm sorry not that this isn't great." Hellboy leaned over to close the album containing his childhood.

"But shouldn't we get back to the books?" Phyrra and Trevor grew silent, they had already been discussing the recent turn of events a few moments ago before Phyrra's eyes had caught the album, her curiosity a welcomed change in the subject for her, Trevor had been more than happy to show her some pictures he collected over the years.

"That one you found yesterday Hellboy," She licked at her suddenly dry lips, "It holds the answers. I believe we should focus our attention on this. It's a language I know.. Or knew."

"Oh…That's awesome, isn't it?"

Phyrra felt her lips pulling, Hellboy was right. She was becoming quite perturbed at her continuing lack of memories, but she had found the answer, it just needed to be uncovered. She should be kinder to herself.

"Yes, it is." She giggled peacefully at Hellboy's open, jubilant expression. She placed her hand on his stone hand, Hellboy was daring enough to cover it with his hand. Their eyes were locked in a sudden trance.

They didn't know who reached first, but they ended up in a hug.

Phyrra had slowly begun to seek his contact more often, she couldn't stop herself from drifting towards him when he was near, placing her hand on his arm or against his shoulder as they conversed. Hellboy was funny like Alice but much more reserved. Phyrra had soon found out sitting around just reading wasn't fun for Hellboy, she was touched that him, that every one of them, had helped out considerably with the library's extensive collections.

Hellboy was always a source of warmth, a kind that Phyrra enjoyed immensely. She didn't voice it, but the hallways of B.P.R.D were rather chilled and damp to her. She would be lying if she said she didn't seek out the feeling of Hellboy's hot skin, finding it quite delightful.

He would feel better helping her in her bed, warming. Lulling her into a dreamless sleep...

Phyrra broke the hold first, pulling back with her head down to attempt to hide her flushed face.

"I will go get it. I stayed up most of the night continuing to try and understand " The elf girl scampered away on slight feet.

Father and son were left alone.

Trevor would have to be blind, deaf and dumb to not see Phyrra and Hellboy's fledgling relationship. On one hand, he wasn't against the idea of his boy finding companionship with this elf girl, Phyrra was a lovely girl.

She had only been here a short time, but her influence was already being seen in the team, Alice was ecstatic. The Professor had never realized she might be missing female companionship, Alice was always so confident.

Ben was even starting to come around to her presence, he had voiced his concerns to the Professor the night after Phyrra agreed to join the B.P.R.D.

Ben had come to Trevor asking him if this was the best idea, they were being put in a delicate situation, the warlock would no doubt be coming for her. Trevor had laid the Major's worries to rest, was it really about the possibility of a break-in, they were more than prepared for such a possibility. If it was simply the new addition, Trevor vouched for the young elf. Now, the Major had begun to relax around the girl, letting loose a few quips that showed his easing attitude.

No one had to guess to know how Hellboy felt about it, he was infatuated with the elf girl. The feeling was mutual if Phyrra's easy smiles and glances were any indication. It was a sweet kind of naive courting that Trevor didn't expect out of his son.

On the other, it was happening rather fast, call him old fashioned.

"Hellboy I would be remiss if I didn't voice my concern,"

".." Hellboy said all the displeasure he felt with no words, he knew exactly where this conversation was heading.

"I just want you to be careful, son. Phyrra is a very special girl, but I would be bereaved if I ever saw you heartbroken."

"Come on, dad!" Hellboy stood up and started pacing agitatedly. He couldn't believe this was happening.

"Besides, you're the one who asked her to be on the team,"

"That's not the point, Hellboy. She's very unstable right now."

Hellboy gave his father a deadpan look.

"Okay, I get it, dad. I'm trying to take it slow," Hellboy did get it. Other than his cowardice, another reason Hellboy was holding back was her amnesia. Somehow it didn't feel right to be so attracted to this broken, lost girl. Not that Phyrra showed it. As far as the week went, she had been a bright light shining in the tunnels of HQ. If she was just putting on a happy face, she did not indicate cracking yet.

"I know we never actually had.. 'The talk',"

Hellboy groaned harshly, he wished he could wake up from this nightmare.

"And we never do! Please, dad, I'm begging you. Just stop." Hellboy covered his ears in a desperate attempt to quiet his father. He even went as far as to turn completely away from Trevor, in a spectacular sight of childishness.

He couldn't do this right now, it was bad enough he was starting to have dreams about Phyrra, his father discussing the possibility of them having sex was enough to make his skin turn white.

"Alright Hellboy, just... You know to be safe.." Trevor was thankfully interrupted by the alarm signalling, unfortunately, that only meant danger.

"What's happening?" Hellboy followed Trevor to the monitor connected to the security feeds, watching as the intruders walked through the hole blasted in the solid steel wall of the B.P.R.D.

"There seems to have been a break-in."

The visuals were blurry from the blast but Hellboy already knew who it was.

"Phyrra!"

Going into town had been an adventure. Due to the current lapse she had of her past, Phyrra had no clue if she had ever been amongst humans before. Sure the odd ones would come around to make a business from time to time, but they were certainly not treated with the best of hospitality.

It was cold here. A colder environment than she had ever been. Trevor had given her a thick woollen jacket to put on and these things called 'mittens' to place over her hands. Showing her a card before slipping it in her pocket, he told her it was a card containing her initial salary, and to use it where they were going to pay for what she wanted.

It all looked so busy, were her thoughts as she watched the scenery pass her by as they were driven to their destination. Busy as the people at the B.P.R.D. Humans always seemed to be running to and from something, Phyrra deduced. Before too long they left the car. Walking passed the mortals, she unconsciously pulled the hat down, attempting to cover her ears as much as she could. The hat was chafing them, but it was the safer option.

"There's no need for that, my dear. We are quite safe here," It had been a short walk to their destination from the car dropping them off, soon Phyrra was walking into a much warmer, filled with some of the loveliest garments Phyrra had ever seen.

"Binx may come out if she'd please." Phyrra had voiced the Professor's request to the pixie in her pocket, she with much enthusiasm, escaped her temporary confines.

"Here, I will take your coat and hat," Phyrra thanked Trevor as he assisted her in removing the now unnecessary things. There was something else about this store, it was obvious, Phyrra could practically taste the magic in the air.

Walking down the aisle that caught her eye, Phyrra found she liked pants.

He would never allow her to wear them. Her clothing was provided for her at all times, she never had a say in what she could wear. Trevor had only looked to her expectantly when they entered the shop. Phyrra was flabbergasted.

"I don't know where to start."

"Well, to be honest, Phyrra. I don't know if I'm the best person to come to for 'fashion' advice, would you be willing to have one of the workers here help?"

"Oh, maybe not," Phyrra bit her lip, her old ways of shyness welling up in her. Life was much easier to live in the B.P.R.D. Out here in this unknown world was quite frightening.

"Hey, Trevor! Long-time no see!" Phyrra was the audience to an enthusiastic woman run up and hug Trevor with no pretense.

Her pupils were too large to be human. Her skin was also slightly hued in blues. Some halfling perhaps, she looked almost mortal.

"Wow! What a beauty! " Binx watched with wary eyes as this unknown creature came up to Phyrra with seemingly no idea of manners or boundaries, hugging the small girl with enthusiasm.

"Definitely not human," the pixie acknowledged, Phyrra shushed her in the quietest way possible, whispering to the stubborn creature.

"You're being rude, Binxy."

"It's fine, she's right," Phyrra and Binx looked at the creature with comical matching expressions of surprise.

"I'm Ava. I picked up some Fae growing up, my parents ran a potions booth at the market downtown," The girl bounced from Phyrra to Binx, bowing slightly. "Nice to see some pixies still around,"

Binx bloomed like a peacock, it was her weakness. The vainness of most pixies sadly did not miss her friend.

"Please, let us get her out of these dreadful clothes,"

Phyrra was slightly miffed at her friend's sudden burning opinion, she happened to like the clothes provided for her by Sorah. She admired the B.P.R.D logo. A hand gripping a weapon, poised and ready to fight evil. Save creatures and humans alike. She looked to Trevor who smiled kindly.

"I'll let you ladies get to it, I'll be right here Phyrra." With the help of hyperactive Ava, Phyrra chose the clothes she wanted. It was very daunting, but in the end, she loved what she picked out, more-so for her ability to have been able to choose more than anything else.

Trevor had also shown what was her room now, to decorate as she pleased. Phyrra knew she was on the same floor as Hellboy and Alice's rooms.

She knew because she had been to Hellboy's, and later that same night, Alice had invited her into her room for 'girl's night'. It had consisted of them watching some human film that was about a couple in a passionate love that caused Phyrra to flush. Alice had also shown her how to 'paint her nails'. Phyrra had seen women with coloured nails but had never given it much thought.

When Alice had asked what her favourite colour was, Phyrra didn't have an answer.

"What do you think I should colour them?"

"I don't know, maybe blue like your eyes….I only have a few colours.." She muttered digging around in the drawer, placing all the vials on her vanity for Phyrra to pick, "I think pink or red would be a lovely colour on you." Phyrra had gone with the red, it was a lovely colour and contrasted with her skin nicely.

Alice had invited her to her room three more times in the week. It had been more than nice, Alice had the great talent of being very easy to talk to. Alice had told her the story of being stolen by fairies as a baby, how Hellboy had saved her, her ability to see and communicate with the dead, how she had often felt quite lonely. Phyrra had likewise confessed to her mundane, awful existence with Elias. The constant fear of punishment and instability with her surroundings.

"Thank you for sharing that with me Phyrra. But you know what? You're here with us now, you never have to worry like that ever again,"

Phyrra thanked Alice, to know this human girl was willing to protect her gave the elf girl great happiness.

The medium had expressed after the colouring nails lesson that Phyrra should remember her favourite things, it might help with her mind recovering.

She felt her memories on the tips of her fingers.

Something she wasn't telling anyone was she had been having odd dreams. Running through trees. Sitting at fires, alone and numb. It felt so real, lucid like it was her past but it wasn't making the gap to her remembrance. She was so close.

That book. It smelled of pine and gave Phyrra a pang in her heart.

Nórë-o i taurë. People of the forest.

It hadn't popped the memories in her mind as hearing Elias's name had been, but she knew that was the answer. She couldn't read all of it, but it was her language. On the borders of the pages were golden swirls, too close to the ones on her skin to be a mere consequence.

In her room, snuggled deep into the pillow, Phyrra snickered at the sight that was one very lazy pixie.

"Good morning Binxy, nice of you to wake up,"

"Hmm... I wouldn't be so tired all the time if you would get the proper sleep,"

Phyrra reached for the book laying on her new nightstand, before being startled, involuntarily throwing the book to the ground.

Alarms were sounded in the hallway, shrill clangs that caused Phyrra's sensitive ears to twinge. The elf girl wrenched her door open. Ignoring her friend's protest, she locked eyes with a frantic agent before he was blasted away from her sightline. Feeling as if she was in slow-motion, Phyrra turned her head. Her heart stuttered against her breastbone.

She stood face to face with Elias.

#hellboy fanfiction #hellboy 2019 #hellboy #david harbour #fanfiction #hellboyoc

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korewrite · 5 years

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hello there! i have a ton of open muses that i would love to get some plots going with. under the cut i’ll list some things about them as well as some open plots/connections! if you see any that spark your interest, feel free to message me or like this post! 18+ only.

* benjamin tate. ( dj cotrona fc ) vampire hunter. bisexual. : he married his high school sweetheart, they had a child together ( through biological means or adoption ), his spouse was taken by vampire’s and turned, this prompted him to start hunting. ( pinterest board. )

- wanted plots / connections:

your muse is benjamin’s spouse who had been turned into a vampire. he’s been searching for them and their sire for years. finally, he finds them but the kill isn’t as easy as he would have hoped. even though he’s a skilled hunter, his feelings for your muse were enough to get in the way. your muses sire orders your muse to kill benjamin, but though they’ve been turned into a monster they don’t know if they can forget the love they felt for him and their child. now your muse and benjamin are wrestling with their head and their heart. on one hand they know what they should do but on the other it’s so much easier to just give into temptation.

your muse is another hunter who has joined benjamin in his hunt for revenge. the friendship started when your muse found benjamin through his good reputation as a hunter and asked him for help on one of your muse’s cases. he aided them and then asked for their help in return. now your muse, benjamin, and his child are on the road searching for his spouse and their sire. through the journey the friendship your muse and benjamin felt begins to blossom into something more. your muse almost doesn’t want to get benjamin his revenge.

* madeleine saxton. ( india eisley fc ) vampire. pansexual. : she’s over 1000 years old, lived in a viking village as a shield maiden, was turned by an original vampire, she changed her name and formed her own clan, they treat her like a queen. ( pinterest board. )

- wanted plots / connections:

your muse is madeleine’s sire who has been underground in their tomb for several centuries. a group of young adults poking around where they shouldn’t be is the reason for your muse’s escape. after feeding and getting their bearings, your muse wants to seek out madeline (who they know as frigga). they end up finding her through her reputation and word of mouth. the reunion is tear filled and passionate, but things don’t stay that way. with your muse in the picture madeleine starts to feel her position as the clan leader is fragile and your muse is hurt that madeleine wasn’t the one to find and free them.

your muse is the first mortal madeleine had ever turned and they’ve stuck by her side as much as she would let them. this is why your muse is her most trusted advisor and bodyguard. an uprising against madeleine occurs, one that is too big for either madeleine or your muse to fight, so they both go into hiding. madeleine wants to get her revenge and her power back and she’s willing to fight dirty in order to accomplish that.

your muse is a werewolf, the alpha of their pack. they have an agreement with madeleine that no violence is to be done against the pack and in return the pack will not be violent towards her clan. one night a vampire from the saxton clan and a werewolf from your muse’s pack are attacked at the same time and in the same manner. accusations begin to fly but soon your muse and madeleine realize that both of their families are being targeted. they end up having to work together to see who is killing clan and pack members off one by one.

* genevieve malone. ( diane guerrero fc ) mob boss. pansexual. : her family has been part of the mafia for several generations, she’s well known amongst the american mafia circuit, she’s married to another notorious mob boss and has a daughter, she owns a successful strip club. ( pinterest board. )

- wanted plots / connections:

your muse is genevieve’s spouse, any gender. many were surprised whenever they got together as your muse’s family was fairly new to the mob scene. also not to mention that your muse appears more cruel and calculating on the outside, where as genevieve is extremely charming. your muse was able to see through that mask but also allowed genevieve to see through theirs. they’re this power couple who are completely lethal around other people but melt around each other whenever they’re alone.

your muse is genevieve’s body guard. something happens where genevieve and her daughter have to go into hiding separate from genevieve’s spouse. your muse accompanies genevieve and amelia, having to pose as a suburban family until the threat back home in chicago is taken care of.

* elias fuller. ( peter gadiot fc ) police detective. bisexual. : detroit: become human based, sort of a re-imagined hank anderson, he’s the head detective, his younger brother was an advocate for android equality, during a rally he was killed, elias sort of blames androids for his brother’s involvement and death, he was reluctantly put on the case to find out why androids are deviating. ( pinterest board. )

- wanted plots / connections:

your muse is an android sent by cyberlife to help aid elias in his investigation of the deviant androids. elias enters the partnership not liking your muse because of what they are. your muse is just there to do their job, until they dive deeper into the investigation and they begin to experience emotion.. not only towards the other androids but towards elias as well. elias’ own emotions and opinions towards your muse begin to shift too when they see that your muse is beginning to deviate.

* dahlia swain. ( holliday grainger fc ) hogwarts professor. bisexual. : harry potter based, was a ravenclaw whenever she was a student, an excellent seer which is why she teaches divination, she married but he became a death eater during the second wizarding war, her brother was a death eater as well, she changed her last name and began a career at hogwarts. ( pinterest board. )

- wanted plots / connections:

your muse is a fellow professor who the students are notorious for shipping with professor swain, even going so far as to pranking both of them so that they have to spend more time together. dahlia isn’t sure that they want to start anything with your muse due to her past with her ex-husband. your muse has demons of their own but they find themselves drawn to dahlia and want to make it work.

your muse is dahlia’s ex-husband, elijah reaves, ( his name can be changed ) who has served his time in azkaban and is being released. whether he’s changed his heart and his views during their time spent in azkaban is up to you. however, he wants to reconnect with dahlia and finds that she’s back at hogwarts. the reunion will be anything but sweet as dahlia is not quick to forgive everything that he’s done.

your muse is a student at hogwarts and dahlia is their favorite professor. they think they may have an affinity for divination and think they’re a seer, so they seek out dahlia’s help with controlling their visions.

* ebony barnett. ( madelaine petsch fc ) witch. bisexual. : she’s always had an affinity for light/nature magic, she was part of a powerful coven, she fell hopelessly in love with a witch whom leaned towards dark magic, there was a prophecy that ebony and this witch would become too powerful to stop should their love flourish, the coven grew scared and erased ebony’s memories, they were murdered before they could erase ebony’s lover’s memories, she owns a book store/coffee shop. ( pinterest board. )

- wanted plots / connections:

your muse is the witch/warlock that the coven had taken ebony away from. for years they searched for ebony without being able to find her, but eventually they were able to find the witch whom hid ebony in the first place. after getting the information they needed from that witch, they took off to find ebony. ebony was able to feel the dark magic radiating off of your muse whenever they stepped foot in her shop. she’s wary of them, especially when they make declarations of lost love. your muse isn’t willing to give up or let ebony go so easily, as they haven’t forgotten the devotion and love they once felt or the prophecy the coven once feared. ( based on this video )

* myra elliot. ( naomi scott fc ) astronaut. homosexual. : incredibly intelligent, always at the top of her class, became an astronaut, joined a program that focused on finding new planets and lifeforms, went to space with a team of six, they were separated in a crash land on a new planet. ( pinterest board. )

- wanted plots / connections:

your muse lives on the planet that myra crashes onto. your muse takes in myra and helps them as their wounds begin to heal. meanwhile, your muse also shows myra around their planet. your muse’s people are wary of myra but begin to accept them slowly. they even offer to fix myra’s craft or give them a new one to get home. though as myra starts to get close to your muse and sees the beauty in their planet, they are in no rush to get back to earth. ( based on this video )

* ollie harlow. ( cody fern fc ) familiar. pansexual. : a shape shifter that has bonded with a witch, aids in their magic and protects them, he shifts into a black cat, he has a passion for photography and has his own studio. ( pinterest board. )

- wanted plots / connections:

your muse is a witch and ollie is their familiar. they have a relationship that was once seen as normal but is now more taboo. while they try to hide it whenever amongst other witches, it’s getting increasingly difficult.. especially whenever your muse’s life is being threatened by another witch in the community. turns out that witch wants your muses’s power and their familiar, ollie.

* loren dixon. ( jordan connor fc ) werewolf. bisexual. : the alpha’s son, was born with the werewolf gene, stronger than bitten werewolves, has red eyes when he shifts, his wolf form is grey with hints of black in his fur, his father had fallen in love with a witch but broke her heart, she cursed loren to have a human mate. ( pinterest board. )

- wanted plots / connections:

your muse is a human that lives secluded in the woods. your muse found loren in wolf form wounded one morning while they were out for a walk. your muse took the wolf in and helped nurse it back to health. through that process loren sort of imprinted on your muse, finding out that they were their mate. loren just doesn’t know how to break it to your muse about what they are, so loren leaves in the middle of the night. they come back the next morning to introduce themselves to your muse in their human form. loren and your muse feel an attraction towards one another, but your muse can’t help but feel like loren is hiding something from them.

* vincent crawford. ( john boyega fc ) superhero. bisexual. : fire manipulation and flight, given the name “firebolt” by an online blogger, he’s a firefighter who became a vigilante whenever he decided he could do things that the law couldn’t, he used to be incredibly close to his brother, his brother’s powers are paralysis shock and telepathy, he has a team of friend’s back him ( think the flash or arrow ). ( pinterest board. )

- wanted plots / connections:

your muse is also a superhero/vigilante. vincent and your muse usually stay on their respective sides of the city and try not to step on each other’s toes. however, when vincents’s brother decides to get together his own team of villainous characters, vincent has to go to your muse for help. they bicker with one another and it’s difficult to find their footing as a team but eventually they have to put their differences aside.

your muse is part of vincent’s team as he can’t do this all on his own. they don’t have powers per se, but they bring an aspect to the team that makes vincent’s career as firebolt work. they could be a techie or a journalist that has insider information or a police officer or fellow firefighter.

your muse is vincent’s brother, zachariah. they used to be incredibly close but whenever zach started his job at the city’s local newspaper he started to become power hungry. it didn’t take long for him to climb the social ladder. he’s got the belief that he’s superior because of his mutation/powers. as he gets together his team of morally corrupt mutants, he tries to persuade vincent to join him or threatens to make his life as a living hell.

your muse could be part of zachariah’s team of mutants or work some side jobs for him here and there because they aren’t entirely convinced with his cause. we could go down the enemies to lovers trope.

* prince frederic. ( richard madden fc ) royalty. homosexual. : only son out of four children, next in line to be king, incredible swordsman but detests violence and war, enjoys music and art, closest with his youngest sister, his mother died in childbirth after giving birth to his youngest sister, his mother always told him he was too kind to be king ( pinterest board. )

- wanted plots / connections:

your muse is a prince from a neighboring kingdom. growing up frederic always had feelings for your muse but kept it quiet because he knew that both of them were going to be forced to marry their own respective princesses. however, when your muses’s kingdom begins to go to war with another kingdom frederic steps in to help. spending this much time with your muse is making it difficult for frederic to ignore his feelings but he does. your muse has noticed their own growing feelings for frederic and are the first to make a move. now both have to deal not only with the growing war but the battle between choosing whether to follow their hearts or their duty.

#1x1 rp #1x1 #1x1 roleplay #( ooc. )

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brushlesprouts · 5 years

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Sir Rathus Kaine Returns

Inspired by reading Seven Blades in Black by Sam Sykes, I made this while trying to emulate the style. I highly recommend the book. Please enjoy my brain nugget.

++++

“Great General Baltha!” Said the messenger, running frantically into the office. Bethany Burlesque Baltha spared an irate glance at the frantic messenger.

“Yes?” She said, voice creaking from the remnants of a cold she was battling. The stress of running the Palace of Great Deeds had been ruining her sleep schedule which had made her condition rather worrisome. But she couldn’t let down the Glorious One, or more importantly, Abigail. She pushed the thought away from her mind. She realized she hadn’t been paying attention to the messenger.

“Uh, what was that?” She said, “Catch your breath and start over.”

The messenger seemed thankful and took a few deep breaths before speaking again. “Like I said, the Crypt of Kings was found open this morning.”

“Grave robbers?” She said and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I wouldn’t think a General would have to instruct her forces to hunt down bandits.” She paused as a cold chill passed down her spine, “Unless there is more to this story?”

The messenger, steadied himself on a chair in front of her desk. She motioned for him to take a seat. He obliged and took another breath.

“We thought it was stranger for bandits to get this far into the Palace of Great Deeds without anyone noticing. So we went into the crypt and found there was only one tomb disturbed. One that we have all been instructed to stay far away from.” He paused as the realization sunk into her. She rose from her desk, her eyes deadly serious and focused on him.

“Show me.”

The Glorious Empire of Divinia held a great deal of the western continent with its heart beating in the capital city of Falk at the top of Mount Spire. Surrounding allies all held an important part of the Glorious Empire. And in Velkinrath, they had the Palace of Great Deeds. A glorified cemetery for the great martyrs and pillars of the nation. Though, that was just on the surface. Deep beneath the polished marble floors, a series of chambers held dire secrets. And among them was the body of the true pillar of the Glorious Empire.

Sir Rathus Kaine. First of the Glorious Empire. The Hero who sacrificed everything for the benefit of The Glorious One. He was buried in a very prestigious place, behind several layers of protective barrier. The scraps of which lay in shattered flecks around the feet of Baltha. She gazed, a pale expression of unrest sitting uncomfortably on her face, into the gaping maw of the opened crypt. The messenger stayed at the door behind her as instructed, but for a fleeting moment she really wanted to have another body there as a shield. Or better yet, she really wanted to turn tail and run back up to her desk and dive underneath and snatch that bottle of aged whiskey for a long and comforting pull. But this would demand a report. And she would need to add a very important detail. One that Abigail would be looking very keenly for. And one that, should she leave out, would reflect poorly on her maintaining the loving relationship her neck had with her head.

She steeled her resolve and pressed onward. The echoing sound of her boots in the stone corridor emphasized the feeling that she was alone in the tomb. And hopefully, that was true.

She reached the remnants of the chamber door leading into the tomb. There were large gashes on the metal door that had severed the layers of locking mechanisms. She felt a cold wind on the back of her neck, she fought her urge to cry out, and simply turned around slowly. All she saw was the messenger standing at the entrance, dutiful and at attention. Poor soul must have been anxious as hell. Seeing his superior meekly stumbling in the dark towards a room he never had any knowledge of. She cleared her throat and called out to him.

“Seems like the grave robbers were using some impressive tools.” She said, and to her credit, she almost believed it. But the gouges in the door were clearly rend from the inside of the room. The messenger nodded from his vantage point far away from her.

She turned back to the door and the room beyond. A cold sweat had begun to bead on her forehead. One last thing to check. Just a quick peek will do the trick. Then she could leave and file a report that there was just some burglars that need apprehending and she could go back to trying to drown troubling memories and nightmares.

She slipped her hand between the cracks in the door and felt for the special switch that deactivated the traps within the room. You could conceive that these traps were built to discourage the incredibly dedicated thief, but she knew there was another being that it was actually designed for. Several layers of powerful and painful magic pointed at the sarcophagus at the center of the tomb. To be fair, it was a rather splendid piece of work, that regal coffin. Draped in the wonderful colors of the Glorious Empire and sealed with hundreds of pounds of inert stone, sculpted to look like the late Rathus Kaine. Or at least, it would, were it not for the gaping scar that tore through the length of the elegant confinement. And by all accounts, that kind of rupture did not appear to come from the outside.

“Oh no,” Baltha said to herself. She began to contemplate her options. She could bring this intel to Abigail, now would be fine. But she knew the question would come.

“And the body?” She would ask. In a voice like honey. So sweet. So viciously sweet. You wouldn’t notice the poison until you were already a blue and bloated corpse.

So, with her fear of the known overpowering her fear of the unknown, Baltha tipped her head forward and looking into the regal coffin’s wound.

Within the sarcophagus, wrapped in the regalia he wore in life, lay the late Sir Rathus Kaine. Eyes closed gently as if in peaceful rest. Hands holding onto the sword given to him on the day his life was taken by an enraged elemental and he passed away for the benefit of the Glorious Empire.

She closed her eyes let out a heaving sigh of relief. The body was still there. Still dead. Whatever had happened here was very strange, but at least she could end her report and Abigail would not come after her.

“Did you miss me?” A voice said.

Her eyes snapped open, Kaine was looking up at her. His eyes open wide. Bright and filled with a light that was not human, or divine, something else. She felt the would fall out beneath her, dropping to her knees and scrambling back to the entrance to the tomb. There came a blast of wind as Kaine stepped beside her. The edge of his sword found its way under her chin.

“After all these years, you never visited.” He said, his voice was distant but she could feel it pounding in her head. “I guess I can’t blame you, what with these magical traps. Did you make these, Baltha? Traps always were your specialty.”

She swallowed hard, the edge of the blade biting gently into the skin of her throat. Her body trembled as she tried to lift herself away from the blade. She was so close to the door, to the trap switch, she could still make it out alive. She just needed to buy time.

“Please don’t kill me.” She said, choking back a sob. “I don’t want to die.”

The pressure against her throat lessened. “Oh dear, Baltha. I am not going to slit your throat.” He said and slipped the blade into the sheath at his side. “You’re just following orders.” His eyes danced with fire as he looked down at her. “Another dog of Abigail.”

“Yes,” She said, stumbling to her feet and falling against the door frame, “I was just a pawn. A tool.”

He tipped his head to the side, “Baltha, what are you doing?”

She jammed her hand into the door crack, “I’m putting you back in your box, Kaine!” She shouted and flicked the switch. The magic in the traps began to hum back to life.

“Aha, I see.” He said and smiled. “So that’s where it is.” The hum of the magic traps began to change tone to a rhythmic pulsing in and out. It sounded like a grumbling, gravelly echo. Like someone…snoring?

“You know Baltha,” He said, his form shivering and fading away to show her still standing over the sarcophagus, asleep on her feet. “You really should get more sleep. You’ll get nightmares.” He said and clapped his hands.

Baltha woke up with a start, standing in front of the sarcophagus, looking down into the gaping wound. The empty box presented the lovely interior of the royal coffin. She turned back to the door, to find Kaine standing there. His hand was slipped into the crack in the door.

“Goodbye Baltha.” The clock of the switch rang in her ears before being drowned out by the roar of the magical traps.

At the end of the corridor, the messenger barely had time to dive away from the blast of powerful magic that ripped out of the tomb. He scrambled to his feet and looked down the glassed corridor.

“General Baltha?” He called out.

There came no answer, but there was a whisper that came from behind him.

“You’re a messenger, right?”

The young messenger spun around to see an emaciated and ashen body wreathed in the scraps of tattered regal clothing, a dangerous blade hung at his hip. He placed a hand on the weapon and cleared his throat to insist a response.

“Y-yes, sir.” He said, fumbling to pull a notepad and everink quill out of his pockets.

“Good,” The shambling corpse said, his smile causing cracks to form at the edges of his face, “Tell Abigail I’m coming for a visit.”

The messenger scribbled on the pad. At the bottom of his notes, a flourished blank patch begged a name. He looked up to the imposing threat before him.

“Uh, who–“

“Me?” Said the crackling creature. It’s eyes flashed with a sickly light and his grin peeled back to reveal sharpened teeth. “I’m the Boogeyman.”

#writing #worldbuilding #sevenbladesinblack #fantasy #tryingsomethingdifferent

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thatfairyfangirl · 5 years

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Written In The Stars Chapter 4

Steluta looked up to the doors as they became visible, a pit growing in her stomach as she felt fear creep into her bones at the thought of going in there. “This is a bad idea. I feel dread in this place.”

“It is our only choice.” Gandalf reminded them as he sat attempting to contemplate the riddle presented before him.

She watched the cold stars glimmer above them, her arms outstretched as her skin drunk in as much of their light as she could. Boromir watched her with a smile as her arms lowered into her lap as she whispered soundless words as if in prayer to the seven stars she loved so much.

“What is she doing?” Merry asked Boromir curiously.

He looked up to her in her trance like state. “She is speaking with her kin.” He explained as his eyes lingered on her. “The roaming kingdom is spread far over all corners of Arda. Legend says to project a shade of themself was a gift given to them by the Valar, so that no matter how far they roam they will always be united.” He added as Merry absentmindedly threw small rocks into the stale pool beside them.

“Not quite.” Legolas corrected, finding it more difficult to not think of her more fondly after the night under the stars. “She told me the tale. After they left Mordor a gem fell from a group of seven stars. It was faceted to the crown of the heir and has been passed on since. They believe that jem was a star delivering the gifts. But they need to bathe in the starlighlight for strength and magic.” He explained. Boromir raised a suspicious brow. “That is why she is called The Star.”

“Don’t disturb the water.” Aragorn whispered to the hobbits, stopping them from throwing any more in. The kurplunk of water being breached from above drew the Mandalayn’s attention, a single eye opening from her whispers to the stars down to the little ones just in time to see a long tentacle wrapping around Frodo. “Strider!” Sam called out as the creature began to drag Frodo into the pool. All the group burst from where they sat hacking at the beast. Legolas’s arrows flew alongside Steluta’s knives. Her long fingers danced along the pouches that lined her hip, debating if they would be of any use, however Gandalf’s voice beckoning everyone into the mines quickly broke her thought as she rushed to do as told.

Her dark eyes widened like the moon as the light from Gandalf’s staff illuminated their way. Never before had she sees something so deep, the only larger would have been the sky itself. With each step she listened intently to Gimli as he told them all about his cousin Balin and how wonderful of a welcome they will soon be receiving.

But two days passed and such a welcome was never received. Steluta sniffed the stale bitter air as her feet stuck to the floor, unable to move another step. “No...I can’t…” She murmured as the rest stopped for her as she slowly sunk to her knees. “There is only death here. We should not have come this way.” It felt as if they had been marching for weeks, not the three days that had passed since crossing the gates, her breath labored, sweat upon her brow. Boromir furrowed his brow as he came to her side, bending down for her.

“Come lady, we’re nearly through. The dwarf says his kin is near.” He said as he wrapped an arm around her, aiding her back to her feet.

Yet still she shook her head. “No….no no no.” She insisted in a hushed voice.

Worried for his traveling companion Legolas stepped to the two, his fingers lightly brushing against her cheek as he steadied her face long enough to look into her eyes. What was once sparkling like stars was beginning to dull, brown fading. The light that sustained her people had been denied her far too long. If they didn’t reach the end soon he was sure she wouldn’t last. “I warned you to never touch me again pretty boy.” She reminded as she removed his hand with the tip of one of her knives, her voice slurring slightly. As he backed away he realized he was so lost in her eyes he didn’t even notice her draw the weapon...but as of right now things were not looking good. All the time he had been under the mountain Steluta’s words wrung clear in his mind...danger to the great Gandalf is still ahead of them. Hours passed as she kept up purely by leaning on Boromir for support. “I’m sorry Gimli” She whispered before the doors to Balin’s tomb. Finding in this tomb a safe place to take a bit of rest Boromir allowed her to move from his shoulder. She swayed back and forth as if she had too much drink but did not fall, instead she holding herself steady against a wall slowly lowered herself to sit and regain at least a bit of her strength back. Her heart filled with sorrow as Gimli mourned his lost kin, wishing she could sing a lament for them, yet she feared what the carrying sounds would summon.

“We must move on, we cannot linger.” Legolas warned the group as he held a hand out to assist the fine woman back to her feet.

“Do I look like one of your frail elf damsels?” She snapped as she braced herself against the wall to lift herself back to her feet, preparing to move on despite how short the rest had been. As they spoke Gandalf read from the book that told them what terrible tragedy had happened Pippen inspected a skeleton that still held the arrow that slew him...just close enough to nudge it down the empty well it sat upon. The bones crashed and clanked all the way down, echoing throughout the stone walls. But soon something answered… “Drums…” She whispered as she took the hand, smooth and creamy as starlight as he lifted her to her feet with haste.

“No lady. You are much more infuriating.” He answered with a playful smile as he turned to allow her to lean on him before warning the rest of the party that Orcs were on their way. The warmth of his skin and smell of his flesh seemed to bring a hint of strength back to her soul. “Are you able to fight? Or will you be singing them all to sleep instead?”

“They have a cave troll.” Boromir informed them as he and Aragorn closed the doors, barricading them inside.

Deciding to not dignify the insulting question with an answer she pushed herself from the elf. “Just don’t step in front of me.” She said as she pulled the string on one of her pouches, slipping her hand inside, the other caressing one of her daggers. She sat waiting patiently as Legolas's arrows pierced the flesh of goblin and orc through the small holes in the door, right now she’d only help them get in all the faster and she knew it. As the door was breached and the hord spilled through the doors her hand slipped from the pouch letting out a harsh scream chucking a glimmering dust in the eyes of the enemies. Their weapons dropped as their hands came to cling and claw at their eyes as they grew red with blood and fluid, the small shards of metal blinding them as they entered.

Legolas couldn’t help smiling at the maneuver as he watched her throw the dagger embedding it in the skull of an orc, pulling another to defend herself as she rushed to retrieve the first, splitting the knees of another as she went. “I thought your powers were useless under earth?” He quipped, forgetting entirely that she told them the blinding scream was just a story as he helped her up to ready to attack.

“Magic yes...but never any of my people are without Glitterdust.” She answered as the two moved back to back, chestnut hair mixing with the fair elf’s in swirls like cream in coffee as the room soon echoed with the roaring of the troll as it burst forth. Steluta and Legolas each loosed their weapons at the shoulders of the beast yet it seemed unfazed. As attackers came close to the two her daggers flung and sliced through the grotesque flesh, keeping her archer safe from arms reach as he slew many more trying to enter. As the Elf leapt onto the back of the troll embedding three arrows in its head Steluta watched with a bit of awe. “Show off.” She quipped as her daggers dug themselves into an orc’s neck.

As the beast sniffed out the hobbits Steluta scaled the chain it bore on its neck until she sat mounted on its back. She watched with horror as a spear entered the breast of the young ring bearer, giving out a shrill cry before driving the last of her daggers into the neck of the beast, fearing even at the tender part of its flesh the blade would not be long enough to do much good. In pain the beast reared its head giving Legolas a clear shot to drive a final arrow into its throat, finally making the beast fall. She skunk from the troll, her strength nearly spent as Frodo revealed the mithril that saved his life. “To the pit!” Gandalf ordered hurriedly, yet she could now barely stand.

“Come along Steluta!” The elf quipped as he scooped her up in his arms. She wanted to protest, shout out that she is not one to be carried like a maid...but she knew right now that was simply untrue. Her eyes drifted around the stone walls as he clung her close to him as they raced to the chasm that separated them from their escape from the demon of fire and shadow that now pursued them. She dared not watch as Legolas lept from the crumbling stairway to the other side, burying her face in the green leather of his elven armor. Once past the bridge he set her down, an arm wrapped around her shoulder as they turned to witness the battle.

“I warned you all.” She whispered wearily as the two battled, whip of flame cracking as Gandalf shouted, breaking the bridge. “NO! Gandalf!” She screamed, barely able to hold herself, as the whip drug him down into the dark pit.

“Fly you fools.” the last words he spoke before slipping down into fire and shadow.

Boromir lifted the princess to make their escape all the more swift as the company rushed out of the stale musty air of the mine into the fresh breeze and the warmth of the midday sun. But yet the outside world could not bring joy to their faces for they just lost far too much to remember the emotion. “We can not tarry. We need to put some more land behind us.” Aragorn stated as gently as he could muster, stirring his companions to rise from their grieving.

“Give them a moment for pity's sake.” Boromir begged as he cradled the fair princess.

“By nightfall this land will be swarming with orcs.” He explained. “We need to make for the trees of Lothlorien.

Boromir's eyes trailed down to the star in his arms, knowing she'd need more than rest.. He could almost feel her need to lament her friend. It was boring a hole in her chest with grief as he let her feet down on the ground “Boromir…” Her voice faltered but he was glad to hear her strength in it returning as she lifted her arm to point to a wagon he recognized as one of her people's. Yet no man driving the steed that bore it. “Gifts from my people.” She announced with a smile growing in strength. Though she proudly stood moving on her own, too stubborn to accept that she now needed help Boromir kept close to her side with fret. Legolas watched curiously as she climbed into the wagon. Through an open window he could see her slipping blade after blade into small hidden sheaths among her body before coming back out with a cloth sack tied to her back and a quiver of arrows she held forward for the archer.

#lotr #lord of the rings #fanfiction #legolas #legolas x oc

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randomwriteronline · 6 years

Text

It started with the feeling of being looked after and guarded whenever they went to bed, and the soft pressure of something on the wounds their mother would break upon their skin.

Then came Rupert’s departure and her parties in his absence; she would call for them downstairs, but they couldn’t get out of the safe haven of their room. No matter how hard they pulled or pushed, the door was always closed.

She kept calling, men and women’s loud voices slurring and cursing behind her. The door wouldn’t open. She had to stop.

Then Wally suddenly kept finding new books at the end of his bed.

Willy stopped knowing where were the drugs he’d hidden away, instead having them replaced by new ones that kept him in focus while killing whatever was hurting him from the inside.

He and Tim always made it back home, no matter how drunk they were or what crimes had they commited. They began believing in guardian angels.

Then his eyes fluttered open in the aftermath of the incident, but he couldn’t see well; he felt his head on someone’s knees and a hand caressing him rhythmically. He could hear something burning not too far away.

A voice filled his ears softly, talking to him in a hushed whisper, what do I do, do I help him, please tell me, people are coming, please, I don’t have much time.

He was tired. He was drunk. He didn’t answer. He fell asleep.

There were always fresh flowers on Tim’s grave. He hadn’t brought them.

Then came Bill.

Bill who looked at them with hungry eyes.

Bill who followed them wherever they went.

Bill who kissed their mother as if he wasn’t her son.

Bill who grabbed their ankles to have “fun” with them.

Bill whose head violently crashed on the bunk bed’s frame.

The twins screamed. The Stranger threw their older, awful half-brother on the floor with no effort whatsoever. Something in Bill’s body broke loudly.

He wasn’t dead.

The Stranger turned to them slowly, no cheeks, no brows, no nose, no mouth on his face to be seen - only dirty bone, an eye of blue and one of orange staring at them intently.

“Do you want him to be?”

His voice was made of soothing nightmares.

The twins didn’t answer, but their minds shouted.

The Stranger yanked Bill by the hair and left the room with long, slow steps as the young man cried for help.

There was a strong crack.

And the yells ceased.

Their mother’s voice came loud and clear, first furious, then scared, then desperate, calling for them. They flew out of their bed, each shoving the other away to keep him safe.

The Stranger raised his head to greet them. They didn’t see her. His presence seemed to cancel everything else.

“Do you want her to be?”

Wally thought. Willy didn’t.

He still knew.

“Turn around.”

She screamed.

They still did.

And she stopped screaming.

And they sensed something looming over them, silent and eerie and infinitely more powerful than them, and Willy panicked; his twin pushed as far away as he could, he turned to face the demon, ready to have his soul eaten alive rather than to let his brother die.

LEAVE HIM ALONE died inside his throat.

The Stranger held him quietly, lovingly, its eyes closed. Then he showed them his back and left.

They didn’t see him go through the door.

Petunia and Jericho looked after them for a while, before they could take back the reins of their lives. They feared the police would come for them, for the corpses they had left in the empty house when the fled to their half-siblings to seek their help.

The bodies were never found.

Life went on. They found a job. They met people who cared and loved for them.

Wally stopped thinking about the strange happenings of his childhood.

Willy didn’t.

Always, he felt something staring at the back of his head and saw a long figure standing, quiet, in the corner of his eye, never leaving him for even a second. And what a capricious torturer was his.

Sometimes it would be so visible it was almost painful, sometimes he couldn’t have told it from the world around him for his own sanity’s sake; sometimes its aura seemed so strongly concrete it would take over the entire room; others it was but a weak wisp of air.

Some nights he could felt its presence by his bed.

Watching.

It never made a single move.

“What do you want from me?”

The Stranger stared without answering. They were in front of Rupert’s grave. Willy was on the verge of tears.

“What do I have to pay for everything you’ve done for me?”

It couldn’t be free. Bill, his mother, the medicines, being saved, being alive - it had to have a price.

“Just - please, please, not Shawn, or Wally, or the girls, or-”

“Eska.”

Willy choked on his words. The Stranger pointed at himself.

“Eska.”

He sat down on the cemetery’s grass with the innocence of a child.

“We’re not strangers now.”

He seemed so human.

“What are you?”

“A friend.”

“A demon?”

“Don’t think.”

“An angel, then.”

“No.”

“But you looked after me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

A chill ran down Eska’s spine. As if cold palms had grabbed his arms, hungry, feverish, begging.

“We’re friends.”

And that was all the reasons he ever gave him.

When war began, he didn’t think all those he loved would die.

Jericho was killed on the battlefield. Wally disappeared. Petunia was shot. Shawn went missing.

He was alone.

Maybe not completely: for the angels that were his girls helped him through the days when he’d have to wake up facing the empty side of his bed, and whenever he went to cry on new tombs a loyal dog would follow him.

But he couldn’t help feeling like all he had, all that chained him to the best moments of his past had just gone lost.

Like he was completely, utterly, uncurably alone.

And Eska noticed.

“You want them back?”

“They can’t come back.”

Eska didn’t reply; he pat his head and went away. When he returned, he sang all the way to Willy’s door, firmly holding in his hand a human chain of souls not yet alive, but soon to be. He left them in the living room and guarded them till dawn.

When Willy came down to all those who were taken away from him, he had already gone.

The last time they saw each other, Willy laid on his bed.

Eska sat down on it, quiet as he’d always been.

“You’re dying.”

“Pretty soon, yes.”

“Today.”

“How can you know?”

“I do.”

The old man let out a tired breath.

“I’ll die too.”

“Soon?”

“With you.”

“I didn’t know guardian demons could die.”

“Only spirits don’t, I think.”

“And then? What will happen?”

“Don’t know.”

The bony creature laid on top of him. His arms curled around him in the copy of a hug given back when he was just the Stranger.

It felt cool, yet warm.

And very, very weak.

“I think we already died once.”

His voice was so low it could barely be heard.

“In a sad, lonely way.”

The clock was ticking softly.

“Are you lonely right now?”

Willy’s breath was heavy.

“No. Not at all.”

Eska felt so very real.

“I hope I won’t be lonely when I die again, too.”

Shawn kissed him on the cheek that morning. If he’d known, Willy would have waited until noon before he stopped breathing.

It started with the appearance of soft candies that kept all that wasn’t real away from him, and a soft something holding him at night when it was so cold he cried for death.

Then it brought a book, and a mask to help him feel better, and took him in its arms to read to him and make him fall asleep.

Then it began to appear in the corner of his eye, as he worked.

He’d never seen all of it. He could only feel its silky touch lead him and catch glimpses of parts of its being; the arms and legs, the skin that glowed of its own light, the curly hair vanishing in wisps of air.

“How cute!”

The first time he faced it came oon after his parents’ wedding. He stood away from celebrations, diving in the quiet around him; it started conversation, grinnning wonderfully as it looked at the small, fat fox in his arms.

“What’s his name?”

He stared deep into its dark eyes. They looked a little tired.

“Pizzocchero.”

“It’s a nice name.”

He figured he was surely a handful to protect.

“Mine’s Willy.”

“I’m Eska.”

“I know.”

“Are you an angel?”

“I wouldn’t say that, I’m just... a friend.”

“Of the Spirit of Violent Deaths?”

“No, no, I’m your friend.”

Eska was sure he’d seen him.

Before he helped him, before they left him, before even his birth, just.

Before.

He put his pet down and hugged the other, maybe a little desperately, as if doing so could shine a light on all his doubts.

Softer, darker arms held him back. He could hear him giggling against his chest. For a second he was sure he’d melt in tears.

He inhaled.

Willy smelled like lavander.

#eska (batim)#willy franks #wally franks #shawn flynn #random writing #holy shit im tired as fuck but this is finally finished #god i have so much homework to do tomorrow #get off of me school pls im begging u #also willy belongs to insane-control-room damnit i always forget to say that

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adrienzviaguine · 6 years

Text

The last lines of Rome.

Title : The last lines of Rome.

Rating : T for this chapter may change.

Genre : Drama/Romance/Urban Fantasy/Uchronie/Friendship/Mistery/Adventure.

Synopsis : It has been sixteen century since the eternal city and its western empire have fallen. Though the East had held strong, all of them had stayed where they lived. Now, the old Magical lineage of Rome has been dwindling. Lucy Julia Heartfilia dreams of finding the legendary tomb of her ancestor, Juli, son of Enee, the last prince of Troy. But finding it may prove to be the easiest part of her destiny.

A/N : Firstly, I am making no promise of making this a long story, and I probably won't include really angsty thing until later on. Secondly, this will have a happy ending. Don't like that? Don't care. I've been trough too much shit not to do this. Thirdly, I deeply apologize for every error in English, as some of you may know, I am French. Enjoy!

______________________________________________

Prologue...

A young woman, barely twenty of age, woke up in cold sweat, breathing ragged. Eyes wild. Her pupils were dilated to the point where her warm brown eyes only seemed black and lifeless.

Slowly, her breathing softened and her eyes regained their usual brightness. She looked over her right, to her clock signaling the time to be 5:40 a.m.

She sighed.

Another strange dream. Another delirious night. Still the same one that came and took her away from her friend Natsu's company. A message on her phone.

Dragon boy : You okay? Saw u get dragged again from our meadow 2nigth... You should talk 'bout it to your mom or aunt. May be able to help you.

She quickly grabbed her little magically powered apparel and typed with nimble fingers her reply. It read :

Me : Yeah I'll probably talk about it with Aunt Anna. She's really the more knowledgeable witch between her and mom, even though she is the youngest... And since I'm officially of age, they'll finally tell us why we have had dream together since forever!

She closed her phone and slipped out of bed. Her nightgown magic keeping her warm even in the cold London winter. They lived in the same spot her family had settled when they had branched out of the main Julia family around 300 B.C.

She walked into her private bathroom and did her usual morning business. A little cat wash, cream for the skin and finally a go to the restroom. There was a lot of repetitivity in her life, but she was mostly fine with it.

Unlike Natsu who lived in Alexandria Egypt, and who was always going on an adventure or another with his Father Igneel, Mother Grandine and sister Wendy, she was more sedated and enjoyed a lot more reading the thousands of thousands of books held in her ancestral home.

Natsu older than her by 10 month, since she was born the first of July 1981 and her was born the firthy-first of August 1980. Natsu also had an older brother named Zeref who was going to become the head of the Claudia Dragneel family.

As she was putting on sweatpants and a T-shirt, she recieved a new message from her oldest friend.

Dragon boy : Lucky you... Igneel is on business trip with Zeref so that he can take over the estates when he'll retire. I'll have to wait at least three weeks!

Me : Maybe not! Igneel knows it's my birthday! He'll have surely come home to explain it to you properly.

Dragon boy : *snort loudly* yeaaaah! As if my old man ever remembered birthday! The only one he never forgets is my mom and your mom! Even his brother-in-law he forget!

Me : He always remembered mine though... I recieved a little of pocket money from him each time.

Dragon boy : Lucky you Lucy.

Lucy snorted at the old joke. She had told him once that she had been named Lucy because her mother had wanted to name her after an old Roman proverb and he had made it into a running gag.

Me : Anyway I gotta go. Tell your mom and sister I said hi and don't forget to brush your teeth after breakfast!

Dragon boy : that was one time! You can't keep on using it!

Me : sure I can flamehead, bye ~!

She closed her mobile after muting it and darted toward the kitchen area where she met... Her mother, Father, Aunt and Grandma?

All of them were looking at her with both excitement, weariness and happiness.

"What's with the scary faces? She asked startled.

-Sit Lucy, Igneel will tell Natsu as we speak." Said her grandmother Agripine.

Ah... So they were gonna explain to her what was happening with her dreams with Natsu. Yeah that makes sense.

She sat gingerly, anticipation and excitement even richer in her eyes than in her family.

"You have to promise Lucy to not interrupt. Said Layla gravely. When Lucy nodded she pursued. As you know, the Julia and Claudia family, in the non magical branch, have fused to be the first dinasty of Rome since the Etruscan kings. Lucy nodded. So we have decided, that is, me and Igneel, to reunite our two family after seven century of no relation. To this effect, we placed, through a ritual, a bonding of souls on you and Natsu."

Lucy was shocked. So shocked in fact that her face was gaping and her arms dangling to her sides.

"What this ritual does is allow you to share a deep intimity when together, and dream of your own personal world. It will also allow you to communicate over long distance through your thoughts when both of you will be fully aware of the bond." Said Anna. She seemed to wait for something so Lucy nodded. Satisfied, she continued : "You need to understand that the bond cannot, will not, create love automatically between you two. The only thing it does is make it easy for the transition and create a good and fertile soil to grow a new tree on."

Lucy was shocked, but the feeling was recessing to only leave a burning anger... and hurt. She stood up suddenly, making Jude jump in surprise, whereas the three heartfilia women weren't even slightly impressed.

Lucy was preparing herself to go on a very loud and vocal tirade about them having no right to do so, but instead, fell back in her chair, put her head in her palms and gave a weary and downtrodden sigh.

"When do I leave for Alexandria? She asked defeated.

-Never dear! Exclaimed Layla, horrified by the thought only. It is Natsu that is joining our family! Not the other way around!

-Really my niece, I thought you knew that the Heartfilia were a Matriarchal line? After all, it takes a lot to make a Julia woman bend the knees and it only got more impossible with our new name.

-Anna! Be nice! Lucy was just given a life changing news, and we can be happy for the fact that Natsu is such a good man. Look at is borther! Neck deep in the dark arts! But then the Claudia always were interested in that shady business.

-And you tell me to be nice? Mother... you really haven't changed."

While her aunt and Grandma fought like always, her mother and father came to sit beside her and smiled. Well her, her father seemed quite sad, her mother too it seemed, but they still tried to comfort her. Like they always did when she was unsure.

The truth was, she often thought herself too soft. Too kind. Perhaps even naive. She was an easy crier, and a less bold character than the other members of her family. She felt weak and too anxious to make her way into the world just yet.

"Are you alright my little star-bright?" Asked Layla. Her eyes full of absolute, all-consuming love for her only daughter.

The nickname came from Lucy's favourite bedtime story when she was just a baby. The story of the lost merchant, who through the help of Aquarius the water bearer and at the demand of Leo the Lion, were able to deliver the grains needed for the bread of Rome after being lead astray by a tempest.

"Mom... Dad... I... I don't know what to say... she mumbled.

-take your time sweetheart. Said her father, Jude. Her mother hummed an old lullaby softly.

-I... Don't know if it will work but... I, thank you for giving me this bond with Natsu... I may not... like why it was. But I couldn't imagine my life without him to annoy me every night."

Your not a ray of sunshine either Lulu.

She screamed when a voice, and a feeling of boredom and sincere endearing came to her.

The fuck Lucy! It's me! Natsu!

Natsu?

Yeah!

"Are you alright Lucy? Asked Anna and Agripine at the same time.

-Aunt Anna... Natsu just talked to me. It surprised me, is all.

-it shouldn't. Anna said, frowning. Couldn't you feel his presence immediately?

-Yes, but his voice was different... Yours too Lucy now that you say it. She heard Natsu say.

-Different how? Deeper? Higher?

-No! More... Real. Kind of. It's like his previous voice was just a recorded one from my message box, and this one, is actually face to face. Anna seemed stupefied.

-Impossible... Only ever heard tales... Lucy. What you just experienced, is not thought exchange. It is soul sharing. And it means two things. One, both of you are extremely powerful. Two...

-Two? Whispered Lucy.

-Two, you are already in love.

#fairy tail #nalu #nalu fanfiction #lucy heartfilia #natsu dragneel #natsu x lucy

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alamobeers · 4 years

Text

some garbage from 2014

Winter had reached the Wilds early. The cold had crept northwards and the vivid plumage of the autumn trees had thinned out, red and yellow and orange giving way to brown and bare.

The chill snaked its way through gaps in clothing and Merrill considered wearing shoes, ones with soles this time. Perhaps furry boots, ones shemlen are fond of in the winter. The bitter sting of the cold sank into the bottoms of her feet and numbed her toes. She wiggled the big one first, then the others. Merrill worked the feeling back into her exposed feet as she propped each one up on her knee, frozen toes pointed upward.

Anders started a fire in the hearth. The sun was slipping under the horizon, painting the sky in deep orange, mauve, blue, fading into the dark. It wouldn’t be long until it disappeared, sleeping until morning.

Merrill immediately sat down in front of the fire and her hands hovered close, caressing the warmth, fingers scantly from the flame. She could play with little sparks, let them dance in her palms, off the tips of her fingers and then they’d dissipate into sprinkles of energy, unnoticeable to the unaware.

She wondered what it would be like to manipulate others’ magic. It was a subject she never touched on, preferring to focus on her own. How would it work, how it would feel, and how each others’ elemental magic felt from their own. Anders’ flame burned hotter, the color was richer. Sometimes little ribbons of bright blue rose from the center, adorning the branches of the hearth fire. Masterfully controlled. Her flame smelled more woodsy, hints of pine worked in. Was it wise to think about? Maybe. Maybe not. Curiosity can go either way, good or bad.

Anders warned that the fire had to go out sometime. “I am not about to burn down the shack due to carelessness.”

Merrill nodded. The fire had consumed one of the larger logs in the hearth, ashed over, spilling into the bottom.

Anders had to be cold. Patchy in places, his coat would not last another couple of seasons. The feathers that rested on his shoulders were now a mixture, black mixed with blue, smatterings of white. They weren’t as full as they used to be, and birds did not linger in the winter. It wasn’t enough to cover up a hole on the back of his shoulder, one that she noticed had become larger over the months. Fabric had worn thin, threadbare in places, and little holes threatened to spring up from the worn parts.

As she rubbed her hands together, Merrill could see him shiver, just a little, enough for her to offer a spot beside her. He shook his head, claiming that there were things to do before nightfall.

Merrill yanked on his arm and pulled him downwards. When he conceded and sat down beside her, she beckoned him to take off his boots. Those too were in disrepair, and surely wouldn’t last past the winter.

In seven years, not once did he think to purchase a new pair, ones that would keep feet dry or warm. Maybe when the winter faded into spring, when the birds fly back and the first hints of green start appearing and life returns from hiding, she’d convince him to forego them all together. No more dirty, ragged strips to hold the sides together to his calf.

As the fire burned down, their feet were outstretched, flames close. An old book in Merrill’s hands, a paper in Anders’.

He examined every line word for word and frowned at a particular selection. It was out of place. Unnecessary. Another line gained his disapproval. These were bombastic ideas from months ago, that like the largest creatures that might be lurking underneath the sea, should stay there. Underwater.

Or burned in that wreckage of a city.

The city that was never truly his home, more of a tomb. Just like being locked up in a tower. He shouldn’t have looked at this again.

Merrill contently read. It was a book she had already read many times over, but the words on the pages never lost their comforting impact. Dalish short stories, ones with ancient lore, adventures, and a very romantic one in the back that never failed to make her blush. Anyone could see it creep to the tips of her ears, so she would not turn to this page. Today.

Anders looked more troubled. He furrowed his brows and exhaled a sigh caught between frustration and sharp disappointment. The paper was set aside, and he debated between stuffing it away, where the light can never reach it, or to feed the fire.

Words that would only go up in smoke.

Like so many other things.

“Don’t let the fire burn out.” Merrill softly said.

Those six words were less of a suggestion and more of an encouragement to Anders. The paper, full of corrections, with scratched and blacked-out lines, letters that gradually became harsh, jagged, taller, narrower -- folded into itself. It was a mass of crinkles in his palm. Furious and driven paragraphs were kissing others with mistakes and aberrations.

The ink had dried on it almost a year ago.

It was time to let them go. Start anew.

The flames would eat every idea and keep him warm.

Out with the old, into the fire.

“I really think another log would make it warmer. But paper works too.” Merrill observed.

In with the new.

“Was that your writing? Oh, I’m so sorry. You didn’t have to let it burn to keep the fire going.”

Anders breathed in, sighing out the tightness that was there.

“I did. I’m not going to let it go dark.”

Perhaps Merrill missed something, but the sound of relief that hung on his lips couldn’t have come from the fire burning a minute or two longer, until the last embers burned out before rest. Tonight was her night to sleep on the floor, and the warmer the creaky floorboards could be, the better.

She gathered a battered pillow, a pale green blanket that was showing its age, and she wrapped herself in it. She’d rest by the hearth, cling to the last warm ashes -- and then a draft came in through the cracks in the door. There was an uncommon scent behind it, crisp and bitter and cold and yet, alluring. This was magic Merrill used when she was fresh into her talent. She created spots of flurries for the young children and loved to see the look of enchantment in their eyes. Snow. That’s something Merrill hadn’t touched in a long time.

Something Anders hadn’t touched in a long time. Those were days when he first discovered himself. Discovery led to imprisonment. Snowballs were thrown between groups of the village children, playing “war”. The adults said that was nothing to joke about. He remembered launching a fat snowball at this one kid’s face, and oh, he laughed it when it smacked him in the face and fell apart. Bits of melting snow drooled down the kid’s cheeks as he scowled. Anders thought, that’ll teach you to make fun of my hair.

If only things were so simple now, like making fun of a young boy’s long hair.

Later on he found his skill in magic, and used an extra sprinkling of frost on his snowballs for shock and surprise. He’d kept it hidden for so long.

“Do you smell it?” he asked, purposefully shaking himself out of a long-gone memory.

Merrill affirmed him with a hum and a nod. “Tonight’s going to be chilly. Have you ever seen snow? It looks so beautiful when it’s thick and fluffy. But you sink down in it, your clothes get wet!”

“I’ve seen the snow.” Anders left it at that. A couple of seconds of silence passed, and she sank further into the covers, head peeking out beneath them.

“It will be cold,” he continued. Sometimes he’d make that clump of snow so frigid that his antagonizers cried. He think he left a burn once. Guilt on the outside, revelry on the inside because that kid deserved it, too. And then he went home, had a bowl of warm mutton stew, and then he felt a chill that could have very well hit him harder than his childhood arsenal.

He smacked his disastrous path of thought with a firm don’t go back there and he righted himself.

“You shouldn’t sleep on the floor. If you lay there freezing for too long, you’ll catch sick.”

Merrill cocked her head. “I’ve seen the way you sleep, lethallin. You toss and turn and toss and once when you were sleeping on the floor I thought you were a wild animal that had gotten in. I do believe I almost hit you, but I’m glad I didn’t. That would have been bad.”

“I’ll thrash towards the wall. If I wake you up, nudge me. I’ll be able to fully fall asleep, don’t worry.”

Or he’d stare at the ceiling until dawn broke. Against the wall, the draft wouldn’t come in and amplify his nightmares. Anders tolerated the cold a lot more on the outside, when on the inside it touched every nerve. He could have sworn he felt an ache in one of his finger joints, probably as a result of popping his knuckles one or fifteen times too many.

No, tonight was going to be fine because he was going to be up against the wall and he’d be warm with the covers tucked in. If he got a good night’s rest, it would be the first in a few days.

“You look tired.”

Thanks for pointing out the obvious.

The last flickers of light burned through and dimmed in the hearth and Merrill shooed the tall mage to bed.

“Staying awake for too long makes you sick too, you know.”

Anders returned a sleepy, vacant look and he was fading fast. She didn’t know how long he was up, but the last two mornings he made breakfast and normally he thrived only when the moon and stars shined. He shirked his overcoat, draped it over the headboard, and squirmed into the blanket. He pulled the covers up past his shoulders, long hair trailing out when he lazily flipped it away from his face. When Merrill tried to speak to him again, he was unconscious.

She was going to remind him that sometimes she kicks in her sleep.

With her extra blanket, it just might be warm. When she laid back-to-back with Anders, she was assured of this. The blanket slowly became twisted between her hands and her arms and the further from consciousness she traveled, the more she’d pull. Merrill cocooned herself in the covers and Anders, in his sleep, fought to keep part of them around his own shoulders.

The elf cooed in her sleep, made babbly, bubbly noises that translated to something understandable in the realm of dreams. The sounds that Anders made became more strained and the sounds of rumpled covers intermingled with his tossing about from one side onto his back and back over.

This time, he heard the same whispers that normally pass through in his dreams. Hisses of doubt, regret, failure. His surroundings were a wasteland of blight, and the stench clung to the simple roofs and down the walls and through the doors. It was void of life, from the trees to the people -- they were all gone.

What are you going to do now, child? a voice cackled, shrill and wicked. Aaaaaaall gone, it mocked in song-song tone and the towering beast behind the voice seemed to draw on the mage’s fear. The creature hissed and stepped from shadow, revealing five heads. They took shape with familiar features and each one roared a litany of insults and slander.

Anders then felt a sharp pain in his lower back, and his vision blurred. The monster went quiet and he was staring at the wall with Merrill’s feet digging into his back. He sighed a half-breath of relief, turned over, and nudged her awake.

Merrill’s eyes were half-open and she whispered thick with the fog of sleep, “Oh? The sun...” she paused as she deeply yawned, “isn’t out yet.” She sunk her head further into the pillow.

“You didn’t need to kick so hard.”

“Oh, I meant to tell you but you fell asleep. I didn’t mean to.”

Merrill nestled her pillow closer to her face, one arm under it for leverage. Moments of quiet passed, her eyes closed and the last thing she heard before she went under was a calm thank you from her companion.

For the first time in Anders’ life, he was grateful to be kicked awake.

The monster did not rear its head again. To Anders, a solid night’s sleep without being plagued by nightmares was a dream.

And tonight he dreamed.

Anders turned over on his side in his sleep, no longer facing the wall with its scattered cracks and fault lines. The ones that he counted many times over in fits of frequent insomnia or after such a nightmare, clammy and startled awake. One. Five. Thirteen. Twenty-two in all, from the long one that ran from the ceiling to just barely touching the top of Merrill’s head to the one with many branches on the opposite wall. Six branches, and Anders didn’t have to count them once.

He murmured gentle, unintelligible words as he wriggled against Merrill’s back, wrapping his free arm around her side, drawing her close. She babbled as his hand rested on her midsection. Cozy under the covers, Anders’ fingers smoothed over her tunic. Her lips turned upwards and she squirmed before her head fell in the crook of his neck.

The two mages were lost in dreams, and while frost and flakes collected on the windows, they shared the same feeling.

Warm.

Merrill blinked her eyes open, first laying them upon the snowy sight past the window. The inviting light of the sun reflected off the wintery fluff, bathing the cabin in a glow. A lone bird chirped outside, but with the snow clinging to the trees, where would it perch? She saw a flutter of bright red wings as it flew in and then out of sight. The bird would likely be hungry, and she noted to throw it some crumbs later once she got out of bed.

She dipped a foot outside the covers and immediately retracted it. Creators, but it was cold! It met Anders’ partially uncovered leg when she swung it back. Sleeping next to Anders was like taking a nap on a summer afternoon. The sun at her back, stomach on the firm ground, fingers combing through strands of grass. Hand on her pillow, sun toasting her back, and...

Oh.

Merrill lifted the covers a pinch and peeked under it. What she felt were two hands on her waist, tunic rumpled underneath his long, slender fingers. Anders, ever the fitful sleeper, slumbered like stone. Fingertips gently pressed into her covered flesh. His knees rested against the back of her own, her bare foot brushing against his fuzzy leg.

She felt warmness spread from her flushed cheeks outward, and she let go.

“Poor dear,” she soothingly whispered, moving her hand from the pillow to her waist. Delicate fingers brushed against his own, lingering before she pried his fingers from her, one by one.

Merrill considered staying. The battered mattress, flattened by age and wear, could have been a ball of fluff for how she slept. She’d always prefer the bed over the floor, where she rested on the bedroll every other night. There was a lump in the middle of the mattress that prodded at her back unless she slept on the edge, and Anders often complained of it poking at his side. It must have been caught between her and her slumbering companion, smoothed out by their combined weight and mass.

Yes. That’s the word, isn’t it Merrill?

Companion.

She gently rested his right arm on the mattress in a similar position before forcing herself to step out of bed. A squeak through chattering teeth clouded the air in front of her mouth, and she quickly shuffled to the hearth to start a fire.

When the first sparks of a fire rose from her fingertips, questions sparked too.

If the lost bird outside could peck and nibble at them like little seeds, she’d throw them out in the snow bit by bit. A small, hungry creature could eat the questions that popped up from underneath like worms after a downpour. It would be better than the questions eating at her.

She sat cross-legged with her back towards the hearth, dividing her attention between admiring the snow-covered branches outside and where she lay minutes before. Maybe her spot would still be warm. She could crawl back in, huddle close, perhaps let her fingertips trace the ones that were pressed to her.

Merrill forced herself to get up and gathered food to feed the birds.

She opened the door and when her toes touched the first flakes of snow on the ground, she yelped and tossed the crumbs in one haphazard motion as she flinched back. Perhaps if she went back into the cabin and sat by the fire again, the birds wouldn’t be afraid of her tossing it all suddenly.

This time, she sat with her feet towards the fire, facing the flickers and flames crawling up the hearth.

___

There was a dream, wasn’t there?

Miniscule flashes of half-second motions, scenery and a few fleeting words swam in Anders’ semi-consciousness as he slowly arose to face a new day. His fingers grazed the mattress as he noticed his arm was outstretched, him in a position he did not normally lie in. Bare feet slowly dragged up the mattress and his fingers moved across a swath of warmth within an indent that belonged to his bedmate.

It was the best he’d slept in a long time.

He nuzzled his pillow, capturing the last bit of warmth before lifting himself up. There was a chill that hung in the air, the slightest of drafts coming in through those little cracks, and rather than putting on his ragged overcoat, Anders wrapped the blanket around his shoulders.

The tail of it hit the back of his thighs as he slowly made his way to the hearth. A wonderful smell lingered in the air. Something was different and sweet in the morning porridge this time. The distinct taste of his was burnt, owed to little experience of cooking on his own. Anders’ stomach growled, and he unwrapped himself long enough to wipe the last remnants of sleep from his eyes.

Hard at work, Merrill spooned two large helpings from the pot.

“Oh, did you sleep okay? I decided to let you sleep because you weren’t thrashing around like you usually do.”

Anders had a mouth full of porridge and could not respond.

“Well, you know. You make a lot of sounds, you flail around a lot... I thought for certain I was going to be hit in my sleep! Well, except for that one time. And I hit you.” Merrill trailed off with a nervous, barely audible laugh.

“No, no. It’s fine.” Anders let the spoon rest in the bowl and he looked up from it with a smile, the faint lines around his eyes crinkling. “I... slept well.”

He was in a place where no demon could tread. That place was outdoors, far away from the places he had been accustomed to, places of evasion. This outdoors lacked marsh, mud, the pervasive smell of dog or death, and instead freedom carried on its wind. The sun on Anders’ bare skin was warm and pleasant, and he wiggled his toes, sand between them.

Anders looked down at his feet, bare as in the dream. Instead of embracing the warmth of the sun, he embraced the blanket, shifting it from his upper half to his lower.

Merrill motioned towards the hearth as she noticed the chill nipping at him, and once sitting by the fire, he cast the blanket aside and perched the bowl between his torso and his thighs. Whether still in a haze from sleep was questionable, but he cast his mind back to where he was hours before.

Through the sand, through the salty and refreshing breeze was the ocean, larger than he could have ever imagined. Nothing else lay on the horizon, maybe a ship in the distance if he squinted right. Anders walked to the edge and let the rolling tide lap at his feet. The water was clear and cool and the sun reflected off of its surface, creating ripples of light.

A strange bird with a long neck and shimmery black feathers plucked a small fish out of the water and flew across his field of vision. For the little time he had been around the water, he associated it with frantic escape, be it slipping out of the tower or through busy ports with the discordant sounds of drunken sailors and ships unloading cargo. This escape, this time, there was nothing at his back.

Anders waded further into the ocean and heard a giggle in the distance, becoming more audible in the span of a simple, short movement of stepping forward.

And then he fell face-first into the water.

“Shit!”

The bowl of porridge landed on his tunic and it dribbled down the side of it. Immediately he shirked his tunic and rummaged through a chest to pull out another one.

As he bent over, Merrill noticed marks on Anders’ back that were similar to the backs of seasoned hunters in her clan; scars here and there, scrapes from attacks, mostly from beast, some from man. There was one she could not ignore however, and it was the long, broad one situated to the left of his spine. He mentioned the circumstances, but would not go further into it. She didn’t realize the scope of how bad his escape from the Wardens was, and how a mortal being could survive an infliction so deep could not have been possible without his unique set of skills.

Anders grunted as he pulled on his spare tunic. “It’s kind of tight.”

The dark grey tunic he had come to favor over the years in Kirkwall bore those same years of wear -- tatters on the sleeves, ink spills on the cuffs, and patches of loose weave where his overcoat rubbed the most. It was also too small now, nipping in around his waist and under his arms.

Merrill heard the same profanity after she heard fabric ripping. Anders sighed deeply, and then threw on his overcoat. It was like nothing happened after he spooned himself another bowl. “Still hungry.”

Anders eating was a good thing, despite the jagged rip in the pit of his shirt. If she could touch his ribs, she wouldn’t feel as many places where they would stick out.

His appetite had increased over the months, filling out the hollows in his cheeks, his ribs, hips --

If Merrill had a cellar, she would have stuffed that thought in it.

In many clans, such as hers, one had to prove themselves to another. Dalliances were frowned on, but certainly not forbidden. In all clans, da’len were taught from the time they’ve taken their first steps and said their first words to respect and revere their heritage. Children come into age, begin to manifest their talents, and slide into their role within the clan. Some inherit a whole new one.

Some see their destiny as great. There is always something to prove, be it archer with bow or a master craftsman with his work or even bound for something greater. However, some aim for the stars only to land in the mud.

Everyone still has something to prove, including her. Including him.

Merrill saw the bird’s bright red plumage stick out amongst the snow, and it drew her back to things that were tangible.

__________________________

“There he is!” Merrill chirped, pointing at the creature that has garnered so much attention in the bare, leafless tree.

Anders took a look upwards. Perched contently, the bird probably didn’t feel out-of-place and lonely. It responded in kind to Merrill’s sounds of bird mimicry, releasing three cheerful chirps. Then another bird joined the bright bird, smaller and auburn-colored. She perched beside him and snow fell off the weak, dead branches.

“Aw!” Merrill cooed. “I think they’re mates!”

She cleared a small spot of land using fire magic, and the birds flew off. She momentarily frowned before they circled back around, and she threw a handful of crumbs and seed onto the muddy ground.

Strange, that a temperate bird such as the fiery red cardinal and his mate would be this far south when winter broke free from the skies. Mating season was nowhere near; when the trees start blossoming, love does as well. Did birds fall in love, as humans and elves do? Perhaps they walked another path.

No, they flew another path. Merrill giggled softly into her cupped hands, and stopped abruptly in the middle. The birds had soon had their fill, and they chirped as gratefully as a bird could and flew northward.

“Maybe they were just late.” Anders observed. Something caught his eye on the ground. Two bright red feathers rested underneath the tree. He plucked them from the snow and put them in the inner pocket in his coat, patting it. Anders’ feathers were molting. A collection steadily grew over the months in the vanity drawer with feathers of many colors. Black had been replaced with blue, white, grey, brown and now red.

In time, enough for a new coat.

“Maybe they’re right at home.” Merrill looked towards the sky. They disappeared from sight, but she felt like they would return sometime. This was their home as much as theirs.

Was this a home? It started to feel like one. She looked up at Anders. Was that?

Anders was smiling.

“Of all the things... you have me bird-watching now. There’s a certain... peacefulness about it.”

Merrill blew into her hands again.

“You know, you can use magic for that.”

“I know.” Merrill answered with a smile, one reserved for pleasant daydreaming. Moments rolled by with a comfortable silence.

Then she reached up and touched his face with the back of her hand.

Anders flinched back. “Merrill! Your hands feel like death!”

Merrill shot him a playful grin. With Anders distracted, she shaped a snowball in her bare hands and threw it into his chest, running on contact.

“You can use magic for that too!” he said, giving chase.

Merrill counted on her lean athleticism, ducking and evading volleys of snowballs. Not a single shot landed. Once again, she disappeared from view. He looked left, then right, then down. Merrill could hide in tight places sometimes.

“Anders!”

There was one direction he didn’t look. Before she came into view, a snowball smacked him in the shoulder.

“Too slow!” she yelled from atop a tree branch.

In a flash, she was gone.

It was on.

These skills were rusty, unemployed for quite some time. They gathered dust, but there was no time like now to brush them off. He became eerily quiet with his back to the tree. Listening intently to the little sounds around him -- twigs falling, rustling, even the direction of the wind, he pinpointed the elf.

He made as little sound as possible, and slowly shuffled through the snow as he scooped up a large ball in his right hand.

With one quick motion, he released it into the back of Merrill’s head.

“Ow!” Merrill exclaimed. “Well, I mean, that didn’t hurt or anything.” She shook the lingering snow from her hair. “It’s sure cold though.”

Anders let out an amused, monosyllabic chuckle and stood proud, hands on his hips. “Got you.”

A handful of snow was playfully shoved into his chest. “Oh, I don’t... I don’t think so yet.” She rubbed the tip of one of her ears, red from the biting chill, and ran.

She didn’t get far. One, two, three snowballs launched at her back, landing in quick succession.

“Hey!” Merrill shouted, whipping around. Anders expected her to object. Instead, craftily obscured from his view was a snowball. It hit the front of his chest and crumbled, scattering snowy bits that clung to his face.

“Truce?” He laughed again, hand outstretched in concession.

Her hand met his to shake on it. Clasped around hers, his hand was warm and soft, with no evidence of having picked up a single flake of snow. One shake, two seconds, and Merrill thought, just maybe, that was three seconds. Suddenly, his hand shot back toward his side.

“Um. Merrill. Your hands really are frigid.”

Her expression neutralized. The full sensation of cold didn’t set in until Anders pointed it out. She shivered, and ran her fingers up and down the length of her upper arms.

“Let’s get a fire going. I should brush up on my techniques, after all.” A nervous laughed followed, and Merrill looked over it. Instead, she attuned to the sensation in her cheeks. The cold must have nipped at Anders’, too.

_________________________________________________________

The next thing he remembered, he was lying on his back on the beach with the sound of gently rolling waves in the distance. With eyes closed, he dug his toes into the sand. A seabird made a shrill, distinctive call in a high pitch, and the voice next to him waved it off, citing necessity for her food. A whoosh flew by his head followed by the sound of something soft making contact with the ground.

“There. That ought to take care of him. Well, at least for a bit. I made sure to throw it far.”

Then the sound of a body settling into the sand, within arm’s reach.

Rays of sunshine hit his face. Accustomed to the darkness, it was a bit of a shock to see vibrant colors and feel the radiating warmth on his skin. Even with his eyes shut, there was less shadow than in the belly of the Undercity. Broad daylight would mean he was open to the elements, open to capture.

Not this time.

A hand reached out to meet his, beckoning him to rise to his feet. He opened his eyes and it took a moment to adjust to the light. Blurs of orange and yellow mixed with the natural color of the environment, initially harsh and blinding. His free hand shaded his eyes and his surroundings came into focus.

His feet picked up pace with the body in front of him, small and lithe. Adjoined at the hand, he then kept it until the sand under his feet became moist and water hit his ankles. A splash of water hit his face, and then he heard a small giggle.

“Fight back!” the playful voice chimed in, and he wiped the water from his eyes.

He knew that voice.

He absolutely knew that voice.

Anders felt the surroundings around him, intangible, unthreatening. Convinced this was an actual dream and not the machinations of a demon, he could let go, or break it and wake up.

He decided to let go, and fought back with a splash in return.

Today, those hands were tangible. This was not a dream, he was pretty sure he was awake. Anders zapped himself to make sure.

Yes, he was awake, more than he has ever been.

He flinched and shook the hand that received the minute jolt.

“Oh, I hate it when I do that. It happens sometimes, I do it when I daydream.” Merrill quipped, and Anders wondered if he gave himself away completely with one gesture. He went still, then blank, fighting the urge to give away himself further.

When she did not comment on it, his breathing relaxed and he grabbed his journal, where he began to write frantically.

Merrill shrugged her shoulders and returned to the world of a book, falling into the pages. On the other side of the page she was on was the last story in the book. She hesitated, reading the page thrice over. Her finger twitched at the back of it, rubbing the coarse paper over it. It was then shut with a slip of parchment sticking out.

One by one, the flickers of light were blown out and the hearth fire extinguished for the night. Anders’ candle on the desk was singled out, a glow half-concealed by a wall from where she lay. The book lay at her side, and by the way he was writing, he wouldn’t be in for a while. That is, if he decided to share the bed again.

She threw the covers over her head, summoned a glow wisp, and opened the book to the last story. Her world was lit in a soft pink and she concentrated on the words in front of her in secret, hidden under warm layers. They fell into paragraphs and distinct ideas, each painting a picture of a steamy romance between a headstrong Keeper and a shy hunter. Crawling up her face was a genuine blush, red and tingly and she praised the Creators that she camped under the blanket.

With each page, Merrill blinked more, fighting off both sleep and her own thoughts, drifting towards danger. She shimmied up and rested her head on the pillow, and each blink became longer than the last. Anders was still hard at work, with the sounds of a quill scratching on parchment. Merrill allowed the sound to lull her to sleep, with remnants of hands on hips, sweet sensuality from the Keeper whispered to her lover, and invading translations from print to the real world.

_______________

Anders fought with quill in hand, using the art of writing to convey the jumble and conflict within himself. Discouraged by past endeavors, he hesitated, with entire lines scratched out, partly out of frustration. Those endeavors went up in smoke, he reminded himself, and started anew. He crumpled the parchment up and threw it behind him. It landed shy of the hearth, and no doubt it would be tomorrow’s kindling.

He tapped the feathery plumage of the quill on his nose as he was dissecting and deciphering and deliberating his inner thoughts and how they would flow. What he had wrote before were manifestos, treatises, documents that weren’t valued. Painstaking hours went into them, only to be thought of as a joke. Trampled by passersby, ridiculed by those around him, pages cast into campfires and hearths without regard. He growled, and each tap became more forceful.

What he had picked up from his time spent here was the power of storytelling. It didn’t have to be falsified, like many of Varric’s accounts were. In the right hands, a story can be remembered for many ages, millenia even. Merrill demonstrated that with each story she told. It was to be her role, after all.

He peeked at the slumbering Dalish elf, a traveling companion and friend. There was something that felt out-of-place about those words, like they didn’t sit on the tongue or could be transcribed into print quite right. She turned over and groaned, kicking her legs a couple of times before resting deep within the covers. Anders returned to his task with vigor, brimming with ideas.

They were not frivolous and throwaway, and he contemplated each word before he let ink glide across the paper in deliberate, measured strokes. A story was to be told, and he started from where inspiration led him to.

Before long, empty pages became full and brimming with barely-contained ideas. He felt sleep tug at his eyes, and Anders decided to call it quits.

For now.

He shoved the draft face-down in the drawer and killed the candle fire.

Anders folded his hands in front of his abdomen and his attention drifted inward as he propped his feet on the desk, with only one hand in the present.

The other was in the future, uncertain but promising.

He could have fallen asleep with imagination taking the reins if it wasn’t for a piece of the backboard cutting into his back. Casting it off, he vigorously shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. Making as little sound as possible, he nudged the chair back into place and shuffled to the end of the bed. Time crawled slowly as he sat there, staring at the little cracks in the ceiling. One. Two.

No, he didn’t have to count them tonight. There were other things that he could count. The slow rise and fall of his eyelids, with a haze behind them that beckoned him to seek warmth within the sheets. Thoughts he couldn’t quite shake. Occasionally Merrill would shift and he felt the covers rumple underneath him, a stray foot nudging his bottom.

There were decisions to make, and the cabin soaked in more of the outside chill as the minutes passed. Merrill felt it and she said it would be another harsh winter night. Through the window, he saw the fall of snow resume.

One option was crossed off when Anders slipped under the covers, next to his... friend still wasn’t the word for it.

Companion?

Closer, but it still didn’t quite fit.

He fumbled for the words as he fumbled with the adjustment of his clothes.

A source of comfort?

Anders pressed his face into Merrill’s shoulder, and she squirmed, scooting against his body. He contently sighed, and sleep claimed him as he let his fingers gently fall on her side.

He’d find out the word sooner or later.

___________________________________

On most days, especially in these cooler months, the cabin took on the scent of pinewood and various burned manuscripts from Anders’ collection, these times at his own behest. This morning, the odor of charred food clung to the air.

“Shit!”

A spoon clattered to the floor, and he let out a series of profanity underneath his breath. He kicked it, and it landed underneath the short table. He crawled on the floor to retrieve it, and as he was getting up, he whacked the top of his head on the hard wood.

“Fuck!” he yelled frustratedly.

“I think you need some help there.”

Merrill stood above him, all five feet and a scant couple of inches, with her arm extended and palm out, ready to help him off the floor.

“I don’t need...” he growled before his face softened and his rage dissipated into the wafts of lingering smoke, blowing it out through the corner of his mouth. “...Thank you.” he sheepishly replied as he took her hand.

It was the one that clung to his tunic when the sun crested. Minutes passed as he lay there, allowing himself flesh-and-blood contact. It was something he missed dearly, being held, feeling...

He rattled the concept in his head, struggling to come up with the correct words to describe it.

Secure? No, that was a label he had never owned. Safe? Maybe that was it.

Loved.

Taken aback, he froze in place and the gaps between blinks shortened.

“...Is something wrong?” she asked, concerned, as she quickly pulled her hand away.

“No, not at all.” Anders replied with a lie.

He suddenly had a lot to take in.

___

The warmth receded as she pulled back, a twinge of a dismayed frown trying to tug at her lips. She pulled for distractions -- she could feed the birds once more. No, there were none out today. They had moved on, and so should she.

“Well, you know, it does smell awful in here.” Merrill nervously laughed.

“You don’t need to point out the obvious.” Anders retorted, irritation in the fine lines of his face.

Without hesitation, Merrill wove a spell that dissipated the air in the room, cleansing it of the smoke.

“Oh no. No, I didn’t mean it like that. I messed it up, didn’t I?”

Her hands wanted to move over her mouth, her fingers were twitching, but the motions never came. Instead, they held her other hand, thumb coarsely rubbing over her index finger.

“No, I meant I could teach you. You know, not to mess it up as much? I’m hoping I’m not getting this wrong again.”

What she expected was an emotional flare-up. But all she received was the barest hint of a smile. For that, she was grateful.

“I...” and he sat on that syllable for what seemed like minutes, and she collected her next words, carefully and tactfully. “I think I could use the lesson.”

Merrill took the spoon from Anders’ hand and opened the door, sticking it into the snow.

“Merrill! What are you...”

She then blasted fire on it. “It was on the floor, Anders. It’s dirty.”

Anders looked bewildered. “Huh. Magic serving man.”

“Magic does the dishes, too. Sometimes.” Merrill smiled, a clean spoon now in her grasp. “All it takes is practice, once you know.” She repeated the process for the scorched pot, and set things anew.

He scooped the oats into the pot and she carefully eyed the amount. She opened the door to the outside again, and he shivered, moving towards the fire. With two large cups of snow in hand, she then melted them, strained the water, and poured it in the pot.

“It helps having the right amount. Have you ever eaten something really mushy and it doesn’t sit right in your mouth? That’s because there’s too much water there.”

Anders chuckled. “That’s what the food at the Circle tasted like!”

“Did... oh no, I shouldn’t mention that.”

“Mention what? About how templars can’t cook?”

Merrill giggled. “Did they grab for the sugar or the salt? That’s important, too. Was your porridge really salty, too?”

“Ha! They might as well have had a templar cook!” Anders replied as he dumped the oats into the pot. “Probably cooked with their helmets on, probably couldn’t see a cookbook, tasting things was out of the question. The smell from the Circle kitchen was enough to knock over a full-sized dragon.”

Merrill scooted behind him and gestured for him to sit. Anders looked perplexed but took a seat, and the petite elf started moving her fingers through his hair, manipulating it to her will. He hummed contently as strands of golden hair were woven quickly into a single braid, barely touching his shoulders.

“It’s always good to do that. Tie your hair back, I mean. At least for me, hair in your food is not a nice surprise.” She tapped her fingers on the opposite hand’s fingerpads, a silent rhythm of nervousness.

Anders, with spoon in hand, stirred the mixture occasionally with Merrill’s prompting. He blew at a flyaway strand, then tucked it in. A few moments later, it wriggled its way out. Like him, it never wanted to be tamed, held in place or trapped. Years ago, young and careless, he would have considered this punishment, another trap. Yet, this was a place where he felt free. Lost in a daydream, imaginations running wild and far away into new and undiscovered recesses, he stared blankly into an unseen spot.

Merrill tapped her foot, not out of impatience but out of... well, maybe impatience. Just a bit. Anders was awfully quiet, staring into the miniscule sprinkles of dust that swam in the daylight from the window. They moved in tandem, it seemed, traveling upward with the air. They scattered and swirled when she drew out a long breath. When they lost their pattern, she let herself fall away with them.

It was only with the first signs of something wrong did she flinch.

“Anders, I think...” and she hesitated, then grabbed the hand that held the spoon, “I think it’s starting to burn. Just a little bit.”

Anders quickly stirred it, muttering a profanity or two as he slipped back in to reality. Merrill worked at the fire, tempering its heat.

“If the fire’s too hot, it burns. But like this, it’s perfect.” She smiled at him, took the spoon from his hand and laid it down. For a moment there, she swore he looped his pinky finger into one of hers as his expression eased. “Leave it there for a few minutes. You’ll see what happens.”

Those minutes were spent at each others’ side, barely a word between them but there was something unspoken that felt like a rich and complicated conversation. Fingers brushed against hands, each wondering if what they sensed through touch was a mistake.

Merrill admired his slender fingers as they wrapped around the handle of the spoon and the upward curve of his lips as he lifted the lid off the pot. Perfectly cooked oats rested in the pot, with no burns, blemishes, or glue-like porridge sticking to the sides.

“See? You did great!” Merrill encouraged, then slipped into a ramble. “But, there’s one more step, if you want it to taste really wonderful. I know I do, although I’m not sure if you’d like the things I top it with and I’m just not sure you’re used to it and --”

“Merrill. I’m looking forward to it, it smells delicious.”

“Oh, you did it all, not me.” If he didn’t have his back turned towards her, he might have seen the flush crawl up her neck, in her cheeks, all the way to the tips of her ears. One breath in, a long one out, and she willed away physical telltales with a few quick and shallow shakes of her head. She reached for a jar and dipped in a smaller spoon, and she motioned for Anders to pass her a bowl. Drizzling the sticky, gooey substance onto hers, she then moved to his.

“Honey, but only a little though, it’s not good when it’s too sweet. Oh! What’s good about it is that it keeps a very long time, so you don’t have to worry about it going bad. Sometimes it’s hard to get, because not many people want to work with bees and get stung, but once you get it...”

“I... is this the stuff that you put into your tea?” Anders asked.

Oh no. What if he thought that was bad? “Well, honey can be used for many things...”

Anders cut her off. “If it is, put more of it on mine. I like my things a bit sweet.”

“And since you have honey, you really don’t need sugar. I like berries on mine too, it works really nice with it.” Merrill said, punctuating it with a lifted, cheerful note and a smile. She partially mashed the berries in the bowl before she suddenly stopped and passed the bowl to Anders. “I should be showing you how to do this, not doing it myself. Although I already did most of it.”

“I’m sure I can figure it out next time.” Anders said, as he spooned a bit of mash and juice into his bowl. Without hesitation, he sampled his... hers... their handiwork.

And it was delicious.

“Incredible.” He looked up at her with a smile, devouring the contents of his bowl in a flash. Seeking seconds, he made himself another. With a jovial laugh, one that hadn’t escaped his lips in what felt like years and years, he sat down at the table. “This skill is very dangerous, Merrill. In the wrong hands...”

He suddenly had hers in his with a blink of his eyes. With a swelling of pride, she looked into those attentive and contented brown eyes and firmly held his hands.

“You know me.” Merrill nervously giggled, “I always took interest in the dangerous things.”

She leaned in and laid the gentlest of kisses to Anders’ pressed lips. A flyaway strand caressed the top of her forehead as she pulled away, and when those eyes turned to wide-eyed surprise, she felt like crumbling away.

Apologies were rapidly fired without discernible gaps between words. Seconds passed like days as she tried to explain her mistake, her folly, that this was just a gesture of happiness, a gesture of what she knew what felt like what could be more but no, it could never happen, how could she ever think it could ever happen. She exhaled deeply, trying to fight the seeping discouragement that tinged her voice.

“Anders, I’m sorry.”

Ever so close to reciprocating, Anders hesitated. She had changed her mind, after all, likely a good decision on her part. He sighed, a huff of air without a trace of emotion, or at least he hoped it didn’t carry the tune of a letdown. Keeping composure, he squeezed one hand, then let go.

“It’s okay, Merrill.”

When he accepted, it felt like a lie beating him at the base of his skull. Anders quieted, and a sudden chill took the warmth out of the room. Even though the fire was roaring, it might as well have been an illusion. If he put his hand to the window and touched the glass with the back of his hand, the grip of cold would have been the same.

Merrill huddled by the fire, with no more words between the two. She could have run out of the cabin and taken cover amongst the thick cover of trees to hide her shame. If she had wings, she’d take flight and fly away just like yesterday’s birds, for they had no business here. She had no business doing that, encroaching on his personal space, something he tended to value. Instead, she sat there, trying to capture what little warmth the fire held.

She berated herself extensively; how could she have been that foolish? This was just one more mistake to add to her extensive tally, and she had lost count of how many marks would delineate every one of her mishaps. There were permanent tallies she would tote with her for the rest of her life, hopefully fading as the years went on. Others, she would carry the burden of until the day the world decided it was time, thicker and darker marks but less advertised. This was only a scratch in the scheme of things, but no one said that a scratch couldn’t hurt.

Perhaps he’d still be okay with being friends. There was nothing harmful about wanting to have a friend around, was there? Over the months, they had grown close, closer than she ever thought would ever be possible. Anders was difficult to know, with an intricate personality that made more sense the more she unraveled him. Determined, fierce and caring, three qualities that would stand out when... no, she had to set that aside. They were wonderful traits of a friend too.

Anders broke the silence. “Merrill, I’m not mad at you.” He exhaled, dodging the rush of emotions and internal debate thrumming in his head. “I just... just bear with me.”

He didn’t think he could love again, he almost didn’t want to, for it always seemed to begin and end as a disaster, a mistake from the very start. The last, he never wanted to recall again. He severed the memories of Hawke one by one until only a name and a sequence of events were left behind. Years of poor choices left marks, once tallied on the side of a prison wall and now in the thoughts and hands of himself and in the minds of everyone else. Merrill and him had those things in common, to try and try and try only to find desperation staring back at them, offering a way in or the exit out.

When he made his peace, or thought he had, the copy of his manifesto that he personally handed to her still rested on her table, folded neatly in two. It had been read, judging by the smears on the sides left by damp fingers. Not a single nasty criticism had been written in the spaces between lines, no crude doodles had been drawn on it, and no flames had licked and devoured the sheet of paper. It was the most respect he had ever been given for it. Normally oblivious to details, Anders then saw Merrill in a new light since the defensive slaughter of her clan. Despondent, alone, and very much sober, Merrill might have picked up on what his future held.

When the ashes fell, she gave him nothing but support and strength.

More than he deserved.

In the Wilds, they found much more than a respite from being hunted, chased and shamed. While Merrill found healing spells difficult to master much less maintain, there was one thing that she could patch up quicker than he ever could. Those mistakes, holes in a blanket, puncture wounds to the gut -- Merrill helped him come to terms with a few of them, firmly and amicably. He saw the resolve in her, all those years ago, balked at it, considered her dangerous.

But so was he.

He sat down at his desk and rapidly wrote once more with intense focus, not pausing or hesitating a single time.

He wasn’t about to let it slip away.

____

Merrill sought a distraction. Many distractions. Bundled up in her tattered and worn winter coat, she shuffled in and out of the cabin. Firewood needed to be brought in.

Tiny armfuls were placed by the hearth, one by one. With each gathering, she lingered by the pile. The cold air made her nose chilly, and the tips of her ears even more so. A stinging sensation was packaged with the cold, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. The longer she stood there, the more acclimated to it she became, and she treasured the snow crunching beneath her feet and the solitude.

She didn’t know what Anders meant. Numerous things touched her mind, and each one set her nerves aflame. Perhaps if she stayed outside longer, the sting and numbness could take her mind away from them.

Faced towards the wind, she let it smack her. Soon the chill couldn’t take all those thoughts away. She scooped up snow and balled it up in her hands, then launched it at a tree, making contact with the center. Out flew a bird with bright red feathers, a familiar bird.

Their bird.

A small detail like a bird would probably skip the attention of many. Birds were in trees everywhere, unless the land was diseased and nature receded into nothing. The earth beneath her feet, while slumbering, was very much alive.

The bird chirped, signaling that hope was on the wing. In even the toughest times, the harshest of weather, it could persevere and even thrive. Merrill took a deep breath and marveled at the water vapor fogging the air as she exhaled. She smiled, and some of the more prickly thoughts faded as surely as the vapor did.

Bending down, Merrill retrieved an object of interest on the ground. After cleaning it with a touch of snow, she slipped it in her hair. She was on the cleared path back to the cabin, back to a place she could consider home. The glow in the window became closer with each step, and her nerves flared up once more.

It wasn’t a mistake, was it?

She took the feather out and played with it in her hands, rubbing the edge back and forth with her thumb. The human tongue was a curious one, with words that had double and triple meanings. Anders was certainly fond of them, and had to explain things a few times -- sometimes crabbily, sometimes softly.

Bear with me.

Oh.

This was a plea for patience.

The stars begun to shine through the veil of dusk. Oranges and pinks grazed the horizon, and the sunshine gave way to the moon. Clouds blended bright with dark, and Merrill stared in wonder of the sky. Soon the only things that lit the way were a partially-obscured moon and the beacon of the cabin, and she caught her breath.

Merrill wasn’t afraid of the dark. Well, maybe sometimes. She could always light the way herself somehow, through mana or perseverance, sometimes both. There were other matters that were more frightening than shadow, and one of those lay in the obscurity of the heart. That wasn’t something a wisp could cast light on, nor the sun to shine through.

Treading carefully is probably wise when you can barely see the way. But if you never move, you’ll never finish your journey.

Exhaling slowly, she spilled silent gratitude for the wisdom she sought.

_________________

Snow fell for the third straight night. Anders sat by the hearth with his lanky legs outstretched, looking out the window. Light from the moon reflected off the thick blanket of snow and through the cover of the clouds, creating an illusion of dawn.

A cup rested in an ink-stained hand, steam rising from the top.

Merrill brewed a fantastic tea, with a special ingredient he added to his mug. Three of these he downed in succession, with his ideas flowing more freely with each sip he took. Tingles and warmth touched his cheeks, and if the ingredients in the mug weren’t the cause, he’d say he’d been charmed.

There was an underlying element that bit at him, but as the contents disappeared, so did his hesitation. They were nearly lost in the soothing haze, and soon silence was the first thing to fade entirely.

Stark black fingerprints were left on the mug’s handle, and a stack of papers rested by his side, neatly arranged, not a single corner out of place. Nerves in his buttocks tingled, a sign he’d been sitting there for far too long, and he moved, knocking the stack down. Sheets of paper flopped to the ground in a messy array, and normally he’d shout an agitated curse or two before collecting them.

Tonight, he let them sit in place. He let them sleep naturally on the floor like Merrill once did, and he’d arouse them in time.

Once did.

He laughed to himself, or at least he thought he did. Apparently that internal laugh became vocal, as Merrill sauntered over to his side with her lips turned upward and a responsive giggle in return.

“Oh! I’m glad you enjoy the tea! Most humans don’t appreciate this kind. It’s an acquired taste, sure, but once you being to truly appreciate it, there’s no other kind quite like it --”

Anders silenced her with a smile. “Then I believe I’ve acquired it!”

He showed the contents to Merrill, nothing but a dark stain at the bottom. “That’s what I feel about it. Delicious.” He enthusiastically shook his mug. “I think I want more. Much more.”

Merrill motioned to take his mug, but he lifted himself to his feet, slightly wobbling. She held him steady, both hands on his right arm.

“No, I think I can get it. Rest your pretty little feet, you’ve done enough.”

He poured the remaining contents of the kettle into two mugs, his stained one and its clean, unstained partner. Grabbing an amber-colored bottle with a red string tied to its neck, he poured a generous amount of its contents into his.

“Thank you. I failed to mention that.” he said, a warm, lifted tonality to his voice. “Thank you. For everything.”

He handed the other piping-hot mug to her.

“I think you should try this! A friend in the Wardens loved this stuff. In everything.”

She took a sip and her face scrunched. “Anders, that’s... really strong.”

“I guess you can say it’s an acquired taste.” He smirked.

Merrill decided to sample the concoction again, for good measure. It stung in her mouth and her throat, but this time she could taste the complimentary notes of the tea mingling with... whatever it was. She swallowed it in two parts, the second half lingering on her tongue.

“Whiskey, supposedly the best. I’ve... been saving it. For a special occasion.”

“A special occasion?” Her curiosity was piqued.

“I haven’t exactly had reason to celebrate before now.” A solemn phrase, turned upside down. Anders’ face was beaming, and he rested his head upon her shoulder.

Merrill’s face reddened. “You know, your smile is so pretty.”

“Is it? Perhaps I’ll be smiling more, then.”

He nuzzled her neck, his pronounced nose hitting a sensitive spot. Goosebumps formed on her arms, hidden by her tunic, and a hum of approval barely escaped her lips.

“Very special, indeed.” he said, his hot breath centimeters from her bare skin. An arm snaked around her, a hand rubbing her shoulder in circles. “Perhaps... perhaps I shouldn’t assume. But I’d consider this special.”

Merrill eased into his touch, and her voice quivered, “What’s so special? About this night, I mean? I.. I.. I’m glad you think things are special, I was afraid you had lost hope in the little things... I’m glad to see you happy.”

With her heartbeat pounding, the touch migrated from her shoulder, slowly grazing down her arm, and down to her own fingers. Short met long, and he gently moved a finger on each before loosely tucking them between his own.

Honey-brown eyes gazed into hers, soft yet secure, strong but gentle. A finger touched the bottom of her chin, beckoning her to look upward.

“Merrill? May I try something?”

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apples-and-bananas · 4 years

Text

India

It was just another one of those generic days I had in my life, but it’s my favorite part of the day so I drift off to sleep and forget all that’s happening with the world for a while. It hasn’t been long, but I was suddenly awake and oddly in a vast forest, my anxiousness is driving me crazy by now, I’m frantic and I don’t know what to do, but before I can even attempt something, my arms are growing feather out of the blue, and my lips are turning into a beak, and I’m covered with more feathers and the next thing I know I’m flying. As I was wandering I got caught in a trap, I was caged. Another bird came whom it’s the first time I saw but strangely very familiar. He was encouraging me to get out but a voice inside is dictating me that says I should tell him to come to me instead. But, he also does not want to compromise. He faced me saying things I haven’t heard before, if I was in my human form I would probably swoon but the bird that I am right now is just so persistent with her belief that I can’t even meddle with her decisions. So as I watch the bird flew away from my sight, into the vast sky, there’s this unconscious feeling as if my heart is getting stabbed. I am hurt, I want to do something to ease the pain, but I’m in no control. I was just about to catch myself and allow myself to breathe, but I was panting this time, and tears were still streaming down my face. I think to myself, “How much caffeine did I took today because I’m definitely going crazy.” I’m alone, but I feel enslaved. It’s like my heart is somewhere else, waiting to be picked up by someone I can call my own. I stretched my arms and realized that, I may be back in human form, but not in my body, this woman is basically a goddess with these long arms and legs. As I sat there, staring at my reflection, admiring all the physical features that this woman has, someone called out, “Sita!” The automatic head turn that I made proved to me that it’s this woman’s name. There stood a man with equal goddess feature as she has, I may be delusional right now, but I can guarantee he’s coming my way (running even), and before I could even do or say anything I am enveloped in his strong arms. The warmth is so welcoming as if I’m home, the cozy feeling makes me dreamy and I would definitely trade anything in exchange for this hug. He looked at my face while saying something I didn’t understand, but it made my heart flutter with joy and content. The interesting part is I responded with the same language. We smiled at each other and can’t bear to have the distance between us anymore so he cupped my face, caressed my cheek and slowly closing the space that’s separating us, he’s about to kiss me when… I was all of the sudden awake and conscious.

China

It’s been a week since that odd dream occurred, which is also very detailed and feels so true that it’s hard to fathom whether it was a dream or did it really happen in real life. As much as I would not like to admit to myself, there’s this huge part of me that just wants to experience it all over again. I am a daydreamer, so imagining things would be easy if I’m conscious, but sadly, I don’t have any control over my real dreams, those that occur in the deepest depth of my slumber. Strange as it is, I kind of feel bothered this day as if something’s bound to happen, and then there it is. As I was drifting off to sleep there was an instant snap of enlightenment, and as I get to sleep longer and deeper, I opened my eyes again to be greeted by an old man who has a warm presence, smile that make you respect him, and eyes that make you trust him. My premonition was right, something’s happening indeed, and it’s not that overwhelming this time, it’s just oddly familiar. I smiled back at him and ask him where we are and he said, “Impossible as it may, only you can tell where we really are.” You know that typical voice of wise old people? His voice is like that, it’s a carbon copy of those stereotypical voices. Cliché as it is, he really sound and look like an Asian God right now, and I don’t mean it in a racist type of way it’s just that I feel like I can be vulnerable around him without worrying that he may judge me or reprimand me because he understands that I am not flawless, that I’m just perfectly flawed like anybody else. Just like that, as if reading my mind, he told me, “I know that life can get pretty rough, fatal even. It’s not an easy path, many have attempted to fulfill their shortcomings only to be flooded by tons of criticisms and hatred which leaves them doubtful of themselves, but always remember, being aware of one’s self is the power that nobody can destroy because if you know your capabilities and weaknesses, that will be the time that acceptance will come to your way and makes you a better individual, not for others, but for yourself.” I feel like I’m being thrown with first-hand kind of lectures from experiences right now, but regardless of that, every word that he said is actually true, and I am honestly considering it because it seems worthy. I shoot my shot again of clarifying my current situation by asking him who he is and he responded with, “They call me Confucius.” Just like that I was awake again, without even having the chance to reply to him and ask, “SO YOU’RE THE CONFUCIUS!?”

Japan

By this time, I’m already thinking that I may just be a delusional and obsessed literary freak, but who can blame me? I am just so eager to play a role that I even forgot my responsibilities in real life. I’m just so tired of everything, and I honestly would like a break that would set me free from any inhibitions that I have for myself. But, that would be too much to ask right? However, I’ve been reading about lucid dreaming lately and I would like to try it. I’ve been thinking about a scene of going to Japan and as soon as I set foot there, it would become the land that history books describe it to be, and I would be in a classic and traditional Japanese community. All of a sudden, the place was swarmed with many people, the ones peaceful streets were now full of people. The strange thing is, people seem to not notice me and I didn’t know what was happening until they continuously get pass through me, and an absurd thing came to my mind, that maybe I’m a ghost because that’s how movies describe them to be right? They are not seen by the naked eye. So, to test my theory, I blew on one person’s ear and he looked at his shoulder to see if someone’s there, but he still doesn’t see me because he just shrugged it off as if it’s just a strong wind. I traveled aimlessly and can’t interact with a single alive soul because I’m apparently a ghost. I came across this one village that seemed gloomy and has an unusual number of young villagers without old people. However, I saw this one man who looks bothered, and with curiosity, I followed him to his home and there I found out why. He was hiding her old mother in her house although I’m still not sure why he’s doing that, but I could tell that his love for his mother is overwhelming that he could take any consequences that may happen just to keep her by his side. Even if I’m just a soul in this particular place, I can still feel the surge of empathy for the both of them because I have a weak spot for circumstances that involves parents and their sacrifices. I was about to do something when I was teleported in this hot place that looks like a volcano which seems ready to erupt anytime. I see this terrible site of people suffering from their own sins, unable to quench their thirst because of their own pride, and drowning from their own desires. I am a terrible person, but I feel like I don’t deserve to be here. I am now questioning myself because this may not be a dream anymore, maybe I’m really meant to be damned either dead or alive, but I feel this human emotion within me, the need to escape and leave this place. A man was climbing through a thin rope and the others followed, I just stood there frozen and hesitant of doing anything. The man leading seem to look furious and you can see the eagerness in his eyes, he cut the rope and everybody else fell, soon enough, he is also falling. I was sucked in a brighter yet calmer environment, no screams and crying were heard in the background, the air smells nice, and then a voice spoke and said, “Greediness is why we fail, patience create a decision that changes our fate. I woke up and said, “Being clueless is much different from being patient.”

Egypt

I stumbled upon pieces of writing yesterday which were blatantly dull yet oddly enchanting, I wouldn’t be surprised if I would be inside this thing any minute now because I’m bound to sleep, and just as quickly, I am in a sort of desert location with a strange Egyptian type of music playing in the background. My game is way too strong with these dreams now, and I’m not going to lie, I’m really growing fond of it. Desert as it is, the place looks deserted, I don’t see people, and all I see are tall pyramids and endless grains of sand. As if somebody heard my unspoken thoughts, people started appearing in lines, carrying things, entering the pyramids. I don’t know why I’m even wondering how things go for my dreams because basically, it is controlled by my own thoughts so it would be connected somehow, so I should stop being shocked how events would turn out just as I question them. I followed these people inside an enclosed place with tombs and there were bodies in the shelves which are already wrapped. I saw bodies, dead bodies lying on the ground. I’m the only one who stood there and found this situation very mortifyingly new to me, but the people were acting as if it’s just a normal thing they do. They were doing some rituals and started plastering the body with I don’t know what that material is but it seems like I’m witnessing the process of mummification, and since I can’t handle the reek of unpleasant smell anymore, I went out and was greeted by a strong swoop of wind with sand that just slaps and sticks on your face. My eyes were caught by engraved drawings that you typically see in history books that tells about Egypt. There were texts too, but nothing that I could understand until I saw two English words, and it says, “Wake up.” I touched it and I was sucked in reality, my alarms going off and I am incredibly late. Wonderful.

Israel

If anything of the things I say really do matter, I think I would explain that religion is a necessary fiction that humanity needs to stay humane and not rip and eat each other’s head off. But, the thing is, I’m not the most religious person in the world, however that does not disqualify or invalidate me from having opinions regarding this matter, and the only point I’m trying to prove here is that, people created this system in order to preserve sanity because it unites us. Having faith to whomever divine entity is present surely empowers us, but wait until everyone realizes the fact that we’re not patronizing these Gods and Goddesses, instead, we’re patronizing ourselves because the only reason why we keep coming back and holding on to this prospect is because it makes us feel positive emotions that supposedly inspires us to be a better person, if not, what may be the greatest reason there is.

It’s 3 in the morning, and I just finished my essay regarding religion and trust me if I say it’s much more exhausting that it should be because I need to choose my words carefully in order to make a point and at the same time be responsible on not offending anybody (including my professor who will check and read it and is obviously pious.) Now, I’ve been having a hunch about having a dream about this, so I got up and drank a glass of water and went under my covers, and my fingers acted upon themselves and did the sign of the cross, well habits never dies I guess even if I’m the least faithful person I know. I have arrived at my dream’s destination and as I thought, I was in the Jewish community. As I was going down to the stairs an old woman approached me and said, “My dear, isn’t it time that I try to find a husband for you, and get you happily married again? The man I’m thinking of is Boaz!” The mention of his name made my heart warm, but not warm enough to make me marry him, however, a voice in my head keep on saying things about God’s will and everything which is incredibly absurd I just can’t take much of it anymore. This Boaz came to me and ask me who I was and said I was Ruth and without further control of my speech, I uttered, “Make me your wife according to God’s law, for you are my close relative.” I don’t know what I would make about myself anymore, I’m throwing myself to this man, whom I barely know, but I felt helpless about the situation because I cannot fight over the will of God. The closest relative to my dead husband is supposedly buying the land and I am really shocked with the next thing that Boaz said, “Your purchase of the land from Naomi requires your marriage to Ruth, so that she can have children to carry on her husband’s name and to inherit the land.” I am really powerless as a woman, I felt sorry for the woman who had to go through such thing, they are sold with a piece of land or whatever property, it’s miserable. I struggled to detach myself from that dream, so I slapped my face really hard, and when I woke up I said, “Woman, when will you be free?”

Iran

Remember when I said religion unites us? Well, it has its contradiction when we believe in different things and Gods per se, but don’t get me wrong, I think we really do have a choice on the things that we want to believe in, it’s just a matter of acceptance that not everyone is like you, that not everyone believe the things you believe in and thinks the way you do, we just have to respect that. But, who are we kidding? People don’t just give up without a fight, see where we are right now, divided because of our different faiths, but we call ourselves faithful, how ironic. I have read Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat, and it incredibly made so much sense, I was just wondering how the world would be if we just appreciate each other like this, see, I’m Christian but I find sensible things to this literary piece because I can see what he’s talking about, the problem is that we’re so prideful of ourselves that we don’t even want to back down, we don’t know how to accept our flaws and we don’t want to be criticized. I am here in the library having a debate with my thoughts and just thinking of possibilities that better decisions would make. We all know how mood in the library can get and I’m really sleepy right now, so I took a nap, and we all know what’s next. I am in a market and I am definitely sure I’m in an Islamic country (I’m quite stereotypical). I entered a stall and a man was sitting there, he asked me to sit, so I did. He was lecturing me about the Qur’an and I don’t know why I suddenly had the urge to say, “Oh I’m sorry, I’m Christian, you can’t convince me to believe THIS.” I swear I could just smack my head right then and there, but he just smiled at me and said, “I never ask or persuade you to convert my child, I was just sharing what I believe in and hope you would do the same in return, so we could understand each other better. I am aware of my flaws, and I know I can sound provoking sometimes, but I understand you, I hope I can get the same in return.” I look really stupid right now, and all I could say is sorry and he replied with, “Forgiveness is easy if it’s meant by the heart, and I forgive you, now it’s time to forgive yourself.” I just stared at him until I gained consciousness, damn, I’m really dumb as a rock.

Saudi Arabia

I am really exhausted right now, this week has been really hectic, partnered by my procrastination, and well everything is just a plain mess. I slept without even taking a shower because I am that tired, only to find myself in a desert once again. There’s this little girl who is as bright as a sunshine and you can see it from a far distance. When she was finally alone, I approached her and she immediately greeted me with a huge smile on her face and even hugged me, stranger-danger isn’t a thing with this girl apparently. She asked me where I’m from, but I don’t know what to say, and there’s this silly voice in my head saying I should ask her that instead because she’s basically in my dreams, so I just answered with, “I came from a very far place.” She’s now giggling and asking me to tell stories of the place I am from, so I’m just wondering whether or not to tell her about phones and other weird stuff we have right now. I was in the middle of telling her about Dory finding her parents when I was cut-off as a man came to tell that this great sheik Ben Nedi will visit their tribe the next day. I was with this little girl the whole time now I found out that her name is Zuleika, and I sat with her as she was crying and told me that she had no gift to give the great man who would come the next day. We were both shocked when a fairy came out from the well and told her that her gift for Ben Nedi will arrive tomorrow, so she should stop crying. We were both anticipating and when we went back to that area, a tall tree grew which was straight and bare except the top, where it carried a tuft of branching leaves and a cluster of brownish fruit. Ben Nedi exclaimed that it is the greatest gift of all, and I guess this was kind of a legend for palm dates.

Africa

Colorism, racism and everything in its context is just so childish in my opinion. We are all different in so many aspects and finding it absurd makes you look idiotic, no lies. The reason why I’m saying this is because I saw a video of a crusty white man mocking a beautiful man who had dark chocolate skin calling him ugly because of his color. Some people are just so stupid and immature who don’t even know their places, I mean we’re all human beings the last time I checked, so why are you so pressed about someone’s color? I was just about to rant and tweet things, but an old man with big beautiful afro curls and dark skin approached me and ask if I could accompany him finding a place and since I know where that is I said okay. I gladly accepted because why not, I really have a soft heart for older people. While we were walking he asked me why did I agreed so easily without even a moment of hesitation, and I replied with, “Because you need my help.” And I smiled at him while he smiled in return. He asked me a question again but this time it is more skeptical, he said, “Weren’t you bothered of the color of my skin? You see, I had quite a lot of rejections and such because of this.” And I said, “Black, white, or brown, everybody looks the same to me, not that I’m colorblind, but my point is, everyone needs to be treated fairly, no dominating over the other everyone should be the same.” And then lastly he said, “You are a very kind individual, now, wake up and be the person I met here. Bless you.” I looked up and I see the library, well I guess I have slept again, this just explains how I love being asleep.

0 notes

the-battle-lesbian · 7 years

Text

Stars

The third and final part of what became a short 3-part angst series “Do Ghosts Cry?”. This part actually has a happy ending but you’ll still probably cry. I try my hand at fluff in an angst context.

I lit a fire with the love you left behind And it burned wild and crept up the mountainside I followed your ashes into outer space I can't look out the window, I can't look at this place

“Baron Samedi is the chief Loa of death and resurrection in Haitian folklore and Vodou beliefs. He is often depicted dressed in a black top hat, black suit, and smoking a cigar with a glass of rum in his hand. His face is either painted white like a skull, or sometimes is shown as a skull itself. He is the patron of death, tombs, gravestones, obscenities, dead relatives, healing, smoking, drinking, and disruption.”

Sounds like him and Wynonna would get along.

Waverly chuckles a little to herself as she closes the book. Interesting information, sure- but not what she needs. She places the old volume at the top of a stack that has formed on her coffee table. She leans back on the couch and rubs her neck that’s gotten stiff from bending over, staring at scribbled words on pages for- 3 hours? 5 hours? She can’t remember.

I can’t stop until I figure this out.

Nicole had been investigating a case involving this Baron Samedi. Why she hadn’t told her she can’t understand-

Yes she can. She would have shut Nicole out of the case as soon as a whiff of the supernatural came up-

-but she needs to know how far she got. This Baron was all she had left, and everything Waverly had read so far on him pointed at one certainty:

He can resurrect the dead.

“Hey Baby Girl.”

Waverly jumped at the sound of her sister’s voice, and turned to see Wynonna standing at the base of the stairs. She looked at Waverly with soft, sad eyes, and something about that look- was it pity?- made her scoff.

“Hey to you too- little asshole not letting you sleep?”

Probably a bit harsher than necessary.

Wynonna gave a small smile.

“No. I actually slept great- for once. You, on the other hand, don’t look like you’ve slept for days. Can you even tell me what time it is?”

Waverly rolled her eyes. “Of course I can- it’s probably 2 or 3 am right now.”

I’m not in the mood for this Wynonna.

Wynonna raised an eyebrow and walked over to the living room curtains, and when she pushed them back some weak rays of sunlight entered the Homestead.

“Kinda bright for 2 or 3 am don’t you think?” She paused and sat next to Waverly on the couch, “Waverly it’s 9:30 in the morning. You need to sleep. Dolls can take over with this case-”

“No! No no I’ve- I’ve got it Wynonna I can handle it it was Nicole’s and..now it’s mine and I have to finish it for her. You- you don’t understand I have too.” She felt her voice breaking and the tears coming.

I have to bring her back, Wynonna, I wish you could understand.

Wynonna wrapped her arms around her sister and held her close.

“I know you miss her Baby Girl. Hell, I miss her too. So damn much. But you know she’d want you to take care of yourself. Can you at least promise me you’ll eat some breakfast and sleep before you continue with...this?”

Waverly looks at the stack of books. The scattered files. The portable whiteboard she’d nabbed from the BBD office to sketch notes. Her only hope of saving Nicole. All she has left.

“Yeah. Sure.”

It’s almost too quiet to hear, but Wynonna gives her a final squeeze and gets up to head for the kitchen. “I’ll make some pancakes. I’ve been improving, you know- even Doc can eat them without wishing he was back in that well.” She smiles with her joke, hoping for at least a chuckle from her baby sister. When all she gets is Waverly staring at the now open window with a distant look on her face, she sighs and turns to head back into the kitchen. But she stops short and turns back to Waverly.

“Waves?”

“Hmm?”

“I asked Dolls about this Baron Samedi and...I know what he can supposedly do. But he’s dangerous, Baby Girl, even Dolls says he’s not worth messing with. It’s just...please, please don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

“I won’t.” Maybe she says it a little too fast, But Wynonna seems to accept it and leaves the room. It wasn’t a lie anyways.

I will never regret saving her.

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

I can't look at the stars They make me wonder where you are Stars, up on Heaven's boulevard

She fidgeted in her seat at the table in Purgatory’s only tiny coffee shop, twirling her necklace between her fingers. She shouldn’t even be nervous.

It’s just a thank you coffee. With a woman. You hang out with lots of women and there’s nothing different about this.

But there was. And a small part of her already knew that. She found herself staring at the door every time she heard the bell ring as someone entered the cafe. And with each ring her heart skipped a beat with anticipation.

This isn’t a date-geez. Calm down.

But when Nicole finally walked through the door, she couldn’t hold back the wide grin from her face. And she found it returned with the smile she had already grown so fond of as the deputy walked over, clearly just having gotten off of work. She took off her stetson as she sat in the chair across from Waverly and placed it out of the way on the table.

“Hey Waves. Sorry I’m late we got a call in at the station 20 minutes before I was scheduled to leave and since Wilson was already out on a welfare check I had to take it. Luckily it was pretty short though so I don’t think I’m too late. Hey, you good?”

“Uh- w-what?”

Waverly was startled back into reality and when she realized the whole time Nicole had been speaking she had just been staring. Her face turned red with the realization she had been imagining what the officer’s hair would look like out of that french braid. She was positive it would look beautiful, because how could the woman in front of her be anything but.

“Oh I’m fine. I’m fine. I just...guess I had another crazy day.”

Act cool.

Nicole smiled. If she had noticed Waverly’s blush she chose to ignore it.

What a gentleman...woman? Gentlewoman?

“Well, Waverly Earp, it sounds like crazy days are just an everyday thing with you. Should I be worried that coffee will take a turn for the worse?”

And there was that smile.

Put those damn dimples away.

“Oh no no no. Coffee will be totally, completely normal. Promise.” She tried her best to give a calm smile back but she found herself feeling lost again.

Get it together.

“Sooo....you gonna get us some coffee? You did promise the cappuccino would be on you. Not actually on you though we don’t need a repeat of the bar tap incident.”

“Right! Right, I’m sorry I just seem to be out of it today. Umm..I’ll go get that for you.” She started to get up to head to the register when Nicole’s hand on her arm stopped her. It was gentle, and she felt herself freeze.

Not a date.

“You know, you don’t have to worry about being awkward or anything. It’s honestly pretty cute, and I’m just glad I get to have coffee with you.”

Waverly let out a sigh or relief, “Yes of course. I mean, I’m not awkward because of you, just so you know. I’m just...for some reason really awkward today. But um, I’ll go get your cappuccino and I’ll be back in a minute?”

“I’ll be waiting.” And another smile.

Waverly turned and walked up to the counter, a small smile creeping up on her face.

You know you’re pretty cute yourself.

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

Waverly marched into the BBD office and as soon as he saw her Dolls knew why she had come.

“Waverly-”

“Dolls don’t you dare tell me not to. You said I should have made the deal with Widow Beth and don’t you dare tell me this Baron Samedi is any more dangerous than the demon Clootie.”

Please understand.

Waverly could tell Dolls was choosing his next words carefully. But before he could speak she continued.

“I know you miss her too. I know you know she didn’t deserve to die and she shouldn’t be dead and Baron Samedi is the only one who can fix it. Dolls this is her only chance.”

More silence. A few moments passed, and he finally spoke.

“Does Wynonna know?”

Waverly shook her head. “She suspects, of course. But no, she thinks I’m just trying to finish up Nicole’s case.”

You must understand.

Dolls sighed, “Waverly, Baron Samedi won’t resurrect someone out of the goodness of his heart. He’s a Loa- thousands of people have called on him over the years to do exactly what you’re asking, and it never comes free. He will want something in return and it won’t be anything good. I have to agree with Wynonna on this one.

No you don’t.

“Except I have something to trade, Dolls. Something he wants. What Theodore Roosevelt stole from him- his hat.”

At this Dolls’ eyes widened. “Where did you find it?”

“My secret. But I bet he’d resurrect anyone to get it back.”

Waverly held her head up. She knew she’d won.

“Jeremy!” Dolls called behind him.

The young scientist jogged up to his superior, “What’s up? Oh- Waverly.” His demeanor changes when he sees the younger Earp. She must have had tears forming in her eyes because his nervous rambling started.

“Waverly, I am so so sorry. You know Nicole was-”

“Jeremy I need you to help Miss Earp research summoning Baron Samedi. I have some notes from my time with him back in the office.” Dolls interrupted.

Jeremy stopped with his mouth still open. “Summoning Baron...Samedi? Wait are you sure?”

“Positive.” Dolls said with a curt smile, “But let’s keep this on the down low why don’t we?”

“Oh you bet Dolls I will keep this soooo low on the down low,” Jeremy laughed awkwardly, bending his knees slowly to emphasize just how down low.

“Okay Jeremy come help me. Please?” Waverly interrupted this time.

“Right! Yes- this way.” He gestured towards the back of the room where an office was situated and headed in that direction.

Waverly started to follow him but first turned to look back at Dolls.

“Thank you,” she mouthed with a small smile.

Dolls nodded, “Go get her, Earp.”

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

All those times we looked up at the sky Looking out so far, we felt like we could fly And now I'm all alone in the dark of night The moon is shining but I can't see the light

“Waverly wait up!” Nicole yelled from behind her as she ran away from the road and out into the open field.

“Hurry up slowpoke! You’re gonna miss it!” she yelled over her shoulder.

They were running out into the middle of a field well away from Purgatory, and far away from the town lights. Waverly’s jeep was parked alongside the road, where she had stopped abruptly, proclaiming to a startled Nicole “This is it! It’s perfect!” And subsequently she had jumped out of the parked car and took off running with the bewildered officer not far behind.

Waverly stopped and fell to the ground, spreading her arms and legs in the soft grass like she was making a snow angel, though it wasn’t quite snow season yet. Nicole came to a stop and looked down at her winded friend.

“What are we doing here, Waves? It’s the middle of nowhere.”

“Exactly. Now get your butt down here, Officer Haught.” She patted the grass next to her body.

Nicole smiled and rolled her eyes, but she fell to the ground as well, spreading her arms and legs like Waverly had. And since her hair was out of its professional braid, it went everywhere just like Waverly’s.

“So what are we doing here?”

“Shhh!! Look!”

Waverly pointed up at the sky and for a moment, Nicole couldn’t tell what she was pointing to. But then she saw it. A streak of light flit across the black sky. And then another. And another. And another.

And with each passing meteor Nicole’s smile grew wider.

“A meteor shower? Waves I had no idea.”

“Oh yeah? What do you think?”

Nicole turned her face towards Waverly, where she found the other woman already staring at her with a soft, but expectant smile.

“Beautiful.” Nicole breathed. And silently, they both knew she meant more than the meteors.

Waverly grinned and scooted closer to Nicole, close enough that she could nuzzle her head into the other woman’s shoulder. Nicole wrapped her arm around Waverly in response, and for a time, they just were.

After what seemed like an eternity of quietly watching the meteor shower, Nicole broke the silence, “You know, I was always told growing up that stars are angels. Little angels who were your loved ones on Earth. And when there’s a shooting star, it’s an angel coming to Earth to grant a wish for you.”

Waverly looked up at Nicole as she spoke. They were so close now. Almost impossibly close. So close Waverly could feel Nicole speaking. Could feel her heartbeat.

And damn does it feel right.

“Well, it feels rude to not give them a wish to grant, especially when there’s so many angels coming to Earth tonight.”

“Well I don’t know about you, Waverly Earp, but I have definitely already given them a wish to grant.”

Waverly smiled, “And now I have too.”

“What was it?”

“Don’t you know, Nicole? A girl never wishes and tells. I want it to come true after all.”

“Aah right. My bad.”

“It’s okay. You’re forgiven.”

And I wish you’ll wait for me. Because I know I want you to be mine.

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

The meteor shoots by in the night sky as Waverly walks up to the barn on the Homestead land. It catches her eye and she stops, wishing almost on instinct:

Come home, baby. I’m coming to get you. Hold on.

When it disappears into the inky black again, she continues to the barn door and pulls it open. The old wooden door groans in protest but she squeezes her way through into the old building. Dust is visible floating in the moonlight, but she barely registers it.

Waverly heads straight for an old chest in one corner of the old barn. Lifting the lid she gets a face full of dust and coughs, wiping her face. The chest is full of old garments and fabric scraps. It was the dress-up chest from her childhood. She remembers putting on one of the little blue dresses to play tea party with Wynonna.

But that’s not what I need now.

She digs down through the old, moth- eaten clothes, searching for a familiar shape.

“Aha!”

She pulls out a black top hat from the pile of clothes. It has a few holes where the bugs got to it, and a thick layer of dust coats its felt, but it’s still recognizable.

“Funny to think I was using an ancient Loa of the dead’s top hat to dress my snowmen,” she murmured to herself, brushing the dust off carefully and inspecting the hat. And on the inside of the brim she found what she was looking for: a small, intricately embroidered veve in bone white thread. The cross made it unmistakable:

Baron Samedi’s hat.

Waverly smiles and places it gently back in the chest.

First he resurrects Nicole. Then I show him the hat. But for now, it’s safe here.

With finality, she closes and locks the chest.

You’re coming home tonight.

She adjusts the ring on her finger, its blue stone glistening in the rays of moonlight. And as she got up she picked up a backpack heavy with everything she needed. Everything she and Jeremy could find that was needed to summon a certain Loa of the dead.

Making one final check that the lock was secure on the chest, Waverly turned and left the barn.

Last stop, the graveyard.

And if I know you at all, I know you've gone too far So I, I can't look at the stars

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

She fidgeted with the ring in her hand. It had only been a week since that day in Nedley’s office. The day when she had put herself out there and everything had been perfect. Scary, but perfect. And today was another scary day, but she hoped it too would be perfect. She sat at their table in Purgatory’s only tiny coffee shop. Spending Nicole’s lunch together their had quickly become a tradition, one Waverly wanted to continue for a very, very long time.

The door rang as Nicole walked in and she immediately spotted Waverly at their table. Waverly balled her left hand into a fist in her lap, hiding the ring. Nicole sat across from her at the table and gently held her right hand.

“Hey Waves. How has your day been? I hope not too crazy.”

Waverly smiled, “No, not crazy, luckily. It’s been pretty normal, actually. But...I’m hoping it’s about to become a lot more special.”

The last part she said on a whisper, and Nicole’s smile faded into a look of confusion.

Just do it.

Waverly put her left hand on the table, and between her fingers she held a silver ring anointed with a round, blue stone. It looked antique, but the care it had been given gave it the shine of a ring brand new.

Nicole’s eyes widened and jaw dropped when she saw it, and that’s when Waverly felt the panic hit her.

“I’m not proposing, just so you know. No, that’d be a little too fast I think but...but I want you to understand that I’m serious. I mean, we both know I’m new to all of...this,” she gestured between them with her right hand, still holding the ring up in her left, “I’m new to it but I’m serious. This isn’t me..experimenting or, or having some fling, Nicole, I really, really want to have a..a relationship with you. And I thought, you know, I wanted to have some way to show you that and I thought, why not give you something you can wear whenever you like. So you can always remember that I’m here. For all of it.”

When the words finally registered, the smile returned to Nicole’s face.

“You know it’s really hard for me to be serious when you keep flashing those cute dimples,” Waverly pouted.

Nicole laughed and grabbed Waverly’s right hand again.

“Waverly Earp, are you giving me a promise ring?”

“Well now when you put it that way I feel like a teenager. But...yes I guess you could call it that if you want.”

“Well in that case, I do.”

They could barely contain their giddiness as Waverly slipped the ring on Nicole’s right index finger, and even once it was in place, they held on a few moments longer.

I promise I’m all in.

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

Stars Stars, they make me wonder where you are Stars up on Heaven's boulevard And if I know you at all, I know you've gone too far So I can't look at the stars

“Baron Samedi mwen konvoke ou pou sa a grav tonm aswè a pou monte yon nanm tort pran. Mwen vle pou fè pwi ak tou sa li pran. Foseyè detere sa a nanm aswè a.”

Haitian Creole was not one of her strong languages, but she hoped it was good enough.

She was standing in Purgatory Cemetery, next to a new grave bearing an all too familiar name:

Nicole Haught

On the grass next to the grave she had drawn in chalk the Baron’s veve. The outlines of the veve had then been soaked in rum and a single cigar was place in the center. Only once everything was in place did Waverly begin the incantation.

For a few minutes, nothing stirred.

Where are you?

Starting to panic she looked down at the ancient volume in her hands and began again. Maybe her pronunciation was off or she spoke to quickly-

“Your pronunciation was atrocious please don’t say it again.”

Startled, she looked up across Nicole’s grave to see a man standing there. He was tall, Haitian, wearing a dark suit and smelled of tobacco and rum. Two cotton plugs were up his nostrils and his face was painted white like a skull. His voice was higher pitched, almost nasally, and not at all what she expected.

That didn’t mean her knees didn’t tremble at the sight of him.

“B-Baron Samedi,” she began, taking a breath to regain her composure, “I summoned you here to resurrect the wrongfully taken soul of Nicole Haught.”

He blinked slowly.

“Well I figured as much from your terrible summons. So what? Why should I? Do you know how many people pray to me a day to resurrect their loved ones? If I answered every prayer, the graveyards would be empty! Death happens, little girl. I find it helps to embrace it. Now get out of my sight.”

Oh no you are not doing this.

“You didn’t even ask what I’m willing to bargain. Cause I bet this is an offer even you can’t refuse, no matter how jaded you are.”

“Oh really? And what on Earth could you possibly offer me that would make the whole fiasco of resurrection worth my time?”

“Oh, it’s not something of Earth. A little birdie told me you’ve been looking for your hat that lets you travel freely between the worlds of the living and the dead. Without it you’ve been stuck, and from the looks of it, that has not been agreeing with you. I only knew about your hat because of Nicole’s work. And I found it. I have it hidden somewhere safe. So my terms are this: Nicole’s life for your hat. What do you say?”

At the mention of his hat the Baron seemed to grow taller, and the sky a bit darker.

“You would dare use my hat, my rightful property stolen from me by your ancestor’s friend, as a bargaining chip for one woman’s life? Tell me why I shouldn’t just dig your grave to lay beside her as punishment for the mouth on you?”

Her heart beat rapidly with fear and she felt her hands tremble but she continued.

I’m coming for you.

“Yes. Yes I do dare. And kill me if you want but with me goes all knowledge of your hat’s location. So guess you’ll just have to wander in this world until someone else this crazy finds it and summons you. How long do you think that’ll take?”

The Baron’s eyes narrowed.

Waverly allowed herself the smallest smirk.

Got you.

With a heavy sigh and a shake of his scowling head he answered, “Kontra a te asepte. The deal is accepted. Now stand back and let me work.”

Waverly took a few steps away from the grave and watched as wispy shadow figures, almost like dogs, separated from the Baron’s shadow. The hounds circled Nicole’s grave and began digging. In no time they had uncovered the dark brown casket. A few lifted the lid with their muzzles and threw it open, so Nicole’s body was once again exposed to the world. With the digging done they retreated into their master’s shadow once again.

The Baron looked down into the casket.

“I need something that ties her to this Earthly. It’s the only way I can call her spirit back.”

Waverly began to panic.

I didn’t read about an earthly possession.

She rubbed her hands together in the nervous habit she’d had since childhood, and upon feeling the smooth stone under her fingers, an idea hit her.

She took the ring off and handed it to the Baron, who took it delicately in his long, skeletal fingers.

“This will do.” He nodded, and began in incantation of his own.

“Syèl la pi wo pase mwen sipliye ou, kò sa a yo te pran tou Talè. Mwen fouye leve l’fòs. Men kò li bezwen Lespri Bondye a. Mwen rele lespri Nicole Haught tounen pou domèn terrestre a ak mèt letanp sa a nan posesyon.”

He bent down into the grave and slipped the ring onto Nicole’s finger. He then ran his hand over her eyes, from her mouth upwards, and with his hand her eyes opened. She gasped and clutched at the sides of the casket.

“Oh my god, baby!” Waverly ran forward and sat where the Baron had been. He had already left, presumably still close by waiting for his hat. Nicole had been buried in her uniform, per her request. Her short hair was disheveled and dirt smeared into her skin from where it had seeped through the casket corners.

Before she could process what had happened, Waverly pulled her into a long kiss. When they parted, it finally dawned on Nicole where she was.

“Wait, Waves. Why- why am I in a grave? Did I...oh my god I died. Waves I was dead! How..how am I here?”

Waverly just smiled because it was hard to speak through her tears. She held Nicole’s face in her hands and gently rubbed the graveyard dirt away.

I said not today.

And she kissed her love again.

Not today because we have so much left to do.

“Waverly how did you do this? Please tell me you’re okay aren’t you? You didn’t..you didn’t hurt yourself getting me back did you?”

Waverly laughed through her sobs. “Still trying to look after me huh? Even when you have been dead for weeks. But no, I didn’t hurt myself. I just traded a hat for you.”

Nicole’s brows furrowed. “A hat?”

“Don’t worry you are worth so much more than a hat to me. And hey-” she held up Nicole’s hand with the ring once again placed on it, “I told you I promised to stay by you, for all of it. And I wasn’t about to let Widow Mercedes change that. Not now, not ever.”

I promise to be here forever.

And with the sun starting to rise on the new day, Waverly looked up at the sky and knew that, for the first time in weeks, tonight she could look at the stars again.

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writerspink · 6 years

Text

K-12 Words

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1.1

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1.2

interest job because such think thirteen subject answer letter meet north length need times divide (by) times table edge soft months present energy point sound log south wide members exercise flowers set found things heart cause site brother teacher live read billion another distance written kept direction developed wall east happy million world must house turn west change well twenty felt put end does large big even here why ask went men land different home us move try kind hand picture again off dress play spell air away animal page mother study still learn should America

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misty poor caution pest phrase life startle squirm alone centaur rise mountain above illustrator footprint temperature decorate country sweat sometimes hair smiled everything began thick compass themselves enough took although splendid crowded second act attach sly talk wonder let’s whirl someone Africa borrow beat belong blink per fasten pain begin drenched bed shell free earth tiny slippery count factors important until children side feet car mile night walk white sea grow river four carry state once book hear stop without late miss idea eat face watch far Indian real almost let girl mountains cut young soon list song being leave family it’s

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being instead ache exactly hard speed buy age late artistic close affordable fraction eyes appetite complain sleep seem eat below remove rusty grow glum stormy trust enormous scale open add grab upset weed denied expensive story terrified lead jumped died basket side bear bend list tomb while batch grateful father gleaming dress light sprinkle amount exclaim result yank leave cheat whimper angle outside remain heap champion surprise dodge moment fancy squeeze pretend village shriek city thunder rapid iron striped don’t attitude bell hat tug isn’t applause children honest cross spring freezing listen wind rock space covered fast several hold himself toward five step morning passed vowel true hundred against pattern numeral table north expert slowly money map farm pulled draw voice seen cold cried plan notice south sing war ground fall king town I’ll unit figure certain field travel wood fire upon

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pattern cave hope mile group travel blush killed seed bottom hide important let ticket timid pounds restart silent cranky keep real bright quite curved repeat trip without dart consonant mountains quiet apologize roar grip groan bolt food injury century exhausted cabin atmosphere floor it’s scold transportation delighted giant hill something build fog method rough left everyone obey deserve speak therefore soon french switch until pushed state knob hobby between surround collect fire I’ll arrive road happened certain top order astronomy inches club catch farm nibble color yourself received connect told gaze check wear English half ten fly gave box finally wait correct oh quickly person became shown minutes strong verb stars front feel fact street decided contain course surface produce building ocean class note nothing rest carefully scientists inside wheels stay green known island week less machine base ago stood

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round award crowd slowly yet products, goods, services vowel himself strange whose draw team hold feel flood sent save stood yard notice warn enemy deep please flap coast music wrote safe blast behind island lizard figure famous garden correct whisper listen joined clear share net thus calf maybe cried piece fold seen england decided bank fell pair control clean telescope trouble glass float morning horse produce course hunting rest step statement contain shouted filled zigzag accident cents instrument fly single express visit desert seeds chew dome experiment break gravity against branch size low plane system ran boat game force brought understand warm common bring explain dry though language shape thousands yes equation government heat full hot check object am rule among noun power cannot able six dark ball material special heavy fine circle include built

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mark wealthy row feeling across attention ran map students inside design art mouth ring skill hot during shelter full till log (book) blossom discard bring quickly scientists party town covered wise early cram grain harm goal pause inform heal clue fame freeze badge pimple dim missionary diet dumb rod march agree stick government bulb mall ban greed skiing poison stove image grew fact material dangerous flow gap ago stack explain didn’t strong voice true drawing surface gift corner cloud since king dawn pulled dozen friends greedy burning upon knew insect decimal nervous pay foot weak smooth aware steady serve lost nonetheless beach front atlas questions less cost slight motor banner wire area carefully separate equation local minutes fast table plan fine waves fair sing dive suppose boat thousands shape among toward gas factory birds wait understand sure ship report captain human game history reflect special brave bounce though else can’t matter square syllables perhaps bill felt suddenly test direction center farmers ready anything divided general energy subject Europe moon region return believe dance members picked simple cells paint mind love cause rain exercise eggs train blue wish drop developed window difference distance heart site sum summer wall forest probably

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include cage language base red brain building feast better built demolish excess leap tower ocean plains cold claw information scholar climbed woman worry strand heavy herd common ground damp pack choose president least increase half english invent class measure dash tremble object become doubt became bare wheels continued shiver engine core couple business stars week peak numeral brought nothing touch reached uncle symbols however rumor evening inasmuch (as) force curious heat career system valley dust flock spray robber practice lonely remember luxury warm heard calm rock frighten leader difficulty best gum cheer key support universe stream bit usually fish parade balance money note cliff stand proof you’re pale machine complete cool shown street today shy easy several search unit war power caught settle itself fuel mention fresh planet plane straight period person able direct space wood seal field circle lady board besides hours passed known whole similar underline main winter wide written length reason kept interest arms brother race present beautiful store job edge past sign record finished discovered wild happy beside gone sky grass million west lay weather root instruments meet third months paragraph raised represent soft whether clothes flowers shall teacher held describe drive appreciate structure visible artificial

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afraid absorb british seat fear stretched furniture sight oxygen coward rope clever yellow albeit confess passage france fan cattle spot explore rather active death effect mine create wash printed process origin rose swift woe planets doze gasp chief perform triumph value substances tone score predict property movement harsh tube settled defend reverse ancient blood sharp border fierce plunge consider terms vision intend total schedule attract average intelligent corn dead southern glide supply convince send continent brief mural symbol crew chance suffix habit insects entered nursery especially spread drift major fig diagram guess wit sugar predator science necessary moisture park ordeal nectar fortunate flutter gun forward globe misery molecules arctic won’t actually addition washington cling rare lie steel pastime soldiers chill accordingly capital prevent solution greek sensitive electric agreed thin provide indicate northern volunteer sell tied triangle action opposite shoulder imitate steer wander except match cross speak solve appear metal son either ice sleep village factors result jumped snow ride care floor hill pushed baby buy century outside everything tall already instead phrase soil bed copy free hope spring case laughed nation quite type themselves temperature bright lead everyone method section lake iron within dictionary bargain loyal resource struggle vary capture exclaim gloomy insist restless shallow shatter talent atmosphere brilliant endure glance precious unite certain clasp depart journey observe superb treasure wisdom

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prepared journey trade delicate arrived track cotton hoe furnish exciting view grasp level branches privilege limit wrong enable ability various moreover spoil starve dollars digest advice sense accuse pretty wasn’t industry adopt loyal suggested blow treasure cook adjective doesn’t wings tools crops loud smell frail wisdom fit expect ahead lifted deed device weight gradual respect interesting arrange particular compound examine cable climate division individual talent fatal entire advantage opponent wouldn’t elements column custom enjoy grace theory suitable wife shoes determine allow marsh workers difficult repeated thrill position born distant revive magnificent shop sir army struggled deal plural rich rhythm rely poem company string locate church mystify elegant led actual responsible japanese huge fun meat observe swim office chart avoid factories block called experience win crumple brilliant located pole bought conditions sister details primary survey truck recall disease radio rate scatter decay signal approach launch hair age amount scale pounds although per broken moment tiny possible gold milk quiet natural lot stone act build middle speed count consonant someone sail rolled bear wonder smiled angle fraction Africa killed melody bottom trip hole poor let’s fight surprise French died beat exactly remain fingers clever coast explore imitate pierce rare symbol triumph ancient cling disturb expose perform remote timid bashful brief compete consider delightful honor reflex remark brink chill conquer fortunate fury intend pattern vibrant wit

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capture remark western outcome risk current bold compare resident ambition arrest furthermore desire confuse accurate disclose considerable contribute calculate baggage literacy noble era benefit orchard shabby content precious manufacture dusk afford assist demonstrate instant concentrate sturdy severe blend vacant weary carefree host limb pointless prepare inspire shallow chamber vast ease attentive source frantic lack recent distress basic permit threat analyze distract meadow mistrust jagged prefer sole envy hail reduce arena tour annual apparent recognize captivity burrow proceed develop humble resist peculiar response communicate circular variety frequent reveal essential disaster plead mature appropriate attractive request congratulate address destructive fragile modest attempt tradition ancestor focus flexible conclude venture impact generosity routine tragic crafty furious blossom concern ascend awkward master queasy release portion plentiful alert heroic extraordinary frontier descend invisible coax entrance capable peer terror mock outstanding valiant typical competition hardship entertain eager limp survive tidy antonym duplicate abolish approach approve glory magnificent meek prompt revive watchful wreckage audible consume glide origin prevent punctuate representative scorn stout woe arch authentic clarify declare grant grave opponent valid yearn admirable automatic devotion distant dreary exhaust kindle predict separation stunt

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evade debate dedicate budge available miniature petrify pasture banquet pedestrian solitary decline reassure nonchalant exhibit realistic exert abuse dictate minor monarch concept character strategy soar beverage tropical withdraw challenge kin navigate purchase reliable mischief solo combine vivid aroma spurt illuminate narrator retain excavate avalanche preserve suspend accomplish exasperate obsolete occasion myth reign sparse gorge intense revert antagonist talon aggressive alternate retire cautiously blizzard require endanger luxurious senseless portable sever compensate companion visual immense slither guardian compassion escalate detect protagonist oasis altitude assume seldom courteous absurd edible identical pardon approximate taunt achievement homonym hearty convert wilderness industrious sluggish thrifty deprive independent bland confident anxious astound numerous resemble route access jubilation saunter hazy impressive document moral crave gigantic bungle prefix summit overthrow perish visible translate comply intercept feeble exult compose negative suffocate frigid synonym appeal dominate deplete abundant economy desperate diligent commend boycott jovial onset burden fixture objective siege barrier conceive formal inquire penalize picturesque predator privilege slumber advantage ambition defiant fearsome imply merit negotiate purify revoke wretched absorb amateur channel elegant grace inspect lame tiresome tranquil boast eloquent glisten ideal infectious invest locate ripple sufficient uproar

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apprehensive dialogue prejudice marvel eligible accommodate arrogant distinct knack deposit liberate cumulative consequence strive salvage chronological unique vow concise influence lure poverty priority legislation significant conserve verdict leisure erupt beacon stationary generate provoke efficient campaign paraphrase swarm adhere eerie mere mimic deteriorate literal preliminary solar soothe expanse ignite verge recount apparel terrain ample quest composure majority collide prominent duration pursue innovation omniscient resolute unruly optimist restrain agony convenient constant prosper elaborate genre retrieve exploit continuous dissolve dwell persecute abandon meager elude rural retaliate primitive remote blunder propel vital designate cultivate loathe consent drastic fuse maximum negotiate barren transform conspicuous possess allegiance beneficial former factor deluge vibrant intimidate idiom dense awe rigorous manipulate transport discretion hostile clarity arid parody boisterous capacity massive prosecute declare stifle remorse refuge predicament treacherous inevitable ingenious plummet adapt monotonous accumulate reinforce extract reluctant vacate hazardous inept diminish domestic linger context excel cancel distribute document fragile myth reject scuffle solitary temporary veteran assault convert dispute impressive justify misleading numerous productive shrewd strategy villain bluff cautious consist despise haven miniature monarch obstacle postpone straggle vivid aggressive associate deceive emigrate flexible glamour hazy luxurious mishap overwhelm span blemish blunt capable conclude detect fatigue festive hospitality nomad supreme

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exclude civic compact painstaking supplement habitat leeway minute hoax contaminate likeness migration commentary extinct tangible originate urban unanimous subordinate collaborate obstacle esteem encounter futile cordial trait improvises superior exaggerate anticipate cope evolve eclipse dissent anguish subsequent sanctuary formulates makeshift controversy diversity terminate precise equivalent pamper prior potential obnoxious radiant predatory presume permanent pending simultaneously tamper supervise perceived vicious patronize trickle stodgy rant oration preview species poised perturb vista wince yearn persist shirk status tragedy trivial snare vindictive wrath recede peevish rupture unscathed random toxic void orthodox subtle resume sequel upright wary overwhelm perjury uncertainty prowess utmost throb pluck pique vengeance pelt urgent substantial robust sullen retort ponder whim saga sham reprimand vocation assimilate dub defect accord embark desist dialect chastise banter inaugurate ovation barter muse blasé stamina atrocity deter principal liberal epoch preposterous advocate audacious dispatch incense deplore institute deceptive component subside spontaneous bonanza ultimate wrangle clarify hindrance irascible plausible profound infinite accomplish apparent capacity civilian conceal duplicate keen provoke spurt undoing vast withdraw barrier calculate compose considerable deputy industrious jolt loot rejoice reliable senseless shrivel alternate demolish energetic enforce feat hearty mature observant primary resign strive verdict brisk cherish considerate displace downfall estimate humiliate identical improper poll soothe vicinity abolish appeal brittle condemn descend dictator expand famine portable prey thrifty visual

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stance vie instill exceptional avail strident formidable rebuke enhance benign perspective tedious aloof encroach memoir mien desolate inventive prodigy staple stint fallacy grope vilify recur assail tirade antics recourse clad jurisdiction caption pseudonym reception humane ornate sage ungainly overt sedative amiss convey connoisseur rational enigma fortify servile fastidious contagious elite disgruntled eccentric pioneer abet luminous era sleek serene proficient rue articulate awry pungent wage deploy anarchy culminate inventory commemorate muster adept durable foreboding lucrative modify authority transition confiscate pivotal analogy avid flair ferret decree voracious imperative grapple deface augment shackle legendary trepidation discern glut cache endeavor attribute phenomenon balmy bizarre gullible loll rankle decipher sublime rubble renounce porous turbulent heritage hover pithy allot minimize agile renown fend revenue versa gaunt haven dire doctrine intricate conservative exotic facilitate bountiful cite panorama swelter foster indifferent millennium gingerly conscientious intervene mercenary citadel obviously rely supportive sympathy weakling atmosphere decay gradual impact noticeable recede stability variation approximately astronomical calculation criterion diameter evaluate orbit sphere agricultural decline disorder identify probable thrive expected widespread bulletin contribution diversity enlist intercept operation recruit survival abruptly ally collide confident conflict protective taunt adaptation dormant forage frigid hibernate insulate export glisten influence landscape native plantation restore urge blare connection errand exchange

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feasible teem pang vice tycoon succumb capacious onslaught excerpt eventful forfeit crusade tract haggard susceptible exemplify ardent crucial excruciating embargo disdain apprehend surpass sporadic flustered languish conventional disposition theme plunder ignore project complaint title dramatic delivery litter experimental clinic arrogance preparation remind atomic occasional conscious deny maturity closure stressed translator animate observation physical further gently registration suppress combination amazing constructive allied poetry passion ecstasy mystery cheerful contribution spirit failed gummy commerce prove disagreement raid consume embarrass preference migrant devour encouragement quote mythology destined destination illuminating struggle accent ungrateful giggle approval confidence expose scientist operation superstitious emergency manners absolutely swallow readily mutual bound crisp orient stress sort stare comfort verbal heel challenging advertisement envious sex scar astonish basis accuracy enviable alliance specific chef embarrassed counter tolerable sympathetic gradually vanish informative amaze royal furry insist jealousy simplify quiver collaborate dedicated flexible function mimic obstacle technique archaeologist fragment historian intact preserve reconstruct remnant commence deed exaggeration heroic impress pose saunter wring astound concealed inquisitive interpret perplexed precise reconsider suspicious anticipation defy entitled neutral outspoken reserved sought equal absorb affect circulate conserve cycle necessity seep barren expression meaningful plume focused genius perspective prospect stunned superb transition assume guarantee nominate

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install reticent corroborate regretfully strength murder concise cunning intention holy satire query confused progression disillusion background mundane abrupt multiple enormously introduce emulate harmful pragmatic pity rebut liberate enthusiastic elucidate camaraderie disparage nature creep profitability impression racist sobriety occupy autonomy currently amiable reiterate reproduce cripple modest offer atom provincial augment ungratefully expansion yield rashly allude immigration silence epitome exacerbate somber avid dispute vindicate collaborate manufacturer embellish superficial propaganda incompetent objective diminish statistics endure ambivalent perpetuate illuminate phenomenon exasperate originality restrict anxiety anthropology circumstances aesthetic manufacturing conventional dubious vulnerable reality precedent entity success term critical repair underscore stepmother republican hesitantly classic wary contents prediction immediate invoke notorious implicit excluding input skeptical foster element punish frank humanity profound dessert orthodox substance disappear encourage neighborhood elder superfluous naive ascertain complacent resilient deafening military tend prudent glare acceptance skillfully induce monster beam gullible conciliate vessel petty cantankerous disclose archaeology anecdote disdain electronics substantiate subjective tourism advisable joyful incredible provocative psychological ruins discipline condone indifferent misfortune judgmental industrialize tasty assume astute mission mar protective definitely escape oppress shocked virtual zealous endorse qualification hostile eccentric abstract disparate geographical scrutinize generalization tolerate activity claim dogmatic influential obsolete extol implausible subsequent resource chronic benevolent improve confidential ambiguous seriously dearth perplex hatred throughout dine contemporary evoke essentially economic flagrant obscure alleviate eloquent dreaadful clumsy sympathy victim condemn vigor condescend spontaneous quell reprehensible substantially sleeve equivocal ironic decry errand articulate progressive eradicate refreshments elicit aspiration recently exemplary bribery theoretical disingenuous partisan revere particle nostalgia self-aggrandizement debunk tyranny rhetoric hierarchy warning whimsical venerate commend assert miserable awful vibe constrain undermine explicit differentiate compliment scrupulous contempt erroneous ideal refute imply cynical rash presume insight revival vary delay renounce indignant offensive temperate circumstantial export peep logo advertise suppress distort chunk convoluted denounce overwhelming fertility rigorous acquire arrogant university antagonize profitable indulgent strategic breathing idiosyncrasy profession frugal discern accommodation adversary incredulous disturbance digress social belie roam smug continual pertinent voluntarily elite subtle blame sincerity lick horror censure involvement candid infer futile impetuous exploit bewilder sustain diligent sincere protect sealed musical empathy callous parenthetical insure acorn sarcasm seize sacrificially allege emphatic irrelevant progress diplomatic stunned improvise deride reconcile meticulous deject scientifically incontrovertible pressure justify gloomy depict supplant endurance analogous diary bolster slip contemplate pesticide glow religious advocate negligent creator lament fundamental embrace throne inherent inferior valuable thrive trivial pretense reserved capricious refresh refusal flight boost explanation coherent prevalent tenacious official royalty assassin rub poach delete

10.2

warrant circumscribed somewhat explosive optimistic mandate previously detract opinion intuitive feasible intimate persistent humble simplicity tempt deliberate painful unethical fundamentals discrepancy remorse pessimistic possibility conclusion acknowledge impregnate soberly creation paralyze suitability oblige tranquil medal arbitrate pacify illusory susceptible vibrate vengeance infection democratic stressful grave speculative sample identification stifle obligation revenge organization namely mediocre practical scream weaken consensus affectionate deficient treacherous console isolation ingenious memory melodrama despair awestruck composition regret recommendation celebrity decision devoid opaque ornamentation longevity participate dread restore interrogate aid accordingly mislead embarrassment optimism domestic apt funds virtue geography fundamentally thoroughly press despite horrible chilling rental esteemed disappointment innovative contemplation assign popularize haunt deafen serene percent estrangement suffer extravagant throng estimate comment priesthood mass dreadfully promote periphery animated saying relate clarity triple derivative succeed distortion register suicide improvement discreet inquisition probable curative incident praise convenience baffle covet dreadful genuinely weary undisturbed disgruntled humility renown nonchalant monopoly comedy vague decisive inconsequential announcement fabricated nevertheless vigilant scarce neglectful hushed attainment tedious explode snatch pslm agency sentimental tension adhere meanwhile sacred avert conformity likewise challenger accessible responsibility peril contact event roast fallible catastrophic competitor violate resolute deceive exaggeration discredit intolerable approve paste dimly novelist demeanor norm politician satisfaction obvious vehicle reservation defer involve restoration crush audible assistant backpack attain inanimate commemorate confrontation emigration parasite disperse quantitative laughter policy vulgar occasionally repay effective eulogy starvation empty therapeutic overall immortal encompass inappropriate opportune engagement illustrate turmoil observatory classification expression reminiscence comedian invention depress remedy protagonist gesture texture diplomatic election prolong conducive emotional invigorate curiosity expressive %

K-12 Words was originally published on PinkWrite

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