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wevegottogetaway · 3 years

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A hundred percent (Part 2 of Crashing into you)

It looks like the same bottle you had reached for before all hell broke loose. You found it lazing on shore, in that space between water and dry land where objects greet the wet sand but still submit to the waves. Along with the plastic container, you’d encountered a wet blanket you’d immediately laid out to dry, a corkscrew and the ice bucket that had accommodated the champagne you turned down during the flight (you’d gladly have a glass or four now, but alas the Champagne bottle wasn’t accounted for in your scavenger hunt). All things considered, it’s a relatively good inventory; it seems the currents were in your favor.

It makes sense actually, that the waters would shepherd the lightest of items to you. Yet your heart remains heavy with doubts and fears. You’re not versed enough in geography to have the slightest clue as to whereabout you’ve strayed in the middle of the Atlantic ocean. And with that comes the big question: if you don’t know where you are, how the people meant to save you will? Then how much time will it take for them to figure it out and will you be able to hold on for that long?

Everything is a big question mark as of now, and you hate it. You’re resourceful and quick on your feet, but you like to be prepared; you usually study the situation ahead and plan in accordance for every potential contingency, positive or negative. This however, never in a billion years would you have thought, much less prepared for the appropriate M.O. to follow in response to a freaking plane crash.

If anything, it makes you twice as grateful to have Harry by your side. Once for obvious reasons; the mere thought of associating his name with death in the same sentence could make you physically ill. But also, if there were one person that could make this ordeal that much bearable and give you the strength to withstand the pain for that much longer, it was him. He’d done it before; granted times weren’t as critical as they may be now, but he’d always been your beacon of light in the darkest of times. You’d just have to be his as well this time. Like a planet reflecting back the light of the star it revolves around.

Speaking of stars, the sun is unbearably warm. It feels like it is sitting right on top of your shoulders and breathing down your neck, as opposed to hundred millions kilometers away from your sweltering form. You’ve been pacing up and down the shore for over two hours, and you don’t think you’ve ever been so uncomfortably hot. Your skull is throbbing from the heat,(though the brutal impact of the crash and your brief encounter with death probably have something to do with it as well) and your top is positively drenched in sweat. Harry’s shirt didn’t fare much better and is now rolled and folded atop is head in a makeshift hat. You’re both very aware that a sunstroke is highly likely in this sort of climate, and very much the last thing you need in your preexisting predicament.

"Think we should head towards the forest before this heat grills our skin to the crisp, love." It’s the first thing either of you have uttered in a while, but you’re quick to agree to Harry’s proposition.

"You’re right. Let’s see if we can find a water source nearby," you nod towards the stretch of green wildness awaiting you, before shooting one last glance at the ocean behind you.

Harry is closely watching you before putting a hand at the small of your back to usher you both out of the beach. "We can always come back later and see if there’s anything new on the shore," he guesses the reason for your hesitation. You swear this man can read your mind sometimes.

As soon as you cross the border into the forest, the sound of the waves quickly fades to be replaced by the chirps, squeaks and buzzing of the jungle’s inhabitants. It sounds like the all jungle community is in conversation, and you gulp as you wonder what kind of animals are also roaming this place. It’s clear the smartest option is for you to set up camp closer to the beach so you can be safe both from the wildlife and the unforgiving sun, as well as be in plain sight in case rescue is scouring the vicinity. For now though, you have no choice but to wander the very much alive woods if you count on fending dehydration off.

As you weave through the thick and luxurious foliage, Harry is staying glued to your side, not willing to let is sight off of you. His shirt finds its way back over his torso to protect his smooth skin from the somewhat hostile vegetation. From the way nature seems to prevail over every inch of this seemingly impenetrable space, it is clear this land has never witnessed the wrath of human activity. The realization is rather unsettling as it weakens your hopes of finding civilization in this godforsaken place.

Once again, you feel indefinitely grateful for the man walking by your side. You’d always felt lucky to have him in your life, but that soft tug in your chest from his hand grazing your shoulder blades as your tread the muddy earth, has never been so strong and comforting than in this moment.

"Careful, love," he is quick to tug you against his broad frame when you’re about to step on a small snake. The creature hisses as your footsteps disturb its tranquil existence but apart from shooting what you could swear is an annoyed glare, the serpent remains put and lets you go on your merry way.

It takes a second for your heart to calm down from the sudden movement and you realize your fist is still clenching the soft cotton of his shirt. You mutter a small but genuine ‘thanks’ as you quickly remove your hands from him, and despite the tropical heat you find yourselves in, Harry can’t help but feel a coldness on the spot your hand just abandoned.

An hour goes by and you’ve yet to be successful in your quest. The sun is finally starting to relent some of its intensity and the air feels slightly easier to breathe. At least in theory. In practice, every minute that ticks by without you encountering even the smallest of water source, feels like a new brick dropping in-between your ribcage to crush your lungs. You are running out of time for the day and the anxiety that comes with that realization is not one you can gulp down and just ignore.

As the sun slowly retires, so does the light of your surroundings, and it’s enough to have your own light start flickering before finally shutting down. You need to make your way back to the edge of the shore and set up camp before darkness engulfs everything in its black coat. Your hand find Harry’s before you shift your body towards his. "We should head back before it’s too dark," you utter dejectedly.

He nods with the same despondent expression before wrapping an arm across your shoulders and directing you both towards the beach. "Come on, then," a small kiss is pressed against your temple and your heart leaps back out of its gloom for a moment. You’re not a total stranger to gestures like this one, but they’re usually spurred by a drink too many or they occur for these special occasions where joy is so exuberant it pigments your cheeks and leaves you no choice but to show your affection in a more physical manner. You relish those moments as much as you can, wrongly assuming they mean more to you than they do him.

You don’t day anything back as you wrap your arm around his waist and start making your walking again. You’re both in need of comfort right now, is how you rationalize it. Still, it doesn’t stop you from staying as close to him as humanly possible, your body molding his curves better than a puzzle. He doesn’t seem to mind, on the contrary, his grip on your arm tightens briefly, and though you don’t see it, his lips also twitch in a side smile.

You arrive just in time for what must be the most beautiful sunset you’ve ever witnessed in your life. The ocean has calmed some, waves now gently licking at the sand and in the far distance, a large sphere of tangerine flares, rests upon a blue canvas whose only bounds stretch to the horizon. "S’beautiful," Harry softly comments before your eyes meet for a minute. You answer with a small smile, admiring the tenderness of his gaze. It’s partly due to tiredness at this point, which is what you surmise, but you’ve been on the receiving end of this gaze countless and non-tired times before, unbeknownst to you.

Fifteen minutes later, you are trying your best to light a dry piece of wood on fire while Harry endeavors to built some kind of shelter. It takes you both a few attempts and a lot of cussing, but eventually you find yourselves sitting under a makeshift branch-made roof in front of a small fire. Thankfully, the blanket you’d recovered from the crash had dried entirely - one of the few perks of the scalding sun, you suppose - and is now wrapped tightly around you both. If the situation wasn’t so critical, you’d rejoice at the opportunity of being cuddled up with Harry so closely. Every intake of breath he takes you feel against your ribs. Your bones ache from tiredness, thirst and hunger, but as your head lays on Harry’s shoulder, you also feel lightness in your heart. Things will be all right. Tomorrow you’ll go back to explore the jungle and you’ll find water, maybe even catch a fish or two and you’ll repeat the process until the rescue team comes to get you. Soon.

"How’s your leg?" Harry gently breaks the silence. You’d almost forgotten about your respective injuries, and the question has your eyes shift to the cut on your shin. There wasn’t much to do anyway, your fateful time in the angry waters had taken care of all the cleaning that could be done without proper medicine. It’s uncomfortable and the sort of wound that would linger on your mind if you were back home, but there and then, you’d minded the sting for all of 5 minutes before more pressing matters needed your undivided attention.

"It’s fine. I was too distracted to notice the pain, I guess," you answer just as quietly even though you are the only two souls breathing for hundred miles around if not more. The mention of your injury also reminds you of his, though you don’t quite need as vocal a reminder as the gash above his eyebrow is much more conspicuous. "How’s your face?" you decide to return the question even though you have a feeling his answer won’t me much different from yours.

"Itchy but it doesn’t hurt."

Your eyes once again focus on the cut, making sure that no dirt made its way on the damaged tissue. Your lips curls slightly to the side when you take in the probable reason for the itch. "C’mere, your hair keeps falling into it," you say while your hand reaches up to tuck the rebellious curl behind his ear. The strand goes straight back to its previous spot as it lacks a bit of length to obey your ministration. You reach up again, this time running your fingers towards the back of his head to get the curl out of the way. Harry doesn’t dare move an inch, air caught up in his throat as he revels in your tender touch. You’re oblivious to his intense stare, as always, while you inspect the cut. "Shouldn’t leave a scar, I don’t think," you offer in reassurance.

"Well, that’s a relief," Harry answers almost absentmindedly though there’s humor lacing through his voice. He couldn’t care less about a scar, not after everything you’ve been through. Hell, you’re both lucky to have escape the crash with just superficial wounds. Besides, he’ll take a thousand scars over having your unconscious body under his palms again.

The conversation feels much lighter than the ones you’ve entertained all day, so you keep the playful tone going. "I know right, can’t have permanent damage on that Grammy winning face," you quip back with a smirk. Mischief is distinct in your eyes and Harry has never been more thankful to see that sparkle lit up your iris. If he focus hard enough, the sand beneath him can disappear to morph into the fluffy cushions of his sofa back home, and this can just be a regular hang-out where you pretend to watch movies and banter over every character’s decisions.

That’s why it’s so easy for him to indulge in the oh-so familiar back and forth; it’s a dance he could do eyes closed. "My career would be over," he retorts with a faux distraught expression.

You giggle and give him a smile before copying is fake air, "the end of the world."

He chuckles and for a moment there is nothing but silence between you two. You can feel the playfulness dissipate as Harry’s eyes don’t waver from yours. They suddenly hold a fervor that tells you he’s gonna say something serious. And of course he does, you know him so well. "I think my world would have ended today if you hadn’t woken back up on that beach." The statement is uttered barely above a whisper but it echoes like a hundred church bells chiming Cinderella’s midnight in your head.

"Harry…" Needless to say, you are speechless. Neither of you have ever shied away from voicing your affection towards the other, but this, coupled with the intensity of his stare, has your heart stopping for the second time today.

"You have no idea how terrified I was," he continues quietly, like his own heart is threatening to jump out of his throat if he dares speak louder. It’s obvious it’s painful for him to remember, perhaps even more painful than it was for you to actually endure. "The longer you wouldn’t-"

"Shh, stop, stop," you quickly halt him with a hand to his cheek. "Don’t torture yourself with the could haves. I’m here, alive and breathing. All thanks to you. And you are too. Alive and breathing." You say it all in confidence though you have the same chocked up feeling he did when you think of the alternatives. "That’s all that matters right now. You have me and I have you and nobody’s losing anyone." Your thumb is drawing soothing circles onto his skin as he nods at your statements as if to make their truths stronger. A second passes and your eyes shift to the ground before you gulp, "my world would have ended too. Had you not made it to the beach."

It seems the sentiment strikes a chord in his chest too, as Harry pinches his eyes close as if to make sure he is not hallucinating your words. His body is taken by a strong pull to kiss you but he knows his lips can’t quite fall on their most desired destination. He settles for a harsh forehead kiss instead, taking your head between his two shaking hands.

When he leans back, his eyes frantically search your face and you can see his breathing picking up from the motion of his chest. "Y/n, I…Fuck it’s…" the more the words escape him, the more frustrated he becomes, running a hand through his wild curls even though they’d stayed in the place you had brushed them last.

"Shh it’s okay. Harry, you’re working yourself up," you try to calm him down with a hand on his heart. Just as you suspected, the organ beneath your palm is jackhammering against his skin, but Harry shakes his head at your suggestion.

"I just have something that I need to say," he gulps, "and it’s terrifying-"

You can’t stand the way his voice wavers ever so slightly. He looks exhausted despite the wild look in his eyes and you realize that’s probably not helping tame the stormy thoughts in his mind. "M’not going anywhere, Harry," you reassure him, "we can talk tomorr-"

"No. No." He shakes his head forcefully between your hands. "I need to say this now because I already should have done it a long time ago, and as much as it is scary for me to say, today was a hundred times more scary."

You take in his adamant look and realize this is far more serious than you were led to believe. "Okay, you know you can tell me anything."

He nods at your reassurance before taking a deep breath. "You’re my best friend, y/n. The one person I don’t ever want out of my life, the one person that understands all of me and that is besides me for everything." You try to remain impassive and not wince at the f-word as you listen to his sorrows. "And I can only hope that will never change, because like I said, my world wouldn’t be the same if I had you any less in it. And that’s the thing that is scaring me, because as much as I need you as my best friend, I’m also in love with you and that has the power to change everything." He barely pauses before carrying on, still locking eyes with you. "I used to be able to pretend, but earlier on that beach, when your life was hanging by a thread in my hands, all I thought was that I couldn’t ever look at myself again if you left and I was too much of a coward to tell you the truth. I don’t want to be that guy anymore, because now I know. Being that guy is more terrifying than telling you I love you."

The words are buzzing in your mind. Ones you’ve heard before in daydreamings and fantasies but that you never thought you would get to receive in the realm of reality. At least not from the person you wanted them from. "Harry," is all you can muster to say without tripping over the rest of your words. You realize your vision is getting blurrier by the second, and you could swear there were droplets pearling at the corner of his eyes too. You let out a nervous chuckle, quickly wiping a tear from your cheek with the back of your hand. "Fuck, you dumbass, making us cry when we’re already fighting dehydration." The exclamation has him mirroring your smile as his thumb replaces yours at the crease of your eye. "I love you too, Harry," you say shakily through your grin. "So much it is the scariest thing to feel for a best friend. But you’re right, today was much scarier and I don’t want to be that girl anymore either."

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever been this happy and he makes a note to call his Mum as soon as his back on civilized land, to tell her she was right. Love does work in mysterious ways; sometimes you need to be the most lost to finally find it. And part of him hates that he wasted so much time with you everyday he wouldn’t say anything, but the other part of him also feels like it was worth the wait. "Fuck, promise? You’re not concussed from the crash and you really l-"

"I love you, Harry," you don’t let him finish vocalizing any doubt about your feelings. "Hundred percent sure."

"A hundred percent?"

"A hundred percent." He loves how confident you are when you reiterate the affirmation, looking straight in his eyes. Your faces a barely inches apart and your bodies still tightly embraced in the flimsy plane blanket.

"Christ, this is the best day of my life," he marvels before kissing the wrist of your hand still cupping his face.

You raise a brow at the statement, "the day you were in an air crash and found yourself stranded on a desolate island is the best day of your life?" You tease him in humor though you know exactly what he means by it and share the sentiment equally as strongly.

"The day I made you mine," he proudly explains with a smirk.

"Mmm am I?" you tauntingly bite your lip, though you’re not fooling anyone. You are absolutely and irrevocably, a hundred percent his. Knowing this perfectly well himself, Harry doesn’t even give you the curtesy of an answer and kisses the sass right off your mouth. It’s a fierce contact at first, as though he was kindly telling you to just shut up. Then he eases into a slow and emotional kiss, as your lips wrap around each others. He doesn’t pull back until you’re both out of breath and he’s had a proper taste from licking your supple lips. When he does, you only want to dive in for more, and it seems he shares the same desire as he barely retracts from your face.

"You most definitely are," he asserts with that same teasing smirk.

"Hundred percent?"

"A hundred percent, darling," he acquiesces before giving you the second best kiss of your life (the first having occurred a mere minute earlier). This time he drags his hand away from your face to wrap his arm around your small frame. "C’mere, come closer so we don’t freeze." It feels like close enough will never be an achievable concept for you both, but you’ll content yourself with the weight of his limbs intertwining with yours as you lay down besides the small fire. He brings the blanket high enough beneath you so you don’t have your heads directly on the sand, and you don’t realize how physically exhausted you were until your head is tucked underneath his chin and all your muscles loosen up some.

"Comfy?" He inquires as he hears you sigh in relief. You nod against his collarbones a small ‘yeah’ whispered against his skin and the feeling has him shoot a smile to the stars. He’s quite comfortable himself if he may say so.

"Good, now gimme a kiss."

"Making demands already?" You keep teasing him because let’s face it, you’ll never get tired of watching his reactions to your taunts. The cute crease between his brows, the twitching of his button nose or even better, the small pout enhancing the cherry color of his lips are probably the things that made you fall in love with him in the first place.

"You’re not complaining."

You laugh at his self-assuredness, sad not to see his precious pout though the newfound spark in his eyes makes up for it and then some. You can’t help but to confirm the bold statement, "yeah, a hundred percent not," and he smiles at the now familiar words, like it has become an inside joke that only belongs to the two of you.

For a while you just cuddle in silence, reveling in the embrace you’ve shared a couple times in the past but that now beholds an entire new meaning. You’re just about to surrender to Morpheus’ arms when Harry muses aloud, "imagine this was all a dream and we just wake up in LA tomorrow morning."

Paradoxically, the suggestion forms lump in your throat. Had he asked an hour ago, you would have let a wistful sigh and longed for a reality where you didn’t hop on a doomed plane and landed both yourself and you best friend in what can only be the hardest trial of your life. And yet, now you find yourself unsettled at the idea that your very much reciprocated feelings wouldn’t be out in the open if none of this had happened. You wouldn’t know the taste of his lips had you not plummeted in the sea only to wash up on a desolate shore.

"It doesn’t matter. I’ll still tell you." You affirm confidently. Now that you know; not about the mutuality of your feelings, but about how scary it is to find yourself on the precipice of forever regrets, you’ll take the chance every time. Wiser from the same tribulations, Harry just smiles softly before returning a faint ‘me too’.

"Yeah?"

"Not that guy anymore, ‘member?" He is quick to remind you, eyebrow cocked upwards, to which you simply respond with a whispered ‘good’ against his chest. Harry kisses you on last time and then you both let your unconscious take over at last, still wrapped in each others’ arms and not even caring about your perilous surroundings anymore.

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #Harry Styles #creative writing #reader insert #harry styles fluff #best friends to lovers #love #ou #part 2

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thewildheroine · 6 years

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Fly Away |Twenty- Nine|

Warnings: Child injury/death

Word Count: 3.5K

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

A/N: I just started school this week and it’s already killing me so I’m sorry if I don’t post very consistently or if my writing is bad. I hope you guys enjoy and if you like it please reblog loves!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

|Masterlist|

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I stand on the sidewalk, droplets of rain running past my cotton shirt and the black and blue flannel that is two sizes too big on me. My hair has turned three times darker than usual. The weight of water filling my locks is enough to make the back of my neck ache. Parents and students make this already loud corner of the world even more chaotic. I feel my brain go into overload as I try to focus on one thing.

Instead, a giant wave of wind blows right into my face. The air, thick with water, blows straight into my ears and the noise around me grows ten times in volume. I sigh and bow my head. Droplets of icy water beat right against my nape, pushing fatigue further on me until I feel like dropping onto the sidewalk.

“Hi,” a beautiful voice says, abruptly drawing my attention away from all the obnoxious noise. I’m taken aback when I turn to face the kindest face I’ve ever seen. Her cinnamon lips drawn back on her find face to show me a smile. Hands the color of honey are holding onto each other. She holds her head high, seemingly unfazed by the rain. And her eyes, little orbs of purple that are gleaming with light. She keeps up her chin and extends her small hand towards me.

“You’re Y/N, right?” she wonders. I narrow my eyes and nod slowly, untrusting of anyone who comes up and talks to me so randomly. “I’m Heather. I’m in Mrs. Binford’s class too.”

My arms curl around my torso, this place that I’ve appeared in somehow both hot and freezing at the same time. This place vacillates between the two extreme temperatures as I wander around, unsure of where I’m going exactly. I actually don’t even know where I am for that matter. All I know is that this entire plain of existence is pure, blaring white. For a moment I try to shield my eyes, but the light attacks from all directions, and I defeatedly drop my hand back onto my side.

I continue watching the girl in front of me, who I infer is Indian based on the familiarity between her and the second-grade teacher next to our class who speaks with her native accent proudly and will occasionally pass out embroidered silk in history so that we can all inspect it. My hand raises and I shake Heather’s hesitantly. My sleeves are pulled past the base of my fingers so she can’t feel the thick scars lying just beneath.

“Are you waiting for your parents?” Heather asks and looks at the crosswalk as well. I study the way the rain rolls down her tan cheek. Little white freckles are sprinkled gently under her eyes and across the bridge of her nose reminding me of stars. For being just as young as me she seems otherworldly, and although my dad has never encouraged me to believe in anything besides magic, I know she’s an ancient just from the look of her. She had to have lived millions of lifetimes before this if she can hold her head that high and has such a sing-song voice.

“I’m walking home, actually,” I inform her matter-of-factly and start crossing the street. I’m glad for the constant noise of parents picking up their children disappearing. But Heather follows me, her brown lace-up boots that aren’t meant for the rain splashing into puddles.

“I have to walk a little too,” Heather says while catching up with me. She has to widen her steps to keep up, each pace of mine is a little more than one of her normal ones. “Not home though.”

I cock an eyebrow, surprised to hear that someone my age walks home alone by themselves too. Having become so used to the worried glances from other parents I figured no one else did it.

“You too?”I question. “Your parents let you walk home alone?” Heather laughs abruptly, revealing her pearly white teeth that are all perfectly set into her mouth, not one straying from where it should be. She hikes her backpack up on her shoulders to keep it from falling off.

“Your parents let you walk alone,” she remarks, the bite one would expect in a comment such as that non-existent. The only thing I can find in her whole soul is pure compassion. A love that feels more like family than anything I’ve ever known. “Anyways,” Heather begins and casts her gaze up to a sleek black crow that caws on a telephone wire above us, “we’re not walking alone anymore.”

My fingers dig into my sides, desperate to provide more warmth. I can feel bruises forming under the intensity of my grip so I force my hands up to my face and breathe into them. As I’m doing so an idea pops into my mind. I focus my thoughts and prepare to conjure my magic, only there is nothing to be conjured. All I find within myself is a void of what used to be there. An immortal black hole that looms within, simply waiting for the best moment to take the rest of me away.

I drop my hands enough to stare right at my scarred palms. The angry mark that stretches across the skin to serve as a reminder of what I used to have. Of what I used to be. All I can do is wonder what I am now.

“Oh.”

I nod, my thoughts racing through my naturally anxious mind. Mine and Heather’s eyes stay connected a moment longer before I look back down at the sidewalk. The water has become much less of a menace and even the rain doesn’t seem so troubling anymore. I start walking with Heather, this time slowing down so we can walk side by side.

“So,” I drone awkwardly, still very much unsure on how these “social cues” and “conversations” work, “if you’re not walking home then where are you going.” Heather points forward, not once stopping so she can point out a giant brick building a little way down the road. I eye the giant sports fields and the tall black gates. A blue and yellow flag whips around in the rain wildly.

“My brother is waiting for me there. Midtown high school,” she tells me, the topic already making her excited. “It’s a school for super smart kids. It’s called a ‘STEM’ school.” I think on that for a second, my eyes still fixated on the building.

Tears sting at my eyes now. I feel the need to drop onto the ground and let the chaotic temperature shock me to death. My feet stop moving and I stand in the middle of this infinite wasteland that is nothing more than an abyss to me. I feel my fists shaking by my sides; something that would’ve let my magic loose minutes earlier.

Or has it been hours? I try to think of where I was last. My head to turns to see where I came from but all I see is the white slate. Maybe it’s been more than just hours. I might’ve been wandering this vast place for days, weeks, months. Maybe I’ve been here for years. Maybe all I am is a distant memory to the people I once cared about. Maybe… they’re all already gone and I’m the last one left

“Do you want to go there?” I ask Heather, genuinely curious and not just acting on the few pleasantries I’ve learned. Heather’s smile grows and she nods ecstatically.

“Yeah!” she exclaims, her voice becoming a melody. “I want to be one of those cool hackers like in the spies movies I watch with my dad.” Heather turns towards me and grabs my shoulders all of the sudden. It’s like the joy coming off of her in waves radiates into me, making a smile of my own appear. “What about you? What do you wanna do? Maybe science? I think you’d be good at chemistry. My brother hates that class, but I think you’d be awesome. I quickly become overwhelmed because of her pure curiosity and excitable attitude. My mouth opens then closes, and then I look back at the school.

“I like making stuff,” I reply, thinking off all the things I’ve conjured with magic. Machines, and animals, and plants. “Is there anything for that?” Heather’s smile widens even more.

“Engineering!” she shouts loud enough for the entire block to hear. “You could totally do that! We can go to Midtown together and you can make the machines and I can put the computer stuff into them. We could be a spy team!” I watch as Heather explains what we will be doing the next ten years of our lives, a strange adoration I’ve never known lighting up everyone neuron in my brain.

I run my hands through my tangled hair, yanking some strands out of my school with a soft snapping noise that I can only ignore. Tears begin to fall from my bottom lashes and onto my hot cheeks. My eyes snap around wildly, hoping that if I look hard enough some sort of exit may appear before me. There is nothing though. Just a void for me to lose my mind in. A process that is nearly complete already.

I sit on the creaky swings with Heather. Her raven hair is blown back by the intense winds, revealing how her lavender eyes have focused on something far in the distance. There is a thick book in my lap. One that my teacher recommended that I didn’t read since it was so advanced. My eyes aren’t on the text though. They’re on my best friend of seven months who has not spoken a single word throughout the entire day. I huge feat for her.

“Y/N?” Heather murmurs her first word of the day. I can barely catch my name before it’s taken away by the wind. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

A crow caws somewhere. My head lifts upwards and I shoot my bloodshot eyes around to find the source. The tears stop falling and I finally have a moment to breathe in and out, accepting the air that has somehow turned to a consistent temperature of about twenty degrees. A smile spreads over my lips as I stare towards an invisible horizon, prepared to see a beacon of hope in a place that I believed sucked hope dry.

I’m immediately taken aback by Heather’s question. My eyes study Heather whose brows have been knitted together as she gazes at the hazy horizon with clouds building over every skyscraper in sight.

“I guess so.” I remember when I first met her. How I automatically knew that she was an old soul by the way she held herself and spoke. To this day, I’m still a firm believer of that fact. “Why are you asking?" Heather bites the inside of her cheek, asking herself whether or not she should answer.

“Last night my brother said that it was all a lie. My religion,” she informs me. I twist the chains of my swing further so I can face her entirely. “He said there is no Kali or Ganesha and that there definitely isn’t reincarnation. He said it’s all a big fat lie to keep me from being bad.” I see the tears rimming her gleaming purple eyes. It takes every ounce of control I have in my small body to keep my panic from revealing itself.

I push myself forward on the swing, taking my time to think of an honest answer for Heather because that is what she deserves. “I think he could be right,” I answer, “but I also think that you could be right. I don’t think we’re meant to know for sure if there is someone special out there watching over us.” I bite my lip and shrug, taking a moment to close my book. “That wasn’t very nice of him to say that though, and I think that’s what made him wrong. No one knows that truth for sure. We just have faith. Some people have faith that there are gods, others have faith that there is one god, and some people have faith that there isn’t. We can only have faith in what we believe is right.” I watch the skyline too now, the beauty of the sun dipping below the buildings unbelievable.

The caw grows louder and I can hear the beating of wings as my friend approaches from wherever she may be now.

“You are allowed to believe whatever you want to believe and no one can take that away from you,” I reassure before taking her hand in mine and looking back at the schoolyard where other kids play.

Then we’re silent again. Heather’s raven black hair is blown backward by the wind. We both swing back and forth simultaneously as to not put any strain on each other’s arm.

“I’d like to be reincarnated as a crow,” she mumbles randomly. “I like crows. They’re pretty and smart.” I smile and look at my best friend.

“You’d be a really good crow,” I say back, confidence lining each letter. I think of what I’d like to be reincarnated as. I’ve never taken too much of an interest in most animals until Heather began pointing them all out to me, calling them by both there scientific name and short names. I think if I wanted to be reincarnated as anything, I’d want to be Heather’s sister.

Heather purses her lips, a habit I had noticed her mother doing when she would occasionally pick her up from school. She turns towards me, the chains holding the swing up creaking quietly. “Do you believe in magic, Y/N?” she asks. Her eyes lock onto me. I look down at my muddy shoes as I swing forward a bit, the only thing reminding me not to go so high I could fly away being the strain of Heather’s hand holding mine. Once my feet rub against the wood chips again, sending them flying to the sides, I look around.

“Icarus!” I shout, my voice cracking with every syllable but I find that I don’t care. I can hear my friend coming to me. Her wings flapping as hard as possible to reach me.

I twist towards Heather again, this time an intensity has settled into my eyes. “You have to promise not to tell anyone, okay Heather?” My friend gives me a confused look. “You need to pinky promise you will never, ever tell another soul about what I’m going to show you. Do you pinky promise on your life you won’t?” Heather glances around, almost looking for confirmation of what I just said.

“Yes?” she whispers back, the response sounding more like a question than a promise. I accept it though and pull my hands away from the metal chains. Hesitantly, I cup them and place them against my lips, beginning a simple conjuring spell. I watch closely as the young me executes the spell completely and places her two closed hands in Heather’s open ones. Slowly, she opens them, revealing a tiny butterfly.

“Icarus!” I try again. My hair whips over my face as I turn quickly, the direction fo where the noise is coming from still hard to decipher.

Heather’s jaw drops as she looks at my creation. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my lips as she raises the butterfly to inspect the small thing. I giggle lightly and raise her hands into the air, releasing the butterfly so that it may fly somewhere where it will be safe from the strong winds.

“So,” Heather drones as she watches the dark blue creature disappear, “you’re like a witch.” I chuckle again.

“I guess,” I confirm. “I like to think I’m a good witch though.” Heather’s grip on my hand tightens and she pulls me closer, nearly yanking me right off the swing.

“You’re like Glinda,” she yelps joyfully. “Glinda the good witch!”

One last screech is released into the void, the noise reverberating all around me. Then the beating of wings finishes and I’m left to wait and see if what I heard was real and not just me going mad.

All of the sudden I feel a pulse of energy behind me. I don’t dare turn around out of fear of what it could be. My father, done tormenting me and finally collecting me from this place so that he can take me to his "utopia". Dormammu, who has broken his promise and instead trapped me here with him so he may torture me with my own deepest fears. My friends. My family, standing around me, all of them dead because there was never any hope of us all surviving in the first place.

“Hey Glinda,” a melodious voice says behind me, shocking me straight from my imagination. I dare not turn around as I track the familiarity of the voice. I think of how every syllable sounds like a ballad, how there is a natural trill in her voice one would believe took years to master. I think of her voice, an eternal hymn that people sing on their holy grounds. My heart skips a beat, then another, and then it starts racing again, the realization dawning over me like the sun rising over the New York skyscrapers.

I walk past the alleyway next to our deteriorated apartments. It takes me only a second to sense something wrong before I turn down the dark street. Then I see them. My father and Heather. She has her hands weakly raised above her head, fearing and preparing for the next blow.

I stand and take a deep breath before finally turning to look her in the eye. Her pale purple irises stare right into mine, unafraid to look at me after so many years of being apart. She has developed a natural wave in her once entirely straight, obsidian hair. It dips just past her shoulders. Her smile is glowing with pure white teeth, the sight of something so sincere so striking in this strange place.

He doesn’t go for her head though. He conjures a blade in his hand instead and thrusts it straight into her abdomen. And then everything's a blur.

My magic thrumming inside as I use it to throw him away from my best friend. My sister. He flies ten yards and then collides with a brick wall. Even though I have stopped him I know I haven’t won because I see Heather gasping for air. Her entire face coated with her own dark blood, her hand reaching towards me, and the beautiful purple I love more than anything in the world, the strange and lovely mutation she was named for is fading from her eyes, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

All I can do is cry as I drag her to the hospital, praying that she’ll get the chance to be reincarnated as a crow.

I take one step forward, then another, and then I feel as though I’m floating towards the girl who has, despite the four-month difference, grown slightly taller than me. She waits, patient as ever while I approach, fearing deep in my heart that if I go to quick she may disappear like she did all those years ago. All of the sudden, I’m standing right in front of her. My hand lifts without my permission and brushes against the skin of her shoulder, testing to make sure she isn’t an illusion.

“Heather?” I ask finally. Her smile grows wider somehow as she opens her arms to embrace me.

“I'm here,” she begins, "and you can always call me Icarus if you like that better." And then I’m hugging her tight. Tighter than I’ve ever held anyone. Heather laughs happily and pulls me against her as well, and suddenly all the pain of carrying her quaking body into the hospital emergency room fades. I can no longer feel the way her blood felt coating my hands or the way she whispered my name as the nurse brought her to the emergency room.

And there are so many questions I could ask. How long has she been with me for? Did she plan on falling into the courtyard that day or was that a simple coincidence? How many times did she come back? How many times until she finally came back as the crow? As my Icarus?

I find no reason to ask though. Heather’s here now. My sister, who was the first member of my peculiar family is holding me against her no longer petite body, her love for me rolling from her heart in droves and warming up every aching muscle in my body. As she and I are clinging to each other I think of every crow I ever saw after her death. I think of them all as Heather. Heather watching over me every day like a guardian angel. Heather coming back over and over again as her favorite animal, becoming my own personal flock to protect me no matter what.

____________

A/N: First thing first, Heather is based off a character in the book I’m writing. Secondly, she’s going to be really important to the story line if I decide to do my really stupid thing! YAY❤️❤️❤️

If you would like to be tagged shoot me a message in my inbox or comment below. Please reblog if you guys enjoyed to let others know about the story.❤️❤️❤️❤️

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wolffyluna · 7 years

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Curiostiy (Didn’t) Kill the Cat - Carey centric

(For the last prompt of @tazladyweek , “Finale.” It’s been a wild ride, and I’ve been glad I joined in!)

aka How Carey joined a secretive world-saving society and met her future girlfriend.

A seeker finds something. Carey takes two jobs. Boyland is an idiot.

Carey nearly didn’t hear her walk up over the rumble of conversation and slamming of the kitchen door. Nearly. It paid to have good ears at the Rose and Crown. “You looking for something?”

“I was told to find Carey Fangbattle.” She was small even for a gnome, wearing a undyed cotton underdress, and a black apron edged with pink and indigo weaving. Her eyes flicked from side to side, nervously. An open topped bag hung at her side, filled with books. She had the air of a wizard trying to look normal, and not completely succeeding. (The bracer with a rune on it certainly didn’t help.)

“Well, you’ve found her. What can I do for ya?”

“First, I should give you this.” She rummaged in her pack, and pulled out a piece of paper.

Carey took it. The message was in thieve’s cant, and had the heavy hand of the guild secretary. ‘This person has a dangerous job. The Thieves Guild thought you might be interested,’ was the rough translation. “You understand what this says?”

“No. They--” she whispered the ‘they’ sotto voce “said it would prove I was sent... officially.”

“I wouldn’t exactly describe the Thieves’ Guild as being official.”

The gnome flinched, and her eyes flicked faster.

Carey had to try and stifle a laugh. It wasn’t good form to scare your clients, even if it was fun. “Relax, this place is pretty Guild friendly.” Carey shouted over her shoulder, towards the bar “Isn’t that right, Marsha?”

The barmaid shouted back “As long as you pay your tab!” There was a low rumble of laughter around the pub at the old joke.

“So, what’s your name and what’s your job?” Carey asked.

“I’m Gail Whitebrook, and I’d guess you’d say I’m a travelling researcher of sorts.”

Carey pointed at the piece of paper.

“Oh, right, that sort of job.” She cleared her throat. “There’s good evidence that there’s a powerful magical artifact near this town. Extremely powerful. I’ve been looking forward to researching it--”

“And having it, I’m guessing.”

Gail didn’t skip a beat. “--for awhile. I am reasonably certain that the previous owner has hidden it well, and trapped the area around beyond what I could counter. Additionally, I am actually certain that there are people on my tail that also want this artifact, and will kill to prevent me from having it.”

“Good thing I’m good at trapfinding and bodyguarding. Well, and other rogue stuff. Rogue stuff generally.”

“Now I’ll admit I don’t have a lot of gold on me for a downpayment, I’ll have more once I have the artifact, but I do have a magic item you may be interested in.”

Carey was generally not a fan of being paid in things other than gold. You couldn’t turn them into food half as easily, and they were a much more traceable. And what was she going to do with half the stuff people offered her anyway? (Someone once asked her to steal something for the exposure. The lack of usefulness of that flew over the client’s head.) But magic items were still pretty easy to turn into food if you knew the right fence. Plus, there was a niggling bit of her that had always wanted one. Most of the ones she’d ever held, she’d had to give to her client, and it was always hard parting with them. They were so cool!

Maybe it was her dragon heritage. Maybe magic items were just totally rad.

“Can I see?”

“Certainly.” Gail slid a ring across the table at her. The band was plain and brassy, with a single tiger eye gem inside it. The gem iridesced and glinted in the light, almost like the gem was glancing around the room. It buzzed gently, not physically, but with that little something magic things had.

“Put it on, it’s yours now.”

Carey slipped it over a finger. Carefully, though. She’d heard enough tales of adventurers undone by seemingly harmless items. As she did, something about her perspective changed. She had another eye, seeing in black and white, staring up at her jaw. She moved her hand, and the eye’s perspective moved too, looking up at the ceiling now.

Gail grinned at her reaction. “Tiger’s Eye Ring. Now, it’s not so useful on your hand, but once it’s yours, you can put it anywhere you like and see out of it.”

Carey took it off and placed it on the table, facing Gail. She still saw out it. It felt odd, but she could get used to it, especially considering how useful this could be.

“And if you’d like it more than gold, there’s more where that came from at the end of the job.”

***

Carey found Gail at the East Gate the next day. She read a notebook, while holding to pack mules’ reins the in the other hand.

It was probably just a spell book, and not any of Carey’s business, but-- She was a rogue. Sticking her nose is other people’s business was her job (along with stealing their shit.) She snuck towards her. Not in a creeping along the ground, flattening herself to walls kind of way, that would have drawn attention. She followed the flow of traffic, and gently veered off the path, pretending she was walking toward the guardpost and that she was definitely not Carey Fangbattle.

Gail didn’t even look up from her book as Carey walked behind her. Carey peaked over Gail’s shoulder.

It probably wasn’t a spellbook. Spell books had text. This had shifting black blocks dancing over the page. Carey tried to look at it, even if she couldn’t read it, but her eyes kept sliding off against her will. Even after that little peek they felt strained and dry.

Carey snuck back to the road, then walked to Gail from the front. She looked up this time. “Are you ready?”

“Just one thing, which mule will be at the back?” Carey asked.

Gail raised an eyebrow. “The bay one.”

Carey walked to it’s hind end, running her hand along it’s side as she did so she didn’t startle it. Getting kicked by a mule was not a good way to start your day.

She took the ring off, and being careful to avoid obscuring the gem with hair, tied it to the mule’s tail.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Gail said, finally closing the notebook.

“And that’s why you hired me.”

***

The path through the forest was narrow and full of exposed roots, more game track than road. Gail walked at the front, occasionally checking a map in her notebook. (Carey could tell it was map. It didn’t have the shifting blocks of the other pages, except for one small corner obscured by them.)

Carey stayed at the side, leading the trailing mule.

Something moved behind them. Carey saw it through the ring, a flash of a figure and embers. No, two figures, bashing their way through the trees.

Carey shoved Gail off the path into the underbrush.

Gail tried to protest, but Carey covered her mouth. “Quiet.”

The figures came closer. Carey busied herself, trying to look like she’d dropped something.

“Hey Miss!” One of the figures yelled.

Carey turned around. “Hello?”

The speaker was dwarf, more craggy and soot-stained than most. Ash and what looked alarmingly like grease flecked his beard. He smoked a cigar. Which at least answered the questions of where the embers came from, but raised the questions of why he thought smoking in a forest was a good idea.

His companion overall looked neater, and less like the sort of idiot who’d smoke in a forest. Mostly because she wasn’t smoking, honestly. She was tall, though probably average by orc standards, but built like brick shithouse, even by orc standards. She looked like she could pick up a brick shithouse and throw it across a field. A massive crossbow hung on her back.

If Carey had to describe her in one word from this first impression, it would be ‘warrior.’ There was a violent edge to her, but a controlled one, one kept sheathed like sword, waiting for the right moment. She looked like she could kill you, but wasn’t planning to right now. It was... striking.

That was the point Carey realised either her heart or her groin had taken the wheel, and wrested it back. Neither of those parts of her were overly good at decision making. Right now, good decision making was probably necessary, especially if they were the rivals Gail had been talking about.

“We’re looking for a friend,” the orc said. “A gnome, about yay high--” She gestured to her knees, “looks like a wizard.”

The dwarf pointed to his arm. “She wears a bracer like this.” It was the spit of Gail’s bracer, with the same rune and everything, though sized for a dwarf instead of a gnome.

“Yeah, I’ve seen her,” Carey said. Gail hissed in the shrubbery, but Carey covered it with her talking. “The bracer is pretty distinctive. She was talking to someone in the Royal Oak last night.”

The orc crossed her arms and looked incredulous. “You seen her after that?”

Carey shrugged. “Not that I know of.”

“Well, thank you for your time, miss,” the dwarf said, before leading the orc away.

They whispered to each other as they walked off. Carey strained to hear it.

“She’s dressed like a rogue,” the orc said.

“Rogues’ don’t have a dress code.”

“Yeah, but still--”

“What she said matches what we heard.”

The orc shut up.

Gail crawled her way out of the bushes. “What possessed you to tell the truth?”

“I remember lying quite a lot then.”

“You said you saw me, in a pub, last night. That’s true.”

“And that’s what made it believable. Anyway,” Carey started counting on her fingers, “We were in the Rose, not the Oak last night, you talked to me instead of talking to someone else, and I did see you this morning.”

“You could have just said you hadn’t seen me.”

“And then they might still be looking around for you here. They think you’re in the forest, right? That’s why they’re in it. I tell them I saw you in town, there’s a chance they believe me and double back, giving us a head start. Or maybe they don’t, and keep looking. But if I said I hadn’t seen you, well, they’re going to keep looking where you think they are, right?”

“They might have doubled back anyway.” Gail didn’t sound like she believed herself.

Carey offered a hand to help her stand up. “Come on, let’s make the most of this head start.”

***

The rest of their travel was uneventful, much more than Carey expected. People generally didn’t exaggerate the danger when they were trying to hire someone. Kinda made it harder to find someone, and more expensive when you did.

They were no traps, except from the odd hunting snare. Which wasn’t surprising. Like, who traps a forest? Poachers, not guardians of mystical artifacts.

She didn’t disarm the snares. That would have been both pointless and rude.

Something moved behind her, in the view of the Tiger’s Eye. A humanoid figure, a large one. An orc. She turned around, and the figure had gone.

***

The figure showed up three more times.

***

A massive redwood tree towered above them. It was at least as big as some Goldcliff skyscrapers, both in height and girth. A massive entrance, about three Careys high and four wide, was gouged out of the base. A staircase spiralled up the innards.

By all rights, with all the cutting and carving, it should have been dead. Green leaves still grew, however.

“This is where we part ways,” Gail said, hobbling the mules.

Carey untied the ring from the mule’s tail. “What, no! You don’t fire your rogue at the beginning of a dungeon.”

“That’s not a dungeon.”

“It’s a large--” Carey counted off each trait on her fingers “--possibly magical structure, which has a magical artifact at the end of it, and multiple adventurers trying to go in. Even if it ain’t underground, it’s pretty much definitionally a dungeon.”

“You’ve got me where I need to get.”

“I got you through a safe forest you knew the route of.” Okay, maybe the others following them made the forest unsafe, but still. “You hired me to take you to the artifact, and that’s what I’m doing.”

“Look, here’s my concern: how can I be sure you won’t steal it from me?”

“I get it, I’m a rogue, but a rogue who steals from their clients doesn’t get work again. Plus, I’m a rogue who likes to eat and live places. Unless this is the most magical thing in the world, it’s not going to be worth my job.”

“Trust me, it pretty much is the most magical thing. Which is why I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Now.”

“Provided I get fair compensation for my work, I wouldn’t take something that powerful--”

“Confident, I see.”

“Don’t interrupt. I don’t like leaving until I’ve seen things through to the end. Feels like leaving a play during intermission.”

“You want to fulfil your curiosity.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Curiosity killed the cat--”

It was Carey’s turn to interrupt. “Good thing I’m a dragon born, then. Okay, how about I make a more, how to put it, convincing way. I can come with you, or I can go find our stalkers and go tell them exactly where you are.”

“Are you threatening me? Blackmailing me?”

“Yes. That’s the danger of hiring a rogue. Now, which option do you like best?”

“If you dare lay a finger on that artefact--”

“Yeah, yeah, then I’ll be starving in the streets if I haven’t been killed by an angry wizard with a powerful artifact first. Am I coming with or not?”

Gail gave her a sour look. “Fine.”

***

Their ascent involved a lot of crawling around on all fours.

Correction: it involved a lot of crawling around for Carey. Gail stayed upright behind her.

Carey nudged her telescoping eleven foot pole forward. Something clicked as the pole touch, and gust of icy air, with snowflakes sharp as throwing knives burst out. Carey tapped the pressure plate again. Nothing.

“It’s a cycle,” Carey said. “Frost, fire, lightning, back to frost again.”

“Hmm, that’s not what I would have expected here. It implies that this artefact has different powers than I thought.”

“Good different, or bad different.”

Gail stopped to think a moment. “Good.”

Below them, something made a noise. It sounded like talking.

Carey held a finger to her lips and put her ear to the stairs.

“They’re ahead of us.” The voice sounded like the orc woman. “It explains why all the traps are disarmed, why things keep shooting out above us, even the noises.”

The next voice sounded like the dwarf. “All the more reason to get a scootch on and stop arguing.”

“I can get you up there quicker.”

“And beat them one vs two? Nah, not going to happen.”

“If you surprise em--”

The voices stopped for a moment before the dwarf spoke again. “Fine.”

Nothing happened for two moments.

That’s when the dwarf shot up from the hole in the middle of the spiral and grabbed onto Carey’s stair.

Carey sprang up and stamped on the dwarf’s hands.

He hissed, but still gripped on.

Gail kicked him in the head. It was a dainty kick, and he seemed unaffected.

Carey grabbed a dagger and stabbed his palm in between the bones. The dagger didn’t pierce into the stairs, but still stood upright in his hand.

He took his other hand off the stairs to pull the knife out. The stabbed hands grip weakened, and there was a look of dawning horror as he realised how stupid he’d been.

He fell off the stairs.

There was muffled “Fuck!” from the orc woman, and the sound of someone frantically waving something. (It sounded... feathery?)

Carey threw a smoke bomb down, angling it towards the sound of the orc’s voice. “Have this!”

“Don’t you mean ‘take that’?” Gail asked.

“Well, I’m giving them something, so no.”

They rushed up the stairs, Carey scooting the pole in front as they ran. Even with the distractions, they had to assume the other two were hot on their heels. They needed to get to the artifact first, and if they had to be less careful, they were gonna be less careful. Each trap so far had only one charge, so they could probably afford it. .

“We’re close,” Gail said, running out of breath. “I can see the top of the tree.”

The spiral widened. Carey looked down. The orc and the dwarf were just two loops below them. She didn’t know how, probably some sort of haste spell, but they were nearly caught up.

“Uh, company is getting very close as well,” Carey said.

With a final turn of speed, they sprinted the rest of the way up.

The top of the tree was anti-climactic. The staircase stopped on a wide branch, that had a flat wedge cut out of it to make a floor. The branches and leaves above made a makeshift roof. It was generally fairly plain. Carey didn’t know what else she expected, this fit what the rest of the tree looked like, but still. There should have been a big greebly monster, or at least a prettier room.

Gail got on her hands and knees. “It has to be here, it to be here--” A panel slid up and out of the floor, revealing a cubic compartment.

Carey peered over Gail’s shoulder to get better look. It was just a belt. A leather strap with holes in it, and a buckle. The buckle was the oddest part of it: it was circular with elemental designs on it, and it looked like you might be able to spin it. She didn’t have much of an eye for magic items, but she didn’t expect a powerful artifact. Like the room it was in, it seemed lacking. Diamonds and rubies should have encrusted it, and it should have glowed with an holy and or unholy nimbus.

But it was just a plain belt, with a plain strap, and a kinda fancy buckle.

Gail took it out of the box and put it on.

Nothing happened. At all. It was even more anticlimactic than it looked.

Gail stood up. “I’d always heard these things intuitive, then again, when have we actually found one?” She seemed... off, as she talked. Out of character Like someone who assumed that magical artifacts were meant to change you if you used them.

“Who’s ‘we’?” Carey asked.

Gail didn’t pay any attention. “You’re one of the few people who have ever seen this. Or at least one of the few that know they have. The thing that I have been searching for for years: the G̼̰͔̲ą̯̪͚͍̭̼̲́į̙̥͇͕̜̤a̡͕̜̬̜̠̥̠̯̯̕͟ ̸̱̭̟S̢̹̰̫͖̬̕͘a̴̜̦͠s̜̬͘h̨̢̪̲̭.”

The last words were swallowed up by an unintelligible hiss of static. “What are you talking about? What you said doesn’t mean anything.”

Gail looked at her. Her eyes burned. “Well, you’ve seen it. Has that satisfied your curiosity? Unfortunately, you know how the saying goes. ‘Curiosity killed the cat.’”

Carey backed away towards the stairs.

“Nuh-uh.” She waggled her finger towards her, and Carey took a tentative step forward. “This is why I wanted to leave you behind, I don’t want to kill you. But I have to. Otherwise you’d take it.”

“No, I won’t, I swear, thief's honour, I’ll just go and you can have it--”

“Everyone tries to take it. It’s what it does. Do you know how powerful the G̼̰͔̲ą̯̪͚͍̭̼̲́į̙̥͇͕̜̤a̡͕̜̬̜̠̥̠̯̯̕͟ ̸̱̭̟S̢̹̰̫͖̬̕͘a̴̜̦͠s̜̬͘h̨̢̪̲̭ is? This has ended the world before.”

Carey swallowed thickly. “I’m pretty sure the world is still around.”

“That’s what you think.” Gail started pacing. “Even if you don’t want it now, you will. It’ll gnaw at you, until you just can’t help yourself. Then you’ll take it, and because you don’t know what you’re doing, the world will end again. Someone responsible has to take it.”

“Like the person threatening an innocent because they saw a belt?”

“It’s the responsible thing in this case. Anyway, you’re a rogue and an adventurer, you don’t really count as an innocent.”

Carey’s hands crept towards her daggers. If Gail stayed distracted, she might get a chance before she noticed--

Gail stopped pacing and stared Carey dead in the eye. “Come on now, hold still. It’ll be a lot quicker that way.”

Gail held her arms out. Nothing happened. She did it again, then stomped about, jumped up and down, waved her arms about. Still, nothing happened.

“Guess it really is unintuitive. I’ll do it without it then.” Gail pulled out her wand, and before Carey could react, a gust of wind burst out from its tip.

Carey went flying and sailed off the edge of the platform, into the branches. She flailed, trying to grip onto something, anything, to stop her from falling right off the tree.

She slammed face first into a branch, and managed to grab a hold of it.

Gail was obscured by the foliage. She kept pacing and waving her arms. The belt didn’t respond.

Carey hung from the branch. She kicked the air, trying to find a foothold. There was none. The branch dipped and swayed from her weight.

She didn’t look down. The foliage probably hid the ground, but even then, she didn’t want to risk it. She didn’t want to know how far up she was.

She stopped struggling for a foothold, and kept still. She could probably swing the rest of herself up onto the branch (if not, she was stuck here until her arms gave out) but she couldn’t do it quietly. Gail really didn’t need to know she hadn’t fallen.

The orc woman barged onto the platform, followed by a worse-for-wear dwarf with what looked like a bandaged hand. “Gail Whitebrook, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“I know we don’t hire regulators for their brains, but what does it look like? Ah yes, it looks like I’m playing bridge with my Sunday night bridge buddies.

The orc lifted her crossbow from her back, aiming at Gail. “I was hoping the answer would something other than ‘trying to use a relic.’”

“Quick question:” the dwarf said. “Why isn’t this tree moving? Or attacking the nearest town?”

Carey swung her feet onto the branch, using the conversation to cover the noise. The branch wobbled and whipped about. She gripped on tighter. It didn’t seem to be about to break, at least.

“You think the arcane secrets of the most powerful artifacts in the world are easy to work out?” Gail held both arms to one side, then the other. “I’ve nearly got it, and when I have, you’ll see that this for the best, that this will save the world. If you’re still alive, of course.”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” said the orc.

“You don’t think we’ll be alive?” said the dwarf.

“You know what I mean.”

Gail’s fingers wiggled behind her back, casting a spell.

The orc’s crossbow was too big to be move by Mage Hand, by a fair whack. The bolts, however? They were a little on the large for the spell, but it was easier enough for Gail to pick up individual ones and scatter them across the floor.

The orc knelt down to grab a bolt before they all rolled out of her reach and off the tree.

Gail ended Mage Hand, and started casting in the direction of the dwarf.

Killing your client was generally considered bad form, and Carey didn’t give much of a damn about the orc and the dwarf. But if they died, well, there was no way she could get past Gail and down the tree safely. Plus, attempting to kill your freelancer probably counted as a breach of contract, and as a general rule you should get rid of anyone with magical artifact ranting about ultimate power.

Carey waited till the branch swung closest to the tree and catapulted herself off. She sprinted towards Gail, daggers out.

Rogue pro tip: don’t scream ‘SNEAK ATTACK’ before you go and do that.

Carey didn’t.

Second rogue pro tip: Wordless screaming isn’t a whole lot better.

Thankfully, the casting distracted Gail. She turned just before Carey stabbed her above her collar bones.

Her flesh resisted, in a way that felt wrong and gross as it went up the handles.

Something went into Carey’s leg. It felt like an impact, before it felt like pain. She looked down.

A bolt, big as a spear, went straight through Gail’s midsection and into her leg. The orc stared at the hole in Gail, crossbow still up.

Her eyes weren’t wild, but there was hard edge. Tightly controlled, but still there. Not the look of a killer, but the look a someone who knew exactly what she did and why she had to do it

It was dead sexy, and Carey knew that had to be the blood loss talking (despite how little blood had left her the time), because who thought that about the person who’d just (by accident, hopefully) shot them?

Gail’s body toppled, and Carey toppled with her.

The dwarf, who hadn’t yet drawn his axe, looked at Carey’s wound. “I guess that’d count as payback.”

“Only if you’d done it,” said the orc. “Now, how are we going to deal with this whole... belt situation. We can’t just pick it up.”

“Yeah, sure we can.” The dwarf went and did just that.

“What the fuck, Boyland!” The orc swung her crossbow around, but kept it aimed at Boyland’s feet.

“Boyland? That’s you like, actual name?” Carey asked. They ignored her.

“It’s not a relic, see?” He threw the belt at her.

The orc woman flicked it off like it was a spider, and the looked down at it. “Guess you’re right.”

“What’s your name? Girlland?”

“It’s Killian. You working for her?”

Carey nodded.

“You know what she was looking for?”

“A magical artifact.” Carey flicked her head in the direction of the belt.

“Know what it’s called?”

“The kksshhhhksshhrrkks?”

“No, but close enough.” Killian turned to Boyland. “This going to be a fun report to make.”

Carey looked at her belt, mostly because Killian was too tall and she was too on the floor to look at her eyeline. A feather duster hung on it. It looked a little odd, partially because Killian didn’t look like the sort to carry a feather duster in case she found somewhere that really needed dusting. There was also the secondary question of how the hell Boyland survived his fall.

“Okay, my turn to ask invasive questions: is that a magic feather duster?”

“No,” Killian said, deadpan. “It is the most ordinary feather duster in the world, which I have for dusting and only dusting. It certainly doesn’t have feather fall.”

“Where’d you get it?”

Killian ignored her, but Boyland piped up. “Her employer sort-of-kind-of-not-technically paid her with it.”

Carey could claim that what she was about to do was to try and make up for the fact Gail never paid her before dying, and she had no clue where Gail kept her stuff. In the future, she could claim she did it because she really just wanted to save the world. Honestly? She was curious. About why there were words she couldn’t hear or read, or what the fuck Gail had gotten them into, and did Killian like girls? Curiosity, so far, hadn’t managed to kill the dragonborn.

“Is your employer hiring?”

#tazladyweek #the adventure zone #carey fangbattle #carey fangbattle/killian #killian #boyland

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