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floral-and-fine · 4 years

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Heaven Bent part 1

Daryl Dixon x female reader

A/n: My first time writing anything for The Walking Dead fandom, but this idea was too cute to pass up! Thank you @ewokiee for all the help!

Summary: The reader finds Sophia lost in the woods, too bad neither of them have any sense of direction.

You stopped in your tracks, taking in your surroundings. You found yourself in a small clearing amongst all the tall trees. This part of the forest looked familiar…maybe.

You furrowed your brows and spun back around, looking to where you just emerged, then turned your head back to look ahead.

“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself, it all looked the same to you. Just leaves, bark, twigs, not a damn thing stuck out.

Sighing, you continued to trudge forward, you didn’t even have a mild clue as to what direction you were traveling in, but it was better than just standing in one place, right? It’s not like there was anybody out there looking for you.

Getting lost wasn’t a big surprise, necessarily, you had always been directionally challenged your whole life. Growing up, you used to live by woods similar to these, as a kid you believed there was something magical about it. Spending hours exploring, not realizing you were lost until it started getting dark out.

But that was back when the world was a safer place. Usually, the sounds of things like car horns and roaring traffic would help guide you to the nearest road, or your mother would come looking for you, shouting out your name so you could follow her voice, but not now. Now the world was eerily quiet, just the occasional bird or rustling of the trees.

“I should get a compass and a map,” you mused to yourself, wishing you had something to help you out of this. “That is If I ever find my way out of here and back to what’s left of civilization.”

It’s not like you were exactly prepared for or even expecting the end of the world to happen. Hell, even before shit hit the fan, you were barely scraping by week to week.

Most people thought of you as a free spirit, constantly moving around, never staying in a place for too long. And while you had your fun and had seen all sorts of wonderful places and had met the most interesting people, a part of you regretted not putting down any roots or living closer to your family.

Under normal circumstances, you loved your lifestyle and wouldn’t have it any other way, but now that you were on your own in the middle of all this mess, you couldn’t help but wonder how it could’ve been had you been with your family or close friends.

Your ears perked up at the sound of water, it was faint, but hopefully, it wasn’t too far away. Automatically, your pace picked up as you moved towards the sound.

You stumbled down a small hill, finding a creek at the bottom. You smiled to yourself, just relieved to see something new. At least it was something more memorable than trees. It could even serve as a little landmark.

You knelt down, dipping your hands into the cool water. It probably wasn’t safe to drink but it felt nice on your skin. You splashed some water on your face, helping you feel a little more awake and refreshed after your hours of walking in this heat.

You were almost tempted to strip and get in just to cool the rest of the way off, but you’d settle for just dipping your feet in.

As you were undoing the laces on your boots, you heard whimpering coming from some place close by. You stilled your movements and focused on the sound. The cries were muffled, whoever it was was trying their best to stay quiet.

“Hello?” You whispered, not wanting to draw any unwelcome attention to yourself, the last thing you needed was to have to run or fight off any zombies.

You waited a moment for a reply, then took a deep breath, and spoke up a bit louder, “Anyone there?”

After a few seconds, a young girl with light brown hair peeked her head out from behind a nearby tree. She was clutching a doll tightly to her chest.

Immediately your body relaxed. The poor girl looked terrified, not that you blamed her, if you were her age, lost in the woods with living corpses on the loose, you would’ve been petrified.

“Did you get lost?” You asked softly.

She nodded, taking a tentative step closer to you.

You smiled warmly at her, hoping she’d come a little closer. “I’m y/n,” you started. “What’s your name?”

“Sophia,” she answered in a small voice.

“Hi Sophia,” you smiled. “You come closer, I don’t bite.” You patted the spot next to you, and watched as she cautiously sat down.

“How’d you get separated from your family, Sweetheart?”

She stared at the water, recalling what had happened the day before. “We were on the road, and a bunch of walkers came out of nowhere.” Her eyes started to water, “we all hid underneath the cars… but one almost got me, so I ran.”

You gently, rubbed her back as she started to cry.

“Mr. Grimes came after me,” she sniffled. “But there were more walkers. He told me to hide, so he could distract them… I was supposed to run back, and I did but I got lost. I-I couldn’t find the road and I was so afraid I’d run into one of those things.” Her shoulders shook as she cried harder.

Wrapping an arm around her, you pulled her in for a hug. “It’s going to be alright,” you murmured. “We’ll find them together.”

You now felt a renewed sense of determination to find your way out of these woods, you wanted nothing more than to get this girl back to her mom.

…

“I like your necklaces,” Sophia spoke up all of sudden causing you to smile. The two of you were walking hand in hand, hoping to find that highway she was talking about.

“Oh yeah?”

She nodded, her eyes fixated on them, specifically the long ones with pretty crystals hanging off of them. “They’re very pretty.”

You slowed down, coming to a stop. Sophia looked up at you, curious as to what you were doing.

“Can you let go of my hand for a second?” You asked, smiling at her. “It’ll be alright.”

Reluctantly, she released her hold, freeing your hand.

You wiggled and stretched your fingers for a bit. Ever since you found her, she had held onto your hand with a death grip. Not that you minded, you figured she was scared of getting separated and being alone again, and in all honesty, you were afraid of the same thing.

Reaching around behind your neck, you pulled one of your necklaces over your head. “Here,” You knelt down and held it in front of Sophia, it was a simple necklace with a single crystal pendant.

“The crystal is an amethyst,” you pointed out. “It's for spiritual protection.”

You placed the necklace in her cupped hands, watching as she ran her fingers over the crystal. “You can keep it,” you chirped happily.

She looked at you wide-eyed, before putting it on. “Thank you,” she whispered.

You nodded, and offered her your hand again, curling your fingers around her palm. “Which way do you think we should keep going?”

…

A couple of days had passed and you started getting worried. You kept it all to yourself though, putting on a brave front for Sophia’s sake.

But things weren’t looking good. You were already running low on food and water. You did your best to ration what was left between the two of you, often giving Sophia a little more than you gave yourself.

You knew the more time that passed the less likely it was that her group would find either of you.

In the daytime, you did everything you could to keep your and her spirits up, like playing little games of I Spy, quietly singing songs, asking her questions about her group.

It sounded like they were a good group of people, for the most part, you wondered if they’d accept you. It had to be better than surviving on your own.

The further the two of you walked, the more lost you felt. It was as though the forest was endless, your own personal hell in a way.

The nights so far had been the worst part. Once you’d find a semi safe-looking spot, you and Sophia would sit against a tree, she’d fall asleep curled by your side, while you stayed awake through the night keeping watch.

That’s when things seemed the most hopeless to you, sitting alone in the dark with just your thoughts to keep you company. You wasted the hours worrying about all the things that could go wrong, how inevitably you’d run out of food, that one or more of those walkers, like Sophia called them, would find you…

Not to mention, you were physically and mentally exhausted, you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep any of this up.

As the sun was beginning to rise, you spotted a walker out in the distance. However, you didn’t want to wake Sophia up yet, she needed her rest if the two of you were going to keep searching for your way out of this forest.

You dug through your bag and took out your knife. Carefully, you stood up, trying your best to be quiet. You observed the walker carefully, it moved slowly with a limp.

You had only killed a couple of them total, usually, you preferred just sneaking around and avoiding them.

Sighing, you gripped the handle of the hunting knife tighter and tiptoed towards your target.

Despite how many of these walkers you had seen, it still made you sick to your stomach, between the smell and their appearance you weren’t sure if you could even imagine anything more disgusting.

You approached it from behind, taking a deep breath before taking a hold of its shoulder and plunging the knife through the back of its skull.

Just like that, it fell to the ground. Stepping down onto its back, you reached down and tugged the knife back out. You tried your best to ignore the unpleasant squelching as you wiggled the knife free.

Quickly, you returned to where Sophia was still soundly asleep. Taking out a rag, you wiped off the bloody knife, before slipping it back into your bag.

…

Daryl huffed as he packed a bag and prepped for venturing out into the woods again.

He couldn’t stand the sight of Carol’s moping, he felt bad for her, he truly did, but comforting people wasn’t his strong suit. Made him feel useless watching someone cry and not being able to do a damn thing about.

He never received much comfort or sympathy growing up, his father and brother weren't compassionate types. So he didn’t have a clue as to how to make anyone else feel better. He had seen how Lori and Dale were with the others, always saying the right words, knowing what people needed to hear to get through the bad.

The only thing Daryl could do was go back out there and find Sophia, which was a hell of a lot better than sitting around this farm twiddling his thumbs while everyone else was having a pity party.

“You’re going back out there?” Carol asked softly, she appreciated all his efforts. It honestly surprised her when he volunteered to search for Sophia. A part of her had expected him not to care.

The more she got to know Daryl, the more obvious were the differences between him and Merle. On the surface, he was tough and brash just like his brother, but somewhere inside of Daryl, he cared about the group, about people.

“Ain’t like anyone else is gonna,” he answered, slinging the backpack strap over his shoulder.

Carol placed her hand on his forearm, squeezing lightly, “Thank you.”

Daryl glanced down for a moment before shrugging her hand off.

“Someone’s gotta do it,” he muttered, tightly clenching his jaw. He headed towards the stables, figuring he’d be able to cover more ground by horse then just on foot.

…

“Sophia!” Daryl shouted on the top of his lungs, he didn’t give a damn if he drew the attention of every damn walker in the whole state. He was determined to find her.

It felt like it was all up to him to find her, cause if he didn’t no one else was gonna step up.

Rick had his hands full with Carl, and Daryl could tell that Shane had already given up on the girl. He understood why, little girl lost in the woods, no food, no water, the likelihood she was still alive was slim to none, but there was something in his gut saying otherwise, and it pushed him to keep searching.

Each time he went out looking for her, he honestly believed that this was going to be the time he found her. That he stumbled across wherever she was hiding, and she’d be there, alive.

He continued at a slow trot, keeping his eyes peeled for any movement, before picking up the pace.

…

Neither you nor Sophia had any energy left to keep going.

You offered to carry her when she started falling behind and stumbling over her own feet. You crouched down, allowing her to wrap her arms loosely around your neck as you looped your arms to hold her legs.

For a few hours, you had mustered up just enough will to keep pushing forward, but then it was like your body just gave up. You collapsed to your knees, and couldn’t find the will to stand back up.

Sophia had passed out, and your eyes were growing heavy, you had no fight left, but you tried you to at least stay conscious. You drag yourself over near a tree, so you and Sophia wouldn’t be completely exposed.

You wrapped your arms around her. No matter how much you wanted to keep going, you just couldn’t. Days without sleep and water had finally caught up to you. You felt so heavy and limp.

Looking up to the sky, the sunlight seeping through the leaves and branches was bright and warm.

Your eyes started to water, this was probably your last day alive. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it had just been you, but you failed Sophia. You thought about Sophia’s poor mother, out there somewhere close by looking for her daughter. You had hoped you were going to be able to reunite the two of them.

You began to openly weep as a wave of emotion crashed down on you. Maybe Sophia would’ve been better off without your help.

You squeezed her shoulder gently and whispered an apology.

Suddenly, you froze, you couldn’t believe your ears but it sounded like there was someone shouting in the distance. But he was too far, and you couldn’t quite make out what he was saying.

Wetting your lips with your tongue you tried to speak. But you could barely get a word out.

“Sophia!” The man yelled, sounding like he was heading towards your direction.

“Here,” you croaked, your voice cracking as you tried to speak louder. Your eyes watered, frustrated that he hadn’t heard you.

“Sophia!” He shouted again. He sounded like he was closer, this was your chance.

“HERE,” you repeated, straining your voice as you tried to shout, praying that he heard you this time. You watched closely in the direction you heard the voice. “Please,” you whispered, “we’re here.”

Time seemed to slow down, and it was absolute torture. You balled your fists tightly, waiting for someone, anyone coming to your rescue. Just as you were about to lose hope, a man with a crossbow emerged.

He was covered in sweat and was panting. His short brown hair was a mess and there were bloodstains on his clothes.

Daryl took a couple of steps forward, he couldn’t believe it. He had actually found Sophia. Although, he wasn’t expecting to find anyone else with her.

“Is she alive?” He asked you.

You nodded in response. “Are you with her group?” You asked, your throat still sore from earlier.

“Yeah,” he answered, trying to figure out how the hell he was going to get you both back to the farm. Sophia was out cold, and you didn’t seem to be any better off.

Daryl scooped Sophia into his arms, then turned back to you. “Got a horse nearby, we just need to get ya to it.”

You nodded, just grateful that he wasn’t going to abandon you out here. You weren’t anyone to him, or to their group… the easiest thing would’ve been to leave you, and you would’ve understood.

As you stood up it felt like your legs were going to give out at any moment. Daryl allowed you to lean against him, as you made your way towards the horse.

Somehow, you managed to find the strength to mount the horse. Daryl instructed you just to hold on, as he grabbed the reins to lead you and the horse back. With Sophia in his arms, he started walking back towards the farm.

You rested against the horse, clutching its mane with your fingers. Your eyes felt heavy like you were going to pass out any minute, the world around you was blurry. Watching the trees pass, you thought you could see figures standing between them, tall dark shadowy figures.

Shaking your head, you tried to focus on your and Sophia’s savior walking ahead of you instead.

You smiled noticing the white wings on his back. You couldn’t figure out if it was another hallucination or if they were real. But maybe he really was an angel.

You sighed, feeling safe in his company. Everything was going to be alright. You rested your eyes, the movements of the horse gently lulling you to sleep.

Daryl stopped in his tracks when he heard a loud thud behind him like someone had dropped a sack of dirty laundry on the ground.

Looking back, he saw the horse saddle empty and you laying in the dirt like a rag doll.

“God damn it,” he muttered.

He gently sat Sophia down, before wandering over to you. He crouched down to your level, making sure you were still alive. God, you were going to end up being more trouble than the girl.

“Hey,” Daryl said sharply, patting your cheek, causing you to stir.

Your eyes slowly opened, blinking a couple of times before they were able to focus on his face. You smiled at him, a warm sweet smile. With the light of the sun shining down on him so brightly, it looked almost as if he had a halo.

“You really are an angel,” you mused in your partially delirious state. “You’ve got wings, a halo, and everything.”

Daryl scowled, “The hell you goin’ on about?”

You giggled, it was pretty funny to hear an angel curse.

Daryl sighed and muttered something under his breath about how you probably went crazy out there. Before helping you sit up.

You looked over to the side and noticed the horse standing there. Tilting your head to the side, you asked “Did I fall off?”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #female reader #reader insert #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon imagine #twd #walking dead fanfic #walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic

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yonymii · 3 years

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2 arabesques

a/n; this one was hard to write bc I did it while having writers block but I hope it's ok!! I love alisa a lot she is lovely and I would marry her if she was real 🥰🥰😍😁😁 also I got very absorbed like, halfway through so y/ns personality is basically me. yes

wc; 3.9k

warnings; cursing,

genre; fluff, strangers/friends to lovers, romance

pairing; alisa haiba x gn!reader

listen to 2 arabesques here!

She reminded you of the old paintings of angels you’d seen in art galleries as a child. It was weird, seeing something so ethereal reincarnate as a university student. She didn’t belong here; she belonged on a pedestal, deserved to be adored. But life was unfair, you supposed, and not everyone could experience the excitement of such an elaborate life. Perhaps that was why she was studying fashion modeling in the first place (whatever that was). You’d probably never know. She had absolutely no idea who you were.

By the time you’d stopped daydreaming, your final class of the day was over and everyone had left. Only you were left in the lecture hall, sitting at the very back with your head resting ontop of your arms, the shuffling of the professor packing up his things quickly making tiny little noises at the front of the room. He left, the door swinging shut behind him, but it wasn’t locked.

It didn’t take you long to pack up, seeing as your laptop hadn’t left your bag in the first place. You swung it over your shoulder after your coat, tucking your hands into the sleeves to protect them from the bite of the wind. It had been snowing when you arrived in the morning, and it took and hour to wake up your fingers to be able to type, let alone write anything.

The hallways were quiet (as usual; it wasn’t as if anyone wanted to stay in school when they didn’t need to). The little shop on the ground floor had a few students in it, but they were in a hurry to leave too. The large exit doors had obviously been open all day and it was absolutely freezing. You were glad you’d put on your big coat in the morning; it was a long walk back to your apartment and you planned on going to a coffee shop before going there.

It had stopped snowing, but the ground was covered in puddles and your boots and feet got soaked in numbingly cold water as you wandered towards the place you usually studied. It was slowly getting darker as you walked and the sun was lowering itself below the tall line of skyscrapers and apartment blocks when you entered the coffee shop and joined the small queue of teenagers and tired-looking adults ordering their drinks.

It was quiet inside but you were thankful for the warmth the heaters provided, and the low hum of voices under the music wasn’t unwelcome; you payed for your drink quickly and went to sit at your usual spot, the two-seater table in the corner. There was a small, dim light hanging above your head and it lit the space in a soft, golden glow, unlike the rest of the coffee shop that was lit by streetlamps outside. The moon was hid behind a building, only half of it visible, but you still found yourself staring at it for an unnecessary amount of time. It reminded you of her; your friend’s friend. The girl studying fashion modeling.

To be quite honest, you didn’t see her that often, so it was a mystery as to why she plagued your mind so often. Apparently, her brother played volleyball for a highschool called Nekoma (albeit not very well), and she was half Russian. Not that it mattered to you, though. You supposed that you’d like her anyway.

Suddenly, you found yourself snapped out of your little trance by the waiter bringing your mug to the table and setting it down a little too loudly. He walked away quickly, avoiding any sort of contact with you, but you weren’t bothered by it. You were focused on your book so the lack of conversation wasn’t disappointing in the slightest. The bell at the door rung again, and because of the small distraction of your drink arriving you raised your head to see who it was, somewhat begrudgingly, despite it being completely of your own accord.

Your eyes were met with a pair of stark green ones that seemed to go right through you; you shivered, not because they were unfriendly. Admittedly, you knew who she was, but your frank lack of energy made it hard to want to communicate with anyone, and so you pretended not to see her, looking back down at your book and swiftly burying yourself in the pages, as if you were trying to hide from her.

You knew your efforts were futile though. She was almost too nice, and it wasn’t like she knew you were already half-asleep and probably weren’t able to form a coherent sentence. At this point, you weren’t even reading. The words were going right over your head.

You heard her footsteps before her voice, and you didn’t even need to look up to know she was smiling. “Y/n!”. Too loud. You tried not to wince to noticeably.

“Hey, Alisa,” you managed to spit a greeting out. You weren’t sure what you thought about her at this point. You were tired, and it was late, and you had so many essays due that you doubted you’d get more than an hour of sleep over the next few days. Yeah, sure, you loved her but you were so overwhelmed you didn’t think you’d be able to handle talking to one more person. Emotions were confusing (especially when you considered yourself to be in love, whatever that felt like).

“How have you been?”, her voice was like silk, and you had to wait a moment to process what she was saying. Alisa continued, “I haven’t seen you since last month! How have you been?” she looked down at your book, then at your bag that barely held all the paper assigments from your classes. She laughed (the same laugh that gave you heart palpitations. This was the reason she wasn’t good for you) “You look busy.”

You laughed (it was sort of forced, but that isn’t the point), “Yeah. School tends to keep you busy,” you paused, adding shakily, “I’m used to it, though. Don’t worry about me!”

The blonde girl frowned as she watched you panic, your eyes darting everywhere but her. It was hard not to worry when you watch someone you consider a friend fall apart in the back corner of a coffee shop. She tried her best to ignore it though, and as soon as you managed to look back at her she continued the conversation.

“I don’t think we have each other’s numbers yet, y/n. Do you mind exchanging? Maybe we could go out together sometime, since i have to get home and look after Lev,” she sighed, and her eyes closed momentarily, “He’s a bit of a handful. For a fifteen-year-old.”

You didn’t have the energy to feel sorry for her but you let her enter her number into your phone, and she listened attentively when you told her yours to make sure she didn’t get it wrong and end up texting a random stranger to make plans. After you watched her leave, take-out cup of coffee in hand, you lay your head on the darkening pages of your book, ear pressed to the paper. You closed your eyes for a moment and then sat up, breathing deeply as you drank the rest of your tea. You closed your book, tucking it into the bottom of your bag and standing up, patting your coat pocket to check that your phone was still in there.

It was pitch-black when you stepped outside, and the streetlamps made you squint and cover your eyes with one hand; your apartment wasn’t too far away but it was cold and taxis were easy. You flagged one down and climbed into the back, sitting directly behind the driver (it made you feel safer anyway), and you put in your headphones.

The drive passed quickly, and as soon as you paid for the journey and exited the car you began to walk briskly up the stairs to your place. Your keys were in the same pocket as your phone, and you pulled them out wearily, pushing the silver one into the lock and turning it till you heard the familiar click.

The door felt extra heavy tonight, and your bag dropped to the floor just as quickly as you dropped onto your bed. The lights were too bright to turn on but the fairy lights lining the walls were fine; you opted for them as you dropped your thick coat next to your bag and shoes. Closing the window from the freezing cold and switching on the little heater, you crawled into bed and let the warmth envelop you. You fell asleep in mere seconds, ignoring the loud vibrations from your phone carry across the room.

Most of the time, when you don’t want to reply to someone’s message or call them back, you just pretend to have not read it or noticed in the first place. It was weird, leaving the notification there, just to remind yourself that she texted you first. When you’d exchanged numbers the previous week, you just assumed that you’d be the first one to reach out. That’s how it had been with every other friend you’d made. You weren’t disappointed; in fact, you were grateful. You hated having to initiate conversations, however you still felt bad for not replying.

It had been five days since Alisa first messaged you, three since the second time, and fifteen minutes since the last. The latest one read ‘I’m coming over. Be about 20 minutes!’.

You sighed, reading it once more and then turning your brightness down. Just because you hadn’t replied to any of her texts didn’t mean you weren’t ok. The music barely reached your ears since you were buried so deep under your covers, but that was fine. You weren’t really listening to it anyways.

There was a knock at the door. You didn’t think that the person on the other side realised how thin it was, but you definitely heard them sigh and let out a string of curses after you didn’t reply. It was Alisa, but you knew that. Nobody else would want to check in on you. The doorknob rattled and you winced; too loud. It opened, a little quieter this time, and slowly, the covers were peeled off of your figure. Alisa sighed (again. How sick of you could she possibly be? You only got back in touch less that six days ago) and looked down at you with disdain.

“You need to get up. Have you missed any classes?” you shook you head in response to her questions. You couldn’t miss classes. It’s not as if you found them particularly difficult. Just a little boring, that’s all.

You closed your eyes, tapping your fingers against the mattress. The blinds had been opened and now the evening light was pouring into your room unfiltered. Alisa grabbed your wrist gently, pulling you up painfully slowly. You groaned, rubbing your eyes and patting her hand to let her know you can sit up on your own.

You opened your eyes somewhat begrudgingly, squinting from the still too-bright light. Alisa was stood at your small fridge, rifling through whatever food was left in there. She pulled out a half-full bottle of milk and a packet of ham. “Do you not uhh,” she paused, “have any… other kinds of food? Or is your diet limited to milk and ham sandwiches?”

“I usually get takeout. Or ham sandwiches. Sort of depends how lazy i’m feeling on that day.” She turned and smiled at you, nodded her head back towards the door. “We can go to mine. I have ‘good’ food there. Lev needs feeding anyways.”. You grinned, “I thought Lev was fifteen?”

“Yeah, but he’s still incompetent. I’ll teach him to cook later, when i’m not taking care of you.”

You looked down at your lap, and then at the pair of shoes on the floor next to your bed. Sliding them on, you stood, looking at Alisa for approval. “You look fine. When was the last time you changed?”

You hesitated, thinking for a moment, “A few hours ago, when i got back from class.” You grabbed the brush on the bedside table and combed through your hair a few times, evening it out from the mess it was a minute ago. “C’mon,” Alisa opened the door, “Don’t forget your keys! I doubt you wanna get locked out, right?”

Alisa’s house was big. She was lucky not to have to live in student accommodation, in all honesty. When you sat down on her large sofa, you heard the voices of two adults nearing. You weren’t sure what to think at this point. You and Alisa barely knew each other, and she’d come to your apartment, dragged you out of bed, invited you into her home where her whole family was.

“Alisa, darling? Have you brought a friend over?”

You saw her nod out of the corner of your eye as she made your meal, humming quietly to the tune of the music. There were loud, fast footsteps in the corridor that her parents had exited and looking up, you saw a lanky grey-haired boy with the same stark green eyes as her. He was almost as tall as the ceiling, and when he entered the room he had to duck to get through the threshold. You assumed this was Lev, Alisa’s high school age brother. Volleyball boy. Whatever. He was unimportant, and you were hungry.

“Ah! Lyovochka! Are your teammates here? Do they want food?” she didn’t look up from the kitchen counter as she spoke but Lev nodded, running back to ask his friends if they wanted food. (He never came back to give any sort of answer, though)

“So!” the sudden appearance of Alisa’s mother was unexpected. She was just as pretty as her daughter, but very obviously older. “What’s your name?”

You stuttered, panicking slightly, avoiding any possible eye contact. You looked to Alisa for help, and caught her gaze as she hurried over, sitting next to you. “This is y/n, mom. We met a while ago but i invited her over for lunch today,” she looked at you and patted your thigh, trying to calm you down slightly, “We might go out to the city later, if that’s okay with them.”

Alisa’s mother raised her eyebrows at your unwillingness to speak; maybe she thought you were being rude, but you didn’t have the capacity to worry about that right now. “Nice to meet you, y/n.” You nodded, slightly dizzy from being so overwhelmed but trying to be as polite as possible nonetheless. Alisa’s dad was stood behind the sofa, a large cup of what you assumed to be tea inbetween his hands.

Alisa stood and ushered her parents away, towards the door. “Were you going out?” they nodded, grabbing bags and phones on the way out, “We’ll see you later, then!” Her father tried protesting, but Alisa reassured them that Lev was completely fine while you and her were here.

Once the door was closed, Alisa looked back at you apologetically. “Sorry about them! They can be a little overbearing sometimes.” she gave you a small smile and pulled out two plates. “I think that’s an understatement.” you replied quietly.

She laughed loudly, earning a smile from you. “I’m glad you’re okay now though.” she looked at you, smile instantly gone from her face. “You are okay, right?” You nodded, and she relaxed, serving your food onto the plates and bringing them round to the coffee table you were sat facing. “It might be a little hot. Wait a bit before you try it.”

You picked up your plate and put it onto your lap, the warmth of it heating your legs, as if the heat of the room wasn’t already enough. Your face felt warm and your hands shook slightly as you reached to pick up the food; you were either hungry or nervous. It was probably best to not think about it too much.

Alisa was staring at the TV that was sat on a polished wooden desk by the wall, her eyes mirroring the images from the screen. From the looks of it, she was watching a documentary on animals in the arctic, probably one you’d seen before. You weren’t looking at it, but the narrator’s voice sounded familiar and when you were little you’d watch stuff like that constantly, sometimes the same one over and over again until you got bored of it then moved on to the next one (which you’d also - metaphorically - beat half to death and then abandon)

After your meal, the two of you were still, to your displeasure, sat it silence. Alisa had turned the show off and was now sat reading a book and you were fiddling with your hands, waiting for her to notice you and let you go home (really, you could leave any moment, but you didn’t want to say anything first).

You stood up upon hearing Lev shouting from what you assumed was his room, and Alisa’s head immediately snapped up. She checked the time on the clock above the kitchen counter, and gasped, looking at you apologetically.

“Gosh! Y/n, you should have told me it was so late! I’ll walk you home.”

You shook your head, and the blonde girl in front of you sighed. “Are you sure? It’s getting dark. At least let me call you a taxi, ok?”. You hummed out a noise of approval and she picked up her phone that had been resting precariously on the arm of the sofa.

As she was speaking to the person on the other end of the line, (a series of yeses followed by her address and then your street. You smiled, tapping your chest and then sliding your arms into the sleeves of your jacket. She opened the door for you and the taxi pulled into her drive as you stepped out of the threshold; you waved at her, thanking her for your stay, and then wandered over to the taxi, sitting in your usual seat (behind the driver) and she only closed the door of her home when the car drove off. Your phone buzzed; ‘text me when you get home safe, ok! -Alisa <3’.

The next month was January.

The holiday season had passed without you seeing Alisa once, except for in a corner shop once, where you pretended not to see her but ended up being approached anyways. That time there was a pink coating her porcelain skin (you weren’t sure whether it was makeup, the cold or an actual blush, but you opted for the last one to satisfy yourself somewhat).

You sort of wished that you’d been able to spend the holidays with her, though. Sometimes, you found yourself thinking about her unconsciously. It was weird, but you ignored it. Stuff like that seemed like a lot of effort to you, and you were not notorious for being invested in relationships, platonic or romantic.

You only had one class today, and after that you saw her in the hallways. She’d obviously had a class in the same building of you, and as usual, you pretended not to have seen her. You just kept walking, coffee in hand, eyes on the floor. Again, like the first time you’d really talked, you heard her footsteps approaching and accepted your fate.

“Y/n! Hey!” she kept walking after you; you buried your face into your scarf and tried to get yourself to stop but it felt like your feet were moving on their own. Why were you ignoring her? You liked her, for god’s sake! You barely knew her, you should be using moments like these to get to know her better! What the hell were you doing?

Her hand landed on your shoulder and pulled you back. By now, the pair of you were outside, and your feet were crunching over newly layed snow. It was coming down thickly, you had to squint to see her properly. She looked tired, and her face was pale in comparison to the pink of the tip of her nose and her ears. It was cold, after all, and she didn’t have a scarf of hat or anything. You wanted to lend her yours; that was what people who were close did, wasn’t it? Why did she look so bedraggled anyway?

“Y/n, seriously, stop.”

You frowned, confused. You looked sad? And why would she care anyways? You weren’t close, and you could see her friends looking on from the steps of the building. The snow was catching in her hair and it felt like time had stopped; she really did look unreal. “I didn’t know you cared about me so much, Alisa. We’re not close, and we barely ever talk.”

It looked like she was about to cry. Maybe it was the cold?

“I don’t need a reason to care about you, y/n!” she reached a hand up to rub her eyes, “I can’t seem to stop thinking about you, and it’s driving me crazy!” she pointed to her friends on the steps, “They know it!” she was shouting now, and the wind seemed to whistle even louder in your ears, “Everyone else seems to know i’m in love with you except you! And i’m sorry if i didn’t make it obvious enough for you.”

At this point your brain was going overdrive to process what she’d just told you. You knew you probably looked stupid just standing there and staring at he but what else could you do? This wasn’t exactly how you’d pictured your evening going, and despite receiving confessions before this one felt different; you felt like your heart was on fire. It burned, and you were out of breath despite standing completely still. Alisa reached out and took your freezing cold hand into her own. She was surprisingly warm, and there were tears dripping off of her chin onto her coat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, you probably never felt the same way. Like you said, right? We barely even know each other.”

You stepped forward (again, it felt like you weren’t in control of your own feet) and with the hand Alisa wasn’t holding, cupped her cold cheek. She looked back at you and you could see her friends out of the corner of your eyes chewing the inside of their cheeks. It was embarrassing to say the least, but necessary. Alisa sniffed, and you looked back down at the ground, shaking your head. “No that’s not what i..” you tried to make your voice louder, “I just didn’t expect you to also feel like that.”

She laughed (it was probably the most beautiful noise you’d ever had the pleasure of hearing) and leaned in so that your foreheads were touching, her pretty smile still adorning her lips. “I’m glad,” she whispered, and the burning of your cheeks felt like a blazing fire across your face.

“Call me later, ok?” you nodded as she moved her face away, hand leaving yours reluctantly. “We can go out sometime. If it’s uhh.. okay with you, of course.” You giggled, and Alisa waved, her friends running after her (also giggling and patting Alisa’s head in what looked like celebration). It had stopped snowing, and the sun was shining through the clouds in a golden evening glow, lighting up the city marvellously. You decided to walk home today.

tags; @chqrryvelvet @wissbby

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years

Text

Kissing Dead Pearls (Part 24)

Sokka supposed that the chimps were better than no company at all. They would swing from the trees and whip twigs and bundles of leaves at him. On one occasion, one of them had chucked a whole coconut. But it was still better than being entirely alone. In some ways it reminded him of being in the boy’s locker rooms. It was just as much barbaric shenanigans and provided just as many feral pranks. They were just about as messy and mischief too.

He had to admit that it was fun for the first few days, until the glamor wore off and he began to realize that he had gone from one type of stranded to another. But at least this space was larger and teeming with food options. At least this one provided a canopy that took his skin out of the direct sunlight. He was beginning to feel like a vampire; cut off from the world and fearing sunlight. Instead of bats he had primages. Instead of sucking the blood out of people, he suckled knotweed and bamboo stem.

After what could have been a month on the island, he had come to observe things. Curious things like the way mosses trapped water. The dew they gathered was crucial when he hadn’t the energy to try to make a drink of knotweed and bamboo.

His days on the island were not as monotonous as the ones spent in the waves. He found that he rather enjoyed exploring the island until the mosquitoes started to swam and bite. But he couldn’t return to the camp that he was steadily erecting. Not just yet. He still had to gather food. He managed to craft a spear, with luck he could capture a small animal to cook. The palm fronds swished in the breeze a rather soothing sound that was so rudely interrupted by the jabbering of his chimp companions.

He fell into a sort of routine that made him feel normal again. One that helped him, however delicately, pick up the fragments of his mind a piece them together again. By day, he would hunt and gather and work to make his camp secure. Sometimes he would go for a swim in the freshwater pond he had found a week or so into exploring. That little swimminghole had been a sanctuary. It provide him with fish, drink, and recreation after its discovery. He had moved his camp over to it and gleefully bid a goodbye to his days of sipping at plants for hydration.

Though the sores and blisters were still a problem and the mosquitoes were just as attracted to them as they were to the bond. They never truly cleared and he could never truly seem to get them clean. He was beginning to worry about them.

At night he liked to lay on his back and observe the moon and stars through the palm fronts. The night sky was breathtakingly mystifying without city lights to hinder it. The moon especially was nice. When the chimps turned in and quieted for the night he would have conversations with the moon as though she were a cognizant entity that could hear him. She...for some reason he liked to call the moon a she. He would speak to her, messages that he wished for her to whisper to Katara and Kya and Hakoda. He would crack quips and witticisms at her to send off to Azula and Zuko. He hoped that the celestial body would craft some message that he was alive and stable but needed help that could be sensed on cosmic level.

He thinks that it might have worked, even if a little late. He can’t imagine any other reason for Azula being out in that storm.

He didn’t know how much time had passed but eventually, he had resigned to that no help would be coming. He hadn’t seen a ship or a plane to short off the emergency flares for. A part of him, that part of his mind that he couldn’t quite mend or get a grip on, considered that the world might have ended. That he was the last man on Earth, spared only by the coincidence of an unfortunate event that turned out to be a lucky one.

His logical mind told him that he had simply ventured into some remote corner of the world. A place so small that no one bothered stopping there. His logical mind compelled him to leave the island. He wanted to stay; the island was much more hospitable than the open waters. But there on the island he was stagnant. He would never get home.

He offered his chimps a farewell. He was going to miss them, especially Hou. He cried the first night he’d left the island. Though he had with him a more stable supply of food and water, he was still horrified at the prospect of being adrift again. His second era of floating by in a raft wasn’t so dreadful as the first. The stretch wasn’t as long before he reached an atoll. It was significantly smaller and had no food, but it was a break from the maddening roll of the waves and it was a much safer place to endure the storm.

He found another small island. Desperation and a hardened mind gave him the ambition and strength he needed to slay a boar. Its left tusk became a cup and its right tusk a weapon. The right tusk is the only thing that he has managed to hang onto during the storm, a keepsake of his misadventure and struggles.

Though he savored the tusks, its pelt was the most useful of his treasures. It had become a blanket while the boar’s meat was the first real meal he’d had in a while. It was the last meal. For the longest time he drifted from atoll to atoll--some greener than others but none of them had any real bounty. At best they were safe spots to hide on when clouds darkened and waves punched away at the sand.

And soon he was back to drifting with no land in sight at all. He had gotten so used to a plentiful helping of atolls that he had deluded himself into believing that the chain of them would be endless or that they would lead him to the mainland. For his assumption, it struck like a punch to the gut when days rolled by and he found nothing but endlessly rolling waves.

At night, he spoke to the moon more often. During the day hid from the sun’s rays beneath the blanket. It could only do so much though, the blisters were rising again and irritated once more by the saltwater.

He felt as though he were being cooked alive. He started praying for death. He watched clouds roll in, darker than he had ever seen and accented by bursts of lighting so powerful I could only think of a hurricane. He smiled, knowing that his prayers have been answered.

Though he hadn’t realized that it was his prayers to see civilization that had been answered until a shrill beeping pierced his ears.

.oOo.

She is at the foot of his bed clutching his hand. It is so sublimely wonderful to have human contact again and exceptionally so to have a familiar face. A familiar touch. A touch that is absurdly warm, Azula always had been very warm.

“I guess that it’s kinda weird but I kinda miss the chimps. I thought of bringing one home for you!” He finishes.

“What would I have done with a whole chimpanzee?” Azula crinkles her nose. He laughs, he had forgotten about the way her face bunched up when he said something particularly dumb.

“You would have loved it and cherished it.” Sokka declares. “He would have been our son.”

Azula gives a humored sniff. “How do you even care for a chimp?”

“The wonderful thing about the mainland is that we can look it up on the net.”

“Dad would have never allowed a monkey in the house.” Zuko comments from across the room.

“I’d keep it at my house.” Sokka replies. “Can you hand me that glass.”

Azula rolls her eyes. “It’s been what? A three days now? I think that you can reach over and get a glass yourself.” She hands it to him anyways.

“If you’d been stranded out at sea, I’d get you as many glasses as you asked for.” Sokka tries a smile.

“Without complaining?”

He thinks for a moment. “There would be a minimal amount of complaining.”

“And this is a minimal amount of complaining.”

He chuckles, “that’s fair.” Frankly, he is glad that she isn’t completely doting over him and babying him. He doesn’t think that it would feel normal if she cried and gushed over him. He doesn’t count the stress of the first day. She was rather weepy the first time he’d really opened his eyes. The first day that it settled in that he was truly back. He thinks that it is much more comforting to get his daily dose of sass and sarcasm. Because it is normal. It makes him feel as though he hadn’t been gone for so long after all.

Maybe the world hasn’t left him behind and discarded his memories. Maybe it hasn’t moved forward without him after all. Maybe she had been waiting for him all this time.

He grips her hand as tightly as he can with his sores and weakened muscles. Katara enters the room with lunch. He may not be home yet, but home has come to him.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Zuko #Katara #Fanfiction

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antiquechampagne · 5 years

Text

Divine Inspiration

The morning breeze carried the honeyed scent of the nearby roses mixed with fresh earth through Barbara’s open window. She woke early, just as the sun warmed the horizon to get a start on the day’s baking. Taking stock of her wares, she realized a trip to the trader was in order. After the first batch of pretzels was out of the oven and cooling, she made her way over.

“Good morrow, Barbara! What do you need today?” Kornelius saddled up to the table laden with wares.

“Can I get a bag of flour, please?”

“Sure thing. Anything else? Maybe some salt? Sugar?” His words had a bit of a sting to them and he knew it. Barbara’s reputation preceded her, as it did everywhere in Pribyslavitz.

She huffed.

“Just the flour, then.” Groschen quickly changed hands.

Barbara headed back to her shop, her cheeks burning.

She puttered around the shop, keeping her hands busy while her mind stewed. Sugar! Really?! She could bake dozens of pretzels faster than anyone around could and they tasted exquisite… but there was one thing that eluded her. One prize that seemed forever out of her reach… she could not for the life of her bake a proper biscuit. Every time she tried, she would end up with a lump of pallid flavorless dough or a burned chunk of coal. She had all but given up ever figuring out how to create a sweet treat.

The bell above the door rang as a familiar customer entered. Barbara managed to have a smile by the time he greeted her.

“God save you, Tom.”

“And you.” He eyed her wares while stroking his luxuriously thick mustache. If it wasn’t for all the dice he played, Barbara would have considered Tom to be quite a catch. She forced herself to focus. No use getting distracted in front of a customer.

He picked up a fresh pretzel after haggling for a minute. As he popped a corner in his mouth, his finger raised up as if remembering something important. “Just a fair warning,” He mumbled in between bites. “The bailiff might be on his way. I saw him walking down the road.”

Barbara’s heart sank. She thanked Tom for his patronage as she ushered him out of the shop. Peeking beyond her door, she saw the Bailiff’s silhouette far down the rutty road. His armor shone as he waved a greeting to the people passing him in the street.

Barbara slammed the door shut, pressing herself against the wood. She wasn't ready to endure the bailiff and his incipient disappointment again. It was like this endless ritual. He would burst through her door, scrutinize her offerings and then leave in a huff over the lack of sweet confections—day after day.

She couldn't deal with it today—it was just too much. Barbara opened the door a sliver to spy the Bailiff jovially entering another shop across. Now was her chance. She slipped out and bolted the door behind her.

Her nerves were raw. Perhaps a nice walk in the woods could soothe her. The minutes trickled in a steady stream. She felt that the farther she wandered from home, the calmer her spirit became. She knew not to ramble too far. Bandits and Cumans hid in the woods to attack unlucky travelers. The sun rose high in the sky, its warmth pressing its balmy weight on her shoulders.

At an intersection, a familiar conciliation cross greeted her. Needing a rest, she sat on a nearby log. She thought long and hard about all the biscuit recipes she had tried over the year she had been the baker in Pribyslavitz, and each time she failed. Barbara offered a heartfelt prayer that God would somehow grant her the grace to finally create an eatable confection.

Rested, she rose to continue her stroll when her foot caught on something in the grass. Stumbling, she landed on her knees.

"Damn it." At least the bailiff wasn't around to see her fail again.

Before she could rise to her feet, her eyes fell upon the object that had tripped her. To her surprise, she spied a wooden box wedged beneath the log where she had sat. Intrigued, she tried to pull it free, but it refused to budge. After giving the log a good shove with her shoulder, she managed to free the box, pulling it onto her lap.

Barbara felt compelled by some outside force to open it. Luckily, the lock had long since rusted away, leaving it easy to pop open with a deft thump with a nearby rock. Lifting the lid, she found a single book. Its leather cover was intricately carved ivy with tufts of feathery wheat intertwined. In the center, crowned with a buzzing beehive, was a stately oven surrounded by loaves of bread, cakes, and buns.

Barbara delicately opened the book to pages filled with beautiful script and dotted with numerous detailed illuminations.

She cursed under her breath. She had no bloody idea how to read.

---

By the time she had returned home, she was exhausted, though more mentally than physically. Opening her shop, she soon found a rush of people through her door. She figured most were trying to finish their daily shopping and she had become their last stop to get a few loaves before heading home for supper. Happily, Barbara realized as she closed for the night that the bailiff seemed to have better things to do than food shopping.

Her mind returned to the mysterious book. She turned the pages absentmindedly as she ate her own dinner of lentil mash and hearty bread, studying the drawings to see if they held any clues to the contents of the pages. Unfortunately, none were forthcoming.

Discouraged, Barbara pondered about who might help her decipher the text... without charging too much. She spent the remainder of the night cleaning the shop before heading to bed, the book tucked neatly beneath her pillow. She would have to find a safer hiding spot for such a valuable item, but until then she wasn't going to leave it too far from her side.

As the pale moon arched across the sky, Barbara began to dream. She found herself in a quiet chapel in the woods surrounded by dozens of frozen figures, stately frescos staring at her with their unmoving eyes.

The belching blast of an alien-sounding trumpet abruptly broke the silence. Startled, Barbara looked up to see the wall glowing with a golden light. Out stepped a figure.

“Quiet, Boris,” it said. “And go and get a tissue.”

“Who are you?” Barbara blurted.

“I am Saint Honoratus of Amiens!”

Barbara quickly crossed herself as she knelt, bowing her head. God had truly sent her a boon in the patron saint of bakers. In their right hand, they held a golden baker’s shovel.

“Glory be to God! He has sent me a sign!”

"To be honest, we thought the recipe book would be enough. We normally don't send anyone on a personal intervention like this but someone forgot to check if to see if you could read."

The trumpet emitted an annoyed-sounding blurt. Barbara looked away confused, feeling she might be intruding on some otherworldly spat.

"But that is neither here nor there," the saint continued. They lowered the golden shovel to reveal a trio of perfectly round pale biscuits. A small heart cut in the middle exposed a red center. "These, Barbara—Baker of Biscuit Town—are Jammie Dodgers. These are God's gift to you."

A holy hand burned Barbara's forehead.

---

Barbara woke with a start, gasping as her mind buzzed and churned with godly knowledge. Even though the sun had yet to start to rise, Barbara began to prepare. She found her larder filled with every ingredient she needed, even though part of her knew she had never seen some of them in any market. As the town woke around her, she hardly noticed the bustling outside her windows as she stirred and mixed, kneaded and baked.

She pulled sheets and sheets from the oven, soon realizing she had nowhere to place the hot biscuits to cool. Looking around, the only place to put them was her display tables... which were still filled with yesterday’s leftover pretzels. In a fit, she opened a shutter and tossed them all into the street, her only worry the creation of these divinely perfect confections.

Like a woman possessed, she worked tirelessly, forgoing food and water in her quest. She wiped sweat from her eyes as she positioned each faultless biscuit on her table.

Suddenly, the bailiff burst into the bakery.

"It's I, Henry! Bailiff of Biscuit To-" Henry stopped, his boisterous entrance arrested by a wall of sweet-smelling treats. His eyes went wide as scanned the table laden with row after row of shortbread framed red hearts.

"Barbara?" he gasped. "What are these?"

Barbara puffed up with pride. "Why, Sir Henry, have you never seen a biscuit before?" She couldn't help but direct a small jab at the bailiff, but he seemed too shocked to notice. He stood, unmoving. "Well, try one, good man! You shan't leave me in suspense any longer!"

Henry carefully took a bite, crumbs catching in his bushy beard. Barbara held her breath. In her fervor, she had forgotten to actually taste the biscuits as she was creating them.

A huge grin spread across Henry's face. "At last, we have a proper biscuit in Biscuit Town! God be praised!"

---

Author’s Notes: I wrote this fic for a wonderful Youtuber (Sexy Biscuit) who does a great job of showcasing Kingdom Come: Deliverance. Their channel is amazing, as well as the game. They bemoaned that there was barely any fan fic out there for KCD, so I wrote them some. I hope they enjoy it!

#fan fic #fanfic #kingdom come: deliverance #kcd #henry #barbara #biscuit town #sexy biscuit

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lostinfic · 6 years

Text

8 | Swimming

Mercier x Betty British Raj AU

Calcutta, 1902. The word ‘dance’ comes to mind, their own choreography of gazes exchanged across the room, brushes of hands and half-spoken confessions. They orbit around each other, destined never to collide it seems; Mercier is upper class, Betty is a governess. And he’s spying on the family whose children she swore to protect. But in this foreign land of spices and silk, of golden gods and lush forests, where cultural norms clash and wane, even destinies must yield to desire.

Rating: Mature Word count: 3.4k You don’t need to have seen either show.

A/N: the bridges mentioned in this chapter are actually in Cherrapunji, not close to Kolkata. Check them out here Tumblr | Ao3 | This chapter on Ao3

≔

Two days after her encounter with Jean-François at the theater, Betty received some surprising news.

“Gabrielle Mercier requires your help,” Lady Wigram announced, entering the governess’ classroom.

Betty looked up from the stitching she was preparing for today’s lesson.

“She sent her carriage. Hurry up, girl.”

As Betty walked past her, Lady Wigram grabbed her upper arm. “I have yet to receive an invitation to that wedding.”

“I will mention it.”

Betty was so surprised, she headed downstairs without taking any of her things.

Lord Wigram came down the stairs at the same moment.

"I have some business in town," he said vaguely. "Will you be back for supper?"

"I-- I don't know."

He looked suspicious. "Surely Miss Mercier won't keep you over for supper. The girls will need you tonight.”

"Yes, your lordship. I'll do my best to be back by then."

Outside the house, a driver held open the door of a closed carriage. Betty stepped in, wondering what Gabrielle could possibly need her help with.

“Good morning, Miss Salinger.”

“Jean-François! But-- what are you doing here?”

“Whisking you away.”

Betty squealed with joy and threw her arms around his neck to kiss him.

In a letter, she’d told him about lying to Lady Wigram about the earrings, saying she’d helped Gabrielle, and he’d found it was a perfect excuse to spend the spend the day with her.

“You crafty devil. Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said.

“Can I get a clue?”

“You asked for companionship and adventure from me, and that is what you will have.”

The coach took them well outside the city limits. Betty stared through the window at these new landscapes unfolding before her eyes, feeling increasingly excited.

On a forest’s edge, they stopped in front of a small bungalow, the kind found all across the country, along the roads, for travelers to rest. This one was a bit more posh and cleaner. Jean-François explained it belonged to the French government, for those going into the jungle.

Above a stone fireplace, two rifles crossed under the stuffed head of a nilgai, a large specie of antelope. Betty turned her back to it.

“You will need to change clothes for our adventure today.” He handed her a canvas bag. “Gabrielle lends you these. You may choose whatever you like.”

Betty went into one of the bedrooms. Curious, she emptied the bag on the bare mattress. An assortment of skirts, shirts and hats tumbled down along with a pair of boots, all in various shades of white and brown. After some hesitation, she dared pick a toffee coloured skirt and a white button down, a bit too long so she tied it at the waist and rolled up the sleeves. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, with her pith helmet and flat shoes, she looked like an explorer.

Jean-François too smiled when he saw her.

“Is this alright?” she asked, second-guessing herself. “Seems a bit improper.”

“I doubt we will meet other people. The important thing is that you are comfortable to walk in the forest.”

“I am.”

“Splendid.”

Jean-François shouldered a khaki canvas bag and guided her down a narrow, beaten-earth path. The skirt swished around Betty’s calves, it was shorter than her usual skirts, made for walking in tall grass and mud, she enjoyed feeling the breeze up her legs.

Their footsteps stirred the scent of moist soil and grass. Enormous spiky aloe veras and generous glossy ferns flanked the trail. They housed all manners of colourful caterpillars and iridescent-shelled critters. It was still early in the day, and mist lingered in the palms, sunlight streamed through it in soft beams. On the branches of eucalyptus and tulip trees, birds chirped to their heart’s content.

Ripe mangoes hung in grapes from a tree. Jean-François picked two and showed her how to peel it with her teeth. Juice ran down their fingers and chins, the fruit flesh was warm, sun-gorged, and sweet. It was messy and wonderful.

“We are almost there,” Jean-François said after a while.

“Where?”

“Listen.”

They stopped walking and stood in silence. Soon, the rush and gurgles of water reached her ears.

“A river?”

He smiled and took her hand, the excitement made him look years younger. The path curved to the right, and Betty saw a bridge arching over a flowing river.

Betty gasped. “Is that the bridge you told me about in your letter?”

“I wrote to you about a bridge?”

“You were drunk.”

“Ah. That letter.”

Betty bumped him with her shoulder. “It was charming in a way.”

“I saw this bridge in passing quite a while ago. I have wanted to come back since then.”

“So, you’ve been here before?”

“As I said, in passing, we were on a mission. I know the area a little bit, but I wanted to discover it with you.”

As they approached the bridge, Betty realized it was unlike any other bridge she had seen before. “It’s made out of roots!”

“Yes, the Indian rubber tree—”

“The Ficus Elastica. I read about it in a botany encyclopedia. Oh, it’s extraordinary!“ She smiled wide, pressing her hands to her cheeks as one would when looking at a puppy.

The rubber trees produced a series of secondary roots that the War-Khasis and War-Jaintias tribes pulled, twisted and tied to stretch across the river. It took years to accomplish, but these bridges lasted centuries, growing stronger over time.

“Can we walk on it?” she asked.

“I should hope so.”

Flat stones lay across the surface to facilitate the walk, moss covered them. On each side, roots of all sizes weaved together like a net, as high as Betty’s chest. She walked carefully, one hand clutching the side for support and the other gripping the back of Jean-François’ shirt. Under them, the river rushed by in great frothy gurgles.

A pair of children climbed on at the other end and ran the length of the bridge, passing swiftly under Betty and Jean-François’ arms. Feeling safer, Betty walked faster, enjoying rather than worrying. Crossing this organic bridge, in the middle of a lush forest with a lovely man felt like something out of a fairy tale. Glee bubbled up in her throat from the sheer delight of being so free, and Jean-François laughed with her.

Too soon, they reached the end, and he helped her down. He lifted by the waist and twirled her and held her until she was steady on her feet. They kissed with laughter on their lips.

They walked a while longer, a trail parallel to the river, leading downstream. They crossed path with a few locals, Betty said hello to them, but most bowed their heads and stepped out of their way.

As the day progressed, nearing noon, the air grew hotter and the animals quieter. No breeze stirred the branches. Betty pulled on her collar, drops of sweat slid down her back. She wiped her forehead on her sleeve. Jean-François touched her temple where sweat soaked the fine hairs there. He offered her some water.

"Do you want to stop? You may not be used to this kind exertion."

She huffed. “Try running after three kids all day."

“Fair enough.”

To hell with etiquette, this hat was only making her hotter and palm leaves provided shade enough. She pulled on the ribbon under the chin and fanned herself with the hat. "I must look a right mess."

"It suits you," he said. “I’m hot too. Let us find a nice spot to rest.”

They ventured away from the trail, towards the sandy bank. A month earlier, the river would have been overflowing from the rains. Some distance ahead, a cluster of rocks and boulders slowed the flow and filtered the larger debris. The water sparkled and meandered under the blue, cloudless sky. A hint of freshness rose from it, and enticed Betty.

As Jean-François spread a canvas sheet on the ground, Betty quickly removed her shoes and stepped into the river. A sigh, almost a moan, escaped her lips at the relief of cool water on her swollen feet.

“Will I have to rescue you from the river again?” Jean-François said.

Betty flustered and hurried out of the water. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have.”

“No, no, Betty, I was joking. Here.” He took off his own shoes, rolled up his trousers and joined her.

She blinked in surprise; her whole livelihood hinged on being strait-laced every hour of every day, so she still wasn’t used to someone accepting her deviations from etiquette.

The water rippled around their ankles, then, as the ripples faded out, their reflection materialized on the shimmering surface. Both of them, together, shoulder-to-shoulder, smiling. The sight of it shaped their bond into something tangible. Real, but fragile.

“You were so brave that day when you jumped to save the boy,” he said.

“Careless, more like.”

“No,” he said. “You were brave. I remember you said you would have liked to stay in the water because it was refreshing and you laughed…”

The way he smiled at the memory, shyly, head bowed and lines fanning out at the corners of his eyes, made her heart soar.

“Thank you,” she said, “for saving me that day... and every day after that it seems.”

Jean-François fervently kissed the back of both her hands.

“Shall we go for a swim?” she asked.

“Yes we shall, Betty Salinger,” he said fondly.

Betty hid behind a tree. Her heart hammered in her chest as she unbuttoned her shirt and removed her skirt. She hung them carefully over a branch. After a moment of hesitation, off came the petticoat and corset cover. Her hands shook as she released her corset and unclipped her stockings. Only her drawers and chemise remained, simple white garments with a thin trim of pink lace. With her arms and legs bare, the heat she felt could not be blamed on her layers of clothing anymore.

Hesitantly, she stepped out of her makeshift dressing room, arms covering her chest. She had not let a man see her like this in five years. Jean-François had undressed down to his pants and undershirt. She could tell he was trying not to stare at her.

“Ready?” he asked.

She took his hand ,and they ran into the water, giggling, and dipped their whole bodies in one go. Jean-François emerged, shaking the water off his curls.

“The water is gorgeous,” Betty said.

She floated on her back among the water lilies and closed her eyes against the sun. Her body swayed to every ripple in the water.

Before long, she became aware of her breasts peeking above the water, the wet linen of her chemise clinging to her skin. She kept her eyes closed, pretended she wasn’t aware of it and hoped Jean-François noticed.

A branch fell into the river, and Jean-François stood up to remove it. The white cotton of his pants couldn’t hide the effect she had on him.

“So you really do like me,” she teased.

He studied her with a strange look in his eyes.

“What is it?”

“Who are you, Betty?”

“Pardon?”

“When we first met, you were suspicious of my intentions and I presumed you had been deceived by a man before, but there is more to that story.” He swam closer to her. “And your letters, they show a certain inclination. You’re not… innocent.”

Despite the cool water, Betty’s cheeks flared up. She’d promised herself she would never tell the story, not even to her husband-- if she ever married, which was unlikely in her position.

Betty swam away, to a flat rock and hiked herself up on it. Under Jean-François’ expectant gaze, she fiddled nervously with the edge of her chemise.

“You can trust me,” he insisted.

A lump rose in her throat. She wanted to open up to him.

“The first family I worked for, the man was a doctor. There was a regiment in our town, and soldiers often came to the house for ailments. It’s how I met… him. An officer, from Poland. He said he loved me, promised we would run away together and marry. We were caught, I lost my position, and he left, heartbroken, without making good on any of his promises.”

“This is why you had to use Wigram’s obligation to you father?”

“I would never have found work again otherwise. If I were smart, I would not have come here with you.”

“You’re safe with me, Betty. I always keep my promises.”

“You’ve never promised me anything.”

“Because I don’t take it lightly. I can promise you I will not tell a soul about what happened with the Polish man.”

She held his gaze for signs of treachery-- he didn’t waver.

After a moment, he sat on another rock, facing her.

“What kind of man do you like?” he asked.

“Honest. And kind.”

“I really do like you, Betty.”

Without thinking, she glanced at his crotch, down to a more modest size.

“You said honest and kind, you didn’t say anything about size.”

She laughed.

“Was he a good lover?”

She blushed, not only because of the question, but because of the answer.

“Do you still want me?” she replied instead of answering. “Yes.”

“I ain’t a trollop.”

“I know. It’s not easy for you women.”

“Is that why you didn’t want to do it behind the theatre? Because you thought I was innocent.”

“I didn’t want to do it there because you deserve better.”

“Is a river any better?”

“You tell me.”

Betty considered their surroundings, all these different trees and flowers, insects and animals, wild yet living in harmony. Nature at its purest. And she thought, if humans were stripped from their petty civilities and prejudiced morality, maybe this attraction between her and Jean-François would also be nature at its purest.

“Would you kiss me again? Just a little,” she said.

Mercier slid off the rock, and crossed the river to her. Her breath hitched as he rose from the water. Leaning forward, he placed his hands on each side of her hips. Drops fell from his hair, down his nose, landing on his bottom lip. He slowly cocked his head to the side, her lips parted with an expectant sigh, and he pecked her Cupid’s bow.

“Not fair.”

“Payback’s fair.”

She pouted.

“You said ‘just a little’,” he pointed out.

“You know what I want.”

“You think me a mind-reader. I suspect you don’t even know yourself what you want.”

“I do… but I also know I shouldn’t want it.”

“Do you think what we’re doing is wrong?”

“Well, Lady Wigram—”

“No. What do you think?”

“I think I want more.”

She kissed that spot again, at the base his throat, licked the water up his neck and nipped his jaw. He whispered a French curse before capturing her mouth.

His nails scratched the rock and the tendons of his arms tightened as he restrained himself from touching her body. She had no such qualms and slipped her hands under his shirt, caressing up his waist, exploring his ribs.

Since meeting her, he had not been with another woman, and his flesh reacted wildly to her touch. Like striking a match, sparks of pleasure kindling the heat in his stomach. He had to stop before it consumed him. He leaned back to break the kiss, but she pushed forward, and gently caught his lower lip between her teeth. Something like a growl echoed in his chest, he slid a hand through her hair, and licked at the seam of her mouth and she let him in. They tasted each other’s moans. He bucked his hips into her knees, and she opened them to accommodate his body.

“Betty, I have to stop, before I can’t—” She interrupted his protest with an eager kiss, wrapping arms and legs around him.

She wiggled her hips.

He gave up on resisting her.

With both hands on her bum, he drew her to him. Through the fabric of her drawers, he felt the heat of her sex. He couldn’t resist pressing against her, seeking friction on his hard length. She held him tighter and moved her hips. Mercier hissed against her mouth. He devoured her neck with kisses, travelling lower, licking along her collarbone and over the swell of her breast. Spurred on by her moans, he sucked through her wet chemise until her nipple pebbled between his teeth.

Betty grounded desperately against him. Strangled noises, half moans, half sobs, escaped her throat as she clawed at his back. It wasn’t just water now soaking their underwear.

He wanted to tear their clothes away, but even for that he couldn’t stop. Her scent, her kisses, the way she whispered his name, it all intoxicated him. He’d imagined making love to her slowly, but here he was, sweat beading down his spine, as he rutted between her legs.

Betty bit his shoulder to muffle her cries. She was close. He cupped the nape of her neck to make her look at him. Her hair was wild, her pupils blown wide.

“Please.”

He pushed her legs farther apart, pressing more directly into her.

Between the folds of fabric, his thumb found her sensitive nub. He rubbed tight circles and admired the moment pleasure overwhelmed her. Her jaw dropped, her eyes fluttered shut, and he caught her last breath of release with a kiss.

“Beautiful.”

She covered her mouth with her fingertips, a passing mortification that morphed into giggles. He kissed her over her fingers, sucked lightly on the tips.

Mercier lowered himself in the water, he rested his head on her knee as he stroke himself. She ran her fingers through his hair, and he bit her inner thigh when he came.

“And I was just thinking we’re not so different from animals,” Betty said. The mirth in her voice told him she wasn’t upset by what they’d just done.

“Yes, animals.“ He nuzzled her neck, imitating a cat’s purr, and she scratched behind his ear.

They spent the next hour, lounging idly under the sun, her head on his chest, his arms around her, altering their position only to sip water or grab a snack. Now that she’d revealed the truth about her past, they spoke more freely. An intimacy of minds and bodies, sharing doubts and caresses, secrets and kisses. Every time Mercier learned something new about her, his affection grew tenfold, and with it a protective streak.

“Have you seen another Frenchman at your house? De Brem, he’s blond with a mustache?” he asked.

“I think so, a few times.”

“Has he talked to you?”

“No. Jean-François, what’s wrong?”

He told her how de Brem sent him to Dhaka under false pretenses to harass Gabrielle. “When he was at my house… he saw a letter from you to me.”

“He knows? Why didn’t you say so before?” She raised herself on one arm, alarmed.

“I’m not sure. It may be nothing, but steer clear of him.” And he added, to reassure her, “I’m taking care of it.”

He’d already sent a petition to his superiors and confronted de Brem himself about his behaviour. He couldn’t tell Betty de Brem was now in charge of the investigation on Wigram as Mercier had yet to reveal he’d been spying on her employer.

“It must make your work unpleasant,” she said.

“It already was.”

There was the boredom of this administrative tasks now that the thrill of being in a foreign country had passed, but every day he grew more uncomfortable with the European presence in India. In Dhaka, his mission had been to help a French plantation owner settle a dispute with the authorities to ensure the prosperity of his business. But his wealth came from abusing the local people; they toiled in the indigo fields, from dusk till dawn, under a relentless sun for a meager salary while he sipped brandy in his ornate living room.

“They would be better off without us,” he summed up. “You saw how they fear us and hate us. With good reasons.”

“But I thought we were doing a good thing. Helping them.”

“How?”

“Well, we-- we employ them.”

“As servants, slaves almost!”

Betty flinched at his outburst. “I didn’t think…”

Of course, she believed the propaganda the British empire fed to its citizens. Elaborate intellectual arguments to justify the exploitation: bringing them democracy and a modern lifestyle.

She hadn’t been in India long and always within the British district of Calcutta, surrounded by people who had made their fortune on the backs of Indians. She had not seen everything he had. He described the poverty and abuse he’d witnessed, but censored himself so as not to upset her too much.

Her forehead puckered and her lips set into a grim line. “That’s awful,” she said quietly.

He tugged her back to him, and gently stroke her back.

“Will you go back to France, then? If you don’t like it here,” she asked.

“Maybe. France or elsewhere. Somewhere new.”

“For adventures?”

“For adventure,” he agreed.

“Then you shall need companionship.”

“Indeed.”

They smiled at each other and kissed. There was a promise, on the tip of his tongue, but he wasn’t sure he could make it quite yet. Soon, he thought, holding Betty closer.

Chapter 9: Shivering

#Mercier x Betty #teninch fic #dwcastover #spies of warsaw #a passionate woman #only one or two chapters left #british raj au #lostinfic writes stuff

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