#femlette

Rushing up the steps to his apartment, Emily in tow, Harrow felt every nerve he had was on fire. The image of her in his head was clear: how quickly she’d pushed him out of the way (she was special, he was not), how violently her head had jerked back, how blood had spewed out of the other side and splashed onto his neck and collarbone.

But now, the woman he carried home had almost no signs of that carnage. Save for the dried blood that’d oozed down her face in lines, the hole that’d been in her forehead was closed over. Khonshu couldn’t let an Avatar die—back when he’d donned the name, Harrow always woke up a few minutes after his revival, feeling like nothing happened at all. In those days danger had meant nothing to him, and now the only reason he put himself in danger was because it was all the penance he could make.

Emily had been over before. He was sure she’d wake up on his couch and know exactly where she was. Though Khonshu was likely responsible for the wind that rustled the plants by Harrow’s window, he was quick to shut it.

“When will you learn she’s safe with me?” he asked, turning to some space close to where Emily was sleeping. Harrow didn’t know if he was facing that fool god at all, but it didn’t matter in the end.

As Emily slept, he lowered himself to the floor beside her, arms folded over the edge as he watched her rest. Without the adrenaline in his veins from having killed again, all he could think about was her. He wondered if she’d ever died before this. He wondered if those deaths had been worth it.

This one, he knew, couldn’t have been. There was no version of this story where Emily deserved to die for him.

Still, his touch was reverent as he brushed stray hair out of her face, blue eyes softer than they’d ever been.

Emily died for him. To protect him.

“Now why’d you go and do that?” he whispered, quiet despite the cacophony in his rib cage. Harrow wasn’t certain why his heart was racing, not when they were already safe.

Walks after long work weeks had always been especially precious for Elouise to take time for. Her passion and her life had been wrapped in the funeral home, but even she needed some time away now and again. The beauty of the ponds, marshes, and treelines were the perfection getaways without being too far from her comfort. She glides almost effortlessly across the uneven Earth, watching as the sun sets against the murky waters, revealing all the life underneath it in glittering rays. She can't help but smile, walking closer to the edge to crouch and watch with rapt attention. Pure serenity. That is, until she loses a bit of her footing and slips right into the water herself.

@femlette

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@femlette: serena laments ❝ can someone please be proud of me? like fuck, i’m trying.. ❞ beside the terminator.

The Terminator stands silently beside her, scanning the area for threats, but finds none, only Serena’s voice, trembling with a frustration he recognizes from elsewhere. Her words are familiar in structure, but not in content.

The need for acknowledgment and reassurance.

He lingers on that analysis for a moment, then he turns slightly toward her, his brow furrowed just enough to seem human.

"Why do you need someone to be proud of you?"

He asks, not accusatorially, just out of curiosity. 

@femlette fiona & emerson.

memes, accepting

his bowl of cereal was right there. a delicious, sweet-fueled start to the day. he’d had the spoon in his fist. remembers cah-link of utensil against ceramic. until his eyes slipped shut. (three seconds. three seconds when fatigue hit like an avalanche.)

@femlette ( Aurin ) //> plotting-starter.

  She'd make for an odd holo. Spanner stuck behind her ear and a handful of servo pins hanging out of the side of her mouth, hands free easy access. She leans at an awkward angle, a furrow stuck between her brows as she manipulates something out of sight inside the chest-like chassis of the soon-to-be droid in front of her.

  Mads noticed straight away that her workshop isn't empty anymore, but doesn't bother looking away until her incredibly finnicky task is done. Such a small thing, but it makes the whole project more stable, less likely to fall over. Or blow up.

  She sits back. Wipes her hands on her pants.