Europa of Naimes

The Branden Rose

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666666wasps asked: Europe: bloodlust


It doesn’t happen every time, and she’s long given up being afraid of herself. She stands, covered in muck, chest heaving, and forces herself into stillness as the first thought that comes to her is I could end him just as easily, this little man, without a moment’s pause for him to grasp what I have done.

Slowly, achingly slow, she winds in the bit of herself that is alight with the fight and allows him to come near.

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Filed under europa of naimes dm cornish rossamund bookchild fanfic

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orphans-and-animals answered your post: “I have the day off work tomorrow to look after Kit (minor medical…”:
I thiiiiink that I want. Rosamund. Rosamund doing a thing.

There were a lot of things about living amonst the monsters that were great improvements to living amongst everymen. It wasn’t that Rossamünd was ungrateful for the generosity of the Duke of Sparrows, either. Indeed, he was profoundly so and profoundly aware of the kindness that had been shown him in the original invitation. The safety and comeraderie of the bogles who kept company in the Sparrow Downs reminded him of the best parts of the Lamplighters.

Rossamünd worked, as well, to feel he had earnt his keep. His skalding skills led to cooking. He was happy to be sent to far-off towns to purchase things that could not be stolen, his perfect disguise already in place.

Some part of him was still everyman, though, and wishing not to be teased for his everyman habits, he kept a secret purchase from one of those trips to unthrewdish lands and human habitation. The bar of soap sat, burrowed amongst the forest debris and hidden from his friends, until a storm ripped through and turned it to suds and glassy bubbles. All of which led, though he would scarce have credited it when he was a boy, with Rossamünd learning how to make soap from his skalding kit.

Filed under rossamund rossamund bookchild fanfic

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aimlessglee asked: I want to hear about Europe's first kiss :D


The press of lips against her own takes Europe by surprise as she ducks around a corner on the way back to the dormitory, and it takes her a moment to wrench herself backward, spluttering and wiping at her mouth.

Syntychë raises her eyebrows, looking down her nose at the younger girl, and drawls, “Even your mouth is sour.”

She doesn’t cry, even if she wants to.

Send me a prompt and I’ll write you a 3 sentence fic

Filed under fanfic europa of naimes