#enough to make up for the thoughtless cruelty of the world. and it just beats him again and again

[fauvester]

THE NICHOLAS BIDDLE CODING OF XIE LIAN..

[elleonmybeloved]

They started this game in a moment of tension Tartaglia should not have indulged. But well, when could he ever resist a direct challenge of his power? Like how he challenged himself to defeat an enemy with a bow instead of the other weapons he was more skilled at, he wouldn’t stand to let this go unmet.

Even if the one challenging him was the traveler. In his own bank, no less. As usual, Childe had to admire her guts.

“You’re not using me.” She’d said, getting all up in his face with that golden stare. “I’m using you.”

“Uh huh. You really don’t need to take this so personally. The Qixing sent the Millelith after you, and I was the one who helped you clear your name. We are still friends, aren’t we?”

“Friends? Do you have any idea how important this was to me, ‘Tartaglia?’”

“What’s it to you? The geo archon you sought to find was dead anyways, so how would seeing the Exuvia help you?” He’s genuinely curious.

There’s a sputter of grief in the fire of her glare. “It doesn’t matter now, since my chance is gone regardless.”

Her jaw works to hold back a perceptible damn of emotion, and Childe feels a pang of regret. She was just a tool, but he handn’t intended to actually hurt her. Morality was a loose tenet among the Fatui, but he liked to think he was the better of the other harbringers when it came to needless cruelty.

“Hey now, don’t blame yourself. This was above you the whole time, there was nothing you could’ve done.”

The grief in her eyes is gone, but it was the wrong thing to say. It’s immediately apparent in the open rage of her expression.

“How dare you look down on me as if I’m powerless. Like you’re some god and I’m just a pitiful worm!” Lumine yells, jabbing a finger into his chest with each word. She’s making less and less sense and Childe is running out of patience.

“Uh woah. Maybe you should sit down and try to relax, girlie.”

“You’re just another part of this pathetic, chaos ridden world that we never should have stopped for.” She goes to jab him again, but he snatches her by the wrist and holds it in a vice grip, slowly prying it away from his chest.

“Fine then.” He says unkindly. “Have it your way. I’ve honestly got no interest in being friends with someone stupid enough to get tailed by the simplest of my operatives and not even notice it anyway.”

“Excuse me? You are such a- a jerk! I can’t believe I thought I had finally found a friend in this god-forsaken irrrgh! -should never have given you those starco- ... As -as if I’m not more competent than any of those overgrown thugs with fake visions you Fatui employ, and you know it.”

Childe laughs, drily amused at this. “Please. You couldn’t take orders to save your life, which in Snezhnaya couldn’t make you more useless as an operative.”

Lumine’s anger has her flushing to her chest, a bloom of pink spreading from her shoulders to her cleavage. She has worked so hard to learn the foreign languages of this world, and he actually thinks she would struggle with something so simple?

“I can take orders.”

Childe just shrugs. “Sure.”

“I can take orders.”

“Okay then. Prove it.” He says, and the hand that was not restraining her arm moves to grip her around the throat.

Lumine freezes, and Childe watches as her expression shifts from anger, to shock, to... something else. Forced to breathe more shallowly, she calms down from her tirade. Behind the anger, he still sees trust there in her eyes, and something more. It quells the irritation inside of him too, deeply satisfying a craving he didn’t know he had. He releases his grip on her.

“Kneel for me.” He says airily, and his tone isnt harsh at all despite the command, more like a suggestion. He doesn’t really expect her to do it.

Lumine sinks to her knees and gazes up at him expectantly.

He raises an eyebrow. A hand brushes against the smooth pale skin of her cheek before clutching her by the jaw and chin. She doesn’t flinch. Childe tilts her face left and right and she still doesn’t give an ounce of resistance.

Childe thumbs at the swell of her pink lips, rubbing back and forth slowly. Something ignites in the meet of their gaze and he cannot deny that he is a liar, including the biting words of the past few minutes. She is a capable warrior, a force to be reckoned with, and one of the first people to show him genuine kindness and interest.

“Open.”

This time he doesn’t wait for her to comply, parting her lips to push into her mouth and rub his fingers against her tongue. He can feel the warmth of her through his glove.

Lumine makes a little sound, unmistakably of arousal, and it sends a electric jolt to his stomach.

“Good job.” He says, trying to hide his exhilaration. “Looks like you can follow orders after all. I could see you being mine. So, I’m going to revise my earlier statement. I’d really like for us to continue being friends.”

It’s with reluctance that he withdraws his hand from her mouth, but it’s more important to him to hear her response. A hand beneath her elbow prompts her to stand back up.

“Me too.” She says, expression hopeful with a smidgen of sheepishness. “Sorry, Childe, I shouldn’t have said... well, I shouldn’t have blamed you.”

There’s obviously something in between the lines there she’s not telling him, but as much as he’d like to know, she’s clearly keeping it to herself for a reason. And right now, he’s thinking more about that addicting expression she’d made at him, and that sound...

“Don’t worry about it traveler, we all lose our cool sometimes.” He takes a seat on the sofa. “Besides, you’re way too cute to stay angry at.”

Ahh, she flushes the most satisfying pink and he knows, has seen her turn down others who have approached her with much more flattering lines, so with that kindling to stroke his ego, he decideds to press his odds. Childe pats the spot beside him invitingly. “Come sit?”

“Don’t you have other matters to attend to?” She asks, but moves to sit next to him anyways. Her silver white skirt brushes against his leg.

Childe laughs. “Things’ll keep without me for an hour or two, or I’m terrible at my job.”

“Oh, okay.”

They gaze at each other for a moment in silence. Lumine gives him a hesitant look, and he decides to take the plunge.

Childe slips a hand over the bare skin of her shoulder to stroke at the back of her neck. The skin there is hot to the touch.

“You were so cute looking up at me like that.” He murmurs, voice just loud enough for her to hear. “You wanna go get some dinner after this, just the two of us? I know it’s late.”

“Yeah.” She whispers back just as quietly. Lumine didn’t miss the implications of after this. The anticipation in the air is tense.

“C’mere.” Childe nudges her towards him with gentle but insistent pressure on the back of her neck. He closes the distance with just a few moments pause to admire the look on her pretty face before leaning in and kissing her.

They both take a sharp inhale at the contact, and Childe surges onward with reckless abandon. She smells good, like she’s already discovered Ying’er’s shop. She lets him kiss her for a while before seemingly realizing she can do it back, and the pressure of her lips back against his has his stomach flipping. It’s straight up romantic, and he doesn’t remember when he got to rubbing her arm, or when she placed her hands on his chest.

Then she makes this breathy, overwhelmed noise in the back of her throat and the kiss ignites like a match on grease fire.

Before he can think about it he is lifting her by the waist and pressing her down on her back against the sofa, shifting himself on his hands and knees above her before pressing her down and crowding into her space. Kissing open her lips, he invades her mouth to lick and suck on her tongue with his.

Her eyes are hazy and glazed thoughtless, but throughout the kissing she mostly keeps them adorably closed. His are open, half lidded, and his hand finds her neck again and squeezes.

This time, she squirms her legs together and makes a low, very enticing moan.

“You like this?” He doesn’t mean it to sound deprecating but there’s a tinge of mockery in his sweet tone that Childe can’t help. “Tough little thing, I bet your throat can take a beating and you’ll still get off on it, huh.”

She gives him a look and he laughs, before leaning in to kiss her senseless again. Her skirt is rucked up around her waist and he takes his glove off before sliding a hand up her thigh and over her stomach.

Lumine trembles at the touch. He gives her a little smile, and moves his tongue lewdly against hers to distract her while he eases a hand into her panties.

Things escalate. When he starts stroking at the top of her sex, making firm little circles around her clit, she straight up whines into his mouth, and well. He’s never gonna forget the pleased, openly greedy look in her eyes as he swirled and rubbed around and over her sensitive nub with his bare fingers.

“So good-“ She pants out after several minutes of dizzying stimulation, “So good, don’t stop.”

“Don’t worry, Lumie. I don’t intend to.” He can tell she’s close, and Childe’s heart is pounding like he’s the one being fingered to completion on an office couch. Something evil tempts him to edge her for the fun of the denial, but not this time, he decides. Right now, he cannot wait to witness what her orgasm looks and sounds like, so that he can commit it to permanent memory. “God, you’re so freaking adorable... I’m gonna go faster, okay?”

“Mh- okay, o-okay-“

Her panties are really wet now, and he’s willing to bet that there’s an answering spot of pre forming in his own pants. The quick jerk of his fingers against her spot is making lewd little wet sounds.

“C’mon,” He urges, wanting to see it, fingers pressing in fast and hard. He’s painfully erect now, and doesn’t want to lose focus. “Don’t you wanna cum?”

“Yeah, &&3/@- I’m so...-!” She curses in a foreign language and squeezes her eyes shut. He grips her throat tighter now, cutting off most of her airflow. Helpfully.

When she comes, her whole face flushes and her mouth opens in the most delectable, overwhelmed with pleasure way. And her eyes glow. Literally, like a dim house lamp, and only for a second, but he saw it. Interesting.

Lumine shudders and goes limp. Childe gently releases her throat and withdraws his hand from her panties to admire the hazy, fucked out look on her face.

“Either you’re really into being choked and stroked, or it was me you were getting off to. Either way, I’m gonna take this as a compliment.”

Lumine shoves at him with an indignant “hey!”, but he can tell her heart isn’t in it from the shy smile tugging at her usually stoic lips.

“... And on that note, as much as I’d love to continue, things are gonna be closing up soon and I promised you dinner.”

Lumine eyes his boner, obvious even through the thick gray material of his pants. “I remember Ekaterina telling me of how you always keep your promises but... are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He says while sitting up, and she does so as well. “I can handle it. Plenty of time for that later, anyway.”

“Great. I’m actually so hungry.” She admits.

“Ahahaha! Alright girlie, let’s go.”

[trcent]

- the creation of adam -

“he’ll see you now.”

there’s still an air of ominousness to the secretary’s words, even now. even now, when he’s twenty-five years old (twenty-five???) and seasoned enough in the world of interacting with entertainment professionals and supposedly entirely unafraid of corporate big shots with the power to destroy his life with the swoop of a pen in spite of everything. yes, he reminds himself, somewhere deep down underneath his nonchalantly confident gait toward the ceo’s office doors, entirely. unafraid.

he pushes back his own flashbacks to the last time he walked through the shiny glass doors of a record company’s executive office, forces them to stay on the waiting room chair he’s only just vacated. this is not their moment. they had their moment years ago, when he was nineteen and scared and broken. he hadn’t spent hours sitting under the spray of lukewarm water until his fingertips were wrinkled and pale, washing the terrible looks on their faces down the drain for those memories to pop back up again at the moment he needs to be the most confident.

he keeps his shoulders back and his spine tall. he’s here because he wants to be. he’s here because they want him. he signed their cute little contract because he wanted to, and because he was kind enough to humor their want for him. they do not own him, these glass walls are not a cage, and the man sitting behind a desk and weeks’ worth of charmingly unkempt facial hair does not own him.

“you’re probably wondering why i’ve summoned you here today,” inho starts smoothly after he sits across from the ceo, the corner of his lips curling into a barley-there smirk to indicate the effortlessly uttered cliche it’s as much of a joke as it sounds. though what follows is less so.

“i’m not going to play this down for what it is. it’s groveling. or it will be. something like that.”

he makes himself comfortable, makes a point of it, crosses one leg over the other. it’s an intimidating office and his ceo is an intimidating man, but inho outgrew intimidating offices and intimidating men when he got up and brushed the dirt of their cruelty off his shoulders.

“i’m going to ask you, or, tell you, something that could change how you view me entirely. which is obviously insane, because you are absolutely way too busy and important to know my name. it’s okay,” his air is easy, professionally playful, “i know you’re sitting there, so very cool and rich thinking ‘what’s this one’s name again’? and that’s totally fine. as long as i get eventually get a stage name that’s at least half as cool as prhyme.” there’s a chuckle that follows, deliberately ambiguous so that it’s unclear whether or not there’s a mocking lilt or genuine admiration behind it.

then he moves slightly closer to solemn, shifts forward toward the front of the chair, balances arms on armrests, keeps his spine straight.

“there’s a talented someone you didn’t hire out of your talent contest. and i don’t mean me.”

it’s easy enough to lace seriousness with smooth hints of humor, years of acting and improvisation classes settle comfortably into his blood.

“he’s a trainee now. somewhere else. somewhere he hates. somewhere that kind of hates him, actually. and with all due respect, i think you made a huge mistake letting him end up anywhere but here. i don’t know what you’re planning, because i know i definitely don’t fit the mould of the typical trc artist, so i’m guessing you have some kind of trick up your sleeve. or something. you wouldn’t keep feeding us if you didn’t need us for some wild experiment or another.”

he gestures vaguely, nonchalantly, as if he hasn’t just compared himself and his peers to helpless lab rats right to his ceo’s face, all without missing a beat.

“but all i’m going to tell you is that his name is jin sungho, and that, if they lose him, which, at this rate, seems likely, then you’d be…” the only pause needed, to cycle through his vocabulary and find a word that isn’t too insulting in present company, “thoughtless, not to snatch him up yourself.”

he breathes out at the end of it, subtly, through his mouth, the deliberate beat after a monologue, the quiet aftermath of a storm.

he doesn’t want to wait for the response. the office and the desk and the windows make him feel like he’s nineteen again and sitting back in front of a panel of jeering executives. 

“think about it, sajangnim. that’s all i ask.”

he stands, offering the ceo a customary bow from his waist. 

“i’ll leave first. back to the island of misfit toys,” punctuated by an unbothered toss of his hair and a coy smile on his way out of the office, “or something like that.”

At first, all Tiger JK does is stare at you with an arched brow. When you’re done, he stops you from leaving without an answer, and lets out a powerful laugh.

“You got some nerve. I’ll give you that.” He shakes his head in amusement. “I like you. That’s why I agreed to this meeting to begin with - I thought you wouldn’t have requested it unless it was an emergency or some sort of groundbreaking idea. I really believed you wouldn’t waste my time… Instead, you waltz in here and basically tell me that my casting system is messed up and that you know better. You. A simple trainee, whose training bills are on me.”

He calls in an assistant through the phone before continuing. “You were my excuse to get out of a boring meeting with the financial department, and for that I am thankful. But next time you ask for some of my valuable and limited time, you better have a more interesting topic in mind than suggesting I steal a trainee from Katie Lee.”

The assistant walks in at last, and Tiger JK instructs her to scort you outside. “Find us some trainer and make sure they work with this gentleman on a dance routine all through the night. Inho here will be presenting this dance first thing tomorrow in front of the whole company; he thinks he knows everything there is to know already, so it’s time he shows it off on stage.”

As you leave, the CEO lets out one last amused sigh through his nose. “I know what I’m doing, kid. And if you’re so certain you know more about the industry than I do, feel free to quit wasting my money and leave to start your own damn company instead.”

The assistant is quick to find a trainer and schedule him to the all-nighter. When you’re left alone with the coach, he smacks you behind the head. “Great. Now I have to cancel dinner with my wife and work overtime because of your screw up. Well done, asshole.”

[the-darkness-does-not-bargain]

Cherry Syrup

Words: 3040

Summary: Helena tries ice cream and has a bad time.  Set whenever they eventually plop themselves in Chicago.

Warnings: Brief traumatic flashback, discussion of torture, implied dubious consent/rape

Her love places a bowl of strange, cold cream in front of her, with a green and silver spoon and a smile.  “Ice cream” she calls it.  Not iced milk, which Helena knows all too well, but cream, milk, and sugar whipped thick and frozen into a chilly decadent state.  It is another item on an increasingly long list of things she is discovering for the first time, things that are Of This World and not her own.  Helena picks up the spoon and delicately presses the metal down into the cream, scooping some up and eating it quizzically.  Sweet is the first thing she perceives.  Very sweet and, of course, cold.

“It tastes like vanilla oil,” she comments.  The woman across from her nods enthusiastically.

“Yup, it’s vanilla flavored.  A classic.” Helena notes that her lover’s bowl is not the same.  The woman sees her looking and grins.  “Mine is chocolate.  Wanna try?” She grabs a spoonful and extends it across the small table.  Helena leans forward carefully and takes it in her mouth.  It’s just as sweet, but it tastes more like the bitter delicacy she remembered from her youth.  “Try some of this, babe,” she says, handing Helena an oddly shaped red bottle. “Vanilla and cherry syrup are the best. Just put some on top.”

The syrup is unnaturally red, but she does as recommended and puts a little into her bowl.  She tastes it again, and if she thought it was sweet before… The sugar, she thinks, would be enough to sustain an entire family for a week.  It isn’t a bad taste though, so she continues eating and eventually habituates to the intense saccharinity.  She mixes it all together, turning the white cream pink with alchemical cherry solution.  Her lover is doing the same, her gray eyes shining with contentment.

Helena remembers the Witch Queen, though she tries not to.  Memories throb just in the back of her mind, phantom wounds that push to the forefront of her awareness the moment she lets her guard down in her own thoughts.  Her scars extend deeper than skin and bone, and they are still too new, too vibrant and too ugly to ignore for long.  She wonders what her old mistress would have thought of this unusual treat.  Her moods could be unpredictable, but Helena decides on fascination and delight, and then shivers because the spoon suddenly feels less like a spoon and more like cold fingers in her mouth.  She has to set it down.  The queen would have almost certainly set Helena to work on discovering how this delicacy was made, and then she’d call the war council together to determine the best village to slaughter for their cattle and trade potential.  Violence was always the closest companion to the Witch Queen’s delight, a truth that Helena was intimately familiar with.

Her beloved says something, but Helena hears the Queen instead, remembering her amusement and her joy, the sure end result of a thousand different cruelties inflicted upon others.

“Are you thirsty, Helena?”  The sorceress cannot control her flinch as she becomes lost in the image of the Witch Queen in her mind.  She is leaning over Helena, her pale face spotted with blood, her mouth smiling, and her eyes filled with laughter.  One hand grips harshly at blonde hair, and the other holds a goblet of cold, white milk, the same that Lennox’s dogs had delivered to the castle that very morning.  Her dress is ruined, but her crown is spotless as always, resting pristinely on her brow.  She is incandescent here, in her element, as she listens to her plaything beg. Helena’s throat is dry and the words scrape and cut as they leave her tongue in choked whimpers, but her Queen looks satisfied, and the cool rim of the cup meets her lips---

A hand waving in front of her face breaks the image, shattering it like the thinnest glass.  Helena blinks and focuses on her lover, who has never taken pleasure in suffering, who is not the Witch Queen.  “Earth to Helena,” she says with innocent humor.  “I asked if you were thirsty.  I’m getting up for a drink.  Do you want one?”

“Ah, no… no thank you, my love.  I am fine,” Helena says and is quietly amazed that her voice does not tremble. She sits in silence and stares at her ice cream bowl until the other woman also sits back down.

“You should try to finish that before it melts, babe.”  Helena looks at her curiously, and then touches the bowl. The ice cream, which had taken on a slurry consistency, solidifies once more under her magic touch.  Her love waves a hand at her.  “Or you could do that, that works too.”

Helena picks up the spoon again, running her thumb for a moment over the smooth, glossy green of the handle.  Plastic, it was apparently called, another substance Of This World. She holds it tight, praying that its otherworldly nature will anchor her.  Then she takes another cautious bite.  That sweetness is ever present, but this time it makes her stomach ache.

“Oh, ha, here, babe,” she hears her lover chuckle.  A thumb gently wipes her bottom lip, but for a terrible moment Helena sees a different hand, pale and merciless.  The bite of a nail, skin pulling and tearing, the metallic taste of blood that never really leaves her mouth.  She rears back, knocking out the chair beneath her and thundering to her feet.  She pants heavily as tendrils of defensive magic curl around her clenched fists instinctually.  Strike!  Run! Do not let her catch you again!

But the Witch Queen isn’t here.  There is only her beloved, standing on the opposite side of the small kitchen table, her expression shocked, one hand outstretched.  Helena can see ice cream smeared sticky on the pad of her thumb.

“Helena…”

The sorceress recoils from the sound of her name, her magic dissipating from her shaking hands.  Shame puts a thick, acidic knot in her throat; it presses on her vocal cords and makes speech difficult, but she tries.

“I… Please forgive me, my heart.  I am… struck with awful foolishness.”  Her entire body is tense enough to ache as she bends down to replace her fallen chair at the table.  As she does so, she notices that her bowl was upended by her thoughtlessness.  “I’ve made a dreadful mess.” Dreadful mess, how appropriate.  “I will fix it though, with your grace.”

“Helena.”  Her lover speaks very softly.  Her voice is soothing and it chafes bitterly against Helena’s heart.  She clutches the back of the chair hard enough that her knuckles turn white, and she does not look up.  “Helena, hey, sweetie… would it be okay for me to touch you?”  The question is unexpected.  Even now Helena is still taken aback every time the other woman asks before she does something.  The ex-general does not know how to respond to such consideration or courtesy.  The answer is no, and yes.  She craves her lover’s touch like she has craved little else, but knowing she’s done nothing to deserve it hurts more than any pain the Witch Queen ever caused her. Deaf to her struggle, her dearest continues, “I won’t do it if you don’t want me to.  Just tell me what you need.”  

I need you, but you shouldn’t have to dirty yourself touching something like me.  Just another dreadful mess.  That’s what she should say, but she has always been weak against need.  “You… can, if that is what you wish.”

“This isn’t about what I wish, honey, but I’m going to touch your hand, okay?”

“Okay.”  Out of the corner of her eye, Helena watches the other woman step close and reach out, careful and steady.  She feels her beloved gently, oh so gently, pry her fingers off the chair.  Her knuckles ache.  She hadn’t realized how hard she was gripping the wood.  Her dearest doesn’t do or say anything for a long time; she merely holds Helena’s hand in both of hers, running her thumbs over the back.

“Is this alright?”  A stiff nod is her response.  “Good. Do you wanna talk about what just happened?”

“…No.” Helena is surprised by her own honesty.  Her lover just smiles and nods.

“Okay.  Why don’t you take a seat over on the couch?  I’ll get this cleaned up.”

Helena sucks in a breath and straightens up, stricken.  “N-no!  Please, love, I will take care of it.  You needn’t trouble yourself.”

“How about we do it together?” The other woman doesn’t miss a beat, still smiling brightly and bringing Helena’s hand up to her mouth to kiss her knuckles. “Can you grab me the washcloth by the sink?”

The washcloth is damp from when they cleaned the dishes earlier that evening, cool as a balm, and she hurries to bring it to the table.  “Thanks, babe!  Go ahead and take these and put them in the sink.  Let the water run in the bowl for a few seconds.”  Helena is handed the sticky bowl and spoon while the younger woman takes the washcloth and starts to wipe down the table.  The rushing sound of the open faucet does little to drown out the chaos of her thoughts, and the cherry syrup turns the water the slightest shade of pink.  She has to turn away.

“There we go!” She hears her lover say.  The table is now nearly spotless once more, and the woman graces Helena with another cheerful grin as she walks over to deposit the soiled washcloth back in the sink.  Truly she is unfathomable, for Helena, even with all her scholarship and experience, cannot understand why she still looks at her with no trace of anger, irritation, or even resignation.  The Witch Queen would have expressed all of that and more, would have cast venomous taunts at her apprentice for even the most minute mistake.  In the end, that had meant that Helena worked with precision enough to stun even the Great Masters of magic and alchemy, but also that she was prone to second-guessing her every movement and measurement until she went mad. She feels that same anxiety now, the conditioned drive to question all of her actions leading up to this point for all the good it might do, i.e. none.

But the fact remains that the Witch Queen isn’t here, and her lover has the patience of a saint.  It leaves the sorceress oddly adrift.  She has few points of reference on how to feel about such lenience.

Her beloved shuts off the water and takes Helena’s hand again.  “Let’s stay in tonight.  We can watch some movies and eat popcorn.”  She lets out an excited gasp.  “Oh babe, you’re gonna love popcorn, I know it!”  She tugs lightly, and Helena is helpless to do anything but follow.  This whole debacle has left her feeling like an exposed nerve with too many confusing sensations bombarding her on all sides.  Her resistance, her willpower, is gossamer thin and tearing at the seams.  Pain she can weather; harshness and criticism do little more than bounce off her hide these days.  But this… senseless patience and unearned acceptance are piercing her through.  

Her breath catches, and she has to stop.  The knot in her throat shifts, burns, and she can feel the same burn behind her eyes.  She is truly pathetic because she cannot summon a shred of steadfastness, and she is holding onto her composure by her fingertips.

It only takes a second for her resolve to break and the disgraceful truth to fall off her tongue.  “I… was thinking about her.” There’s no need to specify who she means.  Her lover turns back to her, her pretty face telegraphing plainly that she isn’t surprised. Helena looks at the floor. “Forgive me.”

The hands holding hers tighten.  “There’s nothing to forgive, Helena.  It’s okay.”

“It isn’t,” Helena protests, her voice rough, her shoulders shaking.  “There’s no reason for me to… you’re here, and we’re safe and- and”

“Shh.”  Her beloved tugs lightly but Helena stumbles forward, her legs unsteady.  “Easy.  Come on, sweetie, sit down right here.”  Helena lowers herself clumsily to the sofa below, watching the other woman kneel down in front of her.  Slowly, carefully, her hands cup the blonde’s face, wiping away tears she hadn’t noticed until now.  I am undone, dreadful, Helena thinks, as she leans helplessly into the touch.  “Helena, listen, I can’t begin to imagine all the horrible things she put you through for all that time, but I know enough to know it’s going to take more than a few weeks to recover from it.  Hell, for some people it can take years.  You don’t need to be totally over it now just because you’re away from her.  Don’t put that expectation on yourself.  It’s okay to need more time.”

“And what if there is no time?” Helena asks her fiercely.  “What if she is there waiting for us the moment we return? If I cannot face her---”

“If that happens and you can’t confront her, that doesn’t make you weak, or a coward.  It makes you human.  You lived in pain and fear for years with her, and that doesn’t go away just because you want it to or need it to.”

“But if I cannot protect you…”

“Then we’ll run.  Run, hide, do whatever we have to.  We’ll call Reiner and the retainers for help.  They’re in this fight just as much as us.  We’re not alone.”  Her love leans in and places the kindest kiss on Helena’s cheekbone.  “You’re not alone,” she whispers against her skin.

“I do not understand how you can be so kind to me when I am too pathetic to guard you.”

Her lover lets out a soft snort.  “Well gee, maybe it’s because I love you?  And, I know that you are the furthest thing from pathetic.  I still think about all the times you kicked the other generals’ asses, not to mention pummeling half of that stupid cult to pulp.  I’ve seen you take down dozens of soldiers like it was nothing.  Besides, you and Altea working together will absolutely send that bitch running with her tail between her legs.  I’m not worried.”  She smiles brightly, her eyes glittering with humor at the last statement.

Helena lets out a small breathless chuckle.  “Sometimes I think your optimism alone could win a battle.  You would be excellent at boosting soldiers’ morale.”

“Hey, until I get better with that sword, optimism is my best superpower!” She laughs and presses another kiss to the blonde’s forehead.

There is silence then, but not so heavy as before.  Helena focuses on her breathing.  When she feels she can speak without her voice breaking, she says, “I was remembering a time when we were… together, I suppose, although that word feels wrong.”  She watches her love for a reaction of any sort, but she merely nods her head, encouraging Helena to continue.  “The ice cream reminded me of it, I think.  She was very fond of iced milk and would often send those mindless fools on days-long journeys to fetch some.”  She inhales slowly, but only manages a feeble half breath.  “It hurt, and I was so afraid, exactly how she wanted me.  She feeds on fear and pain so much I’ve long wondered if that is how she fuels her power.”  She scratches at her neck with nervous fingers, looking for festering wounds that are long gone.  “She cut… she tore and peeled…”  But she cannot speak any more of it, or she fears her lungs may collapse.  She presses her left hand over her lover’s where it rests against her face, keeping it there and focusing as hard as she can on it.

“That’s over now,” her dearest reassures her, taking Helena’s now limp right hand and pressing it over her heart.  She can feel the steady beat under her palm, and it pulls her back from the edge again.  “It’s you and me now, babe.  No more fear, no more pain.  Not here.”

Helena leans forward until their foreheads rest against each other.  “You are too good to be true.”

She laughs.  “Feeling’s mutual, babe.”  Her kiss is sweet, a thousand times better than ice cream.  She climbs onto the couch next to Helena and wraps an arm around her shoulder, inviting the blonde to lean against her before picking up that peculiar gray rectangle that is absolutely a wand, no matter what she tries to tell Helena.  “Still up for a movie?  I’m feeling something animated, with singing.  Let’s check out the Disney section.”

“Individually I understand the words you say but taken together I think you are speaking nonsense again,” Helena informs her lover as she rests her head on the woman’s shoulder, able at long last to steady her heart and breathe easily.

There is a snort.  “That’s what I thought when I first talked to you.” She calls forth an artistic rendering of a group of colorful cats on the dark screen.  The title reads: The Aristocats.  “I haven’t watched this one in years.”  She presses one of the little buttons and the images come to life in rushes of color and sound.  A man with a heavy accent singing about well-bred cats leads into a winding story about a whole host of intelligent animals that Helena has a hard time following, mostly because the animals in question talk and sing and dance.  It takes her some time to wrap her mind around that, but her lover evidently isn’t having the same problem.  She is humming along to their strange songs and giggling when they talk to each other.  She holds Helena close, keeping the two of them snuggled up together on this too soft sofa.

Helena loses track of the images on screen eventually.  Her beloved’s heartbeat, the vibrations in her chest and throat when she laughs and hums, and the way she absently plays with their interlaced fingers; these things are much more engrossing.

She doesn’t think of the Witch Queen again that night.  It’s a small step forward, but enough for one evening.

[jkbaws]

end of the line, @yeolkeot​.

they all had their hopes placed onto her and yet selfish as she was, she sought to escape the illusionary chains that bound her. it was him. he who does not care about human lives. he sneered and filled himself with disdain, letting grudges consume him. he did it all so willingly. he talks of a love to offer, but she was nothing more than a pawn. her salvation was elsewhere, until it all goes wrong.

there is one important flaw to her that is easy to accept. she is a hypocrite. she is pure lies and illusions. she ignores any sign of sustainable judgement. the moment her cover is blown, she runs. she is fast, she can hide in her shadows, she can turn her own trail into deception. it made sense why this is her power. it is the manifestation of her soul. she only knew violence but held on to the idea of peace. she only knew cruelty, but held on to the idea of heroism. she is too stubborn, believing in things when everything around her tells her otherwise.

but this time, she runs with the motivation to chase what has haunted her for decades. she knew no stronger foe. adam's semblance was to pierce through aura. all her hits and blade beams, he can simply store and have it backfired on her, bypassing her aura for one big attack. she's seen it herself and replicated the skill itself for her own benefit. the passive force field she can create can only stop damage, not pain. her wounds can heal, but not in a snap. she casts herself on a rule; no logical thought or speech until one of them is dead. this was her last stand, whether she wins or lose. if there was anyone who needed to see her gone, it was him.

his frame, the details of his face, and his figure turns into a glowing red from a distance. she feels her chest sting at the sight of him. he offers her words, but she didn't arrive to have her walls broken down. she makes her first strike in thoughtless anger. "what you want isn't possible. you cannot die." she hated him for speaking the truth. he knew all the ways to tick her off, and even being apart for so long, he knew what her agenda was. yet, she doesn't stop. "i understand. all i ever wanted was you. i wanted to light the fires of revolution with you."

"lies!" she strikes on and on in a tantrum, each beat smashing onto his sword and making it glow brighter. "fight back, you bastard!" thus, the first time he listens to her without any protests. he charges back, sending her katana away and disarming in one blow. all the colors around them becomes drained. everything turns red and black. rose petals float in the air and then they fall, shrinking and wilting. he stops midway, trapping arabella under his weight. "just kill me." she begs, finally sparing him a softened gaze, eyes watering, prepared to bequeath him as she steps into a place of darkness.

"you ought to remember, i made it my mission to destroy everything you love and ever loved." alarmed, her eyes shift in urgency and in a blink of an eye, a searing pain in her chest hits her like a bullet. blood gushes out and covers her while her hand desperately attempts to press down his wound. "no... no, no, no... no..." his skin grows cold yet his expression shows he remained unfazed until his last breath. the night ends with arabella soaked in his blood and her tears.

she bemoans how he continues to hurt her to the very end and the next morning, she paces around in what she's made into her lair with his weapon in her hand. all she's left with was memories. all she ever knew was gone. through mourning, she sets out to clear her mind but a stranger takes the worst of times, halting her steps as he goads her on, speaking of bringing her down. for the sake of his friends. "kihyun" was the only thing that registers and it catches her attention for a split second. then her mind shifts once again. if he could do as he says, she wouldn't complain.

the jaded warrior doesn't flinch at one punch, another and still she doesn't budge. he goes for a third, and a fourth, and adam's words resonate in her mind. it is impossible. it feels impossible. she cannot be killed, not by this weak human being, not by anyone she knew. adam was her only hope but now he's gone, too. she stands unprovoked, but there was still a chance. it was but a selfish act once again, but she was running dry on ideas. she couldn't take it anymore. she intercepts an attack of this stranger, walking forward and him taking steps back until they were on the streets. with all the witnesses around, she severs his arm without a moment of hesitance.

the gasps come in unison. she looks around to see everyone looking at her, some dialing numbers on their phones, others screaming in horror. it was a deed that cannot be undone. she flees, just like she’s always done when trouble arises, even though she’s set on a purpose. back to the place she calls home, she sits solemnly, waiting for the expected visit and it doesn’t take long.

"so we meet again."

death isn't kind. arabella knew that. it snatched where it could, taking people who were far too young, far too good, far too deserving of a life. it didn't pretend to care, it didn't pretend to distinguish. the hooded vale of death had hung over the world for a long time, always threatening. it had never touched arabella quite so close. she never thought it would be possible. not when she's given up years ago and she still stays where she is.

they say those who live fully is not afraid of death. yet despite all the centuries, she has not lived fully and she didn't fear death. she feared not knowing whether the pain she'll stand through would bring her what she had been ready for. she sees it as a foggy road that she has to pass to finally see the clearing. it is yet another path to walk, but who's to stay it'll be her last?

it was selfish of her to put him up to the task. living with the thought of the dead was hard enough, but being responsible for one was another. arabella knew it all too well. she had caused far more deaths than a graveyard can fill.

for treason, for heresy, for witchcraft, for being all that is evil; a capital punishment, this is what she deserves. back in her world, she would have taken a pouring of molten metal onto her, down her throat, into her ears. she would have taken being enclosed within metal contraptions subsequently heated. she would have taken boiling to death. auto-da-fé. everything that was painful. this was to atone for her sins.

lightheaded and feeling like the world is spinning, head throbbing against her skull. cold tendrils embrace her, vision fading, rattling gasps, breaths struggling to slip past bloodied lips. it was a steady progression, but it goes on fast. red with clear blisters, blanching with pressure. she could feel the pain seeping into layers of her skin. then there's yellow along with discomfort, onto the full-thickness and suddenly the pain disappears. she feels nothing but stiffness. then little by little, it turns black and dry, charred with dark scabs. 

she deserves this.

she screamed her last screams, then like a silent yet faithful companion, she waited until she ebbs into the comforting folds of darkness.

i’m coming, everyone.

lights out. sweet dreams.