#grief and a silent death and the world continuing to spin like nothing happens

[paeonie-s]

insomniacs after school makes me physically ill oh my god

[shanie-the-toyaddict]

Siempre te Amaré

Rating: T Characters: Kevin Owens, Sami Zayn Pairings: Kevin Owens/El Generico (Past), Kevin Owens/Sami Zayn Tags: Grief, Loss, Previous Character Death, Angst, Introspection, Zowens AND Steenerico But Separately Word Count: 1390

.......................................

Every July, Kevin finds a park.

It doesn't have to be anything fancy, just a quiet place where he can go to be with his memories. Memories of a lover who had left him behind and he'd lost. Memories of a lover who he'd ruined everything with and now haunted him like a ghost.

And watched over him like an angel.

Kevin had a new angel now. An angel who was spending his birthday at the park with him.

Funny how that worked out, that it was Sami's birthday too.

.......................................

(Just a short little story that was spinning inside my head today and I needed to get out on paper.)

Story behind cut

They were together for once.

It hadn’t happened before, not like that. The previous year, Sami had been injured and before that, well…

But that year, for the first time, they were together.

Kevin stood by the edge of the water, watching the ripples form In the breeze. It was a nice day, hot, as usual, but then it always was in the middle of July.

Kevin cast a glance sideways towards the bench where Sami was sitting quietly, giving Kevin his space.

Part of him wished Sami wouldn’t do that. Wouldn’t stay away. Kevin wanted Sami close, where he could feel him, touch him, know he was real.

Know he was real and wasn’t going to leave him.

Kevin’s hand gripped the bouquet of flowers tighter.

It was a lie, of course. Everyone left in the end. Nothing was permanent and everyone left. Sami, his Sami, he’d waited so long to have Sami back. His best friend, his lover, his world. Sami had been gone for so long and Kevin finally had him back, only for Sami to start pulling away again.

As if somehow, Sami had gotten used to him not being around.

Kevin could never get used to Sami not being around. Not since he’d found out.

Kevin stared out at the water. There was a pair of ducks floating in the middle of the pond, somewhere at the midpoint. They were quacking – ducks tended to do that – and it only made Kevin’s heart hurt worse. He kicked himself for not bringing food for them. Maybe he could have saved some of Sami’s salad from earlier, just a few pieces of lettuce that he could toss their way. Kevin hated how people always gave ducks bread. He’d gotten into more than a couple of spats with idiots who stood at the edges of ponds, just like that one, throwing wonderbread at the poor birds.

Morons.

The ducks kept quacking.

Kevin always thought geese were better though.

Sure, they were loud and obnoxious and full of shit, but then, really, so was he and people still put up with him. Plus the whole ‘Canada’ thing was cool.

But really, he admired their resolve. How they mated for life.

It wasn’t the most common trait in the animal kingdom, mating for life, but he did respect it. And relate to it.

Maybe that was why it hurt so much, even then.

Kevin’s eyes closed as tears crept into them.

He’d been so stupid.

Sami was wonderful. He was. He was. Sami was everything you could ever imagine in a partner. Kind, loving, tender, warm; just a big ball of sunshine that lit up the room every time he walked in. Really, Kevin knew he should be grateful that Sami had decided to grace him with his presence.

But it wasn’t the same.

Sami wasn’t the same.

Sami wasn’t Generico.

A silent tear fell down Kevin’s cheek.

There’d been no funeral. No funeral, no grave, nothing that he could even visit that represented his lover. There was no part of Generico left to hold onto or cling to that would serve as a solid, tactile reminder of what Kevin had lost.

Of what he had thrown away.

The tears continued to fall.

He’d have been thirty-five that day.

It always struck Kevin as bizarre how similar Sami and Generico were, even sharing the same birthday and hair color like some strange sort of doppelganger. But beyond that, they were nothing alike. And sure, Sami had been in his life too, all that time. They were still friends back then, even while Kevin was with Generico.

But Sami wasn’t Generico. Sami would never be Generico.

And if Sami was mourning the luchador from his place on the bench, Kevin couldn’t tell.

Honestly, Sami was probably frustrated that Kevin had chosen to spend the day at the park rather than at some vegan café or coffee shop.

Kevin looked down at the bouquet in his hand.

He always got carnations for the occasion.

Beyond the fact that they were easy to come by year-round, they were one of the less poisonous plant varieties to leave laying around a park. If someone’s pet came across them, it wasn’t going to kill the poor animal. Also, they came in red, which was preferable.

Kevin always liked Generico best in red.

Maybe a bit too much.

His breathing began to hitch at the thought of how much red had come between him and Generico. So much red, all that blood. Blood that should have stayed on the inside, pumping through Generico’s heart, still beating at Kevin’s side.

Funny, he’d never realized how much he missed Generico till he was gone.

Kevin’s shoulders began to shake.

“Hey.”

A voice beside him startled Kevin from his thoughts. Turning, he saw Sami at his side, blurry through tears but somehow still shining.

“You OK? Sami asked. “Is there… can I do anything?”

Kevin sniffled, wiping his eyes. “No, it’s just…”

Sami was looking at him, watching him. Kevin had gotten good at reading Sami over the years, and even through the pain, he could read the concern on his partner’s face. Sami, caring and nurturing as always, always looking out for him and wanting to protect him.

His guardian angel.

Generico had been an angel too. Had been, was still, would always be.

His angelito, was that the word? He’d never bothered to learn Spanish. His angel looking down on him from wherever, watching over him.

Or maybe, Generico was a ghost.

He was certainly good at the haunting part.

Kevin still had nightmares about him. Horrible night terrors of chains and ladders and bloody chairs and package piledrivers, the tools of their trade weaponized against each other.

They’d been so stupid back then. He’d been so stupid. He’d give anything to take it all back.

Instead, he’d have to settle for giving Generico flowers.

Looking at the flowers one more time, he leaned down, placing them at the edge of the water. They were a nearly meaningless token, in the grand scheme of things but every year, when he left them in whatever park he’d managed to find himself in that day, Kevin liked to pretend they had some value. Liked to pretend that somewhere, Generico could see the red blossoms and know that Kevin hadn’t forgotten.

Could never forget.

“You know,” Sami said, looking towards the playground on the left edge of the park, “Some kid is probably going to find those and take them to their parents. Kids love flowers.”

Kevin sniffled sharply. “Good. Let them. They’ll make the kid happy. He’d love that.”

“Yeah.”

Kevin felt warm fingers intertwining with his own.

Warm, solid, real. Alive.

He looked over to his lover, the one he still had, the one who hadn’t left him yet. He was looking out at the water, out at the ducks with a new look on his face. If Kevin had to put words to it, it was introspection. Kevin watched him and couldn’t look away, couldn’t take his eyes off the way the sun was shining on Sami, making the copper of his beard bright and far-too-familiar and for a moment, Kevin could almost pretend, almost believe that a part of Generico lived on in Sami and that there was something left to hold onto.

“He knows,” Sami said softly, still watching the ducks. “He knows you loved him. That you still do.”

Kevin felt his heart flicker at Sami’s words. “How do you know?”

“Call it a hunch,” he replied. “Call it faith. From one angel to another.”

Kevin really wanted to kiss Sami at that moment. But it wasn’t the time.

So he settled for the next best thing.

“I love you too,” Kevin said, squeezing Sami’s hand in return. “I’ll never stop loving either of you.”

“I know,” Sami replied, his voice barely above a whisper, “And we’ll never stop loving you.”

Sami’s eyes never left the pond, however, and as Kevin followed his gaze back to the ducks, he swore, somewhere in the depths of his heart, he could hear a response. An impossible voice from an impossible source reaching down to him from heaven.

“Te amo, Kevin,” the voice said, “Siempre te amaré.”

Kevin continued watching the ducks with Sami until they flew away.

[dr3amofagame]

so... the red banquet, huh?

im not going to lie, i was cheering on the eggpire the entire time (/lh) - what can i say, something abt the demon possessed resident evil crew just speaks to my heart. theyre FUN, ok? 

anyway, a lot of people were theorizing abt what c!dream showing up at the banquet could look like - and, well, i thought i’d write my version of it. this takes place in the “guard dog au” developed primarily by a gc im in on twitter (@stabbysideblog being the main originator of it, do check sunny out !!) - the basic premise is post-getting the revive book from c!dream, c!quackity continues to get his, uh, “use” out of him by basically treating him as a bodyguard/guard dog as he goes around the server - which should probably give you a pretty good idea of how this is going to go :] 

tws: death, grief, implied torture, starvation, abuse, blood, murder, unhealthy relationship, dehumanization, possession, trauma, mental illness, violence, dark content, dark imagery, emotional distress, mental instability, pandora’s vault/prison arc, c!quackity critical (not really, but a very dark portrayal of him) 

A strangled sob claws its way up Puffy’s throat as she watches Foolish fall.

He drops in a spray of golden ichor in the crimson, brilliant green eyes trained on hers, jaw slack in horror, pain, dipping to the ground and whiting out before he’s even fully collapsed. The others’ screams hardly even meet her ears; all she can see is her son, falling, her son, dying, her son, that same sunlit kindness still held in the curve of his lips in this room that knows nothing but pain and betrayal, gone gone gone gone-

Because of her.

Ant’s still staring at her, pupils thinned to needles from the brightness of the lava at their backs, ears alert but stance entirely calm as he twirls his sword, still dripping gold. His mouth is moving but she cannot hear anything above the ring ring ringing in her ears, the world swirling and blurring dangerously from the tears gathering in her eyes and spilling over her cheeks, Ant’s eyes polished rubies where there had once been a cloudless sky. Bad gestures at the crowd, pushed back towards the lava’s fire in their fear, leaving her to stand in the middle of the room as one desperate dying scream, the egg, standing as a silent witness to it all-

“Bad-” a flash of blue, and there’s someone standing in front of her, shoulders pulled back, a diamond sword glittering their right hand, “Stop it.”

“Quackity.”’

Bad snarls, tail whipping back and forth; Puffy takes a step back, then another, shoulders still shaking in grief for her son, for her friends, for everyone who’s about to lose their lives in this twisted realm of crimson and hellfire. There is no fear on Quackity’s face though he stands unarmored, and for the first time in this awful day something like worry flashes over Bad’s face. There’s history here, she realizes - what did Bad say about Quackity attacking? - but none of this is making sense, not the self-assured way Quackity is carrying himself, wings relaxed and folded at his back, not the simmering unease making itself known in the foreign cadence of Bad’s voice.

“Oh my gosh, look at what you’ve done,” Quackity says, voice almost patronizing, like a parent stumbling in on the mess their child has made out of their bedroom, “this is impressive, I’m not going to lie, this is quite impressive.” Puffy swallows thickly, hears the shuddering gasp of someone behind her - Fundy, probably, or Sam - as Quackity’s voice drops. “You have to stop right now.”

“Stop?”

“This whole Egg thing is just getting out of control - you just killed a man,” Quackity stalks across the netherbrick floor like he has all the time in the world, ignoring the crossbows that the Eggpire has trained on his back, guarded only by the off-white shirt he’s wearing, an untied tie hanging limply around his neck. She sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth - my son, they killed my son, she means to say, but the words stick to the walls of her throat and only escape her lungs in another series of wracking sobs. “Is that what you wanted to do, Bad?”

He laughs - laughs, of all things, and there is something here that Puffy is missing, that isn’t clicking through the muddied fog of grief hanging grey and suffocating around her head, but Quackity is speaking again and she can’t think about it all, not now, “-and I’m not gonna have it anymore, Bad.”

He slips over by the crowd, eyes glancing all of them huddled in one fearful mob over the tables, eyes dark and daring and cold; the Eggpire keeps their eyes trained on him, Bad’s eyebrows furrowed, Ant’s muzzle twisted in a snarl. Puffy watches, their words passing over her like water skidding against the surface of a rock splitting a stream in two, heart thudding in her ears, marking out the heartsick beats in this poisoned melody - one-two, her-son, her-son, her-son-

He stops in front of her in the middle of monologuing, eyes trained on her own like he’s trying to tell her something. His eyes flick down and she follows their gaze to his other hand, the one not clasped around a sword handle, watches as he gestures vaguely in the direction of the Eggpire. She frowns, confusion cutting through the grief - what is he trying to say? - and Quackity sighs, index finger slashing in the air in the shape of what might be an A as he spins on his heel to walk back towards Bad and the others.

“So how about we just stop playing?”

Quackity smiles, teeth white and glittering from the lava’s glow even as the Eggpire surrounds him, pushes him back against the wall. Bad seems to hesitate, hand clasped around the trigger of a crossbow he keeps pointed at the other’s head; when he speaks, he almost sounds mournful.

“I can’t,” he mutters, quiet, stepping forwards as his shoulders straighten, pushing Quackity back in a motion that the others are quick to follow. Puffy watches, an awful sinking feeling falling through the hole left in her chest by the sight of her son, falling, her son, dead - watches as Quackity’s wings open, shine golden in the lava’s light - what is he planning?

“You know why I can’t stop.”

Quackity heaves a heavy sigh through his lungs, “Bad- you and all your buddies here, drop your weapons, and leave. Let all of these people go.”

“Or what?” Ant’s voice is sharp, but Quackity barely pays him a second thought, swinging a glare at his head and cutting him off.

“I’m not talking to you,” he laughs, dismissive, “I’m talking to Bad.”

“No-” Puffy watches as Bad’s hand tightens on his crossbow, punctuating the word with a step forward. “You put your weapon down. If you wanted to stop us?” He’s too close to Quackity for Puffy to make out either of their faces, crossbow bolt aimed and ready to send straight through his skull. She stiffens, sees from the corner of her eye as the ones beside her look away, and resigns herself to the inevitable spray of blood on brick - not again not again don’t make me watch again - “You should’ve brought more than just yourself.”

Quackity laughs.

“I did,” his voice is dangerous in its levity, making Bad, then the rest of the Eggpire step back as his wings spread open further, watching with bated breath and wide eyes as a swarm of white descends from a hidden hole in the wall, “Or, well, I did the next best thing. I brought my worst enemy.”

“What?”

“Alright Quackity, where’s this Egg thing?”

Technoblade jumps down into the room in a familiar purple-black blur of expertly enchanted netherite armor, form impeccable despite the seeming exhaustion in his voice. At his feet, a pack of wolves gather, pace, muscles coiled and clearly ready to strike; he rolls his shoulders back, signature fireworks loaded into his crossbow, and the crowd behind Puffy immediately breaks into shocked murmuring and soft cheers.

On Quackity’s other side, someone else flips into the room, wearing a suit of all things, crisp and well-pressed; Purpled grins, entirely too gleeful as the Eggpire presses back further, held off by the dogs swarming and growling at their feet.

“Purpled- we hired you!”

“To be frank with you, Bad, a sword appears in Purpled’s hand and he flips it casually, blade thin and gleaming, “Quackity just had the better price.”

“We- we still outnumber you!” Bad’s voice is a near-scream in its desperation, his tail lashing back and forth as he shifts his weight forward, “It’s four against three- we’ll still win-” Despite herself, Puffy’s mind spins; either way, they’re still at a disadvantage from sheer numbers alone, never mind Quackity’s lack of armor. Maybe if they all work together, they’ll be able to sufficiently stop them, but there’s no way she can see this ending in anything less than a bloodbath-

“I didn’t want for it to come to this, Bad,” Quackity’s voice drops low and sweet, the sincerity in his tone belied by his glittering eyes and jagged grin. The shift in tone sends a shiver down her back, has even his allies shifting uncomfortably in what seems to be confusion - Puffy catches something like a murmured no from Sam, behind her, before Quackity whistles, loud.

It all happens too fast for her to follow; one moment, the Eggpire is standing, weapons raised and ready to fight; the next, and there is a new netherite-clad figure in the middle of the room, signature sparks of purple from a pearl still glittering around them, axe buried into Antfrost’s chest. The room devolves into shrieks as his body dissolves, Bad gasping sharply and something dark bubbling in Puffy’s chest - good - as the newcomer in the room moves over to Ponk, bloodstained axe swinging in a downward arc, only barely stopped in time by a diamond sword catching on the crook of the blade.

“Go!” Quackity’s voice rings out above the chaos, and Techno and Purpled - seemingly shaken from their shock - fly into motion, fireworks bursting in flashes of red and black that send Puffy blinking out stars from her eyes, Purpled moving to match blows against Hannah and Techno’s army biting at the ankles of the Eggpire leader. Around her, people scream in relief, cheering as the Eggpire, clad in eggshell-blue, are pushed back one by one, hindered by a shifting wave of teeth and claws and clashing blades and netherite moving smoothly over the uneven floor - Bad screams, “RETREAT!”, and they disappear into the wall.

Purpled curses; “I’m going after them.” Puffy watches, still reeling, as he dives into the corridor that Bad had revealed, a flash of purple and blue melting into the shadows; the mystery figure - still hauling a heavy, bloodstained axe, nearly dragging against the floor - moves forward as to follow.

Quackity snaps his fingers, and the figure stops, turns, immediately moving to the winged man’s side. Behind her, Puffy can make out cheers, gasping, hysterical sounds of relief; she can’t join them, feels nothing but the shuddering weight of her grief pressing further on her lungs as the adrenaline fades, head dizzy with Foolish’ sharp gasp in pain, Ant’s yowl of agony. Her eyes flick to the side, catch on Sam pacing, muttering under his breath; when his eyes meet hers, they widen in something like - alarm?

She shakes her head; she can’t think about all of that, right now. Her hooves stumble over the vines and rot strewn over the floor, carrying her forward to the glitter of gold on red, to where her son had fallen and she could do no more but watch with a scream caught between her teeth.

A hand lands on her shoulder- “I’m sorry we couldn’t make it in time.”

She whirls around; Quackity’s looking down at her, face twisted in sympathy. Behind him, the armored stranger looms, hair long and tangled, helmet keeping their face in shadow and hiding their features from view. There’s something distantly familiar to them, in the way they shift from one foot to the other, something that makes her eyes narrow and throat tighten-

“Who are you?” The words tumble from her mouth, making Quackity freeze, jaw snapping shut, the figure behind him tensing almost imperceptibly under their armor. “Who-”

Quackity’s eyes are dark, piercing; she can’t read them, the flat line of his mouth as confusing as it is frustrating. His eyes flick up to somewhere over her shoulder before moving back to her own

“How rude of me,” He smiles, gold tooth glinting, “I didn’t even introduce our special guest.”

His right wing presses against their back, and they drop, immediately, to their knees, making her step back in shock. Quackity’s hand slips easily under the edge of their helmet, ripping it off with little care and letting their hair fall in a wave of dusty browns over their face; he pulls the strands back roughly, revealing the paleness to their skin, the hollows in their cheeks-

“Dream?”

Her breath shudders in her chest, eyes snapping up to Quackity, still smiling, hand still pressed against the back of his skull. Dream’s face is pale, thin, clawed with new scars that highlight the jut of his cheekbones and the dullness of his eyes. He looks up at her, eyes glassy, skin almost grey, and for a moment she’s looking at Foolish, eyes unseeing in death, the luster of his skin stolen like the air from his lungs, and she nearly screams.

“Puffy, Puffy,” Quackity murmurs, almost kind, “It’s alright, see? Everything’s fine now.”

“He- he’s supposed to be in prison,” she hisses, not missing how he flinches, not missing how even that is hindered by the hand braced against his head. He looks strangely small kneeling at Quackity’s side, dwarfed by the netherite he’s wearing; even with an axe strapped to his back, the blade still wet with crimson and reeking of iron and decay, he hardly looks like the villain that had terrorized the server, the son she could no longer recognize in the midst of the bridges he burned.

“Oh- don’t worry about him,” Quackity shrugs, wings fluttering, “It’s all being done with the Warden’s permission, Puffy, I know what I’m doing.” As if to prove his point, his hand tightens on the other’s hair, tugging his head back by the roots; Dream hardly even reacts, simply letting himself be manhandled, throat bare and exposed to the air, similarly criss-crossed by scars. “He’s perfectly well-behaved now, you see?”

Her throat closes, the pit in her gut torn open by the sight of her son with a blade skewered through his heart only growing wider, hungrier, by the dullness in the eyes of the other. Foolish’ death had happened too fast for her to react: one moment, he was staring at her, eyes mournful in goodbye; the next, he was a tumble of gold and green and blue against the floor, half of his name still not having left her lips. Dream’s head swivels to hers, face entirely blank; there is nothing quick written in the gauntness of his face, more scar tissue than skin, in the shadows under his eyes or how they seem to stare, unseeing, in the long, knotted strands of hair twisted over Quackity’s knuckles. He looks like he’s been dying, slowly, for months, and the screaming cry of YOU FAILED ringing in her head in Ant’s voice only grows louder.

“What did you-” the words scrape roughly against the inside of her mouth, “What did you do?”

Quackity shrugs, letting go, and Dream’s head tips forward to stare at the floor. “What had to be done.”

He clicks his fingers again, and Dream stands, falling behind Quackity with his shoulders pulled up to his ears. Quackity hands him back his helmet, keeping his hand stretched out, palm up, even after Dream takes the netherite and fastens it back over his head. Puffy watches, heart stuck in her throat, as Dream fiddles with something by his throat, pulls out a thick coil of iron chains, pressing the end to Quackity’s outstretched hand - the other side, she realizes, fastened around his neck.

Her breath stutters when he looks back at Quackity, gut roiling at the familiarity - it’s an imperfect copy of the way he used to look at her, a skittish shadow at her tail, all awkward smiles and fidgeting hands. Only now, his eyes don’t dance with the same light, his lungs shivering in fear instead of wheezing laughter; she watches as his head follows Quackity like he’s the only person in the room, a duckling imprinted on the nearest person and ready to follow to the ends of the world and further, and her heart shatters all over again.

“Anyway,” Quackity’s eyes soften, lips curled in sympathy, “My condolences, Puffy, for your son. It really is a tragedy.”

She watches him leave with tears in her eyes, a sob once again caught in her throat. The images overlap - Foolish, smiling under the sun’s glow, sitting on the roof of his summer home - Dream, grinning in the treetops, eyes as green as the leaves surrounding him - Foolish, falling in a spray of ichor and a gasp of pain, Dream, grey-eyed and silent, dead as the crimson rot surrounding his beaten body-

My condolences for your son, Quackity’s words echo in her skull, and not for the first time, she laughs miserably, tears falling from her eyes.

Which one?

[silverstarlightwrites]

ah yes, the idea for yet another variant of this au chain

Team Seven take the mission to the Land of Waves. On the bridge, they fight Zabuza and Haku.

On the bridge, Sakura dies.

For a moment that lasts forever, everything seems to freeze. It’s shock, initially, on every face. Haku’s mirrors are in the midst of cracking apart, Naruto and Sasuke standing bloody and back-to-back between them, while Haku lunges across the expanse of stone to protect Zabuza from the shrill and deathly lightning in Kakashi’s hand.

Even Sakura herself seems stunned, rotating midair as if in slow motion. She seems unsure of herself, or how exactly she got where she is - bolted from one end of the bridge to the other, abandoning her post as Tazuna’s bodyguard to intercept Haku on their way to Kakashi.

And she’s made it, to her credit. Caught Haku just before they reach Zabuza, tagged them with her kunai. There’s blood on their clothes, a stark red streak against pale skin and fabric.

They’ve spun at the contact, reflexive, defensive. Somehow, even with the Chidori roaring in Kakashi’s palm, the world goes silent as Haku’s senbon sinks into Sakura’s neck. It’s all too slow as the strike transfers momentum, as Sakura’s feet lift from the ground and the senbon tears out of her throat. Sasuke stares on with Sharingan ablaze, unable to breathe, unable to look away as his eyes dutifully and traitorously record Sakura’s death in minute, excruciating detail. He doesn’t know, just yet, what the cost of his clan’s power truly is.

But Kakashi does, only too terribly well, and as time catches up with itself and Sakura goes crashing into the bridge, he strikes. His hand punches straight through Zabuza’s ribcage, tearing through his heart until Kakashi’s fingers protrude from his back. The surprise on his face is overlaid with the relief on Rin’s, and Kakashi yanks back, turns away, refuses to look at her ghost with the blood on his hands.

Sasuke is frozen, unblinking, struggling to breathe. He can’t drag his gaze away from Sakura’s body, and she looks so small where she’s crumpled on the bridge, utterly motionless in an expanding puddle of her own blood. He can’t see colours, except for the crimson, as if everything else has been spontaneously switched off.

She’s still breathing, barely, a weak flutter that-- Gods, Sasuke thinks he might be imagining it, actually, he can’t tell, and her body is outlined in white fire that he knows isn’t real, Sharingan whirring, head spinning. The world rotates.

It ruptures, all at once, as Naruto lets out an ear-piercing scream at Sasuke’s side. Whatever was holding it all snaps, and Sasuke whips around to check on Naruto, and sees the menacing red bleeding into blue eyes, sees the way his teeth are cracking and elongating in his jaws, the fangs that are too big for Naruto’s skull, the ink creeping out from the birthmarks on his cheeks, winding back along his temples and down his nose.

There’s a shout, Kakashi’s voice, but Naruto has already vanished in a blur of sticky red chakra and the shattering of the stone under his feet, and by the time Sasuke can find him again he’s already torn into Haku like a wild animal, cracking bone and shredding flesh. Their head rolls away from their body, before Naruto pounces on it.

The skull pancakes under Naruto’s hand, a splatter of brains like a water balloon bursting, a tongue poking from between his fingers and an eyeball popping into the air and arcing away. Naruto is snarling, glowing, and there’s blood dripping from every footprint he leaves, his skin melting and boiling as fast as it heals under the cloak of-- of-- oh gods, and Sasuke doesn’t even know, can’t even comprehend what it is that he’s seeing. A Naruto that isn’t himself, isn’t even human, and there are ethereal tails forming and lashing from the dark red chakra itself, two-- three. Long curves that look like ears, deep gouges in the stone as his nails-- claws, they’re claws, wickedly sharp, and they look more like bone than fingernail, like the animal is too big to be contained by Naruto’s real body.

Haku is in pieces under Naruto’s attack, and he won’t stop slashing and biting and shredding. Nausea boils up, fear and panic and Sasuke doesn’t fucking understand but he’s pretty fucking sure that he doesn’t want to, and it’s almost a relief when he has to turn away to vomit.

Kakashi’s voice is in the air, and every fibre of his body wants to help ruin the people who’ve killed Sakura right in front of them, wants to sprint to her side and try to save her - but he can’t, he knows, and he can’t lose control like his kids are. He’s the leader. He’s the adult. There’s too much blood under Sakura already, her carotid artery sundered by the attack, and she’s just a child, she’s beyond help, beyond Kakashi’s rudimentary skills in medical ninjutsu, she’s already gone and there’s nothing Kakashi can do to save her. Because there’s never anything he can do to save her.

But he can’t lose control, and he needs to triage the situation as best he can. If he fails to act, then he’ll lose Naruto too. He’ll lose Sasuke. He’ll lose all of them. So he sprints to Naruto, tackles him to the ground, ignores the sudden searing agony of the Kyuubi’s chakra biting into his skin. Naruto is wild, lost in the onslaught of his demon and grief, but where the Kyuubi’s domination brings with it new and unique strengths, it also brings weaknesses.

It takes more chakra and effort than Kakashi has, but he makes Naruto look him in the eye, brings as much of the Sharingan’s power to bear as he can. For a minute, struggling to keep Naruto down while he howls and snaps his teeth and tries to bite through Kakashi’s wrists, nothing visibly happens. Kakashi is shaking by the time Naruto finally stills, takes a deep breath, lets out a noise like a dying animal.

When Naruto slumps, the Kyuubi locked back into its cage, Kakashi goes down with him.

Sasuke’s approach is slow, shuddering, uncertain. His eyes are burning, and he can’t tell if it’s from chakra or from tears, but he doesn’t care. Naruto and Kakashi are breathing, tangled together in an unconscious pile, and Sasuke can’t even begin to think what to do with them so he ignores them. Goes to Sakura instead. She’s sprawled, her skin scraped and raw from her impact and tumble against the bridge, her throat torn open. Sasuke’s never seen what the inside of a larynx looks like before.

He turns away as he gags, but there’s nothing left to come up except a violent ache so deep that Sasuke thinks, for a moment, that he might be about to die as well. Sakura is limp when he tries to pick her up, warm and pliable and lifeless in his hands. He can’t get them to stop shaking, makes a mess as he tries to wipe her hair out of her face. Smears blood everywhere. It’s matted in her hair, the normal pink warped into a blurring crimson.

It’s the ninken who actually take control. Pakkun sets Bull and Shiba to guard Tazuna, even though the threat to him is gone. The cold reality is that they’re acting more like prison guards than bodyguards; Konoha has lost a genin and nearly lost her whole team, and it rarely forgives such offences. Guruko establishes a small parameter around the scene, and Akino keeps the remaining civilians in a tight group. Urushi comes to sit vigil with Sasuke, and they let him cradle Sakura’s body to his chest and cry.

With only a few words, Pakkun has Ūhei unsummon herself, and she vanishes in a puff of smoke to report to the Hokage and get a rescue team sent after them. With Bisuke’s help, Pakkun himself sets to untangling Naruto and Kakashi and ensuring they’ll live through this. Shiba, the only ninken with a lightning affinity, is pulled off Tazuna duty to give Kakashi a chakra transfusion; he jolts and moans when it’s delivered, but it’s a necessary agony and he doesn’t fully wake.

When Gatō makes his appearance, Bisuke vanishes and reappears on his shoulders, and his entourage is sent fleeing in panic as she rips out his throat too with delicate, savage fangs.

By the time that Ūhei returns with a rescue squad at her side, Naruto is awake again and he refuses to let anyone take Sakura’s body from him but the masked Anbu simply picks them up together. Gai is firm but gentle as he carries Kakashi - not quite awake, but beginning to stir. Sasuke tries to stand - he’s numb and hollow, and he thinks that he should feel like he did when he found Itachi over the bodies of their parents but he doesn’t. He doesn’t feel anything.

Perhaps he should feel guilty for that.

His legs fail him, however, and maybe he should feel pathetic for not even being able to pick himself up from the ground but he can’t bring himself to care as he’s carefully lifted up by Asuma. Sasuke wants nothing more than to stop existing while he watches his team over Asuma’s shoulder, stares unblinking at the way Naruto shakes and begs Sakura to wake up. She won’t.

She won’t ever again.

The ninken make the trip back with them, and if it is a quick affair then it is also a haunting one. Naruto doesn’t shut up the entire time, alternating between talking to the girl who cannot hear him and muttering quietly to himself. If Sasuke looks closely enough, he can see the flash of fangs in Naruto’s mouth that never quite flatten again.

The report to Hiruzen lasts for a lifetime, and is over far too soon. Kakashi is lucid by then, standing on his own feet but with Gai’s continued assistance. His report is... empty. Perhaps that’s as it should be - he does not cry, for death has already wrung from him as many tears as he could ever give it, but his voice is icy and his gaze is bitter and grim. He recommends, as emotionlessly as he explains all the rest, that Konoha execute Tazuna for his crimes.

Naruto finally surrenders Sakura’s body when her parents arrive. He and Sasuke will never forget the way they break when he does, the collapse and the howling and the way that Sakura is stiff and pale in their arms. Her eyes are still open, glazed and green and unseeing.

Why are her eyes still open?

Afterwards, after Sasuke and Naruto are released from Team Seven’s trip to the hospital but Kakashi is coerced to stay, two of the ninken stick around. Ūhei sticks to Sasuke’s side like a parasite, a warmth and stability that Sasuke finds himself loathing, while Bisuke trails Naruto at a short but definitive distance.

Naruto doesn’t let Sasuke wander home alone. He wants to, desperately, wants to hide away in the ocean of death that he lives in and-- gods, and what, exactly? Showering is an option that should be appealing, but it’s not. Even the thought of washing Sakura’s blood off himself - of erasing the last tangible evidence of her life - is sickening. They’d been cruel to her, in life. Sasuke had expected little of her at all, and he hadn’t cared if she’d known it. Naruto, with his puppy-love, hadn’t been better.

Except she was dead, and in the end her strength hadn’t mattered at all. Any one of them could have been caught the way she was - and it was bravery that had killed her, not weakness. She’d left the safety of distance and thrown herself in the way, in between their sensei and an incoming attack, and there was no way of knowing if Haku could have hurt or killed Kakashi in the attempt but Sakura had prevented it from even being an option.

Had she known? Had it been a decision on her part, or had it been instinct and desperation? Had she ever realised that-- gods, had she ever known that her team loved her?

A glare isn’t enough to discourage Naruto from following Sasuke home, as it never has been, and there’s a chance that Sasuke could make him leave with words but--

He can’t bring himself to speak. Not once, not at all. His voice feels like a weight in his throat, like he’s swallowed marbles, and that’s fine, really, because what right does he have to fucking use it anyway? Sakura’s voice has been stripped away. She’ll never speak again, and Sasuke deserves to far less than she does.

Did.

The dogs never leave their sides over the following weeks. Ūhei and Bisuke are their most common company, but all eight of the ninken rotate in and out. Naruto refuses to go back his own home, wherever the fuck it is. At first Sasuke hates him for it, hates everything, but eventually Naruto is absent for half a day - training, he says when he gets home - and Sasuke panics.

So much is gone. Almost everything is gone. Sakura is gone. And gods Naruto is annoying - but he understands, actually, Sasuke can see now, despite the absurd and cheery exterior he’d worn before. He’s always understood, and the cheerfulness was a lie. Or, perhaps, a choice. And the fear of losing him to is so overwhelming that Sasuke simply never asks him to leave.

They attend Sakura’s funeral. It’s... eerie. Too many people and too few people at the same time. Some that Sasuke doesn’t recognise - too many that he does. Sasuke stands between Naruto and Kakashi, and Kakashi doesn’t say a word to them, to anyone, and Sasuke lets Naruto hold onto his hand with a crushing grip. Ino approaches them, afterwards, and habit has Sasuke bracing himself but there’s no admiration in her eyes this time. She snarls at them. “It should have been you.”

It’s hard to argue with her.

Sakura’s parents are... unbearable. The agony in their expressions is so familiar, so intimate, and yet they’re so kind to Sasuke and Naruto despite the fact they let their daughter die. When Mebuki learns that they’re living on their own - not a parent between them - she begins visiting them. They’re not social calls, not really, and she doesn’t linger too long, but her visits are scheduled and regular, and bring with them meals put together for Sasuke and Naruto and whatever cleaning they haven’t managed between them. After the first week, she brings small snacks for whichever of the ninken are with them as well.

Kizashi gives them two stuffed animals and Sakura’s hitai-ite. The toys are generic - a very round bird and a fox, both worn by time and use - but they were hers, and beloved when she was small. Naruto tries to refuse the hitai-ite, because surely her parents want to keep such an important thing, but Kizashi insists. He doesn’t want it, he tells them. He would rather remember Sakura as his daughter, and not as a Konoha soldier.

Perhaps there’s merit in that, but Sasuke and Naruto set it between her toys on the dresser in their room, next to their team photos, and they can’t bring themselves to work out the bloodstains in the fabric, but the plate is kept perfectly polished. Maybe her parents just don’t understand - but Sakura was proud of her position as a Konoha-nin, and she died fulfilling it.

It’s a little shameful, of course, that Sasuke is sharing his room with Naruto - but Naruto disagrees, and Sasuke can’t bring himself to care. Sleeping alone has proven... difficult. And pride is worthless.

The dogs never leave, but Naruto and Sasuke don‘t see Kakashi after Sakura’s funeral. There are meetings with Hiruzen, visits from some of the other jōnin, and no matter how vehemently they protest, they’re assigned a new sensei. It’s hideously uncommon, and it’s not Kaede-sensei’s fault, but Sasuke can’t help but hate her too. She can’t replace Kakashi, and Sasuke resents her for even trying, no matter that Kakashi-sensei has abandoned them. At least they’re not given a new teammate. As if anyone could possibly replace Sakura.

“The dog-Anbu is back,” Naruto says one day, while they spar under Kaede’s watchful eye. “I think... I think it might be Kakashi-sensei.”

And Sasuke knows about the dog-Anbu, of course. Though he rarely speaks himself, Naruto has no such compunction, and his chatter has become a familiar comfort. A Naruto who’s talking is a Naruto who’s alive. He’s told Sasuke all about growing up, about the loneliness and the dread. About the hatred of the village. The dog-Anbu had been the most familiar regular amongst the quiet tail of Anbu who’d watched Naruto his entire life - and yet never intervened. Had it been willful, or were they under orders? Hard to say, given that they were almost never given direct trouble anymore. The civilians who saw them out and about - on the rare occasion they were - were either too sympathetic or too wary to confront them. There was no opportunity to intervene even if the dog-Anbu wanted to.

That the surreptitious Anbu presence was back should have been concerning, but... Naruto had always found comfort in the recognisable dog-Anbu. Maybe it was contagious.

And if Kakashi was still watching them, then he hadn’t abandoned them. Somehow, it made Kaede’s training more welcome.

Jiraiya becomes part of their lives. He’s an irregular and brief presence, but he drifts in and out. They meet him early, and Naruto refuses to leave Sasuke’s side to fulfill whatever task Jiraiya has for him, and so they learn together the truth of the beast caged inside Naruto’s skin. Jiraiya works on the Seal, repairs what he can from the damage Naruto did on the bridge, ensures its continued integrity. He’s hard to like on a personal level, but they don’t begrudge his visits when they happen - making sure Naruto has control of the demon is imperative. He can’t use a power he can’t control.

Because that’s their secret, of course. In the dead of night, in the quiet of the Uchiha compound, when it’s just them and the ghosts. Naruto practices, with Sasuke on hand - Sasuke who’s learnt from Jiraiya that the Sharingan can manipulate the Bijuu, who finally understands what it was Kakashi did to bring Naruto down when Sakura died - and Sasuke practices with him, and forces back what power slips beyond Naruto’s grasp when they break open tiny cracks in the Seal.

And Naruto helps Sasuke too, offers a barrier of stolen demonic chakra that is the only thing, they’ve found, that can provide any resistance to the sticky black flames Sasuke can conjure. It makes his eyes bleed, and the chakra cost is like ashes in his veins, but creating and controlling the Amaterasu gets easier every time he does it.

They’re going to need it. Sasuke isn’t sure if Naruto simply needed the context of Sasuke’s quest for vengeance or if Sakura’s death made him understand the purpose of revenge, but they’re in it together, now. Naruto refuses to leave Sasuke’s side - and if that means following him down the path that leads to killing Itachi, then so be it. His power, despite what Sasuke had once thought, is immense and - somehow - at Sasuke’s disposal.

It’s strange, he thinks. How Naruto can still have faith in people, the differences in how he talks to Sakura’s ghost as if she’s watching them, as if she’s not simply gone, as if she might be proud of them, and how Sasuke can never bring himself to say a single word. Stranger still, how easily Naruto throws that faith away when Sasuke asks him to.

Strange, but comforting. Love, perhaps, if Sasuke lets himself dare to contemplate so fragile and dangerous a thing. And if Naruto will forsake his morals at Sasuke’s behest, then the least he can do is hold true to them. Because one day, when they’re ready, when they’re so strong that nobody will ever be able to rip away a life they love ever again, they’ll hunt down Itachi and make him pay for the lives he tore down.

But first - and maybe it’s practice, or maybe it’s vengeance, or maybe it’s both - they’ll return to the Land of Waves, once they’ve got enough control of their strength, and they’ll burn the Great Sakura Bridge to the ground.

[mikrowrites]

knocking on heaven’s door

winchester!sister , sam x sister!reader , surprise jack kline x winchester!reader

SPN SEASON 15 FINALE SPOILERS!!!

summary: Dean’s gone, and Sam doesn’t know how to tell their sister, who stayed home at the bunker during the hunt.

warnings: ANGST, major character death, fluff flashbacks, grief

Y/N walked down the bunker steps, Miracle ahead of her and pulling on his leash. She unclipped the lead, watching the dog run happily to the kitchen with a smile.

Suddenly her phone began to ring in her back pocket, Y/N reaching for it and identifying the contact name “Dean-o”. She grinned, answering the call. “Hey big bro.”

“Hey little sis.” Dean replied. Y/N walked over and sat in one of the chairs in the library, putting the phone on speaker and setting it on the wood.

“How’s the hunt?” She asked.

Dean sighed. “It’s going. We’re outside a vamp nest right now. I think we’ll be home in time for lunch tomorrow.”

“So is that a hint for me to cook?” Y/N raised an eyebrow.

He chuckled through the phone. “You do make the best homemade pizza.”

Y/N hummed. “Damn right I do. Okay, okay. There’ll be deep dish waiting.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Dean was silent a moment. “How’s the college search?”

She pursed her lips, looking at the open laptop on the table with an application pulled up. Since the world was out of immediate danger and the Winchesters now had control of their lives, Y/N had decided she wanted to finish college, do something. “I’m thinking Kansas State. Close to home, so I can see you guys often.”

“I’m proud of you, kiddo.” Dean responded. “When we get back after some pizza we’ll go get drinks, you and I. Celebrate.”

Y/N smiled. “Can’t wait.”

“Well, Sammy’s being impatient and we’ve gotta rescue some kids. I’ll call you after the hunt.” He chuckled into the receiver.

“Okay. Be careful! Love ya, big bro!” Y/N cheerily answered.

Dean smiled, shaking his head. “Back ‘atcha, kid.”

The line went dead.

—

Jack held his palm up in a farewell gesture, smiling at the three Winchesters.

“Goodbye.”

He then turned, and began to walk away. Sam and Dean watched, upset but understanding of the boy’s decision.

Y/N, however, pushed past her brothers, running forwards towards the nephilim. “Jack! Wait!”

Jack stopped, turning and looking at Y/N questioningly. “Yes, Y/N?”

She exhaled shakily, stepping up to him so they were inches away. “Will you listen to my prayers? At least mine?”

The boy smiled. “You can talk to me anytime. I’ll be with you.”

Y/N nodded, stepping back for a moment. Then, after either building her courage up or contemplating (maybe both), she approached Jack once more, grasping both sides of his face in her hands as she kissed him, the boy letting out a noise of shock before melting into her.

After a few seconds they pulled away, resting their foreheads against each other’s, before Jack squeezed Y/N’s hand in reassurance.

With that, Jack turned and walked away, glowing with a bright light until he disappeared. Y/N exhaled, closing her eyes momentarily before turning back and looking at her brothers. She walked back over to them, Sam casting her a smile and look of pity, but Dean squeezed her shoulder.

Y/N looked up at her eldest brother, who pulled her into an embrace. The man chuckled, rubbing her back comfortingly with his hand. “You had the privilege of loving him. That’s a gift.”

She nodded her head, burying her face in his jacket. “Thank you.”

—

Y/N paced through the war room, biting her fingernail. She sent another text, her heart beating in her chest. It was 4 am, and Dean hadn’t called back.

Called: Dean-o (47) DECLINED

To Dean-o: How’d the hunt go?

To Dean-o: Dean?

To Dean-o: Hello?

To Dean-o: Please call me you’re scaring me

To Dean-o: Dean please

Suddenly the creak of the bunker door echoed through the room, Y/N’s head snapping up, the girl sighing in relief. “Jesus, Sam. Dean wouldn’t pick up his phone.”

The tall man walked silently down the stairs, Y/N shaking her head in disbelief and looked up at the door, waiting for Dean to appear. She rolled her eyes. “No need to hide, asshole. You just got your pizza privileges revoked, though.”

Sam silently walked up to the girl, who finally turned to him, laughing a bit. “Over-dramatic as always.” He looked down at his sister, tears threatening to escape once more. He pitied how he was about to upheave her whole life, destroy the happiness the family momentarily had. Y/N peered up at Sam quizzically. “What?”

Sam hastily closed the distance, pulling Y/N in for a hug, holding her tight as his whole body trembled. The girl hesitantly wrapped her arms around him, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion.

He continued to embrace his sister, who lightly tapped his back with her palm. “Sam?”

“He’s gone.”

Y/N felt the breath being sucked from her lungs, as if her heart had just stopped beating right then and there. “Who’s gone? Sam...?”

Sam tightened his hold on Y/N. “He’s... I’m sorry... Dean’s...”

She pushed him away shaking her head. “No, no, you are not saying Dean Winchester is dead. You’re joking. No way. Our brother is fine. He’s just avoiding me and—”

“Y/N.” Sam pleaded. “I’m sorry.”

Tears began to well up in her eyes, Y/N running her hands through her hair. “You’re lying. You’re a liar!”

Sam attempted to reach out to comfort her, but Y/N took a step back. She met his eyes, a tear trailing down her face. “You—!” Y/N suddenly lashed out, throwing weak punches at Sam’s chest, shoving him back. She cried out with every punch, the tears beginning to waterfall down her cheeks.

The tall brunette took every hit, every shove, every curse for a while until Sam gently grasped both her wrists, spinning her and wrapping his arms around her from behind, holding her back against his chest. Y/N thrashed in Sam’s grip, screaming obscenities as she sobbed.

After a few minutes she let her body go limp in his hold, her mouth opening as if to scream, but only a raspy whimper escaped her throat. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, hanging her head low as Sam held her tighter, resting his forehead on her shoulder from behind.

The bunker echoed with her soft cries, the two Winchesters mourning an incurable loss.

—

Y/N closed one of her eyes, biting her lip in concentration before she let the tip of her cue hit the ball, Dean letting out a low whistle. “Damn, kid. You play a mean game of pool.”

“Well, you know. Training meant many different skills to Bobby. How to shoot a gun, wardings, kicking ass at pool.” Y/N mused, reaching a plucking the $20 bill off the edge of the table and pocketing it.

Dean took a swig from his beer, nodding. “Well, those three check out.”

Y/N blushed at the compliment, Dean sitting at an empty table in the bar, gesturing for her to sit across from him. Sam was resting at the motel while Dean and Y/N decided to celebrate another successful hunt. The girl grabbed her own drink and sat down.

“Nice work today, kiddo. You saved our asses out there.” Dean tipped the neck of his beer forward in a toast, Y/N clinking her drink against the glass of his. They took a drink, the girl shaking her head.

“Anytime.” She smiled.

Dean sat forwards. “Y’know, only if you want to, but um, Sammy and I wouldn’t mind another person helping us out on hunts. If you wanted to, I mean, you don’t have to, but if you wanted to—”

“Dean.” Y/N interrupted his rambling, grinning. “I’d love to.”

The man smiled at his little sister, nodded. “Great. Awesome.”

Y/N nodded, smiling back and taking another drink before standing and grabbing her cue. “Another round? I’ll bet fifty on this one.”

Dean shook his head in amusement, smiling and joining her at the pool table.

He had failed one of his half-siblings in the past. Dean swore he’d never do it to her.

—

Y/N sat on her bed, gripping her phone in a white-knuckle grip. She stared blankly down at the photo on her phone, it was a photo taken from that night at the bar. Y/N and Dean stood side by side in front of the pool table, smiling wide. Dean held his beer bottle in his hand, his other arm wrapped over Y/N’s shoulders.

It had been a week. One torturous week since they burned his body, since they said goodbye.

She sniffed, before laying the phone down on the bed, straightening her back and raising her vision forwards. Y/N inhaled, her eyes steady and red-rimmed.

Y/N closed her eyes slowly.

“Jack?”

The room was silent, Y/N opening her mouth once more.

“You said you’d listen to my prayers. You’d always be with me.” She exhaled softly. “I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care if I take his place, if I go to hell, if I suffer, fine. But please. Please Jack, bring him back. Bring Dean back. Do something.”

“You can’t just let this happen. Bring him back. I know you can, so just please, do it. I can’t... I can’t live without him. I can’t live without my big brother. Just bring him back. If you ever loved me, prove it and bring Dean back.”

Y/N sat in deafening silence, before opening her eyes, fresh tears gathering as she stared forwards. “Please.”

Silence. Nothing.

The girl shakily sighed, lowering her head.

A knock at the door brought her head jolting up, only to feel as though deflating at the sight of Sam. “Hey.” He softly spoke. “Donna has a case. I... I think we should go.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah.”

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, looking for something to say, but opting to step away and head for the library when coming up with nothing. Y/N looked around her room, before grabbing her duffle.

She could read Sam like a book. He didn’t plan on coming back to the bunker after this hunt.

Y/N packed her duffle, leaving only the things she knew she wouldn’t miss. She smiled as she pulled polaroids of her and her brothers off her wall, stashing them into her bag.

She met Sam up at the top of the bunker stairs, looking out at the place she and her brothers had called home. Y/N let one last prayer be recited in her head before turning to her brother. “Let’s go.”

The lights shut off one by one, engulfing the bunker in darkness.

[council-of-readers]

All Things Will Fade

‘Request’: Idk if this is helpful or not cos I usually need direction but can I request that you write something that you really want to write fic-wise? For yourself? Totally self-indulgent and fun? Like a wildcard - @poisond-flower

The second thing I've written on here that wasn't officially requested! Hope you enjoy angst-y hurt/comfort-y Spangel-y goodness.

~•~

Angel sat still at the edge of his bed. The room was silent, save for the distant sounds of traffic coming up from the street below. His face was sullen and his shoulders slouched. The air felt heavy. It weighed on his aching muscles. Everything hurt. His eyes were locked on his hands; the rest of the world had completely fallen away.

His knuckles were coated in dried blood, some of it his. The wounds had already healed. All that was left was the cracking remnant nights events. He'd failed.

The first pinpricks of sunlight began to peak out over the skyline and Angel flinched. Sun proof glass. A perk he still hadn't gotten used to. It felt wrong. To experience the light like this felt like he was denying his nature. He hadn't earned it yet, especially not after what happened to Fred. She had died because of his failure, and now she was gone.

Doyle, Cordelia, Fred... They'd all died because he couldn't save them. He couldn't protect them. He was responsible for their deaths and there wasn't a thing he could do to rectify it. He was farther from redemption than he'd ever been. What good was he as a champion if he couldn't even save those closest to him?

Angel hadn't moved since he originally sat down. He was almost afraid to. If he moved, if he felt, then it was real. It had really happened. His fingers were tightly laced together and his elbows dug into his knees. The position wasn't all that comfortable, and yet he held it. It was about the only thing he had control over in that moment.

He felt the bed sink in next to him. He didn't look up. He didn't need to.

"What do you want, Spike?"

The other man stiffened. Neither spoke for a while.

Angel could feel Spike's eyes on him. He had half a mind to tell him to leave. Not because he didn't want him there. It was just soothing to yell at him.

As if he'd read his mind, Spike said, "Surprised you haven't kicked me out yet, peaches."

"Don't-"

"-call you that anymore, yeah I know."

Silence fell between them again, but the air felt a little lighter this time. At least one thing has stayed the same.

"She's really gone, isn't she." Angel said. It wasn't a question.

Spike nodded. Angel didn't look up.

"Yeah, she is. Listen, I..." Spike trailed off. It all felt hollow. There wasn't much he could say.

"Thanks."

Spike smiled sadly. Nothing could make this better.

They sat together for a while, saying nothing. It had been some time since they had a conversation this civil. Heart break can do that to you. It got more and more comfortable to be in each other's presence as time went on. They were both still tense, but the tension was unrelated to the other one. This was normal, for them. Death had been a constant in their lives for well over a century. They'd always shared that.

"This one's different," Spike said, "Doesn't feel like it used to. Suppose that's the soul."

Angel hummed in agreement. "It does that to you. Makes things different. Still worth it?"

Spike thought for a second. "Yeah, I think so."

"Good."

"I mean," Spike continued, "it hurts. It hurts more than I thought it would. Than I thought it could. It's worth it, though. To fight."

Angel agreed, but he didn't speak.

"They need you down there, mate."

"I can't." His voice was sharper than he intended it to be. Spike was making an effort, something he did appreciate, but things between them were difficult. It would have been hard to navigate even without the complex history.

There was something comforting about it, though. Sharing that kind of history with someone. There weren't many Angel could relate to. This all in mind, Spike did bring out the worst in him. The second he waltzed into a room all other thoughts escaped him. Spike was all encompassing. He was the highlight of the conversation; always prepared with a witty one-liner or a snappy comment. It wound Angel up to the point he was all he could think about.

For once, though, it didn't bother him. Spike had stopped putting on that facade of bravado that he so despised. He was open. Vulnerable. Aching. And, for the same reasons Angel was.

"I know they need me, Spike, but I don't think I can be their hero right now."

Spike lifted his hand slightly before setting it back down; a motion Angel took interest in. He decided against asking, but it sent his mind spinning.

"That's understandable," Spike said. That was all he said. It was kind. There was no malice or judgement behind it. Spike meant it.

There was quiet again. It felt right. Spike shifted closer to Angel. Their knees were almost touching. It all felt right. Except for Fred.

They both thought about her in the same instance. Spike crossed his arms, and the moment was lost. He didn't move back, though.

Angel sighed and looked to the ceiling, moving his head for the first time in hours.

"Do you think we can get her back?"

"No."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Angel. I really am."

"I know," he turned to Spike, "Thank you."

Spike moved his hand again. It was tentative and slow. He shook a bit. From grief or nerves, neither was really sure. He placed it lightly on Angel's thigh. A motion of selfless comfort. Angel didn't expect to be as grateful as he was. The touch was welcomed. His touch was welcomed.

"You'll figure something out, mate. You always do."

Spike spoke softly. The intimacy of the situation terrified him. Angel was in a position in which he could easily crush him. He could yank his hand off, or toss him out of the room, or even hit him. Everything was still. Neither one of them knew what to do next. Neither of them wanted this moment to end. Neither of them wanted this to change.

Things hadn't felt this way between them in so long. Nothing was right in this world except the men beside them. Fred was gone. There was nothing they could do to bring her back. They were working for the embodiment of evil and pretending like they still made a difference. It seemed hopeless to keep fighting, and yet the both still chose to. It was illogical, but it was right.

Angel rested his head on Spike's shoulder. They were both so tense.

He pressed a tender kiss against Spike's neck. His lips lingered there for longer than his ego would like, but he needed him. He truly needed him.

"Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"Stay with me?"

"Of course."

[shadows-and-flowercrowns]

Reforget (pt1)

There are lost loves that you can mourn for openly but the pain Elain feels now is something that needs to be kept secret. Because of this, Elain has been distancing herself from the rest of the inner circle for a few weeks. Tonight was supposed to be a care-free reunion with her sister but when Azriel’s name is brought up again, Elain begins to spiral. 

__________________________________________________

Elain fought the instinct to roll her eyes as she caught the nervous look her sisters shared.

They wouldn't confront her. They never did.

She took a sip from her drink, wondering if their timidness around her was part of the problem.

It had been like this her whole life, everyone walking on eggs shells around her like she was some fragile thing moments away from shattering completely. Even when they were small children, the two of them had done everything in their power to shield her from the realties of how bad things had become with their mother, so much so that her death had completely blindsided Elain. 

Both Nesta and Feyre had stayed silent through her relationship with Grayson. The only commented on how much they disliked him after he had ended things with her.

Elain ran an idle finger down the side of her glass, swirling the condensation building up on the side as she remembered back to the days where the grief of her cancelled engagement had utterly consumed her. She hadn't eaten much, stopped speaking to anyone unless it was absolutely essential.

Elain had let herself wither away as she mourned the loss of her love and the life she had planned on having. 

In a way, that had been easier. There was a peace that came with the freedom of being able to grieve openly. 

But this? This was nothing like it had been with Grayson.

She smiled, a bland thing that she knew didn't reach her eyes, back up at her sisters. She leaned forward, signaling for Nesta to continue on with her story about the most recent bout of shenanigan's Cassian had gotten into.

Elain didn't care about anything she was saying. 

Well, that wasn't true. She cared so deeply that it was driving her mad. 

It had been weeks since Elain had withdrawn from their circle of friends, making up paper thin excuses and cancelling well established plans. This was the first time she had even seen her sisters. 

Even this had nearly been ruined when Feyre had excitedly text back that she would make sure that Mor and Amren were free too. Elain had sent a rushed text back saying that she really needed some quality sister time. She wasn't ready to see the others yet. 

Still, she kept her ears perked, listening for even a hint of an update. She couldn't ask outright, it would give too much away but she was desperate.

"..anyway, that's when Azriel showed up. He made the two of them take off the elephant onesies and get back to work before HR got wind of what they were up to."

Feyre laughed, wiping her eyes. "Typical Az. How's he doing lately?"

Elain jolted, realizing with a start that Feyre was addressing her.

"Good." She said with a non-committal shrug. 

"Really?" Nesta asked, head cocked to the side, "He's been acting odd lately. Cassian said he won't talk about it but something is definitely up.” 

“I’m not sure. We haven’t talked. Not for a few weeks.”

Feyre nodded but Nesta narrowed her eyes at Elain. 

"This doesn't have anything to do with your disappearing act, does it?"

Feyre elbowed Nesta but she kept gaze fixed on Elain. 

"I don't know what you're talking about." Elain answered, a nervous giggle bubbling to her lips.

She quickly downed the rest of her drink to buy herself more time. She hopped off her stool, ignoring the tell tale wobble in her knees that told her that it was time to go home. 

"Come on, lets go dance!" She said with a little too much enthusiasm before marching into the crowd of people on the small dance floor, praying that they wouldn't follow. 

Elain needed to move, just needed to get away from them. Her eyes were burning and it would only be a matter of time before Nesta bluntly plowed into a conversation Elain wasn't ready to have.  

It had been a mistake to bring them here tonight. She had hoped that this could be the first step in bringing back a sense of normalcy in her life. At the start, she knew she wasn't strong enough to even hear Azriel's name in casual conversation so when she pulled away, she pulled back from the two of them as well. 

Elain had thought enough time had passed, she thought she was ready. She had told herself all day that she could handle this.

Oh, how wrong she had been.

After arriving at the bar, Elain had casually asked what her brother-in-laws were doing.

Simple.

Innocent.

Feyre explained that they were having a night out on the town and it was then that she spoke Azriel's name for the first time. Elain had downed the contents of the glass in front of her then too, quickly shouting to the bartender to make the next round a double before she realized that her sisters were giving her a strange look.

That had been several drinks ago.

A man touched her hips, pulling her in closer to dance. Elain leaned into his touch and, after a moment, let her hips settle against him as she danced in time with the music. 

There was no reason to feel guilty. 

None.

Not when Azriel had made it obvious that her feelings were just a one sided obsession that would never go further. 

The stranger let his hands trail over her, his finger tips brushing gently against the exposed skin of her arms.

Memories flashed in her mind, Azriel's scared hand pulling back from her with a jerk. The shame of it all twisting through her stomach once more as a wave of despair crashed over her.  

In an instant she was pushing away from the stranger, twisting and bouncing away until she was further inside the crowd of people. 

Though she become a regular in recent weeks, Elain hated this dingy little hipster bar on the west side. It was dirty and the air conditioner was shit so she always felt sticky in the summer heat.

The only good thing she could say about it was that the drinks were strong, making it so her memories of this place were nothing more than constant blur of bodies moving past her. 

She hated it.

Elain missed the nights spent at the quiet bar near the townhouse, the one with the booth they used to all sit around. That is where they should all be right now; in their booth, his arm tossed casually behind her as they all laughed at something ridiculous Cassian or Rhys had just said.

Her stomach surged as she thought of where he might be now.

Probably in a glitzy club downtown. Probably with her. Elain had gone with them to places like that, never truly enjoying herself but finding solace in his presence. Suddenly, it all became too much and Elain pushed her way out of the crowd to a trash can in the corner near the DJ stand. 

"Alright, its time for you to go." A gruff male voice was saying as she emptied her stomach. "We've got her." Nesta said forcefully from somewhere right behind her. Elain felt her sister's cold hands grasp her upper arm but Elain jerked out of her touch. 

When she was finally confident that she could walk to the front door without getting sick on the dance floor, Elain stood, straightening her back as much as possible. 

She could see Feyre near the door, her phone pressed to her ear, a frantic look plastered over her face as she spoke to whoever was on the other end. Rhys, probably. 

With as much dignity as she could muster, Elain walked towards her, shaking off Nesta's second attempt to physically steer her. 

As she neared Feyre, Elain flashed both of her sisters a look, silently daring them to say anything. Feyre glanced down at the floor, falling in step behind them but not before Elain saw the pitting look Feyre gave her. 

Anger licked its way through Elain, causing the skin on her chest and neck to flush. How dare they judge her after all of the mistakes they had done?

Had Elain judged them? No.

Not when Nesta had slept with half the men in the city.

Not when Feyre ran away from home with that psychopath. 

And Elain, who had always kept herself on such a tight leash would be damned if she let them judge her now. She didn't even care if it would cause a scene. Hell, it would be nice to lose control for once.

Elain threw open the front door and the night air washed over her. As she took a deep breath in, she let the cool air fill her lungs. She turned to face her sisters, ready to fight but froze. The hot anger that had coursed its way through Elain's blood so quickly disappeared as fast as it had come, leaving her cold and drained. 

She had expected judgement, maybe even disgust, but both of her sisters had a look of understanding that shook her more than she had ever imagined. 

Elain walked over to the side of the building, raising a hand to brace herself against the brick wall. The world was spinning and she needed something, anything, to anchor her in place. 

She hadn't even realized she was crying until Nesta threw an arm over her shoulder and Elain instinctively turned into her. She felt Nesta wrap her arms around her, pulling her in closer and Elain's chest opened as she let the tears fall thick and heavy. 

Shit.

Shit.

How had she let this happen? How had she let herself fall for a man who could  never love her in return?

He had been honest with her from the moment they met, confiding in her about his intimacy and trust issues from his abusive childhood. Still, they had grown close. They were able to find peace with one another when their friends and family became too loud. The two of them had traded in secrets of heart ache and pain until the hurt was soothed to be masked with laughter and joy. 

Elain had only ever wanted to be friends with him. She had been grateful to have someone she could open up to after the disastrous end with Grayson. 

She had never wanted these feelings but they crept up so slowly, infecting her very essence until every cell hummed with the desire to be with him. 

The pain with Grayson made sense. 

Of course, she should be sad for that loss. That was a pain that was commonly understood.

But how was she supposed to explain this?

How could she even begin to make people understand that the love she had for Azriel made her feelings towards Grayson feel like cobwebs? How could she let people know that, though he had never truly been hers, she had felt that her soul had somehow been made of the same substance? 

A slight intake of breath from Feyre caused Elain to pull back from Nesta's embrace. 

A black sedan had pulled up to the curb in front of them and Elain was able to make out Rhys in the driver seat. Feyre instantly rushed towards the front door but Rhys held up a hand, halting Feyre.

Elain wiped her eyes, startled by what she was seeing.

In the years they had been together, Elain had only ever seen her brother-in-law let his anger slip through his calm façade on a select few occasions. Those moments were tied to some of Elain's most painful memories: him returning home from Mor's court case saying that the judge had sided with her abuser, watching their father try to explain why he walked out their lives after their mother had passed away, finding out that Cassian's father had known he became homeless at a young age yet chose to do nothing. 

Now, he was visibly angry and she watched as his mouth moved, clearly arguing with someone before punching a button on his car's console. 

Fear washed over Elain. 

Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment before his shoulders relaxed. There was the sound of a soft click as the door unlocked before Elain was being pulled into the backseat by Nesta.

A stillness that settled over them. Elain couldn't make out the quiet whispers exchanged between Rhys and Feyre but Elain knew that they were talking about her. Elain wanted to apologize but the words were stuck in her throat Instead of saying anything, Elain leaned into Neta. Quiet tears fell down her cheeks as, in the darkness of the backseat, she admitted to herself that she truly was pathetic. Her chest burned with the shame of it all. 

She closed her eyes, so tired of the constant pain in her chest. She prayed for it to stop until the dark blanket of sleep settled over her. 

The next morning was terrible. 

It took longer than Elian would care to admit for her to roll herself out of bed and stumble into a warm shower. 

She felt sick.

Her head was pounding and her body ached in ways that she hadn't imagined possible. Then there was the shame. She cringed as flashes of last night resurfaced. 

She couldn’t remember how exactly she had gotten into her apartment and into bed. There was a vague memory of someone carrying her. 

Exactly what she wanted. Her brother-in-law to have to carry her into bed because her dumbass had fallen in love with one of his best friends and didn’t know how to cope with his rejection like a flipping adult. 

Elain wanted to crawl back in bed and pretend nothing ever happened but she made herself look at her phone. 7 messages from Feyre, 3 from Nesta. 

She knew what they would say.. That they were worried about her but she needed to knock it off because getting blackout drunk by herself in a seedy neighborhood was just an unnecessary risk for her to be taking. 

Still, it hurt to read them.

 The right thing to do would be to message them back at the very least but Elain didn't feel like being mature yet. Instead, she put on a fresh pair of leggings and a tank top to at least be a tiny bit presentable so she could stop by the coffee shop down the corner from her apartment. 

She could face the rest after she had a little caffeine in her. 

She pulled open her front door and let out a scream.

Sitting on the floor against the wall across from her door was none other than Azriel.

He had been dozing but her piercing scream of fright turned into horrified surprise had jolted him away. Now she was staring into his hazel eyes for the first time in week. With each blink, the sleep cleared from his face to be replaced by a cold anger.

"We need to talk." 

Well, shit.

————————-

Part 2

[fanfics-await-you]

I never know what to expect from him (Part 4)

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Female OC

Summary: Poe Dameron is your friend, your fellow resistance fighter, but most of all he's a goddamn pain in your ass. And yeah, maybe you're falling for him and well yes, it seems like he's falling for you too, but now REALLY isn't the time.

Tags: angst, a pair of dumbasses unnecessarily complicating things, minor ROS spoilers

notes: Thank you for coming back after so long. It took me far longer than I’d imagined to remember how to write again.

There’s gonna be another part simply because this ended up being so long lol. I’ve written like 80% of the final part so that should be up pretty soon.

Inspired by: @polkanote‘s post & @andhumanslovedstories‘s post

Word Count: 1,913

masterlist

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 5

Everything damn fucking hurts.

It’s my first coherent thought to rise from the white noise. Stars, I simultaneously need to puke and eat a whole battalion’s worth of rations. I don’t move yet, but allow the pain throughout my body to pulse and subside.

Why do I hurt so much?

I backpaddle through the haze. Exegol…Lightning…Crash…

Ah, yes. Breaking a 5-metre fall with your ribs does that.

The rest is a blank.

There’s a shout in the distance. Although it’s distant, the voice is somehow familiar, and I open my eyes. I’m greeted by the sterile whites of a med room and a flicker of fear blossoms in my chest.

Shit, was I captured?

I quickly look to my wrists for restraints but find nothing. The fear begins to dissolve, but I still have no clue where I am. I hear feet outside the room and attempt to sit u-

“Fuck!” The word bites but is barely audible.

I freeze for a second as I allow my body to air its grievances. Slower, I try again and manage to prop myself up against the pillows. The static is starting to clear, thank the Maker, but my memory is not returning. I guess I’ll just have to wait until someone turns up.

A woman speaks just outside the door, “Don’t wake her, Dameron.”

...

…He’s alive.

The door opens far too slowly to reveal a bare-foot and out of breath Poe. The sight of him clears the rest of the haze while a bright feeling bubbles its way through my chest.

We speak at the same time.

“You’re here.” I am elated that we have both survived Exegol, against the odds.

“You’re alive.” Poe’s voice, however, is barely a whisper, and his face is haunted.

He stands motionless in the doorway as I look at him puzzled.

“Of course, I am. You think a little fall could kill me?” I joke.

Poe still doesn’t move but simply repeats himself.

“Kess, you’re alive,” his voice is scratchy, like he’s been crying.

A chord of worry pulls in my chest, and all I want is to spring out of bed and wrap myself around him. Given the radiating pain still lingering in my chest, I go for the next thing.

I slowly reach out my hand towards him. “Poe? What’s wrong?”

He’s suddenly in motion. Poe takes my hand between his palms and sinks into the chair beside the bed all the while never taking his gaze from my face. As we stare at each other for a moment, I realise that he has been crying and my brow scrunches up in concern.

Gingerly, I place my other hand on his cheek and quietly ask, “Poe, tell me. What happened?”

Poe takes a deep breath and leans into my palm before lowering his gaze to our intertwined hands.

“I watched your X-wing explode into a thousand pieces with no sign of a parachute…Kess, we all thought you were dead,” he says quietly.

A metallic taste, like blood, settles in my mouth as the news of my apparent death sinks in. I want to respond but my tongue has gone dead in my mouth. I simply can’t find the words, so I squeeze his clasped hands and wait for him to continue. Multiple breaths pass before Poe’s ready to continue.

“I- I thought you were dead. I thought that after everything, we had won only for me to lose everything…for me to lose you.”

Poe leans forward to set his elbows on the bed and bring his forehead to rest upon our hands, as if in prayer. It’s only as I notice his hot tears trailing down our fingers that I realise that my eyes are stinging.

“And Kess,” his voice cracks at my name, “It was unbearable. I wanted- I wanted to burn down the entire First Order for daring to even touch you.”

I see Poe’s jaw clench and can feel the shiver of his hands against my skin. Again, all I want to do is wrap my arms around him but still, I let him finish.

Poe’s voice shakes, “But afterwards, when we returned in triumph, it became so much worse. Because I had let you go. Because it all meant nothing without you. Because I had failed you.”

We sit in silence for a moment as the weight of his words sink in. My tears finally fall and something like guilt is throbbing against my sternum. Thank the Maker, at least this time I know what to say. I bring the hand that had drifted to Poe’s shoulder up to his chin and make him lift his head to meet my eyes.

“Never,” I say, “in all the time that I have known you, Poe Dameron, have you ever failed me. Never. Do you understand me?”

He just shuts his eyes.

I speak again, more sternly, “Never, Poe, do you hear me?”

Poe doesn’t respond, but nods slightly.

“I’m sorry things turned out the way they did, but look at me, Poe. I’m still here.”

Poe just grasps my hand tighter.

I brush away the few tears that still cling to his face. “Poe.”

He finally opens his eyes and I whisper out the words, “I’m still here.”

Poe smiles slightly and the world feels a little bit more right. We sit in silence for a while, just gazing at each other, before a question arises out of something he’s said.

“Wait, so did we win? Did we take out the fleet?” I say.

Poe looks at me in confusion, “You don’t remember?”

I shrug, “I remember an explosion that blew out my chute, and then hitting the ground hard. The rest is black. I don’t know how I got here.”

He shakes his head in surprise and disbelief for a second. Poe then releases my hand in order to cradle my face between his palms. His face is covered in the hugest grin.

Out of instinct, I smile slightly back, “What? What is it?”

“Yeah, we took out the Exegol fleet. And the whole First Order… Kessandra, we won the war.”

I’m dumbfounded.

I open my mouth, but my lips form silent words and nothing come out. Poe continues to smile but also raises a single finger to the air, asking me to pause. I just stare back at him as he tilts his head slightly towards the door.

“Can you hear the music?” Poe whispers, and I turn my attention beyond the quiet of the med wing.

Faintly, but clearly, the song of strings and the low beating of drums can just be heard. Above them both, a muted chorus of singing, clapping, and laughter finds its way to us. In that second, it truly sinks in.

We won?

I clap a hand to my mouth and Poe excitedly nods in response.

“The war is over, Kess. We won.”

In spite of the pain that still loiters in my chest, I throw my arms around him and bury my face in his neck. He hugs me back and laughs quietly as he holds me. We sit, intertwined, as I try to understand what has happened. The thoughts keep spinning and whirling through my head as I struggle to fully comprehend what they mean. Suddenly, two things become crystal clear to me.

I don’t want to leave Poe’s side ever again.

I need to get out of this room.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Poe pulls back in order to look me in the face.

A snort slips out of his mouth, “You’re serious?”

I roll my eyes. “Of course I am. If we just won the war, then I’m not staying in this room a moment longer.”

A twinge of concern appears on Poe’s face. “Kess, you’re injured. You need to rest.”

I lightly push him back and go to push the blanket back before pausing. Subtly, I check something. Ah yes, I’m wearing pants. Good first step.

Poe places a hand on my shoulder before I can try to move again and looks at me seriously.

I place a hand over his, but don’t back down. “This is a night that will go down in history. I’m not missing it for a few cracked ribs.”

He looks close to relenting but not quite convinced, so I smile and speak softly, “I’ll be alright, Poe. You’ll pick me up if I fall, right?”

I can see the smile in his eyes, and I know that it’s going to be fine. With every passing breath, I feel a little more like myself and so, I do what comes naturally: order Poe around.

“Alright, you go find us some shoes while I get up. Also, don’t let the nurse-bots see you, you remember how that went last time we tried to sneak out.” I laugh as he sits back slightly and rolls his eyes.

Poe stands and gives a mock salute. “Yes, right away, boss.”

I watch with a smile as he disappears out the door. Slowly, I begin the process of pushing back the blankets and placing my feet on the ground. Thankfully, although my whole body is aching, only my ribs are really giving me grief. Sure, everything’s going to hurt like I’ve been run over by a tank tomorrow, but that’s not my problem right now. I lightly stretch as I better survey the extent of the damage.

“You look about ready to run a marathon,” Poe’s voice is gently mocking as he closes the door behind him.

“You know, if there was something in reach, I’d be pegging it at your head right about now.”

“If you’re dealing out threats like that, maybe I should keep the shoes.”

“Would you just shut up and get over here and help me.”

“Anything for my favourite girl.”

I roll my eyes at the endearment, but it blossoms a warm but equally longing glow inside my chest. Poe sits at the chair and gently pulls one of my feet into his lap. I stare at him in comfortable silence as he tenderly puts my shoes on. For a couple of breaths after, we sit like this with his hands resting on my calves before Poe evidently remembers our plan.

With a shake of his head, he slowly places my feet on the ground before standing. “C’mon party animal, isn’t there somewhere we’re supposed to be?”

Poe extends his hands as an anchor, which I use to pull myself to standing. I sway slightly, and quickly one of Poe’s hands goes to my hip to steady me. In one way it works, and the horizon stops moving. On the other hand, my knees feel a little bit weaker, and I might be blushing. Ignoring the heat in my cheeks, I nod my head to signal that I’m ready. Poe releases my hand and steps so that he’s standing beside me. In the process of doing this, the hand steadying me draws a caressing line across the small of my back in order to rest upon the other side of my hip. Shit, I’m definitely blushing now. I glance at Poe and see that he’s grinning back at me. He did that on purpose. Jackass. Nonetheless, the pressures of his hands are more than welcome as Poe drapes my closest arm across his shoulders.

“You comfy, Kess?” His tone is teasing.

I shake my head in joke annoyance. “Shut up, let’s go.”

[the-dumb-smart-friend]

I spent way too long on this so please give it attention

So my one friend and I have been working on the same rp for ~2 1/2 years, and right now we’ve been on a big break because of the whole quarantine thing, and inconsistent scheduling.

LET ME TELL YOU,

So many characters have changed so much in my mind over the break that I’m going to need to look through my logs of the characters before the break. I have plans for the story that can have it continue for multiple years into the future.

I have so much planned character development and minor conflict planned, not to mention the scandalous temptation of corruption arcs. My friend’s main character has literally murdered/hurt/threatened one of my characters on many occasions, and now they’re going to have to work together in order to save both their friends, family, lovers, and the entire concept of a continuous timeline before the winter solstice.

Meanwhile, the main villain has gone from pretty much an unstoppable god mary sue character to a touch starved twink with bad intentions and an attack dog evil scientist.

Every single character believes that what they’re doing is good, even if they know deep down that what they’re doing will have awful consequences.

And I’m not even done. I finally made a concrete reason to the timelines constantly looping, and the whole revival problem, as before I just had a loose idea. The two main gods that have been hinted at to be evil and really powerful and awful and stuff (despite one helping out the protagonists and the other being neutral/evil leaning) actually worked together thousands of years ago to do this really powerful spell thing so that every time this select group of really powerful people died (along with everyone that knew them, it was often one big catastrophic event), they would all be revived in the most recent year, over and over again until they found out how to break the “curse”.

The timelines will loop over and over again until the characters all find out how to stop it, which is to somehow keep magic (one of the key building blocks that’s holding life and the world as we know it together) from completely disappearing and dying out.

So the god of magic power was like “Dudes I’m gonna die if we don’t do something to keep magic from dying out.” and all the other high ranking gods were like “Bro no, last time we intervened with something on the mortal plane, we killed all the dinosaurs.” so then the magic god was all like “Fine, but you guys are all pricks.”.

So the he asked his sister (the goddess of time, memory, and significant events/holidays) to help out, and so they created the time loop idea. They cast a really old, really forbidden, semi-DIY’d spell with all their power, but because of the great crime they committed, the more powerful gods cast them out, and took all of their memories, condemning them to the surface for the rest of time.

oooh, looks like you’re interested, nice.

Also I’m on new meds, so sorry if this is confusing.

(TW for death, mentions of gore w/o graphic descriptions, mentions of kidnapping, hints at abuse, dissociation, cursing/verbal aggression, grief)

So the two ex-gods gave themselves new names, and decided to wander around, trying to find out who they were. The two had some moral conflicts and decided to part ways. Time Goddess, who now gave herself the name Raestress (pronounced Rye-stress) eventually stumbled upon one of the mortals that she and her brother cursed for the rest of time, and decided to stick with said mortal for a while, and by that, I mean kinda stalking said mortal.

Because Raestress wasn’t the one to come up with the time loop idea, and was the one that told the other gods, she was allowed to keep some of her powers, however she had absolutely no clue how to use them.

This next pert gets a little fuzzy, and I still need to iron out the details of it, but it ends with Raestress sacrificing both her life and all her power to the mortal, but because of her punishment from the other gods, was cursed to stay as a sort of ghost or spirit that follows the mortal (Remi) she just helped, only able to talk though/to her.

The sacrifice of Raestress’ powers to Remi led to Remi being able to remember all the past timelines she’s lived through, and all the other people that were chosen to live and die over and over again, and decides that she needs to be the one to bring them all together.

Back to modern day, Remi has amnesia for unknown reasons, and makes a bunch of new friends in this little north island town she lives in. One day, a random new math teacher shows up at her highschool, then one of her friends goes missing, then her friend’s sister goes missing and is later found dead, completely torn to pieces. Then she and some friends are about to take a little walk through the forest, when one of her friends is shot with a crossbow, and dies. Sure, they’ve gotten plenty of threats before, but they all just thought it was just some kids trying to pull a prank, but now Alice is dead.

The group try to compose themselves as they wait for the police to arrive, looking up through the trees as to where the crossbow could’ve been fired from, but everything is completely obscured by a swishing sea of branches and leaves. Remi looks up through the leaves, watching them spin and swirl, growing darker as her body seems to float back and fourth in an invisible ocean.

Her vision goes completely black for a moment, but she then sees herself, standing still and looking down at her friends, who have gone from hysterics to almost silent. The world seemed to have washed itself in a shade of periwinkle, swaying like the ocean, any sounds coming out as muffled and distant. Remi watched as her body began to shudder, shoulders bouncing up and down. She watched as her body laughed completely out of her control, quickly pushed against a tree and drowned out by muffled yelling and screaming from one of her friends, Aqua.

The others tried to hold Aqua back, but despite her small frame, she could fight like a 6′ brickhouse. Remi couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t explain, or shout “That isn’t me! I’m right here!”. All she could do is watch as her body’s eyes shifted from bottle green to a sharp, brassy yellow, somehow untouched by the blueish haze that blanketed the rest of the world.

Still, her body laughed, going on and on about something that Remi couldn’t hear, no matter how much she strained to.

The rest of the day seemed to continue in a blur. the police arrived, taking all the standard procedures, but it was hard to pay attention to anything but Alice’s body being carried away in a bag. Nobody really knew what happened.

Remi was still trapped outside of her body by the time they got home that night. Whatever or whoever was controlling her was managing to get under everyone’s skin without completely shattering the illusion of Remi still being in complete control. Guess those are the consequences of being known as the one who laughs at horror movies.

As soon as they both stepped inside, Aqua had thrown Remi against a wall, holding her by the collar of her shirt.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” she screamed, voice breaking before she could finish her sentence.

Remi’s body chuckled with squinted eyes, playfully glaring down at Aqua, boring into her skull.

“I should be asking you the same thing, sweetheart.”

Finally at that moment did the rest of the group realize that whoever was piloting Remi’s body definitely wasn’t her, because whatever spoke was using a voice that didn’t match in the slightest.

It’s voice sounded like it could’ve been either a young man or an older woman, familiar and welcoming yet cold and sharp as ice, sharp enough to cut through whatever was muffling the voices from wherever Remi was stuck.

Aqua dropped whoever this person was, taking shaky steps backward, clearly trying to say something, but no sound came out.

This strange person took a step forward, bowing and swishing their arm with a flourish.

“Though I can’t explain everything now, I’m sure that your dear friend Remi will.” They purred, staring through the veil and directly into Remi’s eyes.

“Who are you?” Aqua shuddered, invisible hands trailing cold fingers up her spine.

“A nobody, a somebody. A friend, an enemy. Nobody really knows when or where I’ll come or go, but if you were to call me anything, feel free to call me Crow.”

Something about that name just didn’t sit right, it seemed to send an imaginary bullet through Remi’s head, swimming through her thoughts and flipping every switch in her brain. Something, somewhere, was screaming at her, remember, remember. The already strange world started to get stranger, dark figures appearing all around Remi, reaching out and covering her eyes, ears, mouth, nose, everything until all she could sense was a dark void.

Crow smiled, kneeling down to meet Aqua’s new level on the floor.

“Right now, I’m serving as nothing more than a distraction, and maybe just a little something to get this story going” they said,

Aqua again tried to respond, but her voice had seemed to just disappear at the most crucial moments.

“I do hope we meet again.” Crow ruffled Aqua’s hair just as all the lights flickered out, leaving complete silence and confusion, after all, what was there to say?

Minutes passed, though nobody was keeping count. Nobody moved, and instead just stood wherever they were, trying desperately to process all of today.

When the lights finally flickered back on, Remi was passed out on the floor, but after everything that just happened, it took everyone a while to notice. Nobody said anything.

Will had carried Remi upstairs to her room, hoping that maybe staying by her side could make a nice distraction. Aqua had stayed sitting on the floor, back to back with the couch, head in her hands. Everyone decided to keep to themselves for the rest of the night.

By the next morning, Remi still hadn’t woken up. Sure, not quite unusual, but right now what everyone needed was an explanation, or one of her sarcastic jokes at the very least. It was at noon when everyone had started to worry. 

It had reached 5PM when she finally jolted awake, catching her breath and running her hands through her hair.

“I remember...” She whispered,

“I remember everything.” She said again, quickly standing up and rummaging through her desk, despite Will telling her to take it easy.

“My notebooks, they’re all gone!”

“Remi, please,” Will tried to step forward and calm her down, but she pressed on.

“Don’t call me that.” She demanded, mumbling something afterward, “Just call me Rei.”

Alrighty so I might finish this at some point, idk, but the explanation/TL;DR is pretty much that BBEG had tried to kill Aqua, the main thing holding him back from achieving his goal, but Alice had jumped in the way and sacrificed herself.

Rei was then pushed out of her own body by a mysterious deity known only as Crow, who by the way is not Raestress, I just didn’t know how to quickly explain everything. Both Crow and Raestress had somehow managed to together give Rei back all her memories of the past timelines, but because of Crow’s distraction, the BBEG was able to steal all of Rei’s logs of strange dreams and little songs, all of which can be pieced together into an encrypted spell that has the ability to bring back the dead, a spell that has long since been completely banned and erased from the world.

When Rei was trapped outside of her body, she was actually pushed out into limbo/the spirit world, and all the dark figures were different versions of her from her past, though that was never really specified in the original story either, I just left it up to debate.

There is still very little known about Crow, but we know that they’re a sort of grim reaper character, have a past with Rei, and that they’re working for the BBEG for some unspecified reason.

The reason Rei doesn’t like being called Remi is because the letter M is considered evil and bad luck to her and others that are enemies of/know the atrocities or the BBEG and his family. Also because she prefers to distance herself from her past with Crow as much as possible.

Will, who was mentioned at the end, is actually Rei’s girlfriend.

Aqua is my friend’s main character, who is kinda really hotheaded, and is later tricked into killing one of my characters.

BBEG and his siblings are all children of the god of magic that was mentioned earlier.

If anything is confusing, or if you want more of the story, let me know, and I’ll try to add more.

[bread-elf]

DWC 2020 - Day 27

Atonement

Post Legion - Battle for Azeroth

In the city of Shattrath of the Outlands, an orphanage for Draenei children whose parents had been lost to the fights against the Legion and the Horde. The Orphan Keeper, Tichandriel, is an ancient man with a long white beard and wrinkled skin, having lived on Argus for many years before his people had to leave. He had chosen this noble task of watching the young and fatherless, having about eleven children under his watch. His heavy tail rested along his side as he leaned back in his chair, a book in hand as he did his nightly story telling to the children, all scattered about around him on the floor as they listened intently.

undefined

“And with a mighty breath, the great Aspect of Life breathed life into the lands, growing all the flowers and the trees and plants-” Sharing with the Draenei children stories from their neighboring world, Azeroth.

“Um- is this real?” One of the boys asks, and Tichandriel chuckles.

“Why yes, the Aspect of Life is very much real, as are the other dragon flights.”

“I don’t know, that’s pretty suspicious.” The same boy mutters to a friend beside him, and Tichandriel laughs some more.

“Of course they are! They are dragons; they are not unlike our own Netherdrakes here.” There is a knock on the door, drawing his attention as well as the children. But Tichanendriel’s life mate, Terani, stands. The most beautiful creature he’s ever seen, carrying his first blood children in her stomach as she motions for him to continue, going to get the door for him. They had only just met some years ago, yet it felt like he had known her a lifetime, and he looked forward to thousands of lifetimes more.

“Now where was I-” Tichandriel glances back down at the book, trying to find his spot. “Oh yes; and when she had finished she turned to her sister, The Dreamer, who created dreams-”

“Tichandriel.” Terani’s voice cuts through, a hint of urgency. He looks up at her, remaining calm, though he could see the shock in her eyes. “Someone is here to see you…”

“Ah…” He closes his book and groans as he stands, feeling his age as his joints groan. “Is it a friend?”

“Yes…” There didn’t seem to be any indication that whoever was at the door posed as a threat, yet Tichandriel remained on edge as his beloved seemed trifled. “I- I will take over the reading. You will be needing a moment.”

“Thank you, my dearest.” Tichandriel leaves the book on his chair and carefully weaves his way through the restless children, some turning to look towards the hallway to the door while others seem ready to stand.

“Sit down, sit down.” Terani gently chides. The children loved her dearly ever since she came and started to help, at first simply cooking for the children as a kindness to assist Tichandriel, and from there their love blossomed. “Do you want me to keep reading this story? Or should I share one of my famous battles?” Terani used to be a Vindicator before retiring, one of her horns chopped off from a battle to show for it. She rarely talked of her times fighting, especially around the children, and it stole their entire attention. That could only mean whoever was at the door needed Tichandriel’s full attention.

Once the Draenei steps outside he can’t believe his eyes, for a moment thinking he’s seeing things. There she stood, the night elf with sea green hair who he had tried to help, wrapped in a blanket.

“Jiroki?” Astounded, closing the door behind him. “What- how did…” So many questions cropped through his mind; how she got here, why she was here, why now when had purposely gone missing.

Jiroki says nothing for a time, holding the blanket closer around her shoulders. She had lost a bit of weight, cheeks sunken and having a slight tremor to her body, possibly a part of her withdrawals from her drugs as he had predicted before. Tichandriel’s eyes scan around, and far in the distance he sees a troll of all things, green of skin and red hair, watching the pair from afar. Once eye contact is made between him and the troll, the troll nods, and begins to turn and walk away. Oddly enough, a chicken follows after him, as if some sort of pet.

“I…” Jiroki starts to speak, drawing Tichandriel’s attention. “I want to try again…”

Tichandriel is shocked to hear her words. But his trust had been betrayed, and he knew he shouldn’t give in so easily. He brings his hands together to clasp in front of him, far taller than the elf as he gazes down at her.

“I tried to do my best for you, but you denied me many times. Even my son Akanos vouched so adamantly for me to aid you, and he never does that for anyone” He says. “I heard you went missing, too. Your family worked very hard to try and get you through your rehabilitation. Do they even know where you are?”

No response comes from the elf, which just confirms his suspicions. But for her to be here, to come all the way from Azeroth to his doorstep, means that something has happened.

“Jiroki…” Tichandriel says quietly. “Are you ready to forgive yourself now?”

There’s a shudder that courses through her body, as if cold. But he recognizes it as her grief, so much bottled up inside of her that weighed on her shoulders. He reaches over with a large hand, gently placing it on her shoulder, and he beckons her to go with him.

“Come. You are always welcomed.” Tichandriel says, speaking to her as if a runaway child had just come home. “You can use my son’s old room. I’ll heat you up some food.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jiroki sat anxiously as she waited, biting her fingers as she sat in Abaddon’s office. She waited for the Sin’dorei Death Knight to return as he got his goblin workers in Ratchet to get things ready. Unable to cope with her anxiety she stands, beginning to pace his office.

“Nervous?” She didn’t even hear him open the door, jumping and spinning around. The undead man wore his typical Ebon Blade armor, nearly wearing it all the time as the slits in his helm allowed her to see his icy blue eyes.

“Ugh, don’t do that…” Jiroki breathes out, patting her chest. “I-I shouldn’t be nervous…”

“Nothing will harm you, you have no reason to worry.” The normally silent man offers in comfort. Though his voice had that chilly echo Death Knights are known for, she could also hear the coy tone, a relatively known mischievous maker to those he enjoys annoying. “Even if you are a guinea pig in this experiment, the results should be positive in your favor.”

“Gee thanks…” Jiroki rolls her eyes. “That isn’t my concern.”

“Do you have concerns?” Abaddon asks, waiting as patiently as death as she takes awhile to respond, reluctant to be honest. His gaze pierce her, and he can see right through her.

“I’m just… Nervous…” Unable to explain it, but he reaches a cold hand up to her shoulder, and she could feel the chill of the armor.

“This way, they are ready.” He beckons her to follow, and she does so. Leading her further into the building they descend down a hallway, the place much bigger than she had anticipated from the outside, and it gets worse as they begin to descend downhill, going underground.

Soon they reached the main faculty of the building, a couple of goblins moving about as they tended to their own research of Azerite. Abaddon swore they only searched for medicinal properties for Azerite, knowing the potential it could have in saving lives in the pointless war as greed and vengeance took over the whole of Azeroth. Though Jiroki still had her suspicions.

Abaddon ushered Jiroki to sit on a propped medical chair, sitting herself down as a female goblin sauntered over with a clipboard and a stool with wheels. Once her stool is set beside the chair she sits herself up, pumps a lever to make herself inch up and up until at a more even height with Jiroki, then crosses her legs and sits pretty.

“She will be taking care of you today.” Abaddon says, motioning to the goblin, then speaks to her directly. “This is the patient who is interested in the test treatment for ovulation problems. I will return in time.” And then he leaves, leaving the two women alone.

“Hi sweety, I’m Frazzle Gigawick, but ya’ can call me Frazzy.” Frazzy chewed on some bubblegum, reaching into one of her pom pom puffs of hair for a pencil, pulling it out and blowing a bubble as she flips through some of the papers. It pops, causing Jiroki’s ears to switch, and she quietly sighs before the goblin speaks once more. “I gotta ask ya’ some health questions. Are ya’ tryin’ this out hopin’ ta get pregnant? Ya’ got some infertility problems?”

“S-Sort of…” Jiroki shifts in her chair, hesitating as the memories begin to slowly creep in. “I’ve had children already, a pair of twins, but my menstrual is irregular. I…” Jiroki closes her eyes, trying to keep calm. But she had to forgive herself. “I have a history of irregular menstrual cycles for years now due to an accident.”

“Uh huh.” Frazzy jots down some notes, lips open as she chews on her gum, making wet chewing sounds of the irritating kind. “And you’re only interested in receiving the impregnation? Not making someone else pregnant?”

“Wh-” Jiroki blinks, completely flabbergasted at what she had just been asked, eyes squinting and trying to comprehend. "What- n-no? I- wait; I'm trying to get pregnant."

"Uh huh." Frazzy scribbles down more notes. "And do you have health insurance?"

"What?"

After an array of an odd and irritating list of questions, Frazzy steps away. Jiroki reaches up and rubs her temple as Abaddon returns.

"I trust you're well so far." A bit of mischief in his eyes as he comes back over, behind him another goblin bringing over a tray.

"Was that even necessary?!" Jiroki leers up at the man, huffing a breath. "Did you set that up on purpose?! I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“No, you know I’m more of a pun sort of person. It all just happened to be set up as such.” Abaddon says, stepping to the side a bit as a second goblin sets up a stool. “And you know I take my business very seriously.”

Jiroki rolls her eyes but goes quiet, glancing anxiously at the new goblin. He wore gloves, carefully peeling something on the tray he looked over, something that had a light glow to it. She has to look away, starting to have second thoughts, the guilt she felt ages past starting to creep in. But, she so badly wanted to have a child with Aztook, a demon hunter whose body is already so tainted in fel, never having the chance of a normal life again. Yet she could give him some sort of semblance of feeling like being a mere man and a monster, and offer a chance for a child. Before the sword of Sargeras ruptured into Azeroth there would have been no chance at all, even if Jiroki’s body was perfectly healthy, but with the properties of Azerite, maybe… Just maybe…

But that also required her to forgive herself for what she had done to her first child.

“Aigh’ toots, lift ya’ shirt up, just above ya’ stomach.” The goblin indicates, carefully holding up what looks like a light infused gauze. “I’m gonna touch ya’ now, my hands won’t wander, promise! The wife would kill me.”

Jiroki lays still as she looks up at the ceiling, Abaddon carefully overseeing as the goblin begins to press the gauze over her lower abdomen, making sure it reaches over her uterus. Though it wasn’t raw azerite, Jiroki’s breath hitches. She had been forewarned that it may do more than intended, the lifeblood of Azeroth having amazing healing properties, but she decided to go with it regardless.

The effects immediately take notice. The phantom pains in her back begin to dissipate some, other aches and pains of her body start to cease, and she feels… A strange peace. Some of the torments of her mind slowly fading, though not fully.

A tear slides down her cheek, so many emotions normally bottled up wanting to be released. She reaches up and wipes it away, taking deep breaths and trying to let herself calm down. She feels a touch to her arm, glancing up at Abaddon, who just stood by silently, speaking no words as he looks at her. Though typically a stoic man, distant in public gatherings and usually coy towards his crew and those he’d consider to be on good terms with, this act meant the world to her. If this can work, she will make sure to have plenty of more children, and love every single one of them with every fiber of her being.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shivering in the chilled winds of Northrend, Jiroki began to reconsider her attire for tonight. Though she had only watched them from afar and partook in their kissing booth a few times, she finally scrounged up the courage to try and socialize at the dance party, hosted by the Succulent Tart. She saw many faces she recognized from the show, primarily Sin’dorei, dancing and gyrating with one another. She also saw other faces from participants from the tournament, a few even recognizing her in term.

“Oh, it’s the tsundere elf.”

“Wh-What did you just call me?” Unsure if she should be insulted or not, never having heard such a term in her life, Orcish maybe? It came from an Orc, so… Some of the Tarts had started to catch her, a few recognizing her and others just trying to encourage more people to join the dancing, blowing kisses and giving flirtatious waves.

Jiroki had no idea why she was here. She shouldn’t be, she didn’t fit in. Not in these clothes, not with this type of crowd, she barely even saw any Kaldorei out here, just mostly those of the Horde. Why would they even bother talking to someone like her? She was just a stuttering creep that didn’t know how to say ‘hey great show, big fan’ without coming off as an awkward creature of the night with social anxiety.

And yet that music, that beat resounding in her chest, taking over her heartbeat and making it her new heart, it set her at a peace she never knew she could have. She could feel it deep in her body, deep in her soul, and it resonated with her in a way nothing else could. Feeling her shoulders start to bounce, her hips starting to sway, her feet wanting to move, the music brought forth all happy emotions that normally had trouble finding their way out of her, as if finally finding the right key to the house from a keyring.

It became easier being around these people, people in general, with this music playing. Closing her eyes, she didn’t have to talk to anyone, she just had to feel and move, dance in the way her body wanted to move.

A brief ache, missing people. There were many who would have enjoyed this, who aren’t around, who aren’t close to her anymore. But she knew, somewhere out there, they thought of happy memories of her like she remembered of them in this newfound therapy.

When dancing like this, life felt whole. She felt whole. She loved herself.

Yea. Life isn't so bad.

(( @daily-writing-challenge​ ))

[brokasteltranslations]

Fate/Requiem: Chapter 8

Dusk was closing in.

Other incidents, big and small, had occurred around the outskirts of the Colosseum, and the heart of the city had been effectively paralysed with the temporary absence of the municipal administration AI, causing accidents all across Akihabara. However, the communication and transport networks were recovering, and governmental and medical institutions were returning to full functionality with all possible haste.

-

At long last we exited the Colosseum. An enormous crowd milled about the exterior. News of the tragedy had finally reached families and friends of spectators through the municipal information network, and they had come en mass in search of their loved ones. Some screamed the names of missing family members. Others wept and wailed for those already lost.

After the ferocious battle inside, the outside wall looked to be only moments away from collapsing. Black and yellow tape had been strung up to keep people away.

“You know, I have this weird feeling I just saw him back there.” Karin looked around suspiciously.

“Who's him? Kuchime?”

Karin nodded hesitantly. That wasn't like her.

“Only for a second, though. Might have been imagining things.”

“Maybe he came to see if we were okay? Guess that's still kind of weird.”

Karin's carefree laugh was enough to set me at ease.

“Speaking of missing people...” I scanned the sea of people around me. “Oh, there he is.”

The boy stood alone in the middle of the crowd, straining his ears to hear their cries and sobs as though listening to music. I recalled his face before as he asked me what “death” meant. It looked to me as though he were hoping to find an answer.

To see him standing silent amid a sea of human grief, with his golden scarf fluttering in the twilight sun, he hardly seemed a creature of this world.

-

Nzambi had spoken of an expanding kingdom of the dead.

Death was no stranger to us. It had always lived hand-in-hand with us. In this city, it had simply been ushered from the stage, covered over and hidden away. Sometimes its eyes had been covered by my hands, sometimes by those of the municipal administration AI, and sometimes by Chitose's porcelain fingertips.

“Chitose?”

I looked my grandmother dead in the eyes as I asked.

“That black dog... The Servant. You know what it is, don't you?”

I could make as many theories as I pleased as an outsider, but what really mattered was that it had called me by name, and had some kind of acquaintance with Chitose.

“You reacted when Pran mentioned it, and you didn't hesitate to attack it with your stakes. You know what it is, and you knew about what was going to happen here today.”

She didn't answer me. Neither did Lucius, now dressed once more in his modern attire; he furrowed his brow sadly, but said nothing. No matter how dear he was to me, in that moment his silence left me furious.

-

Eventually she spoke, but it was not to answer my question. She had ignored me. Again.

“There's something I need to tell you, Erice, now that Caren can't.”

I tensed. Nothing ever came from her but misfortune.

“It's about the child she entrusted you with. I'm going to take care of him from now on.”

What? Whatever I had expected, it wasn't that. I shuddered at the request.

How much was she going to take from me? She had taken my work, the boy, Caren... Even my parents, she had stolen. I had no intention of going along with her wishes any longer.

“I refuse.”

Her face didn't falter for a moment. Apparently she had been expecting as much.

“But I doubt you'll respect that anyway, will you?”

“I suppose I won't.”

She glanced to the boy standing some distance away. I moved to block her way.

“Ms. Fujimura didn't just charge me with taking care of him. She also asked me to discover what I could about his identity.”

“That doesn't matter any more either.”

I shook my head. “But it does. I think I've found an answer.”

“I see. It looks like you don't have any intention of doing this the easy way.” Her Command Seals flared to life on the backs of her hands - the symbols of the Stigmata, and tokens of a piety willing to subject her own body to the pain of crucifixion. And she called out to her Servant.

“Lucius.”

Surely she doesn't mean to...? Her Servant hadn't moved. He stood still, eyes downcast, as though he hadn't even heard.

“Lucius.”

Chitose called to him again, in a kindly voice that made my blood run cold.

“Please, Lucius... Don't do it...”

I sprinted for the child, but I was too late. Before his Master's Command Seal could flare brighter, he began to move, mechanically, robotically. He manifested his spear...

And hurled it at Pran with pinpont accuracy.

----

The clash of colliding metal rang out like breaking ice, and Lucius' Holy Lance spun high into the twilight sky.

There he stood, in front of Pran, in the space I had been trying so hard to reach: Galahad, stripped of his armour and down to his shirt. He held his sword high and horizontal, staring down Longinus as he interposed himself between the centurion and his prey.

“You could've run and left Koharu to Nzambi, but you didn't. Consider this a debt repaid, Reaper girl. Though I'm not sure you’ll thank me for it.”

The spinning lance returned to earth once more, bound for the earth directly in front of Galahad. The knight snatched it from the air a split second before it hit the ground and tossed it back to a dumbfounded Longinus' feet.

“Maybe the Sword of the Strange Hangings doesn't look like much, but sadly for you, the shepherd boy it belonged to ended up king of Israel.” Galahad's voice was haughty. “You won't find many holy relics more sacred.”

“I see. The sword of David, then.”

“And no other. They say no armour can stand before the Holy Lance, but this sword might be able to get in a stinging word or two. As you just saw.” Galahad chuckled as he returned his blade to its sheath.

Koharu!

The girl in question had been returning to our group after receiving first aid. She strolled over to silently take her place by her Servant's side. Her face was twisted in a pained grimace, but I saw no hint of surprise at Galahad's actions. She had been watching my argument with Chitose from the beginning.

“Or well, who knows? Perhaps you expected me to stop you from the first.”

Longinus remained silent. I glared at Chitose. Finally she relented, and with a sigh her Command Seals dimmed.

She called out to Koharu as she stalked past. “Get well soon, Riedenflaus. Your strength will be needed soon enough.”

“O-Of course.” Koharu paled. She couldn't even look her in the eye.

With that, Chitose and Longinus left the Colosseum behind.

-

I needed to thank Koharu and Galahad somehow. I even thought up a plan to invite Karin and Kouyou and go to a juice stand together, but before I could...

“Urgh... Agh!”

Searing agony assailed me. I grabbed my burning arm and grimaced. This was not the pain brought on by the evil spirits; it was something I had never felt before.

Before I knew it, Pran was standing in front of me. He opened his mouth solemnly.

-

“I... ask... you...”

-

He spoke directly to me, and only to me, in the same broken English as when we had first met.

-

“Are... you... my... Master?”

-

Heat and agony raced down my arm, tracing mana pathways into my body... and at long last a Command Seal, the symbol of the contract I had dreamed of since the day I was born, flowered into being on the back of my hand.

Like a tiny knight, he took that hand in his own, and gazed up at me serenely.

I was smiling. Perhaps I was crying, too.

“You really have come from far away, haven't you?”

“Very far.”

“I know who you are now. You're Voyager. A lonely little Servant who travels the stars.”

My words never left my mouth, but he heard and nodded regardless. “I’m glad. Finally we've met, Erice.”

Here and now I swear...

I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven. I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell.

“It’s okay. Let’s destroy this world. Let’s finish this war.”

Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail. If you submit to this will and this reason...

I pledge my fate to your guiding light.

“Your wish and what I have lost are the same. We’ll watch right to the end, together.”

----

“The Holy Grail War... is not yet over.” The light in Ms. Fujimura's eyes dimmed even as she spoke.

“Do you wish to fight, Erice? Or perhaps...”

I wished, hard - to hurl myself into the battle for the Holy Grail, and to bring it to its end.

Ms. Fujimura looked up at me with sadness in her eyes.

“I see. In that case, Erice, I have one last request for you. If you choose to fight...”

-

“Go to Fuyuki.”

To be continued

[bellemorte180]

Wanderlust Chapter Eight

Supervisory Special Agent Vincent Griffith was a tall, black man with thick curly black hair. He had a small beard that framed his mouth and dark eyes that were filled with experience. He could be a harsh man, but he was not unfeeling. He wore a dark suit jacket and dress pants even though he was not in the office. Vincent had not been in the field himself in years, Klaus having been trained by the man, and was only dispatched when an emergency arose.

The murder of one of his agents could be considered an emergency.

Both Vincent and Klaus looked down at Marcel’s body. He was undressed, cleaned and prepped for autopsy. He was laying on a cold slab in the morgue, the same morgue Klaus had been in several times with Marcel since the beginning of this case. Klaus never expected to be staring down at the body of his friend. His dark eyes were closed and gone was the boyish expression Marcel was known for. A bullet hole in the center of his head could be found instead; a sight that filled Klaus with fury; and unimaginable grief.

After Liz’s phone call. Klaus ordered Rosza and Vanchure to stay with Caroline while he broke every speed limit to get to his motel room. When he reached the room, he had been sleeping for the past couple weeks, Klaus felt as though the world stopped spinning. Cop cars were surrounding the motel and Klaus all but threw his SUV into park before running into the motel. Liz, who saw him coming, tried to stop him from entering but he blew past her as though she was nothing.

The room was as Klaus had left it that morning; the bed made, Styrofoam cups in the trash and his clothes still in his black go bag. The only difference was the yellow police tape on the door and the dead body in the other bed. Marcel had been sprawled on his bed, eyes closed and completely at ease. The only comfort Klaus had was that Marcel was unaware of his death; yet all the while he was cursing Marcel’s ability to sleep through the apocalypse and die in the process. On the wall above the bed was a message written in what Klaus assumed was red paint; as though Marcel’s dead body was not message enough.

Get the fuck out of Mystic Falls.

Seeing Marcel, Klaus had collapsed on the ground; his eyes never leaving the body of his dead friend. He could not hear Liz trying to talk to him or anything could to point to who killed his partner. All he could see was the death of the one true friend he had in the United States. The numb feeling was slowly fading away and Klaus cried; not caring the officers who saw him. Tears slipped down his cheeks and he hardly could register Liz’s arms that surrounded him.

“The coroner states that he wouldn’t have felt anything.” Vincent told him, pulling Klaus from his thoughts on the moment he found his friend. It was a memory that he would never be able to purge from his mind. He had seen many dead bodies in his time and yet the memory of his best friend dead was not something that was going to leave him for a long time. The sight of him lying on the bed, his brains splattered across the white pillow rivaled the memory of his mother’s dead beaten body on the floor of his childhood home. “Walk me through what happened.”

“We were at the station; Marcel had grown tired.” Klaus replied in a monotone voice, his eyes still glued to the body of his friend. “He couldn’t look at the files anymore. It was growing late, and he wanted to go back to the motel. He asked if I would be going with him. I told him I was going to stay behind and continue going over the files.”

“You split up?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Klaus told him and Vincent nodded. They both knew it was impossible for partners to be together at all times during an investigation. It wasn’t blame, just a clarification but Klaus couldn’t help the feeling of guilt surging through him. “I lost track of time and before I knew it was very late. Almost early morning. I went to make some coffee when, Caroline, the killers most recent victim called me. Someone had broken into her house. I raced over there. I called Marcel but he didn’t answer. He is….was….a deep sleeper. I didn’t think anything of it.”

“It wasn’t your fault Klaus.” Vincent told him, hearing the break in his agent’s tone. Klaus’s jaw clenched and fury flashing behind his eyes. His mood shifting from numbness and anger was creeping upon him. “You were doing your job. If you had gone back to the motel with Marcel, there is a chance that you both would be dead. Okay?” Klaus nodded but silently not agreeing with Vincent’s assessment. “What happened next?”

“The killer shattered a window at Caroline’s house, leaving behind another note. He is no longer just watching her. He was watching us as well. Liz, Caroline’s mother, got a call from the station about gunshots heard. She said it most likely was a neighbor who tends to shoot them off. I thought nothing of it. I never thought that Marcel might have been in danger.”

“It’s a small town in the south, of course there are people who randomly set off guns.” Vincent told him and Klaus thought that this was possibly the first time his superior officer was trying to be kind to him. It wasn’t that Vincent hated Klaus, the two just butted head on more occasion than not, especially when Vincent stepped into a position of authority a few years back. It was part of the reason why Marcel was the one who typically dealt with Vincent. “What are your theories?”

“He would have known that we split up. He could have been watching the station or was waiting outside motel room. He had no intention of breaking into Caroline’s home, it was a distraction. He wanted to ensure that I would go to Caroline and would be out of the way. All the while he double backed and killed Marcel.”

“He wanted to send a message.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I have been…. working…with Caroline.” Klaus told him, looking up at Vincent for the first time; whose eyes held the same question Marcel had posed to him only days previously. However, Vincent’s expression lacked surprise. He had been informed of Klaus’s growing attachment to Caroline. If Marcel had not just died, Klaus would have been very angry with him. “She trusts me, and the killer is fixated on her. She is the one who got away and he thinks that I am the one standing in the way. He killed Marcel to send a message that he can get to me. And to her. It was a warning. He wants me to leave Mystic Falls or else.”

“Well, he is done killing.” Vincent replied and there was a hint of steel to his voice. While Vincent turned into a bureaucrat, which was the main dispute between Klaus and Vincent because Klaus had no patience for red tape, he was once an agent who had done this exact same job that Klaus was doing now for years. Vincent was a good profiler; he would have had to have been in order to climb the ladder has he had. “I’m staying until this case is solved.”

“Okay.” Klaus nodded; he was expecting that. Vincent was not going let the murder of one of his own go. This became more than just a serial murder but the death of an agent and in Vincent’s eyes; that was irredeemable. “I’ll get the case files to you and I will get you caught up on everything.”

“Marcel kept me in the loop and I’m well versed on the facts.” Klaus nodded, his eyes looking down at Marcel’s body; a bitter taste in his mouth. Marcel was always the one who kept touch with the office. Klaus realized that it was the first of many things he was going to miss about his old friend. “What I want is for you to give me a good reason why I shouldn’t remove you from this case.”

“What?”

“Your partner was just murdered. Marcel had concerns that you were getting too close to a victim. The killer clearly has you in his sights. Give me one good reason why I should not send you back to DC. The last thing I want is another dead agent on my hands and on my conscience.”

“Because you would be harming this case in the process and you know it.” Klaus snapped back with clenched teeth. He balled his hands into a fist, and he could feel his temper to flare. Nothing Vincent could say would cause him to go back to Washington DC without a fight. He would sooner leave the bureau completely before that happened. “You wouldn’t dare take me off this case.”

“I would.” Vincent replied, sensing his agent’s fury. “Your emotions are clouding your judgement. You cannot see things clearly and I can’t fault you for that. You and Marcel worked well together for years and a part of that was your friendship. What I am concerned about is this budding friendship between you and Ms. Forbes.”

“Don’t.” Klaus hissed but Vincent’s gaze was unwavering. Klaus turned from him and slammed his fist into one of the morgue’s freezers. It left a small dent and pain shot through his fists; something Klaus did not care about. “You take me off this case, you are letting the killer get away. I’m damn good at this job Vincent and taking me off of it will only let him get away and you know it.”

“Go cool off. Now.”

Klaus sent Vincent a murderous look before storming out of the morgue. Adrenaline was pulsing through his veins and everything in his sight had the twinge of red. Heading up the stairs that led directly into the police station, Klaus could see the officers staying out of his way; the same could be said for the dozen agents that Vincent had brought with him. Klaus’s reputation of being disagreeable had proceeded him and the loss of Marcel was bound to put the rest of the agents on edge.

Klaus made his way into the small conference room and looked around. The files had been removed and placed in Liz’s office, which Vincent had taken over. The board that held the timetable and photos of the victims was also gone. The only thing that remained was the cold cup of coffee Klaus had made before Caroline’s call came in. This was the room he had last seen Marcel in alive. They had been going over files, Marcel’s eyes blurry and tired from the strain and late night. Hot tears pooled at Klaus’s eyes and any restraint he was feeling snapped. Klaus picked up the cold cup of coffee and tossed it at the wall, the liquid spilling everywhere and the glass mug shattering once it made contact with the wall. In a fit of rage, Klaus yelled at the top of his lungs, flipping the conference table over and tossing the chairs around before he found himself pinned against the wall.

“Agent Mikaelson.” Vincent’s sound in his ear, realizing that he was the one who had him pinned against the beige and lifeless wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Liz standing in the doorway, sending him a sympathetic look. She did not appear angry at his display of violence, rather she had sympathy in her eyes; as though she understood what he was feeling. She had been there when he saw Marcel; she knew what the loss was doing to him. “Take a walk.”

Vincent let Klaus go and he all but stormed past them both. Every agent and officer turned their head; either avoiding his gaze or gaping at him. Not sure if his temper could handle looking at any of them, Klaus stormed out of the police station; slamming the front door behind him. He gripped the railings that faced the parking lot, his knuckles going white in the process. He eyes closed but all he could see was the dead body of his friend. The pure rage and fury still radiating from him.

“Klaus?” A soft voice came from beside him and he turned to see Caroline standing a few paces from him; Bonnie behind her. Klaus looked over the shoulder of both woman and saw agents Rosza and Vanchure lingering behind them. She had a worried expression on her face and stepped forward, placing her hand on his forearm. “Are you okay?”

“No.” Klaus told her, tossing a humorless laugh in her direction. “Marcel is dead. Murdered by the same psychopath who kidnapped you.” Caroline nodded, completely unsurprised and could not help but noticed how she froze in place. Liz would have told her, he assumed and for some reason, that only infuriated him further. Seeing her, hearing Vincent’s warning in his head and the thought of being removed from her case sent a fresh wave of anger down in spine. “Maybe if I hadn’t been so distracted, he would still be alive.”

“Distracted? What?”

“Maybe if I hadn’t been so worried about you, I might have been able to save my best friend. Instead, what was I doing? I was with you. It always comes down to you doesn’t it? You have my guard down and my thoughts clouded that I didn’t see what happened last night. I should have realized that the killer would use my affection for you as a distraction to send me a message. The moment I saw that note I should have turned around and gone back to my motel. But I was too blinded by you to think clearly.” Klaus yelled at her, not caring who heard or the consequences of what he was admitting.

Caroline pulled her hand from his form arm as though she had been burned. The look on her face shifted from concern to pure agony. The hurt sent a wave of shame through Klaus, tempering his rage; but quickly that agony Caroline was feeling shifted to anger. She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Don’t you dare blame this on me.” Caroline hissed at him in a low tone. Klaus began to retort, an apology on his lips but Caroline held up a single finger, silencing him; something no one else was capable of doing that Klaus could remember. “You’re hurt and angry and you should be. But do not think for one second that I am going to stand here and take your abuse. You’re lashing out because your friend died. I get it but once you’re able to get control of yourself and apologize, and really mean it, don’t talk to me; especially not like this. I deserve more than to be your scapegoat.” She turned on her heels and walked back over to Bonnie, who was giving Klaus a cold glare. Caroline looked back over her shoulder at him. “When you’re done throwing a temper tantrum, come find me and we can talk about Marcel.”

Caroline walked towards Rosza and Vanchure, telling them to take her home. Bonnie was still standing in front of him, sending Klaus the coldest glare she could muster. For a moment, Klaus thought he was about to receive another lecture, but Bonnie did nothing more than shake her head at him in disappointment and chase after Caroline. Klaus watched them go, a fresh wave of shame echoing through him. She had come to see if he was okay, and three seconds after her arrival he had done nothing but lash out at her. He wanted to chase after her and apologize but he figured that it would only make things worse.

Klaus shook his head and walked in the other direction. He found himself sitting on the small picnic tree that Caroline and himself sat at only a week prior. It felt like a million years had passed. Things were far simpler then, even though it was only a few days. He found Caroline to be strong and fascinating but now, his feeling for her were far deeper rooted than they had been previously. Klaus was not a hopeless romantic and could not call it love; it was too soon for that, but he could see himself falling for her easily if they were given the time. If he had met her outside of this case; when she hadn’t just been traumatized, Klaus would be beyond happy. Perhaps, finding the end to very long and dark tunnel he had been wading through.

Yet, that was not the case. Caroline was a witness and Klaus was jeopardizing the capture of a serial killer because he could not focus on anything else. He should take a step back. He should let her go and never look back, but he couldn’t. Klaus did not love Caroline, but he sure as hell was falling. Seeing her hurt face at his words only made his shitty day worse.

Marcel was dead.

He remembered the first time he met Marcel. He was only a few years younger than himself and he was on the phone with his grandmother. The gentle tone he used with the old woman told Klaus everything he needed to know about the man. His first assumptions were that Marcel was not going to make it. Klaus all but told him so during his training. Marcel set out to prove him wrong; and succeeded. Now he was dead, and Klaus had wished that he was right the moment he had met the other agent. Klaus wondered who would be the one to call that old woman who loved Marcel more than life’s itself. Typically, it would be Vincent, a job Klaus did not envy, but in this Klaus decided it should be him. When this case was over, he would drive to New Orleans and tell that old woman who helped raised Marcel that her grandson was dead. Maybe Klaus would even track down his mother, if she would care to learn about her son’s death.

Klaus was unsure how much time passed but after a while, he saw Vincent walking across the yard towards him with a file in hand. Klaus signed, but said nothing as his boss sat down beside him. Vincent was silent for a moment before turning to Klaus and looking him in the eye.

“Feel better?”

“No. If anything I feel worse.”

“I suspected that.” Vincent muttered. “Want to tell me what that was with Ms. Forbes?” Klaus turned to him and tossed him a look. “Neither one of you were quiet and frankly, that lovers spat answered every single one of my concerns about the relationship between the two of you.”

“I’m not going to apologize or back off.”

“Damn it, Klaus. I should write you up and take you off this case. I trained you better than this.” Vincent pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in annoyance; it was a motion that the man had done many times in regard to Klaus. “Getting involved with a witness is enough for a good defense attorney to get a mistrial. I should not just pull you off this case, I should suspend you!”

“Go ahead. I don’t care.” Klaus told him, suddenly not caring about what Vincent could do to him. “Pull me from the case, suspend me if you want. It won’t change anything. I’m not leaving town until this bastard is taken in. After that, I’m done. I quit.”

“Klaus, you’re being rash.” Vincent snapped but Klaus turned to him and narrowed his eyes. He shook his head. “For fucks sake, you are nothing more than a pain in my ass. Your temper has caused me more than one headache and Marcel was the only agent who could stand to work with you but behind all of that you’re a damn good agent and damn good at your job; your unprofessionalism with Ms. Forbes aside. Marcel’s murder is shocking and awful, and honestly has me pissed as well but do not let that lead you to making a rash decision.”

“It is not a rash decision.” Klaus admitted, staring off into the empty lawn. “It was something I’ve been thinking about for a long time. Before this case came to our attention, I was going to turn in my notice.” Vincent inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. Klaus wanted to be flattered by the slump in his boss’s shoulders. “Whether you fire me, or I quit, once this case is solved, I’m done. I can’t do it anymore. This job, I can’t take it. Maybe that makes me weak, I don’t know but I just can’t anymore”

“You lasted longer than most and you’re far from weak.” Vincent muttered but looked towards Klaus as though he was seeing him with fresh eyes. “Jesus, I’m going to regret this. Fine. You can stay on the case, but you will listen to me. If I say jump, you jump. Got it?” Klaus said nothing but just looked at Vincent; not caring about the man’s opinion or rules. He was done following them. Marcel was dead. He no longer wanted to work for the bureau. Vincent shook his head and handed over the file in his hand. “Davina got something.” Klaus took the file and flipped it open. His eyes widened at the words and the fog that was clouding his mind all morning seemed lifted. “I already sent agents to pick her up. She will be here shortly.”

“Bring her to the station?” Klaus asked, his eyes flying over the information Davina, Vincent’s contact at the DEA, sent over. Marcel and Klaus had always traveled to their suspects, never having enough to forcefully bring someone in to being interrogated. “You got a warrant signed that fast?”

“Dead federal agent will get you anything. At this point, I could bring the whole town in and hold them for as long as the law would allow.” Vincent’s tone was bitter and angry. Klaus envied the influence and power his boss had; he was able to get things that Klaus would have been denied. He knew it came with the position he held and the diplomatic hoops he had to jump through that Klaus detested. Klaus had been up for a management position before and never once had he considered taking it.

“Perhaps we should.” Klaus shut the file, his mind going a mile a minute. Marcel had been right, follow the drugs and it would lead to something. He had only wished Davina was able to come through sooner. Maybe Marcel would still be alive. “Do you think she had something to do with it?”

“We’re about to find out.” Vincent nodded towards the parking lot, seeing the black SUV pull into a spot. Klaus watched as two agents he was not too familiar with pull a young woman with long brown hair from the back seat. She was wearing scrubs and she was handcuffed; a fact that did not surprise Klaus.

Elena Gilbert was not one who would want to come quietly.

“Let’s do this.” Klaus muttered and the two agents stood, watching Elena being all but dragged into the police station. Klaus and Vincent followed them inside. Klaus went to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup of coffee, waiting for the agents to stick Elena in a small interrogation room. They wanted Elena to sweat for a few minutes before they pounced on her. As Klaus drank his coffee, the caffeine helping to sooth the anger he still felt, he read over the file Vincent had given him. Thirty minutes later, Vincent appeared in the kitchenette, having debriefed the agents and motioned for Klaus to follow him.

“You’ve dealt with Ms. Gilbert before?”

“Yes. She is not my biggest fan.”

“Good. Use that.” Vincent turned the knob on the interrogation room door and allowed Klaus to enter first. Elena was sitting on the other side of a steel table, arms crossed and an annoyed look upon her face. Behind those brown eyes, Klaus could see genuine worry, but it was drowned out by the defiance she had come to know with Elena. Klaus sat across from her, setting the file down in front of him, while Vincent just leaned against the back wall; it had been a long time since he interrogated anyone with Vincent by his side. Not since the early days of his training.

“Good afternoon, Elena.” Klaus told her, looking directly in her eyes as he folded his hands over the file. “Early this morning, my partner Special Agent Marcel Gerard was shot in the head and murdered. So, believe me when I tell you that I am not in the mood for games. You will be honest with me or this can go very badly.”

“I’m sorry for your loss but I have nothing to say to you.”

“See the man behind me. He is my boss and he is ready to throw this entire town into a jail cell if someone doesn’t start talking, and he will start with you.” Klaus was pleased as Elena’s eyes flickered towards Vincent before returning her glare to Klaus. There was an air of entitlement to Elena that made Klaus think she believed that nothing bad could happen to her. Klaus, knowing that his bias was speaking, wanted nothing more than to prove to her that she was completely wrong. He wanted to turn her entire world upside down, not just for the things she had done to Caroline; but because of the death of his friend as well. He flipped open the file in front of him and peered at the words. “Tell me about what happened in November of last year at Whitmore Hospital.”

“Nothing.” Elena shrugged as though she was innocent, but Klaus just glared at her. “I got suspended for a few days. That’s it. I stayed home and then within a couple days I was back at work, moving on with my life.”

“Says here that a large supply of Dilaudid went missing.” Still Elena did not react. “The drugs were checked out under your key card and when the theft was discovered, you were brought in by the medical board for questioning. The theft was reported to the authorities but then miraculously you were back at work. How is it that this was covered up and you did not lose your job, let alone face jail time?” Elena said nothing, but instead just stared at Klaus.

“Answer him. Now.” Vincent replied, a tone of authority that made Elena wince.

“Damon donated a sum of money that the hospital needed to add on to their maternity ward. In exchange, I got to keep my job.” Elena replied in a matter- of-fact tone as though the news of Damon buying her job was an everyday occurrence; something that the average person would have been able to do. Klaus laughed, seriously amused by the answer. “What’s funny?”

“Is that when it started? Your affair with your fiancé’s brother?” Klaus asked, Vincent shifting behind him. Vincent had not been aware of the affair between Damon and Elena; or rather, that she had been engaged to Damon’s brother Stefan. All he knew was that Elena was Damon’s alibi for the night of Caroline’s disappearance. It was a small detail that neither Klaus nor Marcel found relevant to the case, outside of an alibi. Apparently, they were wrong. “Where was Stefan?”

“Out of town. Like always.”

“I see.” Klaus replied, suddenly enjoying toying with her. Seeing her squirm almost made him forget that Marcel was dead. If he pretended hard enough, Marcel was in that room with him, questioning Elena. “The theft of the Dilaudid was covered up but the drugs were never returned to the hospital. What did you do with them?”

“Nothing.”

“Really? I doubt that.” Klaus leaned in closer to her, his eyes narrowing. “The woman who you claimed to be a good friend was kidnapped and drugged the same type of medication you stole eight months earlier. That does not seem like a coincidence to me.” Elena just huffed and shook her head, leaving against the metal chair. “You want to be a good friend to Caroline? Because let’s be honest, you’ve been a shit one thus far. Not only did you have sex with your fiancé’s brother, you had sex with your friend’s ex-boyfriend. The same one who put her in the hospital!” Elena said nothing still, but Klaus could see the tears pooling in her eyes. “What did you do with the drugs?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you give them to Damon? Is that why he paid off the hospital, so you didn’t lose your job?”

“No.”

“Is he the one killing these women?”

“No.”

“Then who is Elena?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying.” Klaus hissed. Elena refused to look at him, but she had gone tense. “Four women are dead and one of your best friends almost ended up just like them. My partner and friend were murdered by the same monster who you gave these drugs too. How much more blood do you want on your hands, Elena?”

“What I want is a lawyer.” Klaus gave a bitter laugh and sat back on his chair. Elena still refused to look at him, but he could tell she was cracking. However, he could no longer question her once she asked to have a lawyer present. Klaus turned to look at Vincent, and he could see the calculation in his superior’s eyes.

“Fine. We will have one brought in for you.” Vincent replied in a cool tone. Elena’s shoulder’s slumped in relief, something both men noticed. “Until then Agent Mikaelson will escort you down to one of the holding cells.”

“What?!” Elena cried out, looking between Vincent and Klaus. Clearly, she had thought that by requesting a lawyer, it was a get out of jail free card. However, that was not case nor how the system worked. “You can’t do that?!”

“Yes, Ms. Gilbert. I can.” Vincent told her, walking to the table and picking up the file that sat in front of Klaus. “I can hold you for seventy-two hours and I will until you tell me what I want to know. Lawyer or no lawyer, I will get answers. Take her to a cell Klaus.” With that, Vincent strolled out of the room as Klaus was rising from his seat.

“What are you doing!?” Elena asked him but Klaus said nothing. Instead he gripped Elena by the forearm and pulled her from the chair. He led her out of the room and down the hall, her fighting him the entire way. “Let go of me!”

Klaus remained silent but did not let go of her arm. He all but dragged her down the hall and towards a set of doors that lead to the jail cells. He bustled past the deputy on duty, whose name tag Klaus did not bother to read, seemed startled at their sudden appearance and demanded the keys to one of the cells. Flabbergasted, the deputy handed over the keys and Klaus tossed Elena into one; slamming it shut behind her.

Klaus would be lying if seeing her terrified and distraught face did not bring some sort of satisfaction to him.

“Agent Mikaelson! Let me out! Please!” Elena shouted after him as he left; ignoring her. He gave the deputy strict instructions not to listen to her nor to let anyone himself and Vincent down to see her; with the exception of her lawyer. He climbed back up the stairs to the station and saw Vincent on the phone. He waived Klaus over to him just has he was disconnecting the call.

“I could hear her screaming from here.” Vincent replied and Klaus snorted. “That was Davina. She is going to see if she can find anything else on the Dilaudid. I don’t think she will find anything, Ms. Gilbert gave the drugs to somebody, and unless they sold them and it was caught by one of the DEA agents, it is unlikely those particular drugs will surface again.”

“Too small of a town. I don’t think Mystic Falls knew what an FBI agent looked like before all this let alone someone from the DEA.” Klaus paused, taking a deep breath. “When this is over, I want to tell Marcel’s family that he died, I want it to be the last thing I do as an agent. I was closest with him, I’ve met them on several occasions, they deserve to hear it from me.” Vincent turned to look at Klaus for a second, tempted to refuse the request. Klaus made it very clear that once this case is done, he was gone. “Please.”

“Okay.” Vincent nodded, and gripped Klaus’s shoulder in understanding. At the end of the day, Klaus and Vincent had their differences but they knew that they had some semblance for respect for the other; especially when they did not have to deal with one another. “We are no longer staying at the motel. I got the funds to rent out a small bed and breakfast, the only one in town, for the time being. It is ours alone so there will be no foot traffic outside the little old lady that owns it. Where is your go bag?”

“In my SUV.”

“Okay. Good.” Vincent nodded. “I think we should call it a day. Unless Davina comes up with something or Elena decides to speak, there is not much else we can do. I doubt an attorney will be here before morning. Plus, a night in jail might be enough for her.” Klaus nodded in agreement. Vincent looked at him in contemplation. They both knew that when Klaus walked out of that police station, he wasn’t going to the bed and breakfast. Vincent wanted to hold him there but knew he couldn’t. He could take Klaus off the case, but he would not leave town. There was little Vincent could do other than hope that none of this blew up in his face. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Right.” Klaus turned and walked away from his boss, stepping out into sunlight. It would be a few hours before it went down, but Klaus felt as though the day had lasted a millennium. He never felt more at a crossroads in his life and yet despite everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, he had never been more certain of his decision. He told Caroline that he was going to turn in his resignation the day her case was presented to him, and that was true, but even then, he waivered. It was a leap that he was not sure he was fully ready for.

Now he had never been certain of anything else.

As he reached his car, Klaus climbed into the vehicle and pulled out his phone. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and dialed the familiar number. He listened to it ring, knowing it would be late in England, but he could not put this phone call off. Perhaps he should wait until he spoke to Marcel’s family, but she would never forgive him if he did.

“Nik?” Chimed the voice of his little sister.

“Hey Bex.”

“I was about to climb into bed. What is it?” There a hesitant tone in her voice. Out of all his siblings, he spoke to Elijah and Rebekah the most, but he rarely called them out of the blue, especially when he knew it would be late for them. “What is wrong?”

“It’s Marcel.” Rebekah sucked in a breath. “He’s dead.” Klaus’s voice broke at the news and hearing Rebekah give out a sob on the other end only drove the shards in deeper. The relationship between Marcel and Rebekah was probably the worst mistake of both of their lives but Klaus knew that even with everything, they had loved one another at the start. “I know the two of you hadn’t spoken in a while, but I wanted you hear it from me.”

“How?”

“He was murdered.”

“Did you find the bastard?”

“I’m working on it.” Hearing Rebekah’s sniff on the other end told him everything that he needed to know. If anyone still had faith in Klaus, it was is baby sister, even if he had no faith in himself at the moment. “You’ll be okay? Call that friend of yours. The one I don’t like.”

“Genevieve?” Rebekah laughed lightly. “I will. I’ll be fine, okay. You just…..stay safe please?”

“Always and forever.” Klaus vowed. It was a little promise that Klaus had made with his siblings in the aftermath of their mother’s death and Mikael’s trial. They all stood behind Klaus and despite all of that, Klaus felt that he was the one who kept to that promise the least. “I love you Bex.”

“Love you too Nik. Thank you for telling me.” With that, Klaus hung up the phone and tossed it on the seat. He took a few deep breathes and started the car. He pulled out of the police station parking lot and drove through the small town; his mind wandering. Everything seemed strange and normal at the same time. Part of him wanted to drive to that motel, expecting to find Marcel there. Another part of him wanted to pick up his phone and dial his number; hearing some insult from him as a greeting. Yet, he knew none of that would happen again.

He should drive to the bed and breakfast, check in and try and get some sleep; but Klaus knew that was not going to happen. Despite being up for over twenty-four hours, Klaus would not be able to sleep. In that case, he should check in anyway and call Elijah; who would probably be awake anyway feeding his newborn baby. Klaus felt an urge to see that little girl more than he ever had before. Hell, he would even take seeing Finn’s two kids at the moment; or even Kol and listen to whatever situation his younger brother found himself in.

Instead, he found himself parked outside a little house in the middle of Mystic Falls. He saw an SUV similar to his parked outside but neither Rosza nor Vanchure was the ones stationed in it. Made sense, those two would need to sleep at some point two. They had been replaced by two different agents and Klaus frankly did not care who they were.

He climbed out of the SUV and made his way up the brick walkway and onto the small porch. He knocked lightly, knowing that she would be home. He could see a shadow on the other side of the door, hesitating. After a second, Klaus heard the knob turn and the door opened to reveal a tired looking Caroline. Neither exchanged words; neither knowing where to begin. Caroline however, simply stepped aside, opened the door wide enough for Klaus to step over the threshold and closed it behind them.

[mehenxe]

“ i want to be in love. ” / “ can i be a little nasty?” / “ it wasn’t anyone’s fault. not really. ” / “ i’m losing my mind, losing control. ” / “ terrified of my love for you?” / “ your words felt like sharp knives. ” / “ how did you become like this?” / “ say something nice or don’t speak. ” / “ really? what did you dream about?” / “ we were both afraid, shut up. ” — dealer's choice, have fun.

“ i want to be in love. ” // the grey seer ◌ her best friend.

and the depiction of love upon the laptop screen in front of them, high-definition, remastered in soundtrack, unfolds. black-and-white creases and tears, static in the picture, what could i do if i didn’t have you? where will i go? and the embrace, the hands around the shoulders, the subtle squeezing of the appendages. she watches the scene, & then watches him, enraptured, wanting it. does he even realise he has remarked this aloud to her? spoken it into existence, wished so desperately for its occurrence? “i know,” she whispers. just in case he hadn’t. just in case this is a secret he wished for the walls to swallow. “i know you do. and maybe you already are. and it just hasn’t seen you yet.” perhaps she is thinking of herself. perhaps she is thinking of a woman with dark, short hair and gloss on her lips. perhaps she is thinking about all the things she said. or hadn’t. “it’ll happen. i promise. just be patient.”

“ can i be a little nasty? ” // the french serpent ◌ his beaded shark.

the inquiry interrupts the little song and dance he has happening in front of the stove. two pans on the burners, one sizzling, one being brought up to sizzling after being coated in olive oil. it is a surprise supper, which he framed as cooking for others but, in truth, he planned to cook for the two of them. he glances over his shoulder, arching his brow. breakfast for supper: the staple of french toast, of course, and then some spins on grilled cheese, quick little soup. something sweet bakes in the oven. he meets that little smirk, and realises he must be in a good mood. ( it pleases him greatly to see him smile. ) “a — little nast-ee?” he is dressed in a matching set of black silk pyjamas and bright blue shark slippers. his apron is blush-pink, with the princess is in the castle embroidered in the corner. he shakes his hips as if dancing. “now, i am intrigued? tell me at once what is on your mind, eh? nice kisses in, ah, naughty places?”

“ it wasn’t anyone’s fault. not really. ” // the god of death ◌ his god of life.

the city stretches out behind them, fog-riddled, dense, encrypted. a myriad of secrets he must discover within its recesses, all of them putrid, stinking of bile. he sits at the desk, crossed one ankle over one knee, elbow propping up his upper body and his neck, erect. his glasses do not disguise the repulsion in his gaze, and he does not bother to save face about it. a sneer, then; a bitter draught to drink from. it wasn’t anyone’s fault. then there is that pause, that label slapped on  their foreheads: not really. judgement passed, recite the sign of the cross, depart the pews. the service is ending. the funeral is over. “not really, hm. is that your defence now?” he rises. he is rolling in his own steam, the own wrath of it. but he cannot bring himself to raise his voice. it is as though there are too many parties listening. “not really. that means it was someone’s fault. and we know exactly who’s fault it was, don’t we?”

“ i’m losing my mind, losing control. ” // the bejewelled dragon ◌ his skeleton beast.

“no, you’re not. you’re right here with me.” blood, dripping from the edge of the soul’s sword, and he stows it in his scabbard, the echoing veins of the throbbing hollow, deadening around them. the whole of the battle, muted. soot against their cheeks, and he swipes it off of his thin cheek and it drags, it stains further. “you’re not losing anything. okay? it’s different now.” and it remains to be seen, how much he would do, how much he could do, in order to make sure this pierced his hide and penned itself as the ultimate truth. the bones of their dragon-corpses, how they rise from the stream, water pouring from their nostrils. the errant roar of another from not too far away, the slipping and diving of their siblings. the star-magic pealing through the sky. his heart throbs as he stares at him, watches those eyes, staring, daring them almost to become as soulless as they both feel. “we’re almost done here. it’ll be over soon.”

“ terrified of my love for you? ” // the undying warlord ◌ his ridden battle.

it had been the one confession they both had silently agreed to avoid. what good would it do, for creatures of their respective natures to love? to be such beasts of the literal underworld, for love to be a price that neither of them can afford. what good would it do? and now, the bones revealing themselves, the flesh peeled away. they do not stand far from each other. there are no clothes to separate them. he feels so young, his breath stopping entirely, and how fortunate it is that he does not need it any longer to be alive. ( he is, after all, nothing worse off than dead. ) how can he hope to — what will he — “terrified? perhaps. terrified of what it means. terrified of you. what you mean. how we’re going to — how we’re going to carry on with this. because of what is happening out there, and waking up, discovering you feral in the forest —” he shakes his head. “you love me? even through this, you love me, and how?” 

“ your words felt like sharp knives. ” // the god of chaos ◌ his oceanic song.

he keeps his back to him. the carton of cigarettes, a staple on the counter, perhaps even more so than home-cooked food, and this, this was the person that he had surrendered the remnants of his piss-poor life for. this was the glitter-bomb, the madness unravelling, the toxic and terrible idea that so readily laid itself bare across his lap. getting high together, and regaining feeling in their senses through slotting their hips and moaning into each other’s mouths, this had become his life. he is a sharp knife. left out where he can be touched, he slices, that is the end of it. this is what his lover knew, when he signed up to continue to be with him. when he ignored all of the warning signs, the red flags, the advice from others. the better choices. “the hell you want me to say? i already said sorry. i even meant it.” everything he says, awful, crooked, it has no general direction. as chaotic as he is. “you want me on my knees, princess?”

“ how did you become like this? ” // the final heir ◌ his grey seer.

frothing, flames licking at his arms, he embodied the arson, the tragedy. he could not escape it. he wept tears and all of them tasted like the grief he refused to acknowledge. himself, thorough in how embittered he had become against those he once called friends. and how difficult it made things, in attempting to connect with people of a different time. now, their conversation, hushed and secretive. all could see him, and yet it is as though he cannot exist freely. “i already told y’all the story of what went on. we’re tryna find out the truth of it, yeah? but — i guess that ain’t what you mean.” and he isn’t sure what else there is. what else he has been created from except for his wounds. how the witch managed to sew him together will remain a mystery for as long as he remains a tethered soul. “i became like this ‘cause — i dunno. nobody was around to make me become somethin’ different. that’s all i got, really.”

“ say something nice or don’t speak. ” // the fallen jedi ◌ his lilac princess.

“don’t speak? perish the thought.” he is cross again. look at him, with that pucker across his forehead and the crease in his brow. he’s become offended by something that was said, and to think, he hadn’t the slightest idea what had done it. leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, and he pushes away from that surface to approach him. his boots softening each of his steps, and those, slower and deliberate. approaching, stalking perhaps. because he finds him to be stupidly interesting, and he himself is the worst idea, the worst decision that could be made for a princess of this calibre. still, the two of them, refraining from ever touching, and yet, continuing their orbit, their delicious desires licking at their insides. he would like to lick him. down that slim column of a throat. perhaps he should say that. perhaps that would be nice. “we can’t have it both ways. either you want me to speak my mind, or not.”

“ really? what did you dream about? ” // the ripest peach ◌ her stable mountain.

she had not dreamt in quite some time, and therefore, it frightened her. what does it mean, these successions of images, these pictures in frames? of children that she had known, and ones she did not remember, what significance could this have? she presses her back into his chest, his shoulders broad, his arms large; all of him, larger than life, than the world, strong and impermeable as rock, and she melts against it. her nakedness safe with him, her medical scars, her lack of fertility. her darkest secrets, which she has so long tucked beneath her tongue. and he brushes back her hair from her ears, as if coaxing the churning words from her mind. “i had a dream that — that we were all in paradise together. that the creatures had gone. that our family hadn’t separated. i had a dream that none of us had to die in order to find it. there were so many children there. running in the fields amok. all of them — ours.”

“ we were both afraid, shut up. ” // the underground racer ◌ his forsaken son.

“... y-yeah! we were both afraid, sure! or maybe we weren’t!” his lover, climbing over the middle console, grinding his hips down upon his own hips, and he bites back a moan. they’re going to forget about the fear; it doesn’t matter if it’s confessed to the walls of this car. the engine, how it purrs as it stalls, until he turns it off, and then, only their mingling breaths. the sound of a zipper, that hand, it finds him — “oh.” a gasp. “yeah — oh, jesus —” their clothes, sliding down enough to reach each other, to be bare where it matters, where they’re most needed. he clings to those hips, slides that tunic up his lover’s chest, bites down on the skin there. “you shut up.” halfway to teasing. he feels every part of him now, his irises so brown, mundane, attentive. “make me shut up.” he does. hips in tight circles, reducing him to whimpers, his own rocking, frantic, and passioned. “y-you shut up, i — oh, god, i love you — you’re so good, baby —” 

[sockablock]

I've been seeing all kinds of "Fjord is another sibling of the Twins" theories going around so: Fjord dies and meets his big brother. (Maaaaaaaybe that's what prompts him to become a paladin once he's brought back? IDK up to you)

ohohoHOHO, we are kicking things off with a WILD prompt, huh?

—

Fjord dies. 

He sits up in a pile of crimson snow and says to the world he claims no more:

“Dammit!”

He rubs his head. The landscape is already melting away, the temperature still cold but no longer quite as brisk, no longer quite as biting, as sharp, or as cruel, and then Fjord blinks one last time and—

Darkness. 

Well…almost darkness. 

There is a man standing right in front of him. Leaning, nearly lounging, against nothing at all. 

He looks up and Fjord locks onto his gaze. His hair seems to drift with the void behind his back, his skin as pale as the ivory of a mask.

His ears are slightly pointed, Fjord notices. His features are more slender than that of a normal human.

The half-elf clears his throat. Fjord fights the urge to snap to attention. 

“Er—ah…yes?” he asks instead. “Yes, er…how can I help you?”

The half-elf stares at him for but a second. Then he snorts, gives a shake of his head.

“That’s…one of the strangest responses I’ve ever gotten under these circumstances,” he says. “How can you help me, friend?”

Fjord scratches the back of his neck. His cheeks are definitely growing warm now.

…are they? He reaches to check, and the man standing across the darkness nods.

“That’s it, that’s the response I’m used to. I forget that it takes a while to realize you’re dead.”

“No, no, I knew that already,” Fjord says, gives his face one last disappointed pat. “I just…was hoping I might’ve been wrong.”

“Really?” the figure tilts his head. “You went into a dragon fight, unarmed. What exactly did you think would happen?”

Fjord feels his shoulders sag. He gives a faint sigh, and his knees start to buckle—though strangely, there’s a bit of resistance. And a few seconds later, he finds himself seated on a chair made of…nothing.

Well, whatever. He’s seen weirder, before.

The figure, as if to echo this sentiment, sits down companionably at Fjord’s side.

“Think of it this way,” he suggests. “It probably doesn’t get worse from here.”

“Probably?” Fjord arcs his brow. “Does that mean I could go to hell?” Then he pauses and adds, “You are death, right? I think I missed your introductions.”

“Hah! Well,” the figure shrugs, “close enough. You can call me ‘Vax’ if you like.”

“Vax?’

“It’s elvish. I think. I didn’t pay much attention at school.”

Fjord leans back lazily in his perch. 

“Well, that gives us one thing in common. Tell me, Vax, is this what comes next?”

Death-as-a-half-elf answers with another shrug. “That depends on a few things, I think. Typically, you’d move on to some kind of afterlife, but your particular soul is still tethered. I have a feeling that you’ll want to be patient and see if your friends come calling for you.”

Fjord feels a glimmer deep in his chest. 

“Really?” he asks.

Vax nods. “You never know. But you’ll have to give it a bit.”

“Ah.” The warmth wavers ever-so-slightly. “And if, ah…if they don’t call?”

“Well, then that’s where I come in.” Vax sticks out one of his hands, his feathered cloak rustling in the dark. He summons, from nothingness, a weathered scroll and unfurls it in a way that Fjord can’t see—though, for some reason, Fjord thinks he knows it well.

“It’s…a record,” Vax confirms. “Of your life and your deeds and all that, thereof. It’ll help me know where I’m supposed to bring you.”

“Are you my judge?”

Vax grunts. “Nothing so dramatic. I’m really just a guide.”

“Still,” says Fjord, as he watches Vax read, “could you still let me know if you’re taking me to hell? Just so I can brace myself?”

There’s a pause, as Vax doesn’t answer.

This makes Fjord nervous. He blinks, clears his throat.

“Er…Vax?” he asks carefully. “Mister Vax? Uh…Death, was it?”

The shadowed man is silent, staring intently at the page.

And then he shakes his head. He leans back, and glares at Fjord.

His ears are slightly pointed, which isn’t all that odd, but his frame…it is more slender than an orc’s…

Fjord’s panic continues to grow with every second Vax fails to answer.

“Is this…oh, gods above,” he says, “I really am going to hell, aren’t I?”

Vax ignores this. He narrows his eyes.

“Who are your parents?” he demands instead. “Just…to confirm. Do you know who they are?”

Fjord’s terrified expression flickers.

“…wait, what?”

“Your parents,” Vax repeats. “Your father, more specifically, what is his name?”

Now, Fjord frowns. He lowers his hands.

“My…my father? No, I…I never knew him.”

Vax stares back, unspeaking and grim. There is a moment, where Fjord thinks he’s failed. But then Death’s lean, feathered shoulders sag and he flicks his wrist, the scroll disappears.

“Gods above,” he mutters almost to himself. “I can’t believe him, I can’t believe this—”

“Er…what can’t you believe?” Fjord asks. And as he speaks, there’s that strange feeling again, that same glimmering spark, growing brighter, growing warmer, tugging on his lungs and his soul and his heart—

Vax does not notice this at all. He is standing now, pinching the bridge of his nose, shouting into the general darkness: “No, I mean, no, but still…good grief—”

“Is it…is it bad?” Fjord tries to say. But something is off, like he’s no longer really there—

Vax throws his arms into the air. “You’d think after dying, my life would make more sense! But no, no, nothing of the sort! No, trust everything to just get weird—”

And then there is a sudden, blinding flash of light. Vax spins towards his revelation just in time to see the outline disappear.

And then, within seconds, again he is alone.

He sighs. He sits down and shakes his head. He reaches out with a nimble, gloved hand and summons that same slightly-crinkled scroll.

He reads it again, just to be sure.

He puts it down.

“Vex’ahlia—good gods, you won’t believe what I’ve found.”

—

(from 8/11-8/15 I’m accepting requests for a grand fic giveaway!! Check out the guidelines here and feel free to send in a prompt!)

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer: Saving Erii

Erii tilted her head up to gaze in wonder at the towering ferris wheel. It was ablaze with lights that shimmered in colorful bright patterns, flashing, strobing lines, spinning hypnotic circles.

“Akira...” Chisei took the moment to approach him while she stood entranced. “If you’re serious about Erii...”

“I am serious!” He blurted.

“Then tell her the truth.” Chisei interrupted him before he could say more. “If you do then... I’ll let things fall where they will.”

Akira lowered his eyes. He took a deep, halting breath and walked away from him. Erii returned and dragged him off to get in line.

They weren’t the only couple on the ride that night. Some where already kissing in line. Erii broke out her notebook. “Are you going to kiss me again?”

Akira turned away, his head growing hot. ‘I-...If you want.”

She held up her notebook to him but he couldn’t bear to look at it. Her hands grabbed hold of his face. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Her lips pressed against his.

He leaned away, glancing nervously in Chisei’s direction. The man was staring at him, still as a statue. The jaunty carnival music may have well be hundreds of tiny death knells.

Erii waved at Chisei. He smiled a little, turned and walked away.

They got into the Ferris Wheel car and let the ride operator shut and lock it.

It was plush and comfortable. The ride moved to let other people on. Erii looked down on all the people milling about below. She was suddenly serious, contemplative.

Akira racked his brain. How was he even supposed to start this subject anyway?

The ride rose higher. She then took her notebook and started writing. She held it up. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Oh... yeah, I have... something to say too... but you go first!” 

She continued to write. “I’m very, very sick. You don’t know because you’ve never been with me for very long. While we were having fun, I wasn’t taking medicine. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to go back. I wanted to stay out with you.”

“What?! Erii!” 

She looked down, twining her fingers. 

Akira wanted to stop the ride and go down right now! “We need to get home right away!”

She nodded. 

But there was nothing he could do. That’s why she waited until now to tell him. “Don’t... don’t do this again...”

“I’m not sure if we’ll see each other again.” She wrote. “My illness is very advanced.”

Inside, a sudden heaviness weighed on him. “What... no... Erii...”

She took his hand and ran it up and down her bare arm. It didn’t feel like normal skin even though it looked normal. It was rough and pebbly. She picked up her pen. “I knew this would make you sad. I’m sorry I troubled you. For the first time in my life I felt like a normal girl.”

Akira tried to hold back his tears, but he couldn’t. The sobbing rose up in his throat. They forced their way out of his eyes. She patted his back. She didn’t cry.

They’d reached the top. The city of Tokyo spread out before them in an endless sea of lights. She took his hand and traced into his palm. “Pretty.”

“N... not as beautiful as you.” He said, broken. He hated that he was sniffling and falling apart. She raised his chin again. 

“You had something to say too?” She held up the notebook.

He nodded, drawing his sleeve across his eyes. “Yeah. I’m... My name isn’t really Akira.”

She wrote. “Mingfei.”

He nodded. He felt himself coming back slowly, not suddenly, like a flash of lightning, but like the sun coming up after a long night. “Yes... that’s my name. Mingfei... L... Lu... Mingfei.”

“Why did you pretend to be someone else?”

His lips parted. Pain and grief rose in his chest. He backed away from mentally, focusing his mind on her. “It’s... something terrible happened. I have a hard time thinking about it. It was easier just to forget everything.”

She wrote. “I understand. Will you go back home too?”

“Yes. I think... I have to. But I don’t want to leave you.”

She reached over and took his hand and looked into his eyes. She wrote down one more thing. “I always knew this wouldn’t be forever. But we always have memories.”

She suddenly dropped the notebook and pen. Her hand flew to her mouth and a trickle of blood came out from under it. She doubled over.

“Erii!”

---------------

After the two rose into the Ferris Wheel, Chisei took a walk to the bench to wait. His cellphone buzzed. Unknown number? His number wasn’t listed, not even among spammers. He picked it up. 

“Who is this?”

“Johann Chu. Good to hear your voice. Carli was worried you were dead.”

“I need to talk to you about Carli. It’s important. I remember what you two said to each other on the Trieste. I’ve found out a few things about her that you need to know.”

“Her bloodline is very similar to mine, high concentration of dragon purity and stable. Essentially, she’s an emperor hybrid. There’s a man, Herzog, who wants to amass an army of us to take over the world. For that reason, I’ve been tasked with finding Carli and killing her.”

He was silent.

“I know this is hard for you to hear. But you must understand that so long as she’s alive, there’s the potential she’ll be used this way. And if she ever does have children, there’s a fifty percent chance that they will be unstable, violent. They will be unstoppable with our combined genetics. Hundreds of people could die. I don’t think Carli would be capable of killing her own children, when she couldn’t even kill strangers who were unstable. Perhaps you could... but you would have to fight her to do it. I’m not sure you are capable of that either.”

“There’s a chance that Herzog has already produced infants.” Johann replied. “Killing Carli now would be useless.”

“The bloodline must be eliminated. I’ll destroy any and all traces of Herzog’s research after I get rid of him.”

“Do you plan on killing yourself?” He asked.

Chisei chuckled in amazement. He doubted that Johann knew of his origins. The man had a sharp and far-seeing wit that he never failed to appreciate. His logical shot in the dark hit the bull’s eye. “I’ve... thought of it. I’ve experienced what it was like to kill one’s own family. Our bloodlines produce twins. One stable, one violent. My brother, the violent one, seemed normal for a while. But he turned into a serial killer once he reached high school. I... I killed him.”

“It was the hardest thing... and haunts me to this day. I won’t make you do that to her, Johann.”

Johann’s voice was calm and even. “There’s something you don’t know about Carli. What you don’t know is she’s actually the one best equipped to handle her children. What you fear will not happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not authorized to disclose it to you. Her secret is only hers to disclose. She’s not with me now, but I can arrange a meeting.”

“Even if this is true, what happens after she dies? Do you think her children, her grandchildren or her great-grandchildren won’t attempt world domination?” Chisei asked. “Ending the bloodline is the best thing to do.”

“Humans have also committed atrocities. If it’s suffering in general you wish to prevent...”

“I’m doing what I can to prevent the rise of a super race of hybrids!” Chisei hissed. “If you’re not with me on this, I understand, but the next time we meet, we will be enemies!”

Silence on the other line.

“I don’t... want to kill her. If its mercy you want, sterilization is also an option.”

“I will talk to her about it. But this is something all of us need to discuss. Together. Talk to her Chisei.”

Chisei’s eyes wandered over as a couple passed him. He massaged his forehead. “Call me back in the morning.”

He hung up. He leaned back and looked up at the stars. If only he could just run away...

After a few minutes, he heard voices and shouting from the ferris wheel. Among them, the frantic cries of Akira. He sprinted to the scene where a small crowd had gathered. “Someone call a medic!” The ride operator cried.

Erii was on her hands and knees, unable to stand. Akira was being accosted by a man who grabbed hold of him, demanding to know what he did to her.

“I didn’t do anything! She’s sick!” He raised his eyes to Chisei. “Aniki!”

Chisei muscled his way through the crowd and picked Erii up off the ground. “We’ve got to get her back to the clinic!”

Erii’s eyes were flickering with yellow light, the pupils widened and contracted. Chisei raced for the fence bordering the amusement park and both he and Akira easily cleared it, landing on the other side.

They spotted a valet waiting next to a convertible, rushed it and leaped into the vehicle. Before the valet could move, Chisei had put Erii in Akira’s lap and screeched away into the parking lot.

“Aniki! I told her!” Akria shouted over the roar of the engine.

“Good!”

“And... I remember my name! Lu Mingfei!”

He held her tight in his lap. “Aniki... I know she’s dying! I know who can save her!”

“What?!”

They careened out of the parking lot and into the street.

“Remember I said I saw someone turn into a dragon servitor before? She survived! Her name is Carli! She can heal Devils!”

Chisei glanced at him with wide eyes, stunned silent. 

“I’ve seen her do it! She can stop the progression of Erii’s disease! We need to find her before its too late!”

Chisei pulled into an alleyway and cut the engine and the lights. He grabbed Mingfei by the arm, pulling him hard towards him. “Is what you say true?” His eyes glittered in the dark. 

“Yes. The first time she came to Japan, she turned servitor. Six months later, we find her and she walking around just fine. She never turned again. Her speaking spirit helped another friend of mine do the same thing. She even saved children from the Hydra asylum and they’re living normal lives now!”

Chisei gaped for a few seconds then his eyes narrowed. “Get out of the car.” 

“What?”

“Erii needs immediate medical attention.” Chisei took out his phone. “I’m sending you a phone number. Call it. Your friends from Cassell will pick you up. Once they do, go back to them.”

“But...”

“I will arrange a meeting with Carli to see if what you say is true. But if its not... then, she’ll have to die. I’m sorry, Mingfei.” Chisei reached around him and opened the door.

“Chisei-”

His former Aniki’s blade was suddenly at his throat. “Consider this my last order to you.”

[gustafsnightangel]

Shattered Lives Ch 4

He wished he had been smart enough to get her number or email before leaving, he thought as he sat grinning and staring at his computer screen which showed the fruits of his exhaustive search. Her law firm webpage. All was not lost.

He’d spent the past five weeks holding onto an email that would ask her to contact him but confirm their dinner for Saturday night, and made sure it was professional, just in case it was seen by someone else in her firm.

All that plus he missed her. He was thousands of miles away and he missed her, the kids, her smile, those eyes.

She nearly sprayed her laptop with tea seeing his name in the inbox. She opened it and read it.

Hi Sildie,

Apologies for not contacting you sooner. Things have been a little hectic. I was wondering if you had time for a dinner meeting this week when I’m in town?

Sincerely

Gustaf

“Holy fucking shit!” She breathed quietly and grinned.

Hi Gustaf,

So good to hear from you. I have an opening Saturday at 7pm if you can make it? If not we can schedule something in for the following week.

Sildie O’Rourke

“Sly bastard.” She smiled and chewed on her bottom lip. “I’ll give you props for determination.” She mumbled.

Her week would get worse before her dinner with Gustaf. Between work and court, the twins decided to cause a ruckus at school earning them detention and their soon to be camping trip Saturday was on the slate to be canceled.

To add to it Brendan now hated her for not considering hockey camp for the school break which was in three weeks time.

She only had so much money, she couldn’t just click her fingers and make it appear like magic. And it was Brendans birthday this Saturday.

Gustaf got back Friday and now that dinner she had been looking forward to was in jeopardy because Brendan now said he didn’t want to have a sleepover and Trents.

Even Lily was cranky at her because the poor little lady was teething and she was miserable.

By the time Friday had rocked around she had lost her deposition case. Not her fault but still it was her case, hers to win. She felt as if the past three months working on it had all been for nothing.

The five of them got through the door of the apartment Friday evening and the kids were just miserable. They were at each other’s throats, bickering, squabbling, at each other, at Sildie. The last straw was when Brendan screamed at her, blaming her for the car that killed his parents.

She understood it was the first birthday without his parents. Understood that things were rough. Understood it all as she was right there with them. She knew it would be rough but blaming her for the car that killed them was the end of the line.

The kids knew just by the stone cold silence and the death glare that they’d pushed her too far. They were all grieving but there was a limit to the amount of crap she’d take from them, from anyone. Blaming her for what happened wasn’t going to fly on any day of the week.

She fed them, bathed them, and sent them to bed with a stern warning not to step a toe outside their bedroom doors or there would be hell to pay and nothing but cleaning for the entire weekend. The only one who got a pass was Lily.

They were in bed by seven and out cold by eight. She checked every single one of them. Keeping the rage and her temper reigned in she kicked off her shoes finally and hunted down the only bottle of liquor she had in the apartment.

She was in a rage. At herself. At her brother. At the kids. At everyone and everything. She grabbed the bottle of scotch and a glass and sat outside the apartment with the baby monitor and her keys.

She breathed out and ripped the top off the bottle. Pouring herself at least two fingers she downed it and chased it with a second.

She didn’t care who saw, or what they said. The entire world could go on happily spinning without her for a few hours while she got wasted. Fuck them all she thought.

Fuck this whole situation.

She downed six before she let the tears fall. Silent yet powerful. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t even last a year without wanting to kill them or put them up for adoption. She wasn’t cut out for this and never had been.

“Sildie?” A familiar low male voice said softly.

“Shit.” She muttered to herself after the quick sideways glance. “Fucking shit.” After everything that had happened during the later part of the week and the clusterfuck of tonight with the kids, she’d completely forgotten Gustaf was back tonight. “Yeah it’s me.”

He could hear the rage under the false cheeriness as he tossed his bag in the door to his apartment and took those large purposeful strides to her door. He could sense her world was imploding or had imploded and the fallout was about to happen before his eyes.

“You ok?” He asked sitting against the door beside her, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Stupid question considering he could not only see she wasn’t, he felt the anger, rage, and guilt radiate off her, wave after relenting wave. The sorrow that consumed her broke his heart.

“Yep, just peachy.” She spat sarcastically and downed her seventh resting her head on her knees so he couldn’t see the grief, sorrow, and shame written on her face. She was so ashamed she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t handle four kids.

“I see you’re on the strong tea.” He said as a joke to brighten her up. It didn’t go as planned.

She rounded on him and the sorrow he saw in those usually sparkling eyes had him wishing he could stuff that sentence back down his own throat. More serious than he first anticipated.

“Look.”

It is universally known amongst the male population that if a woman starts a sentence or argument with the words look, first of all, or listen, she is about to unleash on your ass.

Gustaf was not immune to this rule.

“First of all, I’ve had a shit tastic week. I lost my deposition case because our client didn’t submit the subpoena documentation as was requested, and I just went a few round with the kids. All four of them. More than once. Don’t sit there and fucking give me grief for wanting to drown myself in booze as opposed to drowning the four little darlings in there. Although jail for homicide is looking better than the train wreck that is my fucking life.” She spat and saw him flinch slightly at the venom in her voice. She took a breath and he watched her face fall.

She stared up at him and felt her gut lurch. She’d just ripped into him because he was handy and felt shitty about it. Could today get any worse, could it just be over she thought? Could it all just be over. She couldn’t take that back.

“I’m sorry.” She said sniffing and looked forward. “I’m so sorry.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose and scrubbed her face, her hands weren’t steady. “You May want to just go home. You’re a handy fucking target right now Gustaf and you didn’t deserve that.” She couldn’t look at him.

“Will you tell me?” He asked gently. He would be the calm in her storm no matter how much she raged at him. The pressure she was under was immense and something had caused her to snap. Something had given way and her world was crumbling.

She filled her glass silently and offered it to him.

“I don’t drink.” He said softly and put up a hand to say no thank you.

“It’s all the tea I got right now.” She said bluntly. “I’m not ready to go inside yet. I needed a timeout before I did something I would regret and go to jail for.”

“I’m good but thanks for the offer.” He said and watched her a moment as she downed the liquor.

She was distraught about something. Something had turned her world on its head and crushed her.

Her head was resting on her knees which she’d hugged tightly. He risked another outburst of her rage by tucking the loose strands of hair that had escaped her hair clip over her ear. She was still dressed for court except for the shoes and jacket.

His touch alone calmed her temper to a simmer. He could see it. He would wait her out, wait for the words to come, they would eventually.

“Sildie?” He murmured and continued to run his fingertips through her hair. She stayed where she was and he could tell she was crying. The silent tears of grief, of a woman that had reached her limit.

“I can’t do this anymore.” She mumbled, her voice was that of a wounded, defeated woman. Quiet, eerily quiet and distant. It destroyed him to hear that in her voice. She tipped her head to the side and he saw the tears.

“Sildie what’s wrong love?” He asked gently and his heart ached for her.

“I can’t do this anymore.” She repeated and sniffed.

“Do what anymore?” He ran his finger down her jaw wiping the tears away that had pooled there but not yet fallen.

“I can’t keep being their parent. I was so stupid to think I could pull it off.” She said quietly as the sobs started fresh. “What the fuck were they thinking? What was in their heads giving them to me? To me.” She hoarsely cried out which was barely above a whisper. “The woman that has zero experience with children of any age.”

He was slightly confused. There was more here he thought, so much more that he didn’t understand.

“I think you do a great job considering, it’s not easy.” He rested his arm on her back and played with her hair. He wanted to feel it fall between his fingers and soothe the jagged edges of the emotions raging through her like a possessed rollercoaster.

“It’s fucking impossible. We’ve never had balance. We were thrown together when my brother and sister in law passed away and expected to just deal with it. Just bam! instant family, no warning, move back home, no friends to help, no ease into it to get a feel for it, I didn’t know anyone here, and my sister in laws family aren’t the supportive type. I know no one. I have no one. I’m alone.” She sniffed. “Now it’s just me.” She added quietly and took another mouthful of her scotch. “And I can’t do it anymore. I can’t pretend to be something I’m not. I’m not parent material. I’m fucking drowning.”

He stayed silent as he watched her pour another drink and down it. She needed to purge it all from her system. She’d been holding onto it all for far too long. There was nothing he could do for her except be here for her which she’d feel bad about come tomorrow morning.

Not her kids he thought, her niece and nephews. Complicated was an understatement. They’d lost their parents, she’d lost her brother. Both parties had been thrown together and left to deal with it, expected to deal with it with no support. It would have knocked him on his ass if he wasn’t sitting down already.

“The kids blame me for it, for everything, and I lost a big case this week which...” she sighed and let the sob escape. “I just can’t.” She took another mouthful and let it burn all the way down. “I just can’t fucking do this, like this, anymore.”

His fingers trailed lazy patterns over her back gently.

“I never wanted kids.” She whispered staring into the distance and took another drink.

“Never wanted them, never planned them, quite ok not to have them, ever. But I got those four handed to me after their parents died. Lily was two month premature as they had to cut her ou....” she broke.

The sobs consumed her. He sat there with her and let her get it out.

As she spoke he pulled her to him and she eventually leaned against the door and rested her head on his shoulder.

“I can’t keep pretending I can do this. They hate me, they want nothing to do with me, and I don’t know what hurts more. That, or the fact I’ve failed them and failed my brother.” With the rage finally turned to guilt, she took another drink.

He kissed her head reaching his hand up to circle her shoulders and hold her head to him. Comfort and understanding is what she needed. Someone she could fall apart with and not be on her guard. He would be that for her, no judgement. “You have me.” He murmured. “You’ll always have me.”

She choked at his words. Would she really? After tonight she wasn’t so sure. This beautiful man had been more support and a friend to her in the few months she’d know him than all her family and friends over her lifetime. And she was literally falling to pieces on him.

“The whole family knew that I never wanted kids. My brother and his wife wanted them to come to me because I was the same age as they were. I didn’t get a choice, there wasn’t one to make when the only other option was foster care. Splitting them up. I couldn’t do it then and I can’t do it now really although after tonight I’m seriously considering it.”

She sniffed and wiped her eyes draining her glass and pouring another.

“Brendan knew.” She said softly and his hand squeezed her shoulder gently as he held her to him as much as he dared.

“He knew I didn’t want kids, it wasn’t a huge family secret, but still, I didn’t need Dana’s mother rubbing my face in it. He threw that back in my face tonight as a reminder they mean nothing to me. In front of the twins.” She took a mouthful and held it burning in her mouth until she couldn’t stand it before swallowing. “So now they know too.” She whispered.

“Except they do.” Gustaf said quietly. “They mean everything to you. You provide for them, feed them, clothe them, educate them, and most importantly, you love them.” He murmured in that low tone in her ear. She blinked and looked up at him.

“You love them Sildie or you wouldn’t be so distraught over it.” He said honestly and kissed her forehead tenderly. He rubbed her back and she downed another scotch.

“He hates me, blames me. It’s his birthday tomorrow and the kid fucking hates me.” Her voice choked.

“No, I don’t believe that. You’re all grieving.” He kissed her temple softly and wanted to bundle her into his lap.

“The twins got into it at school and had detention and that’s a big mess too, so their camping trip is now not happening.” She sniffed. “So I’m going to be the bitch from hell for that too.”

“And I guess to top off my week I ruined our dinner.” She was winding down, full of alcohol, but the tears still fell.

“You haven’t ruined anything.” Her hair smelled nice as he held her and kissed the top of her head. “There will be plenty of dinners. The kids come first.”

Fuck it he thought. She was a mess and just needed someone to care and take care of her for a moment. He just hoped his split second decision didn’t make the situation worse.

“Come here love.” He murmured kissing her forehead and half pulled, half lifted her into his lap. He tucked her against him and secured her with his arms wrapped around her knees and shoulders. Her head rested against his chest as her slender fingers fisted in the lapel of his suit jacket as she burrowed into the comfort, the warmth of him at the security and safety she suddenly felt in his arms. He cradled her head to him and kissed the top of her head as the sobs tore from her in silence.

Those sobs were the ones that ripped his heart out. Deep soulful pain and it shattered him.

He sat in the hall, leaning against her door, long legs stretched out in front of him, with a grieving upset woman in his arms. He soothed the only way he knew how, with love, with kindness, with touch.

He felt her shift in his arms and she scrubbed the tears away with the heel of her hand and it reminded him of Lily the first day he’d met Sildie. Over it, beyond it. She was so drunk now she could barely keep her eyes open. His fingers played with the hair that had escaped the clip and he kissed her temple and lingered there.

She tried to pull herself together and failed. Her head was swimming, more pickled than swimming. She had to try or she was going to kiss him because she wanted to feel something. Anything than the absolute nothing she felt right now. One upside was she couldn’t think, finally her thoughts were silent.

“You ok?” He whispered and he cupped her face in his hand and waited for her gaze to meet his. He saw the glassy look in her eyes. Drunk and so lost, so emotionally lost. She shook her head and leaned up and kissed him.

He almost lost himself at the touch of her lips against his, almost. He pulled away gently and rested his forehead against hers grasping desperately for control, and kissed her cheek.

He wanted to, damn he wanted to but he couldn’t, wouldn’t. Not now, not with her drunk and in such emotional pain. He respected her too much and wanted her completely, when she was stone cold sober to remember it.

“I’m sorry.” She sobbed over and over as she buried her face back in his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok.” He whispered and held her to him as the sobs turned to whimpers. He hoped to everything holy she didn’t remember it tomorrow. She would never forgive herself.

He knew that need. The need to feel something other than the pain, the grief. To feel anything good or bad just so you feel something.

The tears and sobs dried up eventually and she drifted. He smiled against her hair as he knew she was nearly asleep. She had cried herself out.

He didn’t want to wake her but wondered how he was going to get her into the apartment. Lily came to his rescue. She cried out through the monitor and it woke Sildie.

“Stay here. I’ll go see what’s up.” She mumbled something and he moved her gently to rest against the wall for the moment.

He grabbed the keys, opened the door and went to see Lily.

She heard him tend her through the monitor and the tears fell slowly. He was so good with her. She grabbed the bottle and glass and tried to pour another one. She did eventually and sloshed it over the floor. But she was so fucking drunk and couldn’t seem to care.

With Lily clean and finally back to sleep he went to see if he could get Sildie inside the apartment. He needed to get her on the couch and safe.

He found her propped up in the doorway. Tears were still falling but they were silent and she was only just awake. He helped her inside and she curled up on the couch.

“Tea tomorrow?” He said softly. “You need sleep more than tea.”

“Ok.” She mumbled half out already. “Will you stay?” She mumbled and fumbled for his hand.

“I can’t Sildie. Not tonight. I don’t want to add fuel to the fire.” He said gently as she drifted to sleep. He kissed her temple and pulled the throw over her. “Though I want nothing more than to stay here with you love.”

He sat at her table drinking tea and watching the woman curled up on the couch, that had felt so good in his arms, so heavenly against his lips. Her kiss still burned him. When he was sure she was asleep and would be ok he had to leave.

He couldn’t be here when the kids woke up. That would only add more to the current situation. He was so fucking torn.

He finished his tea and sat next to her letting his fingers stroke her hair. He couldn’t leave her like this either. He was concerned considering the amount of alcohol she’d had and the kids were still asleep.

Fuck he thought neither decision was the right one.

A few hours later he woke up with a start when he heard the toilet flush. Realizing where he was he grabbed the second baby monitor just in case, gave Sildie a rough shake to at least give her a head start on surfacing, and snuck out of her apartment taking her keys so he could lock the door.

He closed the door to his own apartment and leaned his head on it.

“Fuck!” He growled.

He set her keys and baby monitor on the counter, gripped the edge and breathed out slowly.

He stripped off as he headed toward his gym room and the bag. He didn’t care where the suit landed he needed to get this out, whatever this was he was feeling. It was tearing him up. There was only one way to get this out of his system. Physical exertion.

He pulled the boxers shorts on, laced the gloves, and zoned in on the bag. He delivered every punch, every kick with honed muscle and skill. After about an hour he was dripping with sweat and a little less on edge.

He rested his hands either side of the bag to hold it steady and leaned his head there for a moment.

“Breathe.” He said quietly. “You need to breathe.” He repeated as his chest heaved.

He felt the anxiety bubble up as he thought about Sildie. The slight panic at seeing her like that outside her door. The feel of her cradled in his lap. The press of her lips against his. That was going to be a hard one to explain if she remembers it he thought.

But it was that soul crushing sorrow and guilt that poured out of her that took pieces out of him. How did he fix this? How did he make this better?

By being the person you are, that tiny inner voice chimed.

He unlaced the gloves and ditched the boxers shorts and showered. The blistering heat helped to scrub the plane flight from the night before and the session sitting outside her door. He felt better but he was beat to hell.

He set his alarm for nine and stretched out on the couch not quite ready to sleep the entire day away. It was Brendans birthday and he knew he’d have to show his face over there at some point.

He was out cold moments later.