#instead i am just sitting here again! motionless and frozen by needing to make a choice

[krembearry]

arahcuhghsuisk;ld

[bearly-writing]

Hello! I absolutely loved "Bite the Bullet!" If you are still taking requests for Hurt/Comfort Bingo, could you possibly fill CPR with Dick Grayson/Nightwing receiving CPR from someone in the Bat family - preferably Bruce/Batman or Jason/Red Hood? Keep up the great work :D

Thank you so much for the lovely request! I’m really glad you enjoyed Bite the Bullet! I can only apologise for how long this fill has taken 😅

All of my prompts have been requested! I know it’s been a very long time since I last filled one of these, and I’m not sure if any of the prompters are still interested in these (or even remember that I was supposed to fill one for them 😂) but I am definitely going to finish these, including the Voltron ones!

Pale Reflections

Fandom: Batman

Prompt: CPR

Characters: Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake

Warnings: Near death experiences, Drowning, Past character death, blood and injury

Summary: Bruce blinks again. A chill breeze brushes against him, searching for a way through his uniform. Concrete, Bruce tells himself, it’s concrete, not sand. It’s water, not blood. It’s Dick.

And yet, he’s as still as Jason was then, as lifeless. Bruce moves without thinking. He isn’t thinking. His mind is utterly blank, a void in his head.

Read it on AO3 here!

Bruce doesn’t actually see Dick go into the water. There’s a shout - Jason, Bruce thinks - the confused sounds of a struggle, the splash of something heavy disappearing into the river. Bruce doesn’t have time to worry about it, not with the horde of Joker’s goons he’s trying to keep from overwhelming him.

So he doesn’t see his son hit the murky water. Doesn’t see his muscles seize at the shock of icy cold. Doesn’t see the dark gape of his mouth or the flash of black hair as Dick struggles to stay at the surface, his arms rigid and useless at his sides, his face tipped up to the dark Gotham sky and then, abruptly, not.

By the time Bruce has dropped his final opponent and turned around, Jason has already pulled him out. They’re both soaked, filthy water running in rivulets over Jason’s leather jacket, dripping off the curly ends of his hair. There’s a small puddle of it under Dick, who’s lying motionless against the concrete of the docks.

For a moment, Bruce doesn’t understand what he’s seeing. There’s Jason, kneeling on the ground, his helmet gone, face tight with fear. There’s Tim, standing over them, mouth wide, eyes gleaming in the dim light. There’s Dick, lying still underneath them, so <I>still</i>, the lenses of his domino flipped up, his eyes shut, wet strands of hair plastered to his pale forehead.

Bruce’s heart seizes in his chest. Thuds to a stop behind his ribs. Around him, the night is cool and dark but Bruce feels suddenly too warm, flushed with phantom heat. He blinks, lashes rasping against the lenses of the cowl and it’s somehow still there - that morbid plateau, his children blocky shadows in the darkness.

Bruce blinks again. A chill breeze brushes against him, searching for a way through his uniform. Concrete, Bruce tells himself, it’s concrete, not sand. It’s water, not blood. It’s Dick.

And yet, he’s as still as Jason was then, as lifeless. Bruce moves without thinking. He isn’t thinking. His mind is utterly blank, a void in his head.

Jason glances up when Bruce reaches them and his eyes are wide and white and he <i>snarls</i> as Bruce reaches out towards Dick, hunching over his brother, getting in the way. Bruce ignores him. Kneels. Close up, Dick looks even worse: pale and shining damply like some water-logged corpse.

Bruce has to swallow against a surge of acrid bile. He yanks off his gauntlet, tosses it across the dock. Presses fat, nerveless fingers against the crease beneath his son’s jaw. For an aching moment, he feels nothing. No thrum of blood beneath his skin. No sign of life. The sun is hot against his back. Sand shifts beneath his knees - or maybe it’s ash, thrown up by the smouldering debris. The smell of blood is heavy in the air.

Then, weak and thready, but there - a struggling pulse.

There’s a ringing in Bruce’s head so loud that he almost misses Tim crouching beside him, the three of them lined up on their knees like men at prayer. Bruce tilts Dick’s head back and his face is like a mask, waxy and unnaturally blank and it looks so <i>wrong</i>. Bruce drops his own head and stares intently at his son’s chest instead. No puff of air against his cheek. No steady rise and fall of Dick’s ribs. Bruce yanks his cowl back with a shaking hand and presses his face right against Dick’s lips. Still nothing.

The world drops out from underneath Bruce.

“Is he breathing?” Tim asks. He sounds very far away, as if he’s the one who’s underwater. The air is thick as jello and just as hard to breathe,

Bruce’s throat is too tight to speak, the words sealed inside his chest. All he can do is shake his head.

He’s not breathing. Dick isn’t breathing. Bruce’s <i>son</i> isn’t breathing.

Remember his training: CPR, one of the first things he had learned. Clear the airways - Bruce has already tilted Dick’s head back the way you’re supposed to. So: rescue breaths. Bruce gently presses Dick’s mouth open, using his other hand to keep Dick’s head tilted back. Then he seals his mouth over his son’s.

One. Two. Three.

Check for breath. Nothing. Time for compressions, then. One palm flat on his sternum, the other curled around his own splayed fingers. Arms straight to keep the force behind the movement. Don’t worry about breaking ribs, right now, it’s more important to get his chest moving.

There’s a rhythm to the whole thing. A song: <I>Nelly the Elephant packed her trunk and said goodbye to the circus</I>.

Dick - Dick has a little stuffed toy elephant. Zitka, she’s called rather than Nelly, after the actual elephant he had known, back when he’d been part of the circus. Bruce has seen it a hundred times. Dick used to cart the thing everywhere - out on family walks on the grounds, cuddled in his arms during movie nights, tucked under his chin when he’d snuggled against Bruce after sneaking into his room at night, seeking comfort after nightmares.

Does he still have it? Bruce doesn’t know. Maybe it’s back at the manor, safely tucked away in a closet in his old room. Maybe it’s in Bludhaven, sitting proudly in the middle of a messy bed. It’s not like Dick is ashamed of that sort of thing - of needing comfort, of his fond nostalgia for his childhood.

Bruce should find it for him. Bruce - he needs to find his little boy’s elephant, he needs to make this better, because Dick is <i>hurt</I> and Bruce needs him not to be.

How many compressions has that been? Dick is still and silent under Bruce’s hands. When Bruce pulls back, he half expects Dick to be watching him, eyes bright, but his lids are still closed, pale and waxy in the dim light. The only eyes on him are Tim’s and Jason’s, burning heavy against the side of his face.

More rescue breaths. Dick’s chest rises a little beneath Bruce’s palm, but it’s only his own air forcing his child’s chest to move. More compressions. Tim is saying something, sounding like he’s speaking from the other end of a very long tunnel, and Bruce can’t hear him over the thundering of his own pulse in his ears. Something about an ambulance, maybe? It doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting Dick to <i>breathe</I> again.

Something cracks under his palm. Bruce falters. His ribs. His little boy’s ribs are cracked and broken under his fingers. A jut of jagged bone, slick with blood and viscera presses against him. Bruce snatches his hands back like they’ve been burnt. Stares at them blankly in the dim light. There’s - they should be soaked in blood, gloves torn by debris, but there’s only the slight shine of water against the black.

There’s a roaring like distant thunder. Like desert wind. The air is so dry. Bruce can’t breathe. His chest is so tight. Like iron. Like his own ribs are caved in. His vision blurs like the whole world is spinning around him.

Someone pushes Bruce out of the way. He tries to plant himself in front of his son, his little boy. No one deserves to touch him. No one should have a chance to hurt him. But Bruce’s muscles don’t seem to be responding to him and he’s too weak to fight against the forceful shove.

Broad shoulders block his view of his son, brown leather stretched between them. Bruce stares blankly at the man’s back as he takes over compressions. Muscles ripple beneath his jacket. The thud of each push echoes in Bruce’s ears.

It’s Jason, Bruce realises, as slowly as if he’s swimming through treacle. It’s Jason pressing down on his son’s chest with measured, forceful thrusts. But that isn’t right, because it’s Jason on the floor, his body broken and ruined, his chest still.

Or - no - it’s not Jason. It’s not Jason lying shattered on the desert sand. It’s Dick. This isn’t a memory of the past. A painful ghost of a horror that Bruce couldn’t stop. This is real and this is happening. To Dick. To Bruce’s eldest son.

And Bruce is sitting helplessly at the side as his son dies.

No. No. This isn’t - this isn’t happening. Not to Dick. This isn’t possible.

There’s a strange disconnect in Bruce’s mind. It keeps him frozen as Jason bends down and forces Dick’s shattered chest to rise. As Tim shuffles closer, pale hands fluttering, brushing damp locks of hair from Dick’s still face.

In the distance, a siren wails. Bruce hears it as though it’s coming from another planet. How many times has Dick been on another planet? How many times has Bruce worried himself sick over the danger his boy might be in, where Bruce can’t protect him. And now Dick is dying right under Bruce’s nose and he hadn’t even <i>noticed</I>.

The breath feels caught in Bruce’s throat. If Dick isn’t breathing, then Bruce doesn’t see why he should. <I>Please</I>, he begs, please let him take Dick’s place. Bruce can’t bury another son. He can’t.

He barely notices the ambulance arrive. It only registers when Jason pulls away, making space for the paramedics to take over saving Dick’s life. A desperate possessiveness rises in Bruce’s chest then. These people don’t know Dick. They don’t remember when he messed up sliding down the bannister and skinned his knee. They’ve never tucked him into bed with them after a nightmare, feeling tears soak through their cotton shirt. They’ve never held him in their arms after he took a bad tumble on patrol and felt how small he is, how fragile.

When he lunges for his son, not even entirely sure what he’s planning to do, strong arms catch him. Bruce fights against them without any finesse. Snarling. Desperate. But the grip holds firm. Someone is murmuring low in his ear but Bruce can’t hear them over the pounding of his heart and his own frantic noises.

“B,” the voice growls. “Stop. They’re trying to help him. You need to let them.”

Bruce hears the words, but doesn’t register them. All he can think is that Dick is hurt and someone is keeping Bruce from him. Someone is stopping him from getting to his son.

“B!” A different voice. Less growly but no less desperate. “Listen to Hood. Calm down.”

It’s Jason’s vigilante name that finally breaks through the static in Bruce’s head. It’s Jason’s arms around him, his voice in his ear. It’s Tim standing in front of them both, face pale beneath his domino.

Bruce slumps. Jason takes his weight with surprising ease. When did his boy get so strong? So big? Bruce had missed it. Missed Jason growing from the skinny little teenager he’d been to the vigilante he is now.

Tim closes the distance between them, blocking Bruce’s view of the ambulance and whatever the paramedics are doing with Dick. His face is so pale he’s almost glowing. His dark eyebrows are pulled low over his eyes in concern.

“He’ll be okay, B,” he says, shakily.

Bruce shuts his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the fear on his face or the ambulance as it pulls away, taking his son with it.

***

Dick is fine, Bruce tells himself. The heart monitor is beeping softly and steadily in the background. Dick’s hand is warm in his own, fingers limp but soft and dry. They’re only keeping him in the hospital to monitor for dry drowning and to let his ribs heal up a little. The worst danger has passed.

Jason is fine too. And Tim. They’ve gone to get coffee and snacks from the vending machine down the hall. They were in here just a few moments ago. Jason is here. Tim is here. Dick is here.

Bruce hasn’t lost anyone today.

As if spurred by the thought, Dick’s fingers twitch in Bruce’s grip. Bruce squeezes them in his own almost automatically. Then he shifts to lean over the bed, brushing Dick’s hair back from his pale face. Dick blinks, dark eyelashes fluttering. He groans.

“Dick?” Bruce asks, lowly. He hadn’t meant the name to come out so tentative, so broken, but his throat feels like it’s been torn to shreds.

Dick’s head lolls against the pillow. Bruce shifts to cup his cheek and hold him steady. Blue eyes peek out at him from beneath heavy, waxy lids. Bruce’s mouth feels so dry. Like a desert.

“B?” Dick murmurs. And if Bruce had sounded bad, Dick sounds as though he’s been gargling glass.

“I’m here,” Bruce says. “I’m here, Dick. You’re okay.”

Dick frowns. He blinks but his eyes are still glazed and unfocused. “What,” he manages, “what happened? Where am I?”

Bruce strokes a trembling hand over Dick’s cheek. Why is he shaking? Batman’s hands are supposed to be steady. And Dick is fine. He’s here. He’s talking, even. Perfectly okay.

“You’re at the hospital, sweetheart. You were thrown into the harbour during patrol.”

Dick swallows dryly. His throat clicks. It sounds like it hurts and Bruce can’t stop himself from wincing.

“The hospital?” Dick whispers.

“Gotham General.”

“Why?” Dick asks, dark brows low over shiny eyes. “Why not…the cave?”

Bruce’s throat is thick, his words unwieldy. “You nearly died,” Bruce croaks. “You were…you weren’t breathing. We needed an ambulance. Otherwise…”

He can’t bring himself to finish. Stupidly, Bruce feels quick heat rising behind his eyes, the threat of tears. Suddenly, he can’t breathe. His hands are shaking so badly. To try to stem the trembling, Bruce clasps them close to his chest. Then he bends over them, pressing his face to Dick’s sternum. His son’s heart thuds beneath his ribs.

“B?” Dick asks, again, voice small and unsure. A hand touches Bruce’s head, nimble fingers threading through his sweaty hair.

“You nearly died,” is all Bruce can manage, muffled against the hospital sheets.

Dick makes a soft sound. He pets at Bruce and a swell of painful affection crashes through Bruce’s chest.

“I’m here,” Dick whispers, voice rough. “I’m still here, B. I’m fine.”

“I know,” Bruce whispers back, but he can’t bring himself to lift his head. The thud of Dick’s heart is too reassuring. He remembers it weak and thready against his fingers. He remembers pressing his face to a shattered chest and hearing nothing but hollow silence.

Dick doesn’t reply, but his hand continues to move against Bruce’s hair. Bruce appreciates the reassurance - the way Dick implicitly understands that Bruce needs to know he’s awake. He’s alive.

They sit like that for long enough that Bruce is surprised Dick doesn’t fall back asleep. Eventually, Jason and Tim return. If they’re surprised by the scene they stumble on - Dick awake but not fully aware, Bruce bent over him like a man at prayer - they make no comment.

“Glad to see you’re awake,” Jason says, gruffly. “You nearly gave the old man a heart attack.”

Dick hums. Bruce wants to defend himself, but he can’t seem to dredge up the words.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Dick says, softly. “All of you.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Jason says, dismissively.

Bruce remembers the wide, wild look in Jason’s eyes. The way he had snarled at Bruce when he’d first reached Dick’s side.

He doesn’t remind Jason of that.

“Still,” Dick says, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Bruce says, finally lifting his head. He cups Dick’s cheek again, fondly. “I’m just glad you’re still here.”

Dick swallows again. Bruce will have to ask Tim or Jason to get some ice.

“Me too,” Dick says. “I’m not going anywhere, B.”

[sayonarasanity]

windmill

this fic is based on the song Windmill by Lor (and I highly recommend you to listen to it while reading especially or later for it is an incredible song)

AO3

summary: Here is the thing about Levi, his heart is a windmill in the middle of a wilderness where there was no wind to make it twirl, there was no wind to make it beat, pound and feel. Just feel.

  Until one day he got hit by a storm so wild, so rare and so incredibly terrifying but in the most beautiful and breath-taking way that it left him defenceless, vulnerable and weak. Like a tiny little flower which had long passed its day of blossoming in a fierce, winter dawn yet it stood erect with its fragile body, challenging against the merciless winds and the brutal frost.

He fell in love.

Windmill, are you still afraid of nothing?

Here is the thing about human life, it isn’t everlasting.

But what is? The world and each and everything within it are mundane. The day is doomed with the night, the sun is doomed with the moon, life is doomed with death, men are doomed with gravity. If something starts, then it is fated to end. It is a vicious circle, living that is. Waking up only to sleep again at night. Earning money only to spend it an hour later on a trouser which you thought was necessary but maybe it wasn’t. Cooking for hours and hours just so you can eat it in mere ten minutes because your body needs food so that you can keep on living, living and living.

Like a windmill, turning, turning and turning to the day when there is not even a breeze to swirl you and you are frozen, unspoken and rigid. 

And here is the thing about Levi, his heart is a windmill in the middle of a wilderness where there was no wind to make it twirl, there was no wind to make it beat, pound and feel. Just feel. 

Until one day he got hit by a storm so wild, so rare and so incredibly terrifying but in the most beautiful and breath-taking way that it left him defenceless, vulnerable and weak. Like a tiny little flower which had long passed its day of blossoming in a fierce, winter dawn yet it stood erect with its fragile body, challenging against the merciless winds and the brutal frost.

He fell in love.

And he fell in love not like jumping to death from a high up building, piercing through the clouds. It wasn’t as quick as that. He fell in love as if he had jumped into a river. It was slow and it hurt during the process of acknowledging it. Like accepting the fact that you were dying. Yet, instead of fighting against it, he welcomed the embrace of the water like he welcomed his mother’s hold. He let the arms wrap around him firmly. Then gradually the snow cold changed to sunny warm and the heavy water he thought that choked him turned into fresh, light air. 

And he fell in love rather quietly, but he fell in love deep. Then his heart started to move and twirl with the wind. 

She was the whirlwind, and he was the windmill. She was wild, sturdy and destructive. When he waited motionless and steady for merely a breeze to touch his vane, she had brought him a storm. 

And he got carried away with it. 

“Why do you keep looking at that thing?” She asks one day when they are in his apartment and he stands in front of one of his shelves in the living room. 

“It’s a windmill,” he explains, taking his eyes away from the scale model of it to focus them on her. 

“I know that,” she says. The shelf is not that high, so she puts her hands on the edge of it and rests her chin on top of her hands. “I wonder if there is a specific meaning behind it.”

“Like what?”

She shrugs and blows, making the vanes of the windmill move slightly. “Like a memory or… a specific reason that only you know, but you don’t want anybody else to learn.”

He raises a brow. “Then why do you ask?”

“I am a curious one, you know,” she smirks. The afternoon sun highlights her eyes and plays with the colour of her short hair which ends just above her shoulders. Some strands of her brown hair shine a sweet red. It is tied slovenly behind with a little hairpin. “And I would like to learn about my boyfriend’s secrets.” 

Right, boyfriend. Apparently, by some miracle or a dice tossed by luck or during a single second in which God or whoever had a tiny pity on him or because of a good-hearted, gentle and humane ancestor of his she had loved him back. 

“There is no secret,” he looks back at the little maquette. There is really no secret behind it. He had made it himself about four or five years ago when he was still at college, studying architecture. It was just that with time it had gained a place more special and a meaning more solid and a presence heavier.

“Is that so?” she asks, raising her brows and smiling lips pressed, playfully. “Rest assured, I won’t get offended if it’s a gift from one of your earlier lovers.” 

“I don’t have earlier lovers,” he deadpans, glaring at her sideways. 

“What is it then?” She straightens and comes closer, dropping her chin on his shoulder. He spares a few seconds just staring at her inquisitive eyes, demanding answers. His heart beats calm, and he hears its pounds and feels its vibrations. Because of her…

Is the wind still your friend?

“I liken it to my heart,” he looks away, already regretting the words that left his mouth out of command.

There is a pause in the air and faint pink on his cheeks. “Oh,” she reacts at last.  

He cannot move his eyes to her this time, as the silence stretches like a furry, tired cat and it nerves him with each tick-tock he hears from the watch that is hung on the wall. It lasts so long that in the end, he shifts uncomfortably, and Hanji lifts her chin from his shoulder, her eyes, clouded and thoughtful behind her glasses, are focused on the windmill. 

“I see,” she says.

The next day she brings a propeller, almost the same size as the windmill and places it next to it. When she turns it on, the vanes of the scale model twirl slowly. 

Then she looks at Levi who is standing still and astonished. The wind howls in his ears, and his heart beats unsteady because it faces the same storm again. Vicious, wild and free.

And she smiles because she knows.

- 

Levi doesn’t exactly know or rather remember but they end up drunk as hell on one Saturday night. 

They are outside, stumbling together towards the coast road where benches are lined up side by side. The air smells like early summer, with newly blossoming flowers and salt. There is a full moon above the sea, and it reflects argent on the surface of the dark, tranquil water. People walk by every now and then and there are stray dogs and cats around. 

When they somehow manage to sit down on an empty bench, Hanji slips and puts her head on his lap facing the pitch-black sky. She giggles to herself as she watches the stars there are barely visible because of the city lights. “So pretty.”

“Hmm,” he approves, observing her relaxed features, coloured cheeks and the goofy grin on her face. 

“Hey, Hanji,” he rolls out of her tongue. He doesn’t even think or plan on what to say. The following words just stumble their ways out of his mouth. “You are—did you know that I couldn’t drink tea without some honey in it?”

She moves her eyes to his and giggles again, covering her mouth with her hand. “Yes, I realized.”

“Oh,” he blinks as if it’s enough to scatter the clouds in his head. But— whatever. It doesn’t matter now. When he has the stars and moon above, the sea ahead and the girl he loves lying on his lap. “Don’t tell anyone. Nobody knows.”

She nods and draws an invisible zip on her mouth. 

“You know why?” He pushes her glasses up her nose. “The reason why I can’t… drink it without honey?”

Hanji lifts her shoulders up. “Because it tastes like piss without it?”

“Yes.” He is a little surprised at her guessing it right. 

“But Levi,” she laughs. “How do you know what piss tastes like?”

“I don’t—I just know.” He closes her mouth with his hand when her laughter keeps interrupting his sentences. “Shut up, idiot. You are ruining the moment.”

To his surprise, she wraps her fingers around his wrist and kisses his palm. He breathes and his stomach moves as if he was in a car and suddenly rode down a hill. She closes her eyes tightly once to indicate that she is listening. 

“Okay,” he goes on. “So, I can’t drink tea without honey because it tastes like piss.” He inhales, despite his drunken haze. He probably won’t even remember—or will he? How drunk is he anyway? Oh, well. Doesn’t matter. 

“That’s… how my life would be.” Miracles happen. While sober he would rather die than utter these words out loud. Maybe it’s a good thing that he is tanked up. Because she deserves to learn. “Without you.”

Her are eyes wide open, and Levi thinks there are galaxies hidden in them. He doesn’t know if there is anything that is infinite or a life that would last forever. Does  forever  even exist? Does the sky have an end or space a beginning? Humans are such incapable creatures. Cannot go back a day before or has no idea what will happen a second later. Hanji is a human being, flesh, bone, blood and a little too much brain, a little too many feelings, and sentiments. And she is not indefinite, at all. But somehow, she makes him feel like she is. 

“Levi,” she says, pulling his hand away from her mouth. Her eyes are still big behind her glasses and her cheeks are even redder than before. “Does this mean you’re going to call me honey from now on?”

And somehow, she manages to annoy him with every goddamn chance she gets.

He frowns and pushes her shoulder, almost making her fall down the bench. She is bursting with laughter in seconds and wraps her arms around his waist to secure herself and buries her face in his abdomen.

“I’m breaking up with you,” he announces coldly.

“You cannot break up with me. We are drunk.”

“I can. I just did.”

“No,” she groans and presses her face deeper in his stomach. 

“Let go, you ungrateful woman.”

“I caaan’t,” she whimpers. “Levi I—” The rest of her words are muffled; he cannot pick up their meaning and form a logical sentence in his mind. 

“What?” He asks, bending his head down.

“I said, I loppffhhhppp…” 

“I don’t understand what you are saying, Hanji.” He puts his hand on her shoulder to push her back. He is convinced at this point that she is not forming legible words, intentionally.

Unexpectedly, she withdraws and puts her hands on his shoulders to lift herself up. Then leans in to rest her head right beside his neck, nuzzling his skin. “We should go back,” she murmurs. “My place is closer.”  

Levi has no idea what time it is when they miraculously manage to enter her house after a taxi drive which felt like years. They take unsteady and clumsy steps inside the house until Levi finds a door of which room, he is unaware of. He only looks for something to lay down on, then catches the sight of a couch with the limited light provided through the half-drawn curtains. He throws himself to it, without even bothering to take his jacket off. He only kicks his shoes out of his feet and tosses until he finds a comfortable position to sleep. 

Hanji gets into the room a few seconds later. Levi watches her with half-lidded eyes and sees that she has a blanket in her hands. He frowns. How the hell had she had enough wits in her head to think of a blanket? But sleep weighs down on him incredibly heavy and so very unusually that he is almost scared to make it run away. He doesn’t have the strength the utter proper words at the moment anyway. 

Hanji lies down on his chest, covering them with the blanket. He automatically wraps his arms around her as she presses her forehead on his neck. She whines. “I hope I don’t throw up during the night.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he mutters. The clean freak inside of him is alarmed and screams with worry and dismay. He has no voice though. Just a wide mouth open in a silent yell and eyes filled with apprehension. 

“Would you break up with me if I did?” Hanji asks, and he feels her smile in her sleepy voice.

A moment of consideration. “No.”

She huffs out a drowsy chuckle. “Levi,” she murmurs and sighs. “I love, love, love you.”

Are you still afraid of something? Is it you who command?

“Idiot,” he says affectionately. The vanes of the windmill twirl ever so rapidly, and he considers how weird it is for his heart to beat, pound and feel for somebody else, for her only. “I love, love, love you too.”

-

The subway moves swift through the night and they are alone inside the compartment at this hour of the day. Levi watches their reflection on the window when Hanji takes a few photos with her phone. Grinning from ear to ear while Levi has a dead, worn-out look rooted deeply in his eyes. Travelling around the city to visit historical places, museums and parks within just one single day was the worst idea he had ever agreed to. He barely had the energy to merely sit.

“Gonna post these on Instagram,” she twitters happily, swinging left and right. 

“Don’t forget to announce my funeral,” Levi murmurs. 

Hanji snorts and locking her phone she puts it back in her pocket. Then she shifts and lies her head on his lap, staring up at him. 

“Why do you always lie on my lap in public places?” He asks, looking down at her.

She shrugs. “I enjoy the view above.”

“Tch.” One corner of his lips quivers and he moves his gaze up, looking at the window across from him again. This time he realizes that there is heavy rain outside, the raindrops tap furiously against the glass. “Shit,” he swears tiredly. “It’s raining.”

She follows his gaze. There isn’t much before they reach their stop. They are going to soak to their goddamn underwears. It had been sunny the whole day. Curse his luck.

“Alas!” she sighs, but she doesn’t sound much concerned. “Levi,” she says then, and when their gazes are locked again, she beams at him. “Would you kiss me under the rain?” 

He blinks down at her first, his heart stammering hard against his ribcage. His eyes examine her features carefully. “Would you like me to?”

“Yes,” she breaths. “I’ve never done it before.”

“Me neither.”

“How do you think it would be?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve never done it before.”

Her smile widens to display her straight, white teeth. “We should try it.”

“Maybe.” He watches her lips. They are a sweet shade of pink and they look maddeningly soft. And he wants to taste them so very desperately. 

“Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen to your chastity.”

His gaze travels up to her eyes. “I am sure.”

It is still pouring rain when they leave the subway. Hanji leads them through the streets, with her fingers around his. He licks the rain on his lips and squints to get a better view of her. He smells wet asphalt and trees and earth. The odour of the pine trees is evident despite the rain. The splashing drops bounce on the ground like they are dancing up and down, but they slow down until they stop under a streetlamp. 

“We should do it before the rain ends,” Hanji explains excitedly. As if what they were going to do wasn’t something basically everyone did but a life-changing, world-saving act of heroism. 

Her lips taste like rain and they are warm against his own. When her hands cling to the collars of his jacket, he cups her cheeks and tilts his head. Much to their unfortunate luck, the rain almost ceases, turns into a drizzle that barely had any function of wetting anything. She smiles, but Levi doesn’t pull back for a little longer. Holds her gently, keeps her close. 

Are you still afraid of the wind?

“Let’s dance,” she whispers against his lips. Her breath warm, her taste still on his tongue. 

“There is no song.” And the rain stopped already. 

She wraps an arm around his neck and holds one of his hands. He slides his other arm on her waist keeping up with her movements, while she   rests her forehead on his temple. “We don’t need a song.”

They start to move slowly, following the notes of a song that doesn’t exist. The wind is blowing still, quietly. If he listens carefully, he can hear the pitter patters of the water dropping down from the rooftops, and the soft sounds of the wheels of the cars rolling on the wet ground, a plane taking off, a man coming back from work, his rapid footsteps.  Tap, tap, tap.  And his heart, content like he is lying down on the grass, with breezes caressing his face, ruffling his hair ever so slightly. Watching how quietly the vanes turn on top of a hill.

Oh, windmill.

You’re a place where I can cry.

You’re a place where I can lie.

You’re a place where I can die. 

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

Aftershock

Shocked voices erupt, a tumult, and, frozen, Anne stares at Aramis who has dropped beside the carriage, motionless, the side of his head glistening with blood. She feels the scarlet droplets that sprayed across her cheek when he was hit, warm, sticky - Aramis’ blood - and cannot release the scream of terror that is trapped inside her throat. Blue capes swirl as the Musketeers tackle the assassins and wrestle them to the ground. Her vision a narrowing tunnel, Anne sees Athos among the men, eyes wide, slashing an attacker’s throat while he makes his way to his fallen brother. The carriage rocks as bodies press against it.

“Down, your Majesty!” Treville barks, and Aramis’ still body disappears from sight as the Captain of the Musketeers throws himself across Anne to shield her from further danger.

“Move! Move!”

Horses whinny, the carriage jolts into motion, and Anne feels the wheels roll over an obstacle - a body? The smell of Treville’s leathers fills her nose, his chest looms above her, his arms are slung protectively around her back.

The scent of blood lingers. A trail of it has arced across her dress, and she wipes at it with a shaking hand. Aramis’ blood.

He’s dead.

There can be no question. When he threw himself into the line of fire to protect her, the ball hit him in the head. No one survives that. Not even a Musketeer. As Anne is rushed back to the palace, leaving the teeming crowd behind, loss cuts through her like a knife, and she gasps.

“Your majesty! Are you hurt?”

Treville sits back, his hands still supporting her arms, sharp blue eyes studying her with worry.

Anne wants to tell him that, yes, yes she is hurt. That shock is shaking her like an earthquake. That her heart, wrenched from her chest, is being trampled in a muddy road in Paris, next to the body of the man she loves - not the one wearing a crown, but the one wearing her crucifix around his neck. That the child in her womb is kicking wildly as if Aramis’ son, too, feels the loss of his father. That she feels entirely alone.

But she cannot say any of those things. Treason bans any of those admissions from her mouth, and without Aramis’ protection she needs to protect herself and keep her ... their son safe.

“I am unharmed,” she says instead, straightening her spine and lifting her head. “Thanks to the Musketeers.” She allows herself a small trembling of her voice, a tiny echo of the scream inside her, but she pulls herself out of Treville’s grip and cradles her belly instead. Her face feels cooler; the mask slips into place.

The captain studies her, worry giving way to respect and pride. He appreciates strength, and that is what she gives him.

Flanked by an escort of guards, they enter the Palace courtyard. The carriage has barely stopped when Louis hurries down the steps, eyes big, face flushed, arms flailing dramatically. A messenger must have beaten them to the Palace to deliver the news.

“My dear! How terrible! Are you well? Are you unharmed?”

Treville helps her descend from the carriage, and no one sees her legs tremble underneath the wide dress.

Louis embraces her, careful with her belly, and she feels honest relief emanating from him, and even affection. Her own emotions are an entirely different matter: Something has broken, and she is walking on shards, denying the pain further access. Louis’ arms around her have no weight, no warmth, no strength. They do not make her feel safe. A deep, Aramis-coloured ache courses through her that she bravely holds in check, at an arm’s length. She may never feel the way she did with him again: accepted, protected, seen.

“I am well,” she tells the king, her voice calm and controlled, like someone else’s. “I was well guarded.”

Louis takes a step back, appalled by the blood on her dress, scandalized by the events.

“Well guarded?! The Musketeers. They failed us, again! None of this should have happened! Treville! We need to discuss the consequences.” Petulantly, Louis raises his chin at the captain. “Now!”

He storms inside, expecting to be followed.

Treville’s brows knit together and anger, quickly hidden, flashes in in his eyes. He turns to Anne.

“You should rest, your majesty,” he says kindly. “Recover from the excitement.”

When he turns to go, Anne cannot help call after him.

“Captain?”

“Yes, majesty?”

She carefully composes her face. “My Musketeers. One of them- … Aramis...“ She catches her breath, forces tears back down. “Extend my condolences to his friends. His sacrifice will not be forgotten.”

Nothing about Aramis will be forgotten. Not his kindness, not his bravery. Not the flame he kindled within her. With God’s grace, she will see his dark eyes and his thick curls again when their son is born, and she will hear his voice in their child’s laughter. His echo. She will listen to it for the rest of her life.

“I will. Thank you, your majesty.”

The captain’s voice cracks on the final note, and, suddenly, it seems to be him who cannot hold the tears in check. The muscles in his tanned, lined face twitch. His eyes burn watery blue. He, too, is slain by loss today and is refusing to break in plain sight.

His jaw working, he casts his eyes down, nods and leaves.

He, too, has a mask to hold in place.

XXX

Aramis is alive.

Thank God it is Constance who brings her the overwhelming news hours later. Thank God, since the cloth merchant’s wife is the only person who knows about Anne’s affair with Aramis.

She falls into Constance’s arms and, finally, allows herself to cry.

He is alive.

In front of everyone else, it is almost as difficult to disguise her relief and her happiness as it was to hide her premature grief. Light returns to her world. The ground steadies. Her belly flutters as the child in her gives a comforting series of kicks.

Against her better judgement, she insists on visiting the garrison.

“It is a gesture of gratitude,” she explains to the King, her cheeks hot with anticipation. “They saved not only my life, but the dauphin’s as well.”

Stroking her belly, she cannot bring herself to say “your son”. He isn’t the father. His father is a Musketeer.

And he’s alive.

Louis indulges her with a dramatic eye roll and a derisive comment on the antics of pregnant women. It’s fine by Anne. Forever convinced that the world revolves around him, he wastes no further thought on the matter. He is so ignorant; he suspects nothing.

The carriage cannot take her to the garrison fast enough. Anne’s heart beats in her throat, joy triumphing over concern. Lemay had spoken of a head wound, of stitches and a severe concussion. But Aramis was awake and talking, and she needs to erase the image of his still body from her memory and replace it with a live one. She needs to look into those brown eyes, open and filled with light.

And there he is.

A bandage is wrapped around his head, his cheeks are pale and and pain shadows his face - but he is awake and, with Constance’s aid, he sits up and looks at her, at her only, the intensity of his gaze making her breath hitch.

“Your majesty…”

While Athos’ scrutinizes her with his cool gaze, while Constance fusses over d’Artagnan and Porthos looms by the door, Anne can barely hold on to her facade of royal aloofness. The truth lingers just below the surface, threatening to burst her wide open. And here, among these solid, trustworthy men, among Aramis’ brothers, she almost doesn’t care.

“I will be forever grateful for your sacrifice and protection, Aramis,” she tells him, as formally as possible, when her visit is cut short by Constance insisting their patient needs to rest.

And he does. Despite the bravado, his injury is taking its toll. He looks tired and ill, and Anne hates that she cannot be the one to stay by his side, to sit with him, to nurse him back to health. If she could at least hold his hand, at least touch him, feel the warmth of his skin and life pulsing through his veins…

“Always.”

His fingers gently wrap around hers as he lifts her hand to place a tender kiss on it. The touch of his lips sets her skin on fire. For a moment, they are connected until Athos breaks the spell.

“If you allow, I will have a Musketeer escort accompany you on your way back, your majesty.”

Reality. It sucks her back into the world of careful maneuvering and dangerous secrets that no one must know. She pulls herself together, away from Aramis‘ pained gaze to ward off Athos‘ offer.

When she leaves, she feels the weight of her world settle back onto her shoulders. But she won’t let herself get crushed by it. She can carry it, the way she carries this child: with defiant pride, with love and with the knowledge that she is not alone.

Aramis is alive.

(in case you prefer reading and commenting on AO3)

Also, This is a companion fic to my Whumptober Chapter 28 where you can read Aramis‘ side of the story, told through Athos‘ eyes.

[mayibeyoursbanks]

Aight I got an idea for writing....Kk, so it’s like JJ gets high and drunk or something and the reader and him get into a huge fight and they break up. They’re still in love with each other and JJ is NOT doing well at all. The last words they said to each other were “I hate you.” They were hanging out at John B’s house or something and he had an overdose but nobody knows and it’s to the song Hold On by Chord Overstreet. Maybe a good ending though? No idea. Whatever you want 🙂

Again, it took me forever to get to this one, but I’m back at it:)

Inspired by the song: “Hold On” by Chord Overstreet😭

TW: overdose attempt

“Hold On”

———————————————————————

Sitting in the hospital waiting room was the last way you thought you would be spending your Saturday. Instead of shredding waves and taking wipeouts with the Pogues, you were wringing your hands and silently crying...over your ex-boyfriend. You grimaced at the memory of how you ended up here.

“Shut up Y/N! Just shut up or go home!” JJ yelled at you, making you taking a step backward at his sudden outburst.

“You’ve never had a problem with the drugs before...so I don’t know who’s gotten into your head lately, but I’m perfectly fine.”

“JJ I just-“

“I’m fine,” your boyfriend hissed. Just when you were about to give up, you made eye contact with JJ, and the red tint to his normally crystal blue eyes made you set yourself firm. You stood up straight and strengthened your stance.

“I didn’t worry when it wasn’t making you act an like asshole, JJ. But we’ve obviously passed that point, so yes, now I have a problem.” JJ wouldn’t meet your eyes after that.

“Well this is the real me Y/N. Sorry to disappoint.”

“‘Real you’ my ass JJ. We’ve been dating for four years. The fact that you think you can give me some bullshit excuse like I don’t know every little thing about you is insulting.”

“Fuck you Y/N!” JJ screamed as he raised his hand above his head, and in the moment you didn’t know what would happen. So you flinched backwards and bumped into the table behind you and making a glass shatter on the floor. You made eye contact with your boyfriend, then you looked at his hand. It was positioned to take his hat off, but frozen in time at your reaction. Realizing what was going through your head, JJ just shook his head. You rushed your next words out.

“Hey, JJ. It’s ok. It was just a split-second reaction. You weren’t going to hit me. You never would.” But he wasn’t listening.

As you reached your hand toward him, “You’re not him, JJ,” he paused and looked up, with a new fire in his eyes.

“Don’t. Don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me. I’m not some pity project for you to fix. I hate when you do that.” You’re anger was replaced with confusion.

“Do what? Care about you? That’s all I ever do JJ!”

“Well stop it. Find someone else to love.” That’s when any last sort of fire in your heart dissipated, and you looked at the boy standing across from you with hurt in your eyes.

“Fine. You don’t want me to love you? Understood.” You moved towards the door, but not before leaving him with three more words.”

“Y/N-“

“I hate you.”

Those were the last words you said to the one person on this Earth that you loved the most, the biggest lie you had ever told, and you couldn’t even make it through the day without clearing it up.

After crying in your room for a couple hours, ignoring all texts and calls from the other Pogues, you’re guilt and heartbreak became unbearable, and you left once again to return to JJ’s house. You walked up the front steps, ready to talk over what had happened and what was said. You weren’t ready to find him laying almost lifeless on the bathroom floor.

The door swung open to a quiet house, the broken glass from earlier untouched.

“JJ?” You were met with no response, so you moved through the house. His bedroom, empty. His father’s (abandoned) empty. Then you hear a soft groan from the other side of the closed bathroom door. You moved to knock on the wood.

“JJ? Are you in there?” An even quieter groan came in reply, and your heartbeat quickened when you remembered the state you left him in. You pushed the door open, and found the worst sight imaginable.

There was JJ, limply leaning against the bathtub with his eyes closed, and a half empty bottle of little white pills in his lap. You rushed over to kneel next to him, pushing the pills away and lifting his head from his chest.

“JJ?!?! Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay.” You took his pulse with your fingers, and to your relief it was there, although it was faint.

“Shit. Ok. I gotta get you to the hospital.”

You stood to lift him up, but that boy was twice your size and all muscle. You struggled to lift his body against yours, but to no avail.

“No time, no time. I’m gonna have to drag you JJ.” You were just whispering to yourself now, and you grabbed his wrists and slowly stepped back, pulling him across the floor with you. It felt like hours had passed, and you had no idea how you got him into your car, but you were pulling into the hospital parking lot when you finally cleared from your trance.

Your vision still blurry, you remember doctors pulling JJ onto a gurney and the nurse asking you for a parent’s phone number, and you telling her you were his only family on the island, and her holding you back as they took him to the emergency room, with you in tears reaching for his hand.

You were sitting motionless in a waiting room chair when the adrenaline rush finally faded. Exhausted, you stared at your knees, hoping for the best and expecting the worst, thinking about how you told him you hated him, and didn’t even mean it.

“Miss? Are you Y/N Y/L/N?” You jumped at the feeling of a hand rest on your shoulder, and looked up to so an older man, a doctor, looking down at you with pity.

“Ye-yes, yes I am. Is JJ ok? Is he alive?” The doctor took the seat next to you and fiddled with his clipboard, your heartbeat quickening all over again.

“We can’t be completely sure until he wakes up...the effects of an overdose can vary from person to person. But right now, he’s breathing, and that’s all we want right now.” You release a deep breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

“Can I see him?” The doctor smiled sadly.

“We usually don’t allow non-family members back there, but seeing as how you’ve been the only person in this waiting room ask about him for hours, I’m assuming you’re about as close to family as he’s got?” You slowly nodded, thinking about how you betrayed that promise you made to him.

You followed the doctor to a room identical to the rest of the hallway, and as he opened the door, you thought your might break. There he was, tangled in a mess of tubes and beeping lights, was JJ, eyes closed and body relaxed. You slowly walked to his side, and you looked at the doctor and nodded, you think you muttered a “thanks” before he gently closes the door and left you with your boyfriend. You softly grabbed his hand and held it to your mouth, and a new round of tears fell as you watched his chest move up and down. Relief washed over you in waves, as you sobbed with the thought of seeing JJ open his eyes again.

“Can you hear me J? I hope you can. Please come back to me. I know it hurts- your life, your dad, your job...I know you’re in a lot of pain. And nobody deserves a break more than you, but please don’t leave me. You are the strongest person I’ve ever known, so just hold on. Because I still need you. I’m not nearly as strong as you, and I can’t let you go. God, please JJ. Hold on.”

You leaned your head down on his shoulder, focusing on watching his chest rise and fall. You sat in that position for what felt like forever and were about to fall asleep, but you were woken by the grip on your hand tightening. You looked down to where your fingers were interlaced, and watched as a thumb began rubbing circles on the back of your palm. You looked up with tears in your eyes, to find JJ’s piercing blue ones, equally filled with tears, looking down at you. You gasped at his beautiful, alive, face.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” You vigorously shook your head and squeezed his hand.

“I know you are. I know. But right now the only thing I want to hear you say is you love me.”

“Are you kidding me Y/N? I love you more than anything in this world.”

“Than why are you so afraid? Why won’t you let me in? It’s been four fucking years JJ.”

“Because I’m broken Y/N. I’m destructive. I break everything- my friends, my family, myself. I can’t break you too. You deserve so much more than me.” You cupped his cheek with your other hand.

“It’s not about deserving JJ. It’s about wanting. I want you. All our lives, the world has told us we couldn’t have what we wanted. Don’t let the world take this away too.” He nodded and you two sat in silence for a bit longer, he was still rubbing small circles on your hand.

“I’m not the strongest person you know, Y/N. You are. I’m in awe everyday of how strong you are. I could only wish to have just half of your strength.” You just smiled through your fresh tears.

“Hey JJ?”

“Yeah?” You reaches up to brush his blonde hair out of his face.

“Can we go home?” He smiled down at you and met your eyes, holding them for a second.

“Yeah, let’s go home.”

———————————————————————

Tags: @tangledinsparkles @the-crackhead-next-door @pankows-girl @howdyherron @poguemacking @dpaccione @thorsangel

[aylinaliens]

The Not So Scary Haunting of Sarawat Guntithanon— Chapter 1

Fandom: 2Gether

Pairings: Sarawat/Tine

Summary: Sarawat Gay Panics 24/7 over his new roommate (who, by the way, might be a ghost, which is weird on so many levels but whatever, if a man wants to thirst over the supernatural being haunting his apartment so be it!)

Word Count: 1621

Notes: i'm not even excited for 2gether the movie yet here i am, posting another sarawatine fic. basically our boy Sarawat gay panics every single minute of every single day because the ghost who is haunting his apartment is pretty. that's it. that's the plot. just sarawatine being dumb, mutually pining idiots.

Read the first chapter on Ao3 or down below!

+

How was it possible that a disembodied voice could sound so... god damn enticing and lovely? At first, Sarawat found himself pressing his body deeper into his bed but after getting over to his initial shock and fear he allowed himself sometime to appreciate the sound of it. Although his heart was in his throat, Sarawat could not deny the wave of comfort that filled his veins, from his finger to his toes warm spread through his body.

Which was weird—and frankly crazy. Ghosts can possess people, right? Or kill them? Sarawat wished he paid more attention to all the horror movies Man and Boss dragged him to because maybe then he wouldn’t be laying in bed, already whipped, ready to drop down on knee. Hand in marriage sir, please give me your hand in marriage.

He should be terrified of this figure, not lowkey turned on.

Curse Sarawat and his inability to function around attractive boys. Curse this motherfucking hot as heck ghost and his stupid dimples.

Sarawat awakes to a blurry and translucent figure hovering mere inches from his face.

The next day he swears to Man and Boss that the reason he remains frozen was because of fear and not because he was having a full on gay panic attack... over a ghost. That’s what this person was, right? A ghost? He was a rationale adult but he had enough brain cells to connect all the dots.

Sarawat sucks in a deep inhale of breath, allowing his eyes to burn every line, curve, and dip of this mysterious figure's face.

The dim light of his bedroom combined with the near translucent nature of the figure meant that Sarawat never was able to get a clear idea of what this ghost looked like. Just the glimpses he did get left his throat dry and heart pounding rapidly.

The figure had a closed mouth smile etched across his features, all soft pink lips and crinkly eyes and dimples. Sarawat briefly thought of leaning forward to press his fingertips against those pink lips just to see if they were as soft as they looked. But then he realized that was insane and weird so instead he just beat that thought away with a stick. Gay thoughts: be gone! Don’t you dare become a simp over a motherfucking ghost.

The bottom half of his face was crystal clear which was both a blessing and curse while his top half looked as if it was about to flicker away at any moment. Sarawat was positive that this was abnormal, but then again this was his first encounter with a ghost so maybe it was, in fact, normal? It’s not as if he was given a manual or anything.

He couldn’t quite tell what shade of brown this mysterious figures eyes but he allowed his brain to imagine that it was probably vivid, just like the rest of his face. He was debating on the actual shade when he a disembodied voice spoke.

“Hello.”

How was it possible that a disembodied voice could sound so... god damn enticing and lovely? At first, Sarawat found himself pressing his body deeper into his bed but after getting over to his initial shock and fear he allowed himself sometime to appreciate the sound of it. Although his heart was in his throat, Sarawat could not deny the wave of comfort that filled his veins, from his finger to his toes warm spread through his body.

Which was weird—and frankly crazy. Ghosts can possess people, right? Or kill them? Sarawat wished he paid more attention to all the horror movies Man and Boss dragged him to because maybe then he wouldn’t be laying in bed, already whipped, ready to drop down on knee. Hand in marriage sir, please give me your hand in marriage.

He should be terrified of this figure, not lowkey turned on.

Curse Sarawat and his inability to function around attractive boys. Curse this motherfucking hot as heck ghost and his stupid dimples.

Sarawat was like ninety percent sure of his sexual identity but now he was having a crisis about the fact he was possibly crushing on a whole new species. Needless to say he was losing his mind!

He could just imagine the headline of the video Man would inevitably make him sit down to film and post on their jointed YouTube channel.

STORYTIME: I ALMOST MADE OUT WITH THE GHOST THAT'S HAUNTING MY APARTMENT!

Sarawat was positive that his best friend would insert various memes and jokes throughout his very honest and real existential-slash-moral-slash- philosophical crisis Sarawat was having.

It would probably rake in a lot of views but Sarawat did not want to be known as That One Guy Who Simped Over A Ghost for the rest of his life.

He was almost positive that if he told his friends the trust extent of how he felt, they would want to change their channel from music and vlogs to something more akin to Buzzfeed Unsolved.

They would buy a spirit box and Ouija board online and force Sarawat to try to communicate because of course they fucking would, those absolute menaces.

He could already see Boss glancing around like a conspiracy theorist, seriously asking the ghost are you DTF (that means down to fornicate in case you need clarification), Mr. Ghost? Just give us a sign, any sign. Man would most definitely feed into this or make the situation even worse.

Which is why he was not going to reveal what happened tonight. He would just play off as sleep paralysis. Yeah. That is the best way to prevent his best friends from blowing this situation out of proportion.

Sarawat wanted to say something but the words died in his throat. What would he even say? Hello. Please smash your face against mine! Uh, no way in hell. Maybe it was a good thing that he had trouble forming words right now. It would save him a lot of embarrassment.

The figure leaned down closer and— fuck fuck fuck gay thoughts go away— peering curiously down at Sarawat. “He definitely can see me so why isn’t he saying anything?”

Because you can’t verbally keysmash in real life you beautiful and vaguely threatening supernatural being.

The figure hummed, deep in thought, before leaning back (thank goodness) only to do something that made Sarawat let out a very unflattering shriek in surprise. Well there goes his reputation. He didn’t have one in the first place to begin with, especially not with this ghost, but still. There it goes.

Ghosts were unable to touch people right? Right? So why did a ghost...just touch him?

Sarawat raked his brain trying to remember the drama he watched a few months back with his brother (it was Phukong unsubtle way of being like, hey, bro, I like boys but I’m still scared of coming out so let’s just both pretend like I didn’t just cry at the scene where Ohm Pawat’s character comes out to his mother, I swear I’m emotional because of the acting not because I can relate to it).

Sarawat was positive that the ghost in that drama couldn’t actually touch anyone. He was like ninety-six percent sure that every time he tried his body would just go straight through the other characters.

He forgot how it was possible that the ghost could touch, and kiss, the human, though. He should have paid more attention but hey, he was also trying to think of an inconspicuous way to let it slip that he was also gay. Great (disaster gays) apparently think a lot alike.

Anyways, the figure poked his chest and Sarawat almost pissed his pants in shock. Clearly the ghost was just as surprised that he could actually touch Sarawat because he froze, making Sarawat happy that he decided to wear a shirt to bed tonight.

He assumed that the ghost must have thought he was dreaming to (wait can ghost dream?) so just to make sure he poked Sarawat three more times in the same spot and yup—Sarawat felt it. He felt it clear as day.

“Oh.” The figure tilted his head to the side. “This is weird. I shouldn’t be able to do that.”

Yeah, obviously.

Sarawat opened his mouth to finally speak (he swore he was going to play it cool and be all like: hi! i promise i’m not having gay thoughts right now!) but before he could a loud crash in the next room made him jolt in surprise.

After being rendered motionless for a few minutes, Sarawat finally gained control of his own body. He threw himself upright into a sitting position but in the process of doing so he accidentally slammed his forehead against the figure whose face was technically still in close proximity.

Cursing, Sarawat clutched his head as pain made white spots cloud his vision. “ Fuck .”

From next to him the figure cursed too. “ Shit.”

Eventually the pain subsided into a dull ache, allowing Sarawat to glance over at the boy—ghost, supernatural being, angel, whatever—next to him.

The top half of his face was no longer translucent anymore.

In fact, he wasn’t translucent at all.

Crimson blood began to trickle out from his nose, causing Sarawat to gape in horror.

Not because the image was a terrifying one. I mean, yeah, it was a bit weird but it has been established that Sarawat, that certifiable himbo, was in a constant state of ‘mark me down as scared and horny’ tonight, but because a ghost...was bleeding. From a wound that Sarawat gave him. Was that like, scientifically possible? Note to self: send a text to Earn so that she can ask her girlfriend about it.

Also? Sarawat was finally able to label the ghost's eyes as being a cross between honey and caramel. Obviously, his poor gay started chanting oh oh oh oh oh because yeah, read above, Sarawat Guntithanon? Himbo, Simp, Dumbass Extraordinaire. Either way he was a mess.

The possible brain injury and the shock of the entire night finally caught up to Sarawat, making his stomach churn with nausea and vision become blurry.

Without meaning to, Sarawat fainted—not even elegantly like one of those heroines in a romance novel but like a dead, fucking fish, limbs flopping every which way—right into the arms of the mysterious figure he was still dying ( yikes bad choice of words) to know the name of.

The last thing he registered before completely blacking out was that someone was cradling him to their chest, rambling away.

“Oh my god. Did I just kill him? No. No way. He’s still breathing. Shit. Sarawat! Hey, you saraleo, wake up!”

[peakyblinderswhore]

a/n: demanded! to me by my favourite internet friend. no, but seriously, i loved writing this even more than the first part, it was interesting to get in michael’s head. i hope you like it , maybe i could continue this? also this has been in my drafts since the very first day cause i just kept writing :D

w/c: 2k

[one] [two]

“But,” you whisper, unable to pull yourself from the spot you were frozen to, “you’re married.”

Without missing beat, Michael breathes out, “That’s a fixable mistake.”

“Michael,” you say, unsure of how to act, “I…”

You step away, head spinning from the interaction. When you looked up to face him again, he had disappeared back into his office, almost in a puff of smoke.

Oh god.

You had to leave. Frantically, you dash back towards your desk, trying to grab your purse before realising that your hat and coat were hung up on the cloak hanger in Michael’s office — how convenient. You shake your head and decide to head towards the stairs without them. You’d bared the cold before and could do it again for one journey home.

You practically skip down the stairs, missing a few on your way down. You walk into the main office and Lizzie calls over to you, “You alright, need anything, love?”

Cursing under your breath, you spin on your heels and say the first thing that comes to mind, “Hey, have you seen Finn? He said he was going to help me move my desk about upstairs and he hasn’t come back.”

Lizzie frowns, “I’m sure he went out earlier, hasn’t he come back?” she sighs, walking over to her desk to check a few things once she realises you’re not leaving and mutters, “I swear I’ll give him an earful for leaving you like that.”

Your face heats up, “Oh no,” you say, worriedly, “you don’t need to do that. I was just hoping that he’d do it sooner rather than later. He did say he was going to get Isaiah…” Lizzie looks up from her pile of work, “I just forgot to ask how long he would be, that’s all.”

She smiles, “I see,” she says suggestively, “you’re waiting for him to come back so you two can, you know… do what two people do best.”

Paling at the suggestion (at work!) you sputter, “Oh I wouldn’t —”

“Don’t worry,” she’s got a cheeky smile on by this stage, “I know I would, given the chance,” she leans closer to you and holds up one hand before whispering, “you know, sometimes me and Tommy get caught up in the heat of the moment too.”

You laugh uncomfortably and tighten your grip on your purse until your knuckles go white from trying not to give off that you are incredibly distressed with the way the conversation was headed.

“When the moment strikes,” you awkwardly say, not sure what else to say.

“Correct,” Lizzie returns to her work, “anyway, I’m sure he’ll be here soon. We can go out for lunch, later, if you would like that? Girl power an’ all.”

Grateful for the change in subject you sigh, “That actually sounds amazing, maybe you could give me some tips for keeping everything organised?”

“Whatever you want to talk about, love,” she glances up at the clock, “come back down in an hour and we’ll go then. If Michael asks where you’re going just tell him that Tommy said it’s okay.”

“Alright, I’ll see you later,” you say and head back upstairs.

You hadn’t even thought about facing Michael again but the reassurance of going out with Lizzie later on made you feel better about yourself — you could only hope that Michael wouldn’t instigate anything else.

After walking past Michael’s, now closed, door, you put your purse under the desk and sit down. There was a noticeably large pile of files that you assumed Michael had put there when you had gone downstairs. You felt stupid for running like that; you needed this job for the money and Finn had begged Tommy for it for you and you couldn’t give that up in a heart beat. As long as Michael stayed away, you could endure your work days.

You sat up, determined to do as much work to keep out of Michael’s way as possible and began skimming through the files.

Some were related to money, others were related to the betting shop, not many though. Most of the legal stuff came this way so only a few things concerning the betting shop would come through, you figured, it was mostly affiliations and shares, somehow. Based upon how little there was you assumed that there was more to come.

The easiest way for you to file these would be chronologically, for now, seeing as Michael hadn’t specified how he wanted it organised — plus a lot of it was a couple of years old, you figured it was some of the stuff that Michael had been doing before he went away and began filing.

Halfway through the stack, you heard Michael’s door open, “Oh, you’re back. I thought you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.”

Turning to face him, you ignore the shock on his face and ask, “How do you want these filed? I can do it chronologically but it’ll be hard if you want to refer back to it if you can’t remember exact dates.”

Michael looks at you, waiting for you to meet his eyes; when you finally do, he says, “however you think is best.”

You nod and continue to file them chronologically. Until it isn’t effective, you’ll change them around; it’ll give you something to do where you can avoid him.

“Why don’t you come —”

“No thank you.”

Michael chuckles, “You didn’t even hear what I was going to say.”

You stayed silent, stood with the file in your hands.

Realising that you weren’t going to give up so easy, he says, “I was going to ask if you wanted to see what I was working on.”

You debate in your head with what to say, you settle on seeing whether or not it’s important, “Will it help me understand some of my work here?”

Michael replies, “Yes,” and turns, he has a wide smile on his face, he probably thought that you hadn’t seen it as he had turned away but you caught a glimpse of it.

You place the file on top of the cabinet and walk towards Michael’s office, wondering what he might show you. You’re wary of the fact that half an hour ago you had tried to walk out of the building and away from him.

Stepping into his office, you notice the change in the aura. Not only was it warmer in here, but somehow Michael had managed to make it seem different; you weren’t sure how, though.

Standing in the corner, Michael is watching you as you’re taking in the room, he gestured towards his much more comfier looking desk chair and said, “take a seat. It’ll help in a moment.”

Carefully, you perch yourself on his chair, wary of him standing behind you.

Your ears perk at the sound of Michael shuffling a few things about in the background, you daren’t turn around to see what he was doing. Just as you’re about to stand from the chair, Michael places a hand on the desk and his other on the back of the chair, leaning down to your ear level, he whispers, “You see out the door?”

“Yes,” you whisper back, suddenly aware of the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.

“I can see you sitting at your desk currently, but if you were to move it right in the middle, I wouldn’t be able to.”

Your throat suddenly dries, you say, “It’ll help me reach everything with ease.”

Somehow, he manages to lean even closer to you, his breath tickling your neck, “But I won’t be able to see you,” he lifts his hand from the back of the chair and tucks your hair behind your ear, “you’re beautiful to watch when at work.”

It’s at this point that you notice that your muscles have stopped working correctly and the shiver down your spine somehow rendered you motionless, shocked by Michael's works, despite his wife, he has a clear attraction to you. You weren’t sure whether to be freaked out or flattered.

“But,” you manage to choke out, “It’ll be more efficient if my desk is over there.”

Just at that moment, you hear someone coming up the stairs, before they call out, “Did you still want your desk movin’ or —”

You look up at Michael, asking to call out to Finn with just a look. His hand snakes around your mouth and you squeeze your eyes shut, praying that Finn doesn’t find you like this; you’d hate for him to think something was happening.

“She went out to fetch something for me,” Michael calls, standing up from where he was positioned before.

“Well, I’m not sure I can move the desk by myself; I couldn’t find Isaiah.”

“Don’t worry then, Finn.”

“Sure?” His footsteps move closer to the door and Michael moves to the door, to intercept Fin before he reaches you.

“I’m sure,” Michael says, you can hear the tight smile in the way he’s straining his voice, especially now that he’s further away.

You put your hand over your mouth, trying to make yourself as silent as possible.

“Alright, I’ll, uh, go then.”

“See you later.”

And with that, Michael had gotten rid of Finn.

He waits a few seconds, his shadow reaches for his face and rubs it with his hand, “Fuck,” you hear him mumble before he strolls back into his office, where you sat, patiently waiting for him.

“Good girl,” he says.

Your eyes widen at his comment, mortified at yourself and suddenly yearning for the comfort of Finn being there.

You stare at him, pleading for him to explain himself, instead, he walks around the room, your eyes follow him, waiting for his response.

“I’ll move the desk.”

You stay silent for a moment before opening your mouth, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I’ll move the desk,” he simply says and lets you leave.

After that he lets you go back to work. The rest of the day passes without another interruption from Michael apart from the filing he kept giving to you but that was work so you didn’t oppose it. You went down to fetch Lizzie for lunch, a few minutes late, and she says, “Oh, I thought you’d gone out to fetch something for Michael.”

You silently nod, “I did, I slipped past you when you were, uh, working.”

The lie slipped out of your mouth without a bat of an eye and somehow, it worked. 

Lizzie’s face reddened, “Oh, well,” she begins, quickly grabbing her purse, “when the moment strikes, am I right?”

You hadn’t even considered that possibility, and yet, the universe was working in your favour — or maybe it was in Michael’s favour. You weren’t too sure yet; it was too soon to tell.

“Shall we?” Lizzie stands from her desk and walks over to you, slipping her arm through yours and walking out of the building, “does Michael know where you’re going?”

You shake your head, nonchalantly, “No but I’ve done most of the work he’s given me today. I’ll explain when I get back anyway, he can’t deny me a meal, can he?

”You say the last bit in a tone that suggests you weren’t actually sure if he could or not but Lizzie doesn’t pick up on it and laughs at you, “You’re catching on far too quickly; this is perfect.”

tags: @saintd0lce

[c-nan]

17 for the prompt list thing 💗

Thank you for sending me a prompt!!

I am almost 200% sure this is the 17 you were talking about lmao

This turned out a lot more angsty than anticipated and this is my first time writing action so bear with me (it was great practice)

“You promised me a cookie.” 

“What?” Lena looked up from her laptop, surprised by the sudden appearance of Kara--no, not Kara, Supergirl--standing on her balcony, wringing her hands looking less than super.

Lena focused her attention back to her computer, trying to ignore the pain and resentment that ate away at her insides. She must keep her composure. Luthors show no pain. “I owe you nothing.”

Supergirl took a few tentative steps into Lena’s office. Lena closed her laptop and turned her chair towards her, crossing her arms.

“You said if I tried those,” Supergirl scrunched her face in disgust in the exact same way Kara did a few weeks ago, sending a shot of pain through Lena’s heart, “brussel sprouts, then you would give me a cookie.”

“I promised Kara Danvers,” Lena said with as much ice as she could muster. She turned her chair back to her laptop, setting her hands on the cover. “Besides, her and I had a falling out. Now, do you have a real reason to be here? I don’t have time for idle chit-chat, I have work to do.” In all honesty, Lena was just about to pack up and leave for the day, but if she had to stay another hour to prove her point, she knew she could find something to do.

“Lena, I-”

Lena spun her chair back around in annoyance. “You what?” Lena had a long day of meetings with less than compliant business men who seen her as no more than an incompetent woman. She did not have the mental energy to deal with whatever it was Supergirl had to say.

But Supergirl no longer had her attention on Lena, her eyes instead focused outside, eyebrows furrowed.

“Get behind me.”

“If you think-”

“Lena, now is not the time to argue. There’s something out there. You need to get behind me.” Supergirl took her eyes off of the balcony to look at Lena with pleading eyes. 

Lena bit her lip and glanced outside just in time to see a massive tentacle slither up the side of the wall. She quickly grabbed the gun she kept in her bottom drawer and took place behind Supergirl.

“What the hell is that?” Lena whispered as three more appeared.

“Not good,” Supergirl answered, raising a fist as the rest of the alien dragged itself fully over the balcony. Her other hand went to her ear. “Alex, Alien spotting at L-Corp. It's a big one.”

If not for the eight tentacles that protruded from various places on his body, Lena wouldn’t guess he was out of the ordinary, his face clean shaven and his hair sitting haphazardly atop his head. His mouth twisted in a crazy smile as his eyes flitted between Supergirl and Lena.

“Supergirl,” the alien spat. “Let's make this easier for both of us. Stand down.”

“You and I both know I won’t do that.”

The alien shrugged, each of his eight tentacles shifting upwards just a little. “Worth a try.” Without hesitation, all eight appendages rushed forward, shattering the glass that stood between Lena, Supergirl and the massive alien.

Supergirl managed to burn four with her heat vision, but there was only so much she could do with the flurry of limbs that filled the office. One of the remaining tentacles slammed into Supergirl’s side, sending her sailing across the room and through a wall, leaving Lena completely vulnerable.

Lena raised her gun, her palms sweaty and arms shaking. The alien, no matter how terrifying, had the eyes of a human and despite what many slander articles against her would say, she would never--could never--kill a human being.

Her hesitance nearly cost her her life. 

The gun clattered to the floor as the alien raised her from the ground, the tentacles unpleasantly slimy against her skin. He squeezed her like a boa constrictor squeezes a mouse right before eating it. “I can snap you like a twig, you know,” he said with a twisted smile. “But you’re wanted unscathed. That doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun.” He tightened his grip.

“Kara,” she rasped, her vision going black.

--

Ringing. An awful persistent ringing. Lena slowly opened her eyes to meet the sight of her office completely damaged; her couch flipped upside down and her desk where her door should be. 

A flash of light brought her attention to Supergirl head to head with the alien, her face set in a determined line. Lena could tell her endurance was waning by the slump of her shoulders and the harsh rise and fall of her chest. 

Her gun. She needed her gun. 

Lena spotted it half hidden behind the leg of her coffee table which had been shattered like her windows. Taking a deep breath, she tried to stand, but it was no use. Her knees buckled under her at the sheer pain that shot through her abdomen and back. She looked to Supergirl--to Kara--who was fighting for their lives and decided she needed to do this. She needed to push through the pain.

So she crawled. She crawled as her body begged her to stop. She crawled as her hands and knees were torn apart by the shards of glass that litter the floor. She crawled until she reached the gun just in time to see Kara get lifted up in the same fashion Lena was not minutes earlier.

Kara used her heat vision on as many tentacles as she could but there were too many. She cried out in pain as the alien squeezed at her midsection. 

Lena swung the gun around and pointed it at the alien. She had the advantage of surprise. He wouldn't have time to defend his human-like body with his tentacles.

This time without hesitation, Lena pulled the trigger, lodging a bullet in the aliens right leg. His grip slackened, releasing Kara, who hit the office floor with a thud. His knee buckled, nearly causing him to lose his footing. For extra measure, Lena shot the other leg, sending the alien sprawling to the floor with a cry of pain...or rage, Lena couldn’t tell.

Kara lied on the ground motionless, her cape draped over her like a blanket.

The alien shot Lena a look of pure hatred. “A couple bullets won’t stop me, Luthor.”

She raised her gun again, pointing this time at his heart. Or at least where his heart should be.

“Don’t try to play the hero,” he said, using two of his non-burnt tentacles to hoist him up in makeshift legs. “You and I both know you wont pull the trigger.”

Lena swallowed the lump in her throat, and glanced towards Kara. Her former friend who got roped into this mess trying to rekindle their friendship all  because Lena was too hard-headed to forgive her. 

Narrowing her eyes, she gripped her gun more tightly. “I promised her a cookie, and she will get one.”

“Wha-?”

Two shots in the chest sent him on his back, his face forever frozen in a look of shock and confusion. 

“Secure him, I’ll check on Lena,” Alex said stepping around the desk that blocked the doorway. Behind her, half a dozen DEO agents filed in, guns raised and pointed towards the alien. 

Lena dropped her arms, watching in shock as Alex knelt in front of her, saying something.

“What?”

“I asked if you were alright.”

“I-yes-Kara-”

“Kara will be fine, are you hurt?” 

“My stomach…” was all Lena could say before passing out once again.

---

Lena awoke to the sound of beeping and one thought.

Kara.

Her eyes flew open as she searched for any sight of the alien that attacked them. She then noticed that she no longer stood in her office. She was at...the DEO? She scanned her surroundings more thoroughly, spotting beds like the one she lied on and unused monitors like the one that beeped loudly in her ear.

She thought back to what she remembered last.

The alien picking up Kara.

Her shooting the alien's legs.

The alien towering over her.

The alien falling even though she didn’t shoot him…

“Alex!” Lena called sitting up and immediately regretting it as pain surrounded her abdomen, nearly causing her to black out again. 

“Lena, what are you doing?” Alex rushed into the room, checking the monitor before giving Lena a reprimanding look. 

“Is Kara…?” Lena thought back to the sight of her lying on the ground. She couldn't be…

“She’s fine and you will be too if you don’t try to sit up anymore.” Alex took one more look at the monitor, and went to head out. 

“Can I see her?” Lena called at her retreating form.

Alex turned, her lips pressed together in a straight line. “She doesn’t need the stress of another fight,” she said with a bit of a bite. “She overexerted herself trying to save you.” 

Lena looked down to her hands, fiddling with the blanket. Alex had every right to be angry with her. She had said terrible things to Kara in the past few weeks. Things she wished she could take back but can’t. It would probably be best if she just-

“Alex?” Kara’s voice floated through the med-bay doors and not soon after Kara appeared, still donned in her Supergirl apparel.

Lena’s shoulders sag in relief at the sight of Kara who looked much better than the images her mind imagined. 

Kara rushed to her side, looking at Alex. “I thought you said she was alright?!”

“She is.”

“Tell that to all these cuts,” Kara said, examining Lena’s arms and hands, “and that big bandage around her waist!”

“Kara,” Lena said.

“Alex, have you gotten her an CAT Scan? She could be bleeding internally!”

“Kara.”

“And what about this big gash on her forehead? Does it need stitches?!”

“Kara!” Lena yelled, finally getting Kara’s attention. Looking into Kara’s worried eyes, Lena smiled. “I’ll be fine, I can barely feel it.”

“But-”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh thank Rao,” Kara breathed, wrapping Lena up in a fierce hug that did nothing to ease the pain in her abdomen. 

“Easy Kara,” Alex warned, looking to Lena with a look that basically said ‘if you hurt my sister, I’ll hurt you.’

Kara pulled back with a sheepish smile. “No hugs. Noted.”

“I wouldn’t completely write out hugs. Just make sure they're not so...intense,” Lena said with a small smile, feeling some of the familiarity they had before their fight. “Now, about that cookie…”

Kara’s face broke into a radiant smile and for the first time in a while, Lena felt hope that maybe, just maybe, her and Kara could rekindle their friendship. It would take time to heal and many apologies, but Lena had hope. 

[sophi-s]

Cost of Kindness

Chapter III: Between joy and sorrow

By: sophi-s

Fandom: Darksiders video games

Words: 7,405

Characters: Raphael, Darksiders OC

Warnings: None

Summary:

After a crazy adventure outside of Haven, Nicola finally is in shape to try and find her way back. As sad as she is about it, she bids her farewells to her new angel friend. However, it seems Raphael isn't quite ready to say goodbye just yet. And so the fearful human finds herself in the company of an archangel stuck to her like glue.

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

Until the sun peered shyly from behind the horizon to announce the arrival of another dawn, Nicola slept like a log. Literally. She hadn't stirred throughout the whole time of her dreamless, magically induced sleep. Were it not for her steady breathing, because as pale and motionless as she was, some might have thought her dead, not sleeping. After long hours, she finally opened her eyes as the remnants of the arcane haze fell and left her mind unshackled. The fog receded from her sight and she was fully expecting the ceiling of the room she occupied in Haven to greet her. Only to be met with disappointment when the dark interior of an underground tunnel filled her vision instead.

For a couple of seconds she was absolutely stunned, unsure where she was or why. The shock of waking up in a strange place had her frozen while her brain was trying to process what in the actual Hell was happening like when she awoke after her first night spent in the Maker Tree. Slowly, the memories of the recent events creeped back into her head. Raphael. Kitten. Demons. My leg… Right… She did feel much better than before but still a little woozy, possibly because half of her brain wasn't fully awake just yet. Massaging her eyelids to rub away the vestiges of sleep, Nicola sat up and scrutinized her surroundings blinking groggily. The same, damp sewer, the same cold darkness. Yawn, which followed, was so wide one might think Nicola intended to swallow everything in this "room".

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the aforementioned angel sitting a couple of feet away, supporting his head on his hand, elbow on his knee while a small cat slept in the rumpled fabric of his green waistcoat. His hood concealed his features as his wings rested against his back and shoulders which steadily moved up and down in the rhythm of a calm breathing. For a moment it might have seemed Raphael was dozing as well but at the quietest move Nicola made, his wary eyes open to look at her without any traces of sleep in them, glimmering like two bright stars from the shadow the hood was casting over his face. It was so abrupt that it made her jump a little.

"Oh! H- hi! Good morning. If it is morning, I mean.."

At her greeting, the cat perked its head up with a "mrowf" noise and shot her a dirty look for daring to interrupt its rest before yawning almost as widely as she did. Raphael answered her with a nod and a small, affirmative sound in the back of his throat but otherwise remained quiet, content with watching her in silence when Nicola leaned down to inspect her thigh and determine whether or not she was in shape for walking anywhere. And to her not unpleasant surprise, the wound was almost fully healed and moving her leg wasn't painful anymore. She did feel the recently present damage to her muscle but she wouldn't call it "pain". More like strain. And that was in like seventy percent of her body from the previous day, even if not as intense as she expected it to be. She really did over exert herself quite a bit. Still, with all certainty she could say Raphael did an unbelievably good job. If only human doctors were in possession of even a teeny tiny part of the healing abilities he had, the world would've been a much safer place.

Though, she couldn't really decide whether the fact that her leg seemed to be perfectly fine was a good thing or not. On the one hand it would mean that nothing hindered her any longer. If the sun is really up then she should wait no longer and set out to make sure the nightfall doesn't catch her again and look for a way back home. Home… In spite of herself she smiled sadly. How quickly she started to refer to Haven as her second home. Her own was irreversibly lost after all.. Reduced to nothing but a grim rubble with all her childhood memories buried underneath. Nicholas died so that she may get out of there alive. He would love it in Haven if he had a chance to see it… In this last safe sanctum for her kind, other survivors, makers.. They were her new family. She could only imagine how they're feeling right now. She should've been back ages ago. She has to return as quickly as possible. The idea of asking Vulgrim for help wasn't completely off the table. She could probably promise him something in return for taking her to the Tree and give it to him later. Nicola can be pretty convincing if she has to but she wouldn't put that past Vulgrim to deny her still. She'd have to play it smart should she fail to find the way back herself. He doesn't trade in favors in exchange for promises after all. No matter. One way or another, she will get back to Haven. That, or she can say goodbye to her wretched life.

But on the other hand… Glancing up at Raphael, who was half-busying himself with petting the very content cat and half-watching her, she realised with a twinge that she'll have to leave him. In those few short hours he'd done so much for her.. so many things she was grateful for… And on top of that, with how sad and lonely he was, Nicola couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor man. She'd never met an angel before and hadn't come to know one well but those she'd seen when this nightmare started didn't make a good impression on her. Raphael was so much different from his kin. She still wasn't sure why he decided to help her even though he didn't have to. And that made her feel empathetic towards him, especially every time he gave her this suffering look which told her a long story of pain and misery. Nicola may have known him for barely a couple hours, if not less, but somehow the thought of leaving him here possibly never to see him again was making her heart sink. Because of the apocalypse, she was running really low on friends and so no one could blame her for wanting to keep every single one she had left or recently made. And honestly, after the angel saved her life and treated her wounds she would lie if she said he wasn't on the right path into the alarmingly small circle of people she held dear to her. Such experiences have a way of bringing people closer to one another, despite the differences they may possess. And besides, what would leaving him here be if not cruelty?

"You seem… troubled."

Raphael stated, making Nicola look at him again. Even after only a few hours spent with her, he sensed her current mood without a mistake. He was pretty insightful. Not that Nicola was trying overly hard to hide it but still. Maybe that's just something the angels do. She sighed in response. I really am.. She thought. It wasn't as though she didn't have a lot to be grim about but this particular thought at the forefront of her brain bothered her the most at this given moment. She didn't want to go just like that but she knew she had to. If only to make sure other guys are alright. But honestly she doubted that Ulthane would ever let her out of his sight again after the stunt she pulled, no matter what she tells him afterwards. In turn, this might be the last time she sees the kind and selfless, not all there angel. Whether she likes it or not, it was time to bid farewell.

"I… I wanted to thank you again for what you did for me."

She started as she stood up - still a bit wobbly from all the crazy stuff that happened so recently - looking around in search of her backpack and shotgun. Both were resting under a wall not far from where she was laid down before, right next to the place where the mummified Goreclaw used to be. Raphael must've moved it further down the sewer where the rest of the corpses were when she was sleeping. Sooner or later it would start attracting pesky flies and other nasty vermin if not things far worse, not to mention the smell of decomposing meat. A little reluctantly, she flung the backpack over her shoulder and picked up her gun before turning to face Raphael. An increasingly unsettled Raphael who seemed to have taken the hint what she intended to do.

"Really, thanks. It's been very nice to meet you. But I have to go now."

"Go? Where to?"

The barely audible note of fear in his voice and the look he gave her made Nicola feel even worse for having to part ways with him.

"I'm going.. home."

Nicola to some extent knew how to read certain people but the blank stare of the angel before her was giving her a really hard time.

"Look, I can't stay here and I'm sorry but I have to go.."

She said hesitantly and turned towards the exit from the tunnel to leave for the surface, quietly wishing she didn't suck at saying her goodbyes. This was one of her greater weaknesses, right after small animals. Especially cats.

"Goodbye. And good luck! I hope we'll meet again.."

With that short farewell, Nicola turned away to walk off into the sewer and begin her search for Haven. But a firm grip on her shoulder stopped her from taking more steps and made her glance back in bewilderment. Somehow, Raphael shifted from a sitting position to standing and closed the distance between himself and Nicola in one beat without producing a single sound. Not going to lie, it was quite scary and Nicola couldn't help a startled squeak that escaped her. But even though he spooked her yet again, the distressed face he pulled made Nicola bite her lower lip. And the hesitant plea leaving his mouth made it even worse.

"Stay…"

"I- I can't! I really need to go!"

"Please…?"

Raphael quietly begged her. His flared and bristled wings were quivering anxiously and his face bore the most pitiful pleading look she'd ever seen. God, why do you have to make this so difficult? It was strange. He'd been doing fine without Nicola for who knows how long. Well… fine might not be the right word to use in this case but whatever. Though, now that she thinks about it, it makes sense that he wouldn't want to be left alone again. Especially because loneliness doesn't serve healthy people well and Raphael looked like someone who could use the help of a specialist. Still, Nicola found herself asking.

"Why do you want me to stay?"

Instead of answering, Raphael glanced down from her face, looking at the point on her chest, just below her collarbone. Nicola awkwardly cleared her throat to get his attention once she felt like his gaze was going right through her mortal shell and piercing into her very core.

"Uhh.. What exactly are you thinking about?"

Not bothered by it, Raphael squinted and lifted his forefinger, extending it to the place he was looking at. And seriously, for a second Nicola was considering batting his hand away since it could without a doubt be viewed as invasion of personal space when the pad of his finger connected with her chest where it ended and her neck began. And in this moment white flash passed through Nicola's eyes, followed by a deathly chill somewhere inside, tearing into her heart from within with icy claws like a vicious beast. As though someone had poured freezing cold water into her body. And amidst this coldness was a tiny wisp of warmth pressed against her ribcage, as if it was trying to get out. To get as close to Raphael as possible. She gasped in shock and fear and from the unexpected and not physical pain - so intense it made her feel sick - which wasn't really… her own. She felt it, experienced it but she knew it wasn't hers. Somehow Nicola knew that it belonged to someone else. And this someone was standing right in front of her.

Slowly but surely, it was starting to make sense. Why Raphael was constantly so shaky, so easily frightened, so… wrong. It all lasted barely a fraction of a second before both she and Raphael abruptly backed away with astonishment painted across their faces. Neither of them was entirely sure what on God's green earth just happened or why it happened. Whatever it was, neither of them would say it felt pleasant. Nicola was fairing better than the angel however. While she was only mildly frightened and befuddled, he immediately retreated into the corner and curled up on the floor, wrapping himself up in a feathery cocoon of his wings, trembling like a leaf on a gale.

"Raphael..?"

She huffed trying to steady her own breathing as she cautiously approached him just when he started to mutter obscene nonsense again. This time Nicola couldn't even determine what exactly he was saying. He spoke way too quickly and he was only able to pick up single words like "torment", "soul" or "help". This odd sensation, this pain she felt was undoubtedly in him. All. The time. Every day of his existence. It became clear. Nicola could imagine that even she would sooner or later go absolutely mad if the suffering he's experiencing without a moment of rest was hers. It was nothing short of a miracle that he retained at least some small semblance of who he used to be. Ever since she came to him, he did start to make more sense than before, possibly because she could at least partially distract him from this pain. But if he needed distraction, why would he leave his White City behind? Angels may have been mean to her race but surely they would help out their brother in need, right?

All questions Nicola had most likely could be answered by a story of his past which he wasn't ready to reveal just yet. Perhaps, if she's careful enough, one day he will open up and tell her about it. But until then, she remained in darkness of uncertainty. Still, she couldn't help but wonder.. Carefully, she crouched and laid her hand on Raphael's shaking shoulder, making his head snap up with a fearful look to his round, empty glowing eyes.

"Who… who did this to you?"

The angel opened his mouth as if to answer her but no words came out. Only a soft huff. Tears welled up in Nicola's eyes when his face scrunched up in something between anguish and misery. And that was enough for her to snap. In spite of herself, Nicola reached around the angel's neck and pulled him into a tight hug burying her face into the side of his green hood which despite the stench surrounding everything here still held a barely noticeable scent of something that brought to mind clean cotton with a tint of vanilla. His entire body went rigid as she did but only for a moment. Merely seconds later, he relaxed, his breathing evened out and he moved his own arms around her back to return the embrace that brought a tiny bit of comfort that could at least partially fill the emptiness he felt within for so long he couldn't even remember how it is to not feel it.

"Don't leave me alone…"

He breathed against her ear, clinging to her desperately as if letting go of her would mean his inevitable end. Up this close, Nicola could feel his heart - much bigger and more powerful than her human one - hammering uneasily against his ribcage. Similar, but completely different. And for some reason, her own heart suddenly skipped and beat once alongside his in the exact same rhythm before everything returned to normal. Or maybe she was just imagining things? Possibly…

This warm and tight embrace, even though it was meant to comfort him, still gave Nicola an odd feeling of safety. All of the sudden Raphael seemed to her not like a stranger she met by chance not even a day ago but like a good, old friend she knew she can trust no matter what. The decision of leaving Raphael behind was difficult enough before but now… her heart fell to pieces. It was next to impossible. She couldn't just leave him like this. He doesn't deserve to be abandoned again. No one does.

What do I do? Nicola knew she could neither stay with him, nor can she return to Haven without risking that her conscience would make her feel shitty for the rest of her goddamned days and that a thought that she doomed some poor soul to descend into utter insanity would make her share his fate. But there has to be something she can do.. Anything.. Then, an epiphany struck her.

"Wait.."

She said once Raphael let her go and she could look him in the eye as he gave her a questioning yet hopeful stare.

"You could come with me!"

"Come with you..?"

"Yeah! The Tree is much safer than here and there's a lot of useful stuff there. Also, it doesn't stink that much…"

Not only that. Other survivors, even as skeptical as they are towards angels, surely wouldn't mind Raphael poking around. Having a skilled healer on their side would certainly change their mind even if they weren't eager to let him stay. Ulthane, Elanya and Yarin can be persuaded if they don't agree at first. After all, if Raphael's presence will mean that "wee uns' " are even safer, then Nicola couldn't think of a reason why they shouldn't relent. Not to mention that Raphael can fly. It would make it a child's play to find the Tree. Back in Haven she could also get the poor angel patched up and cleaned up a bit, since he himself is in a rather sorry state. That's the least she could do for him in return. Only one thing was left to do, considering how uncertain Raphael looked. Convince him.

"What is this… Tree?"

"This is a safe place for us, humans, and it's… kinda our new home now."

Before, Nicola was absolutely certain Raphael's eyes couldn't turn bigger and rounder but he was very quick to prove her wrong. Not to lie, it was quite impressive. He blinked a couple of times as if to make sure he heard it right.

" 'Us' ? There is… more of you out there..?"

Nicola nods enthusiastically once she realises she's on the right path.

"Yeah! Ulthane made us a safe place to-"

"Ulthane?"

He interrupted with confusion on his face, making Nicola stop in mid sentence to look at him questioningly.

"Ulthane… the Black Hammer?"

"Yes, he's a-.. Wait… you know him?"

Humming thoughtfully, Raphael drummed his fingers against the cold floor. His answer didn't clarify much however.

"No.. Azrael does.."

"Who?"

An angel most likely. Probably one of Raphael's former acquaintances. Mentioning this "Azrael" seemed to have brought some memories back, very fond ones at that since for the first time today, a ghost of a smile passed across Raphael's face and an absent look in his eyes turned warmer and not so frightened anymore.

"Friend.."

Seriously, for a moment Nicola wanted to say that she's sorry because she just assumed that Raphael's friend could be dead but she bit her tongue before she could tell him that when she realised he actually used the present tense and not past. Which indicates that Azrael, whoever he is, is still out there somewhere. Instead, she wanted to tell him more about Haven but he once again interrupted her.

"The Balance is upset.. the Third Kingdom is vital to it… Humans. Humans live still? Not everything is lost then.."

Oh boy, here we go again. Unwittingly, Nicola pulled an annoyed face. For the umpteenth time, Raphael unintentionally made her feel like an uneducated imbecile. Why is the Universe even more complicated than we initially thought?

"Yes, he does the right thing.. They need a protector."

Nicola decided to patiently wait until Raphael is finished thinking out loud, even though she once again had no clue what he's saying. What Balance? Third Kingdom? The what?

"The Horsemen cannot do this alone… It is the duty of us all… to- to uphold the Balance."

The WHO??? Nicola could only imagine how stupid she looked with that dumb face she just made. What. The actual fuck. The Horsemen? As in… the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? They are real too? So it is a legit end of the world like the one in the Bible! How lovely! It's honestly a miracle that anyone has lived if that's the case. What else? Maybe it will suddenly turn out that snow is warm, sun is cold and skunks don't stink. Though with all the chaos going on around, Nicola would hardly be surprised if dogs suddenly started chirping and birds barking. She really just wished for the things to calm down already.. Returning to normal seemed to be off the table unfortunately but for God's sake, can the demons at least just go home or something? But… Now that she thinks about it… Could the mysterious warrior clad in crimson be one of the infamous Four? He didn't look like an angel, even though he bore quite a few similarities to Heaven's denizens, nor did he seem purely demonic in nature. And he was there when the Apocalypse began.. Curious. Especially because if it wasn't for his interference, Nicola would have probably been dead by now. All he did was stop for just a second to tear the bus door out once he saw her struggling to open it from the inside. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't, who knows? Eventually, Raphael glanced at her with a more certain look on his face.

"You don't stand a chance. Not against the Destroyer."

Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.. Nicola thought, still having the clear image of the flaming dragon standing barely fifteen feet away from where she was hiding in her head as if it happened yesterday. He was terrifying, no one is taking this away from him, but screw that! That's one gigantic motherfucker. Nicola was pretty sure she could comfortably live in a room that was the size of his goddamned head. If he tried to eat her, she'd probably get stuck between his teeth at best. And so far that's the last place she wanted to find herself in. She really didn't need help in figuring out that a bunch of humans still shitting their pants at the sight of a single Wicked could stand up to the bloody Destroyer. What are they, the legendary dragon-slaying knights or something? Not to be pessimistic or anything.. but Nicola wouldn't be surprised if that thing could kill her by so much as breathing in her direction. He does breathe fire after all. It goes without saying that he also has a huge horde of ugly assholes under his whim, jumping at the tiniest flick of his tail. So yeah. Chances for success in an open confrontation are pretty miniscule. Fortunately, what Raphael said next made her sigh with relief.

"You need all the help you can get… I will come. If this is your wish…"

Victory! Now that was the solid dose of serotonin Nicola had been missing for quite some time. Not only can she return home and assure her strange little family that she's alright but also she doesn't have to leave her newfound friend behind. Her conscience will stay clean, Raphael will be safe in Haven, maybe even recover to some extent, and the humans will have a powerful angel healer on their side. To her it was a win-win.

"You will?! That's awesome, thanks!"

Nicola was quick to gather her humble possessions and waited for Raphael to get up and take whatever he needed. But surprisingly, all he took was the kitten which he held against his chest since it wasn't really pleased about being manhandled but the angel simply ran his finger through the fur on its head to put it back to sleep again before depositing it to a small knapsack he had on his belt where it could rest safely. Apparently, he wasn't attached to anything he stored in his hideout over the time he spent here. Well, there weren't many useful things to take anyway. At least that's what Nicola thought before, because Raphael leaned over one of the bigger crates and reached for something apparently hidden behind it. And oh boy, the thing he pulled out… An ornate, gilded staff, as tall as Nicola is. The centerpiece was flanked by two slender serpents coiling around it in a beautiful, symmetrical way to the very top crowned by a pair of wings and a ring between them.

"Whoa…"

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't hide her amazement. That was some sick looking staff. The design seemed to ring a bell but she couldn't quite tell where exactly. Unlike Raphael himself, the staff was well kept, clean and undamaged, even if a bit tarnished. Apparently in his solitude, the angel cared for it well and often. For this last piece of home he has, Nicola realised with a pang of sadness. Even in his fond expression she could see the attachment to this one small part of his past. Okay, maybe not that small… Once Raphael was ready and glanced at Nicola to confirm it, she nodded and walked off into the dark tunnel with the angel trailing after her like a duckling.

"Oh, and by the way…"

Considering what Nicola had seen before, she figured it would be best to warn Raphael about some of Haven's denizens. Well.. by some she specifically meant Vulgrim. Despite his queer way of being and shiftiness, Nicola still somewhat liked him. The demon merchant was hardly a good material for a friend but so far he proved only two things to her. That he can be cunning and annoying. And that he's unbelievably helpful. And in truth, Nicola couldn't help but grow a little fond of her exceptional neighbour. Especially because Vulgrim was the only demon so far that didn't try to kill her where she stood but instead engaged in a conversation. That might be because he's just scared of Ulthane but he seemed rather harmless. Hell, he even sometimes provided useful resources if Haven could afford a trade with him. In a way, he too was helping humans survive. But if he suddenly jumped out of that Serpent Hole of his… Nicola could already see Raphael blasting the demon into Oblivion without a second thought. And that was something she didn't want to happen. Better safe than sorry.

"There's this… guy sometimes swinging by to say hello to us.."

Even as she spoke, she didn't stop walking and the quiet tapping of the end of the staff against the floor told her that Raphael kept following. How do I explain to an angel that a demon means no harm?

"The name's Vulgrim. He's a little… Ugh, how do I put it?"

"A demon… Crafty fiend, far more powerful than he lets on. Yet, so… deceivingly docile.."

Nicola halts as though she's just come face first into an invisible barrier once she heard Raphael grumble distastefully to himself. Turning around, she gawked at him with non hidden shock. And while she expected anger or at least disgust, Raphael looked rather… resigned for the lack of a better term. And only ever so slightly annoyed.

"You know Vulgrim?"

That literally came out of nowhere. The description of Vulgrim Raphael just gave was so unbelievably accurate. Nicola already suspected that the demon is much more dangerous than he seems but simply refuses to put his power to use and do something constructive with it. And now she got a confirmation. From a very unlikely source but still. Raphael was quick to offer a clarification and answered her question with his own.

"Who doesn't?"

"Ah, that's fair.."

She chuckled. Vulgrim is that kind of a "person", who seems to know everyone and has been to pretty much everywhere. He offers his merchandise to every creature that can afford it and it shouldn't be that surprising that some people, even angels like Raphael know him, or at least know of him. She suspected the latter part in this case. This makes it much easier to explain to Raphael that he's a friend.

"He's cool though! He's helping us keep it together and doesn't really bother anyone in the Tree. Vulgrim is really helpful if he wants to."

To this, Raphael answered with a doubtfully raised eyebrow and a thoughtful hum. He didn't seem convinced but what he said fully satisfied Nicola.

"Hmmmm… so I was told.."

Before they even noticed, they were right below the well lid which was Nicola's original entrance to the sewer. And honestly? She was so glad that she decided to come down here. Otherwise, she wouldn't have met Raphael. Some part of her still dreads to wonder what would happen to him if she didn't find him. He was already at the brink of losing it but now it didn't seem as bad as before. In a way, Nicola saved him too, it seems. Before, he was barely registering what was happening around. Now he was more or less capable of a relatively normal conversation. Sure, he tended to talk to himself quite a lot but she supposed that the solitude and whatever nightmares he'd been through have taken their toll. Climbing up the ladder, Nicola pushed the lid out of the pavement and immediately the golden light of the new day spilled through it, banishing the darkness and ouch, it hurt her poor eyes.

Even though Nicola wasn't in utter blackness all the time thanks to the arcane wisp of light that followed Raphael everywhere whenever he needed it, the bright pillar of sunlight struck her like a physical force, leaving her mostly blind for a good ten seconds. Still, another breath of fresh air tasted like ambrosia to her. No stench of the sewer and rotting meat. Thank God.. It took only a few seconds afterwards for her sight to get used to the brightness but still she needed a moment to wipe the tears from her eyes. Before she exited the sewer however, a quiet hiss behind her made her stop.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw Raphael recoiling from the light with his eyes squeezed tightly shut and a grimace on his face, shielding himself from the radiance with his left wing. Right.. How long he'd spent down there, Nicola could only guess but she could understand how dizzy it might've made him and how much it burned his darkness-adjusted eyes. More than that, to him the sunlight probably felt like it does to a goddamn vampire.

"Raphael? You okay?"

The angel didn't answer her, simply kept still, slowly lowering his wing to look at the light flowing through the opened way out, blinking rapidly so that his eyes adjusted to it quicker. And once they did.. Without a word, he hesitantly reached out towards the bright sun rays and put his bandaged hand right through the border where the light and dark clashed with one another. And immediately, once the warm glow caressed his skin, his face brightened in mute fascination. The fact that he hadn't seen the daylight for way too long became ever so apparent to Nicola and made something twist inside of her sadly.

"The sun…"

Raphael breathed and let his mouth form a wide grin once he fully entered the illuminated area and turned his face up with his eyes closed to soak it in.

"Blessed Creator, I missed it.. oh how I missed it…"

It took less than a second for Nicola to decide that she's going to let him have that moment. They were in a rush, true, but she simply didn't have it in her to tell him to hurry. She didn't want to interrupt him because even with all the dust and grime on his emaciated face, for the first time since she'd met him, Raphael looked so unbelievably happy. Truly happy. Just because he could feel the warm light of the sun upon his skin. And with a full smile he underwent a sudden change. All fear left him, his features softened and Nicola would dare say that even as broken, mad and defeated, in this short moment he looked… beautiful. As an angel, which humans often imagined, should. Under all that dirt something was glistening from the surface of his skin under his eyes, on his cheeks and forehead, the sunlight painted warm streaks on his long, white hair that fluttered on the cool breeze from above. In spite of herself she smiled too. This look to him suited him far better than a sorrowful, troubled frown. She could already tell, she will be always trying her best to save this precious smile.

With a deep breath of fresh air, Raphael opened his eyes to look out at the clear sky in shades of delicate blue and… in a flash of gold accompanied by a quiet whizz disappeared. Nicola's jaw fell open. Her human mind will never stop getting surprised over the stuff like that. And even if it will, it's going to take a long time. Before she could even start wondering where the angel vanished to, a large silhouette blocked out the sun. Still a bit surprised, Nicola looked up right at Raphael's kind face and his outstretched hand as he offered her help in getting out of the stinking well. So he can teleport. Lucky bugger. To be frank, Nicola felt a small sting of jealousy. And while she expected him to simply let her hold onto him as she pulled herself out, he hoisted her up in one fluid motion and set her on the pavement beside him the moment she took his hand.

The odd angel kept surprising her. Despite his thin frame, he was quite strong. For human standards that is, she didn't know how his physical strength was viewed among his brethren. During the initial armageddon she caught glimpses of much more sturdy-looking angels after all. The memory actually made her wonder if Raphael knew that one angel she saw talking to the warrior in red. The one who got… brutally squashed by that gigantic fuck-off demon that nearly made her heart refuse to keep fighting out of pure horror before she booked it. At least she could only assume that he got squashed because as soon as she saw the hand shoot out from the pit of boiling magma below she averted her eyes not to look at it and all she remembered now was a female voice desperately crying out a name she couldn't quite recall right now.

I'll ask him another time. She thought as he was pulling her out into the outside world. Still, the caution he did it with… Sighing inwardly, Nicola realised that Raphael already has something in common with her other bizarre friends. He too handled her as though one uncareful move could harm her and treated her as though she was made of porcelain. For quite some time Ulthane was afraid to even touch any of them not to break something and there were very few people in Haven who could resist poking a little fun at the maker. Oh well. Looks like it's a privilege that last members of the human race get. Everything is either super gentle with you or is trying to ruthlessly murder you. Nothing in between so far. Only Vulgrim seemed to be mostly neutral towards them but that was one exception.

Outside of the sewer the day was unusually warm. The sun was shining down at the crumbling Earth from a clear sky, no clouds hindered its rays and the air movement was a bare minimum. Nicola didn't wait long before unzipping her vest. Cooking inside of it was the last thing she fancied right now. Judging by how high the sun already was, she'd say it was far past the morning hours. Actually, maybe even somewhere around midday. Looking down at her watch confirmed that she guessed it right since it showed the exact time of

11:56 A.M.

Now's the high time she started looking for a way back. She walked over to one of the tallest buildings nearby to search for a suitable vantage point - careful this time, not to get jumped by some asshole again - and glanced back to see if Raphael was still following her. And in agreement to what he'd accidentally shared with her back in his hideout, Nicola has taken a note that he's.. limping. He was leaning on his ornate staff heavily and his eyebrows were furrowing with each step he took but his eyes were quickly shifting between all directions of his surroundings, always on watch for a threat. Still, there was an ever-present weariness to his pace. To put it simply, Raphael looked tired and moved with difficulty, as though he was in constant pain. In a way, he was.. But somehow Nicola knew it wasn't really the same pain one feels when getting injured or ill. This was something… else.

Nicola decided maybe she will ask him about it later, once they're safe. Maybe. They had to find Haven before the sun sets after all. No time to waste. Though… she didn't really know how to approach the matter. Raphael had done so much for her already. Asking him for help and a lift made Nicola feel incredibly awkward. Especially because she wasn't quite sure if asking an angel to fly her somewhere was considered rude by his people. But it had to be done. Otherwise, they might not make it on time.

"Hey.. Raphael? I forgot to say that but… there's a little problem.."

"A problem..?"

Raphael cocked his head to the side as he looked down at the small human woman wringing her hands nervously. Why was she nervous? The archangel could no longer sense or even see fear in her, yet something was still wrong. For some reason she was feeling uncomfortable, whether it was his presence or something she was about to say.

Why should she ever trust you? Your kind destroyed her life!

And that was unfortunately the truth. Half of it at least. Demons too had their part in it. Raphael knew he holds no ill intentions towards her or her kin hiding from the Apocalypse in the Tree she kept talking about but something told him that Nicola is still afraid of him. She just doesn't know it yet.

"I'm not entirely sure where we need to go.. I got… a little lost..?"

Ah. So that's the problem. Honestly, Raphael was half-expecting something truly horrendous but if being lost is the only problem they have - for now that is - then there's nothing to worry about. The directions to the safe place are surely buried in her mind somewhere, accessible and possible to dig out. All she needed was a gentle nudge in the right direction. And if that doesn't work, Raphael can always try to search through her memories himself if she won't have a problem with that. Though, considering how fragile humans are, both physically and mentally, Raphael didn't want to risk irreparably damaging her mind that way. This was the last resort. Instead, he reached out to her and laid his hand on her shoulder, summoning his magic to take both of them to the top of the crumbling block of flats looming over them.

"Wh- whoa! Hoo.. lee!"

Nicola loudly exclaimed to make her astonishment apparent once they reappeared on the rooftop high above the destroyed city. Raphael could only imagine how odd teleportation must feel to a human who's absolutely devoid of any magical abilities and not used to it being used around them.

"Will this help?"

Shrugging off the surprise, the human walked up to the ledge, so close it made Raphael feel mildly uncomfortable, and looked out at her ruined home bathed in daylight. Squinting at the sun and shielding her eyes from its shine, Nicola looked around, murmuring under her breath

"Gimme a second.. The cathedral is there, the shopping mall there… So the Tree should be somewhere around-…"

She tapped her chin thoughtfully for a moment before she turned to her left and her face immediately brightened as she pointed into the distance.

"There! Look!"

Glancing towards the place Nicola was pointing out, Raphael could barely make out a massive shape between ruined buildings. It really did look like a grand tree. An enormous shadow standing tall above the ground. And Nicola was pretty much vibrating with ecstasy and shifting on her feet like a small child impatiently waiting for something amazing to happen and beaming.

"It's right there! We did it!"

She squealed like an excited child as well. But Raphael knew it might be too early for celebration. That was quite a long way… How she even got from there to here anyway, he may never find out. What's more important, if Nicola wanted to make it all the way back there, it might take her a whole day if not longer and each minute spent out in the open means that demons have a bigger chance of discovering her and putting an end to her existence. And that Raphael couldn't allow. Every human that survived counts. He could see why she asked him to come with her and he decided he won't fail her. He won't fail anyone ever again. The faster they leave, the better. Turning to the excited woman standing beside him, the archangel unfolded his arms and crouched.

"Hold on to me…"

Nicola's mood shifted instantly. Sometimes it was kind of disturbing how humans can turn from happy to sad, angry to calm, excited to apprehensive and vice versa in the matter of seconds. Her eyebrows wandered up as she eyed him cautiously.

"Huh? You want to-..."

In response, Raphael gave her the most reassuring smile he was capable of despite the coldness of his tattered soul feeling especially troublesome today after he unwittingly created some sort of a link with Nicola. Or maybe not as much with her, as with the bright, heavenly spark inside of her. By all means, the flash of blinding pain, as intense as the day he tore out the first fragment of his being and multiplied by the amount of times he repeated this, was not a pleasant experience. The memory still lingered at the back of his head but he tried anyway.

"Trust.."

He simply said, making Nicola swallow and smile nervously, half-heartedly joking

"O- okay. Just don't drop me, alright?"

“Of course..”

She uncertainly conceded and wrapped her arms around Raphael's neck for the second time this day, holding on so tightly that for a human it would surely be excruciating. No wonder. A human doesn't need to fall from a very high place to get themself killed or at least crippled for the rest of their life. But Raphael had no intention of letting her fall. Putting his free arm around her, holding her securely against his chest, the archangel unfolded his grand wings. The soft breeze rolling above the city immediately caught in his feathers, calling and beckoning him into the vast skies. It's been way too long since his last flight. Luckily, it's an ability that once learned is never forgotten.

Raphael shot up into the air just as Nicola tightened her grip even more, holding on no worse than a koala bear. Not wasting any more time, he swept over the human city turned into a dreary graveyard, heading towards the Maker Tree and gladly leaving the sewers behind in favor of the brighter future opening up before him for the first time in centuries.

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

Listen, Raphael needs and deserves a hug, okay? For being a precious guy <3

Send over all the hugs for him 💓

EDIT: Gonna upload it on AO3 tomorrow

[corpse--diem]

Suspension of Disbelief | solo

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Nichols’ Funeral Home SUMMARY:  With the weeks drawing closer to the funeral home’s grand reopening, Erin reconciles with her past and reaches her limit. CONTENT WARNINGS: none

While Erin had floated in and out of the funeral home during reconstruction, this was the first time she stood alone in the house in nearly six months. No hammers, no drills, no chatter of the crew off in the distance. They were done, nearly. Some coats of paint still needed to go up in the living quarters and there were a few doors ready to be installed sitting in the hallways, but outside of small finishing touches--it was done. Her entire morning had been spent in her office, organizing the files that had been salvaged from the fire and preparing for what she still needed to replace. It was the most finished room in the large home outside of the basement and for the first time in months, she recognized a glimpse of a life that had been long out of her grasp. Even the mountain of paperwork overtaking her desk garnered a small, wispy smile. This was normal. This was hers.

Her hands touched over a large vanilla envelope and she perked up even further at the sender. The Maine Board of Funeral Services had finally sent over a new copy of her license. She jumped up, grabbing the empty picture frame she’d set aside. The office’s final touch. Her grin grew as she tore the envelope open. The paper inside wasn’t what she was expecting. Flimsy, thin, and much unlike the higher weighted paper that a certificate typically bore.

It wasn’t a certificate. It was a letter.

The words were there. She read them clearly. She read them again. And again.

...Until a proper investigation regarding the alleged organ trafficking operation within the Nichols’ Funeral Home has taken place, the board has agreed to suspend the license of the funeral director until further notice. All funeral services are to cease immediately...

And again. Each time, it said the same thing. Her gaze became lost in the black shapes of each letter, then to the sea of white surrounding them. She couldn’t understand the words. Black ate at the edge of her vision. Everything was loud. Even the light was loud. It buzzed in her ear and grew more intense the longer she stood, frozen to her spot, the letter in one hand and the frame in the other. All she could focus on was the impossibly loud buzzing in her ear but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

All at once, it stopped.

“Oh, isn’t that just perfect?”

Erin closed her eyes and shook her head, dropping the frame and letter back onto her desk. If she didn’t acknowledge the voice or the low laughter that followed, it wasn’t real.

“I know you can hear me, Nichols.”

The smell of cigar smoke hit her nose and she tensed, squeezing her eyes shut. No. No. This wasn’t happening. None of this was happening. Quiet settled around her once more and she took a deep breath in and back out again. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. She’d open her eyes and--

“I’m still here,” the voice chimed in smugly.

Erin’s eyes snapped open.

Roy Chamber’s sharp smile greeted her with all the malice it’d bore in life. He was leaning in the doorway to her office, a cigar dangling from his lips. “Atta girl. There were go,” he exclaimed excitedly between puffs. “Miss me?”

This wasn’t real. He wasn’t real. Roy was dead. Just a husk of bone and long-rotten flesh that had been tossed into the bay months ago. The knife had slipped into the softness of his temple with some effort but no--it’d done the trick. Roy Chambers, in no uncertain terms, was dead.

“No. No,” she managed between grit teeth. She closed her eyes once more, shaking her head furiously, almost laughing at the absurdity of this moment. “You are not here. You’re--no. No.”

“Oh, yes,” Roy corrected her, boisterous and sure. But he was right. He was here, stepping into her office like none of the events of the warehouse ever happened. Like it’d been a bad dream, a nightmare, one she was about to relive. Was she dead? Was there a hell after all?

He reached for the letter on her desk and all she could do was watch. She wasn’t afraid, she realized. She should have been, she knew that too, but it wasn’t fear that gripped her. It was anger. That hard, dark anger she had been working so hard to quiet. It wasn’t quiet now. He chuckled as he looked over the words on the paper and it flared brightly within her like an angry star. “Nice to see you too, toots. Long time coming, don’t you think?” He mused, glancing around the desk for an ashtray, then up at her when he found none. “Not a smoker? I don’t know why I thought you might be. It’s because you’re always so stressed, I think. Stressed people have the worst vices. But good for you--this stuff’ll kill you.”

He leaned forward and upended it in her coffee mug before turning his attention to the frame. “Anyway--won’t take up much of your time. I know you’re busy with getting things ready for the reopening.” He nodded at the letter with a knowing grin, clearly tickled. “Told you this wasn’t going to end well for you. Remember? Because I do. Very clearly. Maybe you didn’t want to believe me or just didn’t want to hear it, but either way it’s pretty clearly you forgot. And I get that. I was dead, you won, I lost.” He dragged his finger from one end of his throat to another and flashed a grimace at her. “Point made. A dead man can admit defeat when it gets pierced through his cranium. I gotta ask though...” he paused for a long moment, unhooking the metal backings of the frame one by one, the side of his mouth turning upward into a punchable grin. She balled her fists instead.

Even now, this guy droned on. Couldn’t even stay dead without making a grand gesture. There wasn’t an ounce of patience left in her for this. “What?” She shot back.

“Was it worth it?”

The question struck Erin like a bullet between the eyes. Left her stunned, silent, wholly unprepared for the blow. He slipped the suspension notice into the frame and began closing the back up and raised a brow a her. “Really? Nothing? Not one quitty retort? Not even a ‘Fuck you’? Disappointing.” He grimaced and stepped back from the desk, framed letter in hand. “Let’s review. Maybe it’ll jog your memory, get your blood flowing, wake up that fighting spirit that got you here. We’ll circle back to that and see how you feel then, hm?”

Erin followed his gaze to the wall beside them. Small, framed portraits hung where empty wall space had been moments before. Her eyes grew and her throat tightened.

“Exhibit A!” Dale’s shit eating grin stared at her, a trail of dried blood trickling from the top of his head, down his neck, soaking into his shirt. Like a screenshot of a memory that was still burned into her memory. “Always hated that guy. Can’t say I was too upset to see him and his Hawaiian shirts say Aloha. Pretty creative with that kill though, getting that mara to do the dirty work for you.” He nodded at her. “I meant it when I said I was impressed.”

He took another step back, moving onto the next photo like he was at the beginning of a presentation. He tapped the glass of the next one. A news article. “Multiple victims were found dead following the explosion that destroyed an abandoned manufacturing warehouse at the docks on Amity Road early Friday morning.” Roy raised his eyebrows at her excitedly. “That was you.” He let out a bellowing laugh and shook his head and quickly pointed to the photo directly beside it. Another article. “Three more dead at Pat’s and dozens hospitalized. That was you too! Say, didn’t you have some friends there that day?”

Erin’s fingernails dug into the palm of her hand. “That was you,” she snapped back.

Roy raised a hand, shaking a finger at her. “Uh-uh. This,” he pointed to the Pat’s article, “Only happened because of this.” His finger jabbed at the Ring article once more before bouncing back and forth between the two. “Cause and effect. Makes the world go round. Try and keep up, Nichols. Am I losing you already here?”

Maybe if she closed her eyes and counted to ten he’d disappear and leave her alone. Had she fallen asleep? She didn’t remember laying down but it was possible. Wouldn’t have been the first time her body had given up on her the second she found a comfortable couch. He laughed again, loud and joyfully, and her entire body sagged when she opened her eyes. Still here. This time he stood in front of her mugshot, giggling like an idiot. “I’m sorry--well, no. I’m not. Not at all. This is beautiful.”

He gathered himself and took a deep breath before moving on, moving faster now as he gestured towards the next few photos: Detective Wu’s car being pulled from Dark Score Lake, a snapshot of the fire from the funeral home lighting up the night sky, Sgt. Roland Hill’s obituary, the memory of Marley lying motionless on that warehouse floor. Erin couldn’t look anymore. Roy noticed. He pressed on, loud and clear. “Death, after death, after death. Strangers and friends alike.” A photo of her and Alain doting over Betty came next. “No wonder that little French friend of yours hightailed it out of the country without even a word after you got his leg lobbed off.”

“Stop it,” she hissed. It felt like she was being crushed. Like every picture, every word, added another ton of pressure directly on top of her. Her breaths quickened and her heart pounded dangerously fast between her ribs. “Stop it.”

“Not until you answer the question, Erin.” He barked back, harsh edges replacing the humor from before. The next photo shook on the wall when he pressed a finger against the glass. “Remember them? The witches of the coven you failed to inform about a fext in town? The ones I sucked dry? Because of you. Cause and effect, actions and consequences, Erin. It all comes back around. These people suffered and died because you couldn’t leave well enough alone. Because your freedom was worth more than any of their lives.”

Roy’s smile was gone. Dark eyes stared back at her. The last spot on the wall was empty, a single nail marking the spot. He set the framed letter in place, making sure it was perfectly straight. “There,” he said calmly, stepping back to admire the small gallery before them. That sick smile returned and he craned his neck to look at Erin again. “Can’t ignore this forever, Nichols. This is your handiwork. A trail of accomplishments that brought you back home and to this place you built on their blood, sweat and tears. All for them to--” Laughter spilled from his throat, his sheer glee interrupting his own words. “All for them to suspend your license. You can’t even work.”

It took more than a few moments for his laughter to settle into a humored chuckle. Erin’s cheeks flushed with shame. Tears burned at the back of her eyes. He didn’t notice and didn’t care, pulling another cigar from his suit pocket. “Indulge a dead guy and bask in it with me for a few minutes, will you?”

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t look. Not at him and not at the wall in front of her. Her hands shook furiously and she couldn’t breathe. “Get out,” she managed, but it wasn’t more than a harsh, choked whisper and she tried it again with more vigor. “Get. Out.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

She was going to be sick. This was a nightmare. This had to be a nightmare. Her hands rushed up to cover her face, rubbing her eyes, pulling at tufts of hair her hair as her fingers glided through them.

“Please. Please. Stop. Just stop.” Erin was nearly begging now. She could feel his gaze boring a hole into her but he wasn’t letting this go. Not until she answered. Not until she looked at the wall.

“Was it worth it?”

CRASH!

Across the room, a vase of fresh flowers lay shattered on the ground where Roy had been seconds ago. She wasn’t at her desk. She was standing in front of the framed letter on the wall. The room was starkly silent outside of that. Roy was gone and the frames on the wall with him. Minutes passed before she realized she hadn’t thrown the vase across the room but knocked it off the stand near the framed letter. Did she do that?

Roy was dead. Roy wasn’t here. She’d imagined it. It’d been his voice, his image, but her words playing back at her. Her hands shook. Was it worth it? The question cycled on an endless loop, tormenting her more than the ‘No’ that screamed for attention at the back of her mind.

She ripped the letter from the wall, locking onto the words again. One word. Suspended. She gave in to the despair and rage that filled every pocket of her soul and didn’t stop until the frame was just a shattered afterthought on the ground. Didn’t stop until every book, every trinket, every photo was thrown onto the floor with it. Her screams tore through her and tears poured down her face like a monsoon that’d finally ripped through and shattered the ceiling of the safe house she’d been hiding in. What did it matter anymore? It didn’t. She’d been beaten. Roy’s last move came late and without warning, destroying the last shred of stability she had left. She couldn’t hold it together anymore. Six months of tightly wound emotions exploded without any sign of stopping. Her neatly piled paperwork filled the floor around her. Coffee covered the walls. Glass crunched under her feet.

It wasn’t worth it.

[deanlarkspur]

   “Can we talk?” 

She swallowed hard as they walked to the sitting room and he moved towards her. She subtly bit at her fingernail as she stood with an arm bent. It dropped and she finally spoke, attempting to keep her voice steady. “I...Dean--”

Dean stood his ground this time and shook his head a little. “Alissa, I need to tell you something and I need you to listen. Please.” His words prompted her to lift her eyes to his and he saw that she had been crying. He smiled faintly, trying to mask what, he could only guess, would be disappointment and closed the space between them and took her face in his hands, his thumb grazing her cheek. “You really don’t know, do you?” he asked quietly, searching her eyes.

Ten minutes prior...

Dean sighed as he walked down the path from Alissa’s house. She wasn’t home and the maid wasn’t sure where she’d gone. Glancing around the Settlement, he looked in the direction of his father’s house and considered going there. Instead, he turned and walked the other direction, suddenly having an idea of where he might find her and hoping he was right. Sure enough, she was leading her horse back to the stables nearly at the exact moment he stepped foot on the Cavalli estate where she kept Ash. She looked slightly windswept and lurched to a stop when she spotted him and quickly pulled her gaze away and led the horse into the stables. 

Dean sighed as she continued to ignore him. “Alissa...” Sighing again and reaching a hand through his hair he took a step towards the entrance of the stable, saying, “Alissa, can we talk?” 

“Now you want to talk?” 

He grimaced a little. He deserved that. “I know you’re mad at me but--” 

“I’m not mad at you. I’m frustrated.” 

“I know,” Dean said quietly. “Look, I’m trying to fix things but it’s not something that’s easy for me to talk about.” 

A look of hurt crossed her features. “It’s hard to talk about. Got it.” She threw up her hands in frustration and started to stalk past him. “Fine.” 

“Alissa, don’t walk away from me.” His bluntness surprised both of them and she turned back to him.

“Why? So we can continue talking about not talking?” 

“Aliss--” 

“Do you have any idea how frustrating you’re being--” 

“-I know but--” Dean tried to interject but was interrupted again.

“--Seriously. What the fuck--” 

Before she could say anything more or have time to catch up with her thoughts, Dean suddenly took a purposeful step towards her and took her face in his hands. His lips zeroed in on hers and he silenced her with a kiss. She let out a small noise of surprise but to her own astonishment she kissed him back. Encouraged by her response he pulled her in closer, his hand moving into her hair. Starting to withdraw, he tenderly kissed her bottom lip and the corner of her mouth and drew in a deep breath that he slowly released. He kept her close, their foreheads touching and the pad of his thumb caressed her cheek, continuing to hold her face in his warm hands. His heart was racing. 

Their eyes met. Finally seeming to process what happened, Alissa’s mouth opened to say something but no words came out. She remained frozen for a moment before she quickly moved away from him and she bolted out of the stable.

“Alis---” He started to call after her but his words fell short and he let out a small sigh of frustration. She vanished from sight. He rubbed at his face with his hands briefly. “No,” he decided to himself aloud, “You aren’t going to just let her walk away.” With quick steps, he left the stable and started back towards Ascalon Settlement.

Present...

Alissa looked at him blankly and opened her mouth to speak but redirected her train of thought. Her brows creased. “What’s wrong?” she asked quietly, noting his visage was riddled with disappointment and something else she couldn’t quite place. 

Dean drew in a breath. Here goes nothing... ”I’m sorry, Alissa. I know you’re frustrated with me and you have every right to be. I’m sorry I kissed you. I should’ve...” he sighed and struggled to continue, dropping his gaze to the floor. “The thing is... I’m in love with you. And I have been for a long time.” He stood motionless and waited for her reaction, knowing he wouldn’t be able to take his words back.

She blinked, looking at him blankly. “Wait, what?”

He slowly lifted his head and forced himself to make eye contact with her. “I love you,” he repeated quietly, trying to decipher her expression but bracing himself for disappointment. 

Alissa stood there in stunned silence and seemed to be deep in thought. Of course he loved her. He had only been desperately trying to get her attention for years and she had been too stupid to see it. “I...” her voice trailed off. 

He sighed and looked at the floor again, trying to hide his disappointment. “I’m sorry, Alissa. I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want to make things awkward between us. If you want me to go...” 

She interrupted him, putting a hand on his arm and shaking her head. “No, no. Dean...why are you sorry?” To his surprise, she was smiling when he looked at her and she touched his jaw and continued, “You don’t have to apologize for how you feel. I’m just...I wasn’t expecting...I had no idea...” Her words started to come out stammered and she let out a weak laugh. “I feel really stupid...” She sighed a little. “How long have you had feelings for me?” 

“A long time,” Dean admitted. His hand reached up and brushed some of her hair behind her ear, lightly playing with the strands between his fingers. “I wanted to tell you; so many times. There were moments I was sure you would figure it out because I said too much or the wrong thing. I mean, it started out as just a stupid crush. But...the more time I started to spend with you and the better I got to know you, it grew into something more than that. And I tried to just...stop but I can’t and I don’t want to.” 

Alissa let out a weak chuckle, feeling her eyes mist up. “Dean, I’m a mess. I’m bossy and I don’t listen. I’m stubborn and independent and am not good at asking for help. And that’s only scratching the surface when you take into account how self destructive I can be and my horrible track record with relationships.” 

Dean looked at her calmly, a trace of amusement in his eyes and he laughed quietly. “Are you done?” he murmured. “Cause I’m hearing a lot of self deprecating and none of that makes me want you any less. Besides, you’re telling me this like I don’t already know.” He chuckled again and lightly touched her chin, prompting her face closer but he didn’t kiss her as much as he wanted to. He reached for one of her hands and gently held it in his. 

She reached up to wipe at her eyes as she listened to him speak so open and honestly. Drawing in a breath, she looked at the floor. “I never realized how much I really needed you. You’ve...always been right there. Patiently waiting.” 

“I never wanted you to feel like I wanted anything from you. I just wanted you to know I was here if you needed me.” He lightly touched her chin with his thumb. “I’m sorry this is overwhelming. I didn’t want it to be but I’m not sorry that I finally told you how I feel.” He glanced at the floor. 

Alissa still looked stunned and was unsure what to say but she caught the look of disappointment on his face and moved in closer to him, encircling her arms around his torso. “I’m glad you told me, too,” she said quietly. “So, what happens now?” 

“Well. I kind had this plan to ask you out and everything and then tell you I was hopelessly in love with you but...well. --Yeah.” He reached up a hand and lightly scratched the back of his head and let out a soft laugh. “It didn’t go as planned. I didn’t plan on kissing you in a horse stable either, but it was also the only way to get you to shut up since you wouldn’t let me get a word in edge wise.” He smiled lopsidedly. 

She laughed. “I’m not sure I would’ve been any less shocked if it’d happened any other way, to be honest,” Alissa admitted. “So, where are we going on this date?” 

Dean smiled broadly; boyishly. “Well. I have some plans. You free tonight?” 

Alissa smiled up at him and nodded. “Yes,” she murmured. 

[fallout4hancockfanfiction]

My first time writing fanfiction

It was that day for Nora. The past few years, before the bombs dropped, this very day was one of the happiest days for her. But not this year.

Today was her and Nates Wedding day, at least it would have been. It was the middle of the night no later than 2am, she was sitting with Hancock in the old State house, sharing a bottle of bourbon. Nora has never been the type to talk about her feelings.

Hancock could feel that something was off today, he couldnt put his thumb on it, so he just sat next to her quietly. Both sipping from the half full bottle, sharing the golden liquid that made Noras throat burn. In the background you could hear diamond city radio play "one more tomorrow" by Frankie Carle & Marjorie Hughes. Nora let out a quiet sigh and turned to Hancock: "Lets go to the Third Rail" Hancock looked back at her, nodded, and together they left his lounge room leaving the beverage on the table next to the Jet and Mentats which were placed on it.

They stepped inside the doors when they were greeted by Ham: "A friend of mayor Hancock is a friend of the Third Rail, go on in entertainment is down the stairs."

Downstairs Hancock was immediatley greeted by some of his citinzen, "perfect" she thougt. Magnolia just finished her song. She sang train train. "thank god this song is finished, im not sure if I coud have handled listening to it right now." nora thought to herself.

She walked up to Magnolia and asked her: " Hey Mags, could you sing "I'm the one you're looking for" please? "of course gorgeous, anything for you" Magnolia replied seductively.

Nora bought some beer and walked over to one of the couches and seated herself there.

("...have you gotten history that needs erasing... did you come in just for the beer and cigarettes..")

She took a sip of her beer and looked over to hancock, he's still occupied with his citizens who involved him in a conversation.

(... "ou well im just a girl to make you forget"..)

"perfect... maybe I can sneak out of here", nora slowly gotten up, without letting hancock out of her sight and started walking towards the exit. She just made it out of the door when hancock looked over to the couch and noticed that Nora was missing. He let his gaze wander through the room, looking for hs companion but he can't find her. He turned to his interlocutor and gave them one of his smooth " I could stay here and listen to how wonderful I am till the rest of my days, but I really think I need to get going"! he turned away and rushed to the exit.

" But hancock you've just gotten here..!"

He didn't even hear them, he was too focused on finding The Soule Survivor.

Upstairs he asked Ham if he had seen Nora and he said that she had just left through th door two minutes ago.

He went back inside the old state house, and saw that her gear was still laying on the couch next to the table where they left the bourbon and the chems. "Damn it Nora?? Where are you going, unprotected and without me?" he grabbed her stuff and headed toward the exit.

Just outside Goodneighbour he heard a Group of Raiders. "Fuck Nora!, why would you do something like this?"

(A few Hours later)

Arrived at Sanctuary, nora went back into her old house.  She walked past the kitchen and straight back into her old bedroom. Its been looted empty so she sat on the floor and played "Hi Honey!" on her Pib Boy.

"...Little fingers away... *baby giggles*... Hi honey!" She started tearing up, hearing the sound of his voice. "Listen... I don't think Shaun and I need to tell you how great of a mother you are... but we're going to anyway. ... But everything we do, no matter how hard... we do it for our family. Now say goodbye, Shaun... Bye bye? Say bye bye? *baby giggles* Bye honey! We love you!

She passed out on the Floor. When she woke up, Hancock caught up to her. Nora walked out of her house, on her way to the vault. She doesnt see Hancock but he sees her. As soon as he spottet her his heart skipped a beat because of relief to see her alive. He was about to call out to her when something told him not to. Instead he followed her quietly. Arrived at the Vault, she pressed the button and let herself into the ground. Hancock watched her and did as she did after waiting a few minutes.

"Wow..." he thought to himself upon entering.

Nora was sitting infront of the opened cryopod crying, holding Nates frozen, ice cold Hand while playing "Hi Honey!" over and over again.

Slowly Hancock stepped into the room, his face pained by what he saw.

Noras eyes shot up in Horror, just to be equal parts relieved and upset to see him there. She quickly wiped her eyes and stood up, cleared her throat and asked: "Wh... what are you doing here? how .. how did you find me?"

He walked up to her and wordlessly hugged her. Her face in his chest and her arms around him she couldnt help herself but started crying again. He put his forehead on her head and they stood motionless.

Hancock was the first to speak: "hey, look, if you wanna get outta here..."

Nora looked up to Hancock, eyes swollen and nose red.

Hancock looked back at her and thought:" how can she still be so beautiful while crying? what stop, what why did I think that??" Before he could say anything nora took a long breath in and let an even longer breath out. She turned towards the cryopod and closed it back up. Then she liftet her necklace with the two weddingrings from under her shirt and looked at them.

"You know...she started.. nevermind, nothing... lets get going"

Hancock handed nora her gear and together they left the vault and headed back to santuary.

Nora fixed or rebuild every building except of her own pre-war home. She didnt want anybody else living in it.

When they gotten back to sanctuary, preston and the other settlers were awake and started their daily tasks.

When preston spottet her he approached her, smiling from ear to ear. "GENERAL! I'm so happy to see you! What brings you to sanctuary?"

"Hey Garvey, how have you been? Its been a minute, I thought I'd come see how things are going."

"Your time is impeccable! There is a settlement near by that needs our help! I'll mark it on your map."

Nora looked down and let out a slight chuckle. She turned to Hancock and asked him: "ready to help an other settlement?"

John looked back at her smiling: "Of course, lets go"

So they started wandering towards Finch Farm.

They have been on the road for three hours already when John turned to Nora and said: "look, I got there something i wanted to talk to you abou.." Before he could finish his sentence Gunfire started and they both duked behind an old car.

"Raiders, shit!" said both of them simultaneously and looked at each other and giggled. The group of raiders were on a bridge. One with Power armour and one with a Rocket launcher. The rest were regular raiders. Luckily they hadnt noticed them yet, too occupied with the ferals.

"Should we take them out or walk around them?" "Well, those three shouldn't be difficult to eliminate but the one In the Power armour and the one with launcher seem more difficult"

Nora pulled out her sniper rifle annd took out the Launcher guy with a headshot.

"Guess we fightin'" said hancock with a grin.

Hancock pulled out his shotgun and killed the two raiders running towards them with meele weapons. "nice shot!" said nora.

"easy.." replied hancock smug.

Taking out the regular Raiders wasnt a problem but the Metal man put up a tough fight. He shot nora in her stomach. She let out a loud defening scream. Hancock isnt the type to easily lose his shit but he looked over at nora with panick in his eyes.

He had to do something, and he had to do it quickly. He ran over to the Rocket launcher and aimed it at the last standing raider, pulled the trigger and he heard the loud almost unbearable sound of the explosion. With a ringing in his ears he ran over to Nora ( who was huddled on the floor in a small puddle of blood) and picked her up. Panic in his eyes, he grabbed one of the stimpaks and injected her. "You're not going to die on me! I'm sorry! this is going to hurt a little, but I cant let the stimpack fix you while the bullet is still inside you" He put his bony rough fingers into her wound and pulled out the bullet.

Nora was whimpering in agony. Hancock sat down on the floor and held Nora in his arms. "It's going to be okay! I promise!"

John carried her back to Tenpines Bluff. Once arrived the settlers looked at Nora and gasped! " OH NO!" They ran over to Hancock and helped him carry her to the next bed. Nora, still unconcious was recovering inside the shed. Although the Settlers reassured him to get some rest because they would take care of her, he wouldnt leave her side. Then, after two days Nora opened her eyes. Hancock sitting on a chair next to her bed, barely able to keep his eyes opened shot up in relief once he saw that she had opened her eyes "NORA!, oh god nora! I was so worried! How are you feeling?"

"J..John? Wh..What happened?"

"You were shot in the stomach, here this is purified water, please drink something. We were fighting the raiders when the last one shot you. I carried you back here."

"Ar..Are you okay John?" Hancock looked at her in disbelief. It took him a second to realize what she had asked. "Youre the one who almost died but youre asking me if I'm okay? I have never met a more selfless person in my life Nora!

"Can you lay next to me?" she said, in almost a whisper. John looked at her stunned. "Are...are you sure? he asked?

"Yes please."

She pulled up the blanket and motioned for him to lay next to her.

He did as she asked and she layed her head on his chest. "Thank you"

"Anything for you sunshine"

With nora on his chest, he finnally passed out from exhaustion.

The next morning she woke up before him, when she opened her eyes she didnt recognize where she was. Then she noticed that she was not laying on a pillow but indeed his chest. "SHIT...what have I done? why am I sleeping cuddled up with Hancock? Oh fuck..." she thought to herself. she looked up to him "okay good he is still asleep"

As carefully as possible she gotten out of the bed trying not to wake him. As Nora placed the first foot on the floor an audible "Ouch" left her mouth, her face grimaced.

"Are you okay?"

"Fuck" she thought.. "uh yes im fine, my stomach hurts a little. "I have some Med-Ex if you need some" he said. "oh no im sure im fine, thank you, "ouch...oh god" her face twitsted in pain.

"PLease take it". He reached out his hand to give it to her.

"Thanks hancock" she took it and immediately injected herself.

"So uhm, what are the plans for today?" she asked

He looked over to her and answered: "Well I wasnt sure on when you were going to be ready to travel again. But we still gotta talk to the settlers at Finch Farm. But first of all, lets get you something to eat."

They got dressed and left the shed together. "How about tato salad?" "Yea sounds good, actually please pack some for the road too."she said.

he looked over to her slightly surprised: "Oh you feel ready to travel again?"

"Maybe its the Med-ex speaking but I feel ready to head out after breakfast." "Alright" he said "I'll pack our bags in the meantime. Meet me when youre done eating."

[dreamcatcherfication]

We’re Lost and Delirious and Can’t Be Found - Part 2

You know when you’re so tired that your eyes start to turn red? That’s me right now. My body is dying. This is great.

But hello everyone! This is the second and final part to this two-part series requested by @katherinehxward a little while back. I wasn’t planning on posting this chapter so soon but I’m having trouble writing other requests, so I thought I’d get this out so I don’t have to keep track of it anymore. This chapter is... strange, to say the least, but I hope you all enjoy! Sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors, I officially have one braincell dedicated to loving women.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas. If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Original Prompts

Trigger Warnings: Violence, dead bodies, toxic behavior, mentions of sexual assault

Part 1

Cathy wiped away the sweat that was gathering on her brow. Despite the cold night air, she was still working herself up as she dug into the mound with Anne. If Anne was struggling, she didn’t show it, her eyes hyper focused on the dirt below her. The beheaded queen had come this far because of the answering machine, she wasn’t going to back out now.

The shovels made a clunking sound against the dirt at every scoop, the ringing echoing through the quietness around them. “Anne,” Cathy asked as she stuck her shovel back into the dirt. “Why are we doing this?”

Anne didn’t stop her digging, but she slowed down slightly. She didn’t look at Cathy as she responded. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Halting her shovel as it was stuck in the dirt, Cathy leaned against it. “It’s way too crazy Anne. We followed some freaky answering machine to a house we’ve never seen before, and now we’re trying to dig up a body. There’s no reason for us to be involved with this. Hell, we should probably just leave. Maybe even call the police!”

The digging continued. “I thought you didn’t want to call the police,” Anne remarked as she tossed a shovel-full of dirt to the side.

Playing with her jacket, Cathy nervously eyed the quickly dwindling mound. “Yeah, well they’re more equipped to deal with this than we are.”

“And they’re going to believe two reincarnated queens in the middle of the night who think they found a dead body?” Anne stopped to watch Cathy. “If we go to the cops, we’re going to look deranged. We don’t even know if there’s a body at all.”

“Exactly!” Cathy cried as Anne went back to digging. “We can still leave and forget any of this happened.”

Before Anne could respond, her shovel his something solid. She froze and turned to Cathy. “No,” Cathy glared at her. “Anne don’t do it!”

But Anne was already dropping to her knees and grabbing handfuls of dirt, chucking them away from whatever the shovel had hit. Cathy couldn’t do anything as she watched Anne uncover the body. There was an agonizing moment of stillness as Cathy waited for Anne to reveal what they had found. “Oh my God,” Anne choked when she cleared the dirt away from the face. “Oh my God!” she shouted, tears forming in her eyes.

Cathy was frozen as she saw the face of the body. “How is this possible?” she mumbled, her stomach squeezing tightly. She had to hold herself back from vomiting at the sight.

Frantically, Anne unburied the rest of the body, her movements erratic and disjointed. When the body was uncovered, Anne pulled it into her arms. “Oh I’m so sorry,” she mumbled, tears streaming down her face by now. “This can’t be happening.” Cathy stood motionless, watching the devastated Anne cradle the body. “Kitty, I’m so sorry,” she cried into her cousin’s limp shoulder. “It shouldn’t have been you.”

A cold anger rushed over Cathy’s body. “What do you mean Kitty?”

Anne looked up, her eyes red rimmed. “I didn’t think the body would be my cousin! How did she even end up here?”

“Kitty’s fine,” Cathy hissed, stalking over to Anne. “Digging must’ve made your brain delusional. Your cousin is safe at home. You’re holding Catalina, and maybe you should show some concern for her.”

Making a sound of confusion, Anne looked at the body in her arms, blinking a couple times. “No, it’s Kitty. Cathy, why are you being so insensitive? My cousin is dead -”

“My godmother is dead!” Cathy screamed, pointing at the body, “And you can’t even see that? Wake up Anne, I didn’t pin you as crazy.”

Slowly setting the body down, Anne stood up, her eyes narrowing. “I’m not crazy, Parr. You’re the one who wanted to back out. Maybe this is all your fault.”

Rolling her eyes, Cathy spat, “How would this be my fault?”

“I don’t know,” Anne cautiously eyed her ‘friend’, “But I’m going to find out. Maybe you killed Kitty and you’re trying to convince me that I’m crazy so you can blame it on me, huh?”

Scoffing, Cathy clenched her fists. “And why would I do something so outlandish to frame you? I don’t care about Kat! Catherine, my godmother Catherine is dead and I think that takes top priority.”

“You’re such a stuck-up bitch Parr,” Anne snarled.

“At least I’m not a whore,” Cathy shot back. There was a moment of silence between the queens as they stared at each other, completely ignoring the body below them. And then all hell broke loose as Cathy hurled herself at Anne. She tackled the girl to the ground, pinning her wrist down. “You never care about anyone but yourself!” she accused, clawing at Anne’s skin.

Flipping them over, Anne sat on top of Cathy and grabbed her shoulders in a tight grip. “At least I don’t get scared when things get hard.” Anne attempted to slam Cathy against the ground, but the writer resisted. She pushed Anne away from her, holding the girl at arms length. 

“You’ve never cared about any of us Boleyn,” Cathy screeched, twisting Anne’s wrists as best she could. “You deserved what you got!” The two of them huffed as they struggled to gain control over the other. A red rage had enveloped their minds, telling them to hurt each other. It was the only way they could win. Win what? Neither of the girls asked. 

Rolling away from Cathy, Anne grabbed a shovel. She stabbed it into the ground next to Cathy’s head, chopping off a couple hairs. “You only escaped the same fate by lying. How does it feel to be a liar?” Picking up the shovel, Cathy swung it at Anne who jumped away, avoiding being struck.

Throwing the shovel to the side out of both their reaches, Cathy pounced on Anne and started yanking at her hair, knowing how it would hurt the girl. “You’re calling me out on being a liar when you’re the one who played the King for years? You ruined people’s lives and didn’t even care what happened to them!”

Anne kicked at Cathy’s hand, causing the two of them to go stumbling away from each other. “Well you’re the one who married a rapist and let my daughter SUFFER!” She charged at Cathy, rage in her eyes. Something in Cathy snapped when she saw Anne coming at her. As soon as Anne was close enough, Cathy grabbed her by the collar and threw Anne to the ground. There was a loud crack on impact. Eyes going wide, Cathy watched in horror. What had she just done?

A groan of pain came from Anne on the floor. She slowly sat up, rubbing her back. “The hell was that?”

“I - I don’t know,” Cathy stuttered, glancing at her hands. “I would’ve never done that but -”

She was cut off by Anne reaching behind her and picking up the answering machine she had landed on and broken with her weight. The circuitry was visible to the girls now, the wires a mess and the plastic broken apart. “It’s cold,” Anne muttered, shivering as she dropped the machine to the ground. “It’s cold, Cathy.”

Collapsing onto the dirt next to Anne, the final queen ran a hand through her hair. “What was all of that?”

“I have no idea,” Anne replied, bowing her head. “But I… I’m sorry about what I said. And for trying to hurt you.”

Something in Cathy understood exactly what Anne was feeling. “It wasn’t you who said it. It was whatever came over us.” Her eyes subtly drifted to the broken answering machine.

Anne didn’t miss where Cathy’s eyes fell. “You think it was the machine?”

Cathy shrugged, unsure of herself. “It all seems a bit outlandish, doesn’t it? But how else would we have gotten here, why would we say all those things? Why would we have seen two different -” her voice cut off and her eyes expanded. “Catherine and Kat!”

Both her and Anne scrambled to their feet and rushed over to where they had left the body. Anne spotted it first and practically slid across the grass to get next to it. “Cathy!” she called the girl over so she could see what it was.

Instead of the freshly deceased bodies of Aragon and Kat, there was barely a pile of bones sitting next to Anne. There were bandages holding the bones together, but the skeleton seemed fake when put together with its bindings. “It’s not them,” Cathy breathed a sigh of relief.

“They’re both safe,” Anne agreed, setting the bones down.

There were so many questions left to be answered in the queens’ minds, but they knew deep down they would never be answered. Who had all the answers in life? No one really, and certainly not them. “I want to call this magic,” Cathy exhaled as the two of them started to re-bury the body. “But I don’t know what it was.”

“We don’t know a lot of things,” Anne replied, throwing her shovel to the side as she finished covering the dirt mound. “But I do know I’m sorry for the things I did and said when I wasn’t myself.”

“You’re not the only one,” Cathy replied sheepishly. “Look, about Elizabeth and Thomas -”

Anne put her hand up and cut off Cathy. “It’s been a long time Cathy. We’ve had time to move on from that. Please… please don’t bring it up again.”

Swallowing, Cathy nodded. “Alright Anne.” Picking up both discarded shovels, Cathy placed them on top of the mound. “Let’s get out of here.”

“And let’s never buy another antique again,” Anne forced a joke.

Cathy laughed for the sake of making Anne feel better. In reality, both of them could still feel a chill on the back of their necks as they left the mound behind them.

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

Tag List:

@radcowboyalmondtree @boleynhowards @annabanana2401 @babeebobo @dont-lose-your-queerhead @everything-insanity @mindless-pidgeon @i-wanna-dance-and-sing-six @thedemidisaster @its-totes-gods-will @thatbolxyngirl @thenameisnoone @sixqueendom

[oliviagordonwrites]

Petrichor - Short Story (2510 words)

This did not win a contest! So I’m sharing it here!

The prompt is that Avatars are artificial bodies that allow you to project your consciousness elsewhere - this is the memory file of a recovered Avatar. 

To smell unbreathable air - this is something the astronauts of the last century could never do. I doubt Sally Ride even imagined the scent of an asteroid, let alone the possibility of standing on one with feet that half-felt like hers. Experiencing the world this far from the sun was only a dream, the stuff of science fiction. There isn’t a lot of atmosphere on Ceres, but it smells like rain. Right now, I’m the only human to know. 

I feel like a ghost. This far from my body - further than anyone has gone - makes the connection with the Avatar difficult at best. It’s like I’m floating somewhere between Mars and the asteroid belt, unmoored, a part of me is still breathing on Phobos, and the rest of me is scattered like space dust. Moving the Avatar’s limbs is like swimming in deep water, but every sense feels sharp. It is cold this far from home, as cold as it is empty. The sound of my metal fingers against the delicate plastic of the array is muffled, but I have to latch onto it if I’m going to stay focused. Every detail has to be perfect.

Tap, tap, tap, my tiny fingers against the ginormous dish. Being so small is probably part of the drifting feeling, but I’ve got to be able to climb all over this thing without breaking it. I reel in my mind from across the vast space. I’m almost done, it’s almost done. We can throw our siren song further into the universe, and strain our distant ears just as hard for a response. I like to think that they - that unknown they - are building a radio telescope, too. Fighting against the lightyears to break the silence.

It’s lonely in our solar system. Lonely everywhere we’ve seen.

Everywhere we’ve been.

“Eighteen minutes before we’re out of range.” Claire’s voice in my head is like the sound of waves heard from a hotel room.

“Acknowledged,” I say. Eighteen minutes isn’t a lot of time, and then Ceres will be too far away in orbit to connect to safely. If Elliot isn’t functional by then, it’ll be years before we can try again. I renew my focus and move the antenna another few centimeters. I need to double check the angle. Triple check the anchors. Quadruple check everything else. Eighteen minutes is not enough time. 

I scramble across the dish, taptaptaptap. Time was always slim, but now it’s like I can feel it radiating out into the cosmos, useless as dissipating heat. I can’t check every wire, every screw. I’ve got to power it up, run diagnostics, and correct whatever I can.

I’m struck blind. I take a deep breath on Phobos before I’m slingshotted back to my other body on the asteroid.

“What was that?” I should be shouting across the coms, but my tiny Avatar isn’t made for different volumes.

“The connection is getting spotty. You need to hurry, Shannon.”

“I’ve been hurrying.” I pick up the pace of my slog across the array. One foot in front of the other, as Ryder used to say. On the bottom edge of the dish, I delicately attach my hooks so I can slide down my industrial intestines - a grappling cable coiled around the toolbox in my abdomen. The rappel is slow going. I wish Ryder’s adages had an option for speed: “One foot in front of the other at 20 km per hour.” 

I tip my head back on the descent to see the millions of stars, and the bright light of Jupiter as close as anyone has ever seen it. Ryder would have loved it. I can almost hear the echo of her many long rants about literally anything involving Jupiter. I wish Ryder were dangling from this telescope instead of me, but I’d be happy if she could just spot that magnificent gas giant through her own telescope one more time. 

Our apartment must be as quiet as deep space without her.

Just as my tiny metal feet hit the surface of the asteroid, I see a blurry image of the ceiling on Phobos. I feel the heat of the air on my skin. Then I’m back on Ceres, screwdriver exchanged for delicate little fingers, good for typing and pressing buttons. “Claire?”

“I know,” she says. “Focus on your job. Fourteen minutes.”

Focus. With my consciousness stretched across a hundred million miles, and my senses seeping in from two different bodies. Focus. My fingers are harder to move than ever. I don’t have time to be careful, but I have even less time for mistakes. I narrow my vision onto the keyboard and slowly, laboriously, start inputting commands. 

“Elliot is powering up.” Waiting, waiting. 

“Twelve minutes,” says Claire.

“I can’t make it go faster.”

“I know, just...be ready.”

Ready? I’ve been ready forever. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, dreaming of; Elliot is what my whole life has always been about. I have always been ready to hear from the universe. Always stretching further and further, my ear pressed against the door of our solar system, hoping to make out the muffled voices of the strangers in the next room. Eleven minutes.

Eleven minutes and I’ll have a glass between me and the wall. Every hope I’ve ever had will be 123 million miles closer, but their voice isn’t the one I want to hear now. Better late than never, another adage from Ryder.

I feel Elliot’s vibrations through my entire metal body. Words flash up on the screen, but I’m back at Phobos, oxygen filling my lungs and blood rushing through my veins. Claire is sitting next to me, eyes intent on her screen. 

“Get me back,” my voice is rusty, coming from my body.

“I’m trying, hang on.”

Diagnostics complete. 

“You’ve got eight minutes.”

“It’s not enough,” I say, and I’m almost comforted by my robotic monotone voice. The screen is filling up with error codes, and every ounce of comfort is sucked out into the vacuum.

“Make it enough.”

“If I keep getting ripped out of this body--”

“Stop talking, start working.”

This model of Avatar is not made for huffing in frustration, but I swear I accomplish it. Claire is right, though. It all depends on this.

Most of the codes have one source; there’s something obscuring the antenna. There’s no way I can climb back up there in time.

“Shannon, can you hear me?”

“There’s a problem with the antenna. I don’t think I can--”

“Shannon, something is wrong.”

I’m frozen next to a ticking clock. The last time something was wrong, it was Ryder.

“Yeah,” I say, crushing my fear as best as I can. “I’ve got seven minutes to fix twenty-four error codes, and I’m the size of a pinata.”

“No, with the Avatar.”

Sluggishly, I wiggle each mechanical finger. “I feel fine.” I need to get to the top of the antenna. Luckily, I didn’t disengage the grapplers. I activate the reverse motor, and I’m lifted back in the air. It feels even slower this time, but I have to believe it’s just the stress, or I’ll have no hope at all. Ryder was always so much better at stress than I was. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, she said, and it never helped, but I always smiled.

“I’m getting readings that I’ve never seen before, Shannon. I think you need to disengage.”

My body is so, so small, suspended in the air, and so, so helpless, but my mind is as big as space. The entire distance between my bodies is me now. I encompass it all, and there is so much, but it’s only me. I can’t tell where my tears are suspended - Phobos, Ceres, or somewhere in between - but I was never meant to be so vast, and it hurts like a bruise across my chest.

Tiny hands hit the edge of the dish, and it takes a moment to recognize them as mine. I carefully pull myself up - I can’t afford another error code. 

“Shannon, I have to pull you out.”

“Don’t!” I say it with both of my mouths. “How much longer do I have?”

“Five minutes, but--”

“I need more.” I push my heavy limbs forward. Ryder wanted this, too. It should be her up here, putting one foot in front of the other, smelling the rain-scent of Ceres. “I can make it with just a few more. It’ll have a few bugs, but it will work if I can just fix the antenna.”

Claire hesitates. I hear her hissing intake of breath over the coms, and through my ears. I take a moment to despise the ceiling of the Phobos station before I’m back on Ceres, crawling delicately across the dish, seeing what Ryder never will, feeling like the ghost she must be.

“Maybe an extra five, but that’s it. I really don’t like these readings.”

“But you don’t like abandoning Elliot even more, right?”

“I’m not going to answer that out loud. Just hurry.”

It’s hard to hurry when you’re millions of miles deep. I feel like I could lean to the left and be at the antenna, but moving even an inch in the avatar takes all the concentration I have. There’s no room to think about Ryder, and how small a corpse is on the spinning top of Earth. I need to move another three feet and then climb for another century. I’m tossed back to Phobos, and rocketed back to Ceres, over and over again. I’m getting dizzy. I am twirling with the galaxy. It’s like I am the antenna, with my anchorless mind; maybe they can hear my thoughts, maybe they’re listening, maybe they care, maybe they are feeling less alone. She was all I had. Ryder and Elliot. But I’m climbing Elliot now, close as one can get, and it was only Ryder all along, and now?

At the top of the antenna, the Everest of Ceres, I find the obstruction and carefully maneuver my distant fingers to remove it. 

I hope you hear us, I tell them. I hope you’re there.

“Your extra five begins now. Don’t use them all.” Claire sounds almost scared. 

“I removed the debris,” I tell her. “I just need to get off.” 

“Jump,” she says. “Don’t worry about the Avatar now.”

“It needs to be intact if we have to do repairs during the next window.”

I can hear her hesitation across the coms. I can almost feel it in every mile of my being. “We won’t be doing this again. It’s too far.” Her voice cracks. “It might have already done damage.”

Damage, I think as I’m slingshotted back and forth between bodies, as part of me lies motionless, and part of me taptaptaptaps its way back across the dish, and part of me expands to fill the solar system. The damage is certainly already done. Ryder is dead, Elliot is done, and I’m left all alone to wait for a single sign of life from an unknown world. Taptaptaptap. The barely-there sound of my footsteps syncs to the rhythm of my heart. If I stop here in the middle of the dish, will I cease to exist, like her? I wouldn’t have to go home and clear out her things or visit the grave that was filled in without me. But who, then, would listen to the universe?

“The readings are changing again, I’m pulling you out.”

“I’m not clear yet!” I’m near the edge of the dish, near the edge of the galaxy; I refuse to come this far, this close, and lose it all now. They must hear my voice. They must know we’re here, at any cost. The silence must horrifying. The silence is so horrifying.

I fill the body of the Avatar.

I stretch, and stretch, and stretch. And snap.

“Shannon! Disengage now. This shouldn’t be possible, why--”

I tune her out, clench my little fingers and send my body over the edge, sliding down the cable at that same glacier pace. Distantly, I hear Claire calling for help, but I have my head tipped back to see the stars and my nose filling with the smell of rain on pavement. The only sound I want to hear is Ryder’s voice in my head. What would she be saying now? Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? Maybe that’s who they are - everyone we’ve lost, and they’re reaching out to us with everything they have, too. I hope their radio telescopes are big and sophisticated; I hope all they needed was an extra hundred million miles. 

Am I so far away? Is it too far to ever come back?

My feet gently land on the surface, and with half a minute left on the clock, I refresh the diagnostics, praying for results we can work with. If I’m too far away, it will be worth it. I’ll go farther and farther until I can hear their voices myself. Diagnostics complete.

We can work with that.

If my Avatar could smile, it’s hard to say if I would. This is the moment I have worked for. Every waking thought, every moment, every choice, was made so I could be a part of this moment. To put another chip in the silence, so that soon it will finally break. It’s quieter than ever when I could hear her all along.

“Hang in there, Shannon.” Claire’s voice in my head. “We’re going to power down the Avatar from here. We have a medical team on coms if...In three, two–”

I expand to fill the gaps in time. I encompass the full moment, denizen of everywhere. I hear their whispered voices, all saying the same thing, I am alone. I do not want to be alone. I have so much love. Not a single one speaks with Ryder’s voice. The echo of her life, though, that is still here, resonating in the depths of space. I encircle it all, and everyone is near me. I am a part of it, and a part of them. The galaxies are my veins, every planet a cell, and the stars are my synapses. Even the dark parts, the emptiness, are part of being complete. I feel it all. I forget to feel alone. I forget what distance is. Unmoored. I am everywhere. I hope Ryder feels like this.

“She’s responding,” Claire says, and I feel her presence somewhere meaningful. “I don’t understand. She’s still linked up to the Avatar some–wait.”

I retreat into the tiny shell on Phobos; my body does not welcome me, but I am ready to return. To go home. To face the emptiness, or try again and mean it this time. If at first, you don’t succeed…

“Shannon? Can you hear me? Elliot is functioning. Please, please, tell me you can hear me.”

“The universe is full,” I say as the final tendrils of myself release their hold on Ceres. “And it smells like rain.”

[thecursedhellblazer]

At the Edge of Nowhere

(( So, guess who went ahead and scratched that crazy itch I got yesterday? Yep, Scotty did. It turned in a small fic instead of a drabble, since apparently I had more to play out than I initially thought, but...here it is. I took the chance to experiment a bit with the writing style too, while I was at it, ‘cause...why not? ))

(( I’m not really sure of where the idea came from, I just really wanted them to have interact, somehow, without inventing something too complicated. And this was the result. Also, it doesn’t mean that I won’t try to shove Five into John’s universe or vice versa at some point, but for now I’m good with this xD ))

(( Sharing just in case anyone is in the mood for some random oddity! ))

(( I even posted in on Ao3 if anyone wants to have a look at it there! ^^” ))

They sit side by side, watching the eternal sunset of Eternity stretching before them, swinging their feet past the edge of the Abyss, unfazed by the danger of its depths. The darkness seems to be threatening to suck them down, condemning them to an endless fall, and yet they pay it no mind, each of them far too interested in sipping and enjoying his drink.

The silence floods past them, over them, through them, carrying the whispers of their lives. However, for this ephemeral moment, they are given the almost unique chance to ignore them. It’s a rare gift, one that deserved to be savoured, like a fine well-aged vintage. Like the ambrosia that the ancient gods, legit and false, so much have lauded.

And so they sit, the Boy and the Fool, side by side, on the edge of the Abyss.

The atmosphere is almost companionable, as much as it can be when shared by two strangers who carry with them too much baggage. A past and a present that are too dark, too painful. There’s as much kinship and understanding between them as there’s mistrust.

They let the quietness linger for a while, listening only to the taste of the alcohol that coats their tongues, knowing that the stasis won’t last. Neither of them is good at keeping his mouth shut when something is making their skin itch.

“Th’ ‘ell ‘s a lad like yeh doin’ in such a place?” The Fool finally asks, turning his eyes away from the magnetic horizon and landing them on his unlikely companion.

The Boy scoffs. Why is it always the same old story with everyone he meets? “I’d watch my fucking tongue if I were you, young man,” he shoots back, with a withering look. “I’m far older than I look. And I’m older than you for sure.”

A half laugh rises with a small cloud of smoke, but it dies in the matter of seconds as the seriousness of those declarations settles in.

“Blimey. Yeh ain’t pullin’ me leg, are yeh? ‘Ow old are yeh s’posed to be den, mate?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding? Trust me, mate, I’m not. I’m fifty-eight. And I’m stuck in the body of a thirteen-years-old. There’s nothing funny about it.”

“Bloody ‘Ell. Fifty-eight n’ still a lad? Tha’s...insane. I dun envy yeh. Nay.”

The Fool shakes his head, but, despite the lingering astonishment, there is a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Tell us, tho. Woh’s yeh secret? I gots me diabolical trick to slow down agin’ n’ all, but it obviously ain’t workin’ as well as yehs.”

“I got stuck in the future for forty-five years and, when I finally figured out the equation to go back to my time, I missed a typo and...this is the result.”

“Soddin’ math. ‘S one o’ th’ bloody reasons why I ne’er managed to get alchemy rite. T’in’s keep blowin’ up in me face.”

“Sodding math indeed. Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

They clink their glasses together and go back staring at the frozen skyline. Two sets of blue eyes. Different shades of the iris, similar heaviness burdening them.

The Boy steers his drink with his straw, lips pursing pensively. “Speaking of things that suck, what is this place exactly? Am I dreaming? Or did I accidentally take some of my brother’s drugs and this is like the most boring trip in history?”

The Fool scoffs. “Gonna pretend tha’ yeh didn’t jus’ insult me too, together wit’ dis soddin’ place.”

His gaze wanders for a split moment, touching their motionless surroundings. “Ah, I dunno, mate. Could be yeh dream, aye. Could be mine. Or maybe we bot’ stepped inside another real wit’out noticin’ n’ ‘ere we are. Wouldn’t be th’ first time for me. Won’t be th’ last either.”

“I’ve never been in another world. I’ve travelled through time, maybe a bit too much, and I’ve rushed through the fabric of space but this…” The Boy waves his free hand. “This is new. It’s easier to think of it as a dream, so I’d go with that, if you don’t mind. The last thing I need is another headache.”

“Wohe’er works wit’ yeh, mate. I get it. At times, ‘s be’er pretendin’ life ain’t real. ‘S good for yeh mental sanity. Even if yeh got none left.”

The Fool takes yet another drag from his cigarette. Curiously enough, it doesn’t seem to be shortening, even if the ash falls down on his trench coat.

“One t’in’ I can tell yeh ‘bout dis place, tho. It ain’t somewhere e’eryone can visit. Yeh gotta carry some serious shite wit’ yeh to ‘ave stumbled in ‘ere. Do yeh?”

The Boy shrugs. “Maybe? I kept pushing and pushing, even after my father had told me not to and I ended up after the End of the world. I heard the bastard’s voice echoing in my head for the past forty-five years.” He makes his voice thicker for a moment. “I told you so, boy. I told you so. Asshole.”

A long sip from his drink, as if he is trying to wash away that intrusive voice from his ears, before he continues.

“I worked for this organisation that monitors the timeline for a while as a trained assassin. They made me into the perfect killer, a tool for their plans. I had my goals, though, since the start. I took their deal just so that I could go back to try to stop the Apocalypse and save my family. We ended up breakin the world anyway, so I dragged them all back in time to try again. Of course, all that shit followed us. Because it’s never that easy, is it?”

The Fool nods and the Boy can tell that his companion knows that sort of feeling far too well. It’s nice to be fully understood, for once. Even if the understanding comes from a nameless stranger he’ll probably never see again. Assuming that their meeting is truly happening in the first place.

“So...We saved the world this time but broke the timeline. And now my childhood home is gone and me and my siblings are stuck in a timeline that holds no place for us anymore. I’m still trying to figure out how that’s supposed to work. Oh, and that bastard of my adoptive father is hunting us down using the kids he adopted in our place. It’s a real mess.”

There’s bitterness colouring his voice, the embers of a fight that’s too stubborn to die just yet, but the exhaustion is stronger.

“Though, between you and me...All I really want is a decent nap and a dozen more drinks. Maybe get a dog too. Not necessarily in that order.”

The straw produces a light slurping sound as he takes the next sip. “What’s your story? You must have one too, since you’re here...wherever here is.”

The Fool tips his head, in a sign of acknowledgement. No comments follow the tale, and there’s no real need for them there, out of time and space.

“Grew up in me own particular version o’ ‘Ell. Me oul man was th’ fuckin’ opposite o’ ‘father o’ th’ year’...So, I ran in my teen years, still thinkin’ I coulda owned th’ world. Stuck me nose in e’ery bloody t’in’ tha’ was magic n’ occult. One nite I got too cocky and damned an innocent girl to Hell. Earned a bloody place wit’ me name down there too in the process.”

The voice that spells out the words is casual, but there’s something haunted in his expression, darkening his eyes.

“Spent all me life tryin' to make up for tha’ bloody mistake. Ended up messin up meself and most o’ me mates n’ th’ people who ‘ad th’ ‘orrible o’ puttin’ their faith in me as a result. Girl’s still in ‘Ell, th’ bloody Devil ‘imself gots an eternal grudge against me, I gots demon blood in me veins n’ me soz arse ‘s still damned. I might not be a professional like yeh, but I bet I gots jus’ as much blood on me ‘ands. N’ even more souls on me conscience.”

The ice clinks against the transparent walls as the glass is lifted. More sourness to wipe away the one that the words have left on his tongue.

“Nowadays, ‘s mostly me, meself n’ I. Me best mate, too, from time to time. No clue o’ ‘ow he survived bein’ by me side for so long. ‘M still tryin’ to make t’in’s rite, but...for th’ most I jus’ try to be there to do th’ bloody dirty job no self-appointed ‘ero gots th’ time to do. I might be lost, past th’ point o’ no return, but there are lots o’ people out there who aren’t yet. Th’ fuckin’ least I can do ‘s tryin’ to ‘elp ‘em, aye? Make dis soz existence o’ mine wort’ more than misery n’ destruction.”

A drag from his cigarette and there’s a small hand landing on his shoulder, in a brief pat, before he has finished sucking the smoke in. The light pressure says more than a thousand words could.

“Between you and me, tho...I could use a dozen drinks too. Maybe more. N’ a bloody vacation. To sod off somewhere, even for jus’ a day. Maybe take me best mate n’ dis other lad I know. Oh, he could use a break too, th’ poor sod.”

The Boy makes a sound of agreement and he is back stirring his drink. “What a pair we make, you and I. And I don’t even know you.”

“I ‘ear tha’ loud n’ clear, mate. Bloody loud n’ bloody clear. Woh’s tha’ yeh drinkin’ anyway?”

“What? You ne’er seen a margarita? Where the hell are you from? England or Mars? Come on, try it.”

“Oi, I know woh a fuckin’ margarita is, oul man. Yehs jus’ a bit...flashier than woh ‘m used to.”

“Special recipe. I perfected it myself.”

“Now, tha’s more like it. I like a bloke who can make ‘is own drinks. There. Yeh like g n’ t?”

The glasses pass from one hand to another and then they both turn to look back at the unchanged horizon, holding each other’s drink.

A moment to sniff the liquors, in unison, and then the Boy dips his lips in the clear spirit while the Fool wraps his mouth around the straw. The tastes mix in the silence and it’s a symphony of citrus and sourness, with just the right amount of sweetness coming at the end.

“So, what happens now?” The Boy asks, after a moment.

The Fool shrugs. “Ah, I guess we wait till all dis fades. Or till we do. ‘S always ‘ard to tell when it comes to dis sort o’ shite.”

A huffs, with the faintest hint of irritation. “For someone who’s supposed to know a lot about this stuff, you give the worst cryptic answers. I can’t tell if you’re that ignorant or if you’re just fucking with me.”

A nudge in a smaller, slender side and a sharp smirk. “Who knows, mate. Yeh guess ‘s as good as mine. Keep th’ drink. I gots more back where I come from. Consider it a safe trip back home present. I’ll keep yehs as a reminder.”

“A present from a guy I never truly met? And a reminder of something we didn’t even speak about?”

“Nay. Jus’ th’ memory o’ some peace n’ quiet in decent company.”

“Fair enough. I can drink to that.”

[erekiosuncreativeideas]

Reliving An Old Nightmare - Chapter 20

<= Chapter 19

Summary : We get to know more about the origin of the time rift. And maybe another element which is probably irrelevant. Or not. Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/22337299/chapters/58413415

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Oh, what do you know, another chapter, yaaay ! Also, I added more than 2000 words to this chapter today, so it's almost the longest one. Not quite, but almost.

Anyway, happy reading !

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Chapter 20

The manor was silent and the air was glacial, just like usual. It was dark, as always. The lonely Queen was in the kitchen, sitting at the dining table. A plate of frozen cookies was just in front of her, completely uneatable. She had done it again.

Vanessa stared at her monstrous hands then to her horrifying shadow visible on the wall. She gritted her teeth as her claws left marks on the wooden table. It was all his fault!

She hated him. But oh, she also loved him so, so much. She knew it didn’t make much sense but it was okay. Everything was fine. Her Prince had abandoned her for years but he would eventually come back to her. She was sure that, one day, he would come back and apologize for everything he had done to her. He would beg for her pardon. Alistel just refused to see the truth, for now, that was all.

Vanessa wasn’t hungry anymore. She barely was nowadays.

With a swift gesture, Vanessa threw the plate on the wall, hitting the place where her shadow was. She stood up abruptly, making the chair slide loudly on the brown tiles of the kitchen. A sudden rush of rage filled her, without knowing why exactly. But it could only be her Prince’s fault. It was always his fault. He was the one who had been seeing another woman, lying to her all this time, using her…

Now she was alone and it was so much better!

It wasn’t, but she tried to believe it anyway. She still longed to see her stubborn lover everyday, wishing he would come back home. Why was he so persistent of staying away from her when they were clearly made to be together? Why couldn’t he see it? She knew they were!

The Queen let out an animalistic growl. She supposed she could only wait for him to realize his past mistakes and take responsibility for it. How long, though? It had been hundreds of years and her dear fiance still hadn’t come back…

The woman huffed and puffed at the broken plate on the floor and to the impact the shock had made on the wall. She didn’t want to deal with it at the moment… In fact, she didn’t want to deal with anything. The Queen left the room, dragging her feet in the manor until she reached her bedroom on the second floor. She wasn’t tired but there wasn’t anything to do when she felt this depressed.

She opened the door and simply lied on the bed, without caring much about undressing. She wouldn’t fall asleep anyway, so what was the point? The Queen just put her twisted shadowy body under the warm covers, hunching her back even more as she did so. She could feel her bones cracking at the movement. Then… She just waited. At least, her dear precious fiance would see her in her dreams if she managed to fall asleep…

Vanessa didn’t expect it to be that easy. But soon, her consciousness drifted away as her body relaxed little by little. When she opened her red eyes again, a few hours later, she felt refreshed for a reason she couldn’t quite place. Her nap had been lively, as she could remember dreaming about something… Wonderful. But she didn’t remember, so it didn’t matter anymore. What mattered now was that she was back in this icy manor, alone, without her loved one to keep her company, even from the basement.

However, when she sat on the bed, she noticed something on the nightstand, something which hadn’t been there when she fell asleep. It was a page of her old diary, which had been ripped off. The said page was already full of her writing. Yet, something felt off: why was it here? She frowned, already thinking of one of the possibilities: did someone dare come into her home? A familiar feeling of anger engulfed her: who would come to her manor and mess with her? She had no intention of letting the reckless idiot leave… Not alive anyway.

But as she clenched the piece of paper with rage, she suddenly realized that something has been written vertically on the edge of the page. The Queen squitted to read it, yet it was a bit too dark to decipher it. She could at least recognize her handwriting, but… She had never written that. And there was no way she would forget something like this!

Very much startled by what she had discovered, the Queen looked clumsily into her nightstand for some matchsticks, making most of them fall onto the floor. Once she held one firmly, she lit the candle next to her and brought the paper closer to the light to read whatever was written on the paper.

However, what she read was very different than everything she was expecting :

“Dear Queen Vanessa, you do not know me yet, but I know you are in great pain. I am offering my services to help you get what you wish the most. Especially who you wish the most. If you are interested, please leave several blank pieces of paper on your nightstand and I will describe how I might help the next time you go to sleep. If, on the contrary, you do not want my help, you just have to burn this page. In that case, I will not contact you ever again. I hope this note finds you well.”

This was all. The woman turned the page over but there were no other message hidden on the opposite side. Her eyes stared at the note in bewilderment: this was clearly a message from someone, but this was her handwriting. Did someone try to imitate it? But what for? And who?

Though, that wasn’t what was occupying the Queen’s mind. The person who wrote this message clearly knew something about her relationship with Alistel. Who were they? A feeling of anger and frustration settled over her as she tried to guess in vain. She had killed everyone, there was no one left who could have given her such a message…

Except for Alistel himself. He knew her handwriting, he knew where she used to keep her diary… But why? This didn’t make any sense.

But it didn’t matter anyway. It was all a joke, wasn’t it? If Alistel was the one who wrote that note… Vanessa was sure he just wanted to mess with her. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have left after putting the message on her nightstand.

So the woman did the only thing which seemed reasonable at the moment: she held the note out to the fire, ready to follow the instructions on the note if it meant Alistel wouldn’t try to prank her. She wanted her prince to come back and apologize, not to mess with her.

But just before the fire could reach the page, Vanessa stopped. Her arm remained completely motionless, holding the piece of paper in the air. She wanted to burn it, she wanted to destroy this joke… Yet she was unable to. While the rational part of her brain thought her hesitation was stupid, the other part of her mind couldn’t help but formulate a small and quiet “what if?”. What would happen if she left more paper on her nightstand instead of burning the page? What would change?

Would Alistel come back to her? Could it be his way to reach her again?

A few seconds passed, silently, before the Queen lowered her arm, setting the page on the nightstand again. This was absolutely ridiculous, she didn’t even know why she couldn’t destroy a single piece of paper! But she couldn’t ignore the feeling of hope emerging in her. She frowned at all her conflicting thoughts, not knowing what to do with herself now. She felt both nervous and excited at the same time, thinking about the note.

Was it a joke? Or… Was it true? There was only one way to find out.

Vanessa got up, stretching her old body, hearing more and more cracks as she did so. The first thing she did after getting up was fetching a few blank pages and putting them on her nightstand, with a quill and ink. If this was true… Then ignoring such an opportunity was out of the question.

The “day” after seemed to last centuries for the Queen. Well, it was always nighttime in Subcon, due to Alistel’s… Bad influence on the forest. Still, she wanted it to be over as fast as possible so she could get answers. She spent the whole day being fidgety, walking in the corridors of her home just so she could occupy herself. There wasn’t much to do anyway and what she could do was not enough to take her mind off the note.

She couldn’t wait to know. She needed to know.

After an unbearable wait, the woman felt tired enough to go to bed once again. However, she was much too excited to fall asleep right away. She didn’t really know how many hours she had had to wait until she felt her consciousness drift away once again… But after a while, she relaxed and fell asleep.

Once more, she dreamt of something colourful she couldn’t remember when she woke up. Smudges of red, blue, and yellow were all she could recall. But it wasn’t really important to her once she came back to reality: what mattered was the pages on the nightstand. And, just like she had expected, a longer message had been written on the previously blank pages. She immediately lighted up the candle next to her and started to read:

“I am glad to see you are interested in my help. Just like I promised, here is how I can assist you: there is a powerful artefact in Subcon Forest, which comes from a world far, far away from ours. It looks like a gigantic and broken hourglass, which pieces have been scattered all around the forest. Such an artefact can be used to rewind time, from mere seconds to centuries.”

Vanessa’s eyes widened at the words. An object that could rewind time? This… Couldn’t be true, could it? Was Alistel just messing with her again? Yet, she had the feeling deep inside that her prince wasn’t the one behind this.

This wasn’t like him. No matter how much he had possibly changed through all those years without her good influence… Such words would certainly not come from him. But then… Whose words were these? She continued reading, feeling her nervousness replacing her previous excitement:

“However, broken like it is, it is perfectly useless. It simply stays unmoving, untouched by the effect of time itself. But there is a way to fix it. If every part of the hourglass is taken back to its core, the artefact should reform. It is currently huge, but it will shrink back to its normal size. Once it is back to its former shape, I will be able to help you. But… Be careful.”

Vanessa gulped as she read the last sentences, feeling her hands shake from the emotions engulfing her at the explanations:

“Do not break it again. Otherwise, it will be permanently broken and unusable. You do not want that, do you? Once it is complete again, bring it back to the manor, on your nightstand. I will then take care of everything for you. You will not have to worry about a single thing.”

The note ended here. Once again, Vanessa examined the pages thoroughly, but didn’t find any other message. She remained motionless for a few minutes, her eyes fixed on the note before her. Could it be true? Would she be able to fix all of Alistel’s mistakes if she followed the instructions?

Given how stubborn her prince was about accepting his responsibilities… She didn’t have much of a choice, did she? Maybe she could help him to realize that his place was with her, an not with anyone else.

She nodded to herself, before putting the notes back on the nightstand. She stared into space as her mind filled itself with many thoughts. An artefact in Subcon Forest? Pieces scattered all around? She thought about it, imagining all the ways she could use to find them. She couldn’t fetch them in person… Alistel wouldn’t let her cross the broken bridge. However… She still had some ice statues obeying her, even in her fiance’s part of the forest.

This was her only possibility.

She nodded once again, speaking aloud just in case the person helping her would be able to hear her words:

-“I will find those shards and bring the artefact to you once it’s fixed,” she promised, closing her eyes as she spoke.

And sending the ice statues was what she did. Most were successful, others… Not so much. But after a few days, the animated objects managed to bring all the pieces back to the core. She had instructed her statues to be extremely careful with the hourglass, yet she couldn’t help but be a nervous mess at the thought of breaking her only chance of seeing Alistel again.

However, contrary to her fears, one of the ice statues came back, the artefact in his strong and hard hands. It had knocked on the front door and the Queen had rushed to take the object as fast as she could. She then did her best to stay calm, to avoid stupid risks. What would she do if the hourglass hit the floor and broke? She didn’t want all her efforts and hopes to go to waste!

Vanessa looked at the hourglass, filled with wonder at the sight of the shiny artefact. It was filled with a glowy kind of sand. Though, when she saw her reflection on the glass, she stopped examining it. She didn’t want to see herself. Not with her current appearance.

Filled with a whole new determination, she came back to her room with a light skip, too much excited to hold herself back. She hadn’t been so happy since… Since… She didn’t want to think about it. She wouldn’t let her memories ruin how relieved and joyful she felt at the moment!

She entered her room and exclaimed excitedly:

-“I have it!” she said, lifting the hourglass as she continued: “I did it!” But no one was there to answer her. Of course, her secret helper could only talk to her while she was sleeping, right? This was okay. All she needed to do was to go to bed and wait for her body to relax. She could do that!

She gently put the hourglass down on the table near her bed and lied under the cover. She was much too excited to fall asleep but she knew it would happen anyway. In the meantime, she simply imagined what would happen once she would wake up. Oh, she just couldn’t wait! She found herself smiling and giggling under the cover, like a child waiting for Christmas. She was so happy, so overjoyed!

She was going to see Alistel again… And everything would be back just like before.

Finally, after what seemed hours to Vanessa, she felt her mind slowly drifting towards unconsciousness. Just before falling in a deep sleep, she heard an evil laugh resonating in her head, as if she had just imagined it. But she was too tired to pay attention to it and everything went black.

When she woke up,  she had all forgotten about the cruel laugh. She opened her eyes slowly and squinted not to be blinded by the light.

The light? Vanessa’s attention was immediately caught. It was never daytime in Subcon.

She was sleeping in her bed but… It was sunny outside. The Queen could hear birds chirping, people walking and talking quietly behind her door. She was in her room, just like it had been when everything was still fine.

It had worked!

She sat up instantly, looking all around her with wonder and amazement. How could this be possible? It was unimaginable! And yet, it was happening! A nervous and excited laugh escaped from her mouth as she examined everything. And then, she saw her hands, human hands-

-“Oh…” Vanessa felt her eyes water at the realization. She brought one of her hands to her mouth to stop herself from crying… But all she felt was more skin on her face. She touched every part of her head, trying to convince herself that this was real, that she wasn’t dreaming. She could feel her fingers touching hair, her soft blonde hair! Her body was not twisted anymore either!

She laughed gleefully as happy tears rolled on her cheeks: it had truly worked! She was human again!

It is with this thought that she realized the most important thing: if she was human again, then… Alistel was alive again too.

As more tears left her eyes, she heard a soft knock on her bedroom door. The sudden noise made her jump and she stopped touching her face, bringing her hands down quickly. She remained hesitant for a few seconds before finding the courage to talk, and her voice sounded so much more human now!

-“Y-yes?”

The door opened, revealing a face very familiar to Vanessa. It was… Her family’s butler, back when she was alive. She recognized his salt and pepper hair, his uniform, his very straight posture… And the woman remembered his name too.

-“Simeon?” she asked, though very anxious. It had been centuries since her last conversation with another living being… How did one talk to someone else without looking weird?

The man came inside and closed the door behind him. He then smiled at her in a very gentle way and opened his mouth:

-“Not exactly, my Queen,” he replied, always smiling. The woman frowned in confusion but the man quickly added: “I may look like your old servant, yet I am a very different person. How are you feeling?”

This way of talking, his claims…! She guessed who it was. The man in front of her was not her old butler but her secret helper! Her eyes widened at the constatation and the other’s smile grew larger as he saw she finally understood.

-“G-good,” she answered, though speaking was a bit hard for the moment. It was too many emotions at the same time! But she did manage to ask the question that had been on her lips for a so long: “But… Who are you?”

The “butler” nodded, visibly happy of her answer. He then closed his eyes and bowed down slightly in a very elegant manner, before properly introducing himself to her:

-“I am very happy to know I was able to help you, my Queen. As for who I am…”

The man opened his eyes once again, revealing red irises staring directly at her.

-“You may call me Moonjumper.”

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

Vanessa’s dreams had been extremely colourful and marvellous at first. Everything was so perfect! Her lover was brought back to life, his mistake had been fixed, she had even forgiven him! Everything could be just like before! The first day, she had spent hours looking herself into a mirror, changing dresses after dresses, loving how human she looked like. She was amazed to walk in the manor, this house where she had been so alone for years, and see her old servants, alive and well! No intruders she had to murder (because they deserved it of course), but actual people who once were a part of her life!

Then she went outside, to explore the village, the untouched and undamaged village. There were so many people walking right next to her, their smells passing by, children running around while laughing! It was surreal. Everyone had been waving at her, smiling at her! She was being loved again!

Somehow, this made the Queen feel extremely strange. It was like she felt relieved, yet she had no idea why at the time. Simeon, or Moonjumper, had told her it might be quite a shock to see such a different version of the world she had come to know. So, with that in mind, she just assumed that she had this weird feeling because of that.

Her accomplice had also warned her about her emotions and what they could cause but why would he tell her such a thing? She only felt pure happiness at that particular moment! She was so overjoyed! Or, at least, that’s what she had believed until she saw a carriage passing right next to her.

Her eyes met her prince’s, who was inside, and her heart almost stopped at the shock. It only lasted a second, as the carriage quickly faded in the distance, but it had a powerful effect for Vanessa. As for her, she only stood still, staring into space as her mind was full of conflicted thoughts. Seeing the face of her loved one took her by surprise but why wasn’t she feeling so happy at the moment? Why was she so petrified?

The Queen noticed a bit too late that she had stopped moving for a few minutes and that she had been hyperventilating. Her heartbeat was fast and she suddenly put her hands over her chest, trying to reassure herself. Apparently, no one noticed her standing in the middle of the way.

It was fine! Everything was perfect! She had fixed everything Alistel did in the past! So why was she feeling this way?

“I’m… I’m happy!” she told herself as if she was reasoning with her own mind: “Alistel is back! He’s alive again! So I should be happy! Right?”

Though, it didn’t make her feel any much better, as doubts engulfed her. He wouldn’t remember… Would he? She shook her head. No, of course, he wouldn’t! Simeon had told her everything would be perfect, just like she had always wanted! She had the opportunity to make things better for Alistel this time! She would just shower him with even more love so he wouldn’t leave her for someone else!

And… Maybe close a flower shop or two before doing anything, just in case. No one would notice anything anyway. All that mattered now… Was her prince’s love for her and their “happy ever after”. Nothing else.

She then proceeded to run in the direction of the manor, not noticing the small trail of ice she was leaving behind her.

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

Well… That was what she had thought at the time but it had been easier said than done. First of all… Alistel remembered. Not only that but he had remembered everything, even after his death. At first, he had tried to fool her, though, for some reason, Vanessa knew. The way he looked at her, the way he avoided her touches or her affectionate gestures… She knew he had to remember. And when she tried to confront him about this, it had only confirmed her deepest fears.

How could she fix all of his mistakes if he remembered? What if he still wanted to leave her?

Of course, the Queen had come right at Simeon the second she thought about it, but the man had just told her not to worry about it, that it would be solved soon. But how? How could it be solved? She had tried to explain her doubts once again, but… For the first time, her accomplice had stopped smiling and had ordered her to stop mopping and enjoy what he had done for her.

This should have really made her think. But it didn’t. Maybe because she didn’t want to believe that something was wrong.

Then she had snapped at Alistel, only to be strongly reprimanded by her dear friend Simeon. The man who had made her come back to the past had changed his attitude with her so quickly… And somehow, she still didn’t want to even think about the possibility of having been manipulated.

And then… She had hurt her Prince. It was an accident! But the injury was there to prove she had still done it. The way he looked at her, so afraid of her… It had made her come back to reality as she crumpled in apologies. But it was still too late. Guilt crushed her instantly and when Alistel’s parents came into the room… It was too much. All she could do was flee.

It was all she was good for, wasn’t she? Fleeing. Hurting people. Wasn’t it the reason her dear prince left her in the first place? But that thought quickly disappeared as she tried to push the guilty thoughts out of her mind. She was trying to fix things! She couldn’t be the one at fault if she was fixing things!

She spent the whole day crying in her room after that, only to learn a few hours later that her loved one had left her once again. It should have crushed her feelings even more but somehow, it only made her livid. How dared he leave her again? After everything she did to make things right again!

But of course, he came back to her, just like she had expected. But he still didn’t understand. He would never understand, would he? They argued once again, only for Simeon to interrupt them and send Alistel away to scold her once more.

For a moment, she had felt like her mother was standing right in front of her. It only made her feel bad about her new outburst. New thoughts of guilt invaded her mind: “I’m just a failure, aren’t I?”, “it’s wrong, it’s all wrong, what are you doing?” or, the worst one, “he’s never going to love you again”.

But why? Everything she did had been right! Except, the more she tried to convince herself, the faker it sounded to her. And the distortions she had seen everywhere only intensified her fears about Alistel being right. But once again, she shut those thoughts up. Simeon also assured her it was only temporary, that time travel was an unstable process… So Alistel couldn’t be right! If he was, then… Then she had done terrible things for nothing. But it didn’t matter, because what she did had been justified!

Except it hadn’t been.

The dinner she had with Alistel only made things worse. She didn’t want to believe him! Everything couldn’t be fake! She hadn’t been manipulated! Those were all desperate thoughts she had when Alistel argued with her, again. She didn’t want everything to be fake! So she had another outburst, demanding him to leave, because she couldn’t stand looking at his disappointed face anymore.

He didn’t love her anymore. No matter what she would do… He hated her.

The realization hit her with an extreme violence, making her cry more than she thought it would. But it was just the worst thing she could have ever thought about. She cried and cried and cried, only to be interrupted by Simeon.

-“Everything is going to be okay,” he had said to her, rubbing her shoulder in a way that was way too nice for someone who had snapped at her a few hours earlier. But Vanessa didn’t care. All she wanted at the moment was comfort, to hear she wasn’t the reason her dear prince hated her. Simeon said nothing else, just smiled at her and sent her to her room so she could “rest”. She just nodded, giving up any hopes for comfort as she stood up and went to her bedroom.

And then, she cried herself to sleep.

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

Vanessa’s dreams were not happy and peaceful anymore. The more time had passed, the worst her dreams had become. This night was no exception. However, when screams woke her up from her current nightmare, echoing in the entire manor, the Queen panicked, absolutely taken aback. She sat up in her bed, confused, but it hit her after a few seconds.

Those screams were Alistel’s. She could recognize them perfectly because they sounded like the ones when-

“Oh no. Oh no no no no no!”

Fear engulfed her and she jumped out of her bed. Why? How?

She didn’t take the time to dress up and left her room, still wearing her nightshirt. The Queen ran to the stairs, only to be stopped as a figure crossed her path. Simeon.

-“May I know where you are going?” asked the fake butler, wearing an awful smile that only made Vanessa’s fears and emotions worse. Her body was becoming colder and colder as mixed feelings such as confusion, fear, anxiousness and anger were fighting for dominance in her mind. Anger won in a blink.

-“What did you do?” countered the woman, livid. She hadn’t planned this! She hadn’t wanted any of this to happen again!

Her accomplice’s smile widened at her question as if it were just a game for him. He let out a malevolent scoff and he answered, with a light and innocent tone:

-“Nothing!” Alistel’s screams echoed in the manor once again and he had to continue: “Oh, you mean this?”

-“Don’t you dare play dumb with me!” yelled the Queen, feeling her hands grow colder and colder again. Her own scream resonated in the hallway as a light layer of ice materialized on the wall next to her. The Queen jumped and stared at the wall, horrified. She didn’t mean for this to happen!

She glanced at her own hands, guilty, only to notice that they didn’t look human anymore.

-“Wh-what?” mumbled Vanessa, as she stared at her hands in bewilderment and confusion. She glanced back up to Simeon, who didn’t seem surprised. He hadn’t even been troubled by her outburst!

-“I told you to keep your emotions under control,” reprimanded the fake butler as if he were talking to a child: “Go back to sleep, it’ll be gone in the morning.”

Vanessa could see how he was trying to keep her from going down to the basement. It was just painfully obvious!

-“Move,” she warned, as she tried to walk next to him, only to be stopped by his arm taking hers, preventing her from moving further.

-“No, I think you should listen to me,” retorted her friend, with a fake friendly tone, very much threatening: “Your dear prince tried to destroy everything we worked for. He has even been helped by a little girl!” the man laughed at the ridiculous situation: “Well, she almost got me, so she’s not that defenceless. Thankfully, I took her hat away, so she’s no threat to us now.”

He paused and continued, as Vanessa was trying to process what she had just heard:

-“I just put them in the cellar for the night, don’t worry,” he tried to reassure her, though all his words seemed fake: “It’ll all be better in the morning! Go back to sleep, now.”

Hearing about her loved one trying to leave once again… The Queen felt her emotions engulfed her once more, as the air cooled down again around them. He tried to leave her again?

Guilt was crushing her, ten times worse than all she had felt in the last few days. Her body was shaking now and she was hyperventilating again. The only thing taking her back to reality was the moment Simeon put his hands on her trembling shoulders.

-“Come on, Vanessa. It’s going to be okay, I promise,” said her accomplice with a sweet little voice: “Trust me. I promise everything will be back to normal tomorrow!” Then, he added with an evil voice: “Or are you going to keep destroying all the things I made for you? Is this what you’re going to do?”

The words hit Vanessa like a train. She wasn’t a failure! She wasn’t! She just wanted to make things right!

Tears started to appear on her face as she simply nodded her head, unconvinced by his claims. How could everything be back to normal after this? Alistel would never forgive her.

He had never forgiven her anyway.

-“Good!” exclaimed the man, smiling again: “Let me take you back to your room, then!”

Simeon guided her back to her room, while she simply obeyed, devastated by everything happening around her. And when she heard her prince’s screams echoing in the mansion again…

She knew she couldn’t delude herself anymore. She had to do something, even if it had to be in Simeon’s back. She had always wanted to fix everything, only to hurt more and more people in the process… And now, she had an opportunity to make things right. A real opportunity to fix not Alistel’s mistakes, but hers.

She couldn’t lie to herself anymore.

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Chapter 21 =>