#reread a bit of Beneath A Broken Sky to get an idea of how they should talk

[victorluvsalice]

Merry Christmas SatiricalDemon!

@thesatiricaldemon *waves* So you requested a fic about Daniel, Dommik, and N on an inter-dimensional vacation to one of my other fic verses...and the very first thing that came to mind was a follow up on a thread about a certain crystalline butterfly birthday present Dan sent to the Victors that my Secundus boy found very inspiring. XD So yeah, that's what you're getting. Hope you enjoy!

This Feels Like A Recipe For Disaster

“. . .and that allowed me to dampen the threat response! They still react if one of the flock gets injured, but it’s more of a ‘chase away the potential threat’ thing – they won’t try a full swarm unless you full-on shatter one of them.”

“Oh, excellent, excellent! And I see in your notes here you were looking to see if you could get different colors – I would imagine that if you added that lovely compound to the caterpillar mid-metamorphosis, you could get a truly acidic shade of green!”

“Maybe, but that also has a good chance of completely destabilizing the metamorphosis entirely. . .though I guess it’s all about how much I add. . .”

Alice looked over at the two, hunched over the main experimentation table in Victor’s greenhouse lab, and shook her head fondly. “I’m sorry, it sounds like they may be at this for a while,” she commented, turning back to their other two guests. “Victor was – very inspired by that little gift your Dr. Daniel sent along for his birthday.”

“So I can see,” Dommik said, grinning in that rather off-kilter way he had. Then again, Alice supposed that since he was really some sort of odd vampire-worm thing running around in a human suit (and how she wished she didn’t know that), it was only to be expected. “Daniel was hoping that he’d enjoy the statue, but I don’t think he expected him to try and recreate it.”

Normally it’s a bad idea for anyone to attempt to copy anomalous flora and fauna, N added, their cold gaze fixed on Daniel and Victor as they kept exchanging ideas on tweaks to the crystalline butterflies Victor was working on. But your husband seems to have a rare talent in that regard.

“Only because it’s a butterfly, I’m sure,” Alice replied, folding her arms. “Lepidoptery is Victor’s specialty. He can work with other insects too – we’ve got a hive of modified bees from a honey-making venture he attempted a little while back – and he’s got some talent with engineering, but butterflies and moths are where he shines.” She grinned. “Possibly because his very first project as a Touched was figuring out how to make them glow.”

“Oooh! I’d love to see that!” Dommik said, excitement shining through his eye sockets. “I’m sure they’re beautiful!”

“They are – and much less deadly than the creatures you lot apparently deal with on a daily basis,” Alice said, glancing between them and Daniel. “I thought Secundus could be a rowdy place to live sometimes, but after the stories you’ve told us of your world, it seems almost – peaceful.”

It is a difficult place to exist sometimes, N agreed. But we have found happiness there, regardless of the circumstances. They tilted their head at her. I do still find it interesting you do not exhibit the same Hume potential as the Alice we know at home.

“Oh, I’d love to be able to bend reality to my will,” Alice grumbled. “It’d make life so much easier. . .then again, your Alice seems to have had a very different life to mine, even if some of the broader events match up?”

“Mmm? Oh, yes – I’ve noticed your meta-narrative placement is much different from hers,” Daniel commented, looking up from the notepad he’d been sharing with Victor. “As is this Victor’s from the one I know. No waking up Emily means no potential for necromancy at all!”

“I’ll take raising butterflies over raising the dead,” Victor mumbled, scribbling something with a frown. “Hmmm – I’m not entirely sure that’s adding up right. . .”

“I’m just wondering where Smiler is,” Dommik said, looking around.

Alice blinked, then glanced over at Victor, who looked equally confused. “Ah – who?”

“You know – Smiler! Your themfriend?”

“Wrong universe, dearest,” Daniel said, with a slightly softer version of his trademark manic grin. “This romantic situation was resolved before their creation – though they may be here somewhere in potentia! Perhaps I could look into the matter!”

“Who are they?” Victor asked. “Other than a ‘themfriend.’” He smiled, tone light. “What, are we supposed to be a threesome too?”

Daniel laughed. “You could if you wanted to be! In fact, in studying the meta-verse for this trip, I actually located a reality where you and Alice are part of a nine-person polycule!”

Alice and Victor shared another, much more astonished glance. “. . .all right, now you have to tell us about that one,” Alice said after a moment, shaking her head. “Because I have got to know.”

[artificialqueens]

The Birthday Party (Diamond Chaney) - Ortega

fic summary: Ellie spends the night of her birthday crying over a girl that doesn’t like her back. Lawrence will consider the evening a success if she can comfort her without her own heart shattering in the process.

a/n: this one goes out to the anon on my blog that asked me “after rereading freshers au about 3 million times I must ask… are we getting a chapter about Ellie’s 18th birthday party? I’m just thinking about the unrequited crushing/diamond Chaney potential”. apparently i am unable to say no to any anon that comes to me asking for more diamond chaney content, nor am i able to name any of these fics after anything other than 1975 song titles. hope u all enjoy!

***

It’s an image that could hang in the Louvre but it’s one that breaks her heart.

Ellie is sitting on a red brick wall with her legs dangling off it, pale and bare except from a couple of bruises where she’s banged them off the flat’s furniture. The grass on the raised ground behind her is wet and cold, shining under the streetlamps in the damp of that hazy timezone between midnight and morning. She’s right in the middle of the yellow spotlight from above, and Lawrence thinks it’s weird how a colour that’s the same as the sun can all at once seem so cold. The mist, though light, hangs suffocating and stagnant in the air. It casts its moisture over the cars parked on the road opposite, and there’s an urge Lawrence has to push down to draw a little heart on a car bonnet, then zig-zag a line down the middle to break it.

Lawrence thinks she looks like some sort of Disney Channel character come to life; pink and white checked gingham skirt, white, long-sleeved crop top. The pink Filas with the hearts that she’d spent way too much of her student loan on and the matching pink bow that sits squint in her curly, rain-frizzy hair. There’s a crumpled, sad ball of a tissue clutched tight in her white-knuckled hands, and her pink acrylics are outlined with black smudges. Her head hangs towards her lap and as she tilts it to the sky Lawrence can see her face; her makeup, still completely perfect, but with two long, unbroken tear tracks of black mascara and eyeliner that stream down her cheeks like some sort of poison.

Lawrence feels like crying herself, almost had done when Ellie had broken down to them all in the club toilets. When she’d sobbed and her chest had risen and fallen so rapidly, illustrating the pieces of her heart that were shattering inside her ribcage as if Tia was blowing them up with dynamite. When A’whora had shushed her comfortingly and rubbed her back and Bimini had fed her tissue after tissue from the loo roll dispenser. When Ellie had whispered with all the hope and life gone out of her voice,

“I like her so much, and she doesn’t even know, and she’ll never see me like that.”

And Lawrence couldn’t say a word because she couldn’t trust herself to. Because she didn’t even know what to say. Really what could she say when Ellie had said it all already?  

She recalls the way the bass from the songs that were playing out in the main room of the club had seemed so much like a sinister heartbeat; the soundtrack to the dread that Lawrence was feeling, that feeling of something slipping away.

Well, not something. Ellie.

Tayce hadn’t had much time for the whole situation. Lawrence knew she cared, of course, it would be harsh to say she didn’t, but she had been drunk and not particularly tactful. She’d hoisted Ellie to her feet, smudged away her tears from beneath her lashes with her thumbs and cupped her face as she gave a speech about how Ellie didn’t need anyone to make her feel happy, and how if Tia wasn’t going to notice her then there were a million other girls and guys out there that would, and how Ellie couldn’t let anyone spoil her night and Tayce wasn’t going to let that happen either. The song’s transition into Be Faithful had prompted Tayce to take charge, gripping Ellie’s hand and leading them all out of the toilets and onto the dancefloor with a battle cry about how this was her song, and how there was no way in hell she was missing the opportunity to get to dance to it with her best bitches.

Lawrence had known that Ellie hadn’t really felt better, though. The smile on her face was fake and she’d disappeared when the others were all too distracted bickering about whose round it was next. Lawrence had seen her disappear through the main doors and towards the exit- really the idea of Ellie being able to sneak off anywhere was laughable given her height- and so she’d dashed off without thinking, following her while a sinking feeling rose in her gut.

And now she’s here, a little way along the street outside the club, looking at Ellie and her broken heart and trying to figure out how to clean up the mess without a dustpan and brush.

So she awkwardly approaches her, forcing a smile as Ellie lifts her head to look at her through sapphires filled with tears. She decides to go with what’s always served her well though life and injects some fake cheer into her voice as she opens the joke.

“Did I ever tell you about the time the police chapped my door an’ told me my dogs were chasin’ people on bikes?” she opens limply, the joke already the verbal equivalent of a racehorse about to be made into glue. “My dogs didny even have bikes.”

Ellie gives an empty shell of a laugh in return. Lawrence supposes it’s the joke equivalent of “ask a stupid question, recieve a stupid answer”- tell a shite joke, recieve a shite laugh in reply. She’s rendered silent again, left to awkwardly scuff her foot over the glistening, frosty ground until Ellie gives a shuddery breath in.

“Y'should be back inside with the others,” she starts quietly, paws at her sniffly nose with the back of her hand, the tissue being long since rendered useless. “Having fun and getting drunk instead of listening to my shit.”

“I’m already drunk,” Lawrence shrugs at her. It’s half true. She feels too exposed as she follows it up with, “And it’s not fun if I know you’re upset.”

The tiny smile that appears on Ellie’s face and the way her eyes gain just a tiny bit of life makes coming out here in the freezing cold worth it.

“Ellie,” Lawrence gives a small sigh of sympathy, moves to stand in front of her and lets the crumpled tissue fall into Ellie’s lap before she takes her friend’s hands. She’s thrown before she can say anything. “Fucking Christ, your hands are baltic.”

“It’s December in Scotland. Everything’s baltic,” Ellie gives the tiniest roll of her eyes, but her expression is mostly one of affection, the gesture clearly appreciated. The way Lawrence’s heart is sparked by it is way too embarrassing and ridiculous, and she feels like a total idiot for being in this deep.

She covers it up with a sarcastic barb, a raised eyebrow used as a capital letter. “Do you want a pep talk or don’t you?”

“Please,” Ellie replies flatly.

Lawrence has about a second to collect her thoughts, try to arrange them into something coherent and supportive like a child making a model out of junk and PVA glue. She knows it’s going to come at the expense of her own heart but really, when has she ever put her own feelings first when Ellie’s been involved? She wishes they both had the same aspect to their friendship as A’whora and Tayce: that undercurrent of flirting and tension, the fact that A’whora’s huge crush on Tayce is the equivalent of a present wrapped in cellophane, and if they’ve not already done something about that whole aspect of their relationship then they surely will soon. But with Ellie it’s different. Lawrence is bound by the ties of the purely platonic nature of their friendship and, while she’d love nothing more than to break them, there’s still that part of her that’s content to stay in the chains they created together because even though they’re tight, they’re comfortable. They’re safe.

Ellie is Lawrence’s friend, so Lawrence puts her own feelings to one side and acts like it.

“I know it hurts,” Lawrence says, unable to meet her friend’s eyes as she strokes her thumb over her knuckles. “I know it feels like the worst heartache in the world, and it’s terrible. You feel like the pain’s not going to go away or…like your heart’s been smashed. It’s that way where…you’re too far gone as friends now, and it’s that feeling of not being able to change that path you’ve both gone down and…it’s too late, and you’re sat torturing yourself with the what-ifs and wondering if…y’know, maybe if you’d done something differently, maybe this, maybe that…”

Lawrence trails off to allow herself to gain back some composure, because all she’s succeeded in doing is making her own heart hurt with the truth. It’s the fact she’s telling Ellie everything: every feeling she goes through when it’s just the two of them bickering affectionately together, or the pair of them spooning when they’re hungover and emotional, or bonding over the Scottish Twitter references that the rest of their flatmates don’t get. It’s the way that with every moment they grow closer it only feels as if Ellie grows more and more distant.

“But you can’t hurt yourself like that, you know?” Lawrence says firmly, snapping her gaze up bravely to look Ellie in the eyes. “You can’t go through every day wondering why you’re not good enough, because the truth is that…you are. You fucking…are good enough, Ellie, you don’t need to change anything about yourself. Just keep being you, because…there’s someone out there who’ll appreciate it. And love you for it.”

Ellie’s gaze turns warm and soft, and she blinks a few tears away before looking into her lap, squeezing Lawrence’s hands. “Thank you, babe. That’s really nice.”

Lawrence can’t bask in the appreciation for long though because Ellie then narrows her eyes at her and gives her an inquisitive look.

“You know. You know what it feels like. How come you know?”

It would be so easy just to let something slip out; a confession, an admission, the secret she’s been holding in for two years now. The way she could bat it all away and cover it up with the amount of Jaeger she’s consumed over the past two hour period if it didn’t go down well on Ellie’s end. The thing is, though, that a drunk mind speaks sober thoughts, and it’s so cold in the street that she’s starting to sober up anyway. There wouldn’t really be anything to hide behind.

So she gives a snort of self-derision. “I know I might just seem like a joke book in a flesh suit, but I actually have a heart underneath it all.”

“Yeah,” Ellie agrees softly, her smile growing a little bigger. “You do.”

Lawrence’s heart soars into the sky like a bubble or a ridiculous novelty helium balloon. Ellie’s being sincere; she’s not layering Lawrence’s joke with another joke, a playing card on top of another. She’s just being honest. She sees Lawrence’s heart underneath all the sarcasm and the comedy and the way she can’t ever lay a single one of her feelings bare. Sometimes Lawrence dares to hope, dares to dream. Maybe everything she feels is reciprocated even a little bit. This- with Ellie’s gentle smile and the way the streetlamp is giving her a halo and the mist that’s wrapping around the two of them- is one of those moments.

Ellie sighs heavily, cuts through her thoughts. “It’s not even like Veronica’s someone I can justifiably hate, y’know? She has to be fucking…nice, and sweet, and pretty and lovely and Little Miss Perfect. Of course Tia’s mad for her.”

Pop.

“Well, you’re nice as well,” Lawrence frowns insistently. She finds herself rambling a little, clearly not as sober as she supposes the cold is rendering her. “And sweet and pretty and lovely. And perfect. Actually, not quite. C’mere.”

Lawrence beckons for Ellie to lean down, and as she does she fleetingly thinks about how easy it would be to kiss her. Too easy but too overwhelmingly difficult all at once.

Instead, Lawrence reaches her hands up to do what she’d intended, and fixes Ellie’s bow as if she’s adjusting a crown for a princess.

“There. Perfect now.”

Ellie smiles sadly at her as she straightens up, whispers a soft, resigned “thank you”. She sighs, looks plaintively up at the sky, the yellow of the streetlamp and the inky black of the vast space hanging above their heads. She pouts, deflated and defeated.

“What do I do now?”

Lawrence looks down the street, back in the direction of the flat. She could tell Ellie to give up and get over Tia. She could tell Ellie there’s someone that she knows- that they both know- that actually has a huge crush on her, she just needs to open her bloody eyes because all that fucking eyeliner’s clearly making her blind. She could tell Ellie that even the blind man’s fucking guide dog can see that Tia is hopelessly infatuated with the tiny blonde children’s storybook character she’s been making heart-eyes at for the past three months.

But Ellie’s already heartbroken enough and Lawrence is trying to make her feel better, and the antidote of heartbreak is hope. So she gives Ellie two options.

“Well. You could just carry on pinning your hopes on a girl who you’re not sure’s ever going to like you back, if you think you’ve got enough hope and optimism left in you. Or you could move on. Find the someone else out there who’ll love you for everything you are, because there is one. I know there is,” Lawrence says, omitting the fact that said person is her best friend, standing right in front of her. She smiles tightly before adding, “Your choice.”

When Lawrence realises she’s holding her breath waiting on her friend’s decision she feels even more of an idiot than she already does.

Ellie’s smile turns a little more genuine and she doesn’t even have to say anything to tell Lawrence what she’s chosen. “Well I’ve never been one to go down without a fight, you know? So…let’s just say Veronica better watch out. I’m gonna come up behind her and knock her kneecaps in to win my girl over. No matter how lovely she is.”

Lawrence shares Ellie’s giggle with a heart made of lead. She’ll keep pining, then. Keep on keeping on, keep on sharing moments with Ellie that make her day and ruin it all at once, the cause and the cure of all her mixed-up emotions. She’d rather keep her friendship with Ellie and have her heart crack just a little tiny bit every day than not have the girl in her life at all.

“Right, c’mon you. I’m freezing my not inconsiderable tits off out here,” Lawrence says decisively, if a little quietly. She wants nothing more than to drag herself back into the club and fill herself with artificial happiness, drink and listen to dance tracks about breakups with a too-fast BPM for the subject matter.

As Ellie takes her hand the split-second before she turns around, though, Lawrence’s priorities change. Her friend’s face is pleading and a little shy as she meets her eyes for a second and then snaps them to the ground.

“Can we just stay out here for a couple more minutes? Sorry,” Ellie explains. Lawrence can tell she feels silly. “I’m starting to feel better just being out here with you, so…I don’t want to go back in just yet.”

Like a complete fool, Lawrence just smiles and nods. “Of course we can.”

There’s a small silence in which Lawrence hugs herself tightly and rubs both her arms, because, well. She is freezing. She’s freezing and she wishes she had a cigarette. Ellie clearly isn’t as wrapped up in her own thoughts as she had been before because she notices her friend’s discomfort, gives a roll of her eyes which is affectionate rather than exasperated and pats the wall beside her.

“Hop up and I’ll warm you up,” she says. The jolt her words give Lawrence’s heart is what can only be described as pathetic, jump leads to a dying car.

Lawrence tries to join her on the wall, placing her palms on the bricks and making to hoist herself up. Her short stature, though, is rendering this difficult, and with each new unsuccessful attempt Ellie starts to laugh more and more until she’s doubled over, unable to breathe at Lawrence’s various attempts to sit beside her.

(Lawrence always loves making Ellie laugh whether she’s intended to or not, because it’s a way of guaranteeing that her attention is on her. The more she can make her laugh, the more of her attention she gets, so sometimes Lawrence will act up as if she’s on an episode of Live at the Apollo with an audience of one, in the world’s first romantically driven stand-up set.)

Ellie continues to laugh, finally holding a hand out for Lawrence to grab with a humoured “c’mere” to accompany it. As Lawrence grasps her hand and feels sparks fly through her bloodstream, she also clearly underestimates Ellie’s strength as she’s tugged suddenly forwards and they’re both flying onto the grass behind the wall. All at once the pair of them are reduced to bundles of giggles; legs scraping against the bricks and bodies flush against the wet grass, both of them breathless with their hands still entwined.

As their laughter dies down, there’s nothing left but their faces close together and the rise and fall of their chests and the small, dippy smile that’s still there on Ellie’s lips as she looks at her. The black of the sky and the green of the grass and the blue of her eyes, colour in absolutes. Simple, like Lawrence’s feelings are anything but.

It’s ethereal and it’s sad and Ellie will never know what it all means to her.

“I love you,” Lawrence says quietly. It’s too real and too painful and too raw to leave it like that, a plaster ripped off a cut too early. She elects to follow it up with, “Ya big bow-legged freak.”

Ellie giggles again, drunk and appeased. This is good. This is what Lawrence had wanted; to cheer her up and put that starry smile on her face on a night that’s meant to be all about her, meant to be special and magical and not the bad dream it had turned into. Lawrence has filled her head with drunk platitudes and compliments that’ve hurt too much to give. Lawrence has done the duties of a friend. She is her friend. And Ellie is happy. Lawrence can’t be sad when she’s happy.

Ellie lets go of her hand, pulls her in and hugs her. In an instant, the dewey grass seems instantly warmer. The moment is nicotine and Lawrence fills her lungs.

“I love you too, babe.”

She pretends she means it like she wants her to, and the bittersweet feeling it gives her fills her heart like tar.

[valatheapprentice]

Half of Me

Asra talking to valas father after the ritual. Just for some clarity, he still loves his little girl, its just his beliefs are strong and resurrection is a big no no to him.

2 more stories to come with her dad to come because ideas

Day 13: after math (@arcana-echoes )

I stare at the knotted wood of the door infront of me. The air around me feels worlds away. My skin feels so foreign to me as I build up the courage to knock on his door. My cheeks turn to ice as I glance to the road behind me. I could go back. I could avoid telling him. I just can't run the risk of him running up to her if he sees her. My heart pounds violently as my shaking hands rap against the wood.

My poorly reversed lines lump in my throat as footsteps make their way to the door. My arms cling around my empty stomach as he appears in front of me. Though his beard frames a bubble of a smile, his eyes meet mine in an exhausted grief. His shoulders slouch in the slightest before he addresses me. "Hey. Its been a while."

My voice tries to slip away from me as we share a familial hug. "Yeah..." I force out a chuckle as I pull from him. My eyes dart from my feet to the starry sky. "Couldn't sleep much and thought you'd be up to chat some." After a moment of considerable hesitation. He steps aside, welcoming me in to the once familiar home.

I step into the cluttered home, the warm tone walls dimmed as a single lamp dusts the room with anxiety. The door shuts behind us. Though I face away from him, the air between us thickening as he eventually breaks the silence. "I'm not gonna lie, Asra," I turn to briefly meet his gaze. His discomfort plain on his face, he shifts in his spot and hides his hands in his pockets. "I, uh, I wasn't expecting to see you. It's kind of out of the blue, huh?"

His voice pierces through me. I can barely look at him with out my chest turning to stone. I cant imagine what he must see when he looks at me. I swallow the lump in my throat in vain. "Yeah. Sorry about this...."

He sighs and gestures towards a chair. "You need to talk. It dont take a magician to see that." After a heart beat, I let myself sink into the cushioned seat. Dread slowly builds over the frustration, pain, and excitement over the last few months. It all hangs heavy over my lips as I avoid his eyes. "We haven't talked in well over a year, son. Whats been going on?"

I force out a deep breath, nodding to myself. Just say it. Let it out. Don't beat around the bush. I look towards him with a cold smile. "Well. As you know, the plagues gone now. I was at the palace helping with that, then been helping..." I let put a forced laugh and rub my hands together. "Well. Helping Vala... readjust... to life again..."

He stares at me, his empty eyes clouded in confusion. His forehead furrows as he leans forward in the chair next to me. "Wait. What are you talking about. You and I both know that she..." His breaking voice trailing off.

"She is alive..." I force out on a whisper. Gods, I know he's still heart broken. I may have lost my love, but the man lost his daughter. I'm starting to wish I hadn't had come, but it needs to be done. "A lot's happened and-"

"Shes... alive?" He nearly shouts. He runs his hand through his hair as he blinks at me. "Well, where the hell you been hiding her?" He says with a astounded laugh.

I only now realize how unprepared I am for this. Looking at him, his eyes tearing up as his cheeks redden from his smile, how do I tell him this? "She's home. At the shop." My voice strained to be heard.

He stands up with out warning. "What are we waiting for then? Let's go!" He runs to the coat rack as I stand up behind him.

"No!" I shout.

He looks back to me, an eyebrow raised. "What do you mean no? I hear my girl is a live after thinking she was dead all this time, and I cant see her?"

I rake my fingers through my tangled locks as I look at him thoughtfully. "Well. She has been dead. I went there..."

Anger starts to haze through him as his takes a step closer. "Then what the hell do you mean shes alive?" He looks me over and his eyes widen. "Asra. What the hell did you do?"

I try to swallow the anxiety and fold my arms over me. "Well. After going there, and meeting with you once we found out, I just. Kept losing my mind. Replaying the last things we said to eachother and rereading her letter. I mean. She died because of my fucking pride..." Tears pool around the edges of my eyes as I look at the floor. "I couldn't let it go. Not with out trying to bring her back... but I couldn't afford what it would take to do the ritual. So I went to the palace, telling everyone I was there to help find a cure. I heard a rumor that the count was looking into making a deal. So I pretended to get close, casually mentioned I knew a ritual and let it seem like it was his idea. I cant remember anything that happened during that night. Just that something went wrong on his end and I had given her half of my heart. Now he's dead and she's here... She just... can't remember anything that happened before she woke up. "

I look up to face the horror in his eyes. "You..." Shaking his head, he paces for a moment. My heart drops as the palm of his hand slams into a nearby bookshelf, knocking over a picture frame of Vala from when she was a child. He takes a deep, shaking breath. "Damn it! What the hell is wrong with you?"

His voice cuts deep, forcing me to take a step back. "What do you mean? Shes alive again!"

"She's suppose to be dead! She made sure of that!" He shouts, surprising himself. "The dead needs to stay dead. Or you'll bring back something else."

Anger rises in my chest as I stare at him. "But she wasn't suppose to be-"

"Don't you think I know that?" His voice rises. "Your not the only one who misses her."

"We don't have to anymore." The desperation grows beneath my throat. "She's here! It may take a bit but she's here!"

"I don't know who you brought back, but that's not my daughter." He stares at me intently. "She didn't even know her name. How can you possibly say its her?"

My heart is beating so fast, I feel out of breath. "She's still there! If you just talk to her-"

"Are you out of your mind?" He shouts. "I've mourned her for a long time now. And you want me to meet someone with her face, her voice..." his voice trails off as it wavers.

My eyes burn as I close them. My mouth twists in disgust. "So thats it? You're not even going to try?"

He buries his head in his hands, his fingers curling into his forehead as he let's out a jagged breath. They soon fall carelessly to his sides as defeat plagues his face. "I think you need to leave.." He says, just barely above a whisper as his tear stained eyes fall to the ground absently. I scoff, making my way to the door, my hands shaking from disbelief. Just as I open it, the ghost of his voice rings in my ears. "If... if she does remember, let me know... please."

[duskswriter]

The Knight’s Pact

Alright! Original work time. This here’s the first concept piece of a tale I had stirred up that would eventually morph into my current project. There’s been changes and element scraps since this was made late 2017, but proof-rereading it for posting (wow, more errors than I remember) I realized I like a few of the scrapped ideas and will probably be reincorporating them 😸 So check out this ‘first chapter’ of The Knight’s Pact, that may or may not continue 😅

Reviews would be appreciated, likes and reblogs too!

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A great roar rattled the very trees of the forest, causing nearly everything in hearing range to flee in fear of the great beast of the roar’s origin. Nearly everything, two brave souls rushed the opposite direction, towards the sound. The larger of the two lead the way, 7 feet tall and clad head to toe in gleaming plate armor with a tower shield slung across their back, the warrior charged through the underbrush, forging a path of broken greenery for the lighter of the two companions trailing behind. The metal of the slighter man’s armored brigandine plates clacked against the jewel-crowned mage’s staff he carried as the pair rushed forward, his hood being blown back from their speed.

The metal clad knight broke through the trees and into a clearing and the pair slid to a halt to the sight of their quarry swiftly brushing aside the ethereal wolf projection they had used to track it down, shattering it into glittering dust and sparks of errant magic. The dragon that had been terrorizing the forest shifted its eyes toward the pair and a snort of smoke plumed from its nostrils before it let loose another bone shaking roar. The scaled beast’s head reared up, its bronze scales gleaming as its chest swelled with flame, before it whipped down towards the warrior and the mage.

The mage stepped forward and raised his staff, brimming with a bright light and slammed the base into the ground, as the knight followed suit and rammed the tower shield into the ground, bracing behind it. The shield shown with the mage’s magic just as the dragon let loose a river of flame upon the two. The metal of the shield glowed red hot against the knight’s resolute and armored shoulder as the mage worked to keep their barrier reinforced and standing strong against the dragon’s breath. The man had planted his staff firmly but as the onslaught of flame continued he leaned more and more heavily upon it, the effort of the shield draining his reserves frighteningly quickly as he strained. “I can’t keep this shield together much longer!” he cried out to his companion, shifting his feet to a ready stance and bracing for the plan. “Hilde! Do it now!”

The knight nodded briefly, not wasting breath on words, and lifted their left gauntlet to their faceplate. Blue light began shining from under the armor, flowing from the grills of the helm as the knight’s eyes lit up with the energy and the mage closed his eyes and focused. The shield’s pure white magic glow tinted, blue swirling over its surface until the mage grit his teeth, took a solid step forward, and flung open his arms and brightly shining eyes, brimming with magic. There was a change in the blast-heated air as energy spread out from the shield and the knight stomped down powerfully, cracking the ground under the force of the step, before surging forward and shoving powerfully. The magic followed suit and then projected further, pushing through the dragon flame and onwards in a wave of sheer force, potent enough to knock the massive dragon back to crash into the trees on the other side of the clearing.

“Alright!” cheered the mage, his voice nearly reverberating with the power flowing through him. “One shot is all I need,” he grinned wildly as he held up his left arm, deep blue magic coalescing in his open palm and lengthening into a spear of crackling energy as he drew in power.

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

“So there I was: my bonded behind me and drawing magic from our pact to his spear-“ a round of snickers interrupted the story to a scoff and headshake of the blond storyteller, her braided hair swishing against her back with the movement. “You alley cats have yet to tell me what’s so damn funny about my story,” she scowled around at the snickering Felide, a race of cat-like people famed for their dexterity and silver tongues, unimpressed with the bar’s general reaction to her tale of might and bravery.

“Don’t mind these furballs, Miss Hilderun,” the innkeep soothed with a gruff chortle. The scarred, old Tros, a dog-like race that had formed early on into a nation-wide Pack and had spread the farthest of the kingdoms, slid a fresh tankard over the bar toward the warrior woman, “Tittering like a bunch of milk drunk kittens at a dirty joke. Bonded ‘s’what Felide call their life-partner. Yours drawing power to his spear, well,” he shrugged expressively as the regulars booed at the loss of their bit of fun.

“You can’t explain the joke! Now it’s not funny ya mutt!” bemoaned a drunken patron a few seats down to a few slurred agreements and muttered complaints about being plenty old enough to drink, before the barkeep barked loud and sharp and glared the uppity drunks into silence.

“Complaining about your bartender to your bartender, real smart,” the woman just rolled her eyes. “So when I say my bonded ran a dragon through with my ‘magic spear’ “ she air-quoted to the sputters of more than a few drunks choking on their drinks. She had a good laugh about her now dripping neighbors and there were jokes and jabs passed around before the warrior woman took a long pull from her tankard and pondered aloud. “Now, where was I?”

“You were saying your simple human mage companion was capable of throwing a dragon and was then intending to ‘one shot’ it,” said a condescending voice from the crowd. The figure leaned into the light of the bar to reveal himself to be an Elf, one of the most magically gifted races of the land. “Please, you expect me to believe this drivel? There is no conceivable way a mere human’s reserves could be capable of such power, they simply do not have a deep enough connection to the etherium.”

The blond merely grinned widely at the man, “I’ve met your learned type before, sir Elf, but I assure you, as a Pact Knight for hire: we and our bonded can draw on a much deeper well of magic than even you Elves are capable of,” she tipped her drink towards herself, indicating the deep red tattoo on her face. The swirling pattern of runes spread across her left temple and down her cheek to halfway across her jaw, the circle touching at the corner of her eye and centered her ear in several rings, with lines of text descending her neck disappearing below her collar. She focused for a moment and a deep blue light spread up the runes on her neck, reaching higher to her face and getting lighter and lighter as it went, until it reached her eyes and they lit up with a sky blue light. The glowing knight motioned for the bartender, “Innkeep, you got a clean empty barrel I can pour into? I’ll show you a spell I learned while bonded to a drunken mage. He only used it for a spare mug or three now and then, but if I dig down... well,” she trailed off meaningfully.

The old dog shrugged and pulled down a mostly empty barrel, “It’s the cheap stuff so anything you do short of poison’s an improvement.” There was a round of chuckles and agreement and one shouted, “I’ve had better poison!” to a fresh round of chuckles. He popped the barrel’s lid and propped it up on the bar beneath the woman’s outstretched left fist, glowing with more tattoos on the back of her hand. She concentrated and, with a few whispered words of focus opened her clenched fist to release a small waterfall of sweet smelling liquid that looked suspiciously like- “Berry mead!” The bartender replied in surprise, smacking his lips and dipping a cup into the stream for a taste test.

“If you think a human like you can fill a whole barrel with conjured anything, much less alcohol, with some mere…. glowing…… tattoo……” the Elf trailed off as the mead continued to poor and poor and poor. His eyes got wider at the sheer sloppy waste of power that, regardless of what should be her proper limits, still flowed from her.

As the barrel filled near the brim, she clenched her hand and cut the flow, the light of her runes fading to the red of softly glowing coals. “Different tune now, eh?” she laughed and shook out her arm. The Elf nodded mutely as the bar murmured interestedly at the sudden appearance of magic booze. “So what do ya say, innkeep? First round’s free and I’ll sell you what’s left?” she chuckled, raising an eyebrow toward the Tros behind the bar.

The bar owner gave a gruff bark of a laugh “Ha! We’ll have ta see how much is left, lass. I’m sure word has already spread, with these chatty drunks. We’ll see. More customers for me either way,” he grinned toothily and dropped the lid back on the barrel, reaching out to shake her hand on the deal.

A few sharp blows and a bit of sealing tar later the barrel was back up on the rack and being served to mixed reactions, but even a bad free drink is still a free drink and there were those who enjoyed and bought more of the sweeter spirit. Thus, later in the evening a sack of coins was dropped on the counter before the blond warrior, to her pleasant surprise it was even a generous amount. She was counting out the coins and had bought a room to retire for the evening when the Elf from before came back.

“Greeting’s Lady knight, my name is Aurilar Pentinas” he introduced himself briskly with a brief, semi-courteous bow, before getting straight to the point. “You said you are for hire earlier? Please elaborate.”

“Well, greeting’s Aurilar Pentinus” she began, raising a curious eyebrow at the direct approach and tying her new pouch to her belt, “I am Hilderun of the Pact, as a Knight of the Pact it is my path to travel the land and make Pacts with its people, to sell my sword and bring glory, honor, and gold to my order. To lend my power to those on dangerous quests after dangerous beasts to better their odds of survival and victory is my duty!” she banged her left fist to her chest, across her heart, in a practiced salute. “Mostly we of the Pact choose our own contracts by our personal code. I will do no job specifically targeting people unless there is very good reason, revenge not included, magical beast hunts are a specialty of mine, and none but my fellow knights will guard a caravan better. No contracts longer than a month,” she summed up what sounded like a rehearsed speech and looked the man up and down. “No offense meant, sir Pentinus, but I have never seen one of your kind actually take an interest the Bond, usually there is much hemming and hawing about what price must be paid for magic-“

“-for there is a price for every spell,” the Elf finished with an impatient nod. “Yes, yes, I am well aware of my colleagues’ more… classical views on magic, but you very clearly have something that I have never seen or thought possible before and I find myself quite curious. As it so happens, I am in need of a guard to help me transport a dangerous magical beast which I have recently... taken possession of, back to my abode for study. I would be a fool not to take the opportunity to hire you and study this… Bond, as you call it, on the way there.”

“I can respect the desire of knowledge, and will help you guard your beast, though I warn you: you are neither the first, nor will you be the last to try to unravel the secrets of the Pact. It is ancient magic passed down through our order and only the highest ranks of our Binders truly know, it will be no easy task,” Hilderun warned solemnly. “If you wish to become bonded you must know that using the levels of magic this will make you capable of will drain you in a different way, a deeper way, if you abuse it. There is no such thing as infinite power, after all. It has been enough in the past that some have died or been taken by the Pact entirely, not to mention the penalties for breaking a bond before the contract forming it is complete.”

Aurilar waved his hand dismissively “I have no wish to break such a bond, the power it could lend may be invaluable, and any chance of studying such magic may be equally so. I will accept your contract and hire you as my guard.”

The large woman inspected the Elfin man closely before nodding and extending her left hand, the runes upon it glowing blue with power once more. “Then a contract is proposed. I will guard you, Aurilar Pentinus, my Bonded, and your magical beast from harm, allowing you access to the Pact and the magic within it. In return I will be paid a generous caravan guard’s fee and be granted your protection in kind as we travel toward your home.” She stared him in the eyes as the magic of her Pact made her own eyes glow and a blue phantom fire built around her hand, responding to the words of the contract, there was no heat to the flame, but the power was palpable in the air and attracted the interested stares and murmurs of the few left in the tavern room of the inn.

Aurilar looked somewhat apprehensively at the fire wreathed hand before extending his own left hand to grasp Hilderun’s. He went rigid as the blue fire spread up his arm and magic surged through him, his eyes widened as he felt the raw magical energy flow around and him. He barely felt the searing of his palm through the rush of power as the heatless flame surrounded him, surrounded them both, before the fire swooped around them both and focused on their clasped hands, the whole of it flowing down and vanishing between their hands.

Hilderun released the Elf’s hand, her marks once more faded to red coals, and he stumbled back, grabbing for the bar and sitting heavily down on an empty stool. The larger woman clapped a steadying hand to Aurilar’s shoulder, “Hah! Yeah, the first Bond is always a doozy. It’ll just take a bit for the magic of the Pact to settle into your system, but it won’t be long before you’ll be back on your feet.” It took a few minutes for Aurilar to regain his equalibrium, he flexed his still stinging left hand and stared at the symbol that glowed like embers on his palm. The large blonde grinned widely and clapped him on the back jovially, “Welcome to the Pact, Aurilar, my new Bonded! A toast!” There was cheering from the bar and soon a mug slid down the bar for the Elf.

Aurilar raised the drink a little shakily but met his bond-mate’s own mug and took a hearty drink, then continued, to several raised eyebrows and a widening grin on his new partner’s face as he drank the rest of the mug of conjured mead in one go and slammed the tankard down with a shocked expression on his face. He looked sharply towards the blonde beside him and her knowing grin, “That was-! It just-!”

“Passive magic siphoning,” Hilderun explained, just a little smugly, “magic mead is just magic, broken right down into your reserves. The Pact is pretty magic intensive, so I figure that feels better?”

“Much! This is indeed a powerful magic...” Aurilar pondered, trailing off as he stared at the rune on his hand in a new light, the magic brand now solidifying and into to what could be mistaken for black ink. The rune in the center of his palm was a spiral, the layers of it shaped into a flame. It was enclosed by a ring that was solid on the inner edge and which spread to four tips on the edges of his palm. “This will be scintillating research, I can tell!”

“I’d hate to burst your bubble too much, but there won’t be a lot to study,” Hilderun sat down on the stool next to her new companion. “Because your palm won’t tell you much and you looking closely at my face for too long is going to get creepy for me,” then she glowered into the man’s eyes and he saw fire, “and NO lower.” The Elf stammered, off balance, before the large woman broke out into large smile and clapped him on the back once more. “But enough of that, we have a journey to make in the morning, for now, we drink!”

There was further cheers and raised mugs as Aurilar marveled at the power he could feel humming just beyond his fingertips. He examined his new tattoo with a magical focus that lead him to see the trail leading from his rune to Hilderun’s tattooed hand, but there was a second trail as well, it sprouted from her chest and disappeared off beyond his senses. He frowned minutely, she had been right: there was not much for him to study, but he would figure this magic out, he swore it.

[unholyhelbiglinked]

Whatever That May Be|Hartbig

[A/N: This one was requested, and I honestly had to reread it just because I had no idea what it was about. So it’s unconventional. Even for me.]

The lamp was blinding, it's white light taking a prominent burn in the back of my mind. Everything seemed to be at the back of my mind lately. The thoughts that couldn't quite culminate into words, but ones that were begging to be released.

Everything seemed to amplify in the one moment as a rough knock pounded against the side of my skull. The pain was almost as blinding as that damned light. The light that kept it's position right in front of my face. If I stared close enough, I could make out the small black print that no one ever took the time to read. The circular text mocked me. Making my eyes burn as I struggled to get a better look at it. A better look at my surroundings.

My mouth was dry, a thick metallic taste pulling at my taste buds. It felt like I had been chewing insulation- shredded glass and all. It made my eyes water, and my throat scratchy. My breath was shallow enough, shaky even. It pained me to even take a breath. More than one rib was broken- that was apparent enough.

I kept my palms on the edges of the armrests, the corner hitting the middle of my hand as I wrapped my hands around the excess part of the chair. I didn't have much movement at all- my hands were bound to this damned thing, the rope cutting into flesh like a butter knife.

I needed to get out of here- where ever here was.

The air smelled of sweat and motor oil- it's scent burning my lungs and irritating my throat even further. My mind was heavy with an undeniable fog, one that seemed to be aided by the drugs that had been slipped into that damned coffee cup. I drink the same thing every morning. The same order. They always screwed it up- but I never commented. It was always a missing ingredient here and there, no whipped cream every once and awhile. But never drugs. I had never been subject to drugs.

I put my head back against the rest, my neck protesting in the sudden movement, but I didn't care. I didn't care about anything except for getting out of this situation.

Whatever it was.

The subtle sound of a clock clicking instilled a sharp panic in my bones. My hands trying to free themselves as the coarse binding dug into my already raw flesh. It was no use. They were too tight, and I was too weak after that little drink I partook in.

The door opened with a clang, I knew it was metal, but that 's all I knew. I didn't get a good look at the little patch of nature the door was blocking. It was late- the sky pitch black- but not as dark as the figure it outlined.

Her eyes were dark, a sharp midnight blue. Blue enough to look black. Her hair was down to her shoulders, the pale moonlight making the brown locks shimmer as if they were a muddy gold. I knew who she was the minute that door opened. The minute she was dumb enough to let the damn moon give away her identify.  Hell. Maybe that's what she wanted.

"Seems like your inner psycho got the last word after all." I spoke in no more than a murmur, a voice that was unfamiliar to my ears, one that was scratchy and dark. My chest grumbled, growled with an unmistakable rage. One that I fought against.

The girl laughed, a throaty sound. "Since when have I ever hid the inner psycho you speak of, huh?"

I clenched my jaw, an ache erupting "I suppose I knew what I was getting myself into. After all... we did meet in a therapy. A doomed relationship from the start."

"Mm." the girl shook her head, stepping into the light of that damned lamp. She hadn't changed much in the year we had been apart. Hell, she hadn't changed at all- other than that crazed look in her icy eyes. "that therapy helped you out. Didn't it Han?"

"I can't say the same for you." I tugged against the restraints, "You drugged me, Anna."

There was more desperation in my voice than I originally wanted to lead on. It amused the girl, a smile creeping onto her face as she crossed her arms over her jacketed chest. Watching me struggle like an ant caught under a magnifying glass.

"You made it easy" she shrugged her shoulders, scoffing "The same predictable patterns. You know better than that."

"Do I?" I hissed, my words coated in venom "Anna, I'm not some super spy. I- I'm a fucking human being and you're talking about patterns?"

Anna didn't quite have a smile on her lips anymore. It was more like amusement.  This was all a game to her. The way she described it had chilled me to the core- she had been following my every move, tracking me, seeing me when no one else could.

I scoffed again, even though neither of us had spoken. The anger that was boiling beneath my skin was way to hot to ignore. I knew Anna was capable of some strange things, but this was more than my mind could ever comprehend.

I pressed forward once more, the rope digging just below my ribs as it continued to hold me to the chair. The wooden structure creaking seemed to stir my captor from her own thoughts. She moved her sharp eyes over my appearance, readjusting her shoulders like she was ready to start what she really wanted to do.

"You found someone new," she said, starting to pace against the garage like floor. The soles of her shoes tapped against the ground in an almost rhythmic response to the beating of my heart. "I saw her with you."

"Is this what this is about?" I snarled, "The girl I'm seeing?"

The original fear that I felt had returned like a jolt of electricity. It seized my chest and clawed at my throat. The heat leaving my body faster than it arrived. The color surely drained from my cheeks. She can't hurt her. She probably already has. I was drugged for god sake.

"Don't worry about little o' Gracie." Anna sighed, almost poetically "The blonde bitch is a fighter, I'll tell you that much."

My wrists pressed hard against the rough rope, slick blood dripping past my fingertips as it cut into my flesh with each passing second. I clenched my jaw, a sharp pain covering most of my temple as I struggled even harder.

"You bastard!" I shouted, growled really. The words stung my throat, making my eyes water "What did you do to her, huh?"

Anna just smiled, shoving her hands in her coat pockets.

"Huh?" I was sobbing now, my lungs begging for air, but finding no relief.  

The girl in front of me cocked her head to the side, crossing her arms over her chest as she studied me once more. She was angry, that much was clear, even through the mess of tears and dirt that strained my eyes.

"You loved her, didn't you?"

The use of past tense rocked through my bones. Loved. No. I hadn't loved Grace. I love her now, and that would not change despite the obvious situation that I would have to fight against. I let my head fall back against the seat as I pushed it into the rough grooves of the wood. I was restless, inconsolable.

"Yes." I finally said, defeated at my own waiting game.

"It doesn't matter much anymore, does it?" She stopped pacing, kneeling down in front of me. I tensed at the closeness, wishing she was farther away than mere feet. Her cold hand was on my knee. I wanted to vomit. "There is no one to love."

I let out a shaky breath, my stomach contracting as every bit of anger I held for this small girl took over my body. My head moved forward, a sharp pain striking the center of my forehead as a loud bang sounded across the room. The warmth that ran across my nose and lips was overwhelming.  

I felt like I hit her, I felt like I hit her with all that I had- my skull colliding with hers. But I hadn't made contact. I knew I hadn't by the fact that I was still conscious. There was no pain other than the preexisting headache that I held.

My breath was shaky as Anna fell forward. Her body weight heavy on my lap as I let out a choked sob, trying to regain some sense of balance between fear and absolute confusion. My lips tasted like blood, my lungs filled with the earthy scent.

"Hannah," the sweet voice drew me from the absolute fear in my mind. The weight was lifted from my lap, the smell lessening as it mixed with the sharp odor of lemons. "Hannah, I need you to focus okay?"

"Grace?" I stuttered the word, not quite reacting to the body that lie in front of me. My eyes had met the warm golden ones of the girl I knew. The ones I trusted.

"Yeah, love, it's me." She said calmly, working on the rope that was keeping me grounded against a splintered chair. She looked up at me, letting out a shaky sigh as my eyes scanned her face.

She was beat up, a long line of blood rushing from a nasty gnash on her temple where Anna must have hit her. Maybe believing she actually followed through in a job she wasn't qualified to do.

Graces hand moved to my cheek, the cold a welcome relief against the harsh elements around us. "You're okay." She whispered "I promise. It'll be okay. Let me just get these ropes off."

I nodded, sniffing as my whole body trembled. How was she being so calm about his? It had to be adrenaline. I had fought against the same emotion when I thought Anna had  gotten to the girl that I so desperately loved.

"Gracie?" I whispered as she worked on the tie around my ankle.

She looked up carefully, worry written all over her angelic features.

"We met in therapy, didn't we?"  

She cocked her head to the side, giving me an odd look. "Yeah, Han... We did, I hardly see why-"

I drowned out the rest of her words, thinking about the future.

Whatever that may be.

[jasontoddiefor]

Grave full of poppies

Title: Grave full of poppies Fandom: D.Gray-man Ship: Neallen Summary: It’s been a year since Neah’s death and Allen – well, he’s trying to pick up the pieces. Not that there are many left. AN: For Neallen week Day 1: Flowers. This is more of a character study of Past!Allen than ship stuff oh boy. Nevertheless, I hope you like it! :D

He breathed in and out again, watched white dance up in front of his glasses. Last winter he had been homeless, trying to keep together what was left of the place, the warm feeling he once called home. He hadn’t been able to keep anything from falling apart, nor had he been able to save anyone. Wasn’t it ironic how so long ago he hadn’t even cared about saving anything? How he would have loved to watch humanity kill itself with every mistake it made until the world went up in flames. After all, if mankind was too stupid to listen, why should he try to fix it? Reality and the easily coming knowledge of how the world worked had made him cynical. A position like that caused life to be simple when your only drive was yourself. But Neah just had to take over his life by storm and tear down every carefully built wall Allen had constructed. He intruded Allen’s life screaming unjust to a god and the world, crawling out of hell again and again while demanding the cynic’s help as an equivalent exchange for having given the scientist a name to go by. It had been just an amusing pastime to go and help the Noah who charged fairness from reality. Allen hadn’t intended to start caring but it had been so hard to stay neutral when Neah called Allen’s little apartment home. It had been so terribly hard when Neah cried tears Allen hadn’t been able to find since he figured out that the world didn’t care about him and could carry on without the cynic’s existence. They had made mistakes, a lot of them, too many perhaps and Allen had paid in tears, blood and bodies. Nevertheless he would never regret the path he had started to walk on. Even in the dark times he had found light, a laugh and warmth. For a moment Allen had felt like he mattered and he’d do everything to get that feeling again. He couldn’t take back any decisions he had made, moving forward was the only way he could go. Therefore Allen would put one foot in front of the other, steadily walk towards the green light of hope. He was mending mistakes now. He ran after the dreaded Innocence in hopes of gaining an advantage, perhaps even a more effective weapon. Magic was helpful but it could only do so much. Fake it till you make it was a proverb that hadn’t been in Allen’s treasury of words until he had a run in with a Level 4. His left arm had been pretty much useless ever since, he had to force himself into becoming right handed as the chicken scratch that hand left on paper was slightly more legible. At least he could still use his hand for simple tasks like carrying things or picking flowers. Looking up into the already darkening sky, Allen decided he should hurry. Being out in the dark alone with a bunch of innocence hidden away under his coat wasn’t the best idea. He hadn’t meant to get so caught up in memories; the task he had wanted to do had been left behind. “You left me with internal and external messes, Neah,” Allen sighed, a slight smile gracing his lips as he talked to the burnt down ruins of their once hideout. He walked around the ruins to the backyard he had made into a herbary for scientific and medical purposes alike because even if Neah was a Noah, a cold somehow got to all. The herb garden, of course, was burnt down too. It shouldn’t have surprised Allen as much as it did. Still, it hurt as he had poured a lot of hard work into growing this garden. Though the most work had always been keeping Neah from accidentally ruining the plants. As carefully as his friend had been with instruments, he hadn’t been gifted with a green thumb. Giving the remains of the herbary one last glance, Allen turned around only to come to a halt when red entered his vision. Immediately he reached for talismans, fearing the attack of Akuma. But as soon as he was calm, focused on his enemy, he could already drop his weapon again. Flowers. He had been startled by a small accumulation of red poppies. Neah would laugh at him for acting like a frightened bunny. Jumping at a flash of red, a simple filed of flowers. But it was already winter so why- Ah, right. Allen remembered why they bloomed. Neah had, with the bits of passable gardening he managed, grown them after being fed up with Allen confronting him with the fact that Neah sucked with plants. Of course there hadn’t been any magic involved, Neah had insisted. They must have been the only thing to keep growing after the fire had ruined the house and the garden, leaving only destruction and silent abandonment. Allen grimaced at that thought. In a way he had interrupted the peaceful rest of this fallen safe heaven, bringing upheaval with his arrival. Feeling a lot heavier than before, Allen made his way into the house all while hoping that it wouldn’t crash above him. The floorboards creaked beneath his weight, the sound being rather unpleasant to the ear. “Seems like you don’t want me here anymore, huh?” Allen muttered. He entered what was left of his old laboratory and tried his hardest to stay calm when he saw all his broken projects lying around. It was a mess. He walked over to his desk and kneeled down to pull out a box he had hidden beneath a loose plank. Just like the many times before the plank came of easily and revealed a metal box. Quickly he took the box out of its stash and opened it. Seeing gold flash between red silk, Allen almost let out a cry. He took the red fabric and threw it away, fully revealing what the box had kept safe for over a year; a short vial filled with red liquid and- “Tim…!” At the sound of its name the golden ball stirred, the golden wings slowly starting to move again, then letting out a yawn. The golem looked around for a bit before jumping straight into Allen’s lap. “I missed you too, you stupid golem,” Allen muttered, a fond smile on his face. Tim then flapped its wings again and flew up to nest in Allen’s hair, the same way it always had. It wiggled around for a while before finding the optimal sitting position and calming again. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand why you love that place so much, lazy bird,” Allen commented to which the golem hit the man’s cheeks with its tail. Not letting himself get irritated, Allen reached for the vial. “This will safe us some day, Tim,” Allen told the golem and hold the vial up to the golem’s mouth. “Therefore you have to protect it, okay?” Allen took the golem nearly biting his hand off while it swallowed the vial as a sign of understanding. On their way out, the duo passed the few poppies again. As soon as it spotted them, Tim pulled at Allen’s hair to get the man’s attention. “What is it, Tim?” The golem took off from Allen’s head and flew over to the poppies. “Don’t break them, Tim. They’re Neah’s and once he’s back he’ll hunt us down if he realizes we broke some.” At that the golem jumped up, looking as startled as it could. “He was so proud of them too, probably because they resemble him so much.” Tim appeared confused so Allen elaborated. “They’re pretty and, well, they should be dead in this cold. But instead they are only peacefully resting.” Sparing the poppies one last glance, the duo walked away from their once home and Neah’s beloved poppies. They’d never return either way.

AN: I’ve wondered about Past!Allen for a while and I love the idea that he was a Bookman apprentice but simply quit. And while the idea of him doing it because of Neah is sweet, my German class started reading Faust. And then I thought “cynical Allen who is hella intelligent and loves knowledge”. The idea of Past!Allen being rational while Present!Allen is driven by emotions developed more and more. Especially since rereading scenes with Red.