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writemeaboi · 28 days

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A/N: this one is a bit of a doozy. Flame is such a good angst outlet. Be safe and take care of yourselves yall <3

TW: On Screen Character Death, Gore, Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Emotional

+Grimm Consequences+

Wind whips around them, carrying sand and dust up into the air. The red sanded sandstorm that roars around them limits their vision but does little to slow the two of them. They stalk with a purpose, the harrowing winds doing little to stop their stride, clothes whipping about.

Flame was relieved for once she had listened to Sean. He had said wear layers and goggles wouldn't be a bad idea. There had been a lot of times where his words had been to measly pull her leg or trick her into things. He was once the Devil, rotting in the corruption of power. But that was Cinder. After being usurped for his title, he decided to lay low with mortals.

They taught him empathy.

If they hadn't, he wouldn't have invited her with to be traveling through the deserts of Hell miles from anywhere to a location that rest the killer of his son, cornered and wounded. A man who had once been her mentor. Devouring Spirit's soul had driven him to a point of no return. He became a mindless blood thirsty monster. She hunted for him for years, trying to end the suffering.

He was once a kind soul.

Lights can soon be seen from a distance even through the thick sandstorm. Sean pushes foward, her right on his heels. He leads the way to where a cluster of three orbs of magical energy rest floating in the air about five feet above. Sean then bends down and clears the sand away from a metal hatch. She would have never known it was there with how much the storm had buried it.

With great strength he pulls it open. She descends the latter presented, metal rungs in stone.

She makes it about three rungs to the bottom just as she hears a thud above as the roaring of the storm is now quiet. She turns and steps into the moderately sized room before her to find that she stands in some sort of barracks. Bunk beds line the wall. At least eight, and it doesn't take long for her to sense that most are full. Demons. Low-tier. Three soilders in tunics and trousers with horns and slitted eyes, looking exhausted, sit around a card table near middle of the room. They trade trinkets with cards and dice. For a moment they are unaware of her presence.

She then clears her throat.

Their attention changes to her immediately. They draw weapons and stand on edge. She feels fear drown their thoughts paired with flashes of memory from their earlier hunt. How many it had already cost them and terrified it would cost more if somehow he had allies they hadn't accounted for.

She is quick to remove the fabric wrapped around her head, followed by the goggles, as she speaks, "Cinder is a friend of mine. He retrieved me once you had your prey trapped.”

The farthest sat from her relaxes her shoulders and gives a look of understanding. The other two stand at the ready till a hand on either of their shoulders from the woman calms them. Her eyes are serious, stern, a little dead. The eyes of a soilder.

"I am General Talia of the Forsaken Herd. Sir Cinder told us he was returning with-”

Then Sean emerges from above, "My apologies for the delay, Talia. I ran into important matters that needed tending to," He faces the three demons saluting him, "At ease. Pardon my interruption.”

The soilders relax. The other two retake their seats as Talia stays standing tall giving reassuring looks to those slightly stirring from sleep at the talking. Sean joins at Flame's side, holding the air of a leader. It isn't suppressing or intimidating. He used to be a ruthless leader, now his presence has a sense of humanity and humility.

Talia's gaze returns to her, once her troops have settled and understand there is no danger. "You are the Reaper he said he was fetching?”

"I am. I'm Flame. The beast you caught used to be my mentor.”

A solemn look crosses the general's face before it becomes stern again, "He's this way.”

Without anymore words, Sean leads the way behind Talia down a short hallway slanted downward leading deeper into the earth that then opens up into a large central room three stories tall, each level with their own level of busy. They branch off into mine shafts, most having been freshingly dug into. She leads them up to the second layer where all the mines are blocked off and there is a heavy military presence here. Not oppressive, cautionary.

Most crowad outside a single choke point, a skinny mine shafts that leads into darkness, even from here they can hear snarls and cries of a wounded animal. She needs a moment to realize that was Grimm no longer sounding like himself.

The soilders stand alert and salut Sean who waves them off. After Talia's nod of conformation the six soilder that idle here relax and return to their posts, watching and waiting. Talia approaches one of the six, a tall bulky demon who's horns curl down the back of his head.

He sits off to the side, making arrows. His hands never once haulting their work even as he looks up, "General, Sir Cinder, he is still trapped at the back of the mine. He hasn't made any advancements as our last assault injured him gravely. I'm pretty sure he's made bed with this being his final stand.”

Part of her isn't sure she even wants to see him like this and every other part of her knows she has to. Grimm had no family but her. He had never been good with people and the life of a Reaper is a lonely one. It had taken him years to open up to her, for him to put down his walls and show her what was past the standoffish attitude and the assholery he would sometimes pull. For a long time, he was a sort of home for her. He taught her how to control her abilities. He showed her they weren't something for her to fear, that it was all just like breathing, second nature.

There is a hand on her shoulder as Sean peers up at her, a soft but determined look on his face, "You understand what must be done?”

She wishes she didn't. If only it hadn't come to this. She sighs softly, gaze downcast, "I do. He can't..." She takes a deep breath to hold back tears that threaten to flow, "...be permitted to live. Plus he shouldn't be made to suffer any more." She then looks past the soilders down the dark mine shafts.

He used to tell her the way he had always wanted to die. To go out in a blaze of glory on a battlefield fighting for his family.

Sean's hand squeezes her shoulder. He passes on a reassurance she hadn't ever wanted from him but she welcomes it in this moment, "Take as long as you need. I'll wait for you.”

All the soilders watch the opening as Flame steps before it, shedding the cloth she was wrapped in to reveal the multi styled flame tattoos that cover both her arms in red ink as she wears only a tank top under all those layers. Sean gently takes them from her before finding a spot against the railing to wait and watch.

She takes a moment to pull her hair up into a ponytail, maybe for practical reasons, maybe because she was procrastinating a little, and by the looks of the faces around her and the solemn emotions sitting at the forefront of everyone's mind they weren't about to question her either way. She could do this. She could grant him peace. She swallows her tears again and steps into the darkness head held high and on alert.

Her eyes adjust to the lack of light fairly quickly. It takes little time to track the blood trail that leads her down a narrow mine shafts that flares are into a closet size space as rumble is it's backing wall, the shaft having been brought down to trap him in.

She stands at the end of the narrow tunnel, about ten feet away from the sounds of pained whimpers and angered growls, gaze locked to the dark blood speard everywhere leading to the remnants of a once valued Reaper. He is stuck prone, laying on his stomach as his legs are trapped under the rumble, buried up to just past his waist. His shirt is just tatters. His back and arms covered in open wounds clearly inflicted by swords. Hair a messy brown pile on his head, the back of it caked in blood.

Then he looks up. His eyes are engulfed by the whites of them, face and teeth, he bares in a snarl, covered in blood. He growls and with the very little strength he has left he tries to pull himself free to no avail. His whole body jerks and jiggles in place as he digs bloodied hands and fingers against smooth stone in a failed attempt to make any difference in freeing himself.

She stands above him, about five feet away now, heart pounding in her chest as tears silently make their way down her cheeks.

He was trapped like a rat, pinned in place and awaiting death. With all he took from them, she's surprised they didn't just kill him themselves. She's glad however. He deserved a send off from family. His life was complicated, filled in shadows hiding a softness the cruelness of the world punished him for having. His life had been hard and full of tragedy, most of which was instigated by him. Grimm never could calm a situation. But she could never forget the kindness he had showed her.

He had given her a purpose outside of gang life.

Guiding lost souls on to the afterlife had taught her there were much bigger things in this world then herself. That the petty bullshit in her life was a waste of time. That hurting others for money wasn't how she should spend her immortal life.

She wipes her tears away on the back of her hand as she lowers herself to a squat. He had never stopped snarling but it seems he had used up his physical energy. He lay flat on his stomach upon the cool stone, torse heaving, arms limp at his side, as he still stares her down trying to intimidate her into leaving.

She wants to hold his face, tell him everything will be fine. Hoping that things would magical fix themselves or that this was just some horrible nightmare she was having.

She reaches out to him, ever so slowly, only for him to snap his teeth at her and roar in as close as he can get to her face. She lets her hand return to her side as she instead touches him in a different way. His mind has hardly any mental walls. It used to be a fortress. Even she couldn't get in. Now it's like stepping through a hole in the wall.

A perpetual anger sits at the force front as his mind is flooded in instincts and the need to kill.

Blood. He wanted so much blood. Even the lives he had already taken weren't enough. Never enough. Hurt and eat. Hurt and eat. It's a never ending cycle of violence and hunger. His thoughts hurt even as she pushes deeper and deeper preying to anyone that there was some sliver of him left. It's like pushing through mud as she finds these thoughts and feelings play on loop. He truly had become a mindless beast.

But she can't stop. Even as blood runs down her nose. What makes her stop is when he starts squirming and crying out in pain. She retracts her mind from his, throwing up her own walls as her whole body relaxes. She wraps her arms around herself for a moment as more silent tears roll down her cheeks.

He was gone, had been for a long time it seems.

He was a slave to bloodlust.

She sniffs, the tears nonstop for the moment.

He had fallen down such a dark path and part of her wants to ponder on the what is. What if she had come to talk to time about his behavior the first time he attacked Spirit. Could she have reached him like he reached her all those many years ago? But she had learned a very long time ago that wasn't helpful.

She takes a deep breath and rubs her face free of tears with her palms and the side of her hands as she stands.

She wouldn't let him suffer any longer.

He breathes deep and heavy below her, still laid upon the stone. She closes her eyes for the briefest of moments, thinking of the face of a young man that asked her out for coffee with the sole purpose of talking magic, and looks down at the dying animal he has become.

For a moment the space gains a faint glow of red, causing him to look up as her tattoos take on a dim glow before they brighten for a moment. The energy they channel travels down her arms, the light disappearing, to her palms that she presses together. Pulling them apart reveals the beginning of a staff that she reveals to full length swirling it in one hand, energy still pulsing through as she swings it to the side as the blade appears to complete her scythe.

She hadn't met any other Reapers that had chosen scythes as their weapons. Grimm preached that they were death's embodiment and should look the part. He shared that following how mortals protrayed death helped them feel more welcomed in the afterlife. It gave them a comfort to have that familiarity. Truly she had only picked a scythe for the looks, since watching Grimm fight had been like art to her.

"Grimm," She whispers, voice a little wobbly as she still cries, "I'm sorry things had to end this way. I never wanted them too...I'll...never forget what you did for me." She sniffs a little at the end, gripping the handle of her weapon with both hands as she perches the blade above them.

He stares up with empty eyes. While he still snarls and huffs, his body no longer fights. He looks upon the blade with an acceptance that makes her sob softly.

"Goodbye, old friend.”

Then with a seamless bend of the arms and flick of the wrist the blade slices through the air, his head removed from his shoulders. His head archs in the air for a moment before it thuds to the floor next to his motionless body. Now the only sounds in the mine shaft are her sniffles and soft, choked back sobs.

He had been the only family she had for a long time.

It wasn't till these past couple of years that she had found a new family within Sean and the lovely community he has been fostering.

Another lesson Grimm had taught her, one she would never accept fully, was that the life of a Reaper was full of loneliness and isolation. She lived that route up till recently and it had brought nothing but misery. His true belief in that being his life, aided in his death. She had learned the hard way many times that there was no shame in asking for help. Grimm never knew how, and she idolized him enough to believe he could handle things on his own.

It was very clear he couldn't. He let his anger and jealousy over Spirit consume him. She wonders if Sean feels guilty about it all. His neglect of Grimm had been the beginning of a terrible end.

She flicks the blood clean from the blade, twirls it idly before placing it in one hand, blade point downward. Then the blade shimmers before it disappears into energy that pulses in the staff that begins to shrink as soon as she touches her palm to one end. Once it is short enough, both ends are held by her palms as it vanishes between her hands that now press together. A faint glow starts in her hands before it traveling up her arms to settle back in place as her tattoos.

Then her gaze is immediately locked to the body before her as the faint, white glow pulls from Grimm's chest. An orb of flickering, and sparkling engery floats about five feet above the floor. She steps closer, fascination over taking sorrow for a moment. She'd never seen another Reaper's soul before. She then reaches a hand out, gently cupping it in her palm. With mortal souls she was able to see a flash of the life they lived and over all feel for how they carrier themselves through life. As a neutral bound Reaper it was her responsibility to help souls pass on to the afterlife pre her judging. Heaven, Hell, Between, and merging with the energy of the world.

His soul passes on none of that. She gains no new information. He was no longer a Reaper, but a Husk. That only left one option. His energy would merge in the world's, adding to life, and finally putting him to peace. She gives his soul a soft touch before she pulls back and he swept away in an invisible wind, disappearing from the space.

He couldn't even be granted another life.

She tips her head back the sobs ripping from her throat. She wants to scream, to lash out. Instead she stays in place, body shaking with a rage she doesn't fully understand, and a sorrow she cries out. She stays standing there, letting the sobs become hiccups and those hiccups to silent tears as she evens out her breathing. She isn't sure how long it takes for her to have calmed herself, but she does. She wipes her tears away on the back of her hands.

She believed he was in a better place now. He had always craved peace. Now he was one with the universe.

She sniffs and takes a deep breath before exhaling and turning to leave the small mine shaft. Once she emerges, she is met with a smaller group of soilders, only four now, General Talia counted among them. She stands against the railing facing the entrance along with Sean. They are talking amongst themselves.

A voice startles her from behind, "Is it done?”

Leaning against the wall a few feet from the entrance is the demon that had given them the update before she went in.

She meets his stern gaze with her tear stained one, "It is...He's in a better place now.”

"I'm sorry for your loss, Flame.”

Her attention then changes to Sean who offers her cloths back to her that she accepts, pulling them on haphazardly. She is thankful for something to cover her tattoos for once. She can't stomach to look at them right now. She just lowers her head a little at Sean who offers a hand on her shoulder for comfort.

The squeeze he gives makes her heart melt and before she can control herself she's engulfed him in a tight hug, buring her face in his shoulder. His hands settle on her back, rubbing reassuringly. She wished it was her girlfriend's arms she could have collapsed in but Sean offers comfort willingly. She buries her hands in fabric and shakes.

Grimm had meant so much to her. To watch him spiral, able to do nothing, had been heartwrenching. Now here she was, at the end of his spiral having hurt more than he helped. She hated that the end she given him had been believed to be fated. That a similar outcome awaited her one day.

It was sickening.

"It's alright. You only did what you had to do. He had brought this upon himself.”

She wasn't sure she fully believed that but she didn't have the energy to argue right now. Instead she wordlessly squeezes tighter, sniffles into his suit lapel. He squeezes and rubs her back reassuringly as she melts into the affection, eyes closed. This comfort he offered wasn't something she was about to turn away, even if a past self might. Most of her friends would have told her to buck up and move on, and maybe under different circumstances she might have welcome that. And once upon a time he likely would have been the first one to shame her for having feelings. Being in his arms now, in a hug that she sorely needed, she was thankful at least one of them was able to grow. He outgrew his toxic behavior decades ago and to think he couldn't change, at least she hadn't believe so at first, seemed ludicrous now.

He contuines to hold her, even as Talia rallies the soilders, taking the four of them with her down the mineshaft at a leisure pace, likely to retrieve his body. She didn't want to see it again. Once almost felt too much even if it was nessassary.

Sean then pulls her back a little, hands on her shoulders so they lock gazes, "Did the hug help? Is there anything else I can do for you?"

She wipes her face on the fabric wrapped around her shoulders, sniffling a little, "It did..." Then her attention pivots to the General who is no emerging. She quickly looks away, bile tickling the back of her throat, "I, um, don't think I can see his body again."

He keeps a hand on her shoulder, now keeping her facing him as his free hand raises likely making the soilders halt their advancement. His gaze stays on her, "That's okay. Why don't you wait for me by the ladder? I have a few things to finish here then I'll take you somewhere nice we can talk. You're still a tea fan, Flame?"

She's a little caught guard but his suggestion. The last she had tea was with her late wife, his daughter. Another story that ended with her putting a friend to death. Tears threaten to breach again as she pats his hand on her shoulder, "Yea…yeah, I can do that...and tea...tea sounds nice.”

He smiles, a soft turn of the lips with minimal teeth that reaches his eyes. A gueinue smile. She was still getting used to seeing those on Sean, "If you change your mind, we can always head home."

Home.

She suppose the life she had made with his family could count as home. Then she thinks of Hope, her girlfriend and his daughter. She was home. She wonders if that's what he meant by that. She take s a moment to separate herself from him. He still holds a hand up as she steps back, she doesn’t dare look behind her.

She sighs then exhales, collects herself, "Just meet me outside. I need some fresh air."

He nods. They disconnect and with her back to the scene that was no doubt unfolding behind her, she makes her way through the tunnels back to the barracks where some soilders stare before they catch the redness in her face or the tears in her eyes. She can sense how a few approach with questions till one look is all that is needed for them to stay clear.

She readjusts the fabrics adapted around her and reapplies the goggles then ascends the ladder. Soon wind is whipping in her face as the storm still whips around. She struggles a few minutes with the hatch, the wind a force to be reckoned with, before getting it to close. She stands just above the lights, staring into their blinding color as her legs begin to carry her forward. The wind does little to stop her as she stands in the middle of one of Hell's many deserts. The sandstorm around her roars in her ears. She can barely hear her own thoughts.

It's a blessing for a moment, a silence that does nothing to temper the emotions building in her chest. Her vision is blurry as tears make their way down her face. Her sobs are drowned by the thunderous sandstorm as she stops just before the storm would swallow the lights. She knows not to stray too far.

She didn't know Hell like Sean did. He was born within the First Ring, spent centuries here as its ruler. He used to be malicious, ruthless, and power hungry. But even when it was ripped from him, he gave up the chase and began reconnecting with his children, raising more, and creating a life filled with love and understanding.

She takes a moment to soak that feeling in.

He had done some terrible things, some to herself but he had made up for it all and then some. She wants to believe this wasn't fated for Grimm. That it hadn't been for Zalgo, either. That it wasn't for her.

If whatever really was pulling all the strings could let Sean repent and start over, it could do the same for her. Couldn't it?

The roaring wind does little to block out the sorrow that courses through her at the loss of her mentor, . He showed what bottling up emotions can end in so she lets it out in the most instinctual way.

She screams, a roar that carries an anguish she's held her whole life. The sound of it is swallowed into the sandstorm.

She keeps going till her throat is dry and all she can taste is sand, but a weight has lifted from her chest. Talking it out would likely be the long her heal for all this but it felt nice to let that out. She fixes her fabrics, tongue moving about in her mouth, trying to produce slativa as she steps back closer to the hatch awaiting Sean. Whatever words he had to offer over tea, would help sooth her soul.

"I'll wait for you."

#my writing #writing prompt #Flame Pax #Sean Geehere #angst #just oc stuff

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writemeaboi · 1 month

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A/N: Who doesn't love 2am OC angst? I know I do :P

TW: Mention of death, mild sexual content, emotional

+The Obituary of Her Past+

She isn't sure when she started to think of the future, of the things she had to look forward to, the things, the people, she now had to fight for. It had been far too long since she'd last had that. It was once again unknown territory. Lingering in the past had been safe. She knew the warmth that once was tangled in her sheets, not the new one that stuck to her skin. Or how the smell of cinnamon tea became carmel coffee. Longing for lost touches became a warm hand she could reach for any time.

For a long time the ghosts of long dead partners would haunt her kitchen. Her passed ex-wife making pot brownies for the first time ruining that oven forever; she could never get the pot smell out even after all these years. Her dead best friend and her shouting over the kitchen table before it became a heart to heart.

Now only the stove was used for early breakfasts with wandering hands and the kitchen table would host a puzzle every Friday where the only raised voice was the TV playing cop shows in the background.

She stands there now, cleaning dishes. The stained, faded blue wall paper rests along the kitchen walls above the sink, oven, and some cupboards had started to peel away some years ago. Hope had helped her redo the rest of the apartment. The kitchen was next on the list.

Even in the dark, she needs a moment of total darkness, a moment where all she has left are instincts while she continues to clean the dishes. It isn't as hard as it should be. She knows these plates. The only wedding gift she'd ever been given. She knows these coffee cups, each a half of a heart etched into them. Her current girlfriend had picked them out the day they moved in together, about six months ago.

Her grip on Hope's cup is firm but not heavy handed. She keeps any lingering touch light, feels the chip in the handle.

For far too long she had been very lonely.

Her last partner had passed of old age. The curse of dating mortals, she supposed. But it was beautiful. Even to the very end, even when she was bed ridden for months and close to deaths door, the love she held in her heart never faded.

The cups clink in the drying rack when she accidentally tapped them against each other. The water is warm, like a rock that had been sitting out in the sun all day. Her hand is quick to find the soild handle of a wooden spoon she cooked everything with. She normally would go without washing it for weeks, each dish sealing it's flavor in the wood, but Hope thought that was kind of gross. So she scrubs the smooth wood, surfacing it only once it feels free of food scraps. She cracks her eyes open a hair to double check before closing them again.

It helped keep her here, not floating in all the bittersweet moments she carried in her heart.

For a long time she thought those were the only things she had left. That these memories of long dead friends and loved ones would be all she would carry till all life passed so that all that is left is death. She would live endlessly unless some idiot figured out what could take her down. She didn't even know.

It's much easier to not think of that with the scolding water she adds to the mixture of lukewarm water just silverware soaks in while she rinses the spoon. It is added to the drying rack shortly after. The water burns ever so faintly as she scrubs at forks, spoons, and knives.

Her life had taught her too many lessons. Maybe if she cared to teach others, they would seem too little. The knowledge she held would likely never leave her but the direction of her heart would change. She'd felt it change this half of a year. The way the walls she held crumbled around her. She hadn't let anyone in...in years, lots of years.

She had been terrified for a long time Hope hadn't felt the same. Or worse, saw right through her.

"Flame? It's too early to be doing the dishes."

As it turns out, that second one wasn't as scary as her once lonely mind had thought.

She turns her head at that, eyes opening to meet sleepy brown that the moonlight refracted red when she leaned to the left just so. Hope's brunette hair is a mess and she can barely keep her eyes open as she squints. She keeps herself standing with a firm hand gripping the doorframe that leads into the kitchen from the hallway side.

She keeps her eyes on Hope as her hands contuine their work, "It's never too early to do dishes."

Hope rolls her eyes which leads into a yawn she can't hold back, "Yes it is. Is something the matter?"

Her hands stop in the water and she stares down into it for a moment. She had come out here to pretend there wasn't anything wrong, because truly there wasn't.

Even then her heart aches in her chest, "Um..."

There is a moment where the only sound is Flame's own heartbeat in her chest and the soft pad of Hope's feet along kitchen tile as warm hands now cup her hips before they gently lead her back so she bends at the back ever so slightly as Hope lays her head at the juncture between her shoulder blades.

Then soft kisses is placed and nearly breaks open right then and there, "I've...been around a long time. I've seen so many lives play out before they moved on. My only place in the world is to help them move on, to help those with good in them to pass beyond the veil...and it...it hurts, Hope. To watch loved ones grow old in front of you, to watch mortals live their cycle knowing I'll always be there from beginning to end."

"What about me?" Hope mumbles into her back, fingers gripping her hips as if that would keep her awake.

Flame startles at that question, "Wh-what about you?"

"I live a very long time Flame, maybe even as long as you. Plus there are plenty of magics I could use to garentee that. You could have me by your side till the end of time. Wouldn't you get sick of that? I think it's beautiful that life has a beginning and end. It adds meaning."

Flame turns at that, wet hands be damned as she cups Hope's face who's eyes flutter open blearily. She looks as tired as the edge of her voice betrays. She wears the slightest of smiles as her grip resettled on Flame's hips.

There is a moment where Flame wants to agure, wants to lie and say it isn't beautiful that it was just punishment for those who had no other choice but to live. She couldn't do that. Immorality had been romanticized just as much as the loneliness of it all.

She hadn't truly understood that until she thought of Hope at her side for as long as she wanted to be and not because of some time limit. It almost brings a tear to her eye.

"I wouldn't be sick of it with you by my side."

"Such a flatterer." Hope's hands are in her hair pulling her down slightly so their lips can meet in a messy, slow, prefect kiss.

Her hands trace the small of Hope's back, one idly spread along her stomach before scared fingers dig into her hip. Hope presses herself flush against Flame, letting them both loose themselves in lingering touches and soft lips.

Hope is the first to pull back. Flame sweats at the bittersweet twinkle in her eyes.

"You've been missing my sister, yeah?"

She gulps, a pound of bricks settling in her chest as she chokes out, "How could I not? I loved her. Dearly."

"I know. I know you did. And if you love me even a fraction of how much you-"

She didn't need to hear the rest, didn't want to hear the rest. Hope should never compare herself to others in her life. It would be unfair to everyone that wasn't Hope. She out shone them all.

"I've never loved someone as much as I love you. I could never love anyone more than you, Hope."

She could never get sick of those brown-red pools. They made her stomach butterfly and reminded her how much she would give for this woman without a second thought.

"Flame...I love you, too, sweetheart."

The ache in her chest dulls. The memories of lives loved and lost were worth it to have even the sliver of a chance to have Hope by her side, to have her love her too.

She gently scoops Hope into her arms who immediately melts in the affection, "You were right about it being too early. Let's go back to bed. You need the sleep, baby."

Hope just wraps her arms around Flame and buries her face in her shoulder as she walks both of them to their bedroom.

She would leave her past behind her, safely buried after she sets it all to rest.

With Hope by her side, every day was worth fighting for.

Distant/fading memories.

#writing prompt #my writing #my ocs <3 #Flame Pax #Hope Geehere #i know I'm posting this at 5am #editting takes time yall and I have adhd

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