#Drabble.

[secondsovereign]

ENCORE FOR THE OVERTURE

LEAVING FONTAINE is harder than he expected, there are memories held in the grasp of the Film Festival, and it's events that the Sovereign has come to cherish in his time amongst the peoples so utterly reminiscent of his home. The longing has only grown worse in the days that followed, a longing to feel soil beneath his feet, to tuck Joey firmly atop his shoulders and wander the blossoming crowds of tourists that had begun to venture across the world in the wake of Kiana's assumption of that heavenly authority.

Perhaps this is why his dreams have been odd of late, the little sleep he got plagued with a sea of flame that stood against the ominous black tide of the end. THEIR names have been lingering on his lips, a phrase that feels more like a fleeting spark of memory that cannot leave him. How much relief had he taken in seeing Kiana hearty and whole, so full of life that it wipes the weight from his bones, that singular mention of Bronya enough to invigorate him like naught else. To Mei, a hug given and a beacon hopeful, a path amidst the stars to Sol's distant call he merely hopes will withstand the wave of the great Astral Sea. Kevin had been closure to him, things once unsaid finally said, and yet... his reunion with them has only made the ominous feeling stronger.

Amphoreus: The Eternal Land, its presence is like an ominous distant memory, one that even the Erudition's lack of information has only served to heighten. Belobog, The Luofu, Penacony... Someone or something has interfered with their journey far too much for his liking. To see events play out once more, things that were once limited to memory played again in the hopes of finding a different answer has left the Herrscher of Reason all too suspicious of the convenience of a solution to the problem of fuel.

The Memokeeper may have earned their trust, yet even now he remains suspicious of the Garden of Remembrance. For a world to be unobserved by the Erudition and uncharted by the Trailblaze is almost utterly suspicious. IX has been all too silent of late, the chill of THEIR presence gone from his mind in ways he dare not put words to, replaced only by the steadily growing reservoir of power that should not exist, yet it seemed that SOMEONE was all too eager to invoke the concept of Herrschers in a universe that needed them not.

No, Welt's gaze looks far beyond Amphoreus, to the distant edges of the AMBER WALL where ancient foes continue to wait without movement. They've followed him, he knows that much, so desperate are the ones above for the boundless energy a Herrscher can provide and yet not even the faintest trace of Void Archives has crossed his path. A hand outstretched, amber eyes turned red facing the glass as a singular black hole appears in his grasp, a sign of changing times as authority hums within him louder and louder. Welt Yang the nameless would continue to care for their younger passengers, as for the Once Sovereign of Anti-Entropy, he who inherited reason amidst the ruins, he would continue to prepare for who or what lurked in the distant shadows, mimic after mimic stored within the core for the anointed hour.

[venstm]

Distrust dwells in anticipation of pain, it wasn’t a potential outcome, it was inevitable. It’s because Moze knew the portents of it, the pungent, malodorous herbs being ground into a paste, the spindly fingers which forced his mouth open, that he could tense, dread sinking to the marrow of his bones. It was spread across his tongue evenly, the urge to retch repressed as molten heat clawed at the back of his throat, his eyes stung as the inexorable agony swept through him. Those invasive hands hook beneath his jaw driving bruising divots into the soft, pale skin, through the strident wailing static he hears someone instruct him to swallow, he complies. Obedience is drilled into him incessantly, ruthlessly and in spite of the saccharine intonation of praise he finds no solace. Violently he convulses, every nerve scoured until it was raw and bleeding, it felt as if his stomach was collapsing, his lungs desperately heave in breath after breath but there’s not enough, the room is constricting and darkness is seeping into his swimming vision. They tilt his head back, allowing the trail of saliva to trickle down his chin rather than pool in his mouth, they didn’t want him choking to death. His entire body was tethered to a single, excruciating pulse. Someone lays him down on his side, inspecting his inert eyes, the way his stiff arms yearned to curl in on himself. The following sound is one of triumph, as if the nebulous streaks he knew were his family had gazed deep into his vacuous eyes and seen something holy. His breathing is reduced to weak, harrowing rasps, finally permitting the waves of that stygian sea to compel him to sleep. He was so - so very exhausted. 

He won’t let you touch him. Feixiao advises, resting languidly against the doorframe. The foxian she speaks with has long, soft ears and at hearing this they tilt back. His eyes narrow, mouth drawn back in a grimace revealing clenched teeth. Those golden, penetrating eyes meet his and pity occupies the tense silence, with a sigh he folds his slender hands in his lap. His body won’t last without medicine. Nails carve red crescents into his palm as that word is spoken, against his will his body trembles. Medicine, he’d heard it before, knows what it means. His suspicion burgeons into a dark, seething anger. Clammy hands desperately sought his blade but she had stolen it, his one defense against the encroaching dangers, he hadn’t understood her reasoning. you won’t need it here. Why should he place his faith in her words, no matter how soft or how reassuring that was all they were. She takes a step back and from her shadow emerges Moze, his body still malnourished, the clothes they had given him swelled around his gaunt arms making him look terribly frail. the healer’s eyes narrow, appraising him in a way that made him want to writhe out of his grasp. They continue to talk, he grasps fragments of their conversation and soon Feixiao departs and the two are left alone. Every instinct begged him in earnest, run, run, run but fear imprisoned him, holding him firmly in place. It takes an hour of gentle encouragement, of placing the herbs out one at a time, separating them and educating him on their names, their uses, before Moze tentatively settles into the space beside him. The rancid smell does not emit from the bowl where his pestle grinds the herbs into a paste and his hands do not cruelly wedge his mouth open. Jiaoqiu lays the medicine between them like an oblation and for a pregnant moment he merely stares at it, his uncertainty tangible. He doesn’t rush Moze and after a few erratic heartbeats he takes it. His features contort expecting the first lance of pain to be unbearable - but it doesn’t come, there’s a bitter taste lingering on his tongue but that was it. With wide, confused eyes he glances back up. ❝ …. It doesn’t hurt.. ❞ his unused voice still startles him, guttural and hoarse, the healer merely shakes his head. Not all medicine is pleasant but it isn’t intended to cause you harm. ❝ It’s meant to hurt.❞ he insists, it is then that realization dawns upon the foxian’s features, the horrors he must had endured at the hands of those he regarded as family, it was a atrocity that no one prevented them from experimenting on him until he was deceived into thinking it was normal - it had to be that way. A hand reaches out for him, intended to placate the boy’s bristling and he winces as it comes down, it were as if he envisioned it covered in barbs, or steeped in poison. The ice in his veins stills as it merely rests atop his head, the healer’s expression is complicated but the world which had surged by in the days following his rescue becomes utterly stagnant, everything rendered in superlative detail. He breathes in, it doesn’t hurt, he breathes out, it doesn’t hurt then either. As if he were crying his shoulders shook, the revelation of it too much for him to bear. Hands didn’t have to bestow only pain.

Moze blinks slowly, with Jiaoqiu’s hands cradling his face the moment feels inherently intimate. He was tracing his features slowly, with purpose, wanting to recall the way he looked in the absence of sight. He was so still that it was impossible to tell if he were still breathing, his vision regains clarity as their inquisitive tips trace the contours of his cheek down to the sharp line of his jaw. You were thinking about something. Jiaoqiu muses, perhaps because the shadow guard had devoted himself for far too long to the act of silence. His next breath holds the impression of laughter, a strange - unfamiliar note even now, he was transparent beneath the other’s gaze, he did not require sight for such a feat.

❝ about the past.❞ a solemn confession, these long, arduous days surrendered to healing left ample room for such things. He makes a soft, incredulous noise which Moze recognises as chiding, don’t stray too far - go where I cannot follow. It takes quite an amount of restraint not to ease back into the shadows, to allow the familiar darkness to encompass him and to alleviate the way his heart ached when Jiaoqiu smiled at him like that. ❝ I won’t. ❞ and it sounded akin to a heartfelt vow. 

[ataviisms]

it didn't use to hurt. it didn't use to feel like this.

every waking moment is agony; every unconscious moment a too-short relief. some days he spends howling and thrashing on the floor. most, all he can do is lie there pathetically and shudder while the pain wracks his body. skin so tight it could snap. ache in his jaw like a knife in his brain. like a special kind of torment he doesn't even have words for.

the meals they slide through his cell door go uneaten, become a buffet for cockroaches. he's so so hungry, stomach like a hollow drum, but his mouth no longer works the way it used to. food falls from it before he has a chance to swallow, he can no longer chew. what little he manages to choke down comes right back up when the pain hits, and all he can do is press himself against the concrete until exhaustion takes him.

he doesn't know what he looks like now. he'd smashed the tiny mirror above the sink when all this had started. when he tries to look at it, his face is distorted by the spiderweb of cracks. no way to tell what's wrong with him. no way to make any sense of anything.

days, weeks, months. hard to tell how long he's been in hell. no concept of time in solitary. no concept of time in his haze of pain. slowly, slowly it lessens a little. his vision clears a bit, his jaw has stopped swelling and the blood on all the teeth he'd lost has long since dried. his skin just feels hard, not tight. the white-hot pain at the base of his spine has faded to a dull, heavy ache.

it takes him a long time to stand. when he does, the cockroaches on the floor scatter at the movement. he tries to lean against the metal sink and it bends beneath his weight with a terrible screeching sound. he looks into the broken mirror, trying to decipher the jigsaw image he's presented with. blood red eyes staring back at him; something dark and lumpy and jagged for a face. something no longer human. something reptile.

and the dark smear of sweat and dried blood and old dead skin on the floor is all remains of waylon jones.

[10ve1etter]

prompt 9 of pininlongingyearning ... long distance relationship // shoko x suguru.

the stretch of time between when they've last seen each other and the now feels both like an impossible expanse of time and a very short one.

like yesterday, they had just been sharing a meal made in her kitchen made by him. but, it also felt like it's been years since she's rested her head against his chest and felt the thrum of his heartbeat against her cheek, the lapping of his cursed energy in her home.

traces of him were gone except for the lavender wash he kept at her place in the bathroom. sometimes, she would bathe with it and carry around his smell with her, leaning her face into the crook of her arm when she tried to take a small nap at her desk in her office. that is, before she'd be interrupted by satoru and he would lounge around her office, stretching his tall body around. he would give pause sometimes, glance at her knowingly but strangely wouldn't needle. it makes sense that he would notice, too.

the postcard comes in the mail and she's almost giddy when she clutches it in her hand, trotting up the stairs to her apartment, shutting the door behind her and collapsing into her couch. it's not a very long note on the back, but one that's written in his hand and giving a short but detailed account about his recent travels, then a sentiment that only she can understand.

shoko isn't much of a writer, but she'll dedicate the words she can muster to a handwritten letter that will likely need to be forwarded to his next available address.

she misses him the most when she can't sleep. when bleary eyes peer towards the harsh red digits on the digital clock next to her bed and it read some horrible hour. it was always easier when he was around. everything was easier when he was around. but, she tried not to think about it too hard, to spoil herself into depending on another person. she's gotten by this far on being mostly alone --- not to discount the times spent in company or in reliance of her friends. but, isolation is something she's used to, and it once could even be a comfort.

when did being in the company of another person replace that?

she entertains the thought that he's ruined her in hopes that it would make her resentful and she would miss him less. it doesn't work. if anything, shoko wants him there so they could pretend to argue about it, so she could blame him and he would strike her with those fox-like eyes of his, cunning and knowing. imagining those things made the absences feel longer.

soon, the ache of it would dull out. present but not as sharp and she could manage breathing. she'd tidy up her mind, focus on her work, and try not to dwell on the void left behind.

[xaviermattthews]

something in the orange tells me you're never comin' home.

location: x and van's home, aurora bay drive.

when: july 13th 2024, early morning.

triggers warnings: death, parental death.

With sixteen track names scribbled across ever-shuffling flashcards, X pours over the running order he's settled on in his ninth attempt that morning to finalise Submergence's next album's tracklist. He plays a snippet of each song in his mind, listening to how he thinks it might flow before he actually puts them together in that order for a full listen.

By the time he gets to eight, he's already decided it's bloated, the sharpie in his hand drawing two large x's through what would have been nine and eleven so he could cull it down to a 14 track run.

The finish line was within reaching distance and he could feel the frustration and the apprehension that went with it right down to his bones which was why he found himself grateful for the solitude his girlfriend had granted him by taking their energetic border collie with her on her run. Nothing he decided on would be finalised without Van's input as well as their other bandmates, but if it was going to be an argument then he wanted to be certain he believed in what he wanted first.

There were few people who had been granted the digital permission to bypass his Do Not Disturb feature, one being Van herself and another being his drummer and friend. It's the third time in a fifteen minute that the name BOWIE SHORE flashes on his screen and the man knew him well enough to not ring more than twice unless it was vital because he ignored his phone for a good reason.

He picks up and answers on the fifth ring, greeting his friend in a clipped tone.

"You keep blowing up my fucking phone Bow and there won't be an album for this rollout, you get that, yeah? What?"

"Have you not been online at all?"

"No, whatever it is, I don't have the time." X informs him, assuming what must have been stressing him out was another old resurfaced interview or an article musing on whether or not they had lost their way after he had gotten sober. He's read it all in every font.

"X, can you just check your texts, please? I'm sending you a link. Look man, I don't know if it's real or not and I really hope it isn't but it's not the only place I'm seeing it."

There's a furrow in his eyebrows then as he switches the phone to loudspeaker, swiping up to his messages that were in the triple digits of unread -- nothing new there -- and clicked on the text thread under Bowie's name.

"Alright, hold on."

He can see his name in the preview, his eyes rolling instantly at the source being TMZ. He clicks it, a pop-up version of the article opening for him. The last face he had expected to see was that of his father's, someone he hasn't seen in person in over a decade now.

The sight alone causes a twist in his stomach that only worsens as he reads the headline and the words in print that follow it.

Panic creeps through him as his eyes scan over the syllables, all that he could manage to combat it with was a stronger sense of denial that leaves his mouth in an overly-sure scoff.

"This is bullshit, Bowie. You know TMZ ran a story saying I died. Twice. My dad's not fucking dead, he lives by too strict a daily itinerary for that. Doesn't fit into the schedule. You really need to not believe everything you read online."

In the back of his mind, he knows one of those misprints made sense given it had hit the press immediately after his near-fatal overdose, but the one that had proceeded it was false intel taken as fact.

That's what this was -- he's certain.

( It had to be. )

"X, I think you should call your m--"

The beep of another incoming call distracts him from his bandmates voice, his band manager Dalton the contact that flashed up. He always found Van more levelheaded than X to deal with and she was his first port of call for band related business.

He declines the call and cuts off Bowie's in process, ignoring the way he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. He clicks through his contacts and scrolls to his sister's, holding the phone back against his ear as he listens to the dial tone.

It rings and rings and rings, each one inching him closer to what feels like an anxiety attack. His free hand is balled into a fist, the side of it tapping lightly against his own chest as he paces around the room.

When it goes to voicemail, he reminds himself she's twenty-six.

No twenty-six year old answered the phone this early on a Saturday, that was all.

There's only one other Matthews in his contact list who had made it through every phone and number change of his, carrying over the digits to each device despite the fact that he hasn't used them in years.

( Darren Matthews was the kind of man who never changed his number -- ever reliable in the way his son wasn't. )

He hadn't called it no matter how dark things had gotten because he knew he would answer despite their harsh parting words and he's never been ready for that conversation.

He's not ready for it then either, but no matter what he has to say to him, he knows hearing his voice was the only thing that would quell the swirl of emotions within him that are starting to make him sick.

There's the same dial tone as before, ringing and ringing, the floor beneath him feeling shakier and shakier as it did. He thinks he's actually about to be sick when the call clicks to signal it had been picked up, the relief that flooded him felt like a tsunami -- just like his new album's title.

"Hey, it's me. X. M'sorry for calling, this is going to sound so fucking weird but there was this dumb article that--"

He's cut off by a voice on the other end interrupting him, softer than the one he expected, shakier than he had ever heard her.

"Xavier, Xavier, darlin'."

He would know his mother's voice anywhere, the warmth of it having an opposing effect on him in that moment, turning the blood in his veins to what felt like ice.

"Why do you have my dad's phone, mom?" X asks, sounding and feeling like the thirteen year-old he had been the last time he had seen them in a room together as a couple, before the foundation of his life had shattered with a divorce and splintered into two houses, two families and one X who didn't know where he was supposed to fit into it all.

What Addie says next he can only pick up in disjointed snippets, the ringing in his ears louder than her sob-wracked words.

He hears his name again and an it's your daddy, he's gone, I'm so sorry. There's an apology that follows but it's too frantic for him to catch all of it -- she was going to call, someone was meant to call, she thought someone called.

He's not aware that he's crying until his hand reaches up to his face and he finds a steady stream of tears streaking his cheeks. It stings when he blinks and he can't find anything to say to comfort his mother, the silence on his end nothing new to his immediate family, it was the only thing he did consistently for them.

He can still hear her wails as another voice speaks down the line, one that sounded so close to what he could remember of his father's that he's almost fooled again into thinking TMZ had been wrong.

It's only when he registers the words does he realise that it couldn't be Darren, it had to be Ernest, his uncle and his father's brother who spoke in the same cadence as the late man but used words X knew he would never have said to him if he was alive.

"Y'need to come home, Xavier. You need to come home."

[benbraeden]

ben sits on the edge of a makeshift cot, his shirt removed, revealing a patchwork of bruises and cuts that crisscross his skin. jesse works with careful, deliberate movements, applying antiseptic and bandaging the wounds. his hands, usually so assured with their supernatural prowess, are now tender and almost clumsy as he tends to ben’s injuries.

claire has left them alone, giving jesse the space to focus on the task at hand. the silence between them is heavy, broken only by the occasional rustle of bandages and the faint hum of a nearby lamp.

jesse’s expression is a mix of frustration and determination. the ache in his chest is a constant reminder of his limitations — demon powers can grant strength and fury, but they can’t heal the deep, physical pain of a friend. he applies another layer of gauze with a sigh, his gaze flickering to ben’s face.

“how you holding up?” jesse’s voice breaks the silence, the question coming out softer than he intended.

ben winces slightly as the bandage is secured but tries to muster a barely there, personable smile. “i’m… managing. thanks to you.”

jesse’s jaw tightens, eyes focused on the task, as the corners of his optics darken slightly at the reminder of the state that he found ben in. “i wish i could do more. i’m not much of a medic.”

“you’ve already done more than enough.”

they fall into silence again, the room filled with the quiet sounds of jesse’s movements. despite the physical pain, ben is buoyed by jesse’s presence — a silent comfort in the aftermath of the ordeal.

jesse finishes with the last bandage and sits back on his heels, finally allowing himself to meet ben’s eyes. the weight of his concern is evident in his gaze. “you sure you’re alright?”

ben’s eyes, though tired, hold a spark of warmth. that a part of him that he thought was broken, somehow still holds onto him like a vice. he's a survivor, through the blood of winchester or his mother, he doesn't know. but it's embedded into him, a part of him, just like an arm. “i will be. just need time.”

jesse nods, though his concern is far from assuaged. “if you need anything, you just let me know. anything at all.”

ben gives a small, appreciative nod. his gaze softens as he allows the chip in his armor to crumble slightly, permitting jesse to garner a glimpse into the man below. “i know. and… thanks, jesse. for everything. i mean it.”

jesse manages a small, relieved smile. it's rare that the two share some semblance of vulnerability, but moreso from the braeden. “yeah, well, we’ve got each other’s backs, right?”

“right,” ben agrees, the simple affirmation carrying more weight than words could fully convey. there's a silent nod to the prophecy that is scribbles onto their ribs, how jesse's undoing is to play out in ben's hands, with a blade driving into the other's chest. however, in the face of what they have overcome, it feels as though it's nothing comparative to the bond that forges between the two of them.

the silence that follows is no longer uncomfortable but filled with a quiet understanding. jesse takes a deep breath, knowing that while he can’t mend every wound, he has done what he can. and that, in its own way, is enough.

[headstrongblake]

"hey baby," octavia greeted her best friend with a terribly sad smile, both of them wearing a matching set of bags beneath their eyes. for a moment, octavia latched onto kassy, hugging her close as she sat at nick's bedside. "will you let me sit with him a minute?" octavia asked hesitantly, understanding the anxiety that appeared to creep along kass at the idea of leaving him— even for a second. "alec's in the waiting room with rev and some food, you really should have some baby," she encouraged gently, hand resting on kassy's arm until she agreed. whether she'd eat or not, at least she could have a few minutes with alec while octavia had some time with her brother as he slept. "i'll come get you if he wakes." octavia offered with a fragile smile as her best friend disappeared through the door.

with a shaky breath, octavia stood against the wall beside nick's bed. her grief filled gaze traced over his body, assessing all the wounds nick had been left with as she tried to keep her tears at bay. he's alive. he's where he needs to be to heal, and soon enough, they'd be taking him home to recover. he'll recover, she keeps telling herself. repeating and repeating it but it did little to ease the gnawing ache in her heart that knew otherwise. this road to recovery for nick...with grant's abandonment? she tried her hardest not to let thoughts linger there....

"hey destruction," nick spoke groggily, crystal hues squinted at her with a floppy grin. octavia's heart squeezed painfully in her chest, hues flickering to his face. nick's dazy gaze lit a little as their gaze met— all this shit is upside down, but man, it's good to see her. but he expected a warm greeting, not the choked sob as she tried to force a smile that he was sure was for his benefit. "hey....hey 's'okay, c'mere tavi, s'okay," nick encouraged, nudging his head to direct her closer even as he winced with the movement. "c'mon, you're gonna make a guy feel bad looking all sssad like that." none of this was her fault.

shaking her head, octavia quickly went to his side, lowering herself into the chair kassy had positioned at his side. "you're stupid, stop moving around, damn." she brushed the back of her hand against the dampness on her cheeks as her smile brightened a touch before she leaned forward, letting her hand gently rest on her brother's arm. "it's good to see you awake...i've been here, i have but...you've been in and out," she explained, guilt and misery twisting in her stomach like it has since grant dragged him out of that building covered in blood. "i brought you clothes," she shrugged, "figured you'd want to be in something normal if you could."

"ah shit, thanks o—fuck that'll be great when the doc and kass lemme outta this bed," he grinned, his body all warm and fuzzy beneath the steady drip of morphine pumping through his veins at any given moment. "you know i'm doin' okay, you don't gotta keep wrinkling your brows like that," nick teased. it musta been hard to believe when he could barely move his hands. couldn't reach for her, or comfort her in any other way. at least the swelling in his features was levelling out.

with a tight lipped smile, octavia nodded, gently squeezing her fingers against nick's arm, "yeah, of course i know. you're going to be out of here in no time and we'll get you home, it's going to be fine," octavia recited the exact words she told herself repeatedly. "you're going to be just fine, nick." it's all she wants to believe anyway. slowly, octavia lowered her chin to his bedside railing, listening to the steady beeping of the machines. it has to be true because if he's not okay—grant's disappearance means nothing. "i should go get kass, i told her i would when you woke." but nick gave a little shake of his head, "give 'er a break, 'sides i missed you."

for a while, the two sat in silence, octavia watching him while his eyes closed on and off. but finally, when he fully came around again, octavia was still like a statue in the same spot. his brows furrowed with confusion. "where's grant at?" he asked, hues narrowing as he could have sworn she flinched. sucking in a shaky breath, octavia did her best to force a regular smile, though it came out pained. her heartbreak sat at the forefront of her mind, unstable and ready for the dam to break at any second, but the last person nick needed to be focused on was grant. there was nothing nick could do about the matter. "he's being kept pretty busy, lots of things happening, you know." she offered vaguely, "how's your pain?" she asked, intending to shift his gears, "should i get a nurse in here, it's been a while." her head shifted towards the clock, away from him as grief leaked into her gaze.

"what? no, listen, he doesn't need to be out there lookin' for garrett on his own, you hear me?" shaking his head, tension instantly spread throughout his chest. "call him, o. tell him to bring me a cheeseburger or something i'll actually eat and we can sort through this shit together." while nick worried about grant and what he might be doing looking for garrett, octavia couldn't look at nick because the reality was so much worse. octavia exhaled sharply, looking back at nick as she tried to remain impassive. "he's not looking for garrett, don't worry." at least it's not a lie, she thought, offering nick a gentle smile. "he's just busy, okay, he'll come by when he can."

cloudy crystal hues narrowed. he's relieved to hear that his brother is not out there doing something stupid like looking for the son of a bitch while he remained laid up in the hospital...but it doesn't feel right. if he's not looking for garrett, what the hell else was keeping him busy and away from his hospital room? "kay, he's not beating himself up, is he? cause that shit that went down isn't his fault...look, o, can you just call him...i wanna talk to grant." unintentionally, her fingers flexed against nick's arm. "not right now, nick, later." she murmured, tensing as nick shook his arm against her hand. "no, now, octavia. the hell is going on?" he asked, burrowing his gaze into her. "where is grant? what's he doing?" when octavia didn't immediately answer him, fire boiled hot inside of him, fear for his brother's life coming forth. "octavia, tell me what the hell is going on, right now."

"he left, nick." she finally admitted quietly, lowering her gaze to the tiled floor as she pulled her hand away from nick, sitting back in the hospital chair. her fingertips curled against her palm, applying light pressure as the devastation welled up inside her again. admitting that he was gone, that he'd left, felt just as agonizing as watching grant walk away despite how she pleaded with him to stay.

"what do you mean he left?"

"he...he went with garrett..." but before octavia could utter another word, nick's voice rose, cutting her off, "and you didn't fuckin' stop him!?" he shouted, outraged that she was even sitting here if grant was out there alone with fucking garrett. why are any of them just sitting on their hands, comin' and going from his hospital room when they should be out there protectin' their own? what the hell's the matter with them? "nick...he didn't want to be stopped." octavia explained, pushing past the hard lump in her throat. she didn't want to do this with him, not now. at the very least, this could wait until he was home in his own space. but nick wouldn't take the no for an answer. "who gives a fuck what he wants octavia! he's not in his right fuckin' mind! christ, i gotta do everything myself?!" nick shook his head, gripping the edge of the thin hospital blanket as he tried to toss it back, grimacing as his broken fingers restricted him.

instantly, octavia was up on her feet with wide eyes, "nick, stop! just forget about it for now, you need to rest, okay there's nothing we can do about it right now..." her hands gripped the bedside railing near him, gaze casting between his monitor and the pain written all over his features as he tried to move. "there's lots we could've done but YOU LET HIM LEAVE!" nick exploded, "fuck, fuck, shit," he muttered beneath his breath as he shifted in bed. "how you could do that huh? he just leave? get his ass back here. i need my phone, where's my phone? get my fuckin phone octavia, no wait call him. call him right fucking now and tell his ass that if he doesn't bring it back into city limits right now, i'll kill 'em." nick rambled, stumbling over some words as all his trains of thought collide with the pain medication, making his decisions and brain all the more hazy.

"nicklas please...i am begging you to calm down." octavia pleaded as fear and hurt pooled in her eyes, her hand gently touching his shoulder. he's already in so much pain. this is why she had tried to avoid the subject; worrying over grant was the last thing that needed to be on nick's mind!! aggressively, nick forcefully pulled his shoulder from octavia's grip, yelping at the pain it caused the burns as his skin twisted and pulled. "fuck! fucking christ! go, octavia!" he grimaced, shouting louder as his hospital door clicked open, kassy's fearful features widening as she rushed in. "get outta here, octavia! just fucking go!" he shouted, the pain he caused himself dizzying his mind as kassy's gentle hands petted the sides of his neck, shushing him and trying to calm him. slowly, octavia backed up from the bed, sucking back tears before she left the room at his request.

shakily, nick muttered, "she said he left, she said he went away, he didn't, he can't," nick repeated, struggling to take a full breath as he desperately tried focusing on kassy's gaze.

| @thewholecrew

[inevestigator]

@cuerrvox sent libera me - write a small drabble about why your muse is awake at 2 am.

the room is coloured an eerie blue, light spilling off wisps while outside the fade continues to be night. ( is it only night time because they think it should be? this is the realm of dreams, after all. )

beside her a cigarette burns its way to ash and a coffee sits, steadily losing its steam. much like neve gallus, private eye, who spends her two am waking hours pouring over her latest case. usually.

she always has work to do. the denizens of dock town always need help and right now? the world might even need saving. ( not by her, no, she's not a fancy hero who has stories written about them; she's a second page, one line name drop for anyone who might be paying attention. overlooked. and that's how she likes it. prefers it, actually. )

but tonight is different. returning from the heart of a broken minrathous, with only the items she could carry from her apartment to be saved from further damage.

between the dragon attack, the raiders, the looters, the thieves, the blight and the evanuris themselves - well, there's not much left of the shitty little hole in the wall she called home. there's even less left of her old case files.

she'd scrounged what she could, not for nostalgia's sake, but because there might still be something important in there. ( it's always important, these things always connect. )

including the very thing that plagued her waking and dreaming thoughts tonight. the one cold case she could never put to bed: herself. her past. her losses at the hands of classic minrathous cruelty.

she stares at a small charcoal drawing of a man laughing in a dingy kitchen. a father of two, a man who works hard to provide for him family and still manages to come home in a good enough mood to share a story with his daughters. the artist, a woman who persevered through hardship, who tended and mended to more than just her small family.

neve touches the drawing gently, careful not to smudge it. the stab of loss and longing worming so deep into her chest that it stings.

there's a thousand i miss yous or i'm sorrys that don't help, that she's thought a thousand times before.

she was supposed to be their saviour. a human laetan child born to tevinter soporati? well that was like gold dust in a world where mages ruled. she was a promise unfulfilled. though not for lack of trying.

she'd gone to classes, she'd learned the lessons, the magic, how to pull from the fade, how to create ice in her hands. she'd bought her family a level of respect they would not otherwise have had. and with it, a chance for more. more food, more clothes, more books. more.

and where someone has more, someone always covets it. at least, that's what the law said when they came to investigate the dead bodies. thieves. vandals. probably slaves or liberati. unlikely ever to find the ones who done it. sorry miss.

a pathetic apology and a pathetic attempt at finding the murderers. but more of an attempt than she'd have got if she wasn't a mage. the world was fucked. minrathous was a symptom of a larger problem. but everyone has to start somewhere.

so it started like this, almost two decades ago. three unsolved murders in a dingy kitchen in dock town. an uncaring, unmoving law enforcement. and a young mage learning that if you want something done right you have to do it yourself.

except, she hadn't. the murders were still unsolved. her greatest failure as a detective. simply, the murderer was likely already dead. there had been enough turmoil in minrathous that the odds were in her favour here, most opportunistic criminals didn't survive long enough for it to matter.

oh, but it mattered to her. there was just nothing she could do about it. nothing but sit awake at two am, piecing together saved scraps of evidence and hoping that she might find a new leaf to turn over, a new lead to chase.

the cigarette burns itself out. the coffee quietly goes cold.

she doesn't find answers.

[tearlunars]

They chant her name, shower her with flowers, trample each other just for a single touch of the Warrior of Light. Eva comes back from her final battle on the edge of the universe, beaten and bruised, carried by Estinien and surrounded by the rest of the Scions. Her eyes are just slightly open, body aching with each step the dragoon takes. He keeps asking if she's okay, reassuring her that she's home. I'm home.

But what is home after these five years? What is home after fighting for survival, liberation, light and darkness... happiness? What is home when the soul that you carry is not even your own, when the memories that haunt you at night keep piling up and the few hours you can sleep turn into nightmares? Etheirys is the place where her friends are, where she can read a good book and still laugh despite all odds but a part of her wished she had stayed with Zenos in the edge of existence and just rest eternally. Eva is tired, oh so tired.

Once they reach the infirmary she's allowed a few seconds alone while the Scions discuss what's needed and it's only then that she lets the tears fall, overwhelmed by all that had happened to her. She looks at her friends, the ones that she had lost just a few moments ago, how they are all safe and sound and she can't quiet down a sob that rises through her. Through the tears she sees Y'shtola and G'raha's ears move in her direction and they are the first to reach her, arms wrapped around her. Soon after all the others join them. Tataru holds her hand, drawing small circles on her knuckles, Thancred places a small kiss on her forehead, they all huddle around her as Eva, for the first time in her life, cries her eyes out. She can't stop the tears from flowing, trying to catch her breath but each time it seems to fall too short.

The people sing praises to the hero, only see her with weapon in hand, eyes locked on the enemy and yet the ones holding her right now are the ones who catch the tears of the sacrificial lamb. These people are truly her home.

[ikarosxflight]

In response to x leading to x || @vahrutasgrace

For the first time in an eternity, Pit experiences a fleeting moment of authentic happiness in Hyrule's vast and often somber land. This joy, however, is a rare and precious gem amidst the looming shadows of the impending Calamity. He mustn't forget his role as Palutena's Captain, even in these brief moments. Yet, he can't help but be Pit, the friend, the champion… He's aware that he's deceiving himself and everyone else, allowing the illusion of belonging to their group to take hold.

The Captain was pleasantly surprised when Mipha agreed to spend time together. Their bond, which had grown stronger amidst the tribulations of battle, had come a long way since their first meeting. The Captain had humbly asked the Zora Princess if he could accompany her on a tour of Vah Ruta, the Divine Beast she was destined to pilot. Both Champions cherished every moment of the day, starting with a rigorous training session in the morning, followed by a gratifying dinner with Mipha's father and younger brother. As the day drew close, they found themselves alone on top of Vah Ruta, watching the breathtaking sunset. Pit presented two goblets filled with a bottled beverage gifted to him by Urbosa earlier that week.

As they gathered for their usual evening gathering, the surprise of Mipha's alcohol patience became evident. Despite being accustomed to Urbosa's high-quality liquor, Mipha seemed to be handling her drinks quite well. However, the subtle signs of intoxication began to emerge, hinting that the alcohol was starting to take effect. It was evident that the Captain had not reached that point yet, but it seemed likely that after another cup, he might begin to feel the alcohol's influence.

"I'd have to disagree-icus, Princess. The term you're speaking of is Hubris. Where I'm from, Pride is knowing what we have accomplished and freely acknowledging that we have done it. Regarding matters of the Heart-icus, I think you'd be surprised-icus... if you gave this prideful person a chance."

His response contained no hint of snark or smugness, only an air of confidence forged over centuries of adventures, failures, dangers, and victories. Pit recalled Mipha's father speaking about Zora's extensive lifespan during dinner… maybe she'll understand what he means one day. As the night pressed on, both exchanged thoughts, feelings, and memories cup after cup… Pit couldn't help but find himself captivated by every word left from such soft, kissable lips. He enjoyed conversing with the Princess. She challenged him, and he challenged her, yet they always seemed to come to an understanding, a connection that transcended words. Her beauty was a sight to behold, and he couldn't help but admire her from outside and within. Pit knew this feeling—it was the equivalent of falling in love, knowing it would end in heartbreak.

Despite this, he let Mipha trust her vulnerability to him as she cuddled against him. It was enough to make Pit's heart dance. The blush reaching the tip of his ears was not from the firewater. Her body grew heavier, and he adjusted, allowing Mipha to comfortably fall asleep against him. He wrapped a wing around her and his arm, keeping her close and safe. He really wanted to kiss the top of her head.

The Captain of Angels had not anticipated Mipha's unexpected slumber induced by the lingering effects of the alcohol. Despite this unforeseen circumstance, he carefully guided both their bodies to the concert surface of Vah Ruta. Concerned for Mipha's comfort, Pit spread a large wing onto the floor beneath her, ensuring she had a soft and protective space to rest. As he gazed upon her peaceful visage with his Caribbean blue eyes, he couldn't help but marvel at her beauty. Her skin felt incredibly soft to his touch, and he found himself captivated by the allure of her lips. Each time he swallowed the lump in his throat, he fought an overwhelming urge to lean in closer.

In his homeworld, any opportunist would have taken advantage of such a moment, claiming it an uncontrollable act of passion. They might have stolen a swift, seemingly innocent, and romantic kiss. But to Pit, such an action would have been a disservice to someone as wonderful as Mipha. He believed that she deserved a heartfelt and passionate embrace that was earned the right way, not through easy or impulsive means. His internal struggle was tangible, yet he found contentment in simply watching her, his gaze filled with tenderness and adoration.

'Your hands in mine till it's overTake all of me; it was never mine I can finally breathe when you're close cuz-'

"You're like a breath of fresh air on a summer night..."

He whispers love confessions she'll never hear as he gently reaches out to caress Mipha's flushed cheeks with his knuckles. Unbeknownst to the Twitterpated Captain, Mipha is caught up in fantasies that exceed his wildest dreams.

"... P-Pit... P-Please...!"

....Huh?

Was Mipha having an erotic dream… and was it about.. him? The way she is breathing heavily, with the most beautiful hymns escaping from her delicate lips, causes Pit's entire body to blush. Goosebumps on his arms trailed to his wings, fluffed up in surprise. This seemed to be a test from Lord Eros and Lord Priapus, taunting and teasing his will as if giving signs to take her. The thoughts come flooding in, with images reeling in his mind—enticing seduction and alluring desires cause him to breathe heavily as well while watching Mipha writhe in dreamy, wanton need.

One look from you is all it takes My lips on yours, no better taste Let's not throw it away Your skin is perfect to the touch I can't get enough

Cuz baby, I’m all in If you really want it I'll give you everything I got Your hands in mine till it's over Take all of me; it was never mine

Captain Pit gently removes his hand from Mipha's warm cheek and swallows hard as he uses his other wing to cover himself. He groans as he feels his shorts becoming uncomfortably tight. He silently concludes that he will have to deal with this alone later tonight, maybe after a cold shower, as much as desire begs otherwise. His breathing remains heavy, but he jolts when Mipha abruptly awakes.

"..... P-Pit...? Are you... a-alright?"

Gods, she's so beautiful; even when she's adorably embarrassed, she's still putting others before herself... He slightly flinches, feeling a painful throb between his legs. He mentally thanks Palutena for covering himself with his wing before she woke up. Pit nervously bites the corner of his lower lip, struggling to find the right words. Despite feeling most of his blood flow shifting from one head to another, he clears his throat and sits up next to her. He keeps himself covered, his face flushed and sweat dribbling down his neck.

"Y-yeah. I am," he lied. "Um, we should probably head back. I'm sure your father is wondering where you are. Y-you go on ahead; I'll catch up."

[airxn]

𝐀𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐤𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝. The tender rain droplets trickle against his muzzle, seeping downward to disappear into the depths of his mane. His eyes close to drink in the serenity.

It's the first rain of the season. The Carpathian Mountains have eagerly awaited the passing downfall. And by morning, Airin hopes the grass will perk up and tree buds flourish into firm leaves.

He'll enjoy the rain for now, but not for too long. If his coat gets too wet he runs the low risk of mold growing in the dense undercoat of his mane. It's happened once or twice in his life. The moldy scent and insufferable tugging on his skin... leaves nothing to be desired.

So, he twitches his nose and wiggles his toes a bit. Slowly waking his body up from his meditative state. Once he's come around, the felicid shakes his rear and flicks out the lingering energy through the tip of his tail. He mewls and turns his attention back to the small cave he and his brother took shelter in.

Xavier had been silently observing the entire time. He remained centered in the cave. Not wanting to risk getting too close to the cave's mouth, but not wanting to cower in the back of it either. Rain is a high risk, but he's aware it's an inevitable truth to this planet's survival. He does not despise it, but unlike his brother, he'll never take comfort in the pitter-patter of the sky's poison.

So, when his brother comes trotting back inside, the Dæ uncurls from the tight ball he put himself in, and stretches out his murky, reptilian lower body with a low groan.

He hears Airin pause a few tail lengths in front of him. There's a chuff, and thus the entity drops his jaw. The humanoid structure falls apart to morph into a vacuum. But, he simply blows a mild stream of hot air to thoroughly dry the little bundle of fur.

Better safe than sorry.

Airin doesn't mind. Sure, his fur is now all frizzled and wild, but he wouldn't want to unintentionally harm Xavier. So happy chitters follow him when he scuttles closer to his twin. Airin nudges his nose eagerly under the Dæ's biceps and snuggles close to his chest.

Xavier feels him curl against his body, and in turn, he sweeps his hind legs close to press against him. He stretches out his tail too to encircle them. It'll act as protection for Airin against the chill flowing in from the mouth of the cave. Xavier doesn't feel it though, so they can doze peacefully and wait out the passing shower.

[venstm]

The hostile, gelid winds of snezhnaya were as belligerent as those in the midst of his smoldering ire. Unlike the convivial breeze drifting through the towering, verdant trees of mondstadt these were strange, ravening mouths. Recognizing him, an apoplectic apparition of blazing crimson and undulating black, as a trespasser to those desolate expanses of white, they besiege him. He is unperturbed by it, even as rime gathers at his lashes, restricting his vision, he trudges on, bracing against the vengeful, oppressive wind. Within that panorama of hibernal white Diluc’s perspective is a constricting, malevolent serpent, the pernicious echoes of his hatred tinging everything a gruesome sanguine. A solemn silence settles around him and with the practiced grace of a hunter tracking quarry he stills, the dark cloak fastened around his throat surges back and forth with the wind, billowing outwards, accentuating it. His penetrating gaze affixes to them, two inconspicuous silhouettes marching through the snow. Unlike him, they were acclimatized to these conditions, negotiating the glacial landscape is a skill indoctrinated into them from the time they could perceive the world around them. It had taken Diluc days to anticipate the cold smarting of ice as he laboriously dragged his boots through the snow, slightly longer to disregard it entirely. There was something about the incessant heart-beat of pain that augmented the fire within him, the thought of numbness partitioned from his other, more exigent thoughts and buried. His muscles keened, his eyes stung but all of his senses were sharp, fatigue and discomfort set only in the tense line of his jaw. It is only when they pass below him, their voices distant, swallowed by the wind, that he descends upon them. He is an incarnation of violence, a methodically devised approach at inflicting the most pain before the eclipsing darkness of death surged in. His claymore’s blade carves through sturdy leather and pelage intended to conserve warmth, the moribund gurgle of a mouth flooding with blood elicits a monstrous sense of gratification in him. Veering off the steep precipice into unconsciousness the fatui-subordinate, nondescript but abhorrent all the same, sinks to his knees. It takes exertion to wrench it from his contorted back, slick skin adhering to the blade, descending upon the snow like a death-knell his comrade, a coward, turns to flee. The precipitous act of desperately clambering through the snow, the loom of death casting long, preternatural shadows, forgoes all prior proficiency in navigating it. It’s auspicious for Diluc who, rising from the blood-soused snow, tracks him through the mantle of white. The unabating chorus of the delusion punctuates each laborious step, desiccated sticks and viridescent leaves cast into the fire of his incandescent rage, kindling for this single-minded purpose. There is no dignity for the fatui before him, writhing like a wounded rabbit caught in a snare, only the censorious gaze of fire boring into them as the weapon plummets down, down, down. The agonized screams grow quiet and for a long, stagnant moment there is nothing but the raucous beat of his heart and the acrid tang of death in the air. As if to offer him a reprieve or to compensate him for his tenuous grip on his lucidity the delusion’s whisper recedes into silence. In that moment there is only Diluc Ragnvindr an amorphous streak of crimson against white and the winds which shall never favour him. 

[thewholecrew]

nate was getting used to his job here at the nightclub, filling in where was needed and making friendly conversation while he did it. tonight was busy meaning so was he as he bussed the tables in constant use, delivered drinks and cleaned up the endless messes. it wasn't the most glamourous job but it beat what he used to do to survive before meeting duncan. at least he was earning money, he could eat the left overs at the end of the night, make friends. with grant gone and nick and octavia gone with them he didn't see many familiar faces here anymore aside from bellamy and rev but even then it was pretty rare.

tonight though, he spotted kassy and brows lifted, a smile curling on his face as she danced with a group he didn't know. he had wondered what happened to her but he was glad to see she seemed to be enjoying herself. the night went on and he got pulled in every other direction, losing sight of her for a while until a few hours later. it was pretty late now and not nearly as busy so he took the moment to go over and say hi. he wasn't completely sure what her and nick's relationship had been but from the looks of her with her arms around a woman and dancing backed up against a man he wasn't so sure it was anything serious.

"kassy," he greeted with a warm grin though it faltered a little as her dark glazed eyes tried to focus on his. "it's me, nate," he added as she broke away from the pair that had been seemily holding her upright. "nathaniel," she slurred in a sing song tone, her arms wrapping around his neck as she leaned her weight against his chest. he staggered a little as he caught her, brows lifting to the sky. "whoa, kassy, you uh having a good time?" he asked with a chuckle as he steadied her, hands innocently on her waist. she smiled her cheshire smile at him but it didn't touch her eyes, "why wouldn't i be?" lips parted but nathan hesitated, wincing a little because he knew better than to bring up what she was probably here trying to forget.

"no reason," he laughed a little nervously as her fingers crept up into his hair and had goosebumps spread across his skin, "you just look like you're having fun," he looked at her sheepishly as her head lulled to the side, dark eyes watching him. "mmmhm, i am," she agreed though he wasn't so sure he believed it, wasn't sure she believed it. the couple she'd been dancing with then tugged at her arms. c'mon kassy, this guy doesn't have what you want, the man murmured and nate could have sworn he saw hurt flash in her eyes as she pulled away. "no, you're right," she said in an alarming sobered voice. the girl linked arms with her as she pulled out a little baggy from her bra, c'mon, she urged with a smile as kassy turned to her, hands going to cup her face. "that will make me feel better," she purred before leaning in to whisper in the girls ear making her blush pretty pink.

concern leaked into nate's green eyes as she waved to him and headed off with the two towards the stairs. glancing around the nightclub, he got a bad feeling about what she was doing. where was her little short friend? not octavia, he knew she was gone, but the guy, what was his name... lips pursed when he felt a tug at his shirt, turning to his surprise to the boy he had just been thinking of. "oh, hey....!" he grinned, trailing off because he forgot his name. "alec," he responded though he looked from nate to around the club nervously. "alec! right! you here with kassy?" he asked and the boy shook his head, "no, i came to find her..."

nate blinked, brows furrowing as he glanced back in the direction she went before back to alec. "uh.. she was just here, she went... there, see her," he pointed over the crowd towards the top of the stairs. "you know the people she's with?" he asked and alec searched, rising on his toes to try and see over the crowd before shaking his head. "no," he answered with concern in his big blue eyes. "shit, uh, you want me to go with you to get her? she's pretty drunk... might also be on something.." he explained with a scratch to the back of his neck. alec chewed worringly at his lip as he nodded despite knowing that kassy probably wouldn't appreciate him dragging nathan into this.

alec began to try and make his way through the crowd but with his size and seemingly passive nature he was clearly struggling, being bumped back or blocked unintentionally. nate shook his head as he slipped past alec before clearing his throat, "coming through! excuse me! make way!" he called loud enough for others to glance in his direction before stepping away. alec gripped the back of his shirt as he followed closely behind nate until they made it to the stairs. "thank you," alec said with a small smile before he hurried up the stairs to begin searching for her. nate was right behind him, peeking into opposite rooms and ducking as someone threw a high heel at him for intruding. "whoops, sorry, my bad, just looking for a friend!"

"kassy?" alec called down the hall before nate pointed as he spotted the man he'd seen her with exiting one of the rooms, "there, that guy, he was with her," they hurried over to it as the guy tried to hurry away, nate quickly grabbing his shoulder, "hey not so fast!" he said as he pushed him up against the wall. with the door open the woman was laying on the couch with kassy's head in her lap, her eyes glazed and hardly open as she seemed unresponsive. "kassy!" alec ran to her and gently shook her before glancing back at nate with panick in his wide eyes. nate's jaw clenched as he gripped the mans shoulder tighter, "what did you give her?" he demanded, shoving him against the wall a little harder as the mans hands went up defensively and sputtered lies.

"nate! get rev to find hunter!" alec pleaded and nate cursed under his breath, giving the guy a hard right hook before he took off back downstairs, not bothering to watch as the man crumpled to the ground.

—

a groan escaped kassy, face scrunching into a grimace as she weakly raised her hand to try and hide the light that was burning her eyes even through her eyelids. lashes fluttered and she shifted, head pounding before blinking slowly. where the hell was she? she thought when flashes of the night before assualted her and she quickly shot up from where she was laying. "it's okay," a familiar, monotone voice sounded from the corner of the room and quickly she glanced around. she had been laying in the bed of the gangs medroom and turning to face her from his desk was hunter. "what the hell happened....?" she murmured as she then spotted alec sleeping, curled up on the couch on the other side of the bed.

"why don't you tell me?" hunter countered, turned to face her, hands together in his lap as those unnerving sapphire eyes seemed to burn into her too. kassy looked away as she ran a hand through her messy hair and groaned again, body aching and throat dry as hell. "nothing, guess i partied too hard..." she muttered, "i guess i crashed somewhere and you brought me here?" she asked, glancing at hunter. "no, nathan brought you here after he and alec found you unresponsive in one of the rooms upstairs," his voice was bland, blunt and to the point, no sugar coating anything.

"oh." kassy murmured, feeling guilty for frightening alec. he didn't deserve it. it had been why she hadn't told him she was going out to begin with. and nathan was with him? guess it made sense, she kind of remembered bumping into him. "well.... thanks for not letting me die i guess," she shrugged as she laid back down and turned away from alec towards hunter. it had been reckless and stupid and dangerous, her actions last night but so what? she had felt great, finally replacing the numbness with something other than hurt and anger and festering hatred. "don't suppose you're still here to give me the i'm disappointed in you speech are you?" she muttered a little bitterly now but hunter sighed and she glanced at him. "no, i'm here to make sure you woke up alright."

rising from his seat, he ran the sink in the corner of the room, filling a glass of water as he brought it to her. she tensed as he drew close but took the water and sat up slowly once again. "thanks..." she murmured. there was silence for a long while as she simply stared down at the glass, dissociating until hunter finally broke the quiet. "you're allowed to be openly upset, kassy..." he told her, be it a little hypocritically (but she didn't know that), and she blinked before shooting him a glare. "thanks, though not sure what the fuck good that'll do," she spat before downing her water and hunter shook his head sadly. "it will feel better than doing this..." he pointed out and she scoffed. "what the hell do you know anyways?"

the question had hunter's lips quirking up in a smallest trace of amusement, "quite a lot when it comes to human health..." he pointed out and kassy groaned, falling back against the bed to cover her face with a pillow. "what's the point? being upset, angry, all those shit fucking emotions, the hell is the point? they're not here, and it won't make them come back." she felt like a fool, a heartbroken fool who knew she should just forget about them but still constantly worried about them even though she was fucking furious with them. "no, maybe not," hunter agreed as he moved then to sit at the edge of her bed, taking the glass in his hand. "but neither will this..." he pointed out and kassy glared harder into the pillow she wished she could just suffocate herself with at the moment. better the pillow than the emotions she barely managed to keep at bay.

"are you trying to punish them or yourself?" he then asked after a moment and kassy's throat closed with a surge of emotion, eyes stinging as she shut them tightly. she didn't answer him despite her heart aching with the simple answer of both. she wanted to punish them for leaving, to make them regret ever leaving her, regret going on the stupid and pointless quest after someone who hurt them over and over, make them realize they were doing the same damn thing. and she wanted to punish herself for doing what she knew she shouldn't, for opening up to them, for letting them see more than just the shallow reflection she used to protect herself. her shoulder shook with a silent sob, so angry with every single thing about it all.

a softness entered hunters gaze as he placed a hesitant hand on her arm and she sat up, releasing the pillow as she all but crawled into his lap, hugging him as she hid her face against his chest. "i didn't think they would do this..." she confessed heartbrokenly, "i'm an idiot, a fraud, i was so sure of myself, of them... i know... i know it's not that they chose to leave me.. i know... but it's all i can feel and it.. it hurts so much..." her words were a whispered confession as she quietly wept against hunters chest as his arms wrapped securely around her. "i'm sorry, kassy," he offered quietly. time passed and eventually alec woke from his spot on the couch. by then kassy had expelled some of her grief and her eyes had dried. "me too," she finally answered hunter before sitting up and pulling away.

as alec rose from the couch to go to them, hunter stood, suggesting she take the day to recover. her arms went around alec as he hurried to her, hugging her as he tried not to cry in relief. "i'm okay," she told him as her dull, dark gaze lifted to meet hunters, offering a small nod of thanks before she forced a smile for alec, "i'm sorry for scaring you, lets.. go home."

[xluciifer]

His relationship with Lilith was like oil and water; as much as oil creates beautiful colors when intertwined with water in their silent dance - it contaminates the substance.

She was snake oil in all her beauty and he fell deeply for the toxifying aura she produced for his senses. She was his hellfire disguised as his saving grace: the epitome to his downfall towards insanity.

He was none the wiser - a now fallen angel. And she played him with his violin of impurity. She became a ghost, the blackness that now haunts and lives in the corners of his peripherals.

7 years is a long time, and he waited, patiently; like a fool, once again. And one day - he snapped. He prayed in vain, to Her, to God once again that wouldn't hear his prayers. But ... that was okay with him.

I'm tired of holding onto you. It's time to let my pride go and learn to love myself again. I don't want to wait another day, I've waited long enough. [ ... ] I've hesitated all my life but I'm all done. I'm done running from you. Spent my whole life in your shadow, scared of who I'd be if I said goodbye and didn't have you here. [ ... ] I love you to death but I can't spend the rest of my life in this darkness; I'm done. I wish you the best but I'm not interested in giving you more of my life, I've already given you too much. [ ... ] Rubbing my face in it and treating me like I'm less than you. Tell the truth, you know I'd be better without you. Been in your shoes, don't be a fool and try to convince me that I'm the real issue when you're the root to every problem. I love you but not enough to allow you to drown the both of us. You're holding me back, you're pulling me down, you're making me hate myself. I don't want to leave, but that's what I need. I ain't got a choice, I can't just let you deceive and make me believe that I don't deserve to be loved. I am not gonna stand aside and watch you attempt to rob and steal and sabotage what little faith I have left. Haven't I given you enough? [ ... ] But I think it's time to let go and say our goodbyes. I'm gonna miss you but I'm not gonna spend the rest of my life running from you.

Running // NF

[clochanamarch]

" hey. " his voice pulls her from the tentative embrace of sleep, an eye opening lazily to be blessed by the hazy burning sunlight cascading against his jawline. the stubble across his skin glows, mahogany in the light rather than the black that deceives people in the cloudier days.

" mm? " she lifts a hand to trace the angular perfection of his jaw.

" if you could go anywhere... and i mean, anywhere in the whole world... where'd you go? "

her fingertips ghost against his cheekbone, bare arm against the droplets of seawater over his chest. for a moment, aisling indulges herself in considering a reality in which she admits the truth. perhaps not everything; that'd be overwhelming for anyone. but a fragment of the truth. that she still thinks kilmore, home to 1,700, with one national school, an infrequent bus to limerick city, two centras and a half dozen pubs and sleepy cafes, is as exciting and attractive as he finds london, or california, or madrid.

she indulges. then she behaves. or rather, she lies to him again.

" paris. "

" in france? i didn't know you spoke french. y'know, leaving cert ordinary level isn't going to help a whole pile-- " she wonders if she could get someone to record that sound. that rich warmth that vibrates through his whole body when he's talking while finding something ( usually his own jokes ) absolutely hysterical. she thinks if she could hear it every day, ajay might have an answer in terms of true happiness.

" nope, not france, actually. paris, texas. "

" ahh, a ranch. "

" yeah, i want to lasso some cattle-- "

" you'd look hot in a cowboy hat. "

" a stetson. " she corrects him, and he chuckles so hard, giddy with the very delusion of a future, that he spills a splash of tea from his mug over her blouse. instantly, his hand pushes up beneath her back, guiding her upright as he frantically tries to peel the linen from her skin.

" fuck! "

" it's o-- mind the mug! "

" ah, fuck the mug! are you okay?! "

" what, like a latent tea allergy? "

" you must be scalded! ais, my god, i'm so sorry, where's the water-- "

" eoin, pet, the tea is frozen, i'm fine! "

" i... " he's still holding the fabric out, a tent above her allegedly scathed skin. the mug, a bright sunshine yellow atrocity that bears a huge smiley face and a big old chip missing from the rim, lies in the sand, tea darking the light grains to a murky sludge. " how? we've only been here ten... jesus, ais, is that 6 o'clock?! "

" five hours? ah, hardly, the watch must be... " she taps the face of her watch, and immediately corrects herself. the timepiece is not at fault. they just spent five hours here, sitting on the bench with each other as the atlantic lapped the shore, time swallowed by the waves as easily as the tea by the sand.

" eh. i'll give the training a miss, i think. " now that the tea isn't hurting her, he relaxes, arm draped around her as she hesitantly returns to him, settling in his lap as they resume their relaxed gaze out at the ocean.

" you'll still make it. "

" can't figure a reason strong enough to make me want to leave you. "

she opens her mouth to respond. something quick and witty and probably about paris, texas. except, the earnestness in his voice steals what's left of hers. a shining career as a professional hurler. he could be legendary. he already is, of course, but he could be recognized internationally for it. a path to stardom. and he's choosing her over it.

" how many would you have? "

" huh? " she swallows. guilt tastes a lot like pepsi max, as it turns out. they stole her childhood and her future, so that gives her the right to steal his future, too? to let him choose a liar over fame and fortune? the cold fizz turns sour, and she realizes she has his wrist in a vice grip, like she's trying to keep him against the far kinder universe's plans for him.

" stetsons. how many stetsons would you have? " he says nothing of the locked fingers on his wrist, and only kisses the tender spot where her shoulder joins her neck. it's enough to make her adjust her grip.

" one for every day of the week. and one for special occasions. " she turns slightly, prays that the glimmer of a smile is enough to claw back the idyllic haze from just minutes before.

" nice. do i get to have one? "

" i suppose so. "

he smiles, and she can feel it against her shoulder. like a drop of warm water against a snow covered table, the touch alone melts away her tensions, air filling her lungs once more. " ais? "

" if you want two, i think we can compromise. "

" how kind, but i do need to ask you something. "

" what is it? "

there's no speech. no build up. she isn't complaining, of course, and to this day, she never will. but there's no preparation. nothing to guide her into it. maybe it's perfect. it IS perfect. and yet, it's a domino that slots into place to complete a toppling orchestra of pieces that fall into line exactly as specific parties needed them to.

she's watching the ocean. he's holding her in his arms, heart pounding so hard she can feel it against her back. and he holds her as though it's his last chance to do so. as though she might give a response that renders his arms incapable of holding anyone ever again. as though she's someone precious, and beautiful, and deserving of the warmth that he strives to give her. she feels him draw in a breath, her head nestling back against his, and he speaks again, this time with a casual curiosity that hides the emotions that have his heart pounding like this.

" would you like to marry me, aisling jones? "

she hears him say her name like a prayer, and if that could kill her any day of the week, then the offer that precedes it could obliterate her completely. maybe it balances out. two killings make a living? that sounds psychotic, and she'll never say it aloud, but JESUS. maybe he didn't ask that. maybe he meant something else. would you like a cup of tea, aisling jones? would you like a chicken fillet roll, aisling jones? there. they both sound more reasonable, don't they? matching the tone and inflection, too. it makes more sense, because how the fuck is he proposing? four months! they've known each other four months, and she's told him nothing but lies and mistruths and falsehoods and--

no. no, no. she'll have to ask him what, politely, the fuck he meant to say just now. probably nothing close to marriage. the calm ocean is so loud, she just misheard him. that's all. right?

she turns around. struggles, because she can't let him think she's running away, not when she needs clarity so fucking urgently. she turns in his arms, and she has a hand against his neck, and she has all the words nicely lined up, when she sees him.

not eoin.

fiachra.