how do people draw like 3000 comic panels in the span of four days. where the fuck does the juice come from

Abby Anderson x GN!Reader - Please Don’t Leave Me

Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt: Please Don’t Leave Me (I’m creative with my titles)

Can be found on AO3 here.

Setting: before Abby leaves to go golfing. Abby and the reader are in an established relationship.

Warning: angst angst angst, excessive usage of the f-bomb and discussions of murder.

(Y/N) replacer safe.

Word count: 1846

Fuck, she’s really doing this.

Every day since Isaac had granted the Salt Lake Crew leave to hunt down Joel Miller, you tried to bargain with Abby, tried to make her see some sense. That killing him won’t take away any of the pain she feels. The grief. The gaping hole in her heart. But she’d always brush you off, distancing herself from you, suppressing her emotions with bicep curls and crunches as per habit.

Each passing hour, a nail was hammered into the coffin of the woman you love. And this morning is the final nail.

The quaint apartment you call home is filled with a cacophony of rustling and pleas as Abby shovels supplies into her backpack, preparing for her hunt. In her mind, Joel’s death warrant is signed, the execution nigh. And God are you desperate, trying to drill some semblance of reality into her stubborn mind one last time before she embarks on a journey she’ll only regret.

“Abby, please just listen to me for one minute—”

“I need to do this.” She heads to your small shared closet, refusing to look at you from your position by the bed. You frantically try to intercept her path, knowing full well she’s much, much stronger and can reposition you with ease. But it’s worth a try.

“This isn’t going to solve anything,” you implore, clutching the wood.

“Move, (Y/N).”

“Abby, this isn’t going to bring him back. You know that.”

“Move.” Her tone is exasperated, utterly focused on packing her shit and promptly leaving. Your heart sinks to your stomach.

“That girl in the hospital. The immune one. She must have been like a daughter to him for Joel to kill a group of innocent people for her,” you plead, feet firmly planted on the floor. Searching for her eyes, those blue irises alight with a maelstrom of hateful determination. They meet yours. “Killing him will just put her through all of this.”

Abby reaches for the closet door and slowly pulls it open, acknowledging your reluctance to move, deciding to disregard it. The wood begins to dig into your back and you’re forced to step aside. “This isn’t going to end, Abby. You fucking know this.” As she folds some spare clothes and places them in her backpack, you fall gracelessly to the bed, needing to sit down. Bile climbs up your oesophagus. Shit, where was her sense of fucking empathy?

“Abby…” Once again, she doesn’t so much as spare you a glance, folding the garments in robotic fashion. “Abby, you said she was a kid. A kid.”

The final shirt is stuffed haphazardly into the bag. She grits her teeth and turns to you. “He killed dozens of Fireflies, (Y/N). Dozens. And that’s all we fucking know of. There could be hundreds of others because he’s a stone cold killer.” Her face flushes with anger, no remnants of the woman you know left behind. “No one person is worth that many fucking lives.”

You let out a breathy laugh in sheer disbelief. “But it’s not about them, is it? Not to you.” The words escaped you in a hiss, one that didn’t go unnoticed. “Never fuckin’ has been.”

Abby rolls her eyes and grabs her maps from the coffee table, iron fist crumpling the papers beyond legibility. “There could have been a cure. A fucking cure to all this.”

On the surface, her words are rational. One life for a cure that would save millions was a worthy sacrifice, that you would be foolish to deny. But the odds of developing this cure were slim, and the girl would have likely died in vain. You knew this. Abby knew this. Jerry knew this.

With a shaky breath, you cradle your arms, never before having felt the urge to cage yourself around Abby. Fingers firmly gripping at your elbows, you let the cards fold. Unadulterated truth.

“You’re in denial, Abigail.”

A tut. “Don’t you fucking ‘Abigail’ me.” Her previous efforts to maintain a steady tone have been vanquished, anger seeping into each progressing word.

She’s gone.

And it’s this precise revelation that fills your eyes with oceans. Throat closing up, nose burning with the urge to spill over, you attempt – attempt – to articulate yourself, to no avail. Seconds later, rivulets trickle from your eyes to your cheeks, and you find yourself sniffling like some stupid kid… No, not a kid. A grieving adult, bereaved by the loss of a lover. Because the other figure in the room is but a husk of the radiant soul you fell for.

“All…” You pause to inhale, deeply: a futile effort to regulate your breathing, to lay rest to the turmoil suffocating your ability to fucking think. “All that’s going to happen is… You’re going to have to—” Hiccupping, you close your eyes, praying no more tears would fall. “To live with the guilt of orphaning a kid.”

Sentence finally out, you surrender to your sorrows, allowing them to wrack your chest with sobs and heaves until it gets too much, salt freely spilling from the floodgates. You can’t…you won’t bring yourself to look at Abby – the machine in her place, one programmed to kill and kill alone.

It’s wholly terrifying.

Distress flickers in her eyes, her frown slackening for a fraction of a second at the sound of your despair. “No one is forcing you to come,” she puts plainly, as if that has anything to do with the issue at hand.

“You know this – isn’t about that. Fuck, even Owen knows this…this is a bad idea.” Too dejected to cry. Too dejected to battle the hitched breaths you take trying to force out the words.

Words that fall upon deaf ears. “That’s not what Owen told me.” She slots a Swiss army knife into her cargo pants’ pocket, headed with a canteen in hand towards the kitchenette. “He was there, (Y/N). He agreed that Joel needs to die.”

“Because he’s fucking scared of you!” We all are, nearly breaks free from your lips, but that’s not what Abby needs to hear right now. Nothing that will push her away. Further away. The reigns you have on your lover are fraying, leaving you grasping at nought but strings. Frenzied, you attempt a softer, less concrete approach. “Baby, it isn’t normal to be so…hellbent on revenge like this.”

Silence. The delicate trickle of water sounds from the faucet as Abby fills her canteen. Then, a sigh, one of frustration as opposed to defeat. “If you think calling me ‘baby’ is going to erase four motherfucking years of grief, you are sorely mistaken. You’re smarter than that.”

Patience thinning, you stand up, wading through strewn supplies across the apartment floor towards the kitchenette. “Four years and you still haven’t given yourself time to mourn properly,” you reason, deliberately obstructing her path out of the kitchen with your body again. “Maybe if you had you’d see some fucking sense.”

God, that was a mistake. Shit, shit, shit shit shit the last thing you want to do is piss her off, not with her mind in such a volatile state, devoid of all logic.

“I appreciate you’ve lived a fucking sheltered life since the outbreak,” she seethed. What?

“That’s not true—”

“And you have no fucking idea what it’s like to have someone ripped away from you like that.” Volume rising, words a mantra fuelled by detest. “And you know, maybe, just fucking maybe, this’ll be my one chance to put an end to this shit!” The fist not clutching her backpack clenches. And for the first time ever while alone in her company, you flinch.

“He fucking deserves this, (Y/N)! If I can show him a fraction of the pain he caused me—”

“Abby, you’re scaring me,” you whimper, closing in on yourself. Genuinely afraid she’d raise her hand towards you.

Had you a mirror, you’d know truly how perturbed you look in this very moment. Streamlines drying on your cheeks, eyes reddening and puffy from crying, wide with fear like a doe face-to-face with a moving car. Body subconsciously making itself smaller, reducing its surface area, reducing the likelihood for any incoming swings to hit.

She lowers her guard, colour returning to her knuckles as she unravelled her fist. Knitted brows returning to their natural place above her eyes, mouth parted as the horror of her behaviour settles in.

“You know I would never hurt you, right?” Even her previously stern voice cracks at this.

It takes tremendous willpower to not fall back as she takes a tentative step towards you.

Drying your eyes with your sleeves – her sleeves…you forgot you’re wearing her old sweater, the notion sour on your tongue – you break your mutual gaze. “You’re not you right now,” you whisper, not trusting your larynx to produce anything above a mouse’s squeak. “This isn’t the Abby I know.”

For the first time this morning, a sentiment other than bloodlust registers in her face. Hurt.

Either unable or unwilling to respond, Abby recommences her packing in solemn silence.

Shit, you have three, perchance five minutes at best to dissuade your girlfriend from leaving and doing something that will haunt her for all eternity. Yet all you can do is brace yourself against the wall and allow a second tsunami of tears to wash over you, pangs of anguish striking your heart. “Abby—”

“I’m going, (Y/N).” Firm, with a shred less conviction, but firm enough.

A violent sob tears through you as you beg, beg, the vessel of the woman you adore, “Please don’t leave me.”

For a fleeting moment, your heart stops as she hesitates in her tracks. A flicker of hope seizes your mind, that perhaps she has reconsidered, that finally some logic has entered her train of thought.

It all crashes down when she reaches for the spare rifle ammunition by the front door.

“Fuck, Abby—”

“I’ll be gone a month at most.”

Hail-Mary.

Hail-Mary.

Please.

Chest shuddering with each sob that wracks through you, you utter through violently trembling lips and hiccups, “You’re so – fucking blinded – by your hatred – right now – that you can’t – fuck, see – this will – kill you—”

The gravity of the situation threatens to make your knees buckle.

Abby plucks her jacket from the coat hanger and wades over to your crippled stance by the kitchen. A hand brushes your salt-slicked cheek as a lock of hair is swept out of your line of sight. “I love you,” she whispers in pained honesty.

“Abby…” You try to take her hand, to ground her, to remind her of the life she’s leaving behind on her relentless pursuit of this warped sense of justice.

“Goodbye, (Y/N).” She squeezes your palm and lets go, zipping up her pack as the front door to the apartment creaks open and slams shut.

Death is a word that isn’t used lightly, especially not after an epidemic takes the world by storm. But part of your spirit certainly died the moment that door closed behind her.

(I’ll leave it up to you whether she has a change of heart or leaves and scores a few hits above par.)

A Friend In Devilish Places

This story does contain SPOILERS for Hellboy. Below is the description of the story which contains SPOILERS!!!

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After the world is thrown into chaos and monsters and devils lay waste to the city, you and a group of survivors manage to make it to the outskirts of the war-zone. But an old friend has been looking for you. And he’s much more than you remember.

It was the heat that woke you up. A gust of volcanic wind that blasted through the empty windows of your shelter.  Your group of survivors cowered, whimpering as something huge roared.  A thunderous bellow that shook the foundations of the building and made dust rain down from the ceiling. You sighed, what little rest you could manage to get could be forgotten now. 

“It’s the Devil...” The elderly man croaked. Terrified eyes wide as another tidal wave of heat blasted against the shelter. “He’s come to kill us.” 

You ignored him. Letting the others deal with his ramblings as you crawled over to the window. The city was in ruins. Flames and rubble was all that remained. Smoke choked the sky and the armies of monsters controlled the streets with an iron fist and blood claws. You were almost out. So close to the outskirts of the city that you could practically taste the safety of the wilderness. You had only a few more blocks to go and then the urban areas. Then the vast countryside where the army was currently uniting in to attack, and hopefully reclaim the city. Your groups plan was to scavenge and get out before any of the bombing started. 

But with that thing flying over head, there was no way the group would be able to leave without being seen. 

Suddenly, the house shook and the walls creaked as the sun was blacked out from the sky and a massive beast soared overhead with another mighty roar.  The children screamed and their mothers covered their heads as bits of the foundations fell down on them.  You ducked away from the window as flames bathed the adjacent house in fire. 

“Fuck...” You hissed. Covering your head and looking between your group. They looked to you for guidance. You got them this far, even got them through the worse parts of the city due to your knowledge in non-human language. You were their hero and right now, you had no idea how to get them past what was turning the city to ash.

“It’s been following us for two days!” A woman whispered. Clutching a bible to her chest. It was singed at the corners but otherwise intact. “It must know we’re here.” 

“It’s tracking us.” The elderly man mumbled. “It has to be.” 

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you knew they were right. It was too coincidental that the massive beast was burning down buildings in the same area as the group.  It disappeared for some time, but it always returned. It was a damn miracle none of you managed to get burned or even spotted by the thing.

You peered back over the window sill. It had gone eerily quiet.  The house across the road had given in on itself, the flames eating away at the wooden structure. Beginning to spread to the next house. But the sky was clear and the heat had somehow dulled.  You waited for another volcanic blast, and when none came, you turned back to the group. Ushering them closer so they could hear you more clearly.

“Alright, now’s our chance. We’ll split up into smaller groups and make our way through-”  You didn’t get to finish your sentence. An earthquake made the ground tremble as something huge plummeted into the earth a mere few feet away from your shelter.  Everyone ducked. The tsunami of dust and air tore over the house like a storm as this thing hit the ground with a heavy, rock like crack.

When everything quietened and the air settled again, you looked up from your arms and glanced outside.  A beast, monstrous in every sense of the word, lay dead in the middle of the street. It’s once glowing eyes were nothing but pits of black; empty and still. Its wing crumpled and burnt beneath its heavy mass. However, what made you gasp and stand from your cover, the thing that made your heart stop in your chest and cause your blood to run cold; was the being standing on the head of the creature.

Tall and muscular, with skin as red as rubies and a stone right hand that grasped a flaming sword, you almost didn’t want to believe it was him.  His horns had grown more than you have ever seen them and the emotion in his gaze was nothing you could expect to see in Hellboy.  Everything about him looked so different. So dangerous and monstrous. But it was still him. Still the man you knew. 

“H-Hellboy...” You called out. Your voice catching in your throat as the fiery eyes set themselves on you.  Ignoring your fellow survivors, you clambered through the window and stepped towards Hellboy. The flaming sword was stuck in the centre of the creatures skull, and with a heavy tug, it came free. The blood sizzled from the blade’s heat and Hellboy swung it with ease up onto his shoulder. It didn’t seem to burn him. His eyes never strayed from you for more than a few seconds. 

“Y-Your alive...” You continued. So many emotions running through you.  Relief.  Confusion.  Horror.  “How? How are you alive? Those monsters destroyed the central part of the city. I haven’t heard anything from you in days! Where have you-” 

Hellboy stepped off the beast’s neck. Falling to the ground to land with a heavy thud. His silence unnerved you. Causing even more uncertainty as he started towards you. Sword still lifted and the unwavering gaze fixed on you.  Your body started to back away, your fight or flight reflexes choosing the latter as Hellboy marched towards you.  He was on you immediately. His human hand flew up and wrapped his fingers around your throat. You yelped, kicking out as you were lifted up to eye level with Hellboy.

“H-B, it’s...me...” You croaked. Clawing at his wrist, hoping to pry his fingers open enough to let some air through your throat. “Hell..boy...please...” 

A low rumble rippled through Hellboy. He pulled you closer. So close you could feel the heat from the flaming crown on his head against your face.  “Anung Un Rama....” His voice growled. 

“W-What?” 

“My name... is Anung Un Rama.” Hellboy replied. Tilting his head a little to the side, like he was observing you. “I thought you were dead.” 

You dropped like a sack of potatoes. His fingers left bruises on your neck, but you were thankful for air and the solid ground beneath your crumpled legs.  You coughed until the stiffness left your airway and you were able to breath again.  Looking up at.... Anung Un Rama, you were filled with a sense of dread. You didn’t know why, but that name was filled with darkness. With a devastating aftertaste on your tongue as you muttered it.  

“What happened to you?” You asked. Standing on wobbly legs as you leaned against the house. You could hear everyone inside, cowering but not leaving. You weren’t exactly sure if that was a good thing or not. 

Anung Un Rama lowered the sword from his shoulder. Piercing the ground with the flaming blade before closing the space between you.  You flinched as his rock-like hand reached up and scraped along your jawline. Following your skin to your chin until he could tilt your face up to look him in the eye. He was so close. The flames crackled above him like a bonfire, framing the crown in orange and red. Whipping wisps of his hair in the vortex of heat and wind. 

“I was...reborn.” He murmured. His eyes dimmed, showing some colour from his previous form as they dipped with grief. “Father is... dead. I couldn’t save him.” 

Your heart broke. Trevor was...had been your friend and mentor. He was there when no one had been, and for Hellboy to lose him, it would have been world-shattering.  “Red, I’m so sorry.” You whispered. Lifting your arms up to embrace him, but the Demon moved away. Only a step. It was obvious he didn’t want to be touched. 

“I came looking for you.” He said. The hellish hue returning to his gaze. “The Human world is no more, you will not survive this war. Come with me and I’ll make sure you’re comfortable. Until I finish what I started, you will be kept safe beside me.” 

You looked up at him in confusion.  ‘Finish what he started?’ War on the Human world? This was everything that Hellboy had been fighting all his life to keep from happening. But whoever this was, it wasn’t Hellboy. Not anymore. “I don’t understand...” You muttered, and the Demon chuckled. He leaned closer, lips grazing over the skin of your hairline. His hot breath bathing you in his scent.

“You will.” He growled. And then, he tilted your head back more sharply and captured your lips with his.  It was slow, but hungry. Like he was savouring the touch, but wanted so much more than what was currently being offered. And when he pulled away, his rock hand had travelled down your neck, to your shoulder, to finally grasp your elbow. “Come. Now.” 

You were yanked out of your flustered stupor as Anung tugged you into walking beside him.  He walked quickly, with purpose down the street path. Sword snatched up from the dirt and held in a way that was defensive by his side. You tried to pull your arm back, stop him in his tracks but he didn’t seem to notice. You almost had to jog to keep up with him.

It was only when a loud bang echoed through the neighbourhood, did he stop. He turned slowly. Eyes framed with fury as blood trickled down his left shoulder. The bullet had pierced him deeply. But you couldn’t tell if he felt any pain. You only saw the anger, the irritation, as your group of survivors all hurried out onto the street.  Axes, guns and basic kitchen knives all drawn out as they huddled up behind the shooter. The elderly man held his gun out in front of him, he was shaking. Wide eyes trained on where he had shot Anung. Already the wound was healing. The bullet dropped out from the injury as the skin closed up around it.

“Let...them...go....” The elderly man spat through clenched teeth. “You cannot take them!” 

Anung tsked. Blade changing to his other hand as he released your arm. Your eyes flew open and you lunged forward as Anung started to walk towards the group. Sword beginning to swing in preparation for the kill. “No! No, please don’t!” 

Anung attempted to shove you aside. But you managed to wrap your arms around his bicep tightly enough that you could not be moved. Clinging to his armed hand, crying out as the flames off the blade bite through your clothes and singed your skin.  You didn’t care, the pain was nothing when it made Anung pause. Staring down at you as he angled the sword away from your leg. He grumbled in frustration. Turning his eyes back to the group. 

“Go. Or I will fertilise the lawn with your corpses.” Anung snarled. Fire dancing in the pupils of his gaze. 

The Humans looked terrified. But they stood their ground, switching between you and the Demon you were holding at bay.  “Go.” You called to them. “Keep going until you reach the countryside. Don’t stop moving.” 

You could see their internal debates. You’ve stuck with them throughout the city. You would have been better off without them. But you fought for them. Protected them. Negotiated passage through the sewers for them. And now, they had a chance to help you from a threat they knew nothing about. But they would lose. They would be slaughtered.  “Please.. just go.”  You begged them, stepping in front of Anung. Still holding a hand to his scarred arm.  It was the youngest of the group that managed to tug the elderly man away from the pathway. Pulling him into the house, and beginning the slow migration of your group away from Anung.  You smiled sadly to the young person, they were only 16 years of age. And they nodded in return, giving you a subtle wave before disappearing after the others. 

Behind you, Anung huffed and you felt his free hand glide up your arm. Almost soothing in his slow grasp of your elbow.  “Come. Now.” He ordered. And Anung didn’t wait for an answer, he merely tugged you into walking beside him. And led the way back into the city. 

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Bottle of Fairy Dust and Tears

The sound of nickel chinking against the apartment door must have jolted my 5 inch fairy from his stupor. Wings snapped in the air sent a flurry of dust most and light particles into the room. Tat alighted on my shoulder. “Ugh.. I can still see you. No obscene amount of wine can eject me off this tinkerbell asylum” My hand swatted Tat like an annoying fly. I tottered to a mass heap of sundry articles that faintly resembled a bed, floundering in a supine state . I sputtered incoherent fragments of words that were frayed on my tongue. Unintelligible mutterings were a slight improvement from the whimpers that escaped from my mouth yesterday, and the day before that. Whimpers, as pathetic as they sound, were really just quiet admissions, finally buckling into the pain. An admission of reality you’ve continually shunted from. Still, traces of a hope can still be found in the silent spaces in between, despite the stacking odds. It can still shoot through the barren cracks. For most people, this is a visceral sensation calling you to attention. My hope was more, shall we say, corporeal. Irksome. My hope came in the form of a fairy. His presence was, understandably, difficult to ignore than a mere feeling. Fairies like Tat appear only in the most dire cases. He was now an obligated promise I had to make to myself to hold on a little bit longer. Sort of like being responsible for a stray mutt. I couldn’t exactly kick him out . Or maybe my already defunct sanity has exhausted its resources and left me high and dry. All in all, my hands were clinging onto a salvaged swath of worth to steady faltering legs. Legs that showcased days old patterns, stark on wan skin. Legs that lay bare under too many waning moons and not enough sunrises. “Are you okay? Um..Do you need anything?” Tat began to swarm around, checking vitals signs were adequate, or acceptable under the circumstances. This was the second night swaddled in alcohol. An ill-chosen defense from hands too brutish for a faltering frame and mind. This puny creature seemed inadequate for such fractured and ill-fated matters. One has to wonder how could a creature of paltry size to the scale of the human eye be of any consequential guidance or support? But I’m still surviving so evidence stood contrary to my uncertainty. I’d come to realise the essential quality within hope is its quiet stature, its soft catalyst. There lies its strength. It can seem so inadequately small to aid in traction, to move against the grain of our circumstances, but is an ever-present vigil in our darkest hour. This embodiment of hope, this fairy, knows the softest voice in the room has the space in which to listen, gather, compare, construct accordingly. It resides in the overlooked spaces between the noise. A space where knowledge is stored and generated. A space of beginnings. Tat was my beginning, and my end. And an incessant ear ringing in between. A dogged attempt of pressing my eyelids together was foiled by nimble fingers plying them apart with an unnerving ease. An undeniable strength concentrated in a minute form. I shut my eyes again only to be jolted by a sharp sludge of liquid hurled at my face. Its coldness felt like a glacial slap against my clammy skin. “Are you kidding me?!” I rubbed my eyes incredulously, mouth agape. “What in the actual winged nut-house is wrong with you?” I motioned upwards to wrangle the impudent toad but stopped myself as my stomach accelerated in an uncomfortable direction. “Maybe you should have some coffee. Better to sober up a little. Yes, yes.. I know I had some milk thistle somewhere.” His lilt voice and swift movement jolted my queasy, fragile constitution. “Oh no.” I willed with all my might to settle the tsunami that was inevitably hurling towards my mouth. Tat held my tangled, feral hair back as my eyes blurred against a grimy cascade of rejects and regret. In the midst of upchucking my dignity I heard that lilt. A soft voice brushing against my ears, reminding me of my soft parts. I wasn’t broken completely. Tat was still here. I was still here.

I found myself in a fetal position cradling against a clean coverlet, no vomit in sight, and hands stroking my hair. Hands that were neither small nor particularly gentle lately. Hands I shamelessly needed on my skin. “My silly cub.” He held a cup of coffee under my nose, letting the steam and glorious scent waft through my senses. If I could just capture this moment, place it in a frame of simplicity. A fleeting thought that is fractured and malleable component to our ever constructing lie we tell ourselves. It enables us to step further in our idealized story. I have a piece contained. The piece of this person kept safe before the darkness overlapped again. It shows the hands that held me as I cried my ugliness, carefully cutting out the piece where those same hands used my skin as a canvas of bruises. We always cut, cut, cut. So what are we left with? An incomplete person that matches our fabrication. So I lay still wrapped in the scent of coffee mingled with cigarettes and heady wood. Encased in my engorged fairytale. Lips parted, I arched my back, leaning into him willing these scents as a vector to guide him towards a warmth building up. He emits a growl but places the cup in my hands, kissing me on my forehead. “Coffee first.. And maybe have a shower? The scent of vomit was never really a turn-on” I faltered, admonishing myself in silence as shame wafted over me. I took a sip only to utilize my hands away from the awkwardness seeping through the room “Why did you leave anyways? I thought we talked about what happened. I thought. I thought we were okay. But you just left and got yourself into this state.” Tension and hurt contorted his face into new angles. Angles promising a burgeoning frustration if I didn’t act quickly. “It wasn’t a reaction from last night. I promise. Everything is fine. I love you.” I brushed against his arm, testing. “I just lost track of time.” “Lost track of the glasses of wine you drank more like.””He sat back, arms folded, eyes creating a vortex in my line of vision leaving nowhere to evade or look besides his questioning and stiff countenance. I felt my skin flush; a warmth that resembled a fever. There was a coldness to it, a raw wind coursing through my blood giving that edge that made me want to grab that scissors from the coffee table and begin cutting out my deficiencies I clearly couldn’t compensate for. I instinctively recoiled and deflected. My body tensed as I folded inward. “I didn’t know I needed your permission to have a few drinks with my friends. Friends. I suppose that concept is rather alien to you, since you seem to have so many in your life.” Words spilled from my mouth before I could catch them. These inexorable moments always seem to have a slower, disoriented pace than usual. “How would I have time to have friends?” The word friends hung sharp and penetrating in the air. “When I have a girlfriend to watch over and care for like an inept, self-destructive child. Is it any wonder I reacted the way I did yesterday when I have this mess to cater for day in and day out.” I winced. My mind was plucking out fragments of yesterday. There was no delicate arrangement in how I grafted the fragments together. They lay stark in my head. They were banded together by a bellowing voice and trembling body who wouldn’t be held as I cried those ugly tears. Only a cold, barren bathroom floor. “I’m sorry.. I didn’t mean..” “Yes you did. Excuse me, I have to go pick up my actual child. The maturity level will be to a higher standard than here with you.” He stood up abruptly. “Do this relationship a favor and take a look in the mirror today. Seriously look deeper, find a semblance of that girl I met when we were younger. I fucking miss her and I’m sure you miss her too.” He sauntered to the door and paused, lingering to match the slow trickle of the dripping tap. He glanced behind his shoulder, furrowed eyes dropping, along with his frown lines and anger. “I hate what you do to me. I hate who I turn into. I’m. I’m not that guy. Please, don’t make me that guy.” The door slammed behind him, hooking me in the scent of cold, pungent coffee punctuating the air. I heard flickers of a soft, light wings flap so gingerly the air seemed too heavy breathe through. He carried a wad of tissue, waiting expectantly for tears for flood my face but none came. Emotions wrung dry today leaving a face dry and hard. My body felt hollow. I guess it had been for a long time. “Why are you still here? Do you like cleaning my apartment? Do you enjoy  watching my pathetic life slowly disintegrate into nothing? You say you’re the emblem of hope but you’ve done absolutely nothing of value since you’ve arrived.” “I’m here by the very fact of hope. It is not up to me whether I stay or go. You hold that choice.” I sighed. A flicker of annoyance appeared on his face only to be replaced by a gentle expression I came to know and was currently taking advantage of. I was a selfish asshole. He alighted on my hand, placing his on my cup to warm up my coffee. “Drink up. Then go have a shower. All is not broken but you got to do some heavy lifting yourself. I am only a 5 inch fairy after all.” With submission, I gulped the rest of my coffee and staggered meekly to the bathroom ready to wash away the dirt that had been accumulated in my life for too long.

The humming of the shower was lulling me asleep until an insistent and reverberating rapping stirred me. I looked up to two wet and ragged fairies slapping repeatedly against the window pane. An annoyance quickly dissipated giving way to a satisfied grin creeping on my face. I hesitated. The Fairy council has strict rules about meetings or social calls with other fairies and their respective humans that is not mandated or approved. Proper protocols must be adhered. Meetings must also be recorded for regulatory and archiving purposes. Tedious but necessary nonetheless. Although that was not my immediate reasoning for hesitating. One specific reason was an insufferable excuse for a fairy. More like a fluttering troll. I’m surprised she could tend to her own wings never mind guide her charge with all her caterwauling that spews from her mouth. Basking in my delight in such visual delights of her discomfort I quickly admonished myself for indulging in such weaknesses, human weakness. A fairy must be diligent and abstemious in such matters. Our calming and stoic nature maintains a homeostasis around humans. It helps to ease their suffering. We are but mere receptacles for their pain. A monument of hope, solidified and sedentary in the throes of life mangling our person. Remembering there was another fairy accompanying her I quickly flew over the window to let them in. “It’s about time. I was beginning to think Molly’s alcoholic breadth had finally killed enough brain cells to render you witless – which wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to achieve considering there is not too activity going on in the first place” Mina tapped my forehead pointedly before violently shaking herself dry. She raised a hand covered in a ragtag piece of cloth level to my nose. I raised my eyebrow. “What do you expect me to do with this grimy dishcloth exactly?” “I expect you to practice your hostly duties and hang up my shawl” “I am not your host. I didn’t even invite you. You’re not even permitted to be here.” I swatted her hand away, casting her rag to the floor. “Unbelievable. It seems you’ve adopted more of Molly’s fine qualities I see. I’m not the only one breaching the rules. So much for maintaining an objective role in your person’s life. I think someone is drinking from the human fountain too much.”Affronted, she gingerly picked up the dishcloth and placed it on the bed, ironing it out with her fingers. “Oh Mina, it is not made of woven silk. You constructed it from materials you found in dumpsters and streets.”The fairy I kept forgetting was here chimed in. “Apologies Tat, she is just a bit frazzled. We all are. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t serious. This is a delicate matter we have to broach. Mina is not the most tactful as you know. I..” “I’m not the most tactful? Tat doesn’t even have the basics of manners down. No. He’s too busy drowning in Molly’s personality to notice what is happening to us.” Her wings flurried in a haze as she pushed a finger into my chest. “So don’t apologize to him. He should be grateful we’re even here in this molded apartment. The only charm this place has is when Molly isn’t in the room.” She spat out Molly’s name as if spewing the distaste from her mouth. Feeling a peculiar sting from her comments, I stilled myself from acting upon an urge to grab her wings and twist them into a tightly bound knot emblematic to her personality. I sighed. But she was right on one account. I willingly let Molly’s thoughts and actions intersperse with my own. When we are assigned,we are bound to our humans base personality so they can acclimatize but we should not indulge in their impulses. We could easily forget our purpose while being swept up in the human conditions and all of the glorious connections and emotions that spark an existence, like a match running along a striker. Humans forget they can see and feel life with such penetration and intensity. Every experience is a validation of existence. I was drunk on it. I was drunk on her. A selfish thought traveled through me. Did I even want Molly to find peace. If she fought her way out. I would need to move on. I wouldn’t be able to see  her anymore. Tamping down my unsavoury thoughts as quickly as I could I turned to Mina. “Since you haven’t had the prudence to follow protocol, please keep this meeting brief so I may write to the council in case you failed to clean up your trail coming here.” “Ever the professional. You act like the professor to us mere pupils but who has been corralling wayward fairies off the street, marshaling them back to their purpose, making sure their humans are taken care of. I have been picking up everyone’s slack while you have locked yourself away leading an impeccable example of hope.” Mina rolled her eyes and fronted up to be me. “So you can step off that professional high ground because you have been everything but professional.” She stood solid in front of me as I suddenly felt small and permeable, as if the emotions swarming around this room were wringing my body till there was nothing inside left. I rubbed my temples hard willing her voice to disperse into the air. “Really Molly, If there was a significant issue here don’t you think the council would have notified me. I’ve had my hands tied here. Molly is passing a fragile threshold. It’s make or break but I think I’m finally reaching her. I think I can help her. I might have lapsed regarding my mentoring but I would have noticed the severity of the problems” I placed my hands on her arms and smiled. “It is commendable and prudent of you to convey your worries. It is duly noted. I appreciate the time you gave to inform me. It won’t be forgotten.” Mina shrugged my hands away and directed a firm gaze towards me. “Don’t patronize me. I’m not doing this for you. There mere fact that everything goes unnoticed by you does not mean it isn’t occurring. A good chunk of fairies around the world are wayward. They are rapacious for emotions and their chargers have suffered. Incentives to adhere to the rules and to remain austere in their practices are minimal if at all present. And I have to say I question your commitment. I question your adherence to our codes. And I am not the only one. Your feelings for this girl has left you distracted. You are unfocused. Obsessed even.”She held her head high, hands on hips. “It is after much deliberation that we arrived with the only course of action available for us. For the betterment and progression of our fairies and humans I request your denouncement so I can be chosen as the official field commander.” A heavy sigh rolled from my mouth. This was absurd. The room weighed down on me. Throat restricted and wings overheated and heavy I flew to the window to let some air in. A new wave of annoyance passed over me. It derived not from this conversation but from the time imposed upon me. I wanted to clear them away before Molly walked through the door. Sighing once more, resignation felt in every part of my winged form. “You need to write up a petition and collect more than 50 signatures for that to be even considered.” Mina clapped her hands. A swell of smoke appeared, dancing between her hands, malleable like clay forming a tabular outline which solidified. She popped the lid open and handed my a roll of tattered parchment. It unfurled to the floor. I quickly skimmed through the innumerable list of names collected. My eyes changed depth of perception so that the names blurred into smudges of nonsensical ink. I had never questioned my capability as a leader and thrived on guiding fairies in fulfilling their duties that encapsulated their entire being in one purpose – to serve their person, personify hope. As I gathered memories of the last few months they are alarmingly devoid of wings or guidance of those wings. I had lost touch of my cadre. I felt a ping of unease as I looked at the desperate and sodden fairies stood before me. With a prick, my ego was broached and deflated. The clarion of their pain and worry was written across their faces. I knew my responsibilities. The burden it carried. I could already see the weight slipping off me as I loosened the shackles and status. It was okay. I was in this room room.I was with Molly. I was taken care of my the mere act of caring for her. I didn’t need my wings anymore. Even if I only had a short time left with her. “As you wish.” I conjured a pen from a dust and smoke residue Mina built up. Signing it I felt a bitter freedom that felt terrifying and truthful. I knew what I was really giving up. “I was expecting more of an opposition than this. But I’m not surprised. I’m afraid you’ll be a cautionary tale.” Said Mina. She placed a hand on my cheek, contorting her features to a sadness I never seen on her before. “May the last thing you remember is her love for you.” With that sentiment they flew away into the night.

My back pocket vibrated as I contemplated if I should just pack up and leave. Tat would follow me to the ends of humanity. I wouldn’t be alone. I bitched and moaned about freaking fairy dust falling all over my furniture and his incessant hovering and mollycoddling but it was actually nice having someone caring about me. He could see pass the squalidness of my life. For the first time in my life I felt comfortable and validated with someone. Even if he was just a fairy. Or a figment of my imagination. Laughing at my craziness I extracted my phone to check an incoming message knowing too well who it was from. “Can we please meet up? Today unsettled me. I don’t want to leave things the way they are. I know we can work through your issues. I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I love you.” What was wrong with me. I shouldn’t even contemplate answering him never mind agreeing to meet. Flashes of bruised cheeks and tears came like an onslaught. Fear mingled with my desire to see him. Bereft, I tumbled into my desire, hung my fear on my neglected rack too cloistered with misjudgment already. Fuck. I loved him. More than myself apparently. Maybe I was to blame, accountable to the standards we set in place. If I respected myself more. Set a tone maybe he wouldn’t.. I stuffed my phone in my back pocket berating myself. I would analyze myself to the grave if I didn’t stop. I grabbed a pen and paper, scribbling feverishly, sticking it to the fridge. I couldn’t just give up hard won years of work and commitment over a few lapses. Lapses, the word lingered precariously in my mind. Donning my coat I slipped out of the apartment leaving a snoring fairy to fill warmth in my otherwise lonely and uncherished home.

I sat by the threshold, noticing a layer of dust caked in the corner. I wondered how long I’d been sitting here, waiting for Molly. She had left a note which caused my stomach to coil up. It was uncharacteristic of her to leave notes. There was comfort in her habitual inconsiderations. An eventuality I could trust. So the note marked an odd finality to it despite the words promising her return. How long have I been sitting her? I guess there is not much more to do but let the dust mark time and read the note in rhythmic repetition. I gulped down stale air. How many days has it been? I should open a window. But I wanted to preserve every last drip of her in this room. The world would refuse to enshrine her so I must. She said she would return. The words seemed hollow on the page. I could barely look at it anymore. Crumbling it up I sunk into another waning evening as the darkness encroached into the apartment. I’ll just sit here a little while longer. I realized I was swallowing tears while I waited, wingless in the dark.