dreamcrystals | dream recording 🔶 life flashing before your eyes

Entry tags:

dream recording 🔶 life flashing before your eyes

Warnings: blood, death, past suicidal ideation, decapitation

—You have to go, angel, your mother urges you as she holds back tears, your father doing what he can to lift a fallen, crackling beam for you to go past, his glasses askew. The smoke is already horrible, the heat alone suffocating enough. Your right arm stings and throbs, blood dripping from your useless hand, but you can't afford to pay attention to it. Vision blurring—

I love you, you sob.

You barely remember stumbling through the fiery hallways. Something lands on your back at one point. You notice that the knob of the front door has burned your hand before you collapse.

You'd almost thought that was the end. Maybe it would have been easier if it had been. You still aren't sure how long you were unconscious at the hospital.

—The horrific, twisted whale fall pulses, choking you even through the breathing charms with its dark sickness. You're infected, you know, the plague taking advantage of your Fae nature, and you can already feel it crawling through your veins to get to the rest of you. You wait as the magical bomb is activated, even after the dragon calls for all of you to flee. A young woman with white hair takes you by the arm.

Now's not the time to throw your life away, she cries. Your argument doesn't last long, the explosion blinding you with blue light and breaking your fragile wings against your back as you try to protect your friend with your body, at least.

That wasn't it. The dragon caught you as you were all launched out of the ocean, and the medical witches cured you before the infection was irreversible. What would have happened if you died in another world, you wonder?

—Your best friend isn't with them, you notice. Curious, you turn your eyes about to find him, however bad a decision that might normally be when you're fighting the rest of the group—but it's not like they want to attack you, anyway. When you finally spot him, you see he's unnaturally obscured in shadow, aiming at the back of your guardian, the man who took everything from you and then became your family.

You use your new magic to teleport in the way, ignoring the strain of it. Nobody says anything to you before you're struck by the bolt shot by your best friend and your guardian's blade. Your vision goes white with pain and you collapse in the murderer's arms.

You survived then, too. He healed you, for all the good it did.

—I know you wouldn't want to hurt anyone like this.

A redheaded prince in a devilish costume torn by the same kind of gem shards your hands and legs have become stands in front of you, hesitating. You've sunk to your knees, head hung and waiting in your hopelessness, dark pools growing around you and threatening to create more monsters from your nightmares. You don't care. You don't care about anything, knowing there's no point. He will end it, finally.

He lifts his sword and lets it drop fully on the back of your neck, slicing through—cutting off your awareness of the rest of you, but you have just long enough to realize you no longer have a throat to scream—

NO, PLEASE

Ferran wakes in a panic.

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[And then there's that final swing-- yep, completely awful. Guess it helps that he didn't look happy in the nightmare either, but.

0/10 dream, thanks Ferran.

Hans feels himself rubbing the back of his neck, as if making sure that he's in perfect health. A ridiculous notion, since he wouldn't be able to do such a thing if it actually happened, but the reflex is there. He lets out a slow exhale as he gets his emotions under control, his eyes closing before he musters up the energy to write back to this idiot.]

Thanks for showing everyone that I killed you.

[Maybe a petty response but emotions suck so.]

[Well, with the new clarity he has on certain events and their result on his current state, it's a decent level of misery over here, too.

It takes almost twenty minutes for him to respond. His writing is shaky, the strokes slow to appear on the page.]

I'm sorry

[For a while, he thinks that Ferran has gone back to bed, or just doesn't want to talk to him. It's a slightly irritating thought, but perhaps understandable given the circumstances. Reliving your death isn't an easy thing and Hans is quite sure that he would've ignored everyone that tried to reach to him.

That being said, it doesn't make him any less annoyed.

But he curbs his response, especially after seeing how shaky Ferran's writing is.]

Well, at least you didn't dream of me enjoying it.

[Not that Hans did but yanno.]

[The fact that Hans in fact appeared to heavily regret that act is possibly the only reason he's responding to the man at all. Rather than acknowledge that in his reply, he starts to write out a request.]

can you

[Stupid line of thought. Why would you even ask that, Ferran? It'll just—

He regrets it just enough to spur on another physical reaction to the inner conflict, and there's a line of ink from his last letter that darts off the page.]

Can I what?

[And okay, that's some reaction. Hans stares at the page in front of him for a while, trying to take a guess on what Ferran wants from him.]

Do you want me to come over? [Normally, he'd assume that the other person would want him to be far away, but this is Ferran they're talking about.]

[It takes another minute for him to gather himself again. When the pain finally subsides enough to write, he realizes that, regardless of how stupid an idea it might be? He needs help. This isn't something he can just push back and ignore on his own.]

please

You really want the person that murdered you to provide comfort.

[He doesn't know why he's bothering to ask, he knows the answer.]

[He will beg if he has to, Hans.]

please.

[They can get into the technicalities of what counts as murder later.]

Edited 2022-03-17 22:01 (UTC)

You must be truly desperate.

[A minute passes here, before Hans writes another response to him.]

I'll be arriving shortly.

[Tell him something he doesn't know, buddy.

The front door is ajar when Hans gets there, and if he doesn't notice the shattered window and cracked stonework on one side of the cottage from the outside, it'll be impossible to miss once he steps in, even in the dim light of firefly lanterns; the damage has spread out from the side of the bedroom out into the main living space, flooring fractured and crumbling into ash in some places. The whole place smells strongly of smoke, though thankfully it's not unbearable.

Ferran is sitting curled up on the couch in that main area, having managed to pull a blanket around himself.]

[In full out honesty, Hans isn't even sure why he agreed to come here. It's not like Ferran begging for him to be here actually matters; he doesn't care about his feelings ~~not even a little bit~~. He'll just chalk it up to being utterly bored without anything to do, at least he might get a favor or two from Ferran if he does this. So okay, this is practical. Right.

....

He steps inside without complaint, taking note of the damage that's spread across Ferran's cottage. It's clear that he's been having a rough time, although Hans didn't need to see the state of his home to know that. His nose wrinkles slightly in disgust at the smell, but he continues walking until he stands before the younger man, just staring down at him with a distant expression.]

Ferran.

[Ferran himself simply looks exhausted, when he raises his head to look at Hans. He's drenched in sweat and still somewhat shaky, his expression showing hardly anything other than fatigue. The dark marks on his face have spread further than the last time they met.

Well, he's here, Ferran. Just like you wanted.

He watches the man for a moment, quiet. The distant look he's getting means little, compared to the fact that he showed up at all.]

... thanks... for coming.

[His voice is obviously rough; he struggles to get the words out.]

Edited 2022-03-20 00:38 (UTC)

[Hans keeps on watching Ferran for a few quiet moments, still uncertain how to proceed from here. They both know how he's really like and providing comfort really doesn't come naturally to him, not in a sincere manner at least.]

What do you want from me?

[Hans supposes that he can put on a show, fully pretending to care about Ferran. Would it really make him feel better? Perhaps if he was truly desperate, which he may be. After all, he invited him in the first place. Or does Ferran just want any basic level of human decency?]

...Would you like some water? [It's his first offer and he doesn't seem to be fully pretending just yet.]

[Ferran is still debating, honestly. Would it be cruel to ask Hans to pretend? Does he have the right to ask that of him, when Hans had to face the reminder, too? Even with how desperate he might be, there's a reason he stopped in the middle of writing.

He simply nods to the suggestion, for now. The kitchen, thankfully, remains untouched from the damage resulting from his nightmare. If there was anything around to start or maintain a fire, the mild smell of smoke wouldn't seem out of place.]

Edited 2022-03-20 22:38 (UTC)

[Getting water is an easy task and so Hans heads his way to Ferran's kitchen without further preamble. It's fortunate that nothing is really damaged here and while he takes a small look around the room, he doesn't waste much time to fill a small glass. It might be nice to prolong this, maybe think of a way how he should behave around Ferran, but the prince just walks back to the younger man before holding the water to him.]

I better see you drink the whole thing.

[After he went through all this trouble.]

[A breath leaves him almost as a sigh as he accepts the glass with shaking hands, making sure he's got a firm enough grip not to just drop it before he nods his agreement. Yes sir, your highness, he'll do that... but before he does lift it to drink, he decides on another request for the prince, despite his sore throat.]

... sit a while?

[Hans has essentially two options: a chair that looks like it's about to topple into a few broken floorboards, or either side of Ferran on the couch.]

[He didn't plan to just give the glass to Ferran and leave, but Hans also didn't really think about sitting down for any extended period of time. It doesn't quite make sense, because he didn't plan to just stand around, but he finds himself pausing slightly at the question, looking from the chair to the couch as the only viable places to sit.

.....

Well, the chair looks like it's going to fall apart. He can't bring himself to sit on something that looks so unfortunate. So, he finds himself moving towards the couch and taking a seat next to Ferran.]

...How are you feeling?

[The most basic question to ask of someone, but it's what Hans is going for right now.]

[As Hans steps closer, Ferran seems to relax, strangely; his trembling isn't about to stop just yet, but he feels himself edging away from his previous panic. Maybe if he's lucky, he won't break anything else tonight.

He takes a slow sip of the water to soothe his throat. It's not much, but he's trying not to overdo it in any way at the moment, and he feels... fragile in a way he hasn't been before, for all the fracturing that's been painted on his skin. He's finally looked over the cliff he's been dragged towards, and where he thought he could accept it before, now it feels like he actually understands what it means.

That's a bit much to say, at the question, when he's having trouble talking. It might not be fully sincere; Hans might not even want to know. Just another step in the "how to comfort someone" routine. But Ferran answers it after a deeper shaky breath, glad for his presence.]

Like... I'm barely here.

[He notices a smudge of ink from his hand has transferred to the glass, and watches it smear as he rubs it for the sake of something to do.]

[It's normal to be wary and upset after having such a dream, that much is pretty understandable. He doesn't quite get why his presence is wanted, but at this point, Hans just accepts it. He's always considered himself to be very knowledgeable when it comes to reading others and figuring out their feelings, but that doesn't mean no one ever can confuse or surprise him.]

Still trapped in that dream? And yet you find my presence comforting.

[He really looks at Ferran now, and while the exhaustion on him is normal, the marks that have spread even further across his face is unusual. Probably not a good sign, that much is certain. With some perhaps surprisingly care, Hans lifts his hand to take Ferran's chin and tilt his face towards him. The prince still seems cold, almost methodical as he eyes those cracks.]

You've gotten worse.

Edited 2022-03-25 00:29 (UTC)

[Ferran turns his eyes to Hans at that somewhat judgmental remark—well, it's easy to take that way, anyway. Not that he expects any less; he knows he's made a lot of stupid decisions, and his attachment to this man might be one of them, too. It's alright.]

I don't want... to think of you like that.

[So to have the man here, as real as they can be, is more helpful than Hans might expect of his presence. It lets Ferran reassure himself that the man would much rather sit nearby and talk than send a sword through him. Hans can call him an idiot all night long, or hell—for the rest of their time in Reverein, and it would be better than never seeing him again if just for that reason.

He offers no resistance to the tilting of his chin, looking back into that passive expression with his own dull gaze. He doesn't have to look at himself to know it's gotten worse. It feels worse. The static in his head is louder, among other things.]

You remember what he said. Don't you?

[Mental or physical stress, the dream figment of Onyx had told Hans, in a reflection of Ferran's own understanding. Recalling one's own near-deaths doesn't make for the most peaceful of dreams, not to mention some of it was... new information again. Ferran turns his eyes away, almost distant as he speaks.]

I didn't... remember. Until now. Not really.

Edited (i know he's messed up but i can't take this. not three of them. THEN MY KEYBOARD DIDN'T SEND A THING.) 2022-03-25 01:07 (UTC)

[Ferran doesn't want to think of him as a cold-hearted killer, even if that's what he's really like. Granted, it's not a title that he's jumping to embrace, but Hans doesn't think he can deny such a thing, not after trying to harm Anna and everything. Given the chance, he's still confident that he would do the same, just ensure that his plan actually succeeds.

...He's sure.

But pushing those thoughts aside, mostly so that he can focus on Ferran, Hans examines his listless expression with an intensity that shows he's actually considering everything he's learned about him.]

I remember.

[He doesn't know if everything said in that dream is correct, but it's still something to consider. Hopefully, there is actually a way to combat Ferran's worsening condition.]

Tell me. Is there a way to actually fix this, to decrease these cracks? Or is it simply become 'less upset?'

[The dullness to his eyes seems to lighten at the question, and he turns his attention back to Hans.]

I... I don't know.

[Though his voice is still a near-whisper, there's something yearning to it, like he wants there to be a solution but he's helpless to reach it. Maybe that's why he then physically reaches to place a trembling hand over Hans's wrist: so at least he can have something to ground him.]

He never told me anything. The dream was just... guessing. I only know what makes it worse... because I can feel it.

[It's never been fixed, or gotten better.]

[His knowledge about magic is honestly rather limited still. If his cracks are truly caused by his own powers, rather than the effects caused by this world, the solution is probably out of reach. On the other hand, maybe it is just temporary distress, like how the ice started to form on his body during their last encounter. In that case, it's probably just... providing Ferran comfort.

...He can do that. There's no benefit not helping Ferran. As such, he doesn't pull his hand away from him, letting the contact rest.]

Of course he wouldn't tell you how to get better. And I'm not magically going to find a way to rid you of this.

[.....]

But you won't be alone.

[A gentle warmth spreads out from that touch once Hans finishes his statement, the subtle scent of a forest with a strange underlying hint of something exotic following it.]

... thank you.

[He may not be able to shed any tears right now, but his eyes are glossy enough to suggest them despite the lack of expression on his face.]

That means a lot to me. [Whether Hans means it or not—but the man is probably well aware of both of those things. It's what Ferran needs to hear right now, to keep himself together. He leans sideways slightly, so that his shoulder touches the prince's, deciding he'll have to pay him back somehow in a more tangible way than gratitude.

Not to mention... he still has to make up for a certain other thing.]

I'm sorry... for reminding you of the nightmare. [He already wrote that apology, but he feels it's important to express properly.]

[As irritating it has been for this world to openly display his emotions, it has in turn, made it easer for him to read people's reactions. Not that he would've second guessed himself on this decision, but the confirmation of Ferran's feelings via the warmth and scent is still nice to have. Of course, it doesn't stop there, with the young man outright stating his gratitude, but it's still... helpful. ~~Nice~~

He doesn't move away from him still, even as their shoulders touch. Hans is already in this and he's not going to stop now. It's not like the contact is uncomfortable for him, although he wouldn't say it's entirely pleasant. He's handled far more and if this is what Ferran wants, he can sit here for a while.]

It's fine. I wasn't upset by it.

[That's only partially true, but Hans has gotten his feelings about that shoved aside. He emotionally prepared himself before coming here and he has a relatively tight control on it.]

Other than reminding me of that awful outfit that I wore during that time.

Sender: Hans Westergaard; private

sender: Ferran; private

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