Amanda and Marie-Ange - Nightmares
Nov. 7th, 2025 03:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsBackdated to November.
Following her trial on the Witches' Road, Amanda is experiencing old nightmares. Marie-Ange is there.
"Blossom, where are you? I need a little pick-me-up, come to your old dad..."
She was running up a series of wooden stairs, creaking dangerously under her weight, fleeing the voice and the pain which would come with it if she let him catch her. Only the stairs kept going, twisting around and around and up...
"Come on now, Blossom, there's no use hiding. Don't make it worse for yourself..."
Her foot caught on a step and she fell forward, gashing open her knee, driving splinters under her nails as she clutched at the railing. Why was it so hard to run? Why were her boots so heavy and loose?
"Now, Mandy, come here and give us a suckle. Use that mouth of yours for something other than eating me out of house and home..."
She was shrinking, she realised, her sleeves overflowing her hands, her jeans too long and too loose. As she clutched at them, trying to hold them up, she realised she wasn't shrinking, she was getting younger, becoming the helpless little girl she'd been. It was the Road all over again, only this time she was alone and there was no-one to save her. Rack was getting closer, she could hear him behind her, but she couldn't look back. Looking back was dumb, it slowed you down...
Amanda looked back.
Rack's undead corpse was there, putrid and rotting, maggots squirming in the empty eye sockets, the jaw hanging off. "Give us a kiss, Mandy," he slurred at her, grabbing her by the arms and lifting her towards that ruined face. And Amanda was helpless, a child with no strength and no powers and no-one was coming...
Amanda bolted awake, clapping her hand over the scream that had risen to her lips. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her breath coming like she'd actually been running for her life and a cold sweat trickled down her back. But she was safely in the bed she shared with Marie-Ange and they were in the mansion, there was nothing after her and Rack was dead and gone and not coming after her.
Despite herself, a small sob escaped her.
At the first shift of pillow and blanket, Marie-Ange tried to burrow under her half of the covers, and made a little grunt of 'noooo' - undignified and annoyed and then the rest of her brain caught up to the noises, and she untangled herself, and sat up, and flicked on the little dim light that she kept clipped to the aggressively awful romance novel she'd been reading at night. "What? What happened, is someone ..." and then the -rest- of the rest of the noises caught up and she saw Amanda's posture - rigid and trembling. "Nightmare?" Marie-Ange asked - because if nothing else, those were as familiar to her as her own skin.
Amanda had sat up, knees drawn up towards her chest and arms wrapped around them. Without lifting her forehead from where it was resting on her knees, she nodded. Then, with a gulp, she managed, in a small voice, "'M sorry love. Didn't want t' wake you."
Marie-Ange made a soft noise - the vocal equivalent of an affectionate eyeroll. "Because you are worried I have poor sleep still, or you are trying to diminish your ..." She grunted. "Ah, what is the thing in English, when you have reoccurring memories that refuse to be quiet because you have trauma. It is three am, you know the word I mean, stop diminishing it."
With a noise that was halfway between a snort and a sob, Amanda uncurled and turned to her girlfriend, burrowing her face into Marie-Ange's shoulder. "It was Rack," she whispered after a long moment of collecting herself. "I was all alone and he was after me."
"Dreams are horseshit." A rare blunt profanity. "Not in the it does not matter meaning. They matter. In the our brains are awful and need to stop hurting is while we sleep meaning. Why would your brain do that to you, your brain is you." Marie-Ange glanced at the clock, did the math of "Are we going to get any further sleep tonight?", erred on the side of "yes, perhaps" and untucked her other arm from under the pillow, putting it around Amanda. "I would drag that man from whatever hell he is burning in a dozen times to kick him in the teeth if it would solve these nightmares. Or make you feel better about them. Do you want tea?"
"Not if it means you moving," came the reply, muffled from where Amanda had buried her face into Marie-Ange. But despite the slightly needy words, her tone was beginning to sound more normal, the shaking decreasing. "Ugh, I hate this. I know why its happening an' all, but it doesn't help when I'm in the middle of it."
"No moving means I am limited to water bottles or the leftover Gatorade." Which would mean turning on more than the clip-on light, so she could make one of her little images go fetch it. So maybe. The calculus of 'is the light being on going to make it impossible for either of us to get back to sleep' was beyond Marie-Ange's three am brain. What she could do was pat Amanda's back and make sure the nightmare hadn't done anything extra, like open up scars (which really would mean high alert) or just put knots all down Amanda's back muscles.
"'S all right. If I drink anything now, I'll have to go pee and then I won't go back to sleep. Just... keep rubbing my back? 'S nice." The witch nuzzled Marie-Ange's neck with her nose. "You're nice. 'M glad you're here."
"Am not." Marie-Ange said, almost automatically - low and quiet into Amanda's hair. "Shhh you cannot tell anyone I am nice. I will have to say a witch put a niceness curse on me."
Her hand kept moving in slow, steady circles between Amanda’s shoulders - nothing fancy, just pressure and warm fingers, spelling out you are safe, I am not going anywhere, it was not real, if it was I would have disposed of it, without a single word.
Amanda snorted a quiet laugh at the reflexive denial, and pressed a kiss onto Marie-Ange's neck. "Wild horses and all that," she promised, wrapping her arm around the other woman's waist and pulling her closer. "Just keeping doing that, yeah? For like, forever."
"As long as you want, or until my hand falls off." Marie-Ange said. "Or we decide my hand can do other things, I am multi-talented." It was the possibility of the option of maybe flirting. Well, flirting at middle of the night o'clock. Sleepy flirting.
Another low chuckle, vibrating against the sensitive skin of Marie-Ange's neck. "That you are, love."
Following her trial on the Witches' Road, Amanda is experiencing old nightmares. Marie-Ange is there.
"Blossom, where are you? I need a little pick-me-up, come to your old dad..."
She was running up a series of wooden stairs, creaking dangerously under her weight, fleeing the voice and the pain which would come with it if she let him catch her. Only the stairs kept going, twisting around and around and up...
"Come on now, Blossom, there's no use hiding. Don't make it worse for yourself..."
Her foot caught on a step and she fell forward, gashing open her knee, driving splinters under her nails as she clutched at the railing. Why was it so hard to run? Why were her boots so heavy and loose?
"Now, Mandy, come here and give us a suckle. Use that mouth of yours for something other than eating me out of house and home..."
She was shrinking, she realised, her sleeves overflowing her hands, her jeans too long and too loose. As she clutched at them, trying to hold them up, she realised she wasn't shrinking, she was getting younger, becoming the helpless little girl she'd been. It was the Road all over again, only this time she was alone and there was no-one to save her. Rack was getting closer, she could hear him behind her, but she couldn't look back. Looking back was dumb, it slowed you down...
Amanda looked back.
Rack's undead corpse was there, putrid and rotting, maggots squirming in the empty eye sockets, the jaw hanging off. "Give us a kiss, Mandy," he slurred at her, grabbing her by the arms and lifting her towards that ruined face. And Amanda was helpless, a child with no strength and no powers and no-one was coming...
Amanda bolted awake, clapping her hand over the scream that had risen to her lips. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her breath coming like she'd actually been running for her life and a cold sweat trickled down her back. But she was safely in the bed she shared with Marie-Ange and they were in the mansion, there was nothing after her and Rack was dead and gone and not coming after her.
Despite herself, a small sob escaped her.
At the first shift of pillow and blanket, Marie-Ange tried to burrow under her half of the covers, and made a little grunt of 'noooo' - undignified and annoyed and then the rest of her brain caught up to the noises, and she untangled herself, and sat up, and flicked on the little dim light that she kept clipped to the aggressively awful romance novel she'd been reading at night. "What? What happened, is someone ..." and then the -rest- of the rest of the noises caught up and she saw Amanda's posture - rigid and trembling. "Nightmare?" Marie-Ange asked - because if nothing else, those were as familiar to her as her own skin.
Amanda had sat up, knees drawn up towards her chest and arms wrapped around them. Without lifting her forehead from where it was resting on her knees, she nodded. Then, with a gulp, she managed, in a small voice, "'M sorry love. Didn't want t' wake you."
Marie-Ange made a soft noise - the vocal equivalent of an affectionate eyeroll. "Because you are worried I have poor sleep still, or you are trying to diminish your ..." She grunted. "Ah, what is the thing in English, when you have reoccurring memories that refuse to be quiet because you have trauma. It is three am, you know the word I mean, stop diminishing it."
With a noise that was halfway between a snort and a sob, Amanda uncurled and turned to her girlfriend, burrowing her face into Marie-Ange's shoulder. "It was Rack," she whispered after a long moment of collecting herself. "I was all alone and he was after me."
"Dreams are horseshit." A rare blunt profanity. "Not in the it does not matter meaning. They matter. In the our brains are awful and need to stop hurting is while we sleep meaning. Why would your brain do that to you, your brain is you." Marie-Ange glanced at the clock, did the math of "Are we going to get any further sleep tonight?", erred on the side of "yes, perhaps" and untucked her other arm from under the pillow, putting it around Amanda. "I would drag that man from whatever hell he is burning in a dozen times to kick him in the teeth if it would solve these nightmares. Or make you feel better about them. Do you want tea?"
"Not if it means you moving," came the reply, muffled from where Amanda had buried her face into Marie-Ange. But despite the slightly needy words, her tone was beginning to sound more normal, the shaking decreasing. "Ugh, I hate this. I know why its happening an' all, but it doesn't help when I'm in the middle of it."
"No moving means I am limited to water bottles or the leftover Gatorade." Which would mean turning on more than the clip-on light, so she could make one of her little images go fetch it. So maybe. The calculus of 'is the light being on going to make it impossible for either of us to get back to sleep' was beyond Marie-Ange's three am brain. What she could do was pat Amanda's back and make sure the nightmare hadn't done anything extra, like open up scars (which really would mean high alert) or just put knots all down Amanda's back muscles.
"'S all right. If I drink anything now, I'll have to go pee and then I won't go back to sleep. Just... keep rubbing my back? 'S nice." The witch nuzzled Marie-Ange's neck with her nose. "You're nice. 'M glad you're here."
"Am not." Marie-Ange said, almost automatically - low and quiet into Amanda's hair. "Shhh you cannot tell anyone I am nice. I will have to say a witch put a niceness curse on me."
Her hand kept moving in slow, steady circles between Amanda’s shoulders - nothing fancy, just pressure and warm fingers, spelling out you are safe, I am not going anywhere, it was not real, if it was I would have disposed of it, without a single word.
Amanda snorted a quiet laugh at the reflexive denial, and pressed a kiss onto Marie-Ange's neck. "Wild horses and all that," she promised, wrapping her arm around the other woman's waist and pulling her closer. "Just keeping doing that, yeah? For like, forever."
"As long as you want, or until my hand falls off." Marie-Ange said. "Or we decide my hand can do other things, I am multi-talented." It was the possibility of the option of maybe flirting. Well, flirting at middle of the night o'clock. Sleepy flirting.
Another low chuckle, vibrating against the sensitive skin of Marie-Ange's neck. "That you are, love."
