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isitgintimeyet · 5 years

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Road To The Aisles

AO3

Thank you all for continuing to read. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge @happytoobserve @wickedgoodbooks for all their support advice and encouragement

So, perhaps it’s time to introduce William to Lallybroch...

Chapter 8: A Discontented Minor

“Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.”

― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Jamie finished typing a message and pressed send as Ian wandered into his office.

“So, are ye ready fer Jenny tae come back tae work next week, then?” Jamie asked, motioning for Ian to sit.

“Aye, weel, I think it’ll be a wee bit hectic at first getting the kids tae nursery and pre-school, but I can tell she’s itching tae come back. And it’s a good time tae do it, with the marketing campaign in Japan tae sort out. Which is why I’m here… dinna forget tae sign off the budget fer the campaign, will ye?”

“I’ll do it now…” Jamie glanced at his phone. “Ah, she’s opened the message… wait fer it… five… four… three… two…”

His mobile phone started to ring. Ian made to get up, but Jamie motioned for him to stay as he answered the phone.

“Hello.”

From the look of exasperation on Jamie’s face, it was clear to whom he was speaking. The one sided conversation continued.

“Aye weel, I wasna actually asking fer yer permission. I was telling ye out of courtesy which is more than ye do when visiting with yer mother down in England --”

“It’s on ma time with him, Geneva. It’s no’ affecting ye at all. We drive up on Saturday and come back on Tuesday.”

Ian could see Jamie growing tenser as he listened to Geneva’s unwarranted concerns. His fingers tapped against the desk.

“Christ, it’s Lallybroch. It’s no’ the wilderness. There are doctors there, ye ken. And Claire’s coming too.”

Jamie rolled his eyes at Ian.

“Dinna be daft. I’m no’ taking him mountain climbing or such like. That’s the end of discussion, Geneva. I will pick him up on Friday as arranged. Goodbye.”

Jamie put the phone down and breathed deeply.

Ian smiled. “Tough call?”

“That woman, I swear. Thinking I need her permission tae take ma son away fer a weekend. And I’m sure she thinks Lallybroch is some sort of shack in the middle of nowhere with no running water and an outdoor privy.”

“Ye never took her tae Lallybroch, did ye?”

“Nah, only Claire.” Jamie paused for a moment, thinking back to that first visit. “So, are ye driving up on Saturday too?”

“Aye,” Ian laughed. “Jenny wants us tae be on the road afore eight o’clock. I canna see that meself.”

“Me neither. I never realised how much more complicated everything is with a bairn.”

*****************

“Sassenach,” Jamie called to Claire as he finished loading up the car. “Do ye reckon we’ve got everything we need?”

Claire emerged from the house carrying William in his car seat. “Think you’ve got everything you need for six months, let alone a weekend. Just one thing missing…” she passed the car seat over to Jamie.

William let out a high pitched squeal before he resumed sucking the sodden ear of his plush dog. Jamie blew a raspberry against his cheek and secured him in the back of the car.

As Jamie climbed into the driver’s seat, he checked one more time. “Are ye sure we havena forgotten anything?”

Claire sighed. “If you’re that worried, why not check the list that Geneva sent you?”

Jamie shook his head. “Definitely no’. If she sees that I’ve opened it, she’ll think I canna cope, that I need her tae tell me how tae care fer ma son. And that isna going tae happen.”

Somewhat later than planned, they left the suburbs of Glasgow, away from the city traffic and towards quieter roads and fresher air. There were the usual caravans and motorhomes dawdling along -- tourists trying to navigate the roads and take in the wonderful scenery at the same time. Jamie made no effort to overtake them but kept a leisurely pace too, his mind partly on the road but also on the weekend ahead.

There were so many things he wanted to show William: the tree he used to climb as a boy; the thicket where he used to hide from grown ups; the little cave that became his and Ian’s den (with absolutely no girls allowed, ‘that means ye too, Jenny Fraser’); the secret glen where he went swimming. He knew, of course, that William wouldn’t be able to remember any of this, but he wanted these places and the atmosphere of Lallybroch to be part of William… to be in his blood.

There was also another thought playing on his mind. As the sun finally peeped out from behind a cloud, Jamie pulled into his favourite stopping place. He climbed out of the car and stretched before walking around to check on William, who was fast asleep. Claire came and stood next to him. Jamie put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close.

“Sassenach, afore we get tae Lallybroch, there’s something I want tae discuss. This weekend with Da and Jenny and, weel, everyone, I want us tae start planning our wedding. I mean, actual planning wi’ real dates. But there’s one thing that’s fer us two tae decide and no one else. And that’s where we have it.”

Claire placed a hand on Jamie’s chest as he continued.

“I ken ye like Kelvingrove Art Gallery. We could get married there or -”

“Lallybroch.” Claire spoke decisively.

“What?”

“Lallybroch,” She repeated. “Can we get married at Lallybroch?”

“Are ye sure? Ye’re no’ jes’ saying that fer me?”

“No… for me. I want us to be married at Lallybroch. Do you think your father will let us?”

“Let us? Sassenach, Da’ll be thrilled, truly.”

“Well, come on, let’s carry on and see how far we can get before William wakes up.”

***********

It was a very relieved Jamie and Claire that arrived at Lallybroch some time later. The rest of the journey, initially, had been wonderful, with William asleep and the sun shining down. Then the weather and the baby both went downhill. As the clouds started to gather, William woke up.

To begin with, he was content to amuse himself by making a variety of squeals and babbles and gnawing on his toy dog, but by the time the rain began to lash at the car’s windscreen William was getting decidedly fed up and made his feelings known loudly and clearly.

As Jamie carried William into the kitchen, his cries subsided to a series of small sobs and sniffles. With his lower lip jutting out in a decided sulk, he was in no mood to greet his waiting family. He buried his face into his father’s neck.

“Look William,” Jamie said encouragingly as he turned the baby around. “Here’s Grandda and Murtagh come tae say hello.”

William looked at Brian briefly before turning his attention to Murtagh. He reached his arms out and firmly grabbed Murtagh’s beard. He gave a happy chuckle as Murtagh took him from Jamie, the baby refusing to release his grip on the beard.

Jamie turned to Brian. “Who’d have thought it? Our Murtagh’s a regular Mary Poppins.”

*************

The pandemonium that comes with the arrival of four adults, one little boy, one toddler, one baby, and all the associated luggage eventually died down and some semblance of calm was restored at Lallybroch.

“Come along, Jamie. Intae the kitchen wi’ ye. It’s tea time.” Jenny tried to attract the attention of her son as she strapped Maggie into the old wooden high chair, previously occupied by several generations of Fraser children.

Claire sat with William in her arms as Jamie prepared his bottle.

Wee Jamie stomped into the kitchen, a look of fury on his face.

“I’m no’ a wee bairn. I wanna eat wi’ the growed ups, no’ the babies,” he informed his mother.

“Och no, that’s too late fer ye. Well past yer bedtime.” Jenny put a cushion on a chair and motioned for him to sit. “Ye’ll eat yer pasta now please, young man.”

With a scowl on his face, Wee Jamie sat and began to eat. Jenny sat next to Maggie and spooned pasta into her mouth while Maggie dived into the bowl with her hands, enjoying the feel of the food between her fingers.

Jamie settled himself next to Claire as she fed William. The adults began to talk.

“I canna believe how big Maggie is getting. She’s enjoying that food, right enough.”

“Aye and she no’ far off walking now. There’ll be no stopping her.”

“With William no’ far behind. Did I tell ye, Claire’s bought him a Scotland rugby shirt? We keep it at our house. I’m no’ sure Geneva would like it…”

As they carried on their conversation, Wee Jamie began dragging his spoon along his plate, trying to make as much noise as possible in protest. His mother gave him a warning stare. Wee Jamie watched his sister, now smearing sauce around her mouth. However, his mother and uncle and even Claire seemed to find Maggie amusing. He tutted.

Finally the children’s dinner was over. Jenny attacked her son’s hands and face with a washcloth.

“Now ye can go and play. Go find yer Da. We’ll see tae the babies’ bath and bed and then it’ll be time fer yer story afore bed. Ok?” Jenny kissed her son’s cheek as he quickly got off the chair and ran out of the room.

Jenny, with an efficiency born of years of practice, and Jamie, with somewhat less efficiency, handled the bathing of Maggie and William together in the large roll top bath and put them to sleep in adjacent cots in the spare bedroom designated by Brian as the nursery.

Jenny now turned her attention to Wee Jamie and called for him to come and prepare for bed. With no response from her son, Jenny quickly moved from room to room before hurrying downstairs to Ian who was chatting with Brian, Murtagh and Claire.

“Is Jamie wi’ ye?” she asked, quickly looking around.

Ian looked up from his conversation. “I assume ye mean our son, no’ yer brother. He was here a while ago and then wandered off. I asked if he was going tae find ye and he agreed.”

“Well, he’s not answering me.” A thought crossed Jenny’s mind and the colour drained from her face. “He’s no’ gone out has he? I ken he likes tae go tae the field where the horses are, but he kens fine well he canna do that on his own.”

Brian got up and laid a hand on Jenny’s shoulders. “Dinna fash. The doors are locked. He’s around the house somewhere… probably laughing his wee socks off.”

“I’ll help Jamie look upstairs, shall I?” Claire slipped out of the room and headed upstairs.

As she poked her head around the door to Jamie’s room, Jamie was sitting on the end of the bed. Without making a sound, he put on a mime show -- pointing under the bed, putting his fingers to his lips and then pointing at Claire before making a walking motion with his fingers. Claire understood and backed out of the room.

Jamie heard her going downstairs and started to talk. “Aye, weel, Sassenach, ye ken when I was a wee lad and dinna want tae be bothered wi’ people, I’d hide under ma bed. Once I hid under there so long I missed a batch of chocolate brownies that Mrs Crook had baked. I came out tae find Jenny had eaten ma share. But then it served her right, she got awfa sick in the night with tummy ache and…”

He paused as he heard a snigger from under the bed before resuming. “But, Sassenach, it was no’ so nice under the bed and it got awfa lonely down there. No-one tae talk tae, no books, no toys, jes’ me and the dust bunnies makin’ me sneeze.”

Another snigger came from under the bed, followed by a small voice. “That’s silly, Unca Jamie. There’s no bunnies here.”

“Sorry, I thought I heard something…”

“It’s me, Unca.” A rather dusty little boy slowly emerged alongside Jamie’s feet.

“Aye, so it is. So, Jamie, would ye mind telling me why ye decided tae hide under the bed and no’ answer yer Mam?”

His nephew looked down, wiped his hands against his trousers and muttered something.

Jamie scooted up the bed to rest his back against the headboard and patted the bed next to him. “Come here and talk tae me.”

Wee Jamie clambered next to Jamie and sat beside him, mirroring his uncle’s posture, legs stretched out with ankles crossed, hands in his lap.

“Ye willna understand.” Wee Jamie pouted.

“Try me. Why did ye hide?”

“I dinna ken if anyone’d notice. Mam and Da and ye, Unca, ye’ve got the babies. Ye’re always minding them. And Grandda and Murtagh were talking about work.”

“So ye felt left out, is that it?”

Wee Jamie nodded. His uncle put his arm around him. “Ah, lad, I’m sorry if I made ye feel that way, and I dare say it seems tae ye that William and Maggie take a lot of looking after but it will get better, I promise. I’m still learning how tae be William’s Da, ye ken, so sometimes it takes me longer tae do things wi’ him. And soon the three of ye will be able to play together and Maggie and William will look up tae ye as the big boy.”

“I’ll be the boss?” A small smile crept onto Wee Jamie’s face.

“Aye, ye’ll be the boss. Just like yer mam was with me.”

“Da says she still is.”

Jamie laughed. “Ye’re no’ wrong there. And how about tomorrow, when I go fer a walk, ye come wi’ me?”

His nephew’s face lit up. “Jes’ ye and me?”

“Weel, I have tae be honest. William will come too in the baby carrier. We have tae show him around, but ye can help me. And I need somebody more grown up tae talk to and tae skim stones with. What do ye say?”

A half-hearted cry suddenly came from the baby monitor next to Jamie. The little boy tensed, waiting for his uncle to abandon the conversation. It took all of Jamie’s willpower not to go and check on William, but he realised how important this was to his namesake. So he stayed still and waited, feeling his nephew relax once more.

“OK, then. If ye need me tae help ye.”

Claire peered around the door. Jamie beckoned her in and she joined them on the bed, the grown ups sandwiching the little boy between them. She nodded at Jamie.

“Actually, lad,” Jamie began. “There is something else ye can help us with too. Ye ken me and yer Auntie are planning on getting married this year, don’t ye? Weel, we need someone tae be the ring bearer at the wedding…”

“The bear?” Wee Jamie looked puzzled.

Jamie laughed. “No’ the bear… the bearer. It means someone whose job it is tae carry the rings and keep them safe at the wedding. And Claire and I want ye to do that.”

“Me ‘n’ the babies?”

“No, Jamie.” Claire joined in the conversation. “Just you on your own. It’s an important job. Would you do that for us, please?”

Wee Jamie pretended to be deep in thought, rubbing his grubby hand across his face. “Aye, Unca, Care bear, if ye need me, I will.”

“Thanks, lad.” Jamie ruffled his nephew’s hair.

“Unca, will I stand next tae ye?”

“Aye, ye will. All the lassies will be lookin’ at us in our fine kilts.”

Jamie’s face fell. “I havena got a kilt.”

“Dinna fash. We’ll get ye a whole outfit. Now go and tell yer Mam the news… and get yerself a bath. Ye’re a filthy wee gomeril.”

Wee Jamie grinned as he ran out of the bedroom to find his mother

#outlander fan fiction #outlander fanfic #Road To The Aisles #Jamie Fraser #claire beauchamp #modern au #Chapter 8 #wee jamie too

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borhapstyles · 5 years

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Girl Crush (Ben Hardy Imagine)

Description: In another version of Bohemian Rhapsody, you are one of the main actresses and have fallen in love with Ben Hardy. Unfortunately, he’s dating someone else and you are left with nothing but to simply watch them be together. Based off the song Girl Crush (Harry Styles version)

Warnings: Some serious unrequited love. Possibly too cheesy, who knows. Word Count: 3.5k

Note: This was originally going to be for Rami but I kept re-writing it for weeks and wasn’t satisfied until I came up with this. I listened to Girl Crush and When The Party’s Over when writing it so it might add to it if you listen to them. Also, I made up some stuff in there about a film and name-dropped Harry Styles so just go with it lol

Please know I have nothing against Katriona Perrett nor her relationship with Ben; I don’t know her well but I’m sure she’s a lovely girl and I wish them happiness. I’ve simply used her name for the purposes of this.

I poured a lot of myself into this so please enjoy. Love xx

—

You loved him.

Actually, love in the present tense because your heart still clenches at the sight of them together.

You love him.

But you’re not his and he definitely isn’t yours. Although the former may not be the truth half the time because you’re secretly his, you’ve reserved yourself to be. He just doesn’t know it yet.

You watch painfully as she spills another one of her jokes which in his eyes, are the best thing in the world. The crinkle of his eyes and scrunch of his nose bring butterflies to you but they are killed off as soon as they spring up.

With a drink in your hand, you sip it meagrely. You feel creepy watching the two of them have their moment but also can’t help it; you wish so badly that it was you giving him all that joy.

You could just hear his low, honeyed voice now, directing sweet nothings into your ear.

She places a hand on his chest and he wraps an arm around her body, tugging her in closer. He laughs again and looks at her as if she’s got all the light in the world wrapped around her.

If you tried hard enough, you could probably break the glass in your hand but you weren’t at that point. Not yet.

Your teeth sink down onto your lips, harsh enough to draw blood though you had been chewing on them all night.

You didn’t want to go to that party, you really didn’t. You knew that they would come together and that they would be exactly as you are seeing them now. But his sweet, charming voice convincing you to tag along just for “a drink or two and a laugh.” You couldn’t say no to his pleading eyes and agreed to be there just for a bit.

It was, after all, the last night out after you had finished filming Bo Rhap and he guilted you by saying this was going to be one of the last times you guys got together. You wanted to tell him he was wrong; there was a whole press tour and line of premieres afterwards but so it goes. You went anyways to the party at Brian May’s London house.

And now, a couple hours into your night out, you were finally up until they arrived thirty minutes ago.

They looked radiant, a real power couple that looked like they could withstand whatever Hollywood threw at them.

Ben Hardy and Katriona Perrett; even their names placed them among the stars.

You hate yourself for feeling so envious, so spiteful of their relationship but could you help it if you were in love with one of the people in it?

You also didn’t mean to fall in love with him as you did. You tried not to but when you realised your feelings you were a moment too late, as she had already made a move and he seemed to gladly accept it.

“You alright?”

Gwilym’s voice tears you away from your painful thoughts. You look up at the man as he grabs the seat next to you to see what you were looking at.

You open your mouth to reply but nothing seems to come out and so you simply shrug.

“I see.” Gwil says. He downs the drink in his hand before glancing at you, shaking his head once more.

“That’s not going to help, you know.”

“You think I don’t know that?” You snap in reply. His eyes bulge slightly and you feign remorse.

“S-Sorry, I don’t mean to.”

He nods. “That’s alright, I know. I’m sorry you have to feel this.”

“I am too.” You reply, swirling the alcoholic concoction around in your hand. “I’ve never felt more pathetic.”

Gwil’s brows furrow. “What’s there to feel pathetic for? Don’t tell me it’s your feelings, there’s nothing pathetic about how you feel.”

You shrug again. “I’m literally sitting here watching the two of them fall more in love like some peeping Tom who’s trying to get over their unrequited love. He doesn’t even think of me and yet I’d still drop everything for him, it’s pathetic.”

Gwil looks down into his lap as guilt washing over him. He can’t help but feel partially responsible for your hurt for reasons he could never disclose with you without tainting your friendship with him. He thinks back to the conversation he had with the on-screen Roger Taylor and sighs.

“Look,” He begins whilst placing a hand on your shoulder. “It’s not pathetic. Maybe a bit much, but you’re in love with the man and love makes you mad sometimes.”

He searches your eyes for any emotion but you sit expressionless as tears bubble up to the brims of your eyes.

“I know you don’t want to hear this but he’s found happiness, and I think you should start trying to find yours as well because it’s the only way you’ll be able to healthily get through all this.”

You glance at him through hooded eyes and say the next few words so lowly that it’s just him who hears. “What if he’s my happiness?”

“Then he’ll make his way to you.”

Joe, Lucy and Rami drop by before you can reply. Gwil updates them on your dilemma, being the only other people besides himself to know. The three are silent as they follow your gaze at Ben.

Lucy places a hand on her shoulder, sympathy seeping out of her blue eyes.

“We need to get you fucked or something.” She says. The four of you laugh as you shake your head.

She winks, prompted by the amusement. “I’m serious! A little palette cleanser! It’s not going to hurt anyone is it?”

You sigh, nose scrunched. “Problem is, Lucy, if I’m gonna have sex, I kinda want it to be with someone I like.”

Rami moves his head around, as if searching for someone to set you up with. He makes accidental eye contact with Ben, who he gives the “what’s up” head nod before going back to the small circle you guys made. “Take your pick of anyone in the room, although I wouldn’t go for Gwil or Joe if I were you. They can be divas sometimes.”

Laughter erupts from the four of you again as you lean your head on Gwil’s shoulder in consolation. Joe fake cries, “I thought you loved me, Rami! I thought we had something real!”

Ben watches silently at the gesture. He couldn’t help but feel something when you got closer to Gwil, although it might just be annoyance because you hadn’t said anything to him all night yet you were fine with the other Bo Rhap boys.

Before you can speak into the circle, you hear your name called across the room. You’d know that voice from anywhere; it’s your favorite one.

Ben’s waving his arms around to signal for you to come and you can’t help but giggle at the dork. You notice Katriona’s absence as you make your way towards the loveseat her and Ben occupied. He pats the spot that she sat in before disappearing and you want to laugh, almost as though you’re wrongfully taking her place.

“I feel like we haven’t spoken to each other in so long, Y/N! How’ve you been? Don’t tell me you’ve been getting close with Gwil now.” Ben speaks at a pace much faster than normal and you know that he’s already had quite a few drinks in him. He winks cheekily at the last bit, causing you to shake your head.

“He’s more like a brother to me if you wanna be creepy like that.” You respond and he laughs.

“Good. You deserve someone who’s gonna make you laugh and you guys didn’t look like you were having a good time.”

You smile at his words. If only he knew. “We were just talking about life, really. He was giving me some advice.”

“Oh? Advice on what? Maybe I can help.” He offers eagerly. You swallow hard, not only because of the nature of your conversation but also because you hadn’t spoken to him in quite some time.

“No, no. That’s okay, it was small.” You quickly shut down any further interrogation. “How have you been though?”

Ben frowns for a moment before replying. “I feel like I should ask you that, I haven’t seen you in so long. Have you been avoiding me or something?” He jokes, a smirk teetering off his lips.

You shake your head, forcing a smile. “Nah, just been doing a lot of things.”

“We should set up a time to hang out though, are you free next week?”

“Y/N! My goodness, you look lovely!” Your head snaps up to meet Katriona’s warm eyes. She’s back with two drinks in her hand and genuine excitement on her face from seeing you.

That was another issue in all this; she’s so fucking nice it hurts. You couldn’t hate her even if you tried because she’s nothing but sweet to you and you don’t know how to react sometimes. Lucy’s much closer to you than she is to Katriona but tells you to be civil because of how welcoming she is.

You knew all Katriona wanted was to be happy as well and you feel guilty for thinking ill of their relationship.

Ben takes the drink from her as she goes to sit on his lap, squeezing the three of you tight into the love seat.

“Thank you.” You say, scooting yourself over as much as you can with the inch of space you have left.

“Did I miss anything?” She grins, eyes flicking back between you and Ben.

He juts his lips out, forehead wrinkles popping out as he shrugs. “Just trying to schedule a day for us to get together again.”

“Oh yes! I’d love that!” Katriona exclaims. “A double date, yeah? Y/N, tell me you’ve got someone special in your life now.”

Ben eyes you, curious for an answer as you stutter. “U-Uh, no. Not really.”

She frowns. “That’s impossible, you’re absolutely stunning, any person would be daft not to fall for you.”

Yes, any person but your boyfriend apparently. You think to yourself.

You hop onto your feet, suddenly feeling like the loveseat was too crowded. You clutch your bag tightly and shake your head.

“Nah, it’s just not the right time, really.”

“Aw, well I still wanna schedule a day for all of us. Please let me know.” She persists and you sip your drink. Ben furrows his brows as you stand, Katriona taking her spot back.

“Yeah! Of course. I just can’t give you an answer right now though, I’m leaving for LA next week, but I’ll text you guys after that?”

“Oo, what’s in LA?”

“My next film, it’s called La La Land, I’m opposite Harry Styles in it.” You reply, glancing at Ben who’s been quiet the whole time. You hadn’t told him you had something else going on.

“You are?” He asks, a bit offended that you didn’t mention anything to him.

“Y-Yeah, I’ve been prepping for it for the last couple of weeks and rehearsals start next week.” The disappointment is evident in his eyes when you meet them.

Before Katriona can say anything, Lucy, who was standing watching the whole thing unfold, senses your unease and steps in.

“Hiya! Sorry to bother but Y/N,” She places a hand on your arm. “There’s something I wanted to ask you and I wanted to before I forgot.”

You nod quickly, eyes screaming a “thank you” as you leave Ben and Katriona. She beams, waving at you as you walk away.

“My god, I need to leave.” You say once they’re out of earshot. Lucy giggles a “you’re welcome” before leading you to the door.

“You know, you’re going to have to be her friend someday.”

You sigh. “I’m trying here, I am. It’s not going to happen over night.” You can’t help the guilt; you really did wish you could appreciate Katriona but you can never get the image of her and Ben together out of your head, much less kick Ben out of your heart. “I’m a bit relieved now that filming is over because then I really won’t have to be around him anymore. No matter how much I wanna see him, it also kills me to.”

“Until the film comes out. Then you’ll have to see him every day for another month and a half for press.” Lucy reminds and you roll your eyes.

"That’s not for a while though. That gives me time to fall in love with someone else who hopefully won’t break my heart and there, I’ll be over him.”

“Yeah.” She smiles lovingly. “I’m looking forward to that too for you. I’m tired of seeing you so hung up on him, no matter how lovely he is.” You groan, pulling her in for a hug.

“Lucy, I hate him.” You whisper and she lets out a breath.

“I know, love. He’s the worst isn’t he?”

“He stole my heart. He’s the absolute devil.”

She laughs and pats your back, pulling away from the hug. “Look, I’m not giving you any false hope, but you never know how these things work. Give it some time.”

“I doubt things will change.” You reply. “He looks so...” You trail off, watching Ben and Katriona sit on the couch, his arm around her, conversing about who knows what. They look comfortable; something you can’t say for yourself.

“Be as optimistic or pessimistic as you want. But know that there is someone out there for you, whether it be Ben or who knows, maybe someone out in LA next week. But whoever they are, they’re waiting for you with open arms, ready for you to love them, and they’re going to be perfect for you.”

You smile at your best friend as she pulls you in for another hug. “Don’t lose hope.” She whispers.

“Thank you.” You utter. “I think I should go home now, I’m not really in the partying mood anymore.”

“Alright.” Lucy frowns. “I’ll see you in a couple of days for lunch before you leave, yeah? The boys and I wanna wish you good luck on your next project.”

“Of course, of course. Give my love to everyone, yeah?” You smile her once more before making your rounds to everyone left at the party, who all frown at the thought of seeing you go. You didn’t really want to leave everyone else, but for your own sanity, you had to. You knew you’d see everyone again at the release of the film and decided you’d come back a happier, stronger person at that time.

You feel Ben’s eyes burning into you, as if he’s expecting you to walk over to him but you decide to avoid his gaze. After waving to Roger and Brian once more, you depart from the party with your chin up.

On the Uber ride home, you are silent. You originally planned for Gwil to drive you back but part of you is grateful you left because who knows when Gwil would’ve decided to go home, let alone pressed you to speak at a time when you didn’t want to.

You scroll mindlessly through Instagram and sigh. Most of the photos you’re seeing are of people living their best lives and you wonder how many of them are genuinely content with their positions in life. Your feed was similar to most people in that it exhibited the side of yourself that you let people see. If only they knew the displeasure you had been feeling for a while now.

As an actress, you saved your dramatics for the screen. You loathed those who aired their dirty laundry and felt it wasn’t anyone’s business to know what was going on in your personal life. After all, it’s one of the only things that grounds you.

You scroll further down your feed to the two photos you had posted of you and Ben. One was a mirror selfie in your costumes for that day’s shooting and the other was a candid of you guys laughing. Your heart clenches at the memory for it felt like a lifetime ago that it happened. As for the day you posted it, everyone flocked to the photos to comment how cute of a couple you two would be and shipped you both.

But you and Ben never spoke of everyone’s comments for fear on your end that it would make things awkward, and that was that.

“Hey, you’re Y/N Y/L/N, right?” The Uber driver’s voice rips you away from your thoughts and prompts you to nod.

“I loved your work in that one movie!” They rattle off details about it before you finally give them to name, to which they snap and say “that’s the one! I thought that was one of your best movies, if I’m honest. My daughter is a big fan of your acting in that one.”

This time, a genuine smile makes its way onto your lips as you look up. “Thank you so much, it means a lot to hear that people actually like what I’m doing." You joke.

“Haha, yeah. I get that, but you’re great at what you do.” That simple remark causes you two to spring into a conversation about your favorite films and for the first time that night, your thoughts are not consumed by Ben.

Back in the party, Katriona is now asleep on Ben’s shoulder. He smiles down at her for a moment before sipping the last of his water. He hadn’t drank that much, enough to get him buzzed and a little more talkative, but the water is a nice pause from everything else.

He can’t help but sigh as you cross his mind. You didn’t even say goodbye to him. In fact, you haven’t said much to him at all. Anger begins to run through him, why didn’t you tell him about your new film? Why haven’t you said anything at all?

Ben realises just how little you guys have interacted over the several, aside from the usual “good morning” followed by a smile.

Your part in the film wasn’t gigantic but you managed to charm your way into everyone’s heart whilst on set. And when you finished your scenes, the rest of the cast and crew still had a month and a half to go but that didn’t stop you from popping on set every now and then.

Naturally, when Ben started dating Katriona, he dedicated more of his time to making their relationship work. But that didn’t mean he didn’t think of you every once in awhile and missed hanging around. He went from being with you most hours of his day, whether it was alone or with a big group, to hardly seeing you at all. Even when you did visit, he noticed you made less and less of an effort to stay speaking with him.

This killed him a bit because you two had gotten so close and now you seem to give him the cold shoulder all the time.

He wanted to believe it was just because you were occupied helping other people around set all the time now but since you are so abrupt to leave him and Katriona now, he knows something must be off.

“Hey!” a drunk Joe shouts as he swings by. He glances at the two of them and raises his eyebrows. “So you guys still together, huh.”

Ben laughs at his shit-faced friend, nodding. “Yep, back together.”

Joe frowns, taking a seat on the coffee table across the couple. “That’s a shame.” Ben furrows his brows at his friend’s words.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because,” Joe waves his hands around trying to remember what he was going to say next. He gulps before speaking. “I don’t know if I should say it. She might get mad at me for telling you.”

“No no. Please tell me, Joe.” Ben snaps, half-annoyed at him and wondering if he’s speaking his true opinion. “It’s gotta be important since you’re sitting here, criticizing my relationship with my girlfriend. Whoever you think might get mad, I’m sure they won’t mind.”

“Well, I guess you know her better than I do so I should probably say it.” He replies, pursing his lips. Ben hangs on to his every word, now completely invested. Who’s he talking about?

Joe nods to himself, looking down into the ground to casually say, “It’s kinda a shame because Y/N is in love with you, ya know? She’s so hung-up on you, it’s endearing but sucks to watch her go through it. Also kinda awkward cause you guys are perfect for each other yet you’re still dating someone else.”

Ben stares blankly at his friend, who smiles at him happily, as if he didn’t just reveal something huge to him. Something that Ben didn’t quite consider a possibility until it was just said. He licks his lips, jaw dropped in disbelief.

“She’s what?”

—

Edit: Ah hi friends! I wasn’t expecting such love for this story, so thank you so much for that! :)

Read Part Two Here

Send me feedback, nsfw talk for Rami, Ben or Freddie or just overall love right here :)

#ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy fanfic #ben hardy one shot #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy smut #gwilym lee #joe mazzello #rami malek #lucy boynton #bohemian rhapsody #bo rhap #bo rhap cast

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ecotone99 · 4 years

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[HR] A Wholly Superior Creature - Part II: The Priest

Part II: The Priest

Tom loomed over the warming mug of beer like a sulking vulture. Two chubby wads of bloody toilet paper jut from his swollen nostrils. He spun the mug, having no interest in what was left.

"Cheer up, Thomas," Sergeant Donnell said, slapping the sour photographer on the back. "the station is going to reimburse you for the busted camera."

"My parents bought me that camera as a gift for getting into art school, Sergeant."

I felt a quarter-past half-bad, but I did my best to try and follow the Sergeant's lead. "I know exactly how you feel, Tom."

He looked up at me. His swollen, sullen face tilting, annoyed. "Oh, really?"

"Oh yeah," I said. "When I first came on the job and I was working with Roger, I had this pocket watch that my granddad gave me as a gift for making it through the academy and passing my detective's exam. Real pricey, made out of solid steel. One of those old railroad style watches you see now in those western flicks. Had the shiny silver face plate, the wheel you'd wind at the top to keep it running. The whole deal. Authentic. He even had the inside inscribed with his favorite quote." I framed my hands as if examining a freshly hung portrait. "A man delights when he does what he was built to do."

With absolute authority the Sergeant chimed in. "William Shakespeare."

"Marcus Aurelius."

"Same difference," He said, shrugging it off like an unwelcome pat on the back.

"Anyway. So my first day in homicide, Roger takes me over to an apartment complex where a woman reported a foul smell coming from her neighbor's place. Turns out he'd been shot over some money a few days before and we bust down the door only to find that he's been laying in a pool of his own stink and filth for a few days."

Tom's eyelids started to buckle in boredom. "And?"

"And so I pull out my watch to check the time of our arrival for the report. Roger bumps into me. The watch spills out of my hand and falls slap bang into a pile of ruptured guts and excrement."

The Sergeant chuckled a fat bubble into his beer mug.

Tom's puffy cheeks snapped up like an umbrella in a rainstorm.

"Roger, he just looks at me and says. "Well, you'll never get the smell outta that."

They both started laughing.

I shook my head. "That old bastard never even said sorry."

"Roger never was one to apologize for anything," Sergeant Donnell said, then took a slug of beer.

"Consider this," I said, toasting my beer at Tom. "an olive branch from a man who has suffered the loss of something dear because a fellow officer acted rashly in the course of his duty."

Tom was laughing so hard, tears were rolling down his cheeks. As he wiped them away he asked. "Still have the watch?"

I reached into my jacket and showed it to them.

"And?"

"Doesn't work and Roger was right about the smell."

The both broke open again with laughter.

"Well if it doesn't work," Tom said, swallowing a chuckle. "why do you keep it?"

"It's right twice a day. The inscription reminds me why I do the job; and the smell, well, that keeps me grounded."

The memory reminded me just how much I missed Roger. I told myself I should go by his place, visit him and Mary.

The door of the pub groaned open. The dying light from the falling sun pierced the dark interior. Through the beams we saw a patrolman step inside. In one hand he held a paper sack, in the other was a folio. The line of his mouth was drawn taut and the ghostly color on his face didn't match his olive-tan skin.

I couldn't remember his name, but we'd told him to take Tom's camera over to the one-hour photo development place to see if they could salvage any of the pictures I'd taken.

"Officer Tasker." The Sarge was always good with names.

"Sir," Tasker said. "Here's your camera, Tom."

I knew something was wrong when the patrolman went to hand me folio, a palsied tremor quaked down his wrists to the tips of his fingers.

I flipped open the folio and pulled out a deck of photos. Most of them would turn out to be blurred snapshots of a dark figure, but one set a lump in my throat.

The last one.

What I couldn't see, even though the flash had perfectly illuminated the area around his head, was a single human feature. Where should have been eyes, a nose, and a mouth was a flat slate.

"What is it, Sam?" The Sarge asked as he pulled the photo out of my hand.

I looked up at Tasker, whose face was etched like a graven idol. "Looks like a man without a face."

***

Sergeant Donnell sat at his desk inside a windowed office that gave him the appearance of a dangerous animal in a zoo. I knocked on the glass. He waved me in without looking up from folder on his desk. Wadded gum wrappers littered the open leaf of the folder where his nose was buried.

"Any of the eggheads have anything to say about the writing on Courtney's body?"

The look he gave me wasn't a happy one. "Yes and no."

I cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, in that they are pretty sure it's a language. No, in that they don't have anything to say about it. None of them know what it is. They've called the university to see if anyone there can place it."

"What's got you sweating, Sarge?"

He leaned back in his chair. "Not sure what you mean, Sam."

"I mean you're going through gum like a chain smoker goes through a carton. You're also going over those close-up shots of Courtney's skin even though you can't read them. I don't have to be a psychic to know when someone's seen a ghost."

A joyless smile crested his mouth. "Shut the door, would ya, Sam?"

I did.

His chair groaned on rusty springs as he leaned his elbows on to his desk. "Take a look at these," he said, handing me the folder.

I realized almost immediately that what I thought were the photos from today's crime scene were actually photos of a different girl with the same inane scrawling slashed into her skin. The label of the folder read 'Diana Mueller'.

"One of the boys in research found that in our unsolved crimes files. Dated about twenty-five years ago."

I scanned the contents. Sprinkled throughout the report was the name of the acting detective Brian Ortega. He and his team hadn't even come close to sniffing a suspect.

"Ortega," I said, searching my memory for a name to go with the face.

"He was the lead detective here before either you or I joined the force."

"You'd think the name would have come up though," I said.

Mike nodded. "Normally, yeah. Seems as though Detective Ortega is a bit of a splotch on the department. See, after about two weeks of working on the case, he decided to take a bite out of a twelve gauge as a final meal.

"Bad way to go," I said.

"They assigned a young detective to pick up where he left off, but he ended up on the same intersection of Jack and Shit that Ortega did."

"Who was he? We can take a look at his reports. Maybe question him," I said before digging back into Ortega's case file.

"I think that'd be a good idea, Sam. I already let him know that you'll be stopping by."

"Thanks, Sarge. What's his name?"

"Roger Dale."

The photos and smudge type of the report suddenly became distant symbols and structures that no longer made any sense. Looking up at the Sarge, I said. "Roger?"

"I'm guessing he never mentioned the case?"

I shook my head and slowly lowered myself into one of the office chairs.

"Makes sense. The department likes to let cases of a seemingly occult and gruesome nature die off in the public mind when they go unsolved. It's likely that Roger's chief told him to keep it to himself when he hit a dead end."

"Why's that?"

"Crimes rooted in religious zealotry catch in the public mind like a thorn in a lion's paw. The thorn sits there too long and folks start to get a fever—a public hysteria sets in."

"I'll talk with Roger on my way home," I said, rubbing the fatigue from my eyes. The images of the ruined skin of both girls flashed in my brain.

"Before you do that," the Sergeant said as he pulled a fresh stick of gum from the pack on his desk. He unwrapped it, then folded it over once before adding it to the unsightly pink wad in his mouth. "I've got someone I want you to talk to. Sort of an expert on these sorts of things."

"One of the university profs?"

Mike shook his head. "Nah, a consultant I worked with a few years ago. Helped me and my old partner bust up a cultist ring just outside Detroit. He's an excommunicated priest. Name's Daniel. I called and left a message with his secretary. She said he's available at his office after eight. Might be that he knows something about the symbols. Talk with him before you bother Roger."

I nodded.

"Sam," he said, a small measure of his warm returned to his voice. "Cases like this take a toll. Do me a favor and keep it in mind that it's the job. I know how you get. Don't make it an obsession."

"I hear you, Sarge."

"Sam," his tone grew taut. "I mean it."

"I hear you, Mike."

The office building was a three story derelict that looked like a little boy squished between two bigger, more professional brothers. I buzzed in and made my way to the second story. Years of rain and heat gave the long hallway a swampy aroma. The dark shoulders of closed doors ran the length of the hall. The overhead lamps had been put to bed and only a single rectangle of light threw itself against the wall at the hall's end.

I knocked on the glass and stuffed my hands in my pockets.

The door opened to reveal a gaunt, pale man whose eyes were a set of mismatched jewels hanging in dark sockets. His brow was lined with years of worry or sorrow often associated with men who saw time on the front lines of a war. He wore the familiar vestments of his trade, they weighed heavily on his bony frame.

"Can I help you?" It was an authoritative quality of sound he wielded, all big vowels and melodious baritone. Smoke curled from the egg-shaped pipe bowl clutched in his hand.

"Father Daniel," I said. "I'm Detective Maxwell. Sergeant Donnell let your answering service know I'd be coming by for a chat."

He nodded. "Come in." The priest stepped aside and gestured for me to enter. "I've just made coffee, Detective. Have some."

"I'm always ready for a cup."

Stepping inside I found myself greeted by the smell of books and ghosts of vanilla tinged soot. Scarlet rugs of an ornate pattern did their best to hide the creaking floorboards. The desk was a simple thing, as were the floral stamped lounge chairs tucked into a corner for consultation.

The lean man lead me through the stacks to a corner of the office where a wide-top drafting desk leaned. A percolator and white china cups rested on a small table behind the desk.

"Tell me how I can help you, Detective."

"Well, padre, to be honest I'm not sure you can, but Mike thinks you might be able to shed some light on these," I said, taking a folder out of the folio.

We swapped. He gave me a steaming cup. I handed him the pictures.

"Fair warning: those aren't family photos," I said, then sipped at my coffee, which was strong enough to chew.

He opened the folder.

Nothing.

Not an eyebrow tilt or an early wrinkle flattened in shock. His expression was as flat and cold as a nickel.

"The girl in the culvert was dis-"

"A moment, please," he said, then sat at the drafting desk, his hunched shoulders gave him the look of a looming vulture. He scooped up a pair of oval-lensed glasses and perched them on his nose. "Your men were unable to decipher the language."

"We don't employ many linguists, but we've given it over to the university for-"

"They cannot help you either."

"You have something against complete sentences?" I regretted the jab as soon as it came out. I hate being interrupted, like most folks, but the way he peered at me made me over the lip of the desk made me feel like a child who'd cut a fart in church.

"Time is a fire, Detective," he said, then went back to scratching his pen into the paper. "I am friends with most of the linguists at the university. They are quite qualified in Greek, Hebrew, Sumerian, and Proto-European languages, but what has been so gruesomely scrawled into these poor women falls outside their academic purview."

The ego that comes with expertise sometimes grinds my gears, but I let his tone slide. "Alright, I'll bite. What language is it?"

"Language is almost a word for it, Detective. It is a kind of conjuring via symbols known only to the narrowest of occult researchers and a wide array of demonic cultists. It is a written system of supernatural command."

"So religious quacks trying to bid for a Faustian bargain."

His mismatched eyes, one green and one ice blue, snapped up at me.

"Despite ignorant popular belief, Detective, the members of cults, be they demonic, pagan, or otherwise, are so many and varied that trying to categorize them all would be like trying to give every rat in New York a name."

I furrowed my disbelief at him.

"There are," he said. "hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of occult practitioners living in our country. They can be broadly identified by the kind of ritualistic symbolism they use; the group which uses this particular set of symbols is very old—patient, calculating, and most importantly, predatory."

I was getting tired of the lecture. "None of this helps me, Father. I don't need a history lesson. I need some direction."

He sighed, then ripped the sheet from his pad. He brought it over and handed it to me. He walked back over to the percolator and began to pour himself a cup of coffee.

I looked down at the sheet. He recited the text as I began to read.

"They arrived at the place Molech described to him. Cain built an altar there and set the stone table as it had been apportioned to him. He tied up his daughter Rachale and laid her on the altar, naked on the stone. Then Cain stretched out his hand and took the copper knife to kill his daughter as a sacrifice. Molech then appeared before his servant and said. "Apportion your child. Do not hold back your wrath; for with it, I will make your name great among all the nations."

Something cold curled up in my stomach.

"You are familiar with the story of Issac and Abraham."

I shook my head and set the paper in my lap. "Never really cared for Sunday School fairy tales."

"In the Torah, Yahweh," the priest said, while making a strange sign with his right hand. "commands Abraham to take his only son Isaac to the hill of Moriah and sacrifice him. However, God stops Abraham before he can commit the deed. Many scholars believe that this story was included in the Old Testament as a way of showing the Hebrews that their God was not like the Canaanite deity Molech—for Molech delighted in human sacrifice."

"I'm guessing what's written here is Molech's version of the story?"

"Indeed. Cain--cast out of paradise for killing his brother Abel, was exiled from paradise, given over to the rest of the unclean world. It was there that he was chosen by Molech to build a world quite different than the one promised to Abraham and his people."

"I'm no Christian, but I'm pretty sure that isn't in the Bible."

"Not in any bible you've ever read, Detective. What is even more ghastly is that after Cain has slaughtered his child like an animal, Molech has him remove his daughter's face, telling Cain that this is done because no human visage is worthy of setting its face against Molech's sight."

Father Daniel sat back down at his desk, his countenance dimmed further. As if a pile of worry had been set on his shoulders. "There are still people who follow this horrid belief system. They call themselves the Faceless Children."

"They use flat masks to hide their features, I'm guessing."

He looked up again, a measure of surprise dawned on his face. "Yes. How do you--"

"Saw one of them this morning inside that culvert." It felt good to cut him off for a change. "He was watching us examine the body. Likely admiring what he'd done. Psychos do that."

"It's dismissive to call him psychopathic, Detective," he said.

"Look at those pictures, Father. Her name is Courtney Marie Davidson. Is, not was. She has a name, she had a father and a mother who loved her just as much as you or I will ever love anything." I'd worked myself into a lather. "Any human being who would do that to someone else gets relegated to the status of a psychopath in my book" I stabbed a finger at the photos in his hand. "And with all due respect, Father--When it comes to understanding the criminal mind, my book is a lot thicker than yours!"

The priest was still, his face placid. "Forgive me if you thought I was calling into question your authority, Detective. That was not my intention. What I was trying to explain is that the mind of the religious zealot doesn't always intertwine with criminal intent. You see, these people, the ones who desecrated the body of Ms. Davidson, they do not carry with them any kind of remorse or criminal regret that we can associate with normal people. They live in a world where Molech's law holds primacy over Man's. They believe that they are wholly superior creatures who serve a wholly superior deity." His head craned forward where it swayed slowly from side to side. "So no, Detective, they are not 'psychos', they are quite mentally able and deeply convicted in the rightness of their action."

We eyed each other for a moment. A line of quiet drawn taut between us. Neither of us quite sure how to measure the other.

The beleaguered priest sighed as he stood up. "I have a consultation in Chicago in two days, Detective." He reached for his hat and coat off the rack next to the small coffee table.

I wrinkled my brow at him, confused. "Which you have to leave for all of a sudden?"

"No, of course not," he said. He wrapped his hand around the handle of black leather bag. When he lifted it I could hear the sound of clinking glass and metal inside. "It means that I'm accepting your offer to consult on the case."

"Wait a min-"

"I have one flat fee that I charge, but in this case, I'll be remitting it entirely. Your fervor for justice on behalf of Ms. Davidson showed me something I don't see much anymore."

"But I didn't ask you to consult-"

He slipped his hat on, then slapped a hand on my shoulder. "You have conviction, Samuel. Conviction is the lifeblood of good works." His voice was warmer now, and it felt like something more than a priest's bedside manner. "Let me help you with this good work."

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