#[ visage. ] yet he thought her smile looked sad. maybe someone left her before they could listen to everything she had to say. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scaras-world · 3 years

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it was an eminent tale between two divinities which is known to us all. a story when the god of the dead came to claim his bride who beguiled him at first sight when he was just passing by the mortal realm. it was a lovely love story. but, a god as supreme as the governor of the underworld—his heart, isn't rumoured to be stone cold? so how did a young lass managed to captivate him? nobody knows since well, for starters, no one dared to question their affection for one another in fear of incurring hades's wrath albeit, is winged cupid truly blind? 𝗻𝗮𝘆. it was all the work of magic and charms and spells and well, it was all done by our lovely dame, perse. curious, aren't you? why don't you keep on reading? let's move on with the story.

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proserpina, the most favoured daughter of demeter and the goddess of spring is seen as innocuous and amiable by many albeit few knew of her true colours as a mischievous wild child who sought for naught but boundless adventures and action in her "boorish" life, or so she calls it. albeit with her mother's overwhelming protection, she was caged. an incarcerated little bird whose only wish is to fly freely and unveil the mysteries of the most mysterious place on cosmos, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱.

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her heart gnaws at the thought of not being able to explore the land where the dead resides. albeit, she—proserpina knew herself that even if her mother, demeter does not limit her antics, venturing into the underworld is still impossible for her unless zeus helps her for the necropolis is a sacred place where no being, mortal nor immortal is allowed. if one dares, they are not to step out alive for the ruler of that dark world is rumoured to be cold-blooded and cruel. hades, he's one of the most feared gods besides poseidon and zeus. the man is supposedly her uncle albeit not even once did she saw him. 'maybe he really is an aloof divinity.' howbeit she is known for her intrepidity. which is why, despite risking the wrath of the almighty god of gehenna, persephone cracked her own plan.

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looking for her father first, persephone inquired about hades in a roundabout manner. she asked zeus to tell her his tales of valour until she managed to question him about the rumoured god. "𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗺 𝗵𝗶𝗺. 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲." zeus replied when she asked him about the man's weakness. and for persephone, love is naught but a child's play. with the enchanted osmanthus necklace that the nymphs gifted her in her coming-of-age, she is confident that hades will fall prey to her plot. they told her that it can charm any man or immortal without fail. afterall, zeus himself was a victim to the object. 𝗜𝘁'𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗵 𝗮 𝘁𝗿𝘆.

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proserpina then waited for the fourth full moon of the month to come. the dame lie in wait for hades to pass by the lake of niche. according to zeus, the man would always travel above ground once a year to see if there is anomaly in the realm and after that, hades would coop himself in the land of dead and not come to the surface until the year ends. and this is the sole place that he would pass by. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

the lands surrounding the lake is devoid of life. the aura of the place is almost, sad. so being the kind deity she is, proserpina thought that she'd do the god of the dead a favor and grew some flowers in the vicinity. in the blink of an eye, the once barren land is now brimming with elegance and tantalizing floras. but, not for long. the zephyr who came to dance with her in the field of flowers fled in hastiness. the once wonderful place suddenly became engulfed with the scent of death as the flowers started to wither and die. 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗮𝗻 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗲?

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as the brewing tempest of deathly aura stopped right infront of her, the black smoke take form of a man more beautiful than aphrodite herself. his delicate features along with his silken hair and melancholic orbs filled with naught but confusion enchanted her. the man infront of her then gaze at her, intensely and she returned it with fervor. 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗺 𝗺𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗯𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴. persephone knew that this man is hades. she didn't expect his dashing visage but his aura speaks for himself. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

"𝘆𝗼𝘂," hades started whilst pointing his finger to the woman infront of him. "𝗺𝗲." she said, her voice sounded like a sweet melody, a music to his ears. he then noticed the annoying curse that keeps on trying to get under his skin the moment he step inside his territory. he already noticed for quite sometime now about the place filled with charmed incantations in order to lure someone crazy. he thought that the one who set the whole fracas must've been out of their minds for it is known to gods that this place is his and yet, they dared. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

but now, he's in dilemma. he thought that the culprit was some major god who's looking for a fight but now that he's infront of her, it turns out that the transgressor is just some minor goddess whose name is not even known to him. normally, he would either let them off the hook with just some light punishment especially when they look apologetic and scared albeit the little one infront of him right now is not even showing remorse rather, she almost looked expectant. what is she scheming? should he scare her for a bit? 𝗜 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗱𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁. 𝘀𝗵𝗲'𝗹𝗹 𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗳𝗹𝗲𝗲 𝗶𝗳 𝗶 𝗷𝗼𝗸𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗮 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲.

"𝗜 𝗮𝗺, 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝗽𝘂𝗻𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗼𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲," he uttered in a slightly louder voice in an attempt to intimidate the nameless deity infront of him albeit her answer came off as a surprise. "𝘆𝗲𝘀 𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲!" the lass exclaimed, she sounded almost excited to him which is a first for him. 𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖺𝗐 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗒 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗅 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆.ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲.ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

he whispered to himself and left for the portal of the underworld which is placed on the boundaries of sparta and athens and just when he was about to enter the gates of what mortals dubbed as hell, an ebony haired lady step inside first before he could even enter. 𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗶𝗱𝗻'𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝗵𝗶𝗺. 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗮 𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻.

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𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐬, 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐭

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒔.

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the peaceful nights that hades used to have in the underworld is no more. the mighty god who governs the dead is now reduced into a guard of a dame whose silly antics caused disturbance in the underworld entirely. although her curiosity meant no harm to the beings who resides on his territory, most of them were hostile to gods who are unknown to them and hades cannot count the number of times that he had to save the distresssd dame. and despite the life threatening events that transpired, she still refuses to leave which puzzled him even more. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

"𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗳𝘂𝗹." she would always say those words whenever he's asking when she would leave. he find it quite, baffling. this place is the 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱. 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗱𝗮𝗺𝗻𝗲𝗱, 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗻𝗼𝘄? 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝗻𝗼𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘁 𝗴𝗹𝗮𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗼𝘂𝘀." he would always reply to her in hopes of enlightening her mind that the underworld is not as beautiful as she viewes it albeit, it was ineffective. "𝗯𝗲𝗮𝘂𝘁𝘆, 𝗵𝘂𝗵. 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗮𝗱𝗲𝘀, 𝗳𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗳𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗳𝗶𝗲𝗹𝗱𝘀 𝗺𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗯𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗱 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗺𝗲, 𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗿𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗱 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀, 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝗳 𝗺𝘆𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝘆𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗳𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 𝗶𝘀 𝘆𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄𝗻. 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗱𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗮𝗻𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗺𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗹𝗹." she told him gently and not long after, the barren rocks where both are resting became dusts and in the blink of an eye, the somber setting is blanketed with lush vegetation whilst treasures of above

ground started to blossom right infront of his eyes. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

"𝗳𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱," hades is lost in awe as he mindlessly muttered those words, eyes filled with pure confusion as he reached for the carnations delicately. his chest is pounding as emotions not known to him filled his very being. 𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗶'𝗺 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘀?ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

"𝗵𝗼𝘄...?" he heard persephone ask herself as she stare at the field of flowers albeit, not for long. she shifted her gaze from the field to him as she took his hands clumsily but gently and started to dance around him happily. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐛𝐮𝐭, 𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥.ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

albeit for hades, moments of happiness had always been fleeting and this time, it isn't different. for not long after, zeus descended to the underworld to take persephone above ground. mortals are dying due to demeter's sorrow of losing her most favoured child and persephone must come back. although he was quite hesitant to give her back to zeus, hades yielded. "𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗿, 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗸𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝘆 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗻𝗼 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗽 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗱𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘀𝗼, 𝘄𝗵𝘆 𝗵𝗲𝘀𝗶𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗲?" zeus asked, curious. hades was never one to speak about his desires. out of all the immortals, he is the most humane for not only is he selfless, hades is the most magnanimous of them all. he's the contrast of all divinities.

hades however just simply smiled as he replied, "𝘂𝗻𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂, 𝗶 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗰𝗲 𝗺𝘆𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳 𝗻𝗼𝗿 𝗺𝘆 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗿𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗶𝘁. 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗱𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗯𝗲𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗲. 𝗰𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶 𝗮𝗺 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝗱𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁," he then left zeus and visited the garden of wondrous flowers and gazes at the spirits who are enjoying the company of the earthly fields. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐮𝐦, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬

𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐮𝐦. 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝑝𝑢𝑟𝑒

𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐞.

his quiet life came back to him faster than he expected. hades didn't see persephone and zeus off. not that he can't but he choose not to. he's afraid that he might do something unnecessary thus, he choose not to show his face. it had been four months since she left his realm. to say that everything became quiet again is an understatement. but, everything was supposedly this way in the first place.

he then lie down and closed his eyes in an attempt to catch some rest but his sleep was interrupted by a loud knocking on his door. 𝗻𝗼 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗿𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝘁𝗼𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝗵𝗶𝗺. 𝗻𝗼 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗼𝗻𝗲.

the moment he opened his door, a very familiar grin greeted him. "𝗵𝗼𝘄?" he accidentally voiced his own thoughts to the beaming persephone who is currently eating the fruits of the underworld. "𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝗱𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸?" she answered his question with another question albeit he can figure out what she did by the looks of it. but,

"𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗶𝗱 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻," he said, pertaining to the rule of the underworld about eating its food rendering one unable to be free of the place. its like a chain that can only be broken by death. "𝗶 𝗱𝗶𝗱 𝗻𝗼𝘁. 𝗮𝗹𝗯𝗲𝗶𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝗳𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄𝘀 𝗵𝗼𝘄. 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲, 𝗶 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲. 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗺𝘆 𝗵𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗴𝗼 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸, 𝗶 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝘆 𝗳𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗽 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗻𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗲𝗱𝘀. 𝗰𝗹𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗻'𝘁 𝗶?" she lamented for the most part albeit in the end, persephone puffed her chest out proudly as if expecting him to praise her. albeit what she did is not worthy of praise. it is a curse that cannot be undone. she is forever bounded to this gloomy place which brims of death.

noticing the frown in his face, persephone sighed and smiled lightly at the frustrated god, "𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗴𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗺𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗰𝗵 𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗸. 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗱𝗶𝗱 𝗶 𝗿𝗲𝗴𝗿𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗺𝘆 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗶𝗼𝗻. 𝗶 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲, 𝘆𝗼𝘂, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘀, 𝗰𝗲𝗿𝗯𝗲𝗿𝘂𝘀, 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗿—" hades cut her off before she could even list all the things that she love in this place. "𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗲𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘀𝗮𝗶𝗱 𝗻𝗼𝘄?" he asked in hastiness as persephone repeated her words about cerberus but he asked even before cerberus and when she said the word you, hades's face turn beet red as he turn his head and walked away from her while muttering, "𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗲." albeit persephone ran after him while she teasingly chirped beside him, "𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗲. 𝗶 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵, 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆. 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘀𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗶 𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗺 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮𝗻 𝗼𝘀𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗵𝘂𝘀 𝗻𝗲𝗰𝗸𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝗯𝗲𝗶𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝗳𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘀𝘂𝗰𝗵 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝘁𝗼𝗼𝗹 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀𝘁 𝗵𝗶𝗴𝗵 𝗱𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗼, 𝗶 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗺𝗲𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝘆 𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗹," she said shamelessly in a dramatic manner which made hades blush even more.

persephone just chuckled beside him upon seeing his reaction and asked, "do you think you can love me?" hades then halted and replied, "i think i can. although such profound emotion scares me, it's worth risking."ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

╱ 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒑𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒕.

I've seen a prompt in the tumblr from the past but I cannot remember where but its has this "wild perse" concept. Thus, I've written my own version

#alternative universe #lore olympus #greek mythology #persephone and hades #my writing #my fic

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jubilantwriter · 3 years

Text

Jaspvid Week 2020 Day 7: Free Day

(AO3) @jaspvid-week

fuckING DONE AAAHHHOOOOOOOO. time to work on that fucking SECOND PART to DAY 6 SEE YA GUYS SOON enOUGH!!

The Man Who Sits on the Bench

Summary: There is a bench that sits alone in the park. No one knows why it tends to sit empty, but sometimes, a person or two will occupy its seats to have a conversation. To sit and remember. To sit and think. For that's what benches are for, yes?

Today, someone sits on the bench. He lets his thoughts overrun him as he counts every regret he holds with clenched fists. But luckily, as a soft hand takes his and a gentle smile greets his sad eyes, he finds that he won't have to sit alone any longer.

Word Count: 9854

What makes a human life, if it is nothing more than a collection of regrets? Experiences missed, chances forsaken, memories shattered, and relationships lost - to say one's lived a life worth living would suggest that all such regrets were settled, accepted, and taken as is, so long as the life nearing its end is satisfied with the ending they received.

To say one has no regrets would be a lie.

But to come to a state of acceptance, perhaps that's what makes a human life more than a culmination of past regrets too far gone to resolve.

Ah, to be that lucky.

So then, what becomes of a human life, if it becomes nothing more than a collection of regrets?

What happens when all of those regrets come crashing down all at once?

...The sky is a beautiful shade of blue today.

Clouds, white and fluffy, pass by him as if mocking the heaviness in his chest, the weight of his regrets keeping him pinned down as they continue to float by without a single care.

And it all comes crashing down around him.

I shouldn't have said that.

Why did I do that?

I wish I could go back in time.

I wish I said "I'm sorry".

I wish I said "I love you".

I wish I wish I wish I wish-

And in that moment, a second lasts a minute, a minute an hour, and then that hour becomes nothing more than a single moment in the past that he can't take back.

He reaches his hand up towards the sky and sobs.

The sky.

It's so beautiful.

I wish I said "goodbye" before I left.

And then a gentle hand grabs his.

////

There's a man who sits on the park bench. Every day, without fail, he sits down on that same bench, looking up at the sky with a pensive look as he waits for someone to join him.

Everyone walks past him, minding their own business as he continues to sit all alone, eyes distant with thoughts too far away for a single person to grasp in that moment.

And then.

When he blinks, he suddenly finds himself in familiar company.

A gentle smile.

Soft, green eyes that are a shade too light for his liking.

And a dress the color of precious emeralds.

"Good afternoon, Jasper!"

"Ms. Clementine." He nods to her and turns his gaze to the people walking about in front of them. Sunlight beams down brightly as the summer graces them with its last fading breaths. A gentle breeze reminds him that fall is coming as the leaves continue to fade the green from their visage.

"How are you today?"

"Not too great, to be honest."

"So about the same then?" She chuckles to herself, her Southern drawl softening her voice. "What's on your mind, if you don't mind me askin'?"

"The usual, I guess." He sighs as he leans against the bench's armrest. "...I just miss him."

"Your fiance?"

He flinches. "More like... my ex, right?"

"If that's what you make of it, then sure. Your ex."

A fight flashes in his mind. Raised voices. Clenched fists. Tears streaming down someone’s face. His face? Or David's? Perhaps both?

It was a dumb fight.

Stupid, dumb, awful fight.

What were they even fighting about? Why did it get so heated? Was it even worth all of that anger?

It feels like it's been so long. But yet, the feeling remains.

He brings his hands up to his face.

"I messed up. So bad."

"Hm." A gentle hand rubs a comforting circle into his back. "What could you do to make it better?"

"I could say sorry." He wipes his eyes uselessly. "I want to say sorry. Sorry for yelling. Sorry for getting mad. Sorry for everything. But will he even hear me? It's too late, right?"

"I'm sorry, Jasper." She smiles sadly as she keeps her hand in place. "I wish I could help you there."

"Me too." A weak laugh. "I wish I could help me too."

They both look up at the sky, the clouds weightless and free. How he envies the clouds above them.

"Do you need more time?"

"...Yeah."

But then again. He has as much time as he needs, doesn't he? He closes his eyes and feels the breeze brush past him.

Maybe, when he opens them, he'll see their smiling faces again. Hear their laughter.

"Why don't you tell me more about them?"

But her soft voice breaks his daydreams, and when he opens them, he sees nothing but the passing faces of unfamiliar strangers. A moment passes between them as he tries to catch sight of a familiar shade of red, a head of thick, curly black hair.

But no such people pass by this spot he sits in.

"...Do you think that'll help?"

"It might. Sometimes, people just needa get some things off their chests. Remember the important things." Clementine places her hand over his and squeezes gently. "And I'm a mighty fine listener."

"So like," Jasper gives a dry chuckle as he looks at eyes the wrong shade of green, "do you moonlight as a therapist? Is that what this is? A therapy session?"

"'Fraid not. I don't really have the credentials for that." But the smile she supplies is almost as bright as the ones David used to wear all the time. "As long as it can help you in the end, I don't mind listening to a few tales or so."

"...Why are you doing this?"

Clementine's eyes soften as wisps of her hair blow gently in the wind. "Because pullin' people up is my job, sweetheart. And I ain't aboutta leave ya to drown just yet." She turns her attention to the passing people in front of them, a distant look in her eyes as she keeps her hold on Jasper's hand. "What's the point of helpin' someone up if you don't pull them all the way up to their feet, right?"

Jasper gazes across the street and stares at a flickering pedestrian light. Idly, he thinks that David and Clementine would have gotten along quite nicely.

And quietly, the two of them watch as the light switches to red.

\\\\

He cups his hands around his mouth and breathes out. White puffs of warm air blow out from his hands as he waits for a familiar weight to settle besides him. It's the chill that reminds him of piles of raked leaves, jackets dug out from the closet, and laughing boys as they chase each other to hear the crunch of the fallen leaves.

Clementine sits down quietly besides him and watches the beginning of fall with him.

For a moment, neither of them choose to speak, leaving Jasper content to just blow puffs of air as a brash voice from his memories yells with excitement, Look, Jasp! I'm a dragon - ROAR!

"Lovely weather, don'tcha think?"

"Yeah." He lowers his hands and looks up to the sky. It's clear and bright, but the chill refuses to be chased away by the sunlight as it begins to bite at his nose. He turns to face the woman besides him, and notices that she's changed her summer dress for something a little thicker. More suitable for the weather they're fairing. However, despite the slight change in wardrobe, he finds that the long coat she dons still shares the same hue as her summer dress.

He looks away and pretends that the green reminds him of the grass in spring.

"You look like you've got somethin' on your mind." She nudges him gently, a soft smile on her face as she gets his attention. "Mind tellin' me your woes?"

"Oh, they're not like, woes." He smiles awkwardly as he runs a hand through his hair.

"What is it then?"

"I guess..." He looks out to their surroundings and sees the familiar buildings, the bustling townsfolk who ignore the pair on the bench, and realizes that he's imagining a place quite unlike the town they live in. "I guess this kinda weather just... reminds me of stuff."

"Stuff?" Clementine hums thoughtfully before snapping her fingers. "Stuff... as in, a thing? Or stuff, as in, someone you don't wanna admit to be thinking of?"

A blush rises to his cheeks as a familiar guilt settles in his chest.

"Ahhh." She doesn't say anything else after that.

Instead, the two of them sit in silence as Jasper lets the guilt eat him through. Memories of warm smiles in the chilling cold flash through his mind, and the words tumble out with a thought attached to them as he imagines a familiar head of red hair bouncing through the crowd before them.

"David loves the fall, even if he won't say it."

Leaves drift down around them as people continue to rush on by to get home and away from the cold.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. When we were younger, he used to jump in piles and piles of fallen leaves. It didn't matter if they were moist or dry, or if the ground was dirt or concrete. He just loved falling into piles of them, to watch as the leaves would fall around him and cover him up. He'd laugh and laugh and laugh, and then he'd tug me down with him. And we'd lay down and pretend the leaves were snow."

He can see it as if it were just yesterday. Two boys, one a brunette and the other a ginger, laughing as they laid sprawled out on the ground.

Leaf angels. That's what David called them. When they would pretend the fall was winter, and they wanted to leave their mark on the world in any way they could.

And then they got up with leaves in their hair to admire their handiwork.

It always felt like it was just them two. And when David would point and laugh and clap his hands because the leaf angels came out looking so dumb?

God.

He's sure he had the biggest, dumbest smile on his face when he laughed with him.

And then David would reach over to pluck a leaf out of his hair, admire it, examine it, really scrutinize it, and then proclaim that this leaf, the one in his hand, the one from Jasper's head, was the best leaf because he plucked it from the best tree in front of him.

And Jasper would do the same. Pick the biggest, prettiest leaf from David, a shade of red just like David's hair, and he'd admire it, examine it, really scrutinize it, before shaking his head and proclaiming that no, he found the best leaf because he plucked it from the best tree in front of him.

And they'd laugh.

And laugh.

Water drips onto his hands, even though the sky looks so clear today.

"Fall was my favorite season too." Leaves the color of David's hair fall all around him.

He holds his hand out to catch the prettiest one that floats down in front of them.

Bright red.

Like from the bestest tree.

The bestest tree that isn't in front of him anymore.

A gentle hand takes his and squeezes it tight. He turns to Clementine, a soft smile on her face as her hair sways in the wind. Neither of them say a word as he lets that leaf go.

And the sound of childish laughter fades in the wind with the leaf.

////

The weight in his chest is heavier than usual. As he kicks at the fallen snow, he wonders if David and Max are keeping warm. Their little apartment - David remembers where the space heater is, right? Max never liked the cold, so they bought him a space heater for the winter since the apartment's heating system wasn't the most reliable thing.

Are they managing okay? He wishes he can visit them.

But.

Would that be right of him? After he left them like that?

It feels as though he’s tied down in this spot. He can't move from the bench, so here he sits. He kicks at the fallen snow, the sky looking cloudier than usual.

"Evenin', Jasper."

"Hi, Clem."

"How're you feelin'?"

"Not great."

"So the usual, then." She sits down next to him, smoothing out her dress, now thick and woolen to combat the cold, but still that lovely shade of emerald green. "What's on your mind today?"

"The cold." Snowflakes begin to drift down around him as he speaks. "Max doesn't like the cold. But Davey's pretty chill with it, if you catch my drift."

She chuckles but makes no move to speak, so he continues.

"You know, I hope the kid is getting used to living here. It was a process to adopt him, just to get him in our care, y'know? But Davey fought tooth and nail for him. Max has the same kinda funky spunk that Davey had when we first met. So it made sense."

He imagines seeing a head of curly, black hair bobbing among the masses as he hangs onto the hem of David's shirt, angry tears in his eyes. But relief was apparent in how he held himself. Like, even if he didn't want to admit it, he was glad to be around David.

That was how he first met Max.

A kid filled with so much hurt and anger and pain. A pain that was different from David's when they were kids but so goddamn similar that he had to fight the urge to bend down and hug him. But he smiled, kind and welcoming, as he helped Max unpack his little backpack filled with just enough things he deigned to call his own. Slowly, the couple would help fill up that room that Max could finally call his own with things that he could proudly say were his.

Max didn't like him at first. Hell, for a while, he didn't think he liked David either. But the thing about similar people- sometimes, not always, but sometimes, you can approach them the same way. So he would be on level with Max, crack a joke or two, and offer him a silent understanding that gave the boy room to breathe.

Just like he did with David all those years ago.

Because, despite all those layers of hurt and anger and desire to prove himself, there was a layer of something that needed to be understood. Something that desired a patience that Jasper was willing to give. And he gave and gave and gave until Max was ready to smile that small, secret smile that would show up once every blue moon. And then it'd show up every once in a while. And then every so often. Until the small, secret smiles weren't secrets anymore, and he could grin loud and proud as he kicked through piles of snow with boots David helped him pick out, and oh, the joy they both held as two similar souls found a little bit of solace with each other, an understanding, a lasting connection.

And so they found themselves a happy, little family. One where Max could feel truly loved, truly wanted. And the little space they gave him? Filled with laughs and memories and new beginnings and smiles and joy and so much healing.

They were supposed to be there for Max.

But now, that all hinges on David now, huh?

He wonders if Max hates him now. For leaving him behind. For leaving them behind.

He wouldn't blame him at all.

"I hope they're making snowmen right now. That kid deserves all the good in the world. It'd be nice to see him having fun again."

"Would that make you feel better?" Her hand lands on his shoulder with a comfort he's forgotten he's allowed to feel. "Knowing Max is okay, that David is alright, would that help you feel better?"

"...I don't know. Maybe." He turns to face her and sees only that quiet understanding and patience that he's come to expect from her. "I just. I wish there was something I could do. Something that said, I'm sorry, you know? Even if it's too little too late. I just. Want to give them something. Even if it's not enough."

Even if it can't undo what he's done.

The snow continues to fall.

But he can't feel the cold anymore.

////

The blossoms push through the ground with an ease he wishes he could experience. These little flowers, they get to experience something new before they wilt and die. They'll never know of the pain regret brings, or of leaving people behind, or of broken relationships and snap decisions that he wishes he could take back.

He stays seated on his bench as he stares at the flowers in the distance. The melody of a nearby street performer catches his attention and brings a faint smile to his face. David always liked idling by them, listening to the music they could produce before dropping a dollar or two and continuing on their way.

He loves music. That was why Jasper picked up the ukulele. Small and portable, he could pull it out easily and pluck out some chords and entertain David with some musical nonsense. But David loved that musical nonsense. He'd laugh and clap his hands and smile that beautiful, lovely smile that Jasper loved to see. And maybe Jasper didn't have words to accompany his music.

But he could hum.

So he'd make a little tune, a little rhythm, and he'd hum.

And oh, David loved every minute of it.

The only downside was that he couldn't hold David as he played the ukulele. Couldn't hold him and dance with him, hips swaying to whatever nonsensical tune that Jasper could produce, foreheads pressed together as they hummed together and held each other close enough that it could be a waltz, but really it was just a simple side step back and forth, a one-two one-two to a melody produced from Jasper's love.

He wonders if David kept that mixtape he made for him when they were teenagers. It was filled with songs from their youth, songs that reminded him of David, songs that they would belt out together in the summer heat that made them feel alive in spite of the shitty world. Songs that made them feel real, feel connected, feel understood.

He hums to himself as he kicks at the ground. There was one tune that David loved to hear when they were alone together, one that didn't need a ukulele, just Jasper's throaty hum.

He had wanted to make a song of it. Something that was more than a few seconds long, a few chords on repeat. But Jasper was never a lyricist. So he just added chord upon chord until he had something that sounded right.

Lighthearted, gentle, sweet. Something to sway their hips to. Something to hold each other to.

He meant to play that song for David on their anniversary. Maybe record it. Maybe let it play on his computer or stereo or something. Because if it was a song meant for them to dance to, then he'd need his hands free to hold his Davey close, so that he can press his forehead against his, look into those beautiful, shining, precious emerald greens that light up with joy and love with every passing minute, and together, they can forget about the world around them for a few minutes. So that they can sway and hum and feel each other's warmth.

As if they were the only two in the world.

But he never finished his song.

Just like he never said he was sorry. Or goodbye.

He buries his face in his hands and lets out a shuddering sigh. A familiar hand lands on his shoulder. It's a shame that her hand is the only one he can feel nowadays. But it makes sense.

When he laid there on the asphalt, staring straight up at the sky, his blood pooling around him as people screamed for help, he wished for the pain to stop. To not feel anything. To feel numb.

And in that moment, his wish was granted.

But it could only do so much, he found out. It doesn't stop the pain in his chest when he looks up and meets eyes a shade of green that looks just a bit off. A reminder that seeks him out everyday.

How he misses David's eyes even now.

"Heya, Jasper."

"Hey, Clem."

"Stuck in your past today?"

"No, not today."

She takes her hand back to clasp them both together in her lap. Quietly, she hums thoughtfully as she stares up at the sky. "Almost been a year, huh?"

"Yeah."

"But I'm guessin' you're not yet ready to go, aren’t ya?"

"No, ma'am."

"Don't worry." She ruffles his hair affectionately with a soft smile. "Take all the time ya need."

A sorry laugh escapes him as he shakes his head. "I don't really want all the time I need."

"Maybe a talk?"

"Isn't that all we can do?"

"If that's what you believe." Clementine turns her attention away from him and towards the crowd. "You humans are such silly creatures."

"What do you mean?" He follows her gaze out into the crowd and wonders, for once, what it is that she sees.

"Y'all think so lowly of yourselves that it's so easy to forget the amazin' feats y'all manage to pull off everyday, dead or alive." Clementine's hand reaches out to grab at nothing, at something, at everything, before pulling back and revealing to Jasper a plucked flower sitting simply in her hand. "A flower never had so much meanin' before someone came along and thought, 'Ah, perhaps, this one will be enough to represent my love.' A plucked flower can only be considered dead, until someone comes along and makes it a gift instead, or turns it into a crown, makes it into an arrangement, tucks it away in someone's hair as an accessory." She tucks the flower against Jasper's ear and giggles. "A plucked flower is a beautiful, dead thing. But sometimes, it becomes more than just a beautiful, dead thing. Sometimes, there's a meanin' to it. A symbol. A somethin'. An anythin'." Her hands settle on her lap as she closes her eyes, strands of her hair flowing freely in the still air. "It's what you make of what you have. So tell me, Jasper, what can you make of you?"

"I..." He touches the flower lightly with his fingertips and feels the softness of the petals. "I don't know."

"Hmmm." Clementine's eyes remain closed as she continues to smile. "Maybe give your memories a little bit of a ponder."

Jasper blinks. Looks up at the sky. And remembers.

It was a clear day, just like this one. Slowly, he lets his eyes drift close, like he did on that day.

And ponders.

What can he make of him? What can he make of a dead existence that serves nothing more than a reminder of what used to be? Was his death supposed to be meaningless? Does he want it to stay meaningless?

Does he want to be meaningless?

...No, of course not. But then, what does he want to do? What can he do?

A bird sings beside them, the welcoming chirps beckoning the arrival of spring.

...Sing. Or rather, hum. He can't sing very well but- well, he had that little tune. That tune for David. Their anniversary. A song for them.

But... it's too late, isn't it? Too late for him, too late for their song. Too late to make it up to David.

Except. As he listens to this bird, this bird that sings a song that holds a meaning only to itself, to other birds, until someone else comes along and stops to listen, and really listen to this song it sings-

Isn't it just another tuneless melody?

Until.

Someone. Or something. Puts meaning to it.

He opens his eyes and looks at the bird. It continues to sing, sweet and sure as it calls out to another to listen. Meaningless until meaning is made. Maybe... just maybe...

"I," he weakly begins, catching Clementine's eyes as she turns to look at him with that knowing look of hers. "...I, um."

"Yes?"

"I..." He scratches at his cheek, looking from the bird to Clementine and reading the patience that's etched into her very being, and knows, simply, as he relaxes, that all she's made of is kind understanding. "What if... I was a bird?"

"A bird?" She tilts her head to the side. "Why?"

"Uh. This might be stupid but, I thought- you know, maybe." He stops to take a steadying breath as he squeezes his fists against his lap. "It's just- I had this song, right? A song for Davey. For our anniversary. I never got to finish it, before I uh, got totally wasted by that car but- you said I should make the best of what I had and- maybe, maybe that's all I have left."

"Left for what?"

"Left... left to give." A death is nothing but a reminder. A stopping point. A memory that serves to put an end to more memories.

But.

If he could take one thing of his, just one, and make it into something, anything. Anything to make them smile. He would do it.

Make meaning out of something meaningless.

"I want to give them something happy. Even if it's small. Or for a moment. I don't... want them to leave them on that sad note forever."

And Clementine's smile brightens. "Of course." And she reaches into her pocket. And pulls out a something. An anything. And she takes Jasper's hand, and gently places it onto his palm. "I can't make living things, but sometimes, it doesn't have to be living to look alive."

A small, mechanical bird sits motionless in the palm of his hand. He closes his hand around it carefully and thinks.

He thinks he can finish that song now.

////

...It's been a year, David thinks. A long, painful year of realizing what it's like to lose the person who had warmed his side for so long. A long, painful year of realizing that a single, missing voice is enough to create a vast silence that he can't tackle by himself. A long, painful year of coming to terms with how sudden endings can come about, whether he wants them to or not.

It's been a year.

Max tugs on his sleeve, frowning as he drags David out of his thoughts. "...Come on, we're here already."

And David looks over to where they're heading. Oh, right.

To get to the park, they'll need to use the crosswalk. The very crosswalk that he...

He squeezes his eyes shut as a shuddering sigh runs through him. Even after a year, he finds himself unable to forget about the fight that started it all.

Of course Jasper would be opposed to inviting Mr. Campbell to their wedding. It didn't matter that Camp Campbell was how they met, or how David was able to meet Max, or that Mr. Campbell had changed. Jasper hated the man for personal reasons, something David had easily forgotten in pursuit of his own wants.

It was a stupid, dumb fight. He's replayed the fight over and over again in his mind. What he said. What he should have said. How he should have kept Jasper from walking out, kept him from shouting that he needed to leave and get his chill back, kept him from crying, kept him from losing his temper, kept him kept him kept him-

Kept him in his arms before Jasper could have walked across a crosswalk too late, when the lights stopped blinking in his favor and a speeding car trying to turn a corner missed the sight of him at the last second, and all he got as an answer to Jasper's retreating form was a stranger's voice calling from his phone.

Funerals are expensive. He used to wonder if weddings would be more expensive. But between the burial’s costs and the empty side of the bed, he realized that, without a doubt, funerals were much more costly.

And now, today, after a year of empty beds and chairs at the dinner table, he promised Max that he would walk with him to the park.

"We don't have to do this." Max stands firmly where he is, eyes flicking to David and the crosswalk and back with a nervous energy. "We can just not go to the fucking park. I don't even like parks. I don't even like nature! Let's just go home and watch shitty movies or something."

"...I know you don't like this but." He looks down towards Max with a sad smile. Of course, he wasn't the only one still grieving Jasper. Maybe Max didn't know him as long as David did. But he still heard the sniffles. The little hiccups and whimpers that Max pretended weren't coming from him as he locked himself in his room. To have finally let another person into his life, only to have them dashed away because of a fight he wasn't involved in. For a while, he was sure that Max hated him for being the reason why Jasper left in the first place. "Nikki wants to play with you in the park. She can only be cooped up for so long, and I think we both know she's reaching her breaking point."

"I guess, but..." They both turn their attention to the crosswalk. "Is this really the only way to the park?"

"It's the closest for sure."

"We can always take the long way around."

"But then we'd just be avoiding the whole thing." David squeezes Max's hand. "And we can't keep avoiding it forever, no matter how much it hurts."

"Are we still talking about the same thing? Because I'm pretty sure I'm talking about the damn crosswalk."

"Of course, kiddo. Come on, we'll do this together." He plants a hand on Max's shoulder and realizes how much the short boy has grown. Thirteen years old, and he's finally hit that start of his spurt.

Though, Jasper would have still picked the boy up to spin him around for fun. Even if Max would yell and claw at him for doing so. Max stares up at him with a worried frown as David squeezes.

One year. So much happens in one year. And yet, would Jasper have known what he missed? Of course not. David squeezes his eyes shut. He's thinking too much again.

"David..."

"You know you can call me 'dad', right?" Although, not much can change in a year either. He feels Max shrug as David breathes through his nose.

"Let's just get to the park already." Max leads the way as David opens his eyes, watching as the crosswalk signal changes from red to white. He doesn't look at the ground as his gaze focuses on the trees in front of him.

It's a short walk. Not much to think about. Not much he wants to think about. Or remember. He doesn't want to focus on how heavy his steps feel, or where he's walking, or how the crosswalk looks so completely normal, as though nothing happened here. He doesn't think about how there's a stinging at the corners of his eyes, how he needs to take deep breaths through his nose, how Max tenses up with shoulders hunched as he speeds up his pace.

They make it across like everyone else. The crowd moves around them as David drops his hand from Max's shoulder. It's just a crosswalk. David's hand squeezes his chest as he focuses on the view of the park in front of them - how the tree branches with their newly grown leaves swaying in the wind, children laughing as they play on the open field with vibrant green grass, and he wonders and thinks and muses over how many people use this crosswalk to get to the park, walk over the spot where he was hit and left to bleed out by a driver too scared to stop, and wonders and thinks and muses over if they know they're walking over the spot he died on-

It's just a crosswalk.

He takes a deep breath and looks over at Max with a smile that barely lifts. "See, bud? We're fine!" He's fine. He has to be. His thoughts spin for a moment, repeating over and over again like a record he's forgotten he left on the turntable.

He's fine. He has to be. He's fine. He has to be. He's fine he's fine he's fine he's fine it was just a fight he'll come back-

Max grabs his elbow, and the record scratches to a stop. The permanent frown on his face twitches near the corners as he sighs.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say." He nods over to the path along the park. Despite his trudging steps and begrudging stare, Max pushes them onward along the park. There's no rush to his steps - he keeps his pace even, slows down even to glance back to see if David is invested in nature as he normally is.

But the path along the park isn't much of a gander. Trees don't border so much as dot the area in a uniformly sparse manner. Every once in a while, a bush comes into sight as their shoes step along the sidewalk's cement. It's the kind of nature that cities allow - one that has to satisfy him until he has enough money for a house out in the country. One that borders a forest maybe, or just far enough away from the city that David can step out and look into the night sky to lose count of all the stars he can see. That was their-

Well. It's just his dream now, isn't it?

Gwen says that grief affects everyone differently. Some grieve for a year or more. Some may grieve for a year or less. Others may grieve until the end of their life. But the feeling lasts until he's ready to move on, so she said. So what keeps him spinning in place? Unable to move forward, the same song on repeat, too hurt to change the record and needing someone else to put a stop to his thoughts for just a moment. How much longer does he have to grieve until he's ready to stop the record himself?

"David." And here comes Max again, lifting the spindle himself with that same, pained frown. He shouldn't be putting Max into this position. He's just a kid. A kid who lost a dad he barely got the chance to know. But here he is, tugging on David's elbow with that knowing look in his eyes as they come to a stop in front of an empty bench, and he points up at the branches above them for a distraction. Green leaves. They were just as green the day Jasper left too. "You uh, you know about birds, right?"

And David smiles. Because faking it until he makes it was how he managed to get through the rough patches of his life. So maybe he just has to do it again. Smile until it hurts just to smile. Smile until the pain replaces the ache in his chest and he forgets why he was trying to smile in the first place. Smile bright and the people behind the camera are none the wiser.

"Of course I do, Max! I am part of the online bird watching society, after all."

"Like a fucking nerd."

"Now, what did we say about language?"

"That your shitty attempts at trying to censor my language border on stupid and annoying, and is useless at best?" The boy rolls his eyes as he points again with greater emphasis. "Just tell me what kinda bird that is before I lose interest."

Given the bored stare Max has directed at the bird, David already knows that Max never had any interest to begin with. But he'll keep standing here, staring at the little brown bird above them until David tells him what it is. David's not sure where Max got all this patience from, but...

A familiar laugh rings in his head.

"Guess you've really rubbed off on the kiddo, huh?"

Of course.

He studies the bird as he bites his lip. It's not easy, given the fact that he doesn't have his binoculars, and his vision is just a tad bit watery, but he makes out familiar white speckles on the wings, a bright, yellow beak, and a light grayish brown underside. "Oh, that's just a house wren!" The bird looks down at him with a slight tilt of its head. "They're pretty common around the States, but they have a very nice song that they sing during the nesting seasons! Although..." He frowns as he looks around the area. "Usually, they prefer areas with more trees in them. Better for nesting, I'd say."

"Cool." Max shrugs and turns back to the path before them. "I think that's enough nature talk for me. Let's get some ice cream or some shit."

"Wait." There’s something odd about the bird. The way the sunlight seems to give it a little glint in its eyes as it studies David with its little eyes full of... birdy goodness! "I want to hear its call!"

"No."

"Please, Max?"

"No."

"It'll just be for a minute!"

"Uuuuuaaaaaughhhhh." Max slowly tilts his head back as the groan continues. "Fucking- fine!" His head snaps forward as Max jabs a finger into his chest. "But only for a minute!" With that, Max flops down onto the bench as he's texting away on his phone.

David remains where he stands as he stares up at the bird with a smile. It's just a tiny little creature, looking down at him curiously before fluttering its wings and looking over at Max. A series of chirps erupt from the wren as it begins to sing its song. The short, staccato-like notes are sweet to David's ears as it distracts him from his thoughts, but Max lets out a soft gasp before cursing as David looks over in surprise. Max fumbles with his phone as his eyes are caught in a wide, startled look when he finally catches it mid-air and jumps to his feet. He turns to look up at the bird and points at it with a yell. "What the fuck!"

"What's wrong?"

"Why does it know that song?!"

"Song?" David looks between Max and the bird as it continues to sing. He listens closely and... it just sounds like the same notes being repeated over and over again. "I mean, all birds have their own songs they sing. Or sometimes similar songs!"

"No no no, I'm not here for your nature lecture bullshit, I mean-" Max quickly pulls up an app and types in a song title, grumbling as he screws up a few times in his frantic typing. "...This!" A picture of a yellow star with eyes greets him as a fast-paced, upbeat tune plays from the phone.

David blinks slowly, the tune reminding him of when he and Jasper were younger, and Jasper was showing off the raddest game he owned.

"Is that... Mario?"

"Ye- wait, how the hell do you know?" Max looks between him and the phone suspiciously as David shrugs with the memory biting at his heels.

"It was one of the games Jasper used to play when we were kids." The sound of childish laughter echoes in his ears as a bit of sadness melts back into his smile. He turns to stare back up at the bird as it tilts its head at him. A shuffling of feet alerts him to Max's presence, and he knows for sure that the bird has his attention as well.

"Weird that it'd know that song."

"Some birds are good mimics!" But this one isn't. The fact that it chose to sing that song is... strange at best, but he doesn't want to question it. It was probably by coincidence - the song is fast-paced, with the only variation being the occasional note changes that the bird could make with little to no difficulty. A song like that could hardly be difficult for the normally verbose songbird.

"Still..." Max doesn't sound convinced as David looks down at his son. The boy's eyebrows are crinkled together, eyes focused on the bird as he frowns in thought. "I dunno, it's just that- you know, Jasper used to play Mario Kart with me, remember?" His green eyes flick to David, and the emotion hiding there nearly startles to David. "It's- it's fucking weird, right? Like, it's weird that it knows that song, and it's from Mario, and Jasper played Mario Kart with me, and he played Mario with you as kids and-" Max pauses for a moment, his eyes searching this way and that before he looks down at his hands and clenches them into tight fists. "...It's weird, right?"

David wants to say that no, it's a coincidence. That no, it could just be Max thinking that's the song that he heard. That no, Max is just wishing that's what he heard, because he wants to talk about Jasper, because he still misses Jasper, because they don't talk enough about Jasper anymore and try to pretend that they're both okay when they're really not, and he wishes David would just talk to him, please, please just talk to him because they need to talk-

But instead, he closes their conversation with: "Maybe."

And that's all Max needs to look back up at David. With large, shining eyes of a hurting kid, because he's just a kid who lost a dad, and he needs his remaining dad to be there for him but.

But as Max stares at him with those big, shining eyes, a part of him goes numb. Distant, even.

Because he's not ready. He's not ready to talk more with Max about Jasper, about their feelings, about their hurt. David is better at repressing things, at pretending he's okay until he breaks under pressure and collapses into an emotional heap that someone needs to come and sweep up. And he swears that Max can see David pulling inside himself again. Curling back up into a ball so that the memories won't flood him again, and the broken disappointment is already settling on Max's face before the tears even fall-

The bird starts to sing again. David blinks, and turns to stare up at the bird. It continues to sing as if the notes it sings are completely harmless.

Which... they are, aren't they?

It's just a bird.

A bird that's... singing something awfully familiar.

It sings notes it shouldn't know to string together - what should be short, almost staccato-like rapid fire chirping comes out instead as lingering notes with pauses that form a rhythm that he recognizes. Short notes that swoop up and down, sometimes even lowering in pitch as it sings a song that belongs to a tucked away ukulele.

It sings... it sings a song it shouldn't know. With every note it sings, a little bit of the past pools into the corner of his eyes.

A smile. Blue eyes like sapphires. Brown locks soft like a familiar comfort. Hands strumming gently. Fingers plucking strings of a stickered ukulele. A voiceless thrum. Hips swaying. Foreheads pressed together. A song without words. A dance without movement. A love without end.

A song. It was a song Jasper would pluck out for him every once in a while, always a little different, but always so much the same. "It's not finished yet," he had said with an embarrassed blush, the Jasper in his mind grinning bashfully as he held tight to his ukulele, "but I promise it'll be done soon. A baller song for an even more baller person!"

But the song never got completed. At least. At least that's what he thinks.

The bird continues to sing as familiar notes float through his mind in a different sound, recognizable in how the bird sings with a light dip to its voice, notes held and blending together instead of becoming a staccato. Smooth and steady, with a gentle rhythm. There's a little tremble to the bird's singing, a tremble that can't be made with a ukulele, but instead, with a voice. It makes sense, he thinks, since the bird is singing, but it feels... different. Like its voice belongs to someone else. A someone who knows exactly how this song plays, and in turn, David's own shaky voice hums along. Because he knows this rhythm. He knows what note comes next, what it sounds like in his head, how he tries to match the song with his own accompaniment because he doesn't know how to play the ukulele, but he can hum.

He can hum along to a strum of a song that neither of them can play.

It's a wordless song.

Jasper was never a lyricist, so all the songs he made were made for humming and mindless strumming. But maybe because it's wordless, because there's no need to strive for rhymes and messages when the meaning is clear in the expression, and he knows by the sound alone that the music sings of "I love you", over and over on repeat. He closes his eyes and hums along, repeating the "I love you"'s over and over again.

Soon, the bird sings notes he's never heard of. Notes he never got to hear Jasper play. A hand takes his as the song turns somber. Wistful. There's no more lilting high notes, just steady, lingering chirps that peeter out to a soft quiet before picking up again. Even the singing of the bird softens, as though the bird loses a bit of the power it once had behind its previous chirps, now releasing softer tweets that only David and Max can hear. The song ends on one sustained chirp, the tremble clearer now than it was before. He opens his eyes to see the bird staring down at him, head tilted to the side as it watches him. A gentle squeeze draws his attention, and he meets the watery eyes of Max.

"What." Max's voice cracks, making the boy frown as he takes a deep breath and tries again. "What the fuck was that?" A flutter of wings takes their attention, but by the time David looks back up to the bird, the little beauty has already flown off somewhere. Still, he smiles up at where it once was before leading Max back to the bench to sit down.

"That," he squeezes Max's hand and wipes away the boy's tears, "was a house wren."

"No but-" Max swats away David's hand half-heartedly as he uses his sleeves to wipe the rest of his tears away. "You knew that song. You hummed along like it was some dumb tune you listen to in the car!" The boy hesitates for a moment, green eyes searching David's in confusion before speaking in a hushed tone, "How did you know that song?"

It's David's turn to blink in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Max shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket and kicks at the ground, "I mean, yeah it took me a while but- Jasper would- sometimes, he'd just start playing this tune when you weren't home, and I'd hear it, and he'd always pat next to him and ask me how it sounded, and I would always say it sounded like hot fucking garbage but-" Max's lip trembles before he bites into it roughly, frowning as he curls forward in his seat. "But I didn't mean it. It, it sounded okay, but it wasn't a fucking masterpiece. It was like, decent but. I mean he'd laugh it off but it's like, I dunno, did he actually know?" Max turns to David, his eyebrows furrowed together as he chews at his bottom lip to keep it from trembling. "Did he know?"

David blinks slowly as he wonders if Max means the song or... but the answer is simply obvious, isn't it? Gently, he ruffles Max's thick curls and drops his arm down to pull his son closer. "Of course he knew."

"You think?"

"No one knew Jasper better than I did." Even though he thinks idly, he should have known better at times. "I'm sure he knew."

The soft chatter of passersby fills the space between them as David stares at the crosswalk. He almost misses Max's words if it weren't for the fact that he's remembering how to pay attention again.

"I wish..." Max pauses as David looks down at him, watching as he bites at his lip. "I wish I called him 'dad' once." Max doesn't look at him as he kicks the sidewalk. "I dunno I mean- I feel like I should’ve."

"Well," David takes in Max's furrowed brows, his slouched appearance, and how he struggles to keep up his confident act, "I think, Jasper wouldn't have wanted to rush you into saying it."

"It's not like I didn't want to."

"It's just that you couldn't?" Max looks away ashamed, but David simply ruffles his hair with a smile. "It's okay if you weren't ready to say it."

"Yeah but..."

"I found out, pretty late into my life, that 'dad' is just a title that people can use." David thinks back to his father who left, and the man he ended up looking up to, and how they both failed him. And how he wanted so badly to call them "dad", even though the title never rang true for either of them. "It has about as much meaning to it as you can put into it. Sometimes, we call people 'dad' when we don't mean it. And other times, we call people 'dad' when they don't deserve it. But there's plenty of people we don't call 'dad' who still feel like one." He thinks back to the kindly neighbor who helped him with his camping skills after school, and treated him with a kindness he saw only in his mother. He thinks back to Jasper's dad, and how the man's boisterous laugh always managed to cheer him up whenever he came over. "Maybe you didn't call Jasper 'dad', but that doesn't mean you didn't see him as one." He nudges Max lightly. "And did you see him as one?"

Max scoffs. "Hard not to."

"Then I'm sure you made him feel like one." Max blinks and looks up at him. "I think he already knew you saw him as a dad." David feels a familiar worry bubble up, and he almost hesitates when he asks, "...Do I feel like a dad to you?"

He expects Max to hesitate, to really consider it, but instead he just.

Looks away and nods, almost embarrassed to admit it. And then softly, he adds, "It's not like I have much to go off of, though."

But it's enough.

David tries not to cry as he takes a steadying breath. "Of course, kiddo." Quietly, he stands up and pats Max's back. "Why don't we get some ice cream?" Max nods and jumps up, already marching ahead of David as he makes a beeline towards the ice cream parlor. David spares a glance back up at the tree, to where the wren used to be.

And he squeezes his fist before relaxing it.

All things take time. Max calling him dad will take time. David moving on will take time. And the two of them healing from Jasper's death will take time.

"David, hurry the fuck up!"

"Coming!" He turns back to his son and trots to keep up.

It'll take time before the spindle is lifted completely.

But until then, they can both take turns bringing the record to a stop. Until they can both lift it together. And fill the void with music of their own creation.

Until then, they have all the time in the world.

////

Jasper cradles the mechanical bird in his hands and cries. He smiles as he watches his little family walk off into the distance and blend into the crowd. A gentle hand rests on his shoulder, giving him a moment to look her way. Clementine smiles, and her green dress reminds him of his two favorite people.

"Did that help?"

"It did, yeah." He tries to hand the bird back to her, but she shakes her head and keeps his hands closed over it.

"Consider it a present."

"I dunno what else I'll use it for, but thanks."

"Of course, sweetheart." She steps back and makes a motion with her arm. Jasper shields his eyes before a soft light opens before him. When the light forms a door, he looks to her and back at it. She nods towards the door. "Are you feelin' ready to go?"

"I..." He looks down at the bird, and then towards the space his family just left. They walked away looking lighter than before. David was smiling and Max- well, the kid rarely smiled, but he looked at ease at the very least. He hugs the bird to his chest, thankful for letting it lend its voice to him. "Yeah, I think so."

"Glad to hear that." Clementine offers her hand to him, and he takes it gingerly.

"Will I... do I get to watch over them? Is this like a heaven kinda biz, or..."

"It's the afterlife!" She chirps happily and opens the door for him. "I can't say I know what it's like over there but." She hums softly as Jasper hesitates at the threshold. "I've heard that some people wait, or others move on. It's up to them to decide."

Jasper looks down at the bird cupped carefully in his hands and nods. "I see."

"Whatever choice you make, I'm sure it'll be the right one."

"Yeah. Um, Clem?"

"Hm?"

"Thanks." He turns to give her a smile, watching as her gaze softens. "Thanks for... giving me all this time to think."

"Of course, Jasper." She watches as he walks through the threshold, the door closing behind him. With a little skip, Clementine hums a little tune as she continues on her path, the color of her dress turning to a light purple. As she looks down at a list in her hand, she blinks in surprise and giggles. "Oh, silly me!" She looks back to the empty bench with a content smile. "I forgot to ask him the name of his lil ol' song."

////

There's a man who sits on the park bench. He visits everyday without fail, always content to gaze at the passersby going about their lives. Normally, he sits by himself, as if waiting for someone to join him.

And today, that someone finally does. A young woman in a deep, blue dress smiles at him. He smiles back warmly.

"Oh, hello.”

"Afternoon, may I sit with you?"

"Of course."

She sits down next to him as they take in the light of the summer sun. He speaks up again, closing his eyes as the wind gently ruffles his grayed hair. Without a hint of resentment, he asks, "I take it you've come to take me away?"

"You're a bright one!" For someone who works for the dead, her voice is so full of life. "Are ya already ready to move on? Or would ya like a moment to yourself?"

"Whichever you please."

"I hope you don't mind me indulging in a bit o' conversation then." He turns to her as her eyes shine warmly. "Humans are always so full o' regrets, so I find it kinder to try an' resolve what I can before helpin' 'em move on. Is there anythin' on your mind?"

David looks down to his hand and plays with an old ring. "...Nothing I don't think you'd be able to help me with. I'm sure his spirit is long since passed."

Clementine looks to the two rings on his hand and gently covers them. "Maybe not, but I would like to know the story behind these two rings, if you don't mind?"

"Of course not." He smiles as the memories wash over him. Tapping on the older ring, he says simply, "This was given to me by my first love. He died before we could get married, but I couldn’t get myself to take it off even as I learned to fall in love again. And this one," he taps on a wedding band gently, "was given to me when I finally let myself love again. It wasn’t easy- my son, it’s not easy for him to open up to others but... Well, he was willing to try again too.” The older man gently spins the second ring as he feels just a bit younger from the memories. “And then he had another dad. They’re both still alive, and I’m worried how my son is taking my death, but I know he’ll get through it together with my husband. He… when my first fiance died, my son took it hard but. He healed from the experience. I’m just hoping my death doesn’t open up that old wound."

Gently, the woman taps the first ring. "Why did you keep this ‘til the end? Did you regret not marryin’ your old fiance?"

"...A little bit. But," he holds his ringed hand close to his chest as he remembers two smiles, so different yet so loving, that bring a familiar warmth to his chest, "I don't regret loving either of them. I just wish..." He blinks slowly, looking back up to stare at a familiar crosswalk. "It's just a little wish, but I wish my parting words to my fiance were... nicer ones." He shakes his head. "But that's already too late, and I know nothing can change the past."

"You're right." The woman stands up and offers her hand to him. "But the dead don't have to worry about that. Time is meaningless when you have no body to constrain it to. Make it meaningful until another door opens for you." She gestures with her arm, and a soft light nearly blinds his eyes. "I'm sure you can find someone to spend it with."

A familiar bird flies out of the door as a figure turns to look at him in surprise.

"...Davey?"

"Jasp?"

There once was a man who sat on the bench.

The two embrace in the light of Clementine's door, laughing through their tears as the brunette cups the ginger's face lovingly.

"I've missed you."

"I've missed you more!"

"Then tell me everything I've missed."

"Of course I will."

There once was a man who sat on the bench.

Every day. Without fail.

But now the bench sits empty.

And empty it shall remain, until another day. Until another man.

But for now.

There is a bench that sits empty.

#camp camp #cc jasper #cc david #cc max #jaspvidweek2020 #cc cute waitress #i miss linebreaks #why did tumblr get rid of them?#anyways i love the cute waitress aka clementine #i will find every excuse in the book to write her #she's also not what she seems here #still genuinely kind and sweet tho that's no act #dkjfskd god i #cried so much writing this one #stay tuned for part 2 of day 6!!

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aggresivelyfriendly · 4 years

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Hi guys!

Um-come talk to me(or whatever)!!

Reblogs are love!

I love @dirtystyles, my tag list, @the-well-rested-one and all of my readers, lol!

Tag list: @awomanindeniall @mrsfstyles @fullstopsteph @emulateharry

Day Eight: The One With The Fort

Elise woke up with a hangover, just not the type when you at least have the wild night you may not remember to show for it. She was certainly not in bed naked, with another nude person, surreptitiously checking to see if they used protection.

This was an emotional hangover.

She'd got feelings, for a boy. Man, did she hate those. The last time she had them, it wreaked all kinds of havoc, and that was just her sister's boyfriend not a world famous object of obsession. She should have known how to read the signs, that mistake had gone a similar way. Time spent together in a house, some things in common, a little tension, fear of rejection, a move, sex, secret relationship, discovery, a broken hearted sister, disappointed parents, and a transcontinental move to escape.

Ok, so this one was in a much safer place than that. Harry was a bad choice as a man to have feelings for, but for totally different reasons than Bryce. Her quarantine buddy was a bad idea because of the rejection and/or future rejection.

Did it count as rejection?

Elise felt rejected, but feelings aren't facts, as her dad liked to remind her. She supposed it was a near miss. She had gone the last 10% just like the movie Hitch had taught her. Maybe he would have finished the gap, closed the circuit, and such, and she could have felt those beautiful pink lips on hers.

But he was saved by the bell.

Instead they ate, and sat on opposites ends of the table just like she had set it. Elise liked that it wasn't a ridiculously long ostentatious piece of dead wood before yesterday. She'd even complimented Harry on it. Last night it was unsatisfactory, definitely not as close as she would have liked to be sitting.

And during cake time, which had turned out stellar, he had touched her elbow and the bones in her feet had rattled. His hand hadn't coasted to her palm, nor had he spun her into him and pressed his lips to hers. He'd just told her it looked great and handed her the knife to cut.

Elise couldn't even think about the couch.

He'd insisted that they cuddle, and had lain behind her in the unexpected big spoon position. She'd been very excited when he suggested it, thinking it was a typical boy ploy to feel her up and get to the kissing they'd almost started.

She figured she'd at least get to feel a boner.

That was an atrocious word. But everything else sounded even worse in her head.

She'd felt no erection, just the warm shape and had wanted with all her might to press back against it, but if there was such a thing as a platonic spoon, she'd just experienced it. Then Harry had fallen asleep, his head bookended by hers until his neck relaxed onto the pillow.

Elise threw in the towel then.

The little voice in her head, that sounded suspiciously like her sister, told her that good guys didn't want her, though they'd be bad long enough to take what she was offering.

She was pretty sure she'd called Jessica a jealous bitch over that. The words had stuck in her head though, and not that she was hoping to make a go of things with her sister's ex, but the idea that he was just playing on her dark side to explore his own, it just poisoned their relationship. It certainly contaminated her already fragile relationship with her sister.

Elise had wanted to go away then, needed an escape, if she left it would be better, her parents didn't have to feel disappointed everyday when they looked at her, and Jessica didn't have to feel betrayed. Hence, England, quarantine, Harry Styles.

The first several days she could not figure out how it was karmic in any way that she got to be so close to Harry Styles. Now that he had become just Harry, the lovely rich weirdo with the bad taste in books and great taste in music, she was temporarily living with, she had figured out the catch.

The universe had given her her adolescent fantasy, shown her reality was better, and then snatched it away, like ice cream falling off the cone into sand within the first ten minutes on a boardwalk. Much as she hated it, Elise also felt it was right. She'd snuck around with her sister's boyfriend, it was only right someone she'd fallen for, who was way out of her league anyway, wouldn't want her even if she was literally the only option around.

Why was self loathing so attractive in moments of reflection?

She was going to have to go downstairs soon. She could hear music, a sure sign Harry was up and waiting for company. Maybe she could heat a thermometer under a light bulb and claim sick. Little water on her face to fake clammy skin.

Then he could baby her and she could take the tenderness and not expect the kisses, or boners. Because nobody liked kissing snotty people. Could you fake snottiness? Not without props, Elise decided. Also, faking sick when in quarantine during a pandemic seemed particularly heinous.

Despite her misgivings, she hauled her sad skeleton out of bed and got dressed. When Elise found herself searching for a specific pair of underwear, she realized she was literally planning on wearing her big girl panties. That at least made her chuckle. Whatever got you there she supposed.

Most of her fretting would be for naught. He was just Harry, and he'd acted like nothing happened. She could follow his lead, right? They were forced friends, at least for the next 6 days. May as well make the best of it and not lean in to the awkward.

The stairs made the echoey sound around the bend and she avoided the creaky part and only got a low groan. She'd relaxed a bit by the time she made it downstairs.

What the fuck was his problem? Why was he shirtless? Again! At least he had on more than a towel. Fuck her life, man. Or fuck her man, that'd be the life.

She stood at the end of the stairs and gave herself a moment until he realized she was there. His back was, woah! He was very broad for someone so slim. And his chest was, ugh, and his face. She often felt like she should congratulate him on his visage, especially the way it had leaned out and squared up. He was so manly now.

Dammit, she should have found that thermometer!

"Morning." She heard him say before she had gotten out of her head.

"Good Morning." She smiled back at him. His smile was like the call for a response in songs. You had to answer it.

"Are you hungry? There's leftover food, we could throw eggs over the last couple puddings. Or coffee?" There was a weird current under their conversation. Like he was walking on the shells of the eggs he was planning to cook her.

"Coffee?" She shrugged. "I can't really think about food yet." Elise's nerves were churning her stomach. All she could think of was the near kiss and the heat of his body behind her.

"Done." He headed to the kitchen and she followed, of course. He'd pulled out the French press, something she would purchase for herself after this. And asked, "what do you want to do today?"

Honestly, she wanted to hide out. Was there a book she could fake wanting to read? Elise was sure he had some book of semi terrible prose he would recommend to her. She need but ask. Then she could hold up in her room. The downside was she'd have to see his little sad puppy face when she told him she didn't like what he did. That was one of the downsides. Elise also wanted to be around him, maybe be able to smell him, and to avoid him noticing her avoiding him. But they needed to have something that discouraged talking, or she was gonna wind up asking him what the fuck his problem was. Because, they'd had a couple moments, she was sure of it, when they worked out, when he touched her thigh, and the near KISS, for fuck's sake. There was chemistry.

Or she was going a bit crazy, and it was totally one sided, which, seemed the way it should be.

In any case, she couldn't just ask him. She wasn't usually an asker, she was a guesser. Elise's best friend Niki was direct and wonderful, she asked for what she wanted or asked people what they wanted. When they were teenagers, she'd thought it was so embarrassing sometimes, now she wished she had some of her boldness. If she could just ask it would really simplify things. Harry, do you like me? Are you having any pesky feelings? Do I make your dick hard? Any flavor of honesty would taste better than the uncertainty she was chewing on.

Instead Elise said, "marathon Friends?" She shrugged.

His eyes opened big and she looked down to dodge the power of his pleased crinkles. "Marathon Friends!"

So there they were, three quarters of the way through a series with popcorn between them when Elise said, "I think I need to stand up. My butt is numb."

"I could rub it for you? No, not an option then?" He giggled. "We could make an obstacle course?" Harry suggested gleefully, and she wondered how long he'd been sitting on that one.

"That sounds athletic. As you've seen, I'm no athlete."

"Built like one." He said and before she could really respond he'd launched into a plea. "It'll be fun, then we can build a fort and watch more Friends."

"Are you 7 at heart?" She giggled. His glee was contagious, like Phoebe's wackiness.

"Nine!" He danced his eyebrows. "But to adult this party up, let's add alcohol. I feel like I have not given you a proper look at British life and quarantine, as we've not been pissed much at all. We can play a Friends drinking game, bet there are loads on the internet!"

Oh, this was a bad idea. But maybe she'd find some liquid courage.

The obstacle course, well it went better than she anticipated, and he let her win. She cartwheeled, the one thing she had learned in gymnastics, across the finish line. He was way ahead of her when they got to the pillow sack race at the end. The idea had struck her like a lightening bolt. She could not bound like him, all that thigh strength, but she could cover ground quick another way! She managed to keep the high thread count fabric on through her revolutions. She was a little terrified of destroying his nice linen. Harry let her cross ahead of him, and he hoisted her into the air when she exclaimed "YES!"

She expected him to complain about her tactics, instead he jogged her around on a victory lap. "Well done!" He danced in a circle and put her down, his arms wrapped around her, squishing her face into his clavicle.

"But I cheated." She muffled into his body.

"We didn't make rules. You saw an opportunity and took a chance." He shimmied his shoulders, all his bottled up energy from a day on the couch coming out in exuberance. "You gotta take chances in life."

They were close, though he'd let her go. Was she supposed to take the chance now? Was that an invitation? Why did she have to do it? "Yeah, yeah, you're right." She said but didn't act.

A beat passed and he sighed and turned around, moving around exercise equipment. "Let's build this fort, yeah?" His smile wasn't forced, but she noticed he only had two eye crinkles, not the full powered four.

His hand was on her shoulder. The opportunity was still there, but yesterday's rejection still clouded up her head like an unkept pool. "Yeah." She turned around and opened the ornamental blanket storage box he had in his media room.

They worked together with ease, and had a fort that would stay up for days on its own with no roughhousing to show for it. IKEA would be proud, they didn't even need pictorial directions.

"It looks cozy!" She smiled at it.

"It's nearly perfect." He said, before jetting off. "One second." He came back with led lights and used some stylish magic to arrange them high."Now we got it. Just missing one thing."

She couldn't imagine anything missing with the attractive light on his face. This was dreamy, she'd almost forgotten that he seemed to have decided that she had to make the move. Leaving them at an impasse. "What?"

"Tequila!" He danced his eyebrows. "One sec." He jackrabbited off.

Should she tell him tequila made her way too honest, or let him figure it out for himself?

"Alright." He skidded into the tent by her side and she applauded because he managed not to shatter the tequila bottle and glasses. "This is the best tequila." He assured her. "Find a drinking game! Unless you fancy strip scrabble."

That sent her diving for the phone. That was an even worse idea than getting drunk together. It was a quick google search later and they had their marching orders.

Phoebe seemed the most reliable. They both were licking salt and swallowing top shelf shots whenever she appeared. Monica and Joey were making a good showing too.

Her stomach hurt and she was bent sideways making a right angle at his hips from laughing so hard. Elsie had forgotten! This show was so funny, and god! They were both drunk.

Rachel was having a sappy moment and it was bringing out the sap in Elise. Man, tequila also made her emotional, she'd swung like a desktop pendulum from laughing so hard she cried to introspective sadness. It didn't exactly make sense, she was definitely more the Ross in this situation. Though her pining had started much later, precisely 7 days ago.

She giggled, nothing was precise after that much tequila. Call her Tarzan with all that swinging.

"What are you laughing about?" He turned on his side to look at her, his face full of mirth, his eyes at half mast and a little red. Bedroom eyes popped into her head and she had to suck in a breath. This felt very coupley, lying side-by-side in a fort. She would say cuddling, but they weren't touching. They hadn't been, but while she was assessing their postures, she realized he'd tangled their ankles together.

Everything they did felt coupley. Because they wanted to couple up or because they were just a couple in number?

"Um" she croaked. "I was just thinking of something, but then, tequila brain you know!" She flicked her temple lightly.

"Oh, I know!" He was jolly and she thought for a minute of other times she'd seen pictures of him drunk. His arm was around her waist now. He liked drunken cuddles, when he was younger, which was knowledge she maybe had no business possessing but knew nonetheless. His face in her neck a moment later had her closing her eyes and sighing. He smelled good, a little like a bar, but also like cologne, and his hair was so soft. She wanted to touch it.

Maybe she had more in common with Ross than she realized. A seemingly unattainable old crush suddenly in her life, maybe attainable, available.

Her drunken hands had a mind of their own, and she ran them through the silk of his hair. It felt wonderful between her fingers. Elise twirled some curls around her pointers and was rewarded by a groan from her cuddle buddy.

"Mmmmm, feels good!" His ankle tangle had become his calf and at that moment his whole thigh had inserted itself between her legs. She'd been ignoring the dull throb there for most of today, for days. The barest pressure was on her crux and she couldn't take this. She tensed and pulled, he moaned. Her hand dropped.

She felt his breath on her neck and then his head roll back to her shoulder. "Hey! Why'd you stop."

If she turned her head their boozy breaths would mingle and it would be their second almost kiss in as many days, and she couldn't take this.

Elise turned her head.

He blinked at her slow and the tequila sunset of his eyes was intoxicating. She let her eyes come down to his lips, and when his tongue peeped out to wet his mouth, hers moved on its own, "Harry?"

It needed to be asked right? She couldn't just let it happen.

"Elise." He breathed back and moved closer.

Tequila, and mint somewhere underneath, was all she tasted. Teeth and tongue, plump lips moving between and surrounding hers was what she felt, until his larger frame pressed her back onto the floor. She felt the one thigh almost against her center become his pelvis, flush. He pulled back, looked in her eyes and gave her a soft buss, resumed the eye contact. Elise leaned up like he had water and she was thirsty. The way his tongue played along the sides of hers, sliding over the top and out before he changed angles slightly and reinitiated had her lightheaded. Her skin was tight, especially where his hands were. Her clothes were heavy and hot, at her hips, around her rips, the sides of her breasts tingled, her shoulders were his palms held her open beneath him. Elise needed water. Was panting. She wasn't even sure how much the kiss had escalated, until his lips were moving over her neck and onto her collarbone, the thick strap of her top coming down, cold air and warm kisses on the swell of her cleavage. Pressure revolving between her thighs. The well was just ahead and if they kept at it, she'd dive in. Water water everywhere, so much to drink. To drown. She stilled.

"Elise?" Harry asked from where his hands and mouth had almost reached her nipples?

"I think we should stop."

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #quaratine fic #day eight #day 8 #the one with the fort

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bktynes-writes · 4 years

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Hi friends! Happy Canadian thanksgiving! Sorry this took longer to post than usual, I wanted to give everyone time to enjoy “Last Holiday” and all the wonderful content that came out surrounding that before I posted. I hope you have a wonderful week and, as always, like, reblog, or send me a message if you wanna chat about the story (or anything else)! And please let me know if you want to be tagged in upcoming chapters!

Read on ao3.

CHAPTER 3: The Father

The car ride from Rowena's club to the Winchester estate was silent and even more sobering for Dean than his phonecall with Sam had been. Benny had, of course, answered his call and driven to pick him up without question the moment Dean had said he needed a ride. Now he found himself sitting in the backseat of Benny's SUV staring at the palms of his hands, trying to compose his emotions for what he would be walking into. He hadn't let Sam explain over the phone, just said he was on his way and hung up, immediately dialling Benny's number.

His emotions ranged from fear to rage, and he was doing his best to school himself into some manner of togetherness before reaching his parent's home but was failing miserably. He caught Benny glance at him in the rearview mirror.

"You wanna tell me what's wrong, brother?" Benny asked, his cajun accent filling the cab of the vehicle.

"No." Dean snapped. There was nothing to talk about until he knew what had happened to his father.

Benny sighed. "You can't run from everything, Dean-o."

"Just drive, Benny. I'm not in the mood." Dean said.

"Fine, fine," Benny shook his head and turned his eyes back to the road. "But you should talk to someone. Spending your nights in the company of Rowena's harlots ain't gonna make the mornings feel any less cold."

Dean shot him a look over the back of the seats, and Benny focussed his eyes back on the road. He felt an immediate pang of guilt. Benny didn't know that he wasn't just pining over some woman with a fake name and even faker tits. He couldn't.

Dean sighed. "It isn't that, man." He curled his arms around himself. "It's dad. Something's wrong."

Benny's eyes snapped up. "John? What happened?"

"I dunno. Sam just called and said I needed to get home." He thumbed at the screen of his phone idly. "Could be anything."

"Well, shit, brother, if I'd've known this wasn't just a drunk Dean episode, I woulda been driving faster," Benny said.

He took a hard left, and the Winchester's estate loomed into view. The old house's stonework visage was enveloped in dark coiling ivy, and the yellow light from the windows glinted like eyes in a dark, expressionless face. The granite front steps led to grand wooden doors, intricately decorated with a relief carving of David's battle with Goliath. Dean scowled at the trees that adorned the side of the drive, casting their looming shadows through the back window of the SUV. They stood like sentinels, stoic and unyielding, daring any who passed to try and shake the Winchester's roots.

The tires crunched on the driveway's gravel as Benny pulled the car around the ornate fountain that sat at the base of the stairs. Dean unbuckled his seatbelt and threw open the door when it came to a stop.

"Thanks for the lift." He said over his shoulder to Benny as he slammed the door.

Benny rolled down the passenger window. "Any time, brother. You want me to wait for you?"

"No, it's fine. Thanks though. Just maybe don't go home yet? No sense keeping the wife awake if I need to call you again in a few hours." Dean said and forced a smile.

"Sounds like a plan." Benny looked at him with sad eyes and gave a final nod before turning back up the drive.

Dean watched the taillights recede into the inky blackness, the fountain's cascading water like white noise to his rushing brain. He quickly walked the few steps up the stairs and heaved open the front doors, light spilling out into the night, and stepped inside.

The front room was just as it had always been, a monument to excess with gilded fixtures and chandeliers that hung like diamonds from the rafters. Dean closed the doors behind him and called out to the depths of the house.

"Mom? Sam?" It was late, and, under normal circumstances, he would never have disturbed the silence.

"Dean." Sam appeared at the top of the grand staircase. "Benny got you here fast." A deep crease decorated his forehead, and dark circles hung under his eyes. His long hair, usually well kept, was sticking up on one side as though he had been running his hand through it for hours.

"Yeah, I told him you were pissed; what the hell is going on?" He climbed the stairs and followed his brother through the winding halls of the second floor, their heavy footsteps muted by the plush carpet underfoot.

"We were all sitting around after I proposed to Jess..." Sam kept his eyes forward, unblinking. "Mom and Dad were so happy. Mom, she couldn't stop talking about colour schemes and napkin patterns. Dad and I were going down to the cellar to get another bottle of wine. He insisted. Said, 'it's not every day your son gets engaged.'" He laughed darkly as they reached the master bedroom, and Sam rested his hand on the doorknob. Dean stopped in his tracks behind him. "He just...dropped, Dean. I didn't even have time to catch him before he hit the floor." Sam looked up, and Dean saw tears brimming in his already red-rimmed eyes. He opened the door to the bedroom, and they both stepped inside.

John lay on the bed, tubes and machines that had never before occupied the room's space hooked to his arms. A plastic mask secured over his face pumped oxygen to his lungs as the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor ticked away the seconds of his life. Jess sat in a chair next to the bed, her arm wrapped around Mary's slumped shoulders. They rose as the brothers entered, and Jess immediately threw her arms around Sam's waist, burying her head in his chest as he stroked her hair tenderly. Dean rushed to his father's side.

"Dad..." He choked out, taking John's hand in his own and gently squeezing it, as though he expected his father to wake from his touch alone. He turned to his mother. "What happened?" He demanded harshly.

"Heart attack." Said a smooth voice from the other side of the bed. Dean snapped his head around and spotted a woman examining one of the machines that snaked tendrils of fluid into his father's lifeless form. "Your father's in a coma as a result of cardiac arrest induced hypoxia." She scribbled something on her clipboard. Her sterile white coat stood in stark contrast to the umber glow of her complexion, the seriousness of her face softened by the low light of the room.

"In English." Dean snapped at her.

The woman fixed him with a stare that made Dean shrink back slightly. Her coal-black mane of hair seemed to crackle with intensity as she appraised him. "His brain couldn't breathe." She replied bluntly.

"Dean, this is Dr. Berry," Mary said gently as the two continued to stare at each other, neither willing to give the other the satisfaction of looking away first. "She agreed to treat your father at home instead of the hospital."

"Call me Billie." Said the woman, finally relinquishing victory of the staring contest to Dean as another machine beeped insistently for her attention. "I wouldn't normally recommend allowing a patient in his condition to remain at home, but what a Winchester wants, a Winchester gets."

"Is he gonna be okay?" Dean growled.

"Hard to say," Billie responded. "The cardiac event has severely weakened his heart, but it's the brain function I'm worried about."

"Meaning?" Dean didn't like this woman. She challenged him, and in a situation where he already had no control, he didn't appreciate the condescension in her tone.

Billie sighed as she placed her clipboard on top of the machine. "He'll probably survive the heart attack, but the fact that his brain was without oxygen for an extended period may mean he doesn't wake up. We'll take it day by day; most patients do recover eventually, but as I always say, pray for the best, prepare for the worst."

"Yeah, well, I'm not much of the praying type." Dean returned his gaze to his father's face, peaceful as he'd ever seen it, and fought to hold back a single tear that threatened to fall.

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me." Said Billie. Dean glowered at her. She turned to address his mother. "I have to return to the hospital. I'll send a nurse by in a few hours to check on him. If any of these machines readings change from what I've noted here, call me immediately. You have my number." Mary nodded, and Billie swept out of the room, shutting the door behind her without so much as a glance at Sam or Dean.

Dean's stroked the knuckles of his father's hand with his thumb. What kind of son are you? He thought to himself. Out drinking in whore houses, flirting with the enemy? He would be so ashamed of you. Sam is the only good Winchester boy. You don't matter. He'd beat your ass if he knew what you were doing tonight. Remember when he found you and Lee? Imagine if he knew what you were thinking about doing with Castiel...Dean shook the thoughts violently from his head.

"We need to keep this quiet." Dean heard his mother say distantly. "And we'll need to move up the wedding. I can pull something together in two weeks. Jess, call your parents and see what the earliest they can fly out is. Money won't be an issue." Dean whipped around in his seat, rage burning in his chest.

"Really?!" He snapped at his mother and brother. They stood huddled by the door, their expressions resolute, Sam still cradling Jessica in his arms, rubbing her shoulder firmly as she sobbed lightly into his chest. "Dad is a freaking vegetable, and you're worried about a wedding?!" He stood briskly and made to storm out of the room, but Mary stopped him with a firm hand placed on his chest.

"Dean," she said, looking him sternly in the eye. "We need to show that we aren't weak. This couldn't have come at a worse time. With Bela's news about the Novaks, a wedding would prove to our enemies that the Winchester bloodline, the Family, is still strong. Your father is the reason we aren't wallowing in the gutter like rats. Without him, those who would seek to destroy us will move against our empire with the forces of Hell behind them." She dropped her hand and, eyes pleading, stepped back.

Dean's shoulders fell. She was right. The news of his father's illness could be kept quiet, but not for long. Word would eventually spread that their patriarch's health was in decline. He looked to his brother, worry deepening the lines on his face, and Dean again felt the familiar stab of guilt twist in his chest like a knife. It should be his burden to bear, the weight of the family's success or failure, not Sam's.

"Alright." He conceded weakly, stepping back as his mother's facial features shifted into something fierce.

"What about the Novaks?" Sam asked. "Dean and I should deal with them before the wedding."

"Yeah, I uh, I was gonna tell you, Sammy," Dean said, scratching the back of his head idly. "I talked to Rowena tonight. She gave me some intel on the family."

Mary looked at Dean with a mixture of pride and disappointment. "You shouldn't have gone to Rowena's alone." She said, her tone steely. "But the more information we have, the better. What did she say?"

"Something about them being god-fearing Catholics." He wracked his brain for the details of what Rowena had said. "Apparently, they're ruthless. The dad, Chuck, he all but ran Newark through altruism and selflessness if you can believe it. Left a decent trail of bodies him, though." He collapsed back into the chair next to his father's bedside. The sun would be rising soon, and Dean wished for nothing more than a hot shower and fresh sheets. "He built his family from adopted street kids, plus his own four sons and, get this, they're all named after archangels."

Sam snorted audibly. "So, what the hell are they doing here?"

"Beats me." Dean stretched his arms above his head. "But Rowena reckons that Chuck targeted Bela because of her art trade, and I'm thinking that's how we get to 'em."

Mary sat down in the chair next to Dean and laid her hand on his cheek warmly. Dean relaxed into the touch. "My sweet boy," she cooed. "My sweet, brilliant boy. You're so good. So smart." Dean all but glowed under her praise as she gently stroked the side of his face, caressing her fingers through the short hair at his temple.

"I can help with that." Jess piped up from where her head rested sleepily against Sam's chest. "My parents are holding an art auction in a few days. It's a charity fundraiser for some west coast non-profit, but they're expecting a big crowd. If the Novaks are involved in art at all, they'll be there. I could put Sam and Dean on the guest list..." She looked nervously between Mary and Sam.

Mary rose and walked slowly towards her new daughter-in-law before embracing her tightly. She pulled back and, though her eyes were tired, the smile she gave Jessica was warm and welcoming. "I knew you'd fit into the family, my dear." She released her and looked at Sam. "You made a good choice, son."

"Yeah," he said, squeezing Jess's shoulder into his ribs as he smiled sweetly down at her. "Yeah, I did."

"So, it's settled," Mary exclaimed, rubbing her hands together. "Dean, Sam, you two will go to the art auction with Jess and try to identify at least one member of the Novak family."

Dean stiffened. "Uh, actually, mom...there's something else I've gotta tell you..."

Mary's expression when she rounded on Dean was nearly unrecognizable from before. Her eyes, which had moments ago held the icy cold of resolve to protect her family, now burned with a fire of reproach that Dean felt pierce into his soul.

"What?" She asked, her tone too soft to be anything but terrifying.

"I, uh, I met one of them already. Tonight. At Lee's." He gulped as the fire in Mary's eyes flared, then dissipated. "Castiel. I assume he's one of the adopted kids."

"You spoke to him?" Mary asked.

"Yeah, he uh..." Dean hesitated for a split second. While his father may have been the one to teach him the meaning of fear, his mother was no less terrifying. "He helped me out of a tough spot with these two idiots picking a fight. He seemed nice."

He fidgeted slightly, uncomfortable under his mother's gaze. She knew about his past relationship with Lee, even about the few nights he spent with a man named Aaron after he and Lee had split. While she had never been as violently against his trysts with men as his father, she had never openly expressed approval or support of them either.

"Did he know?" Asked Sam, breaking the tension of the moment. "That you're a Winchester, I mean."

"No." Said Dean, looking away from his mother's eyes. "I told him I was Dean Smith, Sandover sales associate. Didn't give him a reason not to believe me."

"That's good." Mary smiled devilishly at her son. "I assume you were pleasant to him?" The question was a double-edged sword. Dean knew she was asking if he had flirted with Cas, used his looks and charisma to make his knees go weak, batted his eyelashes enough to make the man swoon, but if he admitted that openly now, here, in front of his family, there would be no going back.

He swallowed hard. "If you're asking me if I was polite, then yes." He said curtly. "If you're asking me if I made a move on him," Dean's eyes went dark, lips quirking up at the corners in a twisted grin. "Of course."

The glee in his mother's eyes made Dean's stomach turn. He knew that look. He had seen it once in his youth, moments before she had watched a man hang from a crane after selling out John to the police.

"It seems your proclivity for the company of men is not such a great shame to this family after all, Dean." She stated. There was no warmth in her voice, no notes of approval. Her glee did not come from a place of love for her child; it came from the cold, calculating mind of a mafia wife, willing to risk everything to protect her Family. "Did this, 'Castiel' return your advances?"

Dean let his grin deepen as his mother's intentions became evident in his mind. He could see her plan formulating, even as the gears turned in her brain. "He did."

"Then we can use that." Mary turned to Sam and saw the same sadistic glint in his eyes that filled hers. "Sam, you will go to the auction as Jessica's escort. Dean," she returned her eyes to her eldest son, "you will go as a representative from Sandover. I'll speak to the company and make sure they don't already plan on attending. You will find Castiel and woo him." She approached Dean and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You truly are my son. Your charm, your whims of sexual desire...you will make him fall for you. Make him weak." Mary smiled and removed her hand, moving to sit at John's bedside. She clasped her husband's hand in her delicate fingers and gazed lovingly at him. "And when he is weakened by love and lust, you will destroy the Novak family from the inside out."

"Yes, mother," Dean said through his smirk. He squeezed her shoulder assuringly and looked at his father. I will make you proud, he thought.

Jessica and the Winchester boys left the bedroom quietly, allowing their parents time together. They descended the stairs to the front room, discussing their plans for the art auction. They opened the front door and stepped into the brisk morning, bathed in the golden glow of the sunrise.

"I texted Benny for you." Said Sam. "He should be here soon."

"Thanks," replied Dean. He bent down and placed a light kiss to the top of Jessica's head. "Welcome to the family, sis."

She smiled up at him sleepily as the crunch of tires could be heard up the gravel drive, and Benny's SUV pulled into view. Dean bid his brother farewell as they parted ways. He climbed into the backseat and slumped down against the warm upholstery.

"You seem like you're in a better mood than a couple hours ago," Benny said, handing Dean a still hot take-out cup of coffee over the back of the seat. He glanced in the rearview mirror and, spying the menacing grin that remained hanging on Dean's lips, he groaned.

"What's that for?" Dean asked lazily, sipping at the blessed bitterness of the coffee as it warmed his insides and washed the weariness from his limbs, new purpose infusing his veins.

"Whenever one of you Winchesters gets that look on your face, it means I'm gonna have to dig some poor bastard's grave." He mused, pulling out of the driveway and onto the main road, navigating the car towards Dean's apartment downtown. "I swear you sick fucks enjoy the killing more than the luxury of your lives."

Dean chuckled and closed his eyes to the world for just a moment. "Well, what can I say, Benny?" He smiled despite himself. "It's pure, life and death. It's in my nature."

He let himself drift into a comfortable sleep as they sat in the morning traffic, the radio quietly playing Frank Sinatra's 'My Way' in the background. His dreams were filled with blue-eyed angels and bloody crowns of thorns, piercing flesh and wrapping around bone. How poetic that a family named for angels should be destroyed by a man who once thought he had the devil in his very soul. Dean smiled in his sleep at the thought.

He had work to do.

Tags:

@valleydean @fighterfortheforgotten

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #supernatural au #deancas #deancas fanfic #deancas fic #destiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #destiel mafia au #tw: violence #tw: illness #tag: tbotc

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

Text

Jinxed- Part 2

Calum’s so used to fucking up that when a second chance comes his way he’s not sure what to do with it. Demon!Calum.

CW: Mentions of death.

Enjoy my masterlist

Support me on kofi.

__________________________

Her house is a mess. Dishes have piled up, her laundry is overflowing the basket. She hasn’t returned anyone’s phone call. Her mother has left twenty or so voicemails. Her text notifications are near the hundreds. None of those matter. His notes aren’t slipped under the door. She’s checked every night for one. Like her brain hasn’t computed that he’s actually gone. But he is. There is nothing but that handful of dust.

When she calls all those old numbers, she gets an automated voice. It tells her that the number she is trying to reach is out of service or has been disconnected. She always sobs on the last word. She is disconnected. Disconnected from a friend. Disconnected from her loved ones because no amount of the phone buzzing and shaking on the table gets her to pick it up. A lifeline has been unplugged.

Ruby clutches the small jar to her chest most days, or keeps it near. It feels appropriate for all the times Calum would shoot whiskey or hennessey straight out of one of them. Or the time he left a single carnation in one of her mason jars. It was pink, even though she hated pink. The next time he brought white. She carries the little bit of him left in the mason jars he used to always poke fun about.

She can’t even cry anymore tears. She just sits, curled up in his jacket. She’s starting to lose his scent though. She can smell now is herself mostly. Ruby can’t mess up Calum’s jacket. The least she can do is preserve that. So she peels herself out of, draping it carefully over the edge of her bed and goes to shower.

She texted her boss the next morning after it happened, after the shock still weighed her down. Ruby explained she’d need to take a couple personal days. Ruby really thought that was all it would take. Like a couple days just to get herself out of the funk. It’s hard to deal with death, but she thinks that she can bolster through. However, everytime she walks into her living room, she stares at the spot he last kneeled and her whole chest shatters. Her lungs can’t expand large enough for hair. She wheezes while tears stream down her face.

If she could use the sprinkling of his ashes and her tears to sprout him again, she would’ve done so by now. She stands, in that spot, clutching his shirt, praying there’s anything she could do to bring him back. She is by no means, a witch. She tries nevertheless. She prays that anything brings him back. At first she wanted to never know Calum. It would be much easier to never hold onto these memories of falling asleep on him when she just couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore.

The reality though is that she’s happy to have known him. She’s happy to have those random trips for ice cream, even though she knows it’ll make her intestines shiver. If she didn’t have those experiences, what would’ve been the last year and half of her life? Who would she be without the imprint of Calum on her soul?

____

Her hair is no doubt a mess when she walks into work. She managed to do laundry and put on decent clothes. Her dishes are still not done. She’s yet to take the trash out with all the delivered fast food. But at least she’s taken care of one thing. She was just much too tired to keep her shoulders lifted to properly comb out. Most of the knots are out with her pick and wide tooth comb.

“Hey stranger,” Tiff says. Her smile is soft, maybe even a little sad.

“Hey, sorry about being gone for so long.” She can feel the sting behind her eyes now. Fuck, she really thought she had cried enough. How does she even begin to function like her life is normal again?

“No, no, it’s okay.” Tiff collects Ruby into her arms, combs and all still in her hands. “Shh, it’s okay.”

“He’s gone. I just--I can’t believe it,” Ruby hiccups.

_____

The weeks pass, blurring into months. Ruby lingers less often on the spot in her living room. She still wears his shirt around the house just for comfort sake. His leather jacket hangs in her closet, now a staple piece even though it’s boxy on her. It’s comfortable. It’s lived in. Even though his cologne is long gone and nothing but the scent of the cleaners is seeped into the garment, she can still feel the lingering of Calum in it.

She knows he slipped his arms into the same holes. He layered it with a sweatshirt and beanie. There is something of him, his living visage still seeped into the threads that makes her feel better when she wears if, even if she doesn’t need the comfort constantly.

Ruby keeps up with her dishes now too. Her laundry basket is emptied at least once a week. It hurts less to laugh. She can go about her day easier now. She doesn’t think she’ll ever reach her old normal. But she likes her new normal, the new routine of noticing the small things that Calum used to do that don’t cause her chest to rupture. But she gives a sad smile whenever the thoughts cross her mind.

Like now, sitting in Kourtney’s car, Ruby is slightly reminded of the times that she and Calum would ride across town, just to try the latest sweet treat.

“I don’t know how you’ve been single for this long now,” Kourtney laughs from the driver seat. The red light stares down at them and they stare up at it for the moment being. The comment isn’t mostly out of the blue. But their previous conversation about how dating is hard had died down a little.

Ruby look to her friend through her peripheral. The high ponytail weave still slick and perfectly pinned in place. “I haven’t been single for that long.”

“It’s going on two years now! Ever since your birthday when that creepy guy cornered you at the bar. You broke things off with Darrell, what three just weeks before that?” Kourt risks a glance over. Rubs picks at her nails, the set of extended nails a deep burgundy color. They don’t mention that birthday too much.

It was brought up once before after Calum’s passing and Ruby broke down into tears. Kourtney and the rest of the girls thought that Ruby and him had been dating and then broken up. But the way she cried and told them that a good friend had passed away, they figured they might be wrong about it. Everyone does their best to dart around the topic.

Ruby makes sure never to give a name. Part of it feels like a disservice. That she’s silencing him even in death. But the other part knows it’s better this way. That she can’t say his name. Not to anyone. Would she be causing trouble for herself if she does? Would Lucifer come back for her? She’d rather not having the devil himself show up at her door again. Once is more than enough in a lifetime.

Ruby blinks. It has been two years. Time surely hasn’t slowed. But it doesn’t feel like it’s sped up either. “Well I won’t be taking anymore recommendations from you,” she tsks, sucking her tongue around teeth.

“You can’t hold Tre over my head forever. I thought she was cool.”

“She’s like the rest of them n--,” She had more to say but Kourtney cuts her off with a wave of her hand, as if she’s heard the guilt trip from Ruby enough already.

“So are we going out for your birthday or not?”

Ruby doesn’t know what she wants to do for her twenty sixth birthday. It feels mundane. It’s not 21 or even her 30’s. Just 26, a tick mark in the calender of her life. Just another day on the wheel. “We could go back,” Ruby offers with a shrug of her shoulders.

Kourt presses down as the light turns green. “Back to Greenlight? It’s an hour out of town.”

“The music was lit.”

“The drinks were expensive.”

“You’ll have a birthday girl.”

“Why do you want to go back?” Kourtney asks but not without having to tap her brakes to allow for an asshole weaving through the lanes. She flips them the bird.

Ruby watches, focus blurring on the passing asphalt. She can’t avoid things forever. She can’t hide from what’s happened. Calum’s dead. Though she’s wondered if demon’s can every truly die. Part of her wished she had asked sooner. She wished she had considered what happens when she dies, if she’ll ever cross paths with him again. Should she make some sort of deal with the devil? Calum would probably have her head for something like that.

“Earth to Ruby!” Kourtney shouts, snapping her fingers near Ruby’s ear.

“I’m not dead,” Ruby huffs.

“Why should we hikes our asses all the way to Greenlight? Need to pour one out for them?”

Ruby has to laugh. Calum would not stand for the waste of alcohol in his honor. But it feels appropriate to remember him like that, even if it is wasted whiskey on concrete. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Someone’s gonna have to DD. Because I am not splitting that Uber again. I couldn’t even afford enough drinks for a solid buzz.”

“It won’t be long. But I guess if it’s an hour drive. We better make it worth our while. There’s a waffle joint close by too. Make pretty good breakfast.”

Kourtney parks in front of the mall, lips pursed. “And how would you know that ma’am?”

Keeping her gaze straight ahead, Ruby shrugs. Her lips curve though. The smile slowly etching itself onto her face. “Heard it through the grapevine.”

“Yeah right. Who you fuck that far across town?”

“No one,” Ruby defends. Her offended tone doesn’t last long before her laughter cuts through. It’s shocking that she’s never brought up the night she spent with Calum. But Ruby nows her friends. The would take any amount of scandalous details and run it for miles.

Kourtney’s nonbelief is clear on her face, especially with the eyeroll. “Yeah and I was born last night.”

The women climb out of the car, laughing. As Ruby slings the purse onto her shoulder, Kourtney leans against the hood of the car. “Was it them? The one that passed away?”

Ruby matches her position. She can trust Kourtney, one of the few that always been more receptive to Ruby’s quiet moments. She’s always been the one that makes sure to keep the things that need to be quiet quiet. So Ruby nods her head. “Just once.”

“You just out here hoeing around and making friends out of them? Only you Ruby. Only you can sleep with someone and be friends wit’ ‘em.”

Ruby closes the car door, walking around the bumper. There’s a small breeze as they walk to the entrance. “It wasn’t supposed to go down like that. We slept together and I thought it was over. But he came into the salon.”

“So it was a guy, huh?”

“Yeah, he came into the salon to see a stylist. We talked for a minute.” Ruby pauses. She can’t admit that Calum turned out to be a giant asshole and a demonic one at that. “He was a bit of an asshole about it. But it was chill. Then on the date with Tre, he happened to be hanging out there too. She was still yelling about getting some ass. We argued and resolved it. Though, things didn’t actually get fix. She just stormed off. He was there. We hung out getting ice cream.”

Kourtney nods. “So you didn’t sleep with him again after that?”

Ruby shakes her head. “No.”

“Was it that bad?”

“Quite the opposite.”

“So why not?” Kourt screeches.

The mall isn’t too crowded for the moment. Both of them wanted to get out and about early. It’s only the older people that walk laps with their wristbands and two pound weights. All of them look at Ruby and Kourtney for sudden loud interruption. They are used to the stares from others because their glossy lips, and occasional pop of their gum. They know the hair and the color of their skin makes them an easy target for judgemental stares.

It’s sometimes exhausting how true the phrase is that there is nothing new under the sun. There is nothing new about the prejudices they face. There is nothing new to the way they are watched, followed around. There is nothing new about losing loved ones. Nothing new about the stories of their lives. There is just new names on the characters they play.

“Because we became friends,” Ruby answers.

“You can fuck your friends.” Kourtney throws the 22 inches over her shoulder. Her nails aren’t long. But are a sharp stiletto point and have rhinestones tacked onto them.

“You shouldn’t though,” Ruby states.

Kourtney loves Ruby but sometimes wishes she gave more about her life. How to go from fucking a stranger to becoming their friend is a story that others would kill to tell. But Ruby holds it close to her chest. She won’t give the details. Even if Kourtney tried to push it out of her, it would only be condensed. She’d only ever get the sparks notes version of the truth. “Fine, fine. We’re here for birthday outfits anyway.”

“Why do you need an outfit for my birthday?”

“Because I can’t go to Greenlight raggedy.”

“Your closet is twice the size of mine. You calling me raggedy?”

“Never in a million years, Rubs. Never.”

Ruby purses her lips but says nothing. Their feet carry them down past the anchor stores to a small run boutique. The displays are still neon and fishnets, with a sprinkle of cheetah print bodycon skirts. The shirts are cropped in the stomach but still thick long sleeved. The fashion choices don’t always make sense. As if only the flesh of arms get cold but not a stomach.

“Are jeans and clear heels look too simple for my birthday?” Ruby asks, the jeans at the first display for her. She owns enough denim to last her the rest of her life if she gains no more weight.

The question is mostly to herself, a little bit for Kourtney’s response. Kourtney’s already two racks over, thumbing through the previous season’s sequin tops. “No, it’s a very you look. Spice the top up with some glitter maybe. Or some neon?”

Ruby bypasses the denim, finding a blue sequin dress and holds it up. “Kourt, look what I found.”

A small gasp feels the air. “I need it. And I need it now.”

“Your size too.” Ruby dangles the rack from the tops of her fingers, thumbing over the dresses. Birthdays require maximum fun. A dress will have her stressed that her ass is not showing. Though depending on the amount of shots she’s had the stress of not mooning anyone could easily be overcome by the giggling urge to moon someone. She’ll stick to pants though and let the worry reside for another day when she dares a skirt.

Kourtney takes the dress from the waiting hand and pulls out a red cheetah print top. “Try this?”

“Looks like a dress I have.”

Kourtney watches Ruby glance over the racks. The hangers making a piercing screeching as they scratch with rusted metal over the glossy metal rods that they hang on. Is smart to support her want to go back to Greenlight? Nothing special is really there about the place. It’s popular and crowded, but that’s only because it’s the latest club on the scene and more artists want to play in the club because of it’s blossoming elitist status. But a good time could be had anywhere.

“Are you positive about Greenlight?” Kourtney asks.

Ruby nods. “As positive as I am black.”

“So hella positive then,” Kourtney laughs.

It takes one store for them to find the base pieces, a dress for Kourtney and the top for Ruby. It takes three others for the shoes. In the second store, Kourtney finds her heels, black and strappy to neutralize the red glittery bling. And in the last one, Ruby finds a pair of clear heels--on sale. An important caveat for her considering she may not wear the shoes much after her birthday.

When Ruby gets home, she drops the bag to her couch. She might be crazy to go back to Greenlight. Yes, they are memories there, but who’s to say that she couldn’t build more there. Why should the only ones she has of the place be tainted by a heaviness that could be replaced?

____

It’s mutually decided that Ruby can’t be the designated driver for her own birthday. She only offered as a way to keep herself on a leash drinking wise. But her group of friends quickly shot that down. She slips on the gold hoops as Tiff corrals the already tispy group. She can perfectly enjoy a birthday while being sober, or as close to sober as she could realistically be with a shot or two in her.

Ruby hears the glasses clinking in her living room. The rest of the group has been sipping on fruity wine. It’s cheap, but good. Tiff hands over her tube of buttergloss. “Peachy nudes always pop more with a little bit of gloss. Always.”

Ruby takes it, just taking in the tube of glass, a fair pink. “Noted.”

___

The Greenlight is packed as always. Bodies look like a giant sea, swaying to and fro. Ruby looks over to the corner. Calum’s not there. She didn’t expect him to be there. But she had a fleeting hope. A sliver of it sits in her chest and drops when there’s just a couple talking, leaned in close to each other. Calum would be sitting there, beanie on his head. The look would not be complete without his leather jacket. She suddenly wishes she had it draped over her shoulders.

A whiskey would be in Calum’s hand of course. Maybe he’d wink at her. Maybe he’d just watch her dance with her friends. He’d offer of course to pay for a drink or two, but he’d really only be on the sidelines to let her enjoy the night. At the end of the night, when her world is still swimming with the buzz of her shots, Calum would probably tuck her into bed with water on the nightstand. “No dying on me tonight,” he’d whisper.

For a fraction of a second, Ruby wishes she had made Calum promise that too. So that she could be angry for his death for him leaving her. But it really wasn’t of his own volition. That was a choice made for him by someone else’s hand.

“We’ve got a birthday girl!” Tiff shouts, grabbing Ruby’s arm.

Ruby’s imagined version of Calum disappears as she’s dragged to the bar. It takes her a moment to start reaching for her clutch to grab her ID. The bartender smiles. “And what will she have?” There’s a quick glance at the ID. Ruby thinks it most definitely isn’t long enough to see her age at all.

“Whiskey. Straight.” The order falls from her lips without her thinking.

Tiff blinks. “Well that’s different than your usual.”

The only thing Ruby does is shrug. She can offer no explanation. It just feels like the right thing to do. The bartender nods and turns. The rest of the girls order shots or fruity drinks strong enough to knock a grown man over.

The night doesn’t feel too special. Ruby manages to snag a few free drinks for her friends. The music thumps in her bones and the bass shakes her core. The bodies are still moving in mass, a sway. She finds herself looking to that corner again. The couple’s since left and it’s empty. She wonders if that spot feels like wearing Calum’s jacket.

Telling Kourtney that she’s headed to the bathroom, Ruby sneaks away from the group. She climbs into the high chair, into Calum’s chair. It feels different up here. To watch everyone living their life. To know that someone’s going to home with someone else, to know that they are all in the middle of something—a breakup, trying to break a two year single streak. Whatever the case may be, every single person on that floor has a life headed in some direction. And she gets to watch the intersections. She gets to see how all the webs cross and unravel.

“I’m very grateful you are a creature of habit. Or finding you would’ve been hell.”

Ruby’s heart thunders, the veins in her neck thumping clearly behind the skin. She knows that voice anywhere. Even if she’s only heard it the one time in her apartment. She could identify it in a crowd of thousands. “Don’t you have other lives to ruin?”

Lucifer grins. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“That is absolutely rich coming from you. So why the fuck are you here?”

“I’m on a delivery. And I don’t think you’d be too receptive of my other Hunters.”

“To what? Deliver a harsh reminder that you killed one of my best friends? Thanks. Especially on my birthday. Perfect timing. You asshole. You’re such a goddamn asshole.” Ruby slips down from the hair, reaching back up to grab her drink.

“Just listen for two second,” he hisses. When her hand comes up, he drops the long velvet box into it. “It’s from your friend. He never got around to giving it to you. So I figured I’d be nice. For once.”

“From Calum?”

“Yeah, from him.”

“What is it?”

“Look I’m just delivering the damn thing. I don’t ask questions about what it is. Do you realize that does spoil the whole thing about gift giving?”

“How long has he had it?”

“Again, that is not something I can answer.”

If it weren’t for the fact that he was delivering something from Calum, she’d smack him. Maybe. It’s not like he’d feel it. Calum didn’t feel the left swing she gave him. Granted, it would be more for the affect, for the spectacle.

“Apparently it’ll mean something to you. He’s been whining. Enjoy the rest of your day. Drink the spirits for me too.” With that, Lucifer slithers through the crowd. She notes it’s less of a walk and more of a glide. Calum had a swagger to his walk. Never rushed but never slow either. Ruby cracks open the box.

A gold anklet stares back up at her. A small charm is attached. A mason jar etched into the gold plate with a C and R carved inside as well. Her eyes water. He’s had to have it for a while, holding onto it for some reason, for some sort of occasion. He mentioned getting her a gift. Only to her once. In passing, during Christmas. He said he wanted to give her something to remember him by that wouldn’t be subjected to the erosions all memories face.

He wasn’t sure what to get though. Wasn’t sure how to give it to her. Sure he’d give her small things--surprising her with candy, or giving her t-shirts that he thought she’d enjoy mostly because of the crazy sayings printed on them. But he wanted to give her something tangible, that would fade to the wear of a machine.

Ruby looks up back into the crowd. Lucifer’s is long gone. She continues to stare out over the packed dance floor. Will he show back up? And what he meant by Calum was whining? Calum was dead. The dead can’t complain, can’t speak, can’t blink. There is nothing but silence from them, right?

“Ruby! That’s one hell of a piss,” Kourtney laughs. Her eyes are glassy, Ruby notes. Maybe she won’t notice the tears forming in the corner of Ruby’s eyes.

“Helping another girl,” Ruby lies, tucking the box away. “Zipper got caught.”

“C’mon. We got more shots. We need you.”

Ruby extends the hand not holding the chain. They filter through the crowd, over to the counter. She takes the glass of clear liquor, knocking the glasses together. As the liquid slides down her throat, it burns. What burns more is the thought that Calum might be alive somewhere out there in the depths of Hell.

Ruby crawls back into bed. The gold anklet dances against her skin. The last shot still pounds against her head. But the question would not leave her alone. Could Calum still be alive? She saw the dust. But Calum made her promise that she couldn’t watch. Right now, she wishes she had. She would know for sure, with her own eyes if death had truly ruined her.

Her computer, even dimmed, still is harsh against her eyes. But she squints and opens a new window of Google, incognito. Like it’s illegal to search questions about demons. If it didn’t hurt to laugh, she’d chuckle at herself.

Can you kill a demon?

Ruby waits, blinks her eyes once and Google returns with answers, all in blue. She groans and clicks on the link. There had to be a color for the font that was easier on the eyes in the hangover state filled with curiosity.

Demon traps, salt circles, holy water, heavenly fire, blades.

This isn’t actually helping, she huffs. So clicks away from that link and back to the search results. Please work, she begs clicking another link. She skims over the black text. You can’t actually kill a demon. It surely look like Calum had died to her. It felt like he had died. Because if he was still kicking around he’d find a way to find her, to talk to her.

Unless he couldn’t communicate with her like before. Ruby doesn’t know the first thing about how to communicate with any other spiritual beings. But there’s nary a question that Google can’t at least attempt to answer.

How do you communicate with the dead?

Ruby pauses. Should she type in how to summon a demon?

She is trying to summon one, technically. She’ll start there with the dead. To her that is what Calum is. He is dead. A dead friend. No matter the status of his spirit, he is dead to her. There’s seance, alters, crystals. Her brain begins to spin. So she closes the screen and lays back into her purple fuzzy pillows. They can offer some solace from the pounding of too much alcohol and too little water and the sting of tears. Calum can’t still be out there. She can’t handle that.

___

The leather jacket is overkill. She knows. But staring up at the bookcase of books, she finds warmth in knowing that she is carrying a small part of Calum with her. Titles jump up out at her. Most of them centering around Wicca. She’s intrigued and pulls one down. She thumbs through the pages and holds it into the crook of her elbow.

The Handbook of Witchcraft slips onto the top of her stack. People pass her by and no one seems to blink an eye. It’s her little secret, her little endeavor. To everyone else though, she is just down an aisle in the bookstore. She is just carrying a stack of books. She is just a patron amongst the fairly quiet calm river of the bookstore. She’s not making a ripple or bothering a soul. She is a nobody taking up space meant to be occupied.

She settles into the cafe attached inside the store. Her stack is about four high. She might as well get started now. The whirring of machines blurs into the background of her mind.

“Just starting out I see?”

Ruby glances up. Another black girl with pink box braids tips her plastic cup at her stack. “Looking for answers,” Ruby says.

Reaching into her pocket, the young girl finds a pen and takes a napkin from the small stack Ruby grabbed for her muffin. The girl scribbles down the at symbol followed by what looks like a username. “This is my Instagram. Message me if you need help.”

“Thanks.” Ruby smiles. “Like the hair.”

“Gotta get them redone. New in town. Still looking for a stylist.”

Ruby reaches into her purse. She grabs a business card for her and the salon. “I do eyebrows mainly. But the salon I work in is black owned.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“It can be hard out there.”

Ruby knows she’s been at the store too long when the afternoon sun fades into a pastel orange. Packing up the stack, she proceeds to the registers. The cashier looks unphased, pushing their reward card and membership. Ruby’s thankful. Her secret is safer for even a little bit longer, safe even from the cashier, who probably cares nothing about her life to start with.

___

Ruby laughs at herself walking into IKEA, even though her entire house is completely furnished. Nothing is broken either. She’s still here though. She gets lost every time she walks through the doors. Taking a survey of the shop, she takes a deep breath. Just a small end table. That’s all she needs. She’ll start there.

It takes an entire half an hour and help from two different employees but she secures the end table she needs. It’s on sale, or there’s some sort of special. The small wooden two tiered table is only 10 bucks, not including the taxes. It’s even small enough for her carry herself to her car. Though several employees offer one the flatbeds to help her walk even easier. Ruby know she could’ve easily gotten one for free, maybe with more characters, more knicks in it.

All the articles she read mentioned that the table wasn’t the important part. There would be more money to spend elsewhere. Is it wrong to want to give Calum the best if he’s still out there? The only thing Ruby can do is just give it a shot. As she slides the large cardboard box into her truck, she pauses. It’s just a shot.

It would be funny to have an ivory cloth to cover it, Ruby thinks. Though black is more fitting. She settles later on, while in Target, for a Halloween themed one, black with silver trimming. It’s clearly been lingering since the holidays. She’s shocked they haven’t been tossed out yet by the store. It hasn’t been that long since the holiday, though. So maybe it isn’t old enough to be thrown out just yet.

Calum might be pissed. She can almost hear his voice in her head, deeming worthy of at least something solid back. But Ruby figures he has a small silver streak in himself. Even if he refuses to believe it himself.He’d probably refute it. Tell her she’s the only silver streak in his damnation.

Ruby would then tell him he’s much too harsh on himself. She misses those moments, the bickering even though it’s not real. Twisting the last screw into place, Ruby looks at the gold anklet again.

He’s been whining.

Is she insane? Has she finally gone off the deep end to be sitting in her bedroom, screwing together an end table to create an altar? Calum might not even be on the other side. He could all the day dead. He could be really good.

But why the present tense? Was it false hope, some sort of unresolved sadness or fear that kept her clinging to any gram of hope?

Honestly, it didn’t matter. If she was insane, Ruby would find out soon enough, right? If she was insane to try and communicate with a damned soul, then it wouldn’t work. She’d just have a spare end table and a cool table cloth to help her decorate for the holidays. It wouldn’t be a waste if it all went to shit on her.

___

“You have to set it up for what you need. You can add traditional elements. But they’re really customizable.”

“I need it for like,” Ruby starts then stops, readjusting her grip on the thread.

“No, no. I need not know,” Jasmine reprimands. Her eyes are still closed. Her fingers still holding the skin taut.

Ruby cleans up the underbrow before moving to the top of the bone. “Aren’t their guides for this kind of stuff? Could I go to someone else to do this?”

“I mean you could yes,” Jasmine says. Ruby brushes away the plucked hairs and moves to the right brow. “You’re looking for something maybe more along the lines of a psychic.”

“I don’t know. Everytime I think I can do it, I chicken out.”

“Just sit for a few minutes. Even if the altar isn’t complete just sit in front of it for a few minutes. Smudge it before and after. Besides, you’re not going to get it right on your first try. It’s not about getting it right the first time either. You have to feel it, know what you’re looking for, know when you’ve found it.”

Ruby hums, focused now on the string pulling the right hairs from the roots. When done and the brows outlined, Ruby hands Jasmine the mirror. “What do you think?”

“Holy fuck,” Jasmine gapes. “My brows have never looked this good.”

“I do my best.”

“You fucking slayed it is what you did.” Jasmine turns her head side to side, to make sure it’s not just a trick of the light and angle. The truth is no, her brows look this good for every angle thanks to the talent of Ruby. Jasmine adds a ten dollar tip to the fee. “I’ll be back for sure.”

“Glad you’re happy with them.”

Jasmine grabs a couple of business cards from the display on the front desk. “For friends,” she notes before shouting loudly over her shoulder. “Bye ladies. See y’all later.”

The entire shop responds with a shout too. Ruby leans into the glass front desk. The sidewalks are pretty dead. A couple boys hanging out because of the barber shop next door. There’s a convenience store at the corner of the block, where most people grab snacks for before coming into their hair appointments. Ruby would go there to grab snacks before movie snacks. She managed to sneak out of the salon well before closing sometimes and because of that, she could load up before calling Calum. Never texted.

The rest of the day is pretty slow. It’s only Tuesday though. The closer to the weekend they get, the busier it becomes. Ruby walks into her apartment. It’s quiet and she thinks about turning on her TV. There’s never anything on, so she lets the silence lingers and gets water instead. The table is still bear in the corner of her bedroom. Just the cloth. Ruby finds the shoebox in the top of her closet. She pulls the only photo she has of Calum. Just him reclining on her couch in a green t-shirt and sweats.

He’s not even looking at her, too busy browsing her computer. He was trying to prove her wrong about the meaning of carnations. This then took him down the rabbit hole of flora meaning, which he spent twenty minutes reading aloud to her. Ruby has since put it in a gold frame. It fits him. So she sets the frame onto the table, just right in the center.

Ruby sits in front of it. Just admiring the photo. Her clock ticks in her ear. The water sits on the floor, still in the cup. Ruby lights one of the incenses. Rhodney gave her a good deal on them. He helped her get into this apartment. And she just sits. Eyes closing briefly. This is nice, peaceful. Just her, sinking into the floor, thinking about Calum. She lets the lavender scent settle into her lungs.

Ruby sits cross legged, mind suspended between the reality that she is in her bedroom and the shallow pool of not having to think about anything. She can just bathe in the memories, his love of chocolate pretzels, the way he always smelled a little like nicotine but mostly like wooden musk of cologne.

Maybe Calum couldn’t communicate with her. Ruby knows in her heart of hearts that Calum would fight heaven and high water to keep in contact with her if he could. This had to be on her to figure out. Ruby couldn’t rely on Calum’s supernatural abilities anymore. This was a fight she’d have to take up on her own.

There’s a small rumble. She can hear the clink of her glass. She thinks it’s the glass clinking against the floor. But she doesn’t dare open her eyes. Then her phone rings from the living room.

“Shit,” she whispers, standing up. She was positive she had turned it on silent. But she can never be sure anymore. It’s only a spam call. She was searching for a new health insurance plan and now the companies don’t leave her alone.

When Ruby returns to her bedroom, her glass of water is still.

___

“You really need at least 4 people to communicate with spirits. Don’t want to be doing that kind of shit alone,” Jasmine hums. She sucks through her straw, the bottom of it clearly in nothing but air.

“I don’t really have 3 other people that would be down for that,” Ruby counters. The coffee shop is loud. It’s a shock for how late in the day it is. But for those that need the caffeine, it matters not the time of day for them.

“Well, now you only need 2 more people,” Jasmine grins, finishing off the last of her scone.

“You’re going to help me?” Her disbelief is clear in her question. Why would Jasmine potentially be subjecting herself to the unknown for Ruby? It’s probably less unknown for Jasmine than it is unknown for Ruby.

“Of course.”

“You do know what I’m asking you to do right?”

Jasmine laughs. “Yes, I’m aware.”

Her latest hairstyle are crochet locs. The fake hair has the ends dyed royal blue. Ruby notes that she always has to have a pop of color with her hair. She likes it. The way Jasmine’s always so free to express herself. Ruby does that too, with her hair too, but more so through her nails. She’s not sure what color to get this time. Though every time she goes into the nail salon, her eyes drift to the olive green. The same color of the shirt in the picture.

“You’ve got time to get your nails done today?” Ruby asks.

Jasmine looks over the black polish she put on about a week ago. It’s chipped a little. It was a rush job on her part. “I hadn’t planned too, but sure.”

“My treat,” Ruby adds on.

“Sold.”

Knocking on Kourtney’s door, Ruby wonders if she’s already gone for the day. She tried to text before driving over it. Kourt hadn’t responded though by the time they got there. Kourtney keeps her car in the garage, so there’s no way to know. The door cracks open just as Ruby’s phone buzzes in her pocket. “Well this is a surprise,” Kourtney laughs.

“Kourt this is Jasmine. Jasmine, Kourtney.” The two ladies wave at each other. “Think you can squeeze us in.”

“For you, Rubs, always. No matter how last minute it is.”

Ruby knows that tone, it’s joking but serious. “I promise this won’t be a common occurrence.”

“Oh I know it won’t.”

As the drill buffs over Ruby’s growth, Kourtney clicks her tongue. Her nose and mouth are hidden behind the dusk mask. The raised eyebrow is clear. She’s not buying this pitch, not in the slightest. The fine powder flies under the harsh light of the lamp bent over Ruby’s nails. “You want me to do what now?”

Ruby knows what she’s asking is probably insane. “Just be there. That’s all.”

“We are too black to be fucking with spirits.”

Ruby looks over to Jasmine, who just shrugs. Her gel manicure is freshly cured, though she sits under the nail dryers for her toes. “I mean, I totally get where she’s coming from. But at the same time, if you look at other religions, they do the same thing all the time.”

“Like what?” Kourtney tuts, pulling the drill away from her work. Ruby’s hand is still firm in her grasps.

“Do you know about orishas?” Jasmine asks.

“Do I know about what?”

“They’re deities, gods,” Ruby explains. “I mean, it’s not totally the same. In that belief system people who practice are mounted.”

“Mounted?”

“The deity descends and uses the practitioners physical form, or body, during rituals.” Ruby wants to avoid the term possess. That would only serve to fuel Kourtney’s resistance.

“Just say possess them. You can say it,” Kourtney huffs.

“It’s not like the deity stays forever.”

“So, for argument sake, people are mounted by these spirits. And you want to equate that to openly knocking on the supernatural’s door and just ask them to chill out with us until whomever you’re trying to contact shows up. Is that what you’re asking me to do?”

“Well, it’s less about just chilling with spirits than it is trying to directly contact one. But yeah, let’s go with that version,” Ruby returns.

“You’re fucking insane.” Kourtney’s tone isn’t harsh. It’s not even condescending. She just sounds tired, and maybe even a little flabbergasted. She can see Ruby’s desperate. Kourtney thinks she might be too if a friend just suddenly upped and died. It’s different than when Kourtney’s grandmother died. She had reasons. There was an explanation and a clear peace at the end.. Her grandmother was older, had been teetering on the edge really for a while. She wasn’t deathly ill, just getting up in age. She was starting to forget things easily. She couldn’t do the same things as before. In all honesty, her grandmother’s peaceful slip from temporary slumber to a permanent sleep is the best outcome.

Kourtney changes the bit on her drill, taking down the length of the old set. “If I become haunted, I’m making friends with the ghostman and getting them to haunt your ass instead. I don’t have the time be fucking haunted, alright? Ain’t no ghost finna pay my bills.”

Ruby looks over to Jasmine. She hadn’t expected that to happen. She thought she’d ask. She’d get told no. Ruby halfway thought Kourtney would shut her down when she started talking about the deities. But to have Kourtney agree--that comes from left field. “Are you high right now?”

“No but I just might hint a blunt after dealing with you.”

The room echoes with laughter. “I’ll even roll it for you,” Ruby offers, her chest still hiccuping with tufts of laughter.

“Nah, it’ll be haunted or some shit. I’ll roll my own blunts. Thank you.”

___

Jasmine’s friend, who only goes by Ash, settles down last in the circle. He’s a psychic, according to his Instagram. Ruby’s talked to him once face to face. His voice is too deep, too alluring. But he doesn’t carry himself like he takes life too seriously. It made him more inviting. The long hair, it’s always braided back. Ruby can appreciate his humor. His stare can be intense, dark brown keen eyes. They don’t ever miss anything.

As his hands wrap around Ruby’s, his gaze is stern. His tone is softer. He has no qualms with people getting the answers that they need. But he doesn’t want them to do it for all the wrong reasons.“Are you sure about this?”

Ruby’s not really completely sure. She was never really supposed to talk about Calum. She was supposed to keep all this shit quiet. But if it weren’t for her run at Greenlight, she could be at peace. She doesn’t need constant communication. She just needs to verify. Calum really might be out there. “It’s the only shot I’ve got.”

Ash nods. He can understand that. With the board settled down, Ruby begins. Kourtney keeps flicking her gaze about the small circle. She prays to God she doesn’t wind up haunted because of this shit and she prays Ruby’s not diving into the deep end either. Even though Kourtney is not well versed in how hauntings work, she knows that no matter where Ruby goes these spirits can and probably will follow.

“I am asking if my friend Calum is still out there,” Ruby starts. Her hands are shaking a little. She can hear the quiver in her own voice.

It’s silent. Ruby watches, blinking erratically. Does she even want to contact Calum? Should be doing this at all? It could be best to live and let die. Kourtney shifts on the floor. They’re all situated in Ruby’s bedroom, around the small little table that holds a picture. Kourtney thinks this must be the friend, this Calum.

The lights are off. The room’s already decent temperature wise. But Ruby doesn’t miss the small distinct breeze across her face. It’s easy to think that when presented with this scenario she would be brave. But right now, she can feel her gut leaping. “Oh shit. Did anyone else feel that breeze?”

Jasmine, to the left of Ruby, speaks up. “Can the spirit in this room confirm that you are Ruby’s friend? Gently move a piece on the altar.”

Ruby watches the gold anklet. Even in the flickers of the candle light, it glitters more than the picture frame. She placed the charm upside down. Whether it was on purpose, Ruby can’t say for sure. But a part of her did hope that if she were to have any success that the anklet would be the first thing Calum would reach for. He’d know the significance.

Nothing happens. Ruby probes whatever might be reaching out to them to move something. The minutes pass and there is nothing still. The charm does not flip over. Another breeze does not come by. There is nothing. Just the rising and falling of four chest in Ruby’s bedroom. Any potential spirits that crossed over are thanked. The circle is closed. The candles are blown out. “Did you feel anything besides the breeze?” Jasmine asks.

Ruby shakes her head. Sometimes she wishes she hadn’t decided to keep her hair short. The longer the hair, and even the longer the weave, she could’ve hidden her disappointment, the wobble of her chin. “Sometimes, you’re not always successful on your first try,” Ash counters. His voice is soft, much like the touch of his hand on Ruby’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” Ruby answers. Her voice is thick as it leaves her throat.

It’s rude, she knows. Ruby shuts herself into the bathroom. The door swings close and clicks with a harsh thud. She only needs a moment. Just a second. Just so the first hot tear can run down her cheek. She was a fool. How could she really believe that this would work? Hope made everyone blind. Everyone could probably see that it would never work. And yet, they had hoped for her that it would work. Yet they had sat in her bedroom like children at a sleepover, playing with spirits.

Ruby couldn’t be that mad at them. They were only trying to help her. But did no one think to stop her, to save her from this embarrassment? She sniffles hard, wiping at her cheeks. She’s never really had a flush on her face. But right now, behind the copper tones of brown skin, she can feel the heated flush taking over. Why would he do such a thing to her? She was a fucking fool to believe the gift was actually from Calum. He’s dead. His ashes are still in that godforsaken mini mason jar. There is no bringing him back.

There’s nothing left of him. His soul was already damned to Lucifer. There was no way he would let anything remain. Ruby would’ve done better to just talk to open air than to try and communicate with Calum. She was just a fucking fool.

With another harsh sniffle, Ruby opens the door. If her eyes are red, they’ll just have to be red. “Thanks for subjecting yourselves to this. I owe you guys.” She doesn’t hide the quiver that takes over her chest.

“Rubs,” Kourtney sighs, hugging her friend. Ruby shakes like a dog caught in a thunderstorm in Kourtney’s arms. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

“N-no,” Ruby croaks. “I’ll call if I need you though.”

Kourtney thinks for a moment. She could refuse Ruby’s wishes and have to deal with a crying and pissed Ruby or she could just wait for the phone call. Ruby will probably still be crying if she calls, but at least there won’t be any anger. “I’ll be near my phone.”

As the door creaks close, Ruby locks it, bottom and top locks before sliding down the steel door. Here she is again. On her fucking knees crying over Calum again. She wants to laugh. She really does. It catches between her sobs in ragged coughs. “Fucking of course,” she pants. “Of course.”

She pushes her hands and crawls to the edge of the coffee table. Right where she was when Calum died. “I thought it was only lovers that were supposed to hurt like this.” Her speech is interrupted by sobs. But she continues on. “I thought only lovers were supposed to rip your fucking heart out.”

“They say talking to yourself is a sign of insanity.”

Even though her vision is nothing but a watery field of tears, she knows that pale skin. “Don’t you have some other poor soul to torture? Don’t you have anybody else to fuck over? Haven’t you ruined my fucking life enough?” she shouts. Her hand finds a coaster and lobs it before she can even think, still half hung onto the edge of the coffee table. It requires too much energy to support herself on her elbows. She just hangs her weight into the sturdy piece of furniture.

“He heard you calling. So I had to answer,” Lucifer returns.

“You’re such a fucking liar.” Ruby wishes she could smite him. Do anything to him to make him feel the ache in her chest. Would it take a bolt of lightning? Did he hold anything precious to his heart?

“I’m many things.”

“Leave me the fuck alone, God.”

Lucifer fakes a hiss, throwing up a cross with his fingers. “We don’t say His name around me.”

Ruby drags the sleeve of her shirt under her nose. Her tears, though they roll down her face, have stopped stinging her behind her eyes. “That’s a corny ass joke.”

Lucifer shrugs, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Figured I’d give it a shot. See if you’d stop cursing me out.”

“You’re still an asshole. So no, it didn’t work.” Ruby finally pushes up from the coffee table and falls into the legs of the couch. She stares out into the open dining room, at the table pushed up against the wall, right under the window sill. Calum would sit most nights that he stayed over in front of it. He said watching the night relaxed him. But she wonders now if she was watching for Lucifer. If Calum knew all along that he was playing with a fire that would burn him.

It would hurt more if he just disappeared, Ruby thinks. If Lucifer somehow got him in the middle of the night while she was sleeping and Calum just wasn’t there. If he never showed up with another note under her door. That would hurt more. Not knowing would kill her more than knowing Ruby figures. She probably wouldn’t have noticed it at first. But as the days blended into weeks and the weeks turned into months without any contact from Calum--that would kill her. Slowly and then all at once she’d lose her head.

“Mind if I sit?” Lucifer asks.

“And if I say I do. What are you going to do? Kill me?”

“I’d never kill for such a frivolous thing.”

Ruby whips her head to look at him. “You killed Calum? And for what? Being my friend?”

“I don’t have to explain that to you.”

“No, you do! You do have to explain that to me.”

“I don’t,” Lucifer defends.

“Oh, but you do, Lucifer.” She’s never uttered his name before. It made him too real if she did. Made Calum’s death too real. But right now, after what just happened, or didn’t happen, he owes her that much. She can say his name. It is not lead on her tongue anymore.

“Ah, she does remembers my name.”

“I could never forget it.”

“Ruby, I don’t owe you any explanation. I didn’t owe it to Calum to make the trip before or this one. But I’m doing it.”

“What the fuck did he do?” Ruby pushes up from the floor. Her face is tight. She knows her eyes are red. There’s probably snot on the sleeve of her shirt. It doesn’t matter though. She’s going to get these answers. “Tell me. What is so wrong about finding a friend?” She searches his gaze, seeing if he’d crack.

The only thing Lucifer does is take a step forward to her. There’s still a good foot between them. “If you’re boss gave you a rule, and you broke it, couldn’t you be fired for it?”

Ruby takes a small step forward. “Depends on how big the rule was.”

“I’ve ruled with an iron fist. And I will always continue to do so.” Lucifer meets her step, but only after his statement crosses his lips.

No one moves again. There’s only another step between them. “Don’t tell me you have a soft spot? You can’t have a soft spot for the person you killed.”

“Calum isn’t a person.”

“He was to me.” Ruby closes the gap. Finger poking at his chest. “He was as real to me as Kourtney, or Tiff. Or anyone else in this world. He was a person to me and that’s all that matters.”

“We are monsters. Me included,” Lucifer states. “He is nothing more than a hound now. Just like all the rest.”

“And who did that to him? Who did that?” Ruby hates to get loud. But the emotion leaps from her. Her fists are furling at her side.

Lucifer must admit she’s bolder than he took her for and far less fearful than he thought would happen for something that just tried to summon a demon into their bedroom. Though, anyone trying to do that must not hold much fear to begin with. “I know what I’ve done.”

“And is this supposed to make me feel better? Is this you trying to rectify the situation?”

“No. I can’t fix anything now. What’s done is done.”

Ruby cracks, she can feel her core crumbling. The tears come back. She presses the heel of her hands into the sockets of her eye. “Just tell me what you did. Is he really dead?” She pleads. The tough guy act is exhausting. All she wants to do is cry again, curl into her sheets and let the ache fall over her throat in screeches.

Lucifer, for just a second, lets himself peer down at her. She stands right under his chest. He can see what Calum meant about how endearing it feels. “The Calum you knew no longer exists. You can’t summon him. His physical form is dust.”

“The whip?”

“Turned over to another owner.”

“They’re temporary to you. They’re nothing,” she gaps. It really ought not be a shock. It is the devil she’s dealing with. She’s not dealing with someone human. But it still shocks her.

“We’re all nothing. Calum got a second shot at his life. And he fucked it up. Like he always does.”

Ruby shoves Lucifer. Her palms hitting hard into his chest. Lucifer stumbles back half a step but plants his feet to catch himself. “He didn’t. He didn’t do anything wrong!” She can see the pointed tail rising behind him. She sees the flash of fire in Lucifer’s eyes. “Do it. Fucking do it, I dare you.” Now she’s really gone insane. To goad the devil like this. But she doesn’t care.

It’s a steel resolve that stills Lucifer. It stills even Ruby. “You don’t mean that,” Lucifer taunts. “You couldn’t possibly mean it.”

“You don’t know what I mean and what I don’t.”

Lucifer grins, lowering the tail. “I do know that what’s left of your precious Calum whines for you. He curses himself for messing things up with you. It’s ironic really. To be subjected to an eternal curse and then curse yourself on top of that.”

Ruby just stares. She’s tired of the circle games. She’s tired of begging. If he’s going to explain himself, then he will. And if he won’t explain himself, he can go right back to the place he came from. So Ruby remains silent. Lucifer blinks at her.

He says nothing either, waiting for her rebuttal. She’s a smart girl; she’ll have something, Lucifer figures.

A few more moments go by. “Nothing to say?” Lucifer asks.

Ruby remains quiet.

“Did Calum ever tell you he was a Hunter for me? Really the head of them. That’s why I gave him the whip.” Lucifer stops for a moment. She look unphased for the moment. He sees the way she’s biting on the inside of her lip though. “I can’t bring him back,” Lucifer admits. “He still exist. Just not like you knew him as. You can’t bring him back.”

Ruby wants to look away. But she doesn’t. She takes a breathe. “You took everything from him. I hope you know that. I hope you know the destruction you’ve caused, Lucifer. Whatever good he had going on in his life, whether it was damned to you for eternity or not, all that good is gone.”

“It’s like the Big Guy said. All I’m good for it stealing, killing, and destroying. We’ve all got our parts to play. I brought you the anklet because I thought it would get him off my back. He’s relentless when it comes to you. He wanted me to give him updates. Him! Like he runs the fucking place.”

“So, tell me, do you give him updates? Why else would you be here?”

“No, actually, I heard you knocking on my front door with that summoning circle. But I didn’t think the others would take kindly to me showing up.”

Ruby has to laugh. She really does and it escapes her in dry tufts. “Tried to summon a friend and I got a piece of shit instead.”

“Yeah, I’m not the greatest, alright. I know. Just because I took Calum’s status away, just because I stripped him of his physical form doesn’t mean he can’t annoy the shit out of me in Hell.”

“And you can’t undo it? Can’t give him back his human form?”

Lucifer shakes his head. “If The Big Guy himself had to flood the earth to start over, there’s no way He’s giving me more powers than Him. He can’t snap his fingers to undo anything and I can’t snap mine.”

“What rule did Calum break? What the hell did he do deserve that?”

“I told you. Rules have to be followed. That’s that.”

“I can’t ever talk to him again. I can’t ask Calum so I’m asking you. I’m giving you the second shot you don’t fucking deserve.”

This isn’t a second shot, Lucifer thinks. He never gets those. Not that he’s ever deserved them in any capacity ever. But Ruby’s pleading stare is maybe just enough to crack his chest open. “I told him not to get too close. I told him that if he got too close to you it would be his head. You might’ve called me a liar. But others would disagree.”

Ruby sucks in a breath, turning away. Her hands cover her face. But that’s not enough darkness so she closes her eyes behind the fabric. “In my house. In front of me!”

“There’s a reason why he told you not to watch.”

She can picture it all now. There was no sound. But she can see, clear as day, a fistful of Calum’s curl in Lucifer’s fist as Calum’s body slumped away before disappearing. She wonders if his eyes blinked close, if Calum had just enough life in him to finish that action. Or they were probably already closed before the last blow was delivered. Was he thinking of her? Was she Calum’s last thought?

Lucifer’s voice interrupts her buzzing mind. “The anklet’s actually from him. I found it in his apartment while I was cleaning it out. I had some others keep it safe. I wouldn’t have given it to you, in all honesty. I was going to have it pawned. Needed the cash for some other earthly endeavours. But I could never bring myself to fucking do it. So I gave the boy what he wanted. I gave it to you. His last good deed, he called it.”

“Do me a favor?”

“I’m not a middle man for the two of you. I agreed to give you the anklet and I only agreed to check up on you like once.”

“Just one thing,” Ruby sighs, turning to face Lucifer.

“Just one.”

“Don’t come back to me. Don’t check up on me. Don’t give him updates.”

“This is going to sound ironic coming from me. But he’s going to raise hell over that.”

“Tell him I told you not too. I want to remember him like he was drinking whiskey way to early in the day and always dawned in the leather jacket. I want to remember him like a friend.”

Lucifer sighs. Calum’s not going to like that. But he nods and says nothing as he exits her apartment. Through the front door this time. For a brief moment, Ruby finally realizes that she never opened the door for Lucifer in the first place. Could he have been the breeze she felt?

She was just torturing herself. Ruby never considered herself to be a masochist. Pain was never really her thing. But all she was doing was hurting herself. This was just a wound they kept picking the scab off of. It would always bleed if it’s never left alone. It can never clot and create new skin. Even if it leaves a scar, the thicker skin is more protection that busted blood vessels.

Ruby drags herself to her bedroom. Calum’s picture staring at her as she enters. She walks over, placing the photo face down. She’s gotta let him rest. Let herself rest really. What is she doing besides running herself into the ground. That’s all it is. She picks up the anklet, testing the weight in her hand again. It’s cold against her skin and has never been heavy until now. She sets onto the dresser next to her bed. In the morning she can think about whether or not to bear its weight again.

____

Lucifer can already imagine the roar that’s going to echo off the walls of his head. But he’s really only the message man, yet again. “Good news and bad news,” Lucifer starts.

“Bad news first.” His voice is harsher, more of a snarl in this state. Body much too large and too hunched for the man he once portrayed. The fire does like it does everyone, making the skin blister and turn a pinkish red. It’s a shock that anyone can hold out at the eternal flick of the flames like he does.

“You’re going to regret that. She wants to give you a good memory. Take it.”

“What?”

“Let her go. Let her remember you the way she knew you.”

While Calum would hate to admit Lucifer to right. It might be naive to think that Ruby wouldn’t try everything in her power to see him again. He’s not the man he used to be. He’s not in any position to be seen for what’s beneath it all, beneath the lies. “What’s the good news then?”

“You have a friend in her, even still. You’re lucky.”

He surely doesn’t feel lucky. Trapped here as his body is constantly burned and healed all within the same minute. He surely doesn’t feel lucky knowing that he won’t ever be able to answer a call from Ruby again. But if she’s willing to hold onto his memory, even with all the messed up shit he’s done, than he found something to be lucky about.

Though it’s never rest that finds his soul, Calum remembers the way she laughs and something like peace stills the moment. It’s a quiet calm that only simmers for a moment before the pain kicks in again. He takes the second of calmness whenever they come because they always bring her with them.

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

There's No One There, 3/? (Group fic) - Marmalade

Summary: One student missing multiple classes without warning can be explained away but when more girls start disappearing, it can’t be dismissed. Jaida, Jackie, Gigi, and Crystal may not be friends but if it’s to figure out what’s going on, they’re willing to work together.

A/N: Hii, I’m just going to make a habit of putting the summary in front of each submission. In other news, I’m not vibing with the pen Marmalade but I haven’t figured out a new name yet and we’ve reached a point in the story writing where I’ve had to make a separate notes page to keep my flow right. I’ve been trying to come up with an all girls boarding school mystery for ages now and it feels good having one.

—–

The search for Widow kicked off to a worrying start. Gigi chose to accompany Crystal, mainly to avoid stepping in mud with Jaida and Jackie as they walked around the school asking about Jan. Widow hadn’t been in any of her usual spots and none of the four shared a class with her after lunch forcing them to resume their search after the school day had ended. Their final bet was checking her dorm.

“What’re we gonna do if we go and she’s not there either and we have another missing person?” Crystal asked as she reached into her pocket to pull out some of the candy she had grabbed yesterday. Gigi was keeping a few feet of space between the two of them in the hopes that it wouldn’t seem like they were hanging out but Crystal’s outstretched arm offering her pieces of candy destroyed the illusion. Gigi begrudgingly took the piece of candy and inspected the label.

“I don’t know. Tell the others and wait for them to come up with a plan instead?” Crystal let out a laugh. “…What flavor is duranzo?”

“Peach? Ooooor maybe orange? I don’t know, my mom never actually taught me Spanish. I just know that brand’s like, good fruity taffy things.”

“Oh, can’t then.” Gigi handed the piece back to her.

“How come?”

“Does it matter? We’re trying to find a missing girl; are we close to Widow’s dorm yet?”

“Yeah! It’s just a little farther ahead!” Crystal powerwalked down the hall until she arrived at her friend’s dorm, her curled hand raised to knock before she stopped. There was a whisper behind the door, she heard it but couldn’t make out any details, and she waited a moment for the voice to speak again but nothing else came. Gigi had caught up to her so Crystal finally knocked.

“Widow, are you thereee?”

There was a faint sound of shuffling before the door opened and a sudden chill took both girls by surprise. At first the door only cracked open, Crystal leaned to the side to flash a smile and the door opened wider, revealing Widow to be thankfully not missing. There were dark circles under her eyes but she somewhat returned the smile before she spotted Gigi, her brows knitted together.

“Since when do you two hang out? Whatever- what do you want?”

“Since now, sort of.” Gigi interjected.

“I wanna know what’s been bothering you! A lot of weird stuff’s been going on and I’m worried about you.”

Widow let out a quiet, wheezy chuckle and shook her head.

“What’s so funny?”

“Well, for starter’s you brought someone neither of us know basically at all to have a serious conversation.”

“We can talk in private if you want, can I come in?”

Widow looked back into her dorm and then to Crystal. “…Now’s not a great time for that.”

“Why, who were you talking to in there?”

Widow opened her mouth but closed it without saying a word. Her eyes narrowed inquisitively and she looked over Crystal’s face like she was trying to find something. “You wanna know what my problem is? This damn school. The same walls, the same people, the same shit every god damn day, it can drive a bitch crazy and this place is damn good at it. Trying to make sense of it is a complete mess.”

“Maybe it’s a mess because you’re trying to do it all yourself?”

“…Fine.” It was only one word and yet it made Crystal’s face light up. “I’ll tell you because I know you won’t judge me if I tell you but I don’t know Gigi like that. Not here though, the walls have got ears or something, just meet me in town this weekend, okay?”

“I can’t believe we haven’t found a single witness. It’s not like she could jump through space.” Jackie said as she wrote another name down on the list. They knew the walk around the school was unlikely to turn up any tangible clues but both girls had expected to find some students that would be able to provide useful information. Jackie had been able to gleam was that Jan had now missed two full days of class without anyone seeing head or tails of her but that was about it.

They made their way back to the school’s entrance, curious if Crystal and Gigi had better luck then them. Standing in the doorway was Vice Principal Visage, they passed by her without paying her any mind only for her to stop them.

“Jaida, Jackie, will you both come with me?” She phrased it like she was asking but the both knew they had no option.

“What did we do?” Jackie asked but Miss Visage didn’t answer, only spinning on her heels and beckoning them after her, keeping them in silent suspense as they made their way to the principal’s office. Jackie gulped and held her notebook close her chest.

Crystal and Gigi sat on chairs outside of the headmaster’s office and got onto their feet upon seeing Miss Visage. She opened the door to the headmaster’s office without knocking and poked her head in. “The girls are here.”

“Send them in.” Miss Visage swung the door open and ushered them inside. At his desk was the headmaster, Rupaul, his fingers steepled together. There were only two chairs in front of his desk and the girls weren’t sure which two of them ought to sit down, or if they even should sit.

“I’ve been hearing that you four have been really on edge recently, care to tell me what’s this all about?”

There was a beat of silence before all of them but Gigi stumbled over each other trying to explain. The headmaster put his hand up to silence them and then gestured to Jackie to go first.

“Sir, last week Nicky stopped showing up to classes and now Jan’s missed two days’ worth of classes. Both of them were acting out of character before then and, well, we’re concerned that something might have happened!”

The headmaster didn’t respond right away, instead twisting his fingers together. Finally, he stood up and turned to the cabinets behind him, patiently going through them until he deposited two files onto his desk and sat back down, pressing his hand down on top of the manila folders.

“Giving out student information to anyone outside of their immediate families is a violation of student privacy…” A small, reassuring smile formed on his face. “-so, this doesn’t leave this office. Let’s see…” He picked up the first folder and looked through it. “Ah, Nicky. I’m sure you’re aware that most of her family still lives in France, her sister is getting married and from the sound of it, Nicky was left out on a lot of the planning. She left on a flight last Thursday for the wedding but between you and me, I think her parents are letting her skip more class than necessary, and she’s scheduled to return by the time class starts up after the break. Going to be interesting to see how she catches up on all her missed work.

Now Jan, Jan had been coming in to see the counselor a few times. Juggling grades with extracurriculars and her social life got overwhelming I suppose. One of the campus security guards caught her trying to leave campus without permission and we contacted her parents. After a long discussion they decided to have Jan sent home, now they’re trying to decide if returning to school is still the right choice for Jan, unfortunately, we’re expecting their final answer sometime during the break.”

“But- that doesn’t sound like the Jan I know!”

The headmaster hummed and nodded, putting the folders back in their places. “Do you girls know why you’re here?”

“In the office?”

“At this school.”

“Be…cause you don’t charge tuition?” Gigi replied dryly with a raised eyebrow.

“Because we saw something great in each and every one of you. The girls at this school aren’t here because they have the highest test scores or because their parents shelled out a lot of money to put them here, they’re here because each of them has the potential to do something amazing in whatever field they choose. That’s why we try to keep the school’s cost as low as possible, so that girls who otherwise wouldn’t have a chance can have this opportunity. This school is hard, you knew that when you applied but the sad truth is that not everyone can handle it.

All those voices in your head that tell you ‘you can’t do this’ and ‘you should quit’ that’s your inner saboteur trying to tear you down. Your job is to quiet those voices but some girls can do it better than other. If you ask me, you four need to worry about yourselves. In a matter of days, you’ve managed to make yourselves completely paranoid. Put down the magnifying glasses and go do something you enjoy! Like you, Crystal, I know you’re an artist. I’m going to challenge you to put all that creativity onto a canvas. This goes to all of you, I want you to find an outlet for all this negativity because what you’re doing now isn’t helping. Okay? Now get out there, go learn something, kiddos.”

The four girls were released back into the hall where they found themselves rooted in thought.

“So that’s it?” Gigi was the one who broke the silence. “We worked ourselves up over nothing? Two days of anxiety and work that we didn’t have to put ourselves through?”

“Maybe we all just wanted there to be a mystery that we filled in the blanks?” Jackie conceded. She feathered through the pages of her book until she found her page of notes. It felt absurd now, childish even.

“Look, child, maybe we did go off the rails but-! If something had happened, we would have been on top of everything. Of course, now we’re getting court marshalled to find hobbies but you know.” Jaida’s lips pulled into a smile and she laughed but no one really joined in.

“Guess we’re done then. No more of-“ Gigi gestures vaguely to the group. “-whatever this is. We can go back to our normal social circles now.” It was an odd realization, none of the girls had ever hung out with one another and yet they fell so quickly into a groove for the sake of a mystery. Now that the mystery was gone there was nothing to keep them together anymore. An awkwardness settled between them like the strangers they were until it was so heavy that they were repelled to their separate directions.

Crystal had remained quiet through out the dissolving of the group, even if they were wrong about Nicky and Jan, Widow still had something going on and Crystal was going to talk to her friend about it. As she took her leave, Crystal heard a hushed murmur and stopped, looking back over her shoulder at the other girls but they were already out of earshot with no one else in the hall.

#rpdr fanfiction #jackie cox #gigi goode #crystal methyd #jaida essence hall #mystery #high school au #group fic #there's no one there #marmalade #concrit welcome #submission #s12

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partyinthemysterymachine · 4 years

Text

The Wendy’s Secret Menu

Cheryl isn’t very ladylike. She slouches on the other side of the old, sunken-in leather bench seat: an original part of the blue, vintage pickup truck. The dashboard is scuffed and dirty where she’s put her mismatched, socked feet (one cartoon zombies, the other made to look like a shark is devouring her leg - gifts from dad). Her happily wobbling knees are so close to her face that they could knock the sweating cup of chocolate frosty right out of her hand if she doesn’t pay enough attention.

And so what? It’s not like it hasn’t happened before, like, so many times.

She’s a Mason, and as a Mason, she has an uncanny knack for tempting fate and patience. So to the beat of the music she rocks her body to and fro, making the bench seat squeak and the truck bounce a second off rhythm. The music is what she and her dad both enjoy (for the most part; he’s come around to some of these songs), though it always looks like she loves it way more than he does. That’s fine by her; she can muster enough enthusiasm for stadium full of stoic duds. As the song reaches the second chorus, she scoops a dripping helping of melting soft serve and soggy, splitting french fries - her favorite.

Cheryl’s hand-eye coordination took an unauthorized smoke break. Her feet hit the floor as she immediately sits up, trying to wipe the mess off an undershot bite from her face.

“Aw, fuck!” she whines, dejectedly accepting a wad of too-thin napkins to sponge her mouth. Dabbing her t-shirt proclaiming that she made it out of the corn maze at the Vermont State Faire back in 2016 was an honorable effort, but was no match for shitty fast food napkins. This was a job for the washing machine. This thing is a prize well earned! A future family heirloom! “Noo, come ooonnnnn.. get ouuuuut! UGH! My life is such a fucking mess,” she complains at her chest to the sound of soft chuckling.

“Do you eat, or just read about it?” Cheryl throws the speaker a glare. “Heh, I was waiting for that,” a young man’s (not very young anymore; much younger than his husband, much older than his daughter, and there are lines where there weren’t even five years ago) voice tells her. She exudes maturity as she mockingly wiggles her head and parrots him under her breath.

“Okay, well, excuse me, prophet,” she says, shoving the used napkins into the paper bag between them. “What, you couldn’t warn me?”

“Mmm.. nope. Then you wouldn’t have been taught a lesson,” James replies, stirring the mash of chocolate and potato in his own cup. “I thought I raised you on how to learn from your mistakes.”

“Yeah, well clearly—“

“Clearly you haven’t learned a thing,” he interrupts, smirking into the dessert somewhat haughtily, “because if you’re gonna be good at anything, sweetheart, making mistakes is what’s gonna make you the most successful.”

“Okay, but whose fault is that?” The unruly teenager scrunches her nose right into James’s ear as she noisily plunges her hand into a second, grease-spotted bag and spends way too much effort grabbing for cooling fries. “Huh? Whose fault is that, James? Huh? Huh? Huh, dad?”

One of the joys of this world is that even after ten years, James gets a dumb little smile when she calls him ‘dad.’ She used to call him daddy; she used to call them both daddy. Modern times call for modern changes, so she has a wealth of synonyms to use for addressing her parents, but nothing hits quite like ‘dad’.

Just so he doesn’t get any ideas about her being soft, she blows a puff of air at his cheek and plops back into her sunken spot. Cheryl releases the handful of salty french fries into her traitorous frosty cup to the sound of her dad’s soft laughter. She picks up any stragglers dropped on her chest and munches on them while she beats the fries down in the dessert with the black, plastic spoon like a milkmaid churning butter. Noisily sucking the salt from her fingertips, she can feel the blond man’s eyes on her.

(Sun-kissed, spun from an angel’s golden halo, sunshine wheat field - that’s how her daddy describes James’s hair; yet within the past couple years, silver threads have come to lay amongst the golden. They look nice, and they make her think about things she already stresses too much about.)

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Cheryl sasses, looking at him sidelong and stuffing her face with savory and sweet. James’s eyes go soft, but the trouble remains on the smirk spread on his lips.

“No way. You broke my camera last time.”

“It’s not my fault technology can’t handle a visage so holy and unattainable to mortal men,” she cockily replies. Then, there’s a prolonged, dramatic sigh. “Ohhh, whatever, dad. Maybe we just go back to the old days and get paintings done of us. Yeah, let’s do that. Let’s spend thousands of dollars and wait two years for someone to paint us a family portrai..”

Cheryl whips her head to James. He raises his eyebrows back at her; his smirk has been traded for a smile warm and loving. “Dad,” she starts urgently, “we have to get a huge oil painting of us done. We have to. This is serious, I’m so serious right now. I’m not even joking a little.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Uh, hello?” She regards her father (who smells of grease and turpentine, metal, smoke (smells that would make most people nauseous, but not she) and a little bit like Harry (who falls asleep with his face pressed to James’s neck)) like he’s the idiot he is. “Prestige? Fame? Our souls getting caught in it and being passed around as a super haunted painting and we can go around fucking up people’s houses and rearranging their furniture together for the rest of our lives? So we can look like totally rich assholes? Because our egos are as big as my dick?”

James squints at her then. “Mmm. I think our egos are bigger than that. You had me at ‘haunted painting,’ but lost me at the end, there.”

“Pft, okay, didn’t realize we had an ego-dick connoisseur here.”

“Your dad taught me some th—“

“Oh, no!” she cuts off, shoving her fist and extended index finger into his face. “No! Nnno. Nuh uh, I’m not gonna hear about—“

“—ngS ABOUT EGO,” the mechanic continues, matching the volume of Cheryl’s chant trying to drown him out. “Because I’m pretty sure his ego would be big enough to get a painting doaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAA—“

Now they’re just holding out one tuneless vowel together, a battle of wills and lung capacity (may the best set win). The Masons are a stubborn people and stubbornness makes the voices crackle and strain as their organ balloons deflate to uselessness. Cheryl flings her head back to face the ceiling, pulls in a ridiculously showy breath, and picks up from where she left off, her energy restored.

It’s hard to warble when another person is doing the same right up in one’s cookies. She starts to laugh with James so close and monotone-yelling at her, but she has an image to uphold. Retaliation comes in first pushing his shoulder, then shoving her palm right against his nose to keep him back while she performs her dominating solo for the truck and all its machinery.

“EW!” Cheryl jumps back into the corner of the door, revulsion pinpointed at her hand. She frantically scrubs her palm on her jeans, whining pathetically. “Daaa-aaaaaddddd, groooossss! Eww, don’t lick me!”

“Don’t put your hand in my face,” he retorts. His daughter huffs and shoves her feet into the side of James’s thigh, making herself comfortable across the old leather, and thus a much easier way to harass her father.

“Well, don’t talk about gross stuff.”

“I wasn’t talking about gross stuff. I was talking about Harry’s ego.”

“Yeee-AH!” Cheryl stresses. “That’s what I said: I said, don’t talk about gross stuff! GOD,” she laments, giving her almost entirely melted stew a sarcastic, wide-eyed stare. “Nyeeheh, I’m James, I like to talk about gross stuff because I think It’s funny to torture—“

“I think we should seriously talk about getting that painting done,” says the owner of this beaten down and beloved blue truck. “We’ll get it as big as a mortgage allows. We’ll have nowhere to put it and it’s going to be the start of our financial ruin.”

Pursing her lips, Cheryl glances up at him and the beginnings of such a captivating pitch. “Hmm.. go on..”

Three pats on the tops of her feet make her smile. “We’ll get it started before you go off to college, and when you visit, we can get more done.” Green eyes glance at her. “Every time we go to sit for it, we’ve changed a little bit each time.”

Slowly, the plastic spoon scrapes the sides of an empty cup and scratch contemplatively at remnants that aren’t truly there. “Hmm.. I like the sound of that. So that it takes a long time to be painted, and as we change, the artist has to alter us more and more.. never truly finishing the painting.. which means we might never even have it, but..”

“But since it took so long, we’ve been in that painting as different people for years,” James explains. “And it’s sat untouched for so much time, too. And what if one of us dies before—“

“Which you won’t.”

“—it’s anywhere near done; then it means that that one is still alive, as they were, in the painting. You could even say that’s the first haunting.”

Their eyes meet.

Ten years ago, Cheryl Mason was seven. She spotted a sad-looking blue pickup truck in the driveway one morning and her daddy lied to her that a neighbor was parking it there for a short spell. None of their neighbors had a car like that, and he knew that she knew.

Maybe a handful of days later, she met the man who owned that truck. Daddy told her he was dating a man, and it was important that they liked each other. She thought he looked young, and he looked at her like she could devour him alive. The first night was test, and this guy passed with flying colors.

The second month was a test, too. So was him dropping her off at school for the first time, and picking her up; when the school stopped him after the fifth drop off/pick up to ask who he was and what he was doing with Harry Mason’s daughter, and oh, the delicate mess to clean up there; when a lady at the park shouted at her son to stop playing with her, and made her cry because she didn’t understand why that lady was yelling at her parents - they were doing nothing wrong! - and James took her into his lap, cradling her, and calmed her down (and she found he smelled of turpentine, grease, metal, smoke, and oil, and a little bit like her daddy); playing Katamari Damacy on a Sunday morning after she begged him to get out of bed and come play, and he did, sleepily, but soon woke up and was laughing with her; and

Toluca Lake.

the time she disobeyed her fathers (officially, legally three Masons in this family; officially, legally two men to raise her) and ate all her Halloween candy in one night to prove a point - the point being that they were right, and James sat with her while Harry started the wash; taking her to a play; to her activities; trips to

Silent Hill.

faires and parks; her dads didn’t (don’t) like hospitals or clinics, but she didn’t even know until she was thirteen because they hid it for her all these years; let her scream and cry at him because he knew, even better than Harry, how to handle her pain, and so held her while she sobbed herself exhausted, since James never truly needed words to speak; the pride in his eyes; the love he had; how he defended her (and scared her, really) against a boy who didn’t understand ‘no’ (but she was glad it was him, because she was even more scared of what daddy could have done, for the way his face changed when he heard..); taught her how to drive; hung out in comfortable silence, and all through the ten years, ten years of absconding to Wendy’s behind Harry’s back to eat fries in a chocolate frosty.

Cheryl gently kicks him three times. (“Three squeezes, or taps, or whatever,” Harry told her. “It’s an easy way to say ‘I love you’ whenever you want to.” So she drummed her palms three times on his aging face, and beamed so bright when he laughed.) “You might have something there. Dark, though.”

James glances down, then at her. “Isn’t it supposed to be?”

“Yeah, duh.” She drops the bare cup into the bag. “I like it. Good lead up. Good lore. Not bad, pops.”

Cheryl smiles at that smile.

“Thanks, Cher.”

A new song begins on the gritty little cassette mixtape that the sole Mason heir painstakingly (while grousing at her middle-aged father about how dumb and time consuming this ancient ritual of appreciation is) strung together. For being a mechanic, James’s radio could really use some good ol’ fashioned TLC - and if he dared to do even think about fixing it up, Cheryl would have an honest-to-god fit. Nothing would sound right; all the old memories and those in the process of making would feel different. James’s radio sucks, and she knew all three of them wouldn’t have it any other way.

Her foot keeps rhythm on his thigh and his fingers match it on the windowsill. This is a bittersweet song. It promises eternity. Cheryl felt a little odd putting this on the playlist, but she couldn’t leave it off. (“It reminds me of you and dad,” she justified. “You’ll get what I mean.”) When she hears it, she gets that happy-sad feeling that everyone in the world seems to have had at least once in their life. A small, apologetic but loving smile indents her cheeks at the sight of James disappearing into thought. He’s probably thinking about an angel.

She used to roll her eyes at it, but on hot summer nights, she’s outside in the dark, looking for an orange firefly in the grass.

When they get home, Cheryl lingers in the foyer. They have a beautiful home. The three of them picked this one out, and it was the second one they were shown. Natural light pours in through a spacious, open-air floor plan. A skylight overhead illuminates, draws colors out to their raw excellence, bathes their comings and goings in halos from the sun and moon. Cheryl can hear the author hard at work at the piano instead of his computer from the living room quiet, and in the kitchen, the mechanic’s radio softly playing a hazy tune while he’s elbow deep in his truck’s guts.

From the second floor balcony, when she can’t sleep and sees the flickering glow from the muted TV, she can stop and listen to Harry make James laugh, though she can barely hear what he says. Once she woke up in the middle of the night and decided she wanted to polish off those leftovers, but never made it to the foot of the stairs. She hid behind the railing, peeking through the carved wood at a sight that instantly welled her eyes with tears.

Watching the two men lazily slow dancing together like a couple at prom, Harry’s arms around James’s shoulders, James grasping his back and their foreheads touching, and the sing-talk style the patriarch was known for asking his husband about sins and love, Cheryl realized she saw an angel and a firefly.

She’d cried so hard into her pillow.

She watches her adoptive father - the second one to adopt her, much younger than the first, whose green eyes inspired so many pieces of their home decor - hang the keys on the kitchen wall, then begin to backtrack to head into the living room. He pauses, a light, questioning frown creasing his dark brows. “Hey, kiddo. You okay?”

Her hesitation only intensifies his worry. James approach, his face falls as his daughter buries her face in his chest and clutches him tight. His arms are lean, but they’re strong and warm around her, and his gnarled hand gentle in her hair. With him she sways, the pressure of a kiss atop her head, and then the weight of his head when he sets his cheek over that kiss.

James is the quiet parent. He doesn’t talk a lot. Verbal communication is not one of his strong suits, even after.. well.. she can’t remember what that was, exactly. So rather, the better way to swing it is: even after all this time, verbal communication isn’t one of his strong suits. But James says a lot when he has his arms around her. It’s really wonderful to hear his voice out loud, but there’s nothing like the way she hears him talk in the best way he knows.

Cheryl locks her arms around James Mason. He smells of turpentine, grease, metal, smoke and oil, and the man he married. She squeezes him harder, and his arms clasp her tighter. He rubs her back, and she finally lifts her head and looks up at man whose features are beginning to age. There’s a smile for her, and so she gives him one, too.

Today is probably one of her favorite holidays out of the year. At breakfast she announced that for the tenth year in a row, upon their honored, Hallmark-dependent day, their gift is: her. Cheryl basked in the golf claps and lavish praise from both of them. Oh, they were so grateful; yes, she knows. They need nothing else, she’s the greatest gift they could ever receive (though a Starbucks gift card wouldn’t go amiss); yes, she knows (no, dad, you’re getting Dunkin’ Donuts and you’re gonna like it). It’s all tradition at this point. The breakfast shenanigans is tradition, and how they spend the day is tradition.

For some reason, their tradition has felt more meaningful the past few years.

She smiles wider. James does too, and even chuckles softly and musses up her hair. He leaves another kiss on her forehead, and before he gets ideas about letting her go, Cheryl says, “Happy Father’s Day. You’re pretty okay. Sometimes I like you more than the other guy.”

James lights up the foyer with his laughter. Cheryl grins up at him, treasuring that look he gets that will never, ever get old. Take a picture, it’ll last longer. Cli-click.

When he’s looking at her again, the mirth still creasing his eyes, his daughter hugs him tighter. “I love you, dad.”

James Mason, formerly Sunderland, dips his head to this precious girl’s shoulder and hugs her so tight (his little girl, their little girl; she cried when they married at the courthouse, she hates her vegetables, likes to play word ping-pong, trusted him with secrets that Harry still doesn’t know, calls him dad, trusted him, trusts him, trusted him, trusts him - loved him, loves him - proclaims she’s the greatest gift they’ll ever receive and she’s goddamn right every single year.

“I love you too, Cher.”

“I’m really glad you and dad got married.” He squeezes her tighter; his head presses harder into her shoulder. “You’re the best thing to happen to us.”

Her father is made of amber and stars, so Harry says; they’ve been wandering the earth forever looking for each other, and Harry held him once on a summer night in a jar, in his hands, and then he let him go. He was meant to be with them, Harry told her, and there’s a perpetual sadness in those lake green eyes but don’t worry: he loves us. He doesn’t always say it traditionally, the older man had said softly. So listen to him, because by god, Cheryl - he needs to be heard, and we’ll listen.

Cheryl’s smile trembles with incoming tears, and she closes her eyes and holds her father close. He doesn’t utter a sound, and she can hear everything he’s saying, loud and clear. He squeezes her one - two - three. She laughs weakly and locks her arms around his back. One - two - three.

She hopes James can listen, and hear her, too, but in case he missed it, she’ll say it as many times, and as many ways, as she can:

“We love you too, James.”

One.

Two.

Three.

#ches writes #harry mason #james sunderland #cheryl mason #silent hill #silent hill 2 #a&s - but make it an au #(because i'm not telling theo how the sh arc ends :3c)#anyway this is a&s #i was supposed to write and finish it for father's day but you know what?#you can't rush art #except when you're making the rules #anyway!!!!!!#i have a lot of Thoughts and Feelings about dad James #so #roundhouse kicks this out into the world #stubs my toes in the process #hobbles away crying about multiple things but definitely the stubbed toes

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jimlingss · 5 years

Text

Jungle Park [16]

Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17

➜ Words: 5.4k

➜ Genres: Fluff, Light Humour (?), Slice of Life, Workplace Romance!AU

➜ Summary: The equation is simple. Hoseok needs to hire someone. You need a job. Except like any actual equation, it’s not fucking simple at all! Not when you have to add the fact that he was forced to hire someone he doesn’t want in his office, he has little respect for your job in general, and oh yeah...once upon a time you might have—*CENSORED*.

The invitation came by email. Your first thought was to refuse and you had even begun typing up an apology. But before you could write the second line, someone else had sent you a message. It was like she had a sixth sense and maybe she did because she asked if you were going to come. Then she guilt tripped you that it’s been so long, tried to convince you that it would be fun, do everything in her power to persuade you otherwise, as if she was part of a pyramid scheme and was trying to get you to join. Hani has always been fearfully persuasive and that’s how you find yourself dragging your feet towards Hoseok’s office. You knock three times and there’s a muffled— “What.” “It’s me.” The door cracks open and at the sound of your voice, Hoseok puts down his pen and looks up at you. The corner of his lips pull into a smile, scowl disappearing. “Oh, Y/N.” “Are you busy? I can come back…” “No, it’s fine.” His smile widens while you step into his office. “What do you need?” “No, um, it’s just, I know we’re supposed to come in this weekend.” “Oh, that doesn’t really apply to you.” Hoseok’s hands are clasped and you begin to break a sweat by how he gives you his full attention and his stare is more intense than usual. “You don’t need to come in.” “Oh...okay…” “Why? What was the matter?” “No...” It’s excruciating how much you’re beating around the bush, but you don’t really want to spill what’s going on. Still, you decide to say it rather than making it sound more suspicious. “There’s this stupid reunion thing I was invited to. It’s on the weekend and I was thinking of going.” “A reunion?” “Yeah, to celebrate eleven years.” Your head lolls to your shoulder and you ramble on, not making a big deal out of it. “Apparently, they were supposed to have one for ten years, but it got delayed. It’s kind of dumb but…” “I don’t think I received an invitation,” Hoseok suddenly comments, quirking his head to one side as well. His brows knit together and he inhales a sharp breath. “We went to the same university for our undergraduate, right?” “Yeah, uh, everyone sort of lost contact with you after you left for law school. No one knows how to contact you even if they wanted to…” Like you, many of the others had no clue that he opened up his own firm. “Huh.” He nods and then resumes his work, typing on his computer and casting you a mere glance when you’re still standing there. “Well, have fun and make sure you’re back on Monday.” “Sounds good.” Your feet linger for a moment, body not listening to your brain. But eventually, you get a grip on yourself and step out of his office. A school reunion trip would be expensive — luckily, your efforts of driving the taxi for twenty nights in a month was paying off….literally. You had quite a bit of savings, enough to pack your bags for a weekend trip. In all honesty, as nervous as you were to be seeing old faces again, you were also excited. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen Taeyeon, Hani, and the others. They would argue it’s been too long. Everyone has gone their separate ways, abroad for work or busy in their families and with their children. You were especially distant from them after you moved all those years ago. But it would be nice to see them again, to mend back old friendships and remind yourself that you aren’t alone. And it turns out that it only takes two buses and one train ride, a total of six hours and twenty minutes, to reconnect with old friends. It’s not as difficult as you thought it would be. You’re out of the city in the blink of an eye, at the one next door, waiting at the station for your ride. As you check your phone for the fifth time, you’re startled when there’s a loud honk. Someone’s pulling in with their maroon car and you immediately recognize the girl in the driver seat. She rolls down the window and tugs her sunglasses to the bridge of her nose, peering above the frames at you. “Hey, loser! Get in! We’re going shopping!” You grin at her reference, dragging your luggage over and throwing it in the backseat. “Some things never change, do they?” “Get over here.” Before you can even fully situate yourself in the passenger seat, she’s already leaning over the console to hug you, making laughter bubble from your chest. She really hasn’t changed one bit, from being extroverted and charming. Her long black hair is unchanging, features that seem sharper than they did years ago, cat-like eyes that are intimidating and cute when she smiles. She’s in shorts and a simple tee-shirt, summer-like attire in the chilly weather. “Ugh, I missed your ass so much.” You squeeze her back, savouring the hug that reminds you too much of another embrace that felt like eons ago. “Missed you too.” “Taeyeon’s staying with us in the hotel.” Hani shifts the gear and pulls away from the curb. “She’s there, still freaking out about leaving the kids with her husband.” You smile at the thought and look at her. “How are you?” “Good. Same old, pretty much. Work is tiring, but I really like it. I’ve been working on a project for the later half of this year and it’s almost finished, so I got that going for me. How are you?” “Things are good for me too.” “Where have you been working?” “Oh, I’m an HR rep for a law firm,” you explain in a boring tone, not wanting to discuss it too much. “I like it a lot.” “Oh my god! That’s so great, Y/N!” There’s a red light and Hani glances at you with a beaming smile, remembering you telling her that you were having trouble finding a job a few months ago. “I’m so glad you found a good place.” “Thanks.” “Have you been seeing anyone?” “No, not really. Just...haven’t found the time.” You move on, changing the subject. “How’s Daehwi?” A long sigh leaves from her pink lips. “An idiot as usual, but what’s new?” Your cheeks ache from your grin. “Has he popped the question yet?” “He said he was going to do it before my birthday, so I guess we’ll see what happens.” “That’s amazing.” And you really mean it. Rather than feeling envious, you feel happy and proud for your friends. Most of them have their lives together and it’s nice to see them progress, even when you feel like you’ve been stagnant, stuck at a standstill for so long. “You guys are great together.” “Yeah...I really do love that idiot.” A soft smile appears on her visage as she admits it. “If we get married, we’ll probably have kids soon after. We already talked about it and my eggs are dying, you know? And my nieces are just too cute. They always give me baby fever. But Daehwi wants it more than I do.” She laughs and you notice how her skin is practically glowing in bliss. “He wants five kids and a set of twins or something and I told him there was no way I was going to give birth to an entire football team for him.” Another laugh streams from your chest. “Sounds like Daehwi.” Hani hums and nods. “But things have been okay for you?” “Yeah. I’m pretty happy these days and I really enjoy my work.” Hani takes a glance at you. “I’m glad, Y/N.” Once you arrive at the hotel room, you can already hear Taeyeon face-timing her husband. She gives you the biggest bear hug imaginable and you say hello to her toddler and five-year old, making you a bit sad when they don’t remember you at all. But it’s good to be back and even better to meet up with friends that make you feel as if time created no distance at all. “Do you know who else is coming?” “I think most people are.” Hani momentary pauses scrolling through her phone and shrugs. “I checked the facebook page and a lot of them said yes. Probably because the university’s paying for a lot of the expenses.” Daehwi, who’s cuddling your best friend, smiles. “Our alumni is so nice.” Taeyeon scoffs. “More like we’re their backdrop so they can take a thousand photos and post them to their website and promote their institution. They’ve been pushing to reel in younger, naive kids and rob them of their money before giving them a piece of paper that says good job.” You grin as another thought flickers in your mind. “Is Changsub coming?” “He’s coming tomorrow morning.” The strawberry blonde female falls down onto the soft sofa, lounging on it. “He booked it last minute. I think he’s still on the plane right now.” “I can’t remember the last time we all met up,” Daehwi notes, looking out the glass window towards the city and feeling sentimental about the moment. “We’re only missing one person now.” Hani shoulder checks him and the male lets out a painful, “Ow! What! Can I not talk about Hoseok?” “It’s fine, you guys,” you placate both Hani and Taeyeon when they look at you in concern. “It’s not a big deal...I actually….talked to him recently.” Hani blinks with her wide eyes. “You did?!” “You did?!” Taeyeon repeats after her like a parrot, both of friends stunned. “Yeah...it’s...uh..complicated, but we’re good.” There’s a long silence, all three people staring at you, and you divert your eyes out the window. “So, what time is the official reunion tomorrow?” // The rest of the day is spent eating and catching up. Taeyeon talks about her kids, what giving birth is like and simultaneously putting the fear into Hani and Daehwi as they listen and you laugh at their expressions. The pair of them also talk about their traveling adventures, what countries they’ve visited recently and are planning to visit in the future. There’s not much that’s changed for you, so you only discuss your job and what you kind of do day to day. All four of you play uno like back then, gossiping about acquaintances while having a few drinks in the hotel room but nothing to get wasted on, only slightly tipsy. You can’t remember the last time you had such a good time. By morning, everybody wakes up a bit later in the day, grabbing brunch before getting ready to go. You pick out a dark blue modest dress to wear, sharing the bathroom alongside Hani who worries about her makeup and Taeyeon who does her hair. It reminds you of years ago when you used to dress up to go clubbing or out to the bar. It’s nostalgic and you feel young again, even when you’re sure age has made its mark on you. “You know, it would’ve made a lot more sense to have our reunion on campus and not at a hotel conference hall,” Hani points out while sipping on a glass of champagne, looking around at the place lit by chandeliers. You smile. “Now that I think about it, you’re right.” Taeyeon shakes her head, staring at the intricate patterns of the velvet carpet. “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be at a fancy hotel than a shitty gymnasium on our shitty campus.” “Okay, touché.” “They have an after-party there,” Daehwi pipes up. “It’s pretty close. We should go.” “I don’t understand why there’s an after-party for the reunion.” “Different backgrounds create different pictures to put on their website,” Taeyeon tells Hani while she rolls her eyes in disapproval. You quip to the both of them while lingering at the back of the hall, “That’s a crazy conspiracy.” “Oh my god. Jiyong! Jiyong!” Daehwi puts down his drink, running off towards another man who yells out his name as well without looking back. They fist bump each other before going on a talking barrage to catch up and Hani appears even more exhausted than before, letting out a huge sigh. “Dear lord, if I have to talk to all of his frat members, I’m going to need another five hundred drinks.” The blonde beside her laughs. “Well, you should get ready because I think I see Seungri.” “Taeyeon.” Another female has stopped in front of you three. She’s staring straight at your friend, ogling at her from head to toe. “Is that you?!” “Oh my gosh. Minzy?” Taeyeon hands her glass of champagne to you, walking off. “It’s been forever!” “I know!” she shrieks in excitement. In the giant hall, you recognize many and once in a while, they stop to make small talk with you. It’s easy to get whiplash at all the familiar faces. You’re brought back to a decade ago, and an odd feeling begins to plague you. It’s as if all the regrets you had in the past fix themselves into place again, that the people you had forgotten about and that were so far away, are now in your reach. Eventually, you become overwhelmed and fade into the background. You hang around in the back, taking in all the decorations, the old photos, the surrounding people. Hani tells you that she’s going to the washroom and you nod, keeping an eye on her drink while sipping on yours. It awakens your memories of house parties where you were more of a wallflower than the life of the party, where you spent your time observing behaviour and actions, where it was much quieter. “Man...how do I not recognize anyone?” You nearly spit out your drink, but you end up choking instead. You’re hacking your lungs out unattractively, coughing and beating your chest like a wild gorilla. Maybe you’re so delusional that you’re beginning to hear and see things because you swear to god…..Jung Hoseok is standing right beside you. His head is tipped to one side, black hair left natural and unstyled, full bangs covering his forehead. He’s wearing sneakers, black jeans and a grey hoodie, too casual for an event like this. More importantly, he’s staring at you in amusement. It’s probably your imagination. You just miss him and your mind is coping…. But then he opens his mouth and talks. “Y/N?” “What are you doing here?!” Your mouth falls open comically, words spilling out in the harshest manner and you’re suddenly very, very worried. There are a million things that can go wrong in your life, but this situation was definitely in your current top ten. The corner of his mouth pulls and the lawyer rolls his shoulders. “Well, turns out you don’t need to be directly invited by someone. I checked the website and sure enough, I just had to sign up with my old student identification number to come.” “Wh-wh...but why?” Hoseok’s smile stays on his lips, but his brows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean why? I can’t come to my own school reunion?” “Th-th-that’s not what I mean.” Your head shakes and your eyes do a quick sweep of your surroundings before settling on him again. “You told me I lost contact with everyone when I went to law school, so I figured this would be a good time to reconnect with people. I didn’t expect to run into you so soon, though.” Jung Hoseok flashes the brightest of beaming grins, looking like the epitome of sunshine or someone from pleasantville. You begin envisioning throwing yourself against the wall hard enough where you could pass out and perhaps the ambulance would be called and you could escape this insanity. You might be a little over-dramatic at the moment…..but the logical part of your brain disagrees. This is perfectly rational. “I—” “Oh my god.” The interruption comes from your former best friend, Hani. Alongside her is Taeyeon who almost spills her new drink when she abruptly halts and her eyes grow wide at the sight beside you. Your worst nightmare is beginning to unfold right in front of your eyes. “Jung Hoseok?!” The lawyer frowns, staring at both women and he takes a long second before recognition begins to settle in. “Uh...Heeyeon and...Kim Taeyeon...right?” He glances at you for approval, and you don’t say anything nor do you even cast a single glance of approval. Taeyeon marches over and in five strides, she’s giving him a humongous hug. “Where have you been, bastard? I never thought I’d see you again.” In the meanwhile, Hani is boring her eyes into you as if asking if you’re okay, and you give a slight nod. “I’ve been busy.” Hoseok’s memory starts to jog again. He only has a handful of memories, all of them vague and blurry like they’re from an old tape he’s watching back, but he feels at ease for at least remembering them….even if he doesn’t have a single memory of you. “You didn’t even think to call, bitch?” His lips tug into a slight heart shape, eyes crinkling. “...Sorry?” Hani offers a more reserved and meek smile. She stands at a distance away, beside you. Her arms are crossed defensively, and she doesn’t spare any embraces or even a handshake. “It’s good to see you again, Jung.” “Thanks, Heeyeon.” Hani’s brow raises, wondering why he’s calling her by her legal name and not the nickname she goes by, but she brushes it off. “I see you’ve become acquainted with Y/N here. Maybe a bit too comfortable?” “Well, I’m sure this is fine.” His smile becomes lopsided as he peeks at you. “It’s not during working hours.” The female doesn’t quite understand, but she never once backs down. “Working hours or not, I think you should back off a bit. Have some human decency, Jung.” “Hani!” You’re cringing to death, ready to be lowered into your grave with your toes curling. Your mind races, though you’re rendered too speechless to know what to say or know how to address the situation. If you wished you were invisible enough, maybe it’ll actually work. “Is there a problem?” Hoseok is genuinely bewildered and baffled by her bizarre attitude, deciding to challenge the rude woman. “Or are you her boss too?” Taeyeon repeats him, equally confused. “Too?” “You didn’t tell them?” Hoseok shifts to you, trying to be caught up to speed. His head is already swirling with old memories slowly coming back to life. He wonders if you didn’t say you worked for him because it was somehow embarrassing to be working for someone you went to school with. But he knows you’re not the type to be shameful about such a trivial thing, especially when you loved your job so much. “Tell us what?” Taeyeon asks, spinning around to soak in your exchange of expressions. Then, her eyes almost fall out from their sockets and her jaw drops to the carpet. “Wait. Don’t tell me. Holy shit. Oh my god. You’re back together?!” “NO!” You shout, startling other folks and people turn around to shoot dirty looks. But you pay no mind, too preoccupied with nipping the crazy thought in the bud. “I work for Hoseok! At his firm!” “You…” Hani gives you a skeptical look. “...you’re working for him?” “Holy shit! Are my eyes seeing what they’re really seeing, right now? Or am I high?” From the noise, Daehwi had pulled away from the crowd of frat guys to see what the commotion was. Of course, now he was running towards you again, eyes pinned on Hoseok. “Dude! How’s it going?!” Their handshake morphs into a fist bump. “Why are you talking like you’re a nineteen year old dumbass again?” Hani rolls her eyes, but doesn’t dwell when she’s more upset at the current situation. She informs her partner of the news, “Y/N’s working for Hoseok at his firm.” “Wait. Really?” “Why is that so surprising?” Hoseok inquires, still perplexed at all their reactions. “There’s nothing wrong with Y/N working for me. That doesn’t make her job any less important. She actually runs her own department as HR manager. And she’s exceptionally good at her job.” “No, that’s not the issue. I’m just surprised, because—” “Hoseok doesn’t remember!” The shout echoes, straining your vocal cords, shocking your old friends. Everyone turns, necks craning over slowly like their bones are made from old mechanical rods. “What?” The situation is getting out of control. You’re losing your grasp on what you want Hoseok to know. The mess is beginning to unravel and you’re doing everything in your power to spool it back together, keep it hidden, in the dark, where only you know, where you can feign ignorance and live your little happy life without having to confront the past. Daehwi frowns. “What do you mean?” Your heart cracks for the hundredth time. And it’s because of Hoseok. Again. “He just….doesn't remember.” “Is there something going on here?” He asks right when Taeyeon was about to speak the same question, wholly puzzled at the circumstances. Their gazes are too intense for you to hold up by yourself. You’re barely holding it together and you’re too afraid you’ll begin to crack from the outside as well, let them see what you really feel, how damaged you are on the inside. “Hoseok has memory problems,” you calmly say, spilling secrets even when it’s not your place to, “he was in a car accident.” All three shift, waiting for his confirmation. He gives a single nod. “Oh shit.” Daehwi’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “That’s horrible.” The blonde female steps closer to him. “What happened?” “Hit a lamppost. Like seven years ago. But I don’t have any ‘memory issues’.” Hoseok quotes you before laying his eyes on your visage. He cocks an eyebrow before looking at everyone else. “Just have some spots where I can’t quite remember. Am I missing something here?” “Nope.” You force a smile, talking past the lump in your throat. The urge to distance yourself from this is too overwhelming and you’re suddenly reminded of why you avoided reuniting yourself with old friends. It’s too painful, too messy to remember. Once again, you wish you were in Hoseok’s position where you didn’t know a thing. “The past is the past. Best to leave it behind. Anyways, you should probably get a drink. I can get you one.” “I can get it myself.” “No.” Your hands fly out, wanting him to stay where he is, wanting to get yourself away. At any moment now, you were going to break. “I insist, I insist.” “Let me come with you,” Hani asserts and you decide having a good friend beside you would be the least of your troubles, so you let out an ‘alright’. The two of you march through the crowd. The dark-haired female stares at your profile, her mouth opening, ready to fire out her many questions. But when you give a glance, she sighs and decides not to press on or pry. Hani doesn’t say anything, granting you mercy for the time being. In the meanwhile, Daehwi and Hoseok catch up with one another. As time goes by and more small talk is made, the latter’s memory jogs, though it seems as if your existence has been deleted from his recollection completely. But he doesn’t dwell when his focus is on socializing. “So, you’re a hot shot lawyer now?” The brunette grins. “Your sister always said that.” “I don’t think I’m a hot shot or anything, far from it, but yeah, I run my own firm. It’s kind of small and it’s nothing much yet. Still a work in progress.” “Damn, still, you’re probably filthy rich, dude. I’m jealous. Do you have a yacht?” “No.” Hoseok laughs. “I don’t have a yacht.” Taeyeon has an indignant expression. “Hoseok’s afraid of the ocean, remember?” “Rightttt.” The lawyer in question sulks slightly, not enjoying how his fears are being broadcasted aloud. “I’m only afraid when I can’t see the bottom.” “So he’s afraid of the entire ocean then,” Taeyeon reiterates with a laugh. “Guess so.” Daehwi teases the man and smiles with his teeth. He pats his friend on the shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, Hope. Now we’re just waiting for one more person before we have the whole gang back together.” “Speaking of the devil…” Taeyeon motions with her chin and both males whirl around. “Yeon! Dae!” Changsub is walking towards them, dragging his feet over as he exhales in exhaustion. “God, my plane got delayed and I literally just got here and threw my luggage upstairs. I’m so tired! My sleeping schedule is going to be so fucked. It’s supposed to be midnight right now. I swear—….” “Hey.” Hoseok gives a polite wave, smiling, and the guy has his eyes plastered all over him, starstruck, like he’s looking at a celebrity. Changsub blinks hard, appearing comical as he does so. “Jung fucking Hoseok?!” Daehwi chuckles. “Trust me, I didn’t believe it either.” “Dude!” Changsub gives him the most gripping hug, arms cradling his entire frame. “What the fucking hell are you actually doing here?! What the fuck.” “I’m here for the reunion,” he quips. “You?” “Same. God.” His hand runs into his hair, shock firing into his body. Changsub quickly looks around. “Does Y/N know you’re here?” Once more, Hoseok’s confusion returns. “Yes…?” At the reminder, Taeyeon glances around the premise, standing on the tips of her toes. She inhales a sharp breath, humming a note. “Let me go get Hani and Y/N. They’ve been gone for a while. We should get a picture together before things get more hectic around here.” The female dismisses herself, going into the crowd of people to grab you both, disappearing from sight. Changsub shakes his head, still staring at Hoseok and unable to trust his eyes even when he blinks hard. “Dude, man, it’s been so goddamn long.” “I know.” “How have you been? What have you been up to?” “I’m good. Just working as a lawyer these days at a divorce firm. You?” “Awesome. God, wow. Yeah, I’ve been travelling for work.” Changsub is at a loss for words. “You look great.” “Thanks.” Hoseok grins at him. “You too.” The male shakes his head, mouth drawing open. “And Y/N knows you’re here and shit?” “Yeah.” He wonders why he’s being mentioned with you so much, why people are so confused that he’s made a reappearance. It can’t be that weird. “Why?” Daehwi pipes up, interrupting the conversation, “They actually work together.” “No shit! Really?” Changsub is noisy, nosy, and a tad obnoxious. He’s slow to pick on things and a bit hyperactive, gathering attention from the surrounding people, but he’s still good natured and warm hearted enough not to cause real trouble. Yet. “So, you came with Y/N today?” “....uh...kind of? Not really.” “Are you guys back together?” “No.” Daehwi’s smile at once becomes stiff. He looks around as if searching for help, but when no one comes to the rescue, he pokes him and mumbles, “uh...Changsub...you might want to cool it.” He doesn’t hear him. “Yeah, I didn't think so. When it’s that bad of a split, it’s usually not good to get back together. I know I tried to get back with Sooyoung and it turned out even worse. She took the kids and all and that fucking sucked ass.” “Oh.” Hoseok quirks his head to the side, frowning. The lawyer is both perceptive and smart enough to catch on. Everyone knew something — what it was Hoseok was unsure of. But while they decided not to divulge any information and continue to speak in code, Changsub was his opportunity, the person to spill whatever was going on. “Was it a bad split? I mean, we only had two dates…..?” “What are you talking about? Two dates?!” A bark of laughter comes from the pits of his stomach, streaming out from his mouth in disbelief. Daehwi’s teeth grit. “Chang...shut up..” “You guys dated for like four years.” There’s silence. Hoseok stares at him. His smile immediately falls. “....Excuse me…..what?” Daehwi sighs his entire lungs out. He shuts his eyes tight and pinches the bridge of his nose. At this rate, his head was going to be shaved bald by his precious girlfriend, just because this dumbass was straight out ignoring him. Despite not being aware of what your relationship is with Hoseok, Daehwi’s sure he won’t be able to look at you in the eye after this. Guilt would eat him alive since you were obviously keeping Hoseok in the dark for a reason. “Chang...dude…” “You guys even got engaged.” Hoseok is lost. “....What?” Without you even knowing, your entire world collapses. It’s ironic that your feigned ignorance of history turned to real ignorance of the present situation. You can’t even mourn for your loss when you don’t even know that it occurred. “Changsub!” Daehwi steps on his foot and the male cries out in pain. “Ow! What the hell, dude?! I’m trying to talk to Hope!” “Yeah, well you need to fucking stop. Shut up. Seriously.” The man rolls his eyes. “I get that no one wants to talk about bad breakups, but it was like, what, eight years ago? It’s not that big of a deal. The past is the past. We can’t just keep beating around the bush or skirting around the issue and pretend it never happened.” Daehwi groans like it physically pains him to interact with his old friend. “You...are the biggest dumbass I have ever met.” “Hani! Y/N!” When the pair of you come into sight, Changsub grins and walks over like nothing had just happened. In a way, nothing really did happen. He was just talking about old memories, things that have no meaning anymore...or at least that’s what he thought. “Hey, Chang. Oh, I got your drink.” You pass it to Hoseok and he takes it lifelessly. His expression is strangely blank, glossed over, neither bright and energetic or serious and stern. Jung Hoseok is unreadable. “Did something happen?” Taeyeon asks with pouty lips, glancing at the three male individuals. “No…” Daehwi sighs and glances at Hoseok. “Not really.” Changsub shrugs. “My flight got delayed and I rushed over here from the airport, threw my luggage in the room upstairs and ran here. Barely made it too. Also, I’m super tired and my whole body is delayed like twelve hours. So, I might be a bit slower. Anyways, I’m glad you’re finally here, Y/N.” “Happy to be here,” you answer with a smile. “Took you long enough,” he playfully quips back and it’s true. You were avoiding them since they brought back memories you didn’t want to remember. But now that you were standing here with all your friends again, it wasn’t so bad….. “Yeah.” You give another smile. “We need a picture of this.” Hani digs into the small purse slung across her body. “I don’t know the next time we’re going to be all together again.” The small crowd gathers to take the photo. Hani has her arm around you, Taeyeon right in front with Daehwi and Changsub huddling on Hoseok’s side. You and Hoseok stand beside each other in the center, posing with cracking smiles as the camera snaps the shot, capturing the moment in time forever. There’s more meaningless small talk, more catching up. When the music plays, the official reunion begins and everyone finds their seats as the speaker takes the center stage and the slideshow at the back begins. You steal a glimpse of Hoseok when you feel the pressure of his eyes on you. “Hey...are you okay?” His gaze softens, eyes full of confusion. You don’t know what’s going on. And your fixation on denial blinds you silly, never once giving you an inkling at the potential possibilities. His turmoil is a tsunami, crashing down inside his chest, rushing into his stomach and drowning the butterflies that have migrated there, making him uncomfortable and sick. He is conflicted. Confused. Angry. Petrified. Sad. He doesn’t know why you would hide it from him. He doesn’t know what happened. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know who you are. Hoseok gives you the most honest answer he can muster— “I don’t know.”

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #hoseok fluff #hoseok angst #hoseok fanfic #shit is hitting the fan folks

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skellebonez · 3 years

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Smoke, Flasks, and Unfinished Tasks: Chapter 9

AO3 Link!

Chapter 1 Link!, Chapter 2 Link!, Chapter 3 Link!, Chapter 4 Link!, Chapter 5 Link! Chapter 6 Link! Chapter 7 Link! Chapter 8 Link!

Summary: As their time in the Calabash continues, the trio is face with three very different kinds of scenarios. Some simple, some subtle, all personal. Outside, the elders come to a realization and start to plan.

Warnings: Re-living emotional and physical abuse, psychological torment, panic attacks, blood and injury descriptions.

Author’s note: ... so it’s been... 3 weeks since I last updated this fic. Being honest, I wasn’t happy with what I had already written after re-reading it. I decided to take a week to let what I had left sit and come back to edit again, and then I realized I HATED what I wrote. So I took a second week off updating and completely rewrote everything I had in the fic so far, including this chapter. I think part of the problem was that, at the time I wrote these chapters a couple months ago, we didn’t have the special and the way I wrote the characters when the situation gets heavier felt off to me. Hopefully I have fixed this!

Chapter 9: Mix and Match

Another blink, another move, and Red Son was at the counter of his food stand that he opened for the Lunar New Year festival. Watching as potential customers passed by and looked over their options, still at the festival stall, still at the Lunar New Year festival where...

He blinked again and there was a flash of red and green flames burning in tandem, wrapped around each other and swirling around a figure clad in golden light.

When his eyes opened the visage was gone, not replaced by another change of scenery but back to same view of the festival he had seen before he closed his eyes. Another blink, and time seemed to have moved forward. There was a man standing before him and yelling and grabbing his frock and oh. He remembered this.

“Look, I wanna speak to the manager.”

It was different this time. Red hadn’t blinked, but it was like the world glitched around him in a strange kaleidoscope not unlike a broken computer monitor that made his eyes ache and skipped forward in time. Like someone was pressing the skip button on an online video and jumped over his own response. He watched as the man (was it the same man from the shoe store? he looked like him but he had only ever seen him once before so he couldn’t be sure) ran off after seeing his father, screaming into the crowd and drawing more than a few confused and concerned looks.

A skip. “Great!?” His father yelled with a growl. “I am the Demon Bull King! What would you have me be? The King of Street Food!?”

Red Son opened his mouth and there was another skip, he was right next to his father’s face when he growled at him. He’d made the mistake of mentioning the White Bone Spirit at that time, he remembered. His father had been growing more and more frustrated at this arrangement as the day had gone on and looking back on it now this was possibly the tipping point that made his father snap.

Why had he brought her up in the first place?

Another skip and Red’s head started to feel light, like he was on the verge of feeling like he would pass out but wasn’t quite there yet, and his father slammed his hands into the countertop. “Enough! I may have failed as a conqueror, but I will not be made a fool!”

Once again Red Son opened his mouth to speak and the world glitched again and he was being pulled from the food stall in the hand of his father now changed into his full size, grip almost too tight in his frustration but not tight enough to hurt him. Not physically, anyway. But Red couldn’t help feeling his chest tighten and grow cold despite the warmth that lived under his skin. He knew this was just the Calabash, knew this wasn’t really happening.

But he still knew what was to come. And regret filled his heart like ice water.

“We are going to have a talk, you and I.”

MK looked down at his hand, the one that had slammed into the Monkey King’s face still clenched into a fist both shaking and numb, and felt his breathing speed up more and more and his head hurt. His head felt like a steel vice was gripping it and yet like it was empty and too light at the same time, his vision blurred and he distantly heard the familiar voice of his mentor asking him if he was ok and no no he wasn’t ok he was dying.

Except he wasn’t dying, he knew that. He’d experienced this before, many times. A panic attack. He’d be fine, just needed some time to-

“Kid?”

That wasn’t Sun Wukong’s voice anymore.

MK raised his head and his eyes widened at the change in scenery. He was in Pigsy’s Noodles, not on a cliff side after training, and Pigsy had just come back from buying... something, he couldn’t remember what.

But what he did remember were the two people he had just taken his eyes off of.

“Look at us when we’re talking to you, brat!” A woman’s voice, one he hadn’t heard in person in almost two years, rang out before a hand reached out and grabbed a sizeable chunk of his hair and yanked his line of sight back to her.

“Hey, get your hands off my employee!” Pigsy yelled out, dropping whatever he had purchased to rush to MK’s side and grab the woman’s hand and pull it back flush with his head to keep her from pulling his hair out. “Who the hell do you think you are!?”

“Who do you think?” a voice that should have been less familiar now than it was.

His mother was gone. Where his father should have been stood Pigsy, no longer holding the hand in his hair but looking at him in disappointment with a shake of his head. MK looked up and...

Sun Wukong looked down at him with disdain. A look that he hadn’t even given to the Six-Eared Macaque when hey fought, one of pure malice and hatred and his hand went to yank his hair harder before the hand holding his own gripped claws of some kind into his wrist to force him to let go.

“You ungrateful little brat, why did I ever give you a chance to be my successor!” The Monkey King hissed and this wasn’t him this wasn’t his mentor this was not Sun Wukong MK repeated to himself as he felt his chest grow tighter again and he clenched his teeth with a scowl.

He turned behind him and where Pigsy should have been standing behind him, the one to catch him as he stumbled backward, stood someone else. Blurred in computer glitches and shaped with long robes and large ears and a fluffy tail and he could see that the shape of the person was smiling softly. Too softly.

The scenery had changed back to the cliff side and suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder and MK jumped and whirled around and saw the once again kind face of Sun Wukong. Marred in worry and fear and confusion. MK flinched back without meaning to.

“Bud? MK? What’s going on?”

Nothing had happened since Mei arrived at the festival. Absolutely nothing.

After what happened not even a few minutes ago the dragon was on edge, looking over her shoulder at every movement. She kept her hands in her pockets now, not wanting to look at them. When she did she saw red, a red no one else seemed to be able to see on her, blood from the MK that she had sliced open. It marked her, not only her hands but her clothes and face where it had splattered on her.

She didn’t dare look at her sword.

Logically she knew that it wasn’t real, the Calabash was tricking her senses as best it could. But it felt real, it felt like she had truly killed her best friend on accident and his blood was on her like a warning for others to stay away.

No one did, though. They acted like she wasn’t covered in the evidence of a murder. Maybe that was an error or maybe that was the intent. To make her feel like she was slowly going to fear everyone learning her secret. A secret that wasn’t real. Lucky for Mei she had plenty of experience pretending that everything was alright and moving forward with a smile. More than enough experience.

Something far worse was coming for her though. She could feel it. After what Princess Jade Face had said to her? This couldn’t possibly be the plan by itself.

“You’re acting weird,” Pigsy said beside Sandy and looking up at her on large demon’s shoulder as they watched the parade procession. “You’re quieter than usual.”

“Just thinking about stuff,” she answered with a shrug, easy as saying the sky was blue. It wasn’t a lie, she was thinking about stuff. Just not what the real Pigsy would have expected, or even a construct Pigsy.

“Huh...” the construct Pigsy said with a shrug, turning back to the parade. It was odd though... He hadn’t once mentioned MK like he had during the real festiv- “MK would have liked to see this.” Calabash. Reading her mind. Of course. “I miss the kid...”

So that was the angle Jade Face was playing with right now. Something simple. Something easy. The calm before the storm.

“Yeah, he would have,” Mei sad softly, not looking at the blood still running down her shirt. She watched as a ghost of a wound opened on Pigsy’s back over his clothing, like a preview image of what was to come, choosing to ignore how it looked suspiciously like her sword. Choosing to ignore how the blood seeped over his back and dissipated before hitting the ground and how she could see bits of bone and viscera she should not know the look of in person.

She ignored.

“You bastard,” Sun Wukong said with a hiss in his voice, baring his teeth at the Demon Bull King. “You- how could you have possibly thought that was a good idea!? In what universe would that have been the way to make him listen to you!?”

For his part, the Demon Bull King actually looked at least somewhat ashamed. Despite being larger than all of them put together the disapproving glares of Sun Wukong, Tang, Pigsy, Sandy, and even Mo seemed to do their jobs well enough.

“I make no excuse for my words or actions that day,” he said firmly, standing straight with a shake of his head. “But do not doubt that I have regretted and wished to undo them every day since-”

“Since what?” Pigsy snapped, beating Wukong himself to the punch. “Since you said them? Or since he told you to fuck off?”

“Pigsy!” Tang whispered out loudly behind him, grabbing his shoulder and moving his disproving gaze from DBK to give the other man one of worry.

“No, it’s gotta be asked Tang,” Pigsy responded, glower not moving from the larger demon. He didn’t back down, gritting his teeth with a growl of his own building in his throat for them all to hear. “Answer me you-”

“Since he told us to leave him,” DBK answered, his honesty in his tone surprising the pig demon. His face was angry, but Pigsy could tell it wasn’t entirely at him. There was anger at himself there. “Again, I made no excuses. I was blinded by power and anger before and it took much more than it should have for us, both myself and my wife, to realize what we had done. That does not change that it happened.”

“... that’s why you let him stay,” Wukong said after a moment of silence between them. “That’s why you’ve been trying to convince him to come back and why you...” He scowled more, shaking his head with a conflicted look of anger and sorrow on his face. “You’re actually trying to make it up to him somehow.”

“Poorly,” DBK also admitted in shocking honesty, sighing before he rotated his shoulders and morphed in front of them. Shrinking down to a more reasonable side, not that much taller than Sandy. “I know I have made mistakes and this alone won’t set things right, but I do care about my son.” He said ‘son’ like it was the most odd word to say, like he hadn’t said it in a long time but he finally understood what it meant. After what he had told them, it made sense. “We will help you find him, and you have my word that should he chose to return to your side we will not stop him.”

“But you won’t stop trying to convince him to give you another chance, will you?” Wukong asked, looking up at DBK. His face was neutral once again, businesslike. Testing the waters.

“No, I won’t,” DBK admitted something for the third time, nodding his head. He was serious.

Wukong turned back to the rest of his companions, three of them looking at Pigsy instead of Wukong. The two once-brother in arms looked at each other. One middle brother and one eldest. Wukong nodded to Pigsy, a silent acquiescence.

‘It’s your decision now’ the nod seemed to say.

Pigsy waited a moment, weighing his options. This had only made his disdain for the Demon Bull Family grow more... but his kids were still in danger. What was worse? Working with someone he hated to help the people he cared about? Or pushing aside help they may desperately need due to that hate?

“... Fine. But you are going to give us everything we need.”

“That can certainly be arranged,” Princess Iron Fan’s voice rang through the room, entering the room with a veritable army of Bull Clones carrying everything from tech to tables and chairs in behind her. “Where shall we begin?”

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #gen fic #whump fic #hurt comfort #sfaut #smoke flasks and unfinished tasks #fanfic

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daxfarroh · 4 years

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Chapter 1

On a rebel ship.

She stared at the ceiling, her mind running in useless circles. Although her room had been prepared for her with plumes of flowers and freshly turned-down sheets, she hadn't bothered to confirm what she already knew: that the blaster-proof door was locked from the outside.

They had loved her, once - called her their hope. The last Jedi. They used to whisper about her amongst themselves, spreading tall tales of heroic feats. Now, they still whispered, but not in reverence. Now, it was questions and doubts and inconceivable rumors that her more steadfast supporters adamantly denounced.

It was worse to hear them defend her, because a few of those rumors were true. And although she didn't think of them as sins, exactly, she knew that she had done things that were subversive to everything and everyone she thought she knew - thought she loved - just a few short months ago.

As she lay here now with her head spinning, she could not be sure what “sin” was or if it even existed. If it did exist and was as immutable as some believed it to be, well then, she was as good as dead to the Light. She should have gone up in flames along with the Jedi temple.

In truth, she never was a Jedi - let alone the last. The only one who could bear that title was locked up somewhere else on this ship, suffering at the hands of justice. Although he was shielding her from this, she could feel the vibrations of his pain through the Bond.

God help her, she could always feel him. He was dark as deep space. But also like that realm of the unknown, he kept going and going. The more she looked, the more she found. He was power; he was danger; he was passion, and he could love - immeasurably - of this she was sure. He was everything. And although he still scared her sometimes in the wilderness of his wrath, he was hers - undoubtedly.

And as her hand rested upon the flicker of him that grew inside her, she was Rey. Just Rey. Scavenger of Jakku. She was nothing but her quick mind, her even quicker body and the Force that fueled it. And a hope - a hope that burned eternal for someone to call her own.

She was nothing, but it was enough. Because, for the first time in her life, she had found someone who thought she was somebody. Not a weapon or a means to an end, but someone's end worth fighting for.

She was Rey of Jakku, and she was going to find a way out.

***

"Rey?" He had felt her presence but was unsure as he squinted through the darkness. "Is it you?"

"Yes."

"Come here." He had been working on using a less commanding tone with her, but he had to admit the last few hours had worn him down. Like many times before, he wished he had his mask. As she crossed the cell to sit beside him in a few wary steps, he composed himself in the Force.

"You look terrible," she said without jest as she explored his battered visage and torso with sad eyes. "Did they torture you?"

"Not very well," he scoffed, managing a smirk.

The back of his head was resting against the unforgiving wall and he could still barely see her between the dark, his hanging hair, and his swollen eyes. Everything hurt, but he knew what he had to do.

"That charlatan wouldn't last a minute on Starkiller Base."

He awaited her usual rebuttal but didn't get one, so he turned his head painfully to really look at her, only to find tears streaming down her cheeks. He could take on just about anything or anybody. But this, he could never take.

"Hey," he took her face in one hand and held her eyes with his. "Stop that. ... It's okay."

"No, you stop," she pushed back, suddenly indignant. She arrested his hand from its task of wiping her tears and pulled it toward her stomach. He wasn't sure if this was intentional. "It's not okay.” She was fervent, wet eyes shining.

"But it is," he said with simplicity. "I deserve this. I deserve to die tomorrow. You know that. You know me."

"That is not true, Ben Solo!" She was fierce now and fighting her climbing voice. "If you say that - if you believe it - it means that all we have is wrong. That all I've given you is wrong!" She pushed his hand flat against her warm belly. "I refuse to believe that you - we - this - is bad! I will not apologize for believing in you, Ben. Not ever!"

Ben never knew how to deal with the deep-seated discomfort her care for him caused. He had hoped that, someday, he would break through a few of his chains and be able to reciprocate, to give her what she so wanted and deserved. Now, he knew there would not be time. His whole life had been spent backing further and further into a corner, beaten down by those he once trusted until he became a raging, feral thing.

In the fleeting moments spent with Rey, he could only imagine a future growing old with her. By the end of that future, he was quite tamed - a different man. A better man.

Yet, he always knew it was a dream. He had done far too much and still not enough. At last, it was too late. Rey didn't deserve this end, but he did. No matter what she told him, he knew it to be true. He could bask in her light until his dying breath, but it would never be enough to redeem him.

Ben had no desire to explain all this too her now, nor did he have the strength to supply any equivalent words of passion, so he diverted her attention.

"You know, if you'd have kept it together back at the hangar, we wouldn't be in this mess."

He immediately regretted his words as the beautiful ire fell from her face. He tried more gently: "You should have listened to me, for once."

A deep rage moved within him as he remembered the string of unfortunate events that was yesterday. Well, all but one event. That had been the most singular moment of his life: he and Rey, flying away. They had left everything they'd built to crumble; years of fighting, toil, and pain. Thrown it all down like a saber on the floor. He'd realized in that moment that he had never known freedom, only because he knew it so poignantly then.

But, of course, it was over quickly. ...

The dogfight could have lasted forever. They were grossly outnumbered by X wings that refused to fire a fatal shot. When there was, at last, a severe blow delivered accidently (or on purpose) by a frustrated pilot, it rattled the TIE fighter and some sense into Ben. He looked at Rey, her eyes full of hope, as always, and knew she would never give up. For the first time, he knew what he had to do.

He called it. She had no say in the matter. And as they were towed to the rebel ship, he remained steady through her verbal and physical blows, convincing her of what she needed to do. By the time they had docked, against all odds, she had agreed.

It was a glorious fight, truly. He gave it everything, because he believed it to be his last. Rey was watching, safely in the arms of that scoundrel Poe. Ben hated this ending, and he was going to take as many rebel scum with him as he could to prove that point.

Considering their numbers, it was easy - for a while - dropping body after body that came his way. He was literally seeing red, so delicious was the dark. But then he took a shot to the shoulder, and then another, and the tables began to turn. He was submitting now to his fate. His body was still fighting - it wouldn't stop until he was stone dead - but his mind and spirit were ready.

He thought of Rey and reached for the Light.

But, then, something was wrong. She was screaming. It was primal and terrifying. He looked just in time to watch her rake through rebel after rebel, cast in the unearthly green glow of her blade. He knew this was wrong - that it would ruin everything. He even hated her for it. Yet, it would be such a sweet death, fighting alongside this woman. She was truly magnificent in her fury.

His eyes never left her until they saw no more. ...

"I know this was my fault," Rey spoke with sincerity. "I failed you."

"That's not what I -"

"After all the training, I still failed you. It won't happen again."

Her promise was delivered with an intensity that made him uneasy. Following a gut feeling, he examined her more closely and noticed the lightsaber strapped to her side.

"Rey," he probed cautiously, "how are you here?" God, her face was so easy to read. He would miss this, too. Right now, it was very sheepish and a little bit proud. "Is this the Bond?"

"No," she replied, suddenly meek under his prying gaze.

"Are you a doppelganger?" He had not known that she was capable of pulling something like this off, but he wasn't surprised. She'd surprised him too many times already.

"I don't know. Maybe," she answered, entirely unsure.

"No, you're not."

"What do you mean?"

"You've been holding my hand all this time. You're not a doppelganger."

"Oh."

"Then what are you?" She wasn't dark enough to create a Force Phantom - he was quite sure of that. He tried another approach. "How did you get here?"

Rey frowned. "I don't know, really. I just sort of closed my eyes, and I focused everything on you. … And then, I was here."

Could it be that this was something completely new? he wondered. Had she really developed an entirely new form of astral projection just by thinking about him? She never ceased to amaze him.

Then, suddenly, his intrigue was clouded with concern. He remembered Luke after Crait and how he had simply disappeared.

"How do you feel?" he pressed, gaining back his intensity for the first time this evening.

"I feel like. … like I'm here. Completely. I can sense my body back in my room, but it feels very far away." A sliver of fear entered her voice. "I - I'm not sure I could get back if I tried. … Ben, ever since we - well, you know - ever since then, I've felt a new energy inside me. It's this power - it's getting stronger every day. ... I don't know what it is, or if it's good or bad, but I can do things I don't understand. Things no one would understand."

Ben took that information and filed it away for another day, if he ever saw one.

"Rey," he did his best attempt at gentle yet authoritative. "you need to go."

She smiled in response. It was a smile dripping with mischief. "Do you really think I would project all this way in corporeal form just to give you a goodbye kiss?"

"No," he resigned.

"Now, when I scream, they'll come running. You do what you can with the Force, and I'll do the rest." She stood up, lit her saber and drove it into the wall, proving beyond doubt that the weapon was far more than a projection. Her grin widened almost madly in the glow of flying sparks.

"That's enough!" he commanded over the grinding noise of light against metal. "Put it away before they hear you."

"Seriously?" She shut off the blade and placed a hand on her hip while she stood over his rather pathetic form. "I know you're in pain, Ben, and you're tired. And I’m not sure I’ll be able to heal you. But you can pull it together for one last fight. The stakes have never been higher."

"It's not that, Rey," he said, though her words had renewed his awareness of his very real pain and fatigue. "They've been injecting me with something. To weaken the Force."

She frowned but seemed undaunted. "That's alright - you're strong. And they'll be so surprised when they see me that we'll practically be able to walk to the hangar bay."

Ben rubbed his bruised brow gingerly with one hand. "And what will you do with your actual body when we fly off into the sunset? Just leave it to rot?"

"No," she answered with feigned patience. "We'll get you off the ship, and I'll return to my body until you're feeling well enough to come rescue me." Her serious little mouth flickered a smile at that last part.

His eyebrow raised involuntarily. Even that hurt. Damn him. Damn her and her dreams and this whole plan.

"I'm assuming you told them that you held me captive and raped me or something," Rey continued.

"Yes.” He'd told them he had messed with her mind, too, for good measure. It had been quite the show.

"Good. There'll be no question of my insanity, then. All will be forgiven."

In all honesty, it wasn't a terrible plan. It could even work, maybe. And if they'd had nothing to lose, he might have jumped on her ship of optimism and ridden it all the way to paradise. But to him, at least, they had everything to lose. To him, there were only two things in this universe more important than his own life, and they were both in this cell with him. He had realized back on the TIE that he would not risk them. Not for anything.

And so, although it broke him a little to shut her down, he couldn't let her go on like this.

"The Resistance isn't what it used to be, Rey. You know that. Leia's dead. Chewie's gone. Hell, even your traitor friend and his tiny girlfriend took off."

She bristled. "Yes, I know."

"You don't fit here anymore," he pressed on more forcefully. "Who do you think will protect you? Poe? Yeah, that guy you sliced into at the hangar bay. Do you think he'll stick out his neck to protect you now?" Ben shook his head for emphasis. It was crucial that she understood this. "The tide is shifting, Rey. It's a new era. Ordinary people don't believe in us anymore. The Sith and the Jedi are dead. The heroes and the villains are dead! It's just us now. And what are we? We’re weapons. We're something to be feared, Rey. And if they fear you, it doesn't matter what used to be. They will dispose of you just the same."

Rey's buoyant demeanor had been visibly sinking throughout his speech. She sank all the way down to the floor beside him and didn't speak for a long time. Ben found it hard to look at her, like he was sitting next to someone he'd killed. When she finally did speak, her voice was flat and empty.

"So, you're not coming with me, then?"

"No. … I'm sorry."

"But it was a good plan," she whispered as a current of emotion began to breach her throat.

God, this might kill him before the rebels did.

"Yes, it was.” His own voice was beginning to crack. He reached out and pulled her close, breathing in her hair as she laid her cheek carefully against his chest. She smelled like the heat of a sun. He allowed himself to quietly meditate on that observation for a moment, refusing to allow the thought to creep in that he would never hold her like this again. There would be no urgency here. Only quiet perfection that could outlive an eternity.

"Ben. … What will I do?" He felt the hot streaks of her pain run down his chest and prayed to whatever creator may be for strength to carry him through this night. The flood dams had been opened, and there would be no more pretenses.

Ben sighed deeply and summoned his voice of authority while he stroked her hair.

"I'll tell you exactly what you’re going to do. Tomorrow, you're going to attend. You're going to apologize for your little 'episode' yesterday, and you will insist that you attend. And, when the time comes, you're going to stand there with everyone else and look avenged. You're not going to cry or scream or pull any of that nonsense you did in the hangar. You'll stand there and watch."

"I can't!"

Ben held her at arm’s length before him, gripping her as if she would otherwise break apart. He looked into her eyes with an intensity he knew scared her. But he had to be sure of this plan if he was going to arrive at any semblance of peace. Everything depended on this.

"You can, and you will!" He softened a bit when he felt her shaking. "You will because you have to. For you, for me, and for him."

Those last words seemed to summon something within Rey. It was as if, suddenly, she understood her higher purpose. She bit her lip to stifle the sobs and agonizingly rearranged her face into something resembling bravery. She was scared and determined and heartbreakingly beautiful. She was Rey, his hero.

"Will you do it?" he asked her, as a master would call on his pupil to attempt a new task.

"Yes. I will not fail you."

He brought her back to him and resumed stroking her hair, resolving to never let her go.

"When it's over, you'll lay low," he added. "No Force tricks, no meddling. Just a scared little Jedi mascot recovering from an ordeal. ... And for the love of God," he remembered, "don't let them know about any of your unusual abilities."

"And after that?"

"After that, you get away. When they let you out, go openly and quietly. ... Go to Ahch-To. Or Tatooine. It doesn't matter where. Just get away."

"Ok."

With all of that covered, he released his breath. He had never known a more capable person than Rey. And although he would never fully comprehend the Force and its motivations, he was faithful that it would preserve her. It had brought them together, after all.

This thought provided him some comfort, and he allowed himself to succumb to his exhaustion. He rested his head back and let his mind drift through every sensation that was Rey, here in his arms.

"How do you know it's a 'him'?" Her voice was soft, unexpected

"Hmm?"

She sat up and faced him. "Just a minute ago, you called it 'him'."

He returned her gaze and placed his hand back over her belly. There was a slight bulge there, so minute that only someone who knew what it was could detect it. But Ben knew every ridge and valley of her body most intimately from his fair-fortuned travels, and to him, it was an entirely new feature. Beneath that entrancing swell of pearlescent flesh, there was a glow that was his son.

"Can't you feel it?" he asked her.

"Feel what?"

"Our son… Our son, Rey." It felt so strange to say it.

Her face grew radiant as she hung on his words. "What - what do you feel?"

Hand still flush to her belly, he closed his eyes. When he began to speak, he seemed far away: "I feel light… darkness… violence. … and peace. But most of all, there is a balance. ... So much power, in perfect balance."

He opened his eyes, finding her alight and full of wonder. She was so young. And she would forever remain young to him.

"He's perfect, Rey. He's going to be so much like you. Nothing like me. But he'll have all my power and yours, and so much more. … He's going to change everything - I can feel it. End all of this. ... He's going to do everything we couldn't."

He read her face like a book as it turned from teary-eyed joy to somber remembrance. Then her eyes widened with bewilderment.

"I love you, Ben!" she cried out, with strangled desperation.

"I know," he said. Though he would never understand why.

And with that, he took her - there on the cold, hard floor. And despite his protesting body, he gave all that was left of himself to her, so that she had to bury her face into his neck to keep from crying out, until the very end, because he loved her. Against all odds, he loved her.

"I love you, too," he said as they held each other on the floor. She smiled at the vibrating rumble of his voice and planted another kiss on his swollen lips. Then she laid her head back on his chest and wound a small hand through his fingers.

"Are you afraid?" she asked him.

"Yes. But not for the reasons you think."

"I know."

"You do?"

"Yes. … Because I know you, Ben Solo." He couldn't help but smile at this, though she didn't see it.

"Well, then you must know that I will find a way back to you,” he said. “It doesn't matter if I die in the Dark or the Light. I will come back to you, if there's a way."

"I know.

He tried to conceal a shudder as he sighed, but it was no use. "And you must know that you have to go now."

"Yes," she barely whispered.

Raising them both up to kiss her forehead and press it against his own, feeling all of the things pass between them that he'd never thought he would be able to feel, he uttered the only prayer he knew: "May the Force be with you."

"And also with you.” Silent tears ran down to mingle with his. He brought her back to the floor, sincere in his conviction to never let her go.

She entwined a hand in his hair as she clung to him, as if it were the only comfort she had in the universe. He liked how safe she felt in his arms and had the untimely realization that he also liked being alive.

"How will I get back?" she finally asked.

"Close your eyes."

She did.

After a moment, he said, "Think of the future. … Think of our son, and of old things dying. … Think of Ahch-To and the changing tides. … Think of all that will come and is meant to be. … And then you'll be gone."

#star wars fanfiction #reylo shippers #reylo love

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kestrellavellan · 5 years

Text

Time Past - Chapter 48

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: NSFW, torture aftermath, suicide mention, rape mention

Weekly updates going forward until the story is finished. Find this fic in its entirety on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11423880/chapters/25595154

Kestrel jerked awake, sitting straight up, hand clasped around his own throat protectively to ward off wolf fangs. It did nothing to restrain the strangled cry that escaped. Heart pounding, breath heavy, his eyes darted around his surroundings, wide with fright.

It only took a moment for Kestrel to recognize the room that caged him in. He was back in his cushiony prison in the Pavus manor. Long shadows shifted along the floor and walls, seeped in the night’s darkness.

He glanced at the window but nothing blocked the filtered moonlight through the opaque glass. Where were the shapes coming from? A chill ran down his spine when one shadow branched off and sprouted defined, taloned fingers. Kestrel watched in horror as the hand stretched wide before snapping into a fist.

Too terrified to scream, he scrambled to the far corner of the bed, up against the wall, and yanked the blanket over his head. He cowered like a child haunted by nightmares, straining to hear over his own panicked panting loud in his ears.

A soft, repetitive tapping echoed through the quiet room.

Kestrel held his breath.

Several moments passed before the sound repeated, louder this time. Closer. Like nails cascading on wood.

Kestrel shrunk as much as he could into the bed, back plastered against the wall.

His breath came in quick, hysterical bursts, and his heart threatened to leap from his throat, pulse erratic in his neck.

Something was in the room with him.

Heavy talons thudded on the floor next to the bed, closer still, louder still, before slowly digging in and dragging, clawing, scraping at the wood.

His heart pounded on the walls of his chest, the noise rivaling his shaky, loud gasps. Please go away. Leave me alone, Kestrel wanted to scream but his voice was buried under his terror.

And then as quickly as it had started, it stopped. Silence. No more scratching, no more tapping, just blessed silence.

Kestrel sagged against the wall in relief. Whatever it was decided to pass him by.

As the blanket started to slip from the top of his head, there was a sudden pressure next to him on the bed. A low, threatening growl pressed against his ear, warm, only the blanket separating Kestrel from whatever beast sat on the other side. Warm, fetid breath bled through the thin barrier.

He froze. This was it. This would be his death, massacred in the Pavus countryside manor by some stray monster. With a shuddering breath, he released his terror and closed his eyes, ready for what was to come.

“Master Kestrel?”

The blanket was pulled away and light flooded everything. Kestrel blinked against the sudden brightness and confusion.

Once his eyesight acclimated, Kestrel’s watery eyes met the curious blue gaze of Dalish.

“Are you okay?” he asked, brow furrowed in concern.

Sunlight poured through the window, illuminating every corner. A quick look around the room confirmed there were no monsters in waiting. In fact, the pink and yellow striped wallpaper looked especially cheery in the warm light. No beasts of evil lurking here.

“Master Kestrel?”

The worry in Dalish’s voice pulled Kestrel’s attention back to the boy perched a foot away, even as he struggled to respond. “I...I’m okay.”

Dalish’s relief was tangible. A huge grin broke out on his face as he said, “After everything Master put you through, I wasn’t sure you’d find your way back. No one has before. Maybe it was because he interrupted…” He trailed off in thought.

Kestrel used the silence to grasp at vague memories floating along his thoughts, frowning at how difficult such a simple task was.

“You seem lost, Master Kestrel.”

“...what happened?” There were so many hazy memories, he wasn’t sure what was real. Corypheus, Harrier, Dorian, Solas? It was all a jumbled mess. Was he clawed? Whipped? Raped? Throat ripped out? So many terrors and they all seemed so real.

“You were forced to take red lyrium and tortur-”

That wasn’t what was important. “Dorian. Was Dorian there?” he asked, interrupting.

“Magister Pavus? Yes...he arrived and was tortured too after making a deal with Mistress Aquinea.” Noticing Kestrel paling, he quickly continued, “But he’s okay now! I saw to his healing and then won’t be any major scars from the whipping.”

A memory of Dorian surfaced, smiling at him while his blood sprayed through the air. He’d wished Dorian’s agreement with his mother didn’t follow right after. Kestrel groaned. “Two months, right?”

Dalish nodded his head. “But he said he will figure out a way to get you out of here, Master Kestrel. He doesn’t want you to worry. He will come up with a new plan to free you.”

A plan? Wait, that sounded familiar. Didn’t he have a plan of his own...? His memory was still a haze, likely from the lyrium, like pulling a stuck boot from a pond of mud.

“He loves you very much. I can tell,” Dalish said with a soft smile.

Give up the one person I love most to protect the one person I love most. His conversation with Solas came rushing back to him. But maybe that wasn’t necessary if Dorian had something else in the works? No, he couldn’t depend on Dorian’s plan. Look where that’d gotten them last time. Dorian had been beaten and forced into a deal he felt he couldn’t refuse. What would they hold over him if another failed rescue attempt happened? Dorian might not survive another attempt, and if he lost Dorian...

He needed to be the one to save both of them, even if it meant they’d never see each other again. That meant getting a plan started.

“Dalish, what happens to the slaves when they die here?”

Dalish averted his gaze with a frown. “Why are you asking that?” he muttered. Kestrel reached out and took the boy’s hand. The skin to skin contact sent an unpleasant chill up his arm, but he persisted. Dalish was harmless. “It’s important. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

Toying with the hem of his shirt, Dalish said softly, “Their bodies are taken to the edge of the woods. By the pond. There’s a...a pit there. The guards carry the body to the pit, and I burn them.”

“How many guards help you?”

“Usually only one or two.”

This plan just might work. Kestrel crushed the hope fluttering in his chest before it could grow, focusing on his next question. “Are you always the one who cremates their bodies?”

Dalish glanced at him, tears in his eyes. “I don’t like these questions, Master Kestrel.”

“I…” He’d shifted into Inquisitor mode without even realizing it. Grimacing, Kestrel apologized, “I’m sorry, Dalish. I know it must’ve been tough for you to do that each time.”

The apology seemed to evaporate Dalish’s unshed tears. He forced out a small, sad smile. “If I didn’t do it, no one else would. And I...I made them a graveyard, you know. Once their bodies are burned, I collect their remains and bury them. So there’s something of them that’s left. No one should be forgotten. Even a slave.”

Kestrel scooped Dalish into an immediate hug. What a horrible task to do, and yet Dalish did it without complaint. How could someone remain so kind-hearted after all the trauma he’d experienced? He’d failed that test himself, becoming bitter and angry after everything he’d been forced through. Maybe that was a child’s resilience in play.

Dalish squeaked in surprise but settled against him readily enough, tucking his head under Kestrel’s chin.

“Leave with me, Dalish,” Kestrel said. “I’ll have a way to escape soon, and I want you to come with me.”

“The protector…” Dalish whispered.

Mishearing, Kestrel said, “Of course I’ll protect you.”

Dalish snuggled close and said into his chest, “I made a promise to you, Mast-” He stopped himself short. “...Kestrel. I’ll runaway with you, so long as you stay my protector.”

He hadn’t done a good job of protecting Dorian. He wasn’t sure he even deserved to be viewed as a protector anymore, but Dalish needed him, and he would never abandon a person in need.

“I promise,” he breathed into Dalish’s blonde hair, holding him close.

They remained like that for a while, enjoying the shelter and peace they offered to each other, even if only temporarily.

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

Kestrel’s daily schedule proceeded normally as if he hadn’t been tortured within an inch of his life and had his mind warped by red lyrium. The demon returned to milk him each morning. Kestrel no longer fought the process and lost himself to the demon’s ministrations. At least the creature humored him and assumed Dorian’s visage. They both understood the sessions went easier when “Dorian” was present.

Dalish collected blood every several days in smaller doses, shipped off for whatever nefarious purposes it was used for. Kestrel didn’t care about that either. He spent day after day locked in his room, visitors limited to only those two - Dalish and the demon. Even Morven stayed away.

His nights were spent sleepless, hiding from the shadows that plagued him into the early morning before he passed out from exhaustion.

Time crept by.

Almost a week later, a loud knock on his locked door interrupted the boring monotony of his day.

“Kes?”

He’d recognize that voice anywhere. “Dorian!” he cried as he ran over to the door and tried the handle. It wiggled but didn’t give, still locked.

“After some insistence, mother agreed to let me speak with you, even if we’re not permitted to see one other.”

Kestrel pressed his forehead against the wooden surface, certain he could feel Dorian’s warmth from the other end. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Am I okay? You were the one who was nearly killed last I saw you.” His voice broke and he paused. “I’m just thankful to hear your voice, amatus.”

“See? He’s fine. I’m not even allowed to see him anymore,” Morven hissed from the other side of the door. “Luckily, Mistress was feeling generous today, letting you visit his room after agreeing to her pick of your bride.”

What? Kestrel’s heart stopped. He was the one who was supposed to marry Dorian, not some woman selected by his mother. He clenched his hand into a fist, the weight of his ring digging into his finger. “You already have your wife selected…?” He tried to sound anything but devastated by the news.

“I promise you, it means nothing, Kes.” Dorian was quick to reassure as best as he could through the wooden barricade.

“Lucky bastard has netted a gorgeous woman, pet. And she comes from good breeding with a strong magical lineage. Young too,” Morven said loud enough for Kestrel to hear. “Bet after a couple rounds with her, he’ll forget all about you.”

There was a loud crash and the door shook with the force of a sudden impact.

Morven laughed, right on the other side of the door. “Someone’s a bit touchy. I’ll overlook the rough treatment only because the slaves are still scrubbing your blood off the dungeon floor. But try that again, and I’ll have you right back down there.”

“It’s okay. I know it’s not true,” Kestrel said, earning another chuckle from Morven.

“Amatus, I...I must be leaving now, but I’ll stop by for another visit as soon as I can. Don’t worry.”

The last sentence held an extra weight behind it.

He wouldn’t worry any more. He knew exactly what he needed to do. “Goodbye, ma vhenan,” he whispered into the warm wood.

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

The sunlight filtered through the opaque glass, settling on Dalish and Kestrel in the oversized bed. Dalish sat on the edge, monitoring the collection of blood from Kestrel’s arm as he laid on his back. Subtle shapes shifted along the ceiling, but he’d grown used to those over the last few weeks. Shadows haunted him even during the day now.

“How are you feeling?” Dalish asked, voice soft with concern.

“Fine. I’m fine.” Truth was, his head spun, and nausea nibbled at his stomach from the blood draw, but Dalish had to gather a certain amount each week. If he didn’t return with the correct, ample amount, he’d face punishment, not Kestrel. He was off-limits for the time being. Safe from any torture while Aquinea waited for her deal with Dorian to be upheld. Good thing he’d be seeing that never happened soon. If Atronis would ever show up.

The door flew open so hard, it slammed into the far wall. Both Kestrel and Dalish startled, jostling the needle loose from his vein and sending a spray of blood outward in protest. Kestrel sat up even as Dalish clamped a hand over the wound, pushing healing magic into it.

Atronis stormed in, cheeks flushed with anger. As soon as his eyes found Kestrel, they narrowed. “You...this is all your fault!”

Wish and you shall receive. Maybe he should’ve wished Atronis away at that moment. It would save Kestrel the inevitability of punching him.

“Do you have any idea the trouble you’ve caused me this last week?” he snarled.

“What? From my prison of a room?” Kestrel said, keeping the snark from his voice, but not the sarcasm from his words.

“You know what I mean!”

Kestrel tilted his head, a small smile playing across his lips. It was a dangerous thing, and Dalish instinctively pulled away. “I’m a bit dense, you know. Why don’t you spell out how I’ve managed to inconvenience you when you’re the one who put me here.”

Atronis floundered for a moment, sputtering and rolling his eyes. Finally, he brushed Kestrel’s words aside and continued his rant, “My slaves have been bothering me nonstop over the last week to come see you. I kept insisting I had better things to do. And, honestly, they shouldn’t even be talking to me that way! This morning, I woke up, and they were all gone! Only a letter was left behind in their absence. It instructed that I was to visit you and…” He paused to glance behind him out the open doorway and the guard positioned right outside. He inhaled deeply, taking a moment to calmly shut the door. As soon as the barrier was in place, he whispered, “Bring this package to you. Discreetly. How did you manage to get my slaves to do your bidding from here?” The volume of voice rose with each word, incredulous.

“They’re not doing my bidding, I assure you.”

Atronis retrieved a bundle from behind his robe and tossed it on the loveseat. “That’s not even the worst of it! Do you know what I had to agree to do to even have this time with you?”

By the disgusted look on his face, Kestrel had an idea. Still, he owed this man a lot. “No, not a clue,” he answered, sliding off the bed. He quickly grabbed the bedpost as his vision darkened around the edges.

“I have to...to…!” Atronis flushed for an entirely different reason this time.

Collecting his bearings, Kestrel took a few steps towards Atronis, a pleasant smile plastered on his face. “You have to…?”

Atronis held up a small vial, and Kestrel swore his skin turned a bit green. “I must collect you...your…”

A few more steps. “You’ve never been at such a loss of words before. Spit it out.” The closer he crept, the more his calm started to crumble, revealing an endless pit of screaming rage.

Atronis stumbled back a step into a chair as Kestrel stalked too close. “Your spunk. I’m to collect a vial of your spunk before I leave here.”

“Poor you,” murmured Kestrel, fist already balled and heading towards Atronis’ revolted features. It connected with a satisfying crunch, sending the taller man staggering back, clutching his face. Atronis never saw the attack coming, never considering Kestrel a physical threat to him.

“Poor, poor you,” Kestrel sneered over him. “Your privileged life is so fucking awful. Your slaves abandoned you for a day, boohoo. You have to ask me to jerk off into a tube for you, boo-fucking-hoo.”

Crouched down, Atronis watched him, fearful, through his protective fingers splayed over his bleeding nose.

Kestrel heard Dalish murmur a revered “whoa” from his side. He paid it no mind, launching into a long awaited, fury-fueled tangent. “Meanwhile, I’m fucking beaten, raped, and tortured daily all because your pride couldn’t handle Dorian liking someone more than you!” He closed the new distance between them in a flash, grabbing Atronis by the throat and pinning him against the chair. “Worst still, Dorian is fucking beaten and tortured and forced to marry some woman all because you’d rather he suffer, because he doesn’t want to be with you!”

“L-Look, I--” Atronis stammered, eyes bulging.

Kestrel squeezed, silencing him. “I don’t want to hear your excuses,” he hissed, rage making his eyes burn.

Kestrel expected Atronis to fight, to grab onto his arm and struggle to break his hold, but the man just slumped, eyes closing. Startled, Kestrel released him to slide the rest of the way to the floor.

Once there, Atronis buried his face in his hands, careful of his nose. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he said into his palms, voice muffled. “I just…”

“Wanted me out of the way and didn’t consider any consequences like the spoiled brat you are,” Kestrel finished for him, the anger fleeing and leaving him drained and unsteady on his feet.

“Ah! Master Kestrel, please sit,” Dalish said, suddenly by his side. He guided him over to the loveseat, hovering as his hands wrung the edge of his shirt in worry.

“I’m fine, Dalish. Do you mind checking on the asshole? I most likely broke his nose,” Kestrel said. He sank heavily into the loveseat as he watched Dalish cautiously kneel before Atronis.

The man lowered his hands without prompting. Sure enough, his nose rested at an odd angle, blood still oozing from the split skin on the bridge and from the nostrils.

The sight twisted Kestrel’s stomach in some confusing mixture of guilt and dark satisfaction.

Dalish realigned Atronis’ nose without warning, only releasing him when Atronis jerked away. “That was the painful part. Now I can heal it, Master. If you’ll permit me.”

Atronis’ cautious gaze never left Kestrel, even as he nodded his head in permission to Dalish’s request.

Watching Atronis’ nose mend with magic, Kestrel muttered, “You’re lucky I didn’t have a blade in hand. Dalish wouldn’t be able to heal the damage I would’ve done then. It would’ve been too quick of a death for what you did to Dorian, to me, but it would’ve been satisfying enough.”

Dalish, finished with his healing, turned towards Kestrel, light blue eyes wide with surprise at the vehemence in his voice.

Atronis swallowed hard, paling with the threat.

Both staring at him with those wide eyes, it suddenly struck him how similar they looked. Sure, their hair color was different but those pale eyes, that nose. Even their lips. Without thinking, he blurted, “Are you two related?”

Startled gazes shifted from him to each other, everyone grateful for a change in topic.

“Who’s your father, boy?” Atronis asked with a frown.

“I...I don’t know, Master. He’s someone of wealth and power from what I’ve been told.”

“And your mother?”

“She was a house slave. She was a Dalish elf before she was sold to House Pavus.”

“She was always Dalish,” Kestrel softly corrected, earning him a glance from Dalish and a nodding acknowledgement.

“Sounds like my bastard of a father,” grumbled Atronis. He pulled himself to his feet, leaning against the chair with a wince. “I suppose it’s possible we’re related. I have a few half-siblings out there already. What’s one more,” he said with a shrug, as if that was the end of the discussion.

“But Dalish could be your brother!” Kestrel insisted. The more he looked between Atronish and Dalish, the more he was convinced.

“And? He’s also a slave. I am next in line to our House name after my father. Another sibling, especially a slave, doesn’t change that. Anyway, what’s so important that I had to trek all the way out here and bring that sack of herbs? After the welcome I received, I should just walk right out that door, tell the guard I’ve been assaulted and laugh as you get what you deserve. Bunny.”

Kestrel clenched his jaw. He could punch Atronis again for his nonchalance at finding a half-brother. Of course, why should he be surprised? Atronis cared only for himself. He was already starting to rise before he realized it. Atronis flinched away before he could hide it. That gave him a sliver of pleasure. At least the asshole wasn’t so dismissive of him now.

He settled his rear against the loveseats’s arm instead of advancing further. “I need your help.” Atronis immediately opened his mouth in protest, but Kestrel held up his hand, continuing, “For Dorian.”

That cut off any further protest better than Kestrel’s gesture had. Maybe Atronis didn’t care solely about himself. Maybe a small fraction of him cared for Dorian. He needed his help if his plan were to work, which meant playing on that emotion.

“Dorian is getting married because of the corner you’ve backed him into.”

Atronis sneered. “Perhaps if you weren’t so pathetic, it wouldn’t--”

“Fine. The corner we’ve backed him into. Satisfied?” He only spoke again once Atronis grudgingly nodded his head. “Aquinea is using me to hold Dorian hostage to her will. If I’m no longer in the picture, he’ll be free.”

Atronis extended his hand, a long sword materializing in his grip. It glowed, light brightening at its tip as it was oriented at Kestrel. “So I kill you. It’ll be my pleasure. Maybe then Dorian will stop pining after you.”

Kestrel rolled his eyes. “And what will Dorian think when he finds out you’re the one that murdered me? What will his mother do? Your father? I may be Aquinea’s captive, but I hold a lot of value to her alive.”

With an annoyed huff, Atronis waved the blade away. “Fine. I assume you have a better idea?” He sounded less than pleased about it.

“Perhaps if you quit interrupting me, I will have a chance to get to it,” Kestrel snapped and Atronis summoned the sword back, holding it defensively before him.

Kestrel ignored it. “My death needs to be my doing, so no blame can fall elsewhere. Dalish,” the boy jumped with his name, attention snapping back to Kestrel, “I’ll need you close enough but not in the room with me before or immediately after, understood?”

Dalish hesitated, wiping at his eyes. “I-I don’t want you to die.”

“Shh,” Kestrel soothed, reaching out to run his fingers through Dalish’s hair. “There will only be the appearance of death. That’s what the herbs are for. I’ll need your help making a precise concoction. Can you do that for me, Dalish? It’s our chance to get out of here. Together.”

“...Okay,” Dalish said.

Kestrel knew that expression on the boy’s face. It was one of absolute trust. He only hoped he was deserving of it. Time would tell. He offered Dalish an appreciative smile before turning his attention away.

“Atronis, I need you to be with Dorian during his next weekly visit two days from now. You’ll be able to vouch for his whereabouts, although I doubt Aquinea will blame him. More importantly, I need him to see my body as proof of my death. Then get him out of here safely. He shouldn’t linger in case Aquinea decides that with my death, Dorian should also die.”

“Okay, sounds simple enough. And then, what? You manages to escape while they’re disposing of your body, and once you’re over the border, you reach out to Dorian to let him know you’re okay? Plan on having him drop everything and come running to you in Nevarra or Orlais or some other sub-par country? You’re going to make him give up all he’s been working for here. You know he’s going to run after you wherever you’re at, right?” Atronis grew more and more impassioned as he spoke, hands gesturing to emphasize his words.

“No.” It was one word softly spoken, but it stopped Atronis’ ranting immediately. Kestrel looked down at Dalish, finding comfort in his gaze. “No,” he repeated. “I won’t contact Dorian. I’ll remain dead to him. If Dorian knew I was still alive, you’re right, he’d might come running. Then his mother would find out I wasn’t really dead. What’s to stop her from capturing me again and putting us right back where we started? Even if the contract goes back on his head after my death, he’ll still be safer than having me held over him.”

“Why? What’s in this for you?” Atronis asked, frowning.

Kestrel looked at him. “We’ll gain our freedom, but more importantly, I’ll know that Dorian won’t spend his life screaming on the inside.”

Atronis snorted. “But you will. I know you’re fucking in love with him. I don’t get it.”

“I would give up everything for him. Wouldn’t you?”

Ashamed, Atronis looked away. That was answer enough.

“Fine. I’ll see this through. For Dorian,” he grumbled. “But you better make sure your part works, or we’ll all face Mistress Pavus’ wrath and most don’t survive that.” Still frowning, lost in his own thoughts, he made for the door.

“Wait,” Kestrel said, stopping him in his tracks. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” He held out his hand, fighting at the embarrassed flush that threatened his cheeks.

“Oh, Maker,” Atronis muttered. He retrieved the vial from his robe and handed it over, swallowing back the nausea that was written all over his face.

Kestrel snatched the tube and disappeared into the bathroom. Thoughts of the night Dorian proposed in his own chamber brought Kestrel over the edge soon enough. Container full, he returned the stopper and rinsed his hands, bringing the damp towel with the vial.

“You may want to clean yourself up before walking out the door,” he said as he tossed the washcloth to Atronis. Even though his nose was healed, he still had blood all over his face.

Still pensive, Atronis cleaned up his face without a word, discarding the towel to the floor once finished. A bit of blood had dribbled onto the pale collar of his robe, but it disappeared into the inside, mostly hidden from view.

As Kestrel extended the tube to Atronis, the Tevinter said, “You’re really his best option, you know. It shouldn’t have come down to this, okay? Just know I’ll do my best to see he’s safe.” He accepted the vial and tucked it away without a thought, despite all his previous complaints.

Kestrel realized that was probably the closest he’d ever get as an apology from Atronis, but it would do. “Make him happy,” Kestrel said as Atronis open the door.

He paused for a moment in the doorway, the only acknowledgement to Kestrel’s words he made, before the guard shut the door behind him.

The shadows lengthened in the room, reaching out for him as despair threatened to overwhelm his thoughts. The plan was being put into motion. There was no turning back now. He’d never see Dorian again, never feel his touch, never hear his wonderful, confident laugh or his private chuckle shared only between them. His world was dissolving all around him into taloned shadows.

“Kestrel?”

That soft, concerned voice brightened his surroundings enough to send the shadows fleeing to the darkest corners of the room. He looked down to find Dalish already had two bundles of herbs in hand and a small parchment unfurled. It held specific instructions on how to complete both the poison and the antidote in Solas’ precise handwriting.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Can you make both potions with what’s been provided?”

Dalish nodded his head. “Yes, I can. But you should know, everyone’s body reacts differently to these plants. There’s no guarantee--”

“Then there’s nothing left to do but move forward,” Kestrel interrupted, tone firm, leaving no room for argument.

Bowing his head, he said softly, “Then I��ll get to work on these.” Dalish bundled everything together again and slipped the package into his shirt, securing it under his belt. “If all goes well, I’ll bring the first bottle by tomorrow with supper.”

“Good night, Dalish.”

Dalish offered a fleeting smile. “Good night, Kestrel.”

The door clicked shut behind him, the heavy lock scraping into place. Without Dalish’s warming presence, the shadows returned in force, twisting into his nightmares as he climbed into bed, too exhausted from the blood draw and emotional turmoil of his plan being in place.

The nightmares were nothing compared to the despair he felt within. He would never see Dorian again. Could never see him again. That thought was worse than all the nightmares that haunted him, but for Dorian, he’d spend the rest of his life screaming on the inside.

#pavellan #kestrel lavellan #dorian pavus #lavellan x dorian #dragon age fanfic #dragon age

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geirskogull · 4 years

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Important - Chapter 1 - Loss

a Colab fic between myself and @momomomodi ft. something we short hand call DRK Haurchefant AU

Danica Voss and Aveline de Bontensont are two very different Warriors of light, but also two very good friends. Even now, five years down the line when loss has colored them so different than they use to be. They mourn the loss of one so important to both their lives, only to have that ritual practice interrupted by their own minds and ascian fuckery.

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Words: 2.6 K

Rating: M

It was a slow day at the Quicksand. The people of Ul’dah bustled in and out as they always did, going about their business, making deals, living their lives. Two individuals seated at a corner table mourned the loss of one. It was the anniversary of Haurchefant’s death, the day when the spear of light pierced through the metal of his shield and speared him. The day when they had held his hands as the light faded from his eyes. The day when his life blood seeped into the stones of the Vault. Danica Voss sat, mourning the loss of her first love. A man so kind and loving, who cherished her as though she were the most valuable thing on Hydaelyn. Who craved to protect those he loved. Who died fulfilling his life’s wish. Aveline de Bontensont sat, mourning the loss of her best friend. A man she had known since the tender age of 11, who she helped to rescue when the stress of his family became too much to bear. A boy who only wished to serve as a Knight of Ishgard. Who took an arrow unarmoured for his best friend. A boy so courageous, he gave his life for those dearest to him. A man who would never know the truth behind the Dragonsong War but died with love in his heart and a smile on his lips.

Voss inhaled, closing her eyes as she raised her glass. Words swirling through her head, muddled by the echo of Ul’dah behind her. to paint the monument to a man who deserved one far more permanent. Light danced through the pale liquid, reflecting off of it, sparkling. Gentle whispers of memory floated through her mind as she remembered some of his most gentle words towards her. “Like gold” he whispered “Rare and brilliant and beautiful, your eyes are the pinnacle of you.” She said nothing, finding any toast lackluster, and gave Aveline a sad smile.

Francel was right, it never did get any easier.

Though this ritual they had made probably didn’t help its chances. A yearly remembrance, somber and fueled by booze, far far from where he laid. She downed her drink, shook her head, and gave a sad smile. “I know by this time I’m normally sobbing into my twelfth glass, but count it as a record that I’m not. So what do we now? Trade stories?” She asked, shrugging and pouring herself another glass

Aveline sipped her drink, shrugging, “I suppose. Five years now, it still hurts to think of him.” It burned harshly in her chest every time her mind recalled him, scalding and painful. She couldn’t help but think of him as a young boy, angry and sad at the world. She took a deep breath, trying to hold back tears. She took a long drink, letting the liquor fuel her. “Would… would you like to hear of how he earned his knighthood?” The story was a fond one though it reminded her too much of his death for her liking. He took the exact same stance as when he protected Francel that day. Tears burned in her eyes. Damn it, how could his death still have such hold over her? She buried her face in her hands for a long moment before looking back up at Danica and taking another long drink.

“No he told me that one.” The Half Elezen woman responded, tracing her eyes across the crowd, trying to find anything to occupy her mind instead of visages of cold stone. And the Dead. You’d think she’d be use to the dead by now, “about Francel and you and all that...” She smiled, thinking fondly of Haurchefant, sitting in front of the hearth in his room in Camp Dragonhead, speaking of his own adventures that “are not nearly as grand as yours, love” all the while she sat there rapt, fascinated beyond reason, simply joyful she was getting to know, to see someone as more than just this warrior the world had decided to paint her.

To paint the both of them.

She dug her fingers into the tablecloth, looking back at her glass and at Aveline. She knew her mourning was obvious, even now, especially to Aveline, but cracked a facsimile of a smile anyway. “Why not tell me something that makes you happy?”

The Elezen thought for a long moment, drumming her fingers on her glass. After a long moment, she smiled, “Our birthdays. We always spent them together. We had a small wooden cabin in the middle of Coerthas where someone would always bring a cake. We wouldn’t have to deal with families or politics or other people. It… it was just the three of us.” She looked down at her dress, fiddling absent-mindedly. Those days had passed. Now Haurchefant’s birthday had returned to only being a day like any other. She and Francel rarely had the time now to see one another, even when she was in Coerthas. Long had it been since laughter echoed in that cabin, now a vestige of their childhoods. She looked off into the distance, her eyes going glassy for a moment as she remembered the nights they had spent simply having fun with one another. The silver haired Elezen giving her piggybacks around the snow-covered hills, Francel laughing so hard that tears welled in his eyes, moments spent in quiet acknowledgement of where their futures would lead them. “Hey, I know you’ll come back soon enough, Ace. Couldn’t bear to be away from our handsome faces for too long!” He had pulled Francel close to his side that day, the two of them beaming at her. Part of her wished that she had never left. Part of her wished she were there as a bystander the first time Danica, Alphinaud, and Tataru walked into Ishgard, murmuring about the newcomers who had passed through the gates. Not knowing anything of primals or the Empire or anything outside of the quiet isolation of Ishgard. She took another long drink, poured herself another glass, and downed that one as well.

Danica looked to her glass, envisioning simply days she had never seen - and thankfully the echo did not change that this time. A small smile dancing at the edge of her lips, imagining her friends, young and carefree. She emptied her glass in a fell swoop, liquid courage for questions and statements alike. Strange she still needed it after all these years. Aveline was a friend, probably one of her closest. Knew more about her than anyone else living, save maybe Estinien. And Haurchefant her mind reminded her, she grimaced, hoping that she could play it off as the booze. The dead may know, but they do not speak.

She inhaled, reaching for the bottle, but stopping herself. If she continued at this rate she’d be back to her usual “crying incoherently into her glass” phase before the hour was up. She swallowed hard, and reached into the collar of her shirt, fishing out a necklace holding a simple ring. She twisted it in her hand, flicking her eyes back up to Aveline.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” She inquired, hoping to pry thoughts away from her strange display of restraint in her consumption.

Danica’s voice snapped Aveline from her thoughts. Her eyes flickered to the ring, to the glass, to Danica, “Of course.” Her eyes flicked down to her own ring on her left hand. She watched Danica carefully, sipping her own drink while she waited for the question to come.

“Why did you leave Ishgard, initially?” the Ala Mhigan tilted her head not unlike a curious dog. She couldn’t think of any reason she would want to willingly leave her home, at least not as young as she met Aveline. Hells, she would have sold her left kidney to be back in Bittermill, with her parents, and the inn. She shivered, trying to force her mind's eye away from that burning wreck of a town. Even with Orlaux back and Maerwynn buried, the ache that ate at her chest was too much, especially today.

Aveline took a deep breath, “My brother, partially. My parents loved him, far more than my sister or I. The “Knight of Ishgard”.” She shook her head slowly, “I had wanted to learn, to see other parts of Eorzea. It didn’t help that I didn’t care for Ishgard’s rules. So, I left, made arrangements to stay somewhere in Thanalan, and left. It wasn’t easy,” She fidgeted with her glass, the liquid inside swirling slightly. “Quite honestly, I was terrified, but it scared me more to think of what my life might’ve been like if I had stayed. Would I have been married off to some distant noble who had some semblance of money or power?” She shook her head again. “What made you decide to join the Thaumaturges?” Let her shift the subject onto something she regretted less. Her mind continued to bombard her with the ‘what ifs’ of that decision, tormenting her with what might’ve been.

Danica cringed physically at the idea of an arranged marriage. That never made sense to her, why marry if not for love? Perhaps her perception was colored by her own creation. The Ishgardian noble who ran off with the Ala Mhigan sellsword, with all the good that did them. Nald’thal still took his due when decided, far too early for her liking. She also couldn’t understand the idea of loving some of your family more than others. Another relic of her shattered childhood, she never had the chance to meet her little brother.

Her eyes snapped up, thankful to be reminded of something better? Perhaps? She was never really sure when it came to that life event. She downed her glass, and left it empty this time.

“I didn’t choose. It was the Thaumaturges guild, or they’d take off my hands for theft and throw me into blood sands for illegal usage of magics.” She replied, blunt and matter of fact. Chuckling after a moment of silence.

“You see, when I left little Ala Mhigo” When The Echo forced out, too much pain, too much suffering and what had she decided to do? Go to the big city? Where yet more awaited her? “I came here, I wasn’t alone, of course I had Coyote and Zara but we were 12 and didn’t have any money. One day when were rifling through a fruit merchants trash for our breakfast the merchant caught us and sent us running. His guards after us.” Brutish fellows, not averse to cleaning up the streets of some street rat refuges. “They caught Zara by the tail, and I wasn’t about to let anything bad happen to my fa- my friend that I panicked and somehow lit the man on fire”

“They grabbed me, shoved me in a little metal cell while Zara and Coyote ran, and told me to await my sentencing.” She continued, confined areas still bothered her. She had a hard time breathing in them. She needed to see the sky. Or at least have a very tall ceiling. “Then Cocobusi came in and asked me where I learned my magic and I said I didn’t know any. Then he asked me if I wanted to learn. I said anything was better than the Bloodsands, and he agreed. Thus, Thaumaturges Guild.”

It was almost funny now, the first domino on her path to “Warrior of Light”-dom. “What about you? Why not the pugilist guild or the Arcanists guild of Limsa?” She asked, reflecting back the question to her friend.

Aveline looked over at Momodi for a moment, “In all honesty? I wanted to rebel. My brother had always been the perfect White Knight. I wanted to learn the so called “Black Magic”.” She looked down at her skirt. Would Haurchefant have been disappointed in her for that decision? She shuddered, playing with her glass. She sat in silence for a moment. “Do you think he would be proud of who we are now?” She spoke softly, looking up at Danica.

Danica paused, going as still as a statue as the words wreaked havoc on her thoughts and her heart. Would he be proud of who they were now? No. Her mind said at first. She was brutal, violent, and cared less and less for the world as a whole as the days went on. She cared only about the survival of those closest to her, those she considered her people. She smiled still, but it was never real. Only Feral. And those parting words, nothing but a twisted mockery of their intention, repeated like a mantra now, to keep her going even when all things told her to rest.

Yes. Her mind also shouted, was it Fray? Was it Odin? Was it some other part of her that she didn’t have a name for? He’d be proud because they kept going. They didn’t wallow in their sadness, even as it threatened to overcome them. It clung to them, yes, but life did that. But they kept going. Kept doing good. Moved forward towards grand horizons that he never got to see.

“I don’t know.” she voiced those words cautiously. Thinking of all the things stolen from him, all the moments in time stolen from them. Was it worth making his hypothetical ghost proud, if his actual form wasn’t there to see it? “I don’t know, I will not and cannot speak for him. But... I’d like to think so.” I don’t know if I could handle otherwise. She thought, but did not say.

“What about you? You knew him much longer than me, what say you?” She asked, a heavy question for a heavy question weighing strong upon her neck much akin to the golden band that hung there. Remembering his words. Making her promise that she’d wait to tell people till after he told his father. Never getting the chance.

She still had a hard time looking Count Fortemp in the eyes sometimes.

The Elezen woman sat for a long while in silence. Would he be proud of who she had become? A silent protagonist in a story filled with so many voices. She had changed so much since she had first known him. No longer was she a young girl, full of life and cheer. No. Now she was a woman filled with responsibilities and obligations. “A Knight lives to serve.” Was serving the people of Eorzea worth giving up everything she used to be? She was cold, calculating. The ice to Danica’s flame. She couldn’t remember the last time she had truly smiled. She twisted her ring on her finger, absentminded, distracted. “I think he would have been proud of us for continuing on. For not letting his… his death stop us.” She hesitated, her breath catching in her throat for a moment. She looked back at the ring Danica wore around her neck, silently acknowledging it. Taking a deep breath, she poured herself another drink, downing it quickly. Haurchefant wouldn’t be proud of her for drinking her pain away. For trying to forget. Forget the look in his eyes as the life faded from them. She flinched as through she had been slapped. Halone help her.

Danica sat up, determined and inspired by her friends dour confirmation. Raising her glass, she began. “Well then, To us.” She started, extending arm in a toast. “May we keep making him proud.” The clink of glasses that followed rang hollow in their hearts, devoid of such an integral piece for so long.

#ffxiv #ff14 #haurchefant greystone #haurchefant x wol #danica voss #aveline de Bontensont #start #chapter 1 #Important

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