#so why not split them across three whole layers of reality

[mr-deblob]

Just a thought, but what if the Quadratum Riku’s currently jumped to isn’t the Quadratum that Sora’s stuck in? They both look like Tokyo, but real-world locales have been used in fiction all the time. Verum Rex looks based in Tokyo too. The games aren’t strangers to the idea of multiple iterations of the same world.

So maybe Riku traveled to the Quadratum of Verum Rex while Sora’s one step further into his unreality/our reality. Maybe Yozora’s guarding the portal to the “truer” Quadratum and is keeping an eye on Riku because of that, knowing that someone who comes from that side of reality is searching for the Sora he’s meant to save/protect.

[the-wild-wolves-around-you]

hear those bells ring: chapter 2 (a deaf!bakugo x reader fic)

Summary: Reader has to deal with the aftermath of Dynamight exploding through her window and trying to bleed out on her floor. 

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader; Katsuki Bakugo x You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood, descriptions of gore, and adult language. 

A/N: Here’s chapter two, hope you enjoy! ~*~*~ No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

AO3 Link: Here 

Ch 1 Tumblr Link: Here 

Chaos. You intellectually knew the word, in several languages in fact, but nothing could have ever prepared you for the reality of it. 

Information assaulted your senses in a deluge. The gust of cold air whistling through the broken window, raking icy fingers down your exposed arms. The bright flare of flames, even behind your clenched eyelids. The dissonant, haunting wails of several car alarms, each one just a second out of sync with the next, barely audible over the loud ringing in your ears. The taste of ash, gritty on your tongue as you sucked in heaving, panting breaths. The sharp smell of smoke and something… sweeter. Like caramelizing sugar. 

The sweet scent, incongruous with every other heinous detail, seemed to snap you fully back into your body, and your eyes flew open with a gasp. 

You were curled up in a tight ball below your now broken window, and you gaped at your ruined apartment. The lights were out, so the only illumination you had to see by were the flames behind you on the street, but it was enough. 

It looked like a tornado had torn through your home. The remnants of your window and wall—broken bits of glass, wood, and plaster—covered everything in sight in a fine layer of white dust. Your sewing desk/kitchen table was in splinters, and even with the dancing shadows, you had the distant thought that the dress you’d just finished mending was most definitely ruined. 

Then someone shouted outside on the street, and you felt it like a sledgehammer to the skull. 

Oh, god. The villain. The heroes. 

You scrambled up onto your knees, hissing when shards of glass tore through your sweatpants and bit into your skin. You’d worry about that later. For now, you focused on getting to your feet… 

And not falling out of the gaping hole in your apartment wall. 

You stumbled back a few steps from the edge, stabilizing yourself on one of your kitchen chairs that seemed to have survived the blast. The smoke was thicker now that you were off the floor, and you coughed and squinted against the hot, irritating air. 

The street in front of you was a warzone. 

The windows in the building across from you were all blown out, the empty frames like black gaping voids. The building housed a café/tea shop owned by Mr. and Mrs. Yamato, and you felt a small modicum of relief at the knowledge that they didn’t live above the shop like you did with yours. They lived in a neighborhood not too far away, and they wouldn’t be happy when they came to open in the morning, but at least they were safe. 

Safe… 

“Mr. Takeyoshi!” you gasped as you remembered your neighbor. He’d been standing on the street and nearly attacked by the villain, but a blond hero had pushed the middle-aged man out of the way. 

Your eyes scoured the street as you leaned forward as much as you dared, and just as your heart was beginning to clench, you spotted him. Mr. Takeyoshi was sitting on the curb across the street and about four storefronts down, hunched over with his head in his hands. Two heroes stood above him and seemed to be tending to him, and all three of the men looked whole for the most part. 

“God.” You exhaled shakily, your heart still stuttering in your chest, and then movement in your peripherals caught your attention. 

One hero seemed to possess a water quirk, and she was quickly working to spray down the numerous small fires still flickering up and down the road. As you watched her work, you realized the street wasn’t as badly demolished as you first assumed. It was still pretty wrecked—all of the asphalt was cracked and even just missing in some places—but aside from broken windows, the rest of the shops seemed mostly intact. The worst of the damage was centered just in front of your apartment, and as your gaze flickered over the large crater in front of you, you saw another two heroes dragging a third body out of the pit. 

The villain. 

The hero with the water quirk paused in spraying down the smoking remains of a car and turned to shout something at the other heroes. You couldn’t hear what she said over the persistent ringing in your hears, and you frowned as you focused your own quirk toward your ears. 

In your hopped-up-on-adrenaline state, you didn’t even notice the energy dip, and a moment later, your hearing returned with a loud pop. Thankfully, all of the car alarms seemed to have been cut, so you could hear the heroes pretty well.

“—still alive,” a tall hero in a red and purple suit said. You didn’t recognize him. “He’s pretty beat up, but he’ll make it.” 

“Great,” the water quirk hero sighed. “Let him be the cops’ problem now.” 

As if on cue, you could hear a siren start up in the distant, slowly moving closer. 

The threat was over. The villain was neutralized, the fires put out, and the authorities were on the way. 

So… why did you feel so on edge, like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop? 

“—fuckin’ Dynamight,” one of the heroes suddenly spat and drew you out of your thoughts. 

You frowned in confusion as the words registered. Dynamight… why did that sound familiar? 

Then your eyes widened as you remembered the blond hero, literally exploding onto the scene. His face—snarling and illuminated by the white-hot flare of his quirk—flashed in your mind’s eye, and you dropped your gaze back down to the street below. 

Dynamight, Japan’s Number Two Hero. You couldn’t believe he had been the one to turn up and save you. 

Well, not you specifically. Your neighborhood. 

You’d seen the ash-blond on television before. Usually, the media just liked to harp on his crude language or brash attitude, but you’d seen this one story of how he had saved every single person from a collapsed building. A teary blonde gushing about Dynamight rescuing her had gone briefly viral, but the clip that stuck with you was when a reporter asked the pro hero why he decided to go into the unstable building without any reinforcements. 

The blond had scowled into the camera, sweat and dirt still streaked across his pale face, his scarlet eyes flashing from beneath his black mask. 

“What was I supposed to do?” he scoffed. “Leave them in there and sit with my thumbs up my ass while the fire department takes their sweet fuckin’ time? Don’t ask me stupid questions.” 

Of course, the media had another field day with that response, but… something about it struck you as incredibly genuine. Yeah, the pro hero could have phrased it better, but the core of what he was saying was he couldn’t sit back when people were in trouble, no matter the risks. 

You had thought that very brave. 

And now you’d witnessed his bravery first hand. You weren’t confident—or really self-centered enough—to go down and thank him for what he’d done, but you thought you would just be satisfied with seeing him from afar now that things weren’t so dire. 

But, the longer you looked, the more the pit grew in your stomach. 

You couldn’t see the blond hero anywhere. He wasn’t with Mr. Takeyoshi, still hunched over on the curb. He wasn’t with the two heroes who were trying to establish a perimeter and keep out the arriving crowd of spectators. And he wasn’t with the other heroes standing watch over the unconscious villain laid out on the sidewalk. 

The rest of the heroes seemed to be arriving at the same conclusions as you. You could hear Dynamight’s name being thrown about, and then the heroes were splitting up, taking different sides of the street, peeking into broken windows. 

You wrung your hands as you watched them search from your apartment. No one had noticed you standing there yet, and you were just contemplating going downstairs to try and help in some way when a noise caught your attention. 

In the grand scheme of things, the noise wasn’t very loud, especially given the shouting on the street and the loud sirens now that the police were arriving on scene. 

But since you lived alone, someone coughing in your apartment, someone who wasn’t you, was cause for a little alarm. 

You inhaled sharply as you glanced back over your shoulder, every atom of your being standing at attention. The apartment behind you was a study in contrasts, dark shadows and the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles outside. Your eyes fell on the empty spot where your couch used to be located, and then your gaze followed the drag marks that had been carved into your wood floor. 

The couch was half embedded in the wall beside your front door, with one of the armrests denting into the plaster and the other pointing toward your gaping window/wall. The sofa’s legs had been broken, so it slumped to the floor at an angle, and some kind of stuffing spilled out of several rips in the cushions. 

But your eyes were glued to the leg sticking out over the armrest and the arm thrown over the back of the couch, which was blocking the rest of the… person from view. 

Oh, fuck. That was a person. 

Your legs reacted before your brain could even process what you should do, but you were at least cognizant enough to pick your way over the worst of the debris. Your thin, rubber-soled slippers would protect you from the small pieces of glass and rubble, but you really didn’t want to step on a nail if you could help it. 

Since your apartment was so small, and there weren’t any full pieces of furniture in the way anymore, you crossed the distance in a handful of strides, but you jerked to a stop when you reached the back of the couch. 

Your lungs seized up so suddenly they hurt. The smell of caramelized sugar was stronger now, almost overwhelming, and you actually had to grip the back of the sofa for support, your hand right next to Dynamight’s leg. 

Because it was Dynamight half-strewn across your broken couch. Even when you first saw the leg, you hadn’t imagined it could be… 

But there he was. And he looked surprisingly… human. 

His face was lax with unconsciousness, lacking the perpetual scowl or snarl he wore in pictures or on TV. His hair, which looked paler and somehow softer in person, was tinged red along his brow line, where a cut was still trickling sluggishly. He wore a non-descript black hoodie over dark jeans and darker combat boots, but a glint of color and light around his midsection caught your eye. 

You frowned and leaned down without thinking, your fingers reaching out to brush… something wet. 

“Oh, shit,” you breathed when you lifted your hand to your face and saw, even in the darkness, that the pads of your fingers were red and glistening. 

He was bleeding. 

You moved a step closer, but then your foot lost purchase, sliding, and when you glanced down, you saw your once white slippers were dark, more wetness seeping in around your toes. 

Oh, god. He was bleeding a lot. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You fumbled for the phone in your pants pocket as you scurried around the opposite end of the couch and dropped to the ground. Glass bit into your knees again, this time deeper, a sharp, brilliant pain, but you ignored it as you tried to turn your phone’s flashlight on. The touch-screen wouldn’t register your finger at first, your blood-slicked skin skimming across the glass, and you could feel a scream building in your throat just before the light flashed on. 

If you thought things were bad in the dark, being able to see made it a thousand times worse. 

Blood had already pooled around Dynamight, dark and glinting like an oil spill. The sleeve on his left arm had been burned off, and the skin below was pink and raw. It smelled like cooked meat, and the curry you ate what felt like a lifetime ago churned hotly in your gut. 

But the burn wasn’t even the worst of it. 

A wooden stake, about as wide as three of your fingers, protruded out of the pro hero’s gut by several inches. You thought part of it might have looked like your window frame, but the thought came and went when you noticed the tip of the wooden splinter was dyed red, which meant it must have come through his body. 

That had to be where all this blood came from. Was still coming from. God, there was so much of it. 

Your eyes shot to the gaping hole in your wall, your voice rising in your throat as you prepared to scream for help, but a sudden gasp nearly made you jump out of your skin. 

You whipped back around to find wide, hazy red eyes trained on your face, and the hero’s mouth gaped open as he dragged in a ragged breath. 

“Wh—hnng!” he groaned as his body seized, his right hand coming up to clutch at his stomach. 

“Don’t!” Your phone clattered to the floor, throwing light, as you lunged forward, and you caught his hand before he could jar the piece of wood lodged inside him. “D-Don’t move, a-and try not to speak.” 

The hero panted as he cracked open his eyes and looked at you. Or maybe through you. His gaze wasn’t very focused, and blood from the cut on his brow was still dripping into his right eye. 

But the scarlet color of his irises was still striking, even in the dimness of your apartment. 

“You’ve… been hurt,” you said as you met his eyes as best you could. You weren’t a doctor or an EMT, but you knew the best way to keep people calm in emergency situations was to let them know what’s happened and reassure them. “There’s a piece of wood inside you, so you can’t move or you might hurt yourself worse. But y-you’ll be okay. I’ll go get—” 

“Villain,” Dynamight suddenly spat out, cutting you off and spattering you with a fine mist of blood. 

“What?” His voice was rough and guttural, so it took your brain a moment to translate the slurred Japanese. Did he think you were another villain? 

The blond hero winced and groaned again, and it wasn’t until he squeezed down on your hand that you realized you were still holding his. His palm was rough and calloused against yours—and warm, so inexplicably warm—but then he dug his nails into your skin, and you gasped. 

“Vil… lain?” he rasped again, and you realized it was a question. 

“Oh! The villain’s been arrested. You… you beat him.” 

Dynamight scowled at you, brow knitting in confusion, and he grunted what sounded like a questioning noise at you. 

Then he shifted his head, and you saw the dark stain of blood coming out of his ear. 

He must have ruptured his eardrums in the explosion. 

You didn’t want to shout and damage his hearing even more, so you squeezed his hand back and smiled in what you hoped was reassurance. 

“You won,” you mouthed as clearly as you could. “You won, Dynamight.” 

His narrowed eyes widened a little bit with recognition, and you could have sworn the beginnings of a smirk twitched across his lips before his eyes suddenly rolled up into his head. The tension fled his body as he went limp, like a marionette with its strings cut, and your heart lurched up into your throat. 

“Dynamight?” you asked, even though you knew he couldn’t hear you with his ears the way they were. “Dynamight?” 

You squeezed his fingers, shaking him a little, but his face remained slack. 

Dropping his hand, you reached up to flatten one of yours across his chest, the other going up to feel at the underside of his neck. A moment ticked by, two, but you found his pulse, weak and thready beneath your fingertips. His breathing was shallow beneath your other hand, and the knees of your pants were warm and soaked with his blood. 

“F-Fuck,” you breathed shakily as you sat back for a moment, your hands limp in your lap. 

He was dying. Dynamight… was dying. This was too much blood, and even if you called out to the heroes right now, and they got here in seconds, it was still ten minutes to the nearest hospital. 

He didn’t have ten minutes. You didn’t think he had five. 

You stared down at the pro hero’s blood-streaked face for half a beat before you made a decision. 

Then you were moving. Consequences be damned. 

Your hands went to the hem of his hoodie, and you flinched as you pulled it away from his belly with a wet sound. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you also didn’t think he was feeling much of anything now, so you worked the hoodie up and over the stake as best you could before you shoved the fabric the rest of the way up his chest. 

The flashing lights from outside played across the dips and valleys of Dynamight’s abs, but your eyes were immediately drawn to the wooden stake. It jutted out between the hero’s belly button and his right hip bone, and every splinter was coated in tacky, crimson blood. More of the viscous liquid bubbled up around the torn skin at the stake’s base, and it trickled across his pale, alabaster abdomen like spilled paint. 

You bit your lip as you considered your next move, but then Dynamight’s breath hitched with a wet sound, and you knew you didn’t have time for doubts. 

“Okay, steady,” you muttered to yourself as you knelt over the hero’s prone body. Your knees burned, glass digging deeper into the skin by the second, but you shoved away your own pain as you reached out and wrapped both hands around the stake. Splinters tore into your palms, and your heart hammered out a staccato rhythm beneath your sternum. 

Then panic started to creep up your spine like a million little spider legs. What if removing the stake only made him worse, killed him faster? What if you killed Japan’s Number Two Hero? 

Just as you were about to let go of the stake, Dynamight hacked out a gurgling cough, blood bubbling out of his dry, cracked lips, and you felt the warm spray of it against your collarbone and arms. 

The sound rattled something deep inside you, and before you could second guess yourself again, you tightened your grip on the stake and tugged it up and out in one single motion. 

Dynamight wheezed once more, but you were already dropping the stake, hands slapping down against his abdomen. Warm blood pulsed through your fingers like pliable clay, and bile rose in the back of your throat before you took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and called upon your quirk. 

An instant later, agony like you’ve never experienced slammed into you, ripping a gasp from your lungs. It felt like someone had stuck a white-hot poker through your gut, ignited your insides, and twisted. The pain was so intense, your ears started ringing again, and when you cracked open your eyes, your vision quickly began to tunnel until the only thing you could see was the bare outline of your hands, lined with green, against the hero’s stomach. You gritted your teeth as unconsciousness threatened to pull you under, and you groaned as you shoved as much energy as you could spare into the dying hero. 

As your quirk flooded into the blond’s body, you received vague impressions of his injuries healing. It was hard to describe, but it was kind of like you could see flashes of the tissue in your mind as it was stitched back together. First, the jagged hole on his back sealed over, and then your power wormed its way through the hero’s insides, patching up nicked arteries and punctured organs. The pain was still intense, so intense that your already limited vision was blurred by tears, but once you reached the top layers of his abs, you ripped your hands away with a gasp. 

You fell back on your ass, more glass and debris digging into your cheeks and the palms of your hands, and you sucked in ragged breaths as you tried to keep from passing out. The hero swam unsteadily before you, both from the tears in your eyes and because the entire apartment was swaying. Saliva pooled in your mouth as nausea clamped down on your stomach, but you focused on the burning in your palms to center yourself. Then you started counting deep breaths, and when you got to thirty, the darkness had receded from the corners of your vision, and the apartment more or less steadied out around you. 

You still felt like shit warmed over, like you’d been run over by a car and then dragged for several miles, but the bone-deep exhaustion could be cured with a good night’s sleep. The rest of the nicks and cuts on your body still burned like a million paper cuts, too, but your quirk was down to embers and was of no more use to you. 

But was it worth it? 

The two feet of distance between you and Dynamight felt like a canyon that stretched for miles, but somehow you found one last burst of strength to drag yourself forward a few inches. Then you held your breath and leaned over the hero’s abdomen, wiping away most of the pooling blood with the hem of his hoodie. 

There was still a significant gash carved into his skin, but when you shakily picked up your discarded phone from the floor and directed the light at him, you saw the wound was much shallower, maybe a few centimeters deep. The first few layers of skin were flayed back, but the muscles beneath were intact and healthy looking. A small trickle of blood continued to drip into the valley of the hero’s abs, but instead of a broken fire hydrant, it was just a leaky faucet. 

You dragged your tired eyes up Dynamight’s body, and you very quickly realized his breathing was deeper and not as wet sounding. Just to be doubly sure, you reached out and tentatively wrapped your fingers around his left wrist, only absently noticing that the once raw, flayed skin had been partially healed from third degree burns to first. 

You had poured more energy into him than you meant to, but it was hard to regret anything when you felt his pulse against your fingertips, strong, steady, and sure. 

“Oh, thank you,” you choked out as you closed your eyes, tears stinging in the corners. You didn’t know who you were thanking. You didn’t know if you believed in a “god” in the colloquial sense, but you felt as if the universe had given you a gift just now, and you could be nothing but grateful for it. 

You sighed as you slumped a little, and it was like weights were strapped to your eyelids as you struggled to open them and keep them open. You might have actually gone under, succumb to the exhaustion… 

If you didn’t catch sight of two crimson eyes staring back at you. 

“Fuck,” you gasped as a zap of adrenaline shocked you upright, and your phone clattered to the ground once again. 

Dynamight squinted, irises still a little glassy, but unlike last time, his gaze was very much focused on you. 

And the weight of it, the intensity, pinned you to the floor. 

“Y-You’re awake.” The words tripped off your tongue, chased out by the panic running circles in your brain. Damn it, you hadn’t even had time to come up with a plausible backstory for the pool of blood he was lying in. 

The blond hero’s eyes widened a fraction as he stared at you for an immeasurably long moment, and then you remembered with a start that he hadn’t been able to hear you before. This could work in your favor, though. You opened your mouth, ready to pantomime an elaborate story, but his voice—deep and rough, like crunching gravel or an expensive engine turning over—cut you off at the knees. 

“And you have eyes,” he said in clipped Japanese, a note of snide derision in his tone. 

You blinked in shock—at his attitude, the steadiness of his voice, and the fact he could hear you just fine all the sudden—but he just barreled onward like he had barreled through your window. 

“What happened?” he asked. No, demanded. “Who are you?” 

“I—” 

“And where’s that fuckin’ villain?” he cut you off as his split upper lip curled into a snarl, and his red eyes jumped to the gaping window over your shoulder. 

You frowned at him, pursing your lips into a thin line. “Are you going to let me answer?” 

A part of your brain was screaming at you, distantly: Are you giving Japan’s Number Two Hero attitude after he saved your life?!  You normally weren’t like this. Every inch the people pleaser, you were usually deferential to the point of your own detriment. 

But you were still so tired, every inch of you aching, blood still dripping and slick along your exposed skin, and he was the one who decided to be rude first. 

Plus, you saved his life, too, thankyouverymuch. 

Dynamight actually seemed surprised by your response because his gaze stopped its frantic search of your darkened apartment and settled on you. Those scarlet eyes raked over you quickly, a flick from head to toe, before they met your own. 

A beat of silence passed between you, and then his face pulled into a sharp frown. 

“Well?” he grunted. “Are you actually going to answer me?” 

The nerve of this man. Maybe the media had been right. 

“What happened was you decided to practically drop a bomb outside on the street, and then you crashed straight through my window and destroyed my apartment,” you said in a short, clipped tone. “But don’t worry. My couch managed to break your fall, so you’re mostly in one piece. Oh, and you beat the villain, the other heroes are outside handing him off to authorities. Satisfied with my answers?” 

You sucked in a deep breath after your little tirade, the blood roaring in your ears. Absently, you patted yourself on the back for the impromptu white lie you’d fed him. The couch did in fact break his fall… and shoved a stake through his gut, but he didn’t need to know that. Fortunately, you had dropped said impaling object behind you in your haste to keep some blood in his body, and you shifted a little now to insure it was blocked from his view. You had healed his life-threatening injury—and his hearing, apparently, though you hadn’t intended that—but he was still covered in scrapes, cuts, and minor burns along his left arm. It was a… plausible amount of wounds, so hopefully your little quirk indiscretion would go unnoticed. 

Dynamight was still staring at you in silence, and you began to fidget, on the edge of saying you were going to go flag down another hero, when he finally spoke up again. 

“No, I’m not satisfied. You didn’t answer all my damn questions. Who the hell are you?” 

A flush of heat infused your cheeks—part anger, part embarrassment for being put on the spot again and being the subject of his intense glare—and you averted your eyes as you mumbled out your name. 

“Hah?” he practically shouted as he leaned forward, bringing with him that bewildering scent of burned sugar, but he suddenly stopped with a wince that he quickly turned into a scowl. “Speak up, I hate when people mutter. Just like goddamn Deku.” 

The last sentence wasn’t directed at you, but you found his mention of Japan’s Number One Hero intriguing. 

You sighed and repeated your name for him, a little louder this time, and he grunted in what seemed like acknowledgment before he started to struggle upright again in the ruins of your couch. 

“Don’t move too fast, you’ll start bleeding again,” you chided and scooted closer to stop him from aggravating the injury on his abdomen. You’d healed the worst of it, but it was still an open wound, and he was bound to be sore as hell after smashing through a window/wall. 

“M’ fine,” he grumbled as he settled into a slightly more seated position. Then he looked down and noticed his hoodie was still partially rucked up around his arm pits, and his red eyes shot back to you. He studied you for a long moment, but his face was unreadable. “Undressing me while I was unconscious? You’re not one of those damn obsessed fangirls, are ya?” 

Your cheeks flared red-hot, but you scowled at the ash-blond hero. “N-No! I—You were bleeding, so I wanted to make sure it wasn’t too b-bad. But, uh, the gash isn’t that deep.” 

It was a little harder to make more articulate, detailed lies, especially when his blood was still drying on your hands and you could remember the exact feel of his pulse slowing beneath your fingertips. 

Dynamight narrowed his scarlet eyes at you, and you knew you weren’t being convincing. Panic started to claw up the back of your throat again. His burning gaze was charring away at your weaknesses, your resolve. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, confessing. You’d saved his life after all. That wasn’t a bad thing. 

Then you remembered all the articles you’d looked up one anxiety-filled night, soon after moving here. All the stories about people using their quirks and causing damage. Of people with healing quirks trying to help and only doing more harm. The fines, the charges, and in rare cases, imprisonment. 

You didn’t think you’d be locked up, but you couldn’t afford any fines now, and as an immigrant, any mark on your record could get you immediately deported. 

Your mouth dried up. You couldn’t be deported, sent back to your parents as a failure again. What’s more, you had people who relied on you here, like Mrs. Kojima. You weren’t a hero, not important by any means, but… you had just found something to give your life a little purpose. A little stability. 

No, you couldn’t be discovered. You just couldn’t. 

Your newfound resolve stiffened your spine a little, but when you lifted your chin and met those piercing crimson eyes again, your courage—along with your tongue—shriveled inside you. 

Fuck, how were you going to lie your way out of this? 

Unfortunately, Dynamight didn’t give you any more time to get your story straight. 

“Your hands are all fucked up.” 

You startled at his rough voice, instinctively flipping your hands palm-side down and tucking them between your legs. Then, when your brain caught up to your body, you cursed yourself. 

Could you be any more obvious, any more guilty? 

“I, uh, i-it’s nothing,” you stammered, clearing your throat before you continued. “I cut myself on the broken glass from the window, but it’s not serious. Nothing a few bandaids won’t fix, anyway. Maybe some gauze and antiseptic, but definitely not a hospital visit or anything.” 

You knew you were babbling but somehow couldn’t stop it, your anxiety just seizing control of your tongue, and you clenched your torn-up hands into fists until the stinging pain centered you a little bit. 

Once again, Dynamight studied you in silence, like he was choosing his words carefully. 

“Did you nick your damn wrist, too?” he finally asked as his neutral mask twisted into his signature scowl. “Looks like a lot of blood. Don’t be an idiot and bleed out on me. I don’t wanna deal with the fuckin’ paperwork.” 

Well, maybe not that carefully. 

“I-I’m not bleeding out,” you protested with a frown. “I’m fine.” 

“Let me see.” 

You blinked. “Excuse me? 

The hero stuck out his right hand, palm up, his scowl only deepening. “Let me see your hands.” 

Fuck. A drop of icy cold fear slid down your spine. Your hands were indeed “fucked up” like the blond said, but the cuts were all shallow and minor. They would in no way explain how you were coated in blood up past your wrists. None of your injuries would account for that. 

And none of his current ones would, either. 

“I—” You opened and closed your mouth several times like a gasping fish, and Dynamight’s eyes narrowed on you with what you were sure was suspicion. 

And then, like a gift from the heavens, a small but bright beam of light suddenly flooded your apartment from over your shoulder. 

“Dynamight?” a male voice shouted. 

The blond hero clenched his eyes shut and turned away from the light, and you. “I’m here! Turn that damn light out.” 

Said light cut out an instant later, and you seized the opportunity that had just been presented to you. 

Quick as a whip, you leaned over and snatched a large swath of dark fabric that you’d seen in the brief moment of illumination, and you reeled it into your lap quickly. The fabric had been a personal project of yours, a gown you’d started on a whim, but that didn’t matter now. Dynamight was still rubbing at his eyes, grumbling about being blinded, so you kicked half of the unfinished garment under and around the base of the ruined couch, effectively covering up the large pool of blood that had congealed under the splintered furniture. Then you reached behind you, grabbed the bloody stake, and shoved it between the folds of fabric. 

There. Now, most of the evidence was hidden. 

And not a moment too soon, because in the next breath you heard the crunch of glass as the unnamed hero stepped into the apartment behind you. 

“Hello?” 

“We’re over here,” you called back, struggling to your feet so the hero could see you over the back of the couch. 

The hero was silhouetted against your ruined window and the flashing police lights outside, so you couldn’t see much of his face, but you could tell he was tall and broad-shouldered, wrapped in a red and purple suit you didn’t recognize. 

“Are you alright, ma’am?” the hero asked in very formal Japanese. 

You opened your mouth to reply, but Dynamight cut you off. It seemed to be a habit of his. 

“We’re fine,” he grunted, and you turned to see the blond shoving himself to his feet. A gasp caught in your throat, and you made a half-aborted motion to stop him, but his red eyes snapped up and glared at you, freezing you in your tracks. “Aren’t we?” 

It took a moment for you to realize the last question was directed at you, and when Dynamight’s lip curled up into a sneer as he accusingly dropped his gaze to your hands, you realized none of your lies had convinced him after all. 

“Y-Yes.” The word stumbled out of your mouth without your permission, but you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes off the blond as you felt your world falling in around you for the second time tonight. “We’re fine.” 

The hero behind you said something, but it was lost in the static suddenly filling your head. 

He knows. He knows. Dynamight knows. 

The words cycled through your brain again and again, a broken record. What would he do? Would he tell the other hero? Or take you down to the authorities himself? And what then? Would they arrest you? Give you a few days to pack up and say your goodbyes before your deportation? 

Just as you were beginning to spiral, movement caught your attention, and you watched as if from a distance as Dynamight suddenly stepped past you, the scent of burnt sugar stinging your nose as he went. He was talking, and the low rumble of his voice vibrated through your body since he was so close, barely a hair’s breadth away, but he seemed to be talking to the other hero. 

Was he confessing your secret already? 

You couldn’t seem to turn around, your slippered feet rooted to your debris strewn floor. Even in the dark, you could see the black stain of Dynamight’s blood on your ruined couch cushions, and without thinking, you leaned down, picked up another torn and dirty piece of fabric, and threw it over the stain, blocking it from view. 

You didn’t know why you did that. It didn’t matter now. Dynamight knew, and— 

“Ma’am?” A hand touched your elbow, and you jumped, whirling around. “Whoa, careful there.” 

It was the tall hero in the red and purple suit. He was wearing a partial mask over his eyes, so only the lower half of his face was visible, framed by two pieces of dark hair. He smiled at you, a pleasant, reassuring gesture, but you could only gape at him. 

“Are you alright?” he asked you again, a frown replacing his smile. His eyes started to look you over, but you shoved your hands into the pockets of your sweats before he could see them. 

It doesn’t matter, you idiot, your brain screamed, but your body was still going through the motions of keeping your secret, twisting your hands in your pockets, trying to rub out the blood. 

“I’m fine,” you said again and then realized repeating the same trite phrase probably wasn’t convincing. So, you smiled at the hero, or at least you thought you did. Your face felt strangely stiff and numb, but you flashed your teeth and crinkled your eyes just the same. “Really. I’m just a little… shaken up is all. I have a few cuts and bruises, but nothing serious. The apartment took the worst of the damage, obviously.” 

You laughed, a hint of hysteria in your voice, as you gestured to the gaping hole in your wall behind the hero, hoping to get him away from your blood-soaked couch. And, blessedly, he did turn, so you took a few steps past him until you were both facing the broken window. 

Then you noticed Dynamight was standing near the hole, very cautiously leaning against the last remaining, exposed stud in the wall, with his hands shoved in the pocket of his hoodie. His body was facing out into the street, but his eyes were still locked on you, the red of them only intensified by the police lights still flashing on the street. 

His eyes seemed to say, I know what you did, and all the saliva dried up in your mouth. 

“Well, as bad as the damage is to your home, I’m glad you weren’t seriously injured, ma’am,” the hero at your side suddenly said, and you jolted when you realized he was responding to your inane babble from what already felt like hours ago. 

“O-Oh, yes.” You smiled again, just as forced and twice as shaky. “I was… very lucky. A-And thank you! For doing your part to s-stop that villain before he hurt anyone or caused even more damage.” 

“Yes, well, there was still more damage than I would have preferred,” the hero replied, and you didn’t miss the dirty look he shot Dynamight, who just deepened his scowl because he was still looking at you. “But let’s get you down to the street. The paramedics will look you over, and the authorities will want to take a statement. But don’t worry, they’ll also put you up in a hotel for the night since you obviously can’t stay here.” 

He threw the last part of the sentence at Dynamight like a dagger, and the blond finally tore his eyes off you to glare at the other hero. 

You waited for the explosive hero to… well, explode, but he only stared down the tall man beside you before he rolled his eyes, glanced at you one last time, and then jumped out the hole in your wall. 

“No—” you gasped, stumbling forward like you could stop him, but an instant later, you heard a mini-boom out on the street, followed by Dynamight barking orders at someone. 

Oh, yeah. You remembered how the blond had burst through the air while fighting the villain and realized he didn’t just ruin all your hard, illegal healing work by face-planting onto the concrete. 

You sighed and suddenly swayed, like the blond leaving had finally cut all of your tense strings. The adrenaline was fading at last, exhaustion leeching through your veins in its place, and you listed into the hero beside you. 

“Ma’am?” he asked, a note of concern in his voice. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled sleepily, trying and failing to find your balance. “I think… the shock is wearing off. Just… tired.” 

“Would it be alright if I carried you down to the street?” 

You wanted to protest, say you could take the stairs down to your shop, but your tongue felt sluggish in your mouth, and all you managed was a vaguely affirmative sounding hum. 

“Okay, hold on.” 

You felt one hand wrap around your shoulders while the other scooped you up around the knees, and usually, you would protest, insecure about your weight, but the hero settled you against his chest with ease. The instant you were off your feet, every muscle in your body went limp, and you were too tired to even be embarrassed when your head flopped against the hero’s collarbone. 

You had the vague thought that he didn’t smell like warm sugar, followed by a flash of disappointment, but then the hero was moving, jumping, and you were falling through the air. 

Unfortunately, you didn’t get the luxury of passing out. 

Once you hit the street, it was all sirens and shouting, flashing lights and flashes of people, so many people. 

True to his word, the hero in the red and purple suit carried you over to an ambulance and two waiting paramedics. The American in you panicked, instinctively trying to refuse care because your shop and home were just destroyed, you didn’t have money for an ambulance ride, too. 

But as the medics peppered you with rapid fire Japanese questions, you were reminded of where you were, and the bright flashlight shining into your eyes sure woke you up a little. 

The next half an hour was a blur. The paramedics tended to the wounds on your palms, knees, and, embarrassingly, ass, but all of the cuts were shallow, and none of them even required stitches. You knew they wouldn’t require stitches anyway, because once you rested up, your quirk would heal you, but you kept your mouth shut and let the medics wrap you in gauze and bandages. You seemed to have rubbed away enough of the blood on your hands that they weren’t suspicious, but it brought you no relief. 

While they worked, you watched the heroes and police out of your peripherals. They were still working to seal off the scene and tend to your neighbors, who were gathered further down the block behind some yellow tape. It didn’t look like anyone else had been injured beside you, and for that you were grateful. 

But your stomach was still in knots. 

More than once, you heard Dynamight’s brash voice bark over the sirens and other voices, and as the paramedics were finishing up the bandages on your hands, a head of ash-blond hair jutted out over the police car closest to you. Unable to stop yourself, your eyes zeroed in on that distinctive hair color, and you saw the explosive hero was speaking—well, yelling—at two police officers. 

Your mouth felt suddenly dry despite the multiple cups of water the medics had fed to you. What was Dynamight saying? 

As if he could hear your thoughts, red eyes snapped to the side and locked onto yours, and the breath hitched in your chest. That crimson gaze held you trapped, unable to look away, so when the two officers he’d been speaking to suddenly stepped into your field of vision, you gasped. 

“Apologies, didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am,” one of the officers said. He was a middle-aged man, balding, with a serious face and a no-nonsense expression. “We just wanted to ask you a few questions, if you feel up to it.” 

You swallowed, your throat clicking, and your heart stuttered into a breakneck pace beneath your sternum. 

“O-Of course,” you replied, only stumbling a little over your Japanese. You smiled at the officers, but the expression felt stilted, and fear seized you by the throat and squeezed until your breaths were shallow and grating in your ears. 

“Thank you.” The balding officer nodded. “My name is Detective Nakahara. I’ve been told you witnessed and were injured in tonight’s attack.” 

You thought the injury part was obvious, given your myriad of bandages and the fact you were sitting in the back of an ambulance, but you nodded to confirm anyway since your voice had abandoned you. 

This was it. He was going to ask you the damning question, and you were going to tell the truth. Lying to a hero in the heat of the moment had been one thing, but lying to a police officer during an official statement was another thing entirely. It would take one database search for them to confirm your quirk and Dynamight’s story, and then you really would be in trouble. Maybe imprisoned instead of deported. You cursed yourself for not knowing more about the laws that were going to quickly ruin your life. 

But… then Nakahara started asking you about the villain and what you saw, and you stuttered out an answer to the best of your ability. You thought this might have been a disarming tactic, to lull you into a false sense of security, but when you got to the part of the story where Dynamight burst through your window, the officer sighed. 

“I take it that’s your apartment there?” Detective Nakahara asked as he gestured to the gaping hole. 

“Y-Yes.” You nodded. “And I own the shop below.” 

Which you now realized looked no better than your apartment. The windows were all blown out, black scorch marks along the door frame, and you didn’t want to even think about the shape of the interior. 

“What kind of shop is it?” he followed up, but he sounded more curious than interrogatory. 

“Clothing alterations,” you said. “M-My grandparents were a tailor and seamstress. I inherited the shop about a year ago, after they passed.” 

“My condolences,” Nakahara murmured with a small dip of his head, and he seemed genuine. “For your grandparents, and your home and business.” 

You blinked in surprise at the turn in conversation. “O-Oh, thank you, that’s very kind.” 

“Do you have anywhere to go for the night, or were you on the way to the hospital?” he asked as he looked you over. 

“No,” you said quickly and then blushed. “I-I mean, my injuries aren’t serious enough for a hospital visit. Just some cuts and scrapes.” 

“Alright.” Nakahara nodded. “Is there any family we can call for you? Or take you to?” 

“N-No,” you repeated, a little more timidly this time. “My parents… don’t live around here, and I don’t really have any other family.” 

“Any friends?” he asked with a furrowed brow. 

Your face was red-hot now, and you dropped your eyes to your lap, fiddling with your bandaged fingers. What were you going to say? That you were an introvert, and the only “friends” you had were the old ladies who frequented your shop? 

“None that I would want to bother in the middle of the night,” you muttered before you suddenly remembered something. “But, um, one of the heroes said you could maybe take me to a hotel?” 

“Of course, we can take you right now, and we’ll also pay for the night,” the detective said. 

“Oh, you don’t have to—” you started to protest as you snapped your head up, but the officer held up a hand. 

“The city has funds to aid those displaced by villain attacks,” he explained. “The next forty-eight hours are guaranteed, so if I were you, I would use the opportunity to rest.” 

Detective Nakahara glanced down at your bandages, and you bit your lips as you nodded. 

“Okay, thank you for your help then, sir.” It was all you could think to say. 

“You’re welcome.” Nakahara nodded back at you and then reached out to help you out of the ambulance. “If you’ll come this way, we can have an officer collect some things from your apartment, and then we’ll head to the hotel and get you settled.” 

The finality in his tone and the idea of a hotel drew you up short. What… was happening? You had thought the detective was going to interrogate you about your quirk, not… chauffeur you to a nice hotel. 

The practical part of your brain was screaming for you to let it go, but the words were high-diving off your tongue before you could stop them. 

“I-Is that all?” 

Detective Nakahara paused and looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “Is what all?” 

“I—” Shut up, shut up, shut up! “You didn’t have any more questions for me?” 

“No,” the detective said simply. “We have your statement, and it matches the others we’ve obtained.” Here, he frowned and seemed to study you for a moment. “Did you have any other questions for me?” 

“I… was just wondering what the next steps are for my apartment and shop,” you blurted out the first thing you could think of. “Will the… city pay for repairs? Do I have to fill out some forms?” 

It was an honest question, a real one you had, but your mind was still reeling. He wasn’t going to ask about your quirk? Had… Had Dynamight not said anything? 

Nakahara sighed but held a hand out for you to take, and you absently let him help you down from the ambulance. Then he slowly began walking toward one of the police cars, and you had no choice but to follow since you were still holding onto his arm for balance. 

“Unfortunately,” the detective started, “the city will not be able to repair your home or business.” 

“Why?” you asked with a frown. “I thought you said there were funds.” 

“There are,” he said, and when you looked up at him, you noticed his lips were pursed into a thin line. “And, if the villain himself had thrown debris through your window, then the city would compensate you. But, in this situation, Dynamight caused the damaged.” 

The detective practically spat the blond hero’s name, and your surprise must have shown on your face because Nakahara quickly cleared his throat and schooled his expression. 

“Because of this, his agency will be responsible for repairs, so you will have to contact them,” the officer finished. 

Contact them? You had to contact Dynamight’s agency, which meant… fuck. You felt the blood drain from your face, and your expression must have shown your dismay because Nakahara patted your hand that was still looped through his arm 

“But you can worry about that tomorrow,” he said. “Let’s get your things and get you to the hotel so you can rest.” 

You nodded blankly and let the detective lead you to the open backseat of a police car. Nakahara called another officer over, and the woman asked you questions about where things were in your apartment. You answered numbly, listing out different clothing items and how to get to your bedroom. Then she was gone, and Nakahara stepped away to do something else, so you were suddenly left all alone. 

Unbidden, you looked up and searched for that pair of scarlet eyes, that head of ash-blond hair, but the explosive hero was suddenly nowhere to be found. 

The crime scene continued to bustle around you, but all the while, two thoughts circled each other in your head, like binary stars stuck in each other’s orbit: 

Dynamight didn’t reveal my secret. 

But I’m going to have to face him again.

[trashforhockeyguys]

Don’t Hold Me -20- Carter Hart

A/N: So umm the whole thing takes place in a hospital. Mentions of serious injuries, and all that goes with that. Other than that though, nothing too triggering? I don’t think? As always all previous parts are linked in my master list.

Travis scanned over all of the articles that came out as soon as it became public knowledge who was involved. The media team was doing everything they could to keep it quiet and control the coverage, but news crews were already set up outside of the hospital. They didn’t know who did it. Carter didn’t know the guy, nor could he give an accurate description. It was too dark, it all happened too fast. All anyone knew was that you nearly died. Hell, you still could. 

Travis locked his phone and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He’d never seen you look so pale, even all those years ago. You looked twenty times worse now. They were told that you lost a significant amount of blood before anyone could get to you. Travis couldn’t even think about Carter trying to keep you from bleeding out in the street. 

Carter, of course, wouldn’t talk about it. He refused to leave, just like Ethan. But Kora eventually convinced both of them that they needed showers and food. But Carter also had to go to the rink. The media team thought it would be best if they held a press conference. Especially since the media was reporting that Carter had been hurt as well. But physically, he was fine. Mentally though? Travis knew this wasn't something he’d get over easily. None of them would.

Your parents were stuck at home, they couldn’t get on a flight out here, nor could they take the time off from work. They tried everything they could think of, but they just couldn’t. So when Ethan wasn’t here, Travis was in charge of sending them as many updates as he could. Nolan would stop by from time to time to bring Travis something, or just sit with him so he wouldn’t be alone while Kora and Ethan were gone. 

“She looks better today,” Nolan said, sliding into the chair on the other side of your bed. 

“She looks like shit,” Travis mumbled, “They said the biggest concern now is going to be infection.”

Nolan reached over and carefully grabbed one of your hands, “She’s still cold.”

Travis nodded slowly, “They did another blood transfusion like an hour ago. Apparently her body is still trying to regulate.”

Nolan reached for his phone, he scrolled through a couple of notifications, “They’re going to announce that they’ve postponed the game tomorrow. Other teams are reaching out with support. And Carter is about to go live, do you want me to turn it on?”

He shook his head, “No. I don’t want her to hear it.”

Nolan, for the life of him, couldn’t imagine exactly what Travis was feeling. He loved you, sure. But he didn’t love you anywhere near how Travis did. You were Travis’ little sister, the sister he never had. He’d never seen Travis act so protective over anything before he saw him with you. 

He was with Travis when he got the call. Ethan and Kora had just fallen asleep. Carter couldn’t get ahold of anyone else, so he called the first person he knew would be there. Nolan spent the entire drive to the hospital trying to calm down everyone, not just Travis, but Ethan and Kora too. Even Nolan wasn’t sure how he was able to stay so calm. 

“She’ll pull through,” Nolan assured his teammate. 

“I don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t.”

Meanwhile, across town, Carter was in a cold sweat. He hated the media to begin with, much less in a situation like this. He had to practically be dragged from the hospital by Kora and Ethan. He’d refused to leave your side. Everything was a blur at this point, but he knew that he didn’t let go of your hand once until you were being wheeled into an operating room. 

He couldn’t remember all of the terms that the doctors rattled off after you came out. Kora was the one who had enough presence of mind to ask them to use simple terms so everyone knew what was happening. But all Carter could hear was that you lost too much blood before you were brought in, that you’d flatlined several times. That it could still be touch and go. 

“Carter? They’re ready for you.”

His hands shook as he followed everyone into the room and towards his seat behind the table. Cameras started flashing automatically. When the Flyers said that a statement was being made, no one thought Carter would be the one to make it. The media was reporting that he’d been hospitalized too. He wished it was him, and not you. 

He blindly answered the questions that were thrown at him. The media team coached him on what needed to be said, less was more. Especially given that they didn’t even have any leads on who did this. 

Everytime he closed his eyes he saw you in his arms, growing paler by the second, as he screamed for someone to help. He wasn’t sure that he would ever get that image out of his head. How could he?

Kora was waiting outside the arena. Her hair was wet like she’d just showered. She was in oversized sweatpants with an old faded sweatshirt to match. She held her arms out, offering Carter a much needed hug. For a second he wondered if he wouldn’t just fall apart right there in the parking lot. 

“C’mon, I’ll take you back to Travis’ place, it’s closer to the hospital,” She told him, “You need to sleep.”

“No, I need to go back to the hospital,” He replied quickly. 

“Carter, you’ve been up for over twenty four hours,” Kora explained, “You won’t do her much good if you’re sleep deprived.”

But when he looked at her, with eyes filled with so much pain, she knew she couldn’t keep him away from you. So, Kora just held Carter as tightly as she could before promising to take him back to the hospital after he at least ate some food. 

The scene at the hospital hadn’t changed though. The rest of the boys were still crowded around you. Nolan came out to meet Kora as Carter rushed in to join Travis and Ethan. But Kora couldn't bring herself to walk in, not yet at least. She didn’t want to see you like that, not up close. 

So instead she handed Nolan a coffee cup and leaned against the wall, “How’s Travis?”

“A fucking wreck,” Nolan breathed out, rubbing his face with his free hand, “Did you get Carter to eat?”

Kora nodded, “Barely.”

Nolan looked behind him, studying his friends gathered in your little room, “The doctor stopped by about half an hour ago, they want to try to back off her sedatives this afternoon. Her vitals have held long enough apparently.”

It seemed that there was a little light to the day. If Kora understood Nolan well enough, you were out of the woods now. Save for the potential recovery complications, but enough that they were willing to try to wake you up.

She took a deep breath, feeling like her chest was going to cave in from the weight that settled on it the moment they got the first call, “You should go home Nol. I can take care of them.”

He forced a small smile, “Yeah but who’s gonna take care of you?”

She shrugged, eyes focused on the three boys huddled around your bed. Kora wondered what would’ve happened had none of you gone out. If you’d all gone right home, rather than staying late at a club. Maybe none of you would be here right now. 

“I’m going to go grab some food across the street,” Nolan said quietly, “Call me if something changes.”

He had to fight himself from looking back at you in the bed. You looked so different from the girl he’d come to love like a sister. Definitely not to the same level as Travis. But he found it to be impossible to be around you for very long without feeling protective over you, just like he was with his own sisters. Nolan never really thought that he’d have to imagine a world where you wouldn’t be around. But now he had, and he didn’t like it. 

You just seemed to make the world better. He wanted that back sooner rather than later.  

It was several hours later when you felt yourself being pulled from the dark. Reality started coming back to you, and that’s when the panic set in. Your heart started to race as you felt the pain, at first what felt like a dull ache felt like a white hot iron being plunged into you. You wanted to scream out, but you couldn’t. You could barely move. 

“Y/N? It’s okay, you’re safe.”

You knew that voice. The same calming voice you’d heard all your life. Ethan shouldn’t be here. You were in a dark part of town, alone on the sidewalk. No...not alone. Carter. Carter was with you. 

“Y/N, I need you to relax, okay? Please,” Ethan seemed to beg.

Your eyes finally opened to stark white lights. You could hear the rapid beeping of a machine next to you, it sounded like a warning. You tried to move, to speak, to do anything, but the pain only worsened. Even breathing hurt. 

“Hey, there you are,” Ethan let out a broken laugh that seemed to almost border a sob. 

You couldn’t think straight, but you knew none of this seemed right. This wasn’t where you were supposed to be. Your head felt like it would split open before you could even get a word out. Your body didn’t feel right. None of it felt right.

“Hurts,” You forced out, the effort of the one word made everything worse. 

“Okay, okay. Hold on, I’ll get a nurse,” Ethan reached over and pushed some sort of button and a few seconds later a nurse came strolling in. 

Everything felt cloudy to you. Like you couldn’t quite wake up all the way. The nurse said a few words to you before moving to your IV port. Pain medication, that’s what she was doing. Maybe without the searing pain you could think. Why did it hurt so much?

“There you go sweetheart,” The nurse said gently, “That should help. You just call us if you need anything else.”

Ethan said a quick thank you, not taking his eyes off of you. You wondered just how bad you must’ve looked. Your whole body felt stiff and heavy. The pain dulled just enough. Almost like the sun breaking through a thick layer of clouds. 

“Carter? Where-”

“He’s fine,” Ethan said quickly, “Kora made him and Travis leave so they could sleep.”

You felt your body relax just a little. He was okay. Zachary didn’t touch him. He was safe. You could take all the pain, as long as you were the only one who had to deal with it. 

“How bad?” You questioned, voice straining. 

You could tell just by the way that Ethan’s face changed that it wasn’t good. Hell, just by the way your body felt it wasn’t good. You could remember little bits and pieces of what happened. But it was like things kept going in and out of focus. 

“Pretty bad. Don’t ever do that to me again,” He begged, “I swear to god. I thought we’d lost you.”

You held his hand, tightening your grip on it. It seemed you hadn’t really come all that far from where you were in high school. There was a time when you were in this exact same situation. You hated that he had to go through this again. Once again, Zachary proved that he would do anything, he simply didn’t care. He never had. 

Some silly part of you still had hope that deep down he cared. Maybe if for just a second. You thought he wouldn’t be capable of something like this. Despite everything, despite all you knew and all he’d put you through, you still had a sliver of hope.

“You look like shit,” You tried to joke. 

“And you look like hell,” He replied flatly, “But you almost died, several times, so I’m allowed to look like shit.”

You nodded, knowing he’d been through enough. Not just in the last few days, but ever since Zachary came into your life. You once hoped that coming to Philly would mean a fresh start for you, but once again he proved that nothing changed. She was still the same little girl, so afraid of her own shadow. 

“I’m going to go call mom and dad,” Ethan said softly, “You just get some rest. I’ll be back in a bit.”

You nodded, trying to relax back into the bed. Every little movement hurt. You knew if you looked under the thin hospital gown that your midsection would be bandaged up. You didn’t want to know the details yet. Part of you still thought you could wake up from this nightmare. Maybe if you didn’t know you could act like it wasn’t that bad. 

But then the thought of what you told Carter before it all happened….You couldn’t go to Canada now. You couldn’t do that to him. Zachary could easily follow you there. It obviously wouldn’t be the first time that he tracked you down hundreds of miles from home. You felt sick. This really wouldn’t end. He would always be there in some way or another. You’d always carry these scars around. 

You would never really be free, and Carter would never really be safe.

[otomeauntie]

Wish You Were Here, Part 1 of Lost Time, a LukeRosa playlist fic

Inspired by "Wish You Were Here" by Cider Sky

Honestly looking back, Rosa wasn’t sure how the hell she hadn’t lost it completely in the few years after Luke left. When he didn’t return for his birthday, she tried to distract herself from her disappointment by throwing herself into her studies. She applied for three universities that week alone, volunteered to help with the school’s winter festival decorations despite her lack of skill in arts and crafts, and started on her list of books she’d always meant to read but never found the time to.

Christmas and New Year’s passed, and still no Luke. Not even an email. She knew the exclusive government project he’d mentioned being recruited for was a big deal, but for him to essentially disappear off the face of the planet was an unpleasant shock. Then came her birthday, and still nothing, then her parents leaving to join up with yet another secret research project, and the rejection from National Central University, her top choice school...

That whole period was a blur of wild emotions hidden under a thick layer of her fierce, almost feral, determination to maintain control, to keep soldiering on. She was eighteen and almost alone in the world, but she’d be alright. She didn’t have any other choice.

The day after graduation, a dozen or so of her classmates had decided to go to the amusement park. She spent most of the day with two girls, Evelyn and Serena, and Serena’s boyfriend Will, pairing up on rides and splitting expensive fried fair food. They talked about their plans after summer break, and teased Serena and Will about when they were going to get married. It had been a blast, except for one strange and fleeting experience. 

Rosa couldn’t really put her finger on what it was about that moment that affected her so much. She and Evelyn had gotten on the Ferris wheel together. The weather was warm, but thankfully not blazing, as perfect white, cotton candy clouds raced across the sky. The Ferris wheel had gone around twice already, and she and Evelyn had had fun rocking back their cart back and forth and pointing out all the landmarks they could see as they crested the top.

On their third and final trip back to the top of the wheel, she gazed across the whole park, watching the streams of people flowing from ride to ride, listening to the grumble of the machinery below her, and feeling the early summer breeze across her cheeks and in her hair. And suddenly, against her iron will, a little part of her heart wished so hard that Luke - with his laughing eyes, his boundless energy, and his sense of unshakable calm and safety - was there beside her that it nearly broke. 

He couldn’t be. He wasn’t. She knew that, but when she turned to look at poor Evelyn, the other girl had gasped and asked her why she was crying.

Mortified, Rosa scrubbed at her face while mumbling something about this being something like their last class field trip and everyone leaving and growing apart. Evelyn laughed a little, even as she also wiped away a tear at the bittersweet reality, putting her hand on Rosa’s in an awkward, comforting manner. She opened her mouth, and Rosa knew from her expression that she was about to say something about Luke, but instead she just shook her head and laughed again, louder this time. They laughed and cried together as the Ferris wheel slowly carried them back down to earth and by the time they reached the ground, Rosa had already carefully papered over the crack in her heart.

College was a whirlwind of stress and new experiences. She met Kiki during her second year and found herself partnered up with the peppy, talkative girl often for group projects, discussions, and practice debates. Rosa didn’t like to dwell too much on it, but she owed Kiki a sort of debt. She kept Rosa within the orbit of other people their age, and gave her opportunities to take breaks from studying. 

However, the end of the year was always terrible for her, an exercise in endurance. She guessed that was why she’d forgotten not to close the sliding glass balcony door all the way to keep herself from being locked out. She’d known from when she first moved in that the latch was a bit fiddly, but this was her first New Years in her new apartment.

She knew, from watching the midnight broadcasts with Luke as children, that the fireworks show would last for at least half an hour. No one would hear her over the noise, and who knew how long it would take her to catch someone’s attention, and how long it would take them to get her help after that. 

The December chill cut straight through her thin pajamas, and the flash-boom of the fireworks threw her reflection in the rattling glass door into sharp and lonely relief. Twenty one, and still alone.

In the next flash of firework-light, she saw another reflection in the glass behind her. Luke’s back as he walked away, his light brown hair freshly cut and combed but already falling back into its natural state of charming mess. The next flash was accompanied by a bolt of red-hot anger. She shivered from both the biting wind and the boiling rage, but she took a deep breath and grit her teeth, forcing herself to think logically.

Rosa wished viciously that Luke were there beside her as she grabbed the trowel from an empty flower pot (a failed attempt to start her own little garden). As she tried to estimate the force it would take to break the tempered glass near the handle of the sliding door, she thought about all the things she’d say to him. Why haven’t you called? She smacked the glass with the pointiest part of the trowel, causing the glass to spider and crack. Where have you been all these years? She whacked the glass again, harder, aiming for the same spot. Why did you disappear for so long? The bullseye pattern on the door grew bigger.

The trowel pierced all the way through, and she paused to wipe her dribbling nose and watery eyes on her sleeve. It was very fucking cold.

It never fully went away again - her anger - once she recognized it. She simply got better at handling it carefully, packing it away like her memories of him, and almost, almost forgetting about them. But she always knew they were there, hidden underneath the familiar blanket of wishing, wishing, wishing. They were a tripping hazard in the living room of her mind, and she wondered as time ticked on if she would ever feel ready to throw the wishes and memories away, or if she would ever even want to.

She was only ever sure on sleepless nights, when she lay in bed watching the city lights flicker across the ceiling of her bedroom. As she drifted in the liminal space between sleep and waking, she prayed, hoped, wished. She wished he was there, and knew the answer was no. She would never stop wishing.

[djarinsdoll]

Rhapsody in Blue (C.B.)

Professor!Charlie Barber x Fem!Reader

Summary: Things with your piano professor get a bit heated.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Student x Professor smut, cum eating, not explicit consent given

A/N: It was 2am and this idea popped into my head so now it’s 3am and here it is. Goodnight lmao.

     Professor Charlie Barber was sitting next to you, legs lined up perfectly on the small piano bench. Fingers moving delicately across the black and white keys, playing the very same song he had been trying to teach you for the past half hour. See, you would listen to everything he said, watch every movement his thick but nimble fingers made, but it just wouldn’t stick. As he continues to play your mind escapes somewhere, almost in a trance from watching his hands move up and down the keyboard. You imagine those same fingers reaching down your leggings. Those same fingers plunging in and out of you while his perfectly plush lips murmur praises into your neck. A chill runs up your spine at the thought,  knocking you out of your daydream.

     When you come back to reality, Charlie is finishing up the piece before looking to you to do just as he did. Your fingers trace over the same places his own did, but eventually you lose your place about half way through. Your name comes from his mouth in a frustrated tone, making you wince a bit. 

“How many times have we played this through? Why can’t you get it right?” He sounds exasperated, hand that was just so delicately pressing each note now roughly rifling through his hair. A sigh puffs from his lips as he drops both hands to his sides, you simply observe as he goes through these motions. 

“I have an idea, but you’re not gonna like it.” He states firmly, but almost rushing to get the words out. You look at him, eyebrows furrowed as if to ask exactly what he means. Before you know it, Professor Barber’s  hand is waving you to stand. You do so, positioning yourself right next to the beautiful baby grand that was in the middle of the stage. He moves himself to the center of the bench before patting his hand twice against his thigh, seemingly indicating for you to sit on his lap. But surely that couldn’t be true, right? Your professor wouldn’t be asking you to sit on him.

Right?

“I’m only doing this so that I can have your hands on top of mine, now sit down so we can get this finished.” He says it as if it’s just a simple task, like instead of sitting on your very handsome Professor’s lap you’re just tying a shoe. Nevertheless, you comply. You move in front of him, scooting yourself between the piano and his large form before sitting down on his thick thighs. Immediately he’s positioning his hands on the keyboard, and you do the same. With your hands resting on top of his almost limply, you can trace what he’s doing when he moves across the keys. You watch as the two of your hands almost meld with his, each sound coming out perfectly and echoing through the theatre. The time speeds by, so hypnotized by the beauty of it all that when he pulls his hands away you are almost in shock. You swallow, lick your lips, and focus on the keys. What distracts you, though, is Charlie’s hands resting on your thighs. You adjust yourself, unaware of how it affects him, and play. The song comes out wrong right off the bat, playing an octave too low. You stop completely, taking your hands off of the keys but not getting far as his hands grab yours and place them back on the keys. 

“Play. Don’t give up, this needs to be perfected before the end of the night.” His face is so close that you can feel his warm breath against your hair, filtering through to your neck. He moves his head so that he’s looking over your shoulder, easy since he’s so much taller than you. You adjust yourself again and his hands grip your hips. 

“Stop moving.” He demands, voice harsh. You listen but brush it off, moving to play the piece and actually getting it right this time. You continue playing, the correct notes filling your heart with joy at finally achieving what you had been practicing so hard at. Only when you feel something under you do you get distracted, pressing one wrong key but ignoring it and continuing. It’s not until you’ve finished the piece that you realize that thing touching you was your Professor. And neither one of his hands had made its way under you. You try to move off of him, face heated with embarrassment, but he pulls you back down by your wrist to sit on his clothed cock.  

“Not good enough.” He growls in your ear, hands moving up your thighs and over your clothed pussy. One of his fingers traces a circle over your clit through the two layers of fabric and you let out a whine. “Keep playing.” 

“But-” Words are interrupted by a moan when he presses down hard on your clit.

“Keep. Playing.” He whispers the words, making you bite down on your bottom lip softly in an effort to focus. You nod, restarting the piece. As you play, his hand moves below your leggings, one less piece of fabric separating his warm hand from your clit. You play on, still missing a few notes here and there as he slips his hands under your panties as well. Now, his warm middle finger is rubbing slow circles around your clit and you can’t focus. The notes come out all wrong, almost sounding like you’re playing another song entirely. Instead of playing on, your hands slam against the keys as his pace accelerates. A moan slips from your lips, carrying through the empty theatre and causing Charlie to move down and press a finger into your entrance. After pumping into you once, twice, three times, he removes his hand completely. He hits your ass, expressing for you to stand and you do so. He pulls down everything below your waist and unzips his own black slacks, removing his cock from his boxer-briefs. Hands at your hips, he moves you back in front of him and bends you forward over the piano. Confusion runs through your head, is he just going to fuck you over the piano? Not make you play anymore? Not that you were complaining but-

Right as you’re trying to figure out what’s going on Charlie licks a thick stripe up your cunt, tasting you and preparing you for his thick cock. He knows how big he is and wants to make sure you’re at least a bit ready for him. His tongue plunges into your hole, fucking you quickly and roughly. Small groans vibrate against you, only furthering the pleasure. Right as you can feel your stomach twist he pulls away, roughly yanking you down back to hover over him. Charlie’s hand grabs the base of his cock, lining it up with your entrance before pulling you all the way down on to him. You let out a gasp, feeling almost as if you’re being split open on him due to his girth. You lean forward to rest your forehead on the piano and he allows you to, lifting your ass up and down and pushing his own hips up to fuck you. After a bit though, he’s not so nice. An arm wraps around your stomach and pulls you to sit straight up. 

“Play it correctly. The first time.” The words come out strained and you can tell he’s trying hard not to buck up into you, for now at least. You nod your head and place your hands on the keys, pulsing and clenching around his length. 

“Speak.” He demands, pulling you down so that his entire length is plunged deep into you. 

“Yes Professor Barber, I’ll play it correctly.” The sound of your professor’s name coming out of your mouth just feels so dirty. And he’s thinking the exact same thing. He lets out a groan as you begin to play, actually carrying out the whole thing correctly this time even with his hips rolling up into you. You hit the final note and he picks you up, leans you against the piano, and starts plunging into you hard and rough. 

“Make me stay here so late, you owe me this tight little cunt.” He grabs a fistful of your hair to help pull you back into him. 

“Such a dirty slut, taking your professor’s cock. On stage, no less. What if there was a whole audience here? I bet you’d perform like the little attention whore you are, wouldn’t you?” He waits a few seconds for your response and when nothing comes out, he tugs harshly at your hair. 

“I said, wouldn’t you?” His cock is angled perfectly, hitting your g-spot and making strings of gasps and moans pour from your mouth. 

“Y-yes Professor, I’d love it. Love to have them all s-see what they don’t g-get.” You stutter out the sentence, each word punctuated by a slam into you. The keys are getting pressed in a jumble of noise, neither one of you caring enough to do anything about it. Charlie pulls you up by your hair so that your back is flush against his chest and continues fucking into you, lips covering your neck in bruises. 

Your head lulls back to give him more access and he takes it, tongue darting out to soothe each bite he gives to your neck. After a few seconds he bites down on to the junction of your neck and shoulder, stuttering his hips and pouring his cum into you. He pushes you back down to bend over the piano and fucks his cum into you before slowly pulling away. As soon as he’s out he’s on his knees, flipping you so that your back is rested against the baby grand and swiping his tongue from your tight pussy to your clit before creating a suction around the latter. Your back is arching and your mouth is wide open as he continues until you cum. Scream leaving your mouth, Charlie takes all of your juices mixed with his into his mouth. He holds them there, standing and reaching up to your face. He pinches your cheeks between his thumb and index finger, spitting it all into your mouth. His large hand covers your mouth and nose so that you have no choice but to swallow it, enjoying the tangy flavor of the two of you combined. 

He pulls his pants up, leaving you panting across the piano before grabbing his briefcase that had been sat next to the piano and walking off of stage. You turn your head to see him walk down the aisle between seats and to the door. Before he leaves, one sentence leaves his mouth without even the turn of his head. 

“See you Monday.”

[anncanta]

Dracula BBC as an alchemical novel

I noticed a long time ago that the stories that S. Moffat and M. Gatiss tell do not just have two or three layers (in fact, much more), but most often turn out to be such a complex field in which all the numerous levels work independently and at the same time manage to merge into a holistic melody. Actually, this is why their texts often ‘from the outside’ look strange, incomprehensible or meaningless (apart from those cases when they really are like this).

The thing is that stories of this kind are arranged in such a way that the plot, as a frame, ‘holding’ ideas and meanings on itself, is, so to speak, open — like a system of corridors leading in different directions, up and down, into those dimensions of the narrative that are currently needed by the authors in order to convey their statement.

In this respect, the genre is very important, because by structuring the story at the formal level, it allows, let’s say, to enter it and understand where to move from the entrance. And there — well, depending on how far you are willing to go.

One of the best definitions of the Dracula genre that I have seen among the reviews written so far is a metaphysical detective.

Some might say that the term looks artificial, but bearing in mind that the story itself seems to be enough… hybrid, it would be fine to start a conversation.

This really has everything a good detective novel needs, plus philosophical and (almost) religious motives organically woven into the narrative, the idea of self-knowledge that pushes the boundaries of any genre, and a mysterious ending. So it’s easy to agree with the above definition.

But I would say that this is an alchemical novel.

Let me remind those who have not come across the works of C.G. Jung, who in his later work paid much attention to alchemy and secret religious practices: in the context of his research, alchemy is a way of self-knowledge and one’s own psyche in order to achieve a higher level of development and gaining mental and spiritual integrity.

History of literature knows several rather interesting attempts to describe the alchemical Work and, since cinema in this sense is no worse, if you wish, you can immediately name a dozen films that also touch on this topic. Well, Sherlock, being viewed from a certain angle quite fits into this paradigm, and I will not even start about Harry Potter — this is a classic of Jungian thought, expressed in literature and successfully transferred to the cinema.

What about Dracula? Everything is very interesting in it.

The first thing to note is that Dracula’s structure is not a mini-series. It’s not a TV show at all. This is a three-part film, all parts of which are closely related to each other so that none of them can be ‘taken out’ from the text without losing meaning and understanding what is happening here.

The second, — it is undoubtedly a novel. The novel as a genre has many definitions, I will not give them here, I will only mention an element that is important for our conversation, without which a modern novel is impossible. This is the growing up and inner change of the hero. If the hero came to the end of the work, being not the same he was at the beginning, most likely we have a novel. Another question is how the hero came to these changes.

And here the third aspect is important — the way the story is told and the ‘language’ used by the authors.

Act I

Dracula begins with a young man standing in the middle of a dark forest and waiting for a carriage that will take him to the medieval castle of some mysterious Count. A girl comes out of the carriage in which the young man reached this place, and asks him to take the crucifix with him, assuring him that he will certainly need it. The carriage leaves, the young man remains in the forest.

Look, you can ‘exit’ from this scene both into a gothic novel (in principle, an entertainment genre, to which you can add a couple of additional meanings if you wish) and into an alchemical story. The exposition will be the same. Let’s suppose we are talking about an alchemical novel. For now, just suppose.

Dark forest is a place between worlds, between everyday life and the other world, between consciousness and unconsciousness, between daytime reality and nighttime. Place of transition, no one’s land. The laws of consciousness are no longer dominant here, but the unconscious does not yet dominate. You can also talk with those who live in the real world and get from them the so-called ‘magic item’, which may help the hero in the future, but it is already difficult to return. And — what is important — you can only travel further with a guide from the unconscious. Carriages from the outside world don’t go there.

The young man is picked up by a strange cart with a mysterious charioteer, after which, having driven some distance through the forest, he finds himself at the gates of an ancient castle. Going inside, he sees an empty room and a table set for dinner. This is the second point of transition if you follow the logic of archetypal storytelling. While Johnny is nothing more than a guest, a stranger, a man who has nothing to do with this castle or its inhabitants. He crossed the border of the unconscious but did not enter into a relationship with it. And here he does what the fairy tales strongly advise against doing to everyone who finds himself in such circumstances — he tries local food.

The game is on. From that moment — not from the first bite, but from this moment, Johnny enters the reality of Dracula, the reality of his castle, and begins to interact with forces that are incomprehensible and beyond his control.

But this is not the most interesting thing.

Let’s skip the moment of the Count`s appearance — here the authors again make a nod to the gothic novel, and the whole situation logically unfolds like an old horror movie, exactly until the moment when several new details appear in the narrative.

The first is the invisible inhabitants of the castle, who write on the glass with inverted letters ‘save us’, and the second is a journey through the castle-labyrinth and the discovery of the map.

Remember I said that this story could be a gothic novel, and the plot is quite like a gothic novel? So, forget it. From now, there is no way to return to this genre. The gothic novel is about controlled horror. It’s about tickling your nerves in a safe environment. In this form, it moved into the cinema and settled there in the form of horror films. It has no other functions and building blocks. Moreover, the symbolic details. The scary house there is always just a scary house, and the worms crawl out of the walking dead because it looks disgusting, and the viewers love the thrill.

But let’s back to Dracula.

Why are the castle-labyrinth and map important? On a metaphorical level, the house represents a person, that Self that a person knows, ‘builds’ throughout life and which belongs to it. A castle-labyrinth in which it is easy to get lost, which does not have a map, indicates a lost person.

And it was not Johnny who was here lost.

Have you ever thought about why, after being sucked dry and killed, the lawyer threw himself from the roof of the castle and was fished out of the river by fishermen, Dracula did not leave him alone and went to the convent after him?

What does this ‘bride’ mean to him, in no use as a food, dagger stares and pursed lips, and even threatens to fight Dracula while walking on the ground? Although it is doubtful he could fight — he could barely keep his feet.

Pride? Wounded amour-propre? A sense of ownership?

No.

In order to understand why Dracula came for Johnny, you need to return to the search for the map and remember where Harker found it.

In the depths of one of the corridors of the castle hung two portraits — the image of the architect who built the house and his wife. About which ones the architect himself refers in his notes as the Moon and the Sun.

It is noteworthy that a woman is the Sun here, while in the alchemical tradition, the solar energy is male, and the lunar energy is female. I think this is part of the inverted reality of the Count`s psyche, where landmarks are confused and roles are changed. For what it’s worth, such landmarks are enough for Harker to find a way out.

But it’s important for us to understand who Johnny is.

He is not a victim of Count Dracula. Rather, from the point of view of the plot, he is his victim, but at the symbolic level, his function is completely different.

Jonathan Harker is a figure from the outside world who comes to the house of a person whose psyche is immersed in chaos, who himself does not know what is in his house, and is able to get lost in it himself, keeps monsters in the basement and feeds on them. This person has lost touch with reality in the literal sense of the word. (For anyone interested, read about literalized metaphors in British literature.) And then someone comes to him, and involuntarily begins to order his chaotic world.

It is no coincidence that during one of his conversations with the Count Johnny hears a crying baby. At the level of the plot, this is a real baby that Dracula carries for his next ‘bride’ imprisoned in the basement of the castle. But at the symbolic level, where all the inhabitants of the castle are parts of the soul of the Count himself, the baby is his split-off child self. Of course, destined for murder. And turned into a child of the night.

What happens next? At the moment when the process of ordering the psyche and contact with the outside world is launched, it is already difficult to stop it. Therefore, Dracula with a manic passion rushes to the convent and tries to regain Johnny. But the function of the guide has been exhausted. Other forces come into play.

Act II

The central scene of what is happening in the convent is undoubtedly the scene of the meeting between Dracula and Agatha. And in their meeting, everything is important, literally every detail. Strikingly, it is harmoniously built both on the plot and on the symbolic level. There is literally no redundant element there.

We will only note the main ones so as not to get bogged down in details.

The first moment — Dracula went out into the outside world, but he cannot just appear there. Until now, his whole life has passed in darkness — both literally and symbolically. We do not know what made him so, but he obviously at some point in his life fell back to animal, primitive instincts. Therefore, in order to leave his world and exist in the real, in the world of consciousness, he needs to transform.

This is the first transformation of the hero that we see — when at the gates of the monastery Dracula is ‘born’ from the skin of a beast.

Having been born, he approaches the gates, which are opened to him by a genuine, not escheat, and fake bride — Agatha. Anima.

And she doesn’t give him any indulgences.

In Jungian literature, it is often mentioned that meeting with an archetype is a difficult and rather painful thing. Especially if the person is not ready for it. And, of course, it is extremely dangerous to project archetypal qualities onto a real person who can represent them for a specific man or woman. But this is in life. And a work of art`s entitled to combine symbolic and real layers in one context.

Agatha treats Dracula harshly, in a semblance of an erotic scene, giving an outlet for his insane disordered sexual and animal energy, in some way, ‘shaking’ him and allowing his inner chaos to restructure and acquire a consistency suitable for connecting with the new and the unknown.

And then the victim, close contact, an attempt to absorb — and the hero falls into his Anima and at the same time goes to a new world on a journey on the water.

Act III

I think that the symbolism of water (amniotic fluid, the water of the unconscious, water as an information and life medium) is not worth explaining. But what is happening with Dracula in the sealed world of the mother’s womb — the ship, in order for no one to have any doubts, called Demeter, needs to be considered more closely.

From this moment, from the moment when his romance with Agatha starts and begins to develop, Dracula’s relations with other people become extremely important. Until now, he had no relationships with people. The ‘brides’ in the castle are nothing more than food and separate parts of his own personality. The first person he established a real relationship with was Johnny. And this — on one of the levels — is another reason why Dracula was so attached to him. You never forget first love.

On Demeter, the Count consecutively comes into contact with several people.

What kind of people they are is very important.

The first is still just a victim. A sailor-helmsman, whom Dracula eats only because he needs a specific quality that the man has. This is how children are friends with those from whom you can ask for a useful thing or write off homework. After the object’s function is completed, the friendship ends.

It’s more difficult with the Grand Duchess. This is a story about memory, desire, and youth, Dracula`s question to himself — can I be liked, and if I can, then why: because my appearance evokes memories of youth or because I am interesting on my own? The dance as part of their interaction indicates an attempt to ‘taste’ the relationship (the Anima looks in-depth with a smile) but turns into a bloodbath.

What is important here is that as the ship sails further into the sea, and the relationship between Dracula and Agatha becomes more and more intimate, the Count begins to get more and more nervous, and his instincts, at first completely tamed for a distant goal, become more and more out of control.

He collected these passengers in advance, calculating how many people he needed to eat in order to safely get to England. And in the first two days, he ate half of them. The tension rises, the anxiety elevates, no one is safe. Including Dracula.

The meeting with Dorabella on deck (I just want to say — ‘date’) is a naive attempt to flirt, a conscious — not a vampire’s natural — desire to please, a short, but independently built with great difficulty dialogue. The portrayal of her possible married life shown to the girl is a gift that is discouraging in its brutality. And the conclusion: no, nothing will come of it. ‘I am a vampire.’

But if you have already gone out into the outside world, do not expect that you will be able to hide. Whatever you think, but you have made your choice.

After the murder of Dorabella, the ship literally ‘boils’, the hidden truth comes to the surface in the literal sense, and Agatha reappears on the scene.

Act IV

Many viewers ask: why did Agatha take command of the ship?

And who else should be the captain of the ship called Demeter under these circumstances?

Falcons give way to turtle doves.

But let’s back to the text.

The confrontation-connection of Dracula and his Anima lasts for some time, after which it logically ends with immersion of both in water.

And here is another interesting point. The first part of the alchemical Work is completed, the hero went through two transformations, began to communicate with living people, and even made some progress, but in order to consolidate the result, the psyche must close off from the world and allow deep processes to take place inside. Therefore, Dracula falls asleep at the bottom for 123 years, and Agatha fell off the map.

In the XXI century, the updated Count discovers that everything has changed, but the hunt for vampires is still relevant, and he himself is quite ready for new achievements.

The trouble is that he has already learned the taste of the genuine, and therefore surrogates are not to his liking.

When I watched the film for the first and second time, I just couldn’t understand why Lucy was needed there. Silly, superficial, narcissistic, she has no interest in anything other than herself and her Instagram images.

‘How could such a girl interest Dracula?!’ viewers around the world yell. And they are right.

How indeed?

Well, she couldn't.

In order to understand what Lucy’s role in this story is, you need to watch the film from the very beginning. Then it becomes clear that Dracula’s relationship with her, their dialogues, interaction, jokes and flirting, her willingness to voluntarily let him drink her blood is a complete parallel, a repetition of the Count’s relationship with Agatha. Having found the experience of deep love within himself and has found a connection with his soul, the hero is desperately trying to reproduce it — and fails.

Review these scenes. How he looks at Lucy, how he walks arm in arm with her, how he tells her what a brave and extraordinary girl she is, how he holds her on his lap, and asks where she wants to go. In fact, he does everything he did with Agatha. But doing all this, he has empty eyes. An indifferent look, mechanical movements, and bitterness at the bottom. He has a young beautiful woman in his arms, she is obviously in love with him, although she hides it, she is ready for anything to make him feel good. And he is bored.

In the eyes turned to Lucy, not the greed of a vampire is — there are darkness, sadness, and endless repetition: ‘Not her, not her, not her.’

But the psyche, especially the psyche of an adult, does not simply abandon its habits, so Dracula repeats with Lucy the entire cycle that has already passed with all his ‘brides’. The catch is that Lucy is not attached to him, but to admiration for her own beauty, and when beauty disappears, their illusory connection falls apart, turning into horror and contempt. But here, too, not everything is so simple.

In the scene in Dracula’s house, where Lucy realizes who she has become, an important parallel arises.

Look. There are four characters in the room. The situation is difficult, tense, the conflict reaches its limit until it is resolved through love. But how is it resolved?

I mean, what does it look like structurally?

It’s very simple. The man and the ‘monster’ stand and watch the kissing of the man and the ‘monster’ next to them.

And then something happens not only with Jack and Lucy, who finally managed to find peace but also with Dracula. This is the highest point from which there is only one path — to catharsis. The fact that Agatha led him there is logical and obvious, but up to this point, he was not ready for it.

And the final scene. When all the pieces are on the board, all conflicts are realized and all the ghosts are brought to light, there are no enemies left. Except for himself. Except for that, which he didn’t allow himself to do. Except for the fear of being yourself.

The ending of this film is the pinnacle of the alchemical process. Transformation. At the level of the plot, physical death, freeing a five-hundred-year-old vampire and a woman who loved him for many years. And at the symbolic level — going beyond one’s own limits and gaining integrity.

Therefore, in the final, we see the sun. The sun is a symbol of a purified consciousness, transformed and fully realized itself.

Epilogue

For those to whom the interpretation that I have presented here seems strange or stretch, I will separately note the following. Any interpretation is, to one degree or another, a figment of the imagination of the viewer or reader, although, unlike postmodern literary scholars, I believe that there are right and wrong interpretations. And the correct interpretation is not at all what the author wanted to say. This is what the story wanted to say. Often they are not the same thing.

And the second, closely related to the first: no, I do not think that S. Moffat and M. Gatiss put such meaning in their story. I think that European culture, with its multi-layered nature and the ability to reflect on complex experiences through symbolic stories, is that powerful semantic field that generates such tales regardless of the wishes of screenwriters and writers. And that seems wonderful to me.

[writingfromkitchenator]

Logan ~ Fate

Alphabet Challenge Masterlist (700 Followers)

Masterlist

Sequel to To Break Reality

Words: 1,939

Warnings: Neutral Reader, smidge of fluff, supportive Logan, mentions of fight, loss of control, angst

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

You’d fit it so easily with the X-Men, had taken it in your stride even though you weren’t raised in this world.  It was such a relief to find others with special skills and talents, that they could also understand your own, and you felt more at home than you ever had.

Charles quickly offered a teaching position, something you’d been studying before everything had gone wrong in your life, and you took it gratefully, although not without some further study of your own.  This world was still slightly different from your own after all.

He also offered you private lessons, to help learn more about your own ability, this reality split, and apart from what you’d already taught yourself, you started to be able to focus on it more, without the headaches.

Logan had also taken you under his wing, neither of you could explain it, but something about when you got to be together, it felt right.  He was a little protective, especially after you told him about what had happened to you with your family, but he kept it in check most of the time.

It was three months on when he’d asked to kiss you, and while shy and nervous, you had agreed. From that moment on, the two of you were practically inseparable though, and you had a feeling that a few of the senior X-Men around were glad to see it.

After six months, the two of you more or less shared a room together, and you tried to get out of the mansion at least once a week to have some proper time together.  It was a little strange, seeing the world and just how normal everyone else seemed, but Logan always made sure you were as comfortable as possible.

Soon, a year had flown by and you were just starting to think of what sort of future you could build here when you noticed the first problem.

You were teaching, and while your power was within your control most of the time, there was still the odd happening that seemed to appear, although now they just seemed to be of anywhere and everywhere.  This particular one stopped you mid sentence, the children staring at you, some following your gaze across the room, wondering what had suddenly distracted you.

The world beyond wasn’t of any sort of particular interest, there wasn’t even anyone around to draw your attention.  No, it was the barrier between that had stopped you.

Approaching with caution, aware of a lot of stares on your back, you carefully raised your hand to the barrier and the long silvery crack that seemed to running along it.

Your fingers ran over it, but nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary apart from what you could see. It was as you dropped your hand away though, that you quickly realised how wrong that assumption was.

It was like a sledgehammer hitting your chest, sending you flying backwards, the children screaming.  You watched through fear filled eyes as the barrier began to shatter.

"Everybody get out!"  You barely remembered screaming it, focusing on your power to try and stop the shattering, not even wanting to think about the consequences of what this happening could do.

Your ability strained more than what it ever had before, hurting even more as you struggled to suck in air.

The others hurried into the room, drawn by the screaming children and Charles's warning.  Quickly, they stopped Logan going to you, the room around you beginning to flicker and shake.

You weren't sure why, but as you barely held the barrier together, stopping two worlds becoming one, you couldn't help but feel like something or someone was testing you.

Finally, the barrier sealed and disappeared, allowing you to collapse, blood dripping from your nose. Logan was quickly there, but you only held onto consciousness for a moment longer.

There was no way of explaining things when you awoke, because you had no answer.  You all instead just hoped it wouldn't happen again.

It was another six months before it happened again.  Then four. Then three.  A month.  Each time you were just left feeling like you were less prepared then the last, and that it was somehow your fault.

"We'll get this sorted," Logan said quietly to you one night in bed together when you voiced your concerns.  "This isn't your fault Y/N.  We're all working to figure this out for you.”

"I'm the only one with that gift Logan.”

“That we know of.  There could be many explanations.”

You sighed, exhausted, curling up tightly into him, remaining unsettled.

Then more started appearing, taking everyone by surprise.  You couldn’t keep up, you were sure that even if you were stronger, you still wouldn’t be able to.  It scared you that this was happening.

“The world is shattering because I don’t belong here,” You broke down one night.  “This wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t try and come through.”

Logan pulled you into his arms as you wept, holding you close.  “We don’t know what’s going on, but I promise, with all of my heart Y/N, this isn’t your fault.”

Then things started to break through the barriers, the peace you had found here was shattered as everyone tried to find someone to blame, no matter how many times you all turned up to save the day.  You barely slept anymore, and each barrier seemed to get harder and harder to close.

Then, it all went seriously wrong.

The largest opening yet had appeared and shattered, creatures pouring through, and as the others fought around you, protecting you, you tried to close it once again.

Your hands were shaking, blood dripping from your nose as your head throbbed from the effort. Something about this one was different.

Then, you felt it, something latching onto your power, making your whole body shudder, but you were too weak, too exhausted to put up any sort of fight.

Instead of closing, the barrier began to shatter further.

You’d never felt so helpless before, even as the others called to you, trying to understand what was going on, but the sensation of being controlled was too much.  Your mind shut down, your body going limp as whatever it was controlled you, and once it was done, it threw you aside like a rag doll.

The damage was done, more of the other world was pouring through.

Logan fought his way over to you, you could just make him out through blurred vision, your eyes filled with tears, and you felt completely unable to move.

“I’m sorry,” Your voice broke as he reached you, his eyes concerned as he took your hand, something you could barely feel. “We're not going to make it.”

“Don’t you think like that,” He said, giving your hand a squeeze.  “Don’t you dare give up Y/N.  You didn’t to get here so you aren’t to now to fix your home.”

It felt strange to hear him say it, but you knew he was right, only, you didn’t currently have anything left.  How were you meant to protect everything you knew and cared about when you had nothing left?

Cold laughter got all your attentions, Logan supporting you to get you seated at least, your body leaning heavily against his.  

A tall figure came through the shattered barrier.  You couldn’t really focus on him, it was like he was made from the shattered pieces himself, each part of him reflecting something different, but you knew that he was the one that taken over you.

“All you had to do was stay where you were and I would’ve never known of you,” His voice rang out clear.  “But now, you’ve made this all too easy.  I can hop between any worlds I wish and do whatever I wish.”

You shuddered, not wanting to believe it, but the power you could feel from him telling you everything you needed to know.

“Fate is such a fickle thing,” He continued, drawing closer. “And you set yours the moment you broke through here.  You weakened the barrier between the world’s, started the first pieces in motion, and I thank you for it.”

A sob left you, your chest aching, knowing he was right.

“Don’t go blaming your psychotic nature on others pal,” Logan growled, still holding you tightly.  “The only one that’s at fault is you.  I’m going to give you one warning to back off.”

The laughter sent a chill through you and you gripped Logan as tightly as you could.  “And what is it that you think you can do to me?”

Logan’s claws slid from his free hand, a growl rumbling through his chest, making you grip him harder.  “Don’t.”

He continued to approach.  “See, I have an opportunity here, one I intend to take seeing as they are just so weak.”

Logan let you go carefully, and you were a little stunned you could stay up by yourself, but your grip was still far to weak to stop him from stepping in front of you protectively.

“You’re going to have to go through me to do it.”

“Logan no!”  You screamed, even as you knew it was too late.

There a ripple of power, your power, through the air, a barrier shattering around Logan, who didn’t even have time to make a noise, before he was gone, the barrier closing behind him, making disappear.

The figure had barely moved, but you knew he was smiling. “Now then, shall we get this over with? Your power is going to be mine now.”

Anger filled you, an anger like you’d never felt before, your blood boiling in your veins, heart pounding in your ears as tears rolled down your cheeks.  Somehow, you got to your feet, facing this being, hatred and rage coursing through every molecule of your body.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

The man took another step forward and every bit of strength you had left filled you, your power bending the very world around you, and he had enough time to pause before you launched it forward.

A struggle between the two of you ensued, as he used his own ability to try and grip at yours again, to try and manipulate it once more, but your anger made it impossible.  Your gripped him in your powers, the simmering shards around him starting to fracture and break, making him scream.

Layer by layer you broke them free from him, the pieces landing, leaving small openings into other worlds, but you didn’t care.  This thing had to die.  He had to be destroyed.  It was the only thing that mattered.

It was the only way to get Logan back.

His shriek was ear splitting, light spilling forth, but still, you gripped him tight within your powers and pulled, sending pieces of him to different worlds, as far from you as possible, and once the last piece had vanished and sealed behind him, the barriers around the world began to close.

You stood, sucking in air as best you could, your body buzzing, everything feeling surreal as the world around you settled and the others began to appear, staring at you.

Your knees buckled under you, sending you hard to the ground as you tried to focus, tried to find where he had sent Logan, but you realised in quiet horror, that you couldn’t sense him.  A sob left you, everything too much, unable to say anything, and you collapsed, darkness quickly taking you, feeling very much alone.

[polandspringz]

Request: something about Glory & Asmo vibing . maybe painting each others nails . ill pay u

I know you already got to read this when I finished it, but here you go!!!

Title: Always at the Right Place, at the Right Time

Summary:

Whenever Poland invited everyone to the Human World, there was never any actual obligation to hang out with her. At least not for Glory. Any adventure were moments reserved for them, the Avatar of Lust and the Avatar of Vainglory.

(This is set in my series involving my MC, “Designing in the Devildom”. AO3 Link will be posted in the notes)

Grass. The smell of flowery perfume, too strong and too tacky. It burned the throat and lungs like sugary cotton candy, but they were both immune to the taste by now. A picnic blanket spread over the land, flowers were crushed beneath their weight. They didn’t care. The sun shone down on a chilly spring day in the human realm. Glory held out his hand, and Asmo held it gently in his own as he applied nail polish across it carefully.

“Don’t mess up,” Glory huffed, “I have a date tonight.”

“Another commitment? And here I thought you cleared your whole day for me!”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Why, darling, others do that for me,” Glory rolled his eyes at that, but it was all in good fun, no actual malice, “But, I won’t mess up. Although knocking your beauty down a peg would make me the prettiest in the three realms, I wouldn’t risk my beautician skills being slanders because I decided to be petty.”

“Good, cause if you mess up my nails I will douse you in acetone.”

The little brush moved across the nails, leaving gooey, light blue color behind. It was like liquid lipstick, squishy and shiny but as it dried it would harden into a perfect coating. The clear bottle of top coat rolled around on the picnic blanket as Asmo shifted, knocking into Glory’s knee. The color would be preserved, but protected underneath a thin layer of plastic and gloss.

“You’ve been different lately,” Glory blurted out. Asmo glanced up with surprise.

“What do you mean? Have I been even more beautiful?”

“No, and that’s just it. What you said earlier,” Glory rolled his free hand in the air as they gestured for something, “I’m used to you saying you’re the prettiest- which is false- but normally you don’t leave room for debate.”

Asmo finished the pinky finger, and then blew a soft puff of air over the whole hand before setting it back down on Glory’s thigh.

Glory didn’t like feelings. The only mushy stuff he cared about was makeup or textured fabrics of designer clothes that he knew would look great and help him show others up. But there was a distant look clouding Asmo’s eyes. He was smiling but his mind was elsewhere. He just sat there for a moment, leaning on his knees after he closed up the blue polish and set it down beside them.

Glory couldn’t help but notice the ugly pact mark that decorated Asmo’s skin, the bright pink ring that tattooed his skin, staining his neck, just visible underneath the collar. It seemed to pulsate when Glory stared at it, taunting him.

It disgusted him. He would die before he ever made a pact with any human.

Glory let out a scoff and sat back, tapping Asmo forcefully on the shoulder to knock him back to reality, “You’ll give yourself wrinkles if you keep a face like that. If you turn any uglier than you already are, I won’t hang around you anymore.”

Asmo let out a hearty laugh, his whole body radiant in the sunlight. He reached for the clear polish and shook the bottle as he let himself settle down. When he looked towards Glory’s other hand to inspect the nails, his eyes were brighter again, but also all too knowing. 

Glory never needed to say much, Asmo was the best at picking up on the emotions people liked to hide. He could see right through him, but it was still nice of Glory to try and say something to make Asmo feel better. It was all the more genuine when said in his own Glory-way.

**

The balloons bumped into one another and the strings tangled as they were pulled through the wind and down the street. Two sets of shoes clattered and scraped against the sidewalk as the two ran along the tiny shops of downtown.

Asmo spun around, the balloons swinging with him as Glory rushed passed, taking the other demon's hand as they continued running. They hadn’t stolen anything and weren’t being chased, but there was something different about the human world. The air and the way everything was so colorful and bright as light bounced off everything, from puddles to windows of glass. The way life and the scents of the city were carried on the breeze. It was like Devildom but better.

The two of them stepped off the curb to cross the street, Glory’s heel clicking on the edge of the curb as he skipped forward.

He wished he could stay here forever.

**

Flashes of a camera interrupted the darkness of the night. The human realm’s night sky was much darker than Devildom’s artificial one, turning completely black even though it was only nine p.m. Glory lowered the polaroid that Poland had let her borrow, and Asmo scampered to take the developing photo from her. Slowly, the image of Asmo holding pink and blue cotton candy formed itself against the golden ferris wheel lights that spun against the black sky.

It was summer now. Poland had invited them all back to her world to visit a fair. Apparently this was a yearly thing where she used to live. It was a little crowded, a little too noisy and full of snot-nosed kids, but there were rides and there was food and strange human world entertainment. Most of it didn’t appeal to Glory, besides using the place as a backdrop for new Devilgram photos, but Asmo was coming with the rest of the brothers, and Diavolo was giving them a few extra days before they had to go back, and Glory would do anything to get out of the boring Devildom.

Poland must have noticed Glory’s disgust at the farm animals, stalls, and dirt paths when they first entered the fairgrounds, because Poland handed the camera over to her almost immediately. She had packed tons of film, handed a bunch of boxes full of starry, rainbow bordered packs that Glory could use to her heart’s content.

Half of the photos were already used up, littering the inside of the mini backpack Poland had given over to her. Random photos of people screaming on rides, humans running around or sitting under the tents. Seeing kids eat popcorn off the ground was gross, but taking pics as they tripped and ate shit and spilled popcorn all over the ground was fascinating. Before their group had split up, Lucifer had watched as Glory photographed the people in the historical tent, feeling the need to supervise the only demon not hiding her horns with magic in case she caused a ruckus.

“Based on your grades, I never suspected you would be interested in history,” he said smugly.

Glory focused on making sure the photo was tucked safely away and developing properly before shooting Lucifer a glare, flipping him off for good measure. The gasps of the historic actors had Lucifer flailing and shoving her hand down, dragging her away before she could cause anymore problems.

“Luce, wait!” Poland yelled, “You’re going to miss out on the old fashioned ice cream.”

Glory debated shouting out Lucifer’s full name, seeing if that would illicit anymore startled gasps from the old men and women sitting with bonnets by the display. That would make for a good picture too.

“Glory, let me take one of you now!” Asmo said, his fingers crawling around the camera as he tried to gently pry it out of her hands, “Go stand in front of that ride over there! The Himalaya!”

He pointed to a ride that was spinning at an unbelievably fast speed (for humans anyway), but it was flashy and colorful, which meant it would look wonderful blurred together, and there were so many humans waiting in the line, which would mean more people to preserve in her collection (she would have to invest in a scrapbook). She started to skip over, her boots digging into the clay, orange soil as the ride’s music was interrupted by a loud siren-like horn.

“Kolia, you stay back there with Belial!” Asmo waved to the other two members of their group. Kolia was the one suffering the most from the atmosphere of the fair. She only tagged along on the trip because it meant she got to see Poland again, but somehow she had gotten separated and nearly lost until she ran into Belial and the others outside a funnel cake stand.

Asmo hurried to take the photos as fast as the camera would allow, Glory striking a few poses and being tempted to take back the camera to snap the faces of the screaming riders behind her, but Asmo signaled the camera needed to be refilled with film and Glory had the bag so…

They rejoined the rest of their group.

“Where do you want to go now?” Asmo asked. Belial pointed towards the tents where all the vendors were in the middle of the fair grounds.

“I want to buy something. I saw shark tooth jewelry earlier.”

“Oh, and sand art!” Asmo chimed in.

“Do we have enough money? How much did Lucifer give us?” Kolia reached for her wallet.

“Hold on, hold on,” Glory mumbled as she finished snapping the new box of film inside the camera, “There! Good to go! Oh, wait a second-”

She leaned in and reached her arm around all of them, holding the camera up to snap what would become a very blurry selfie of them all.

“Alright, let's go!”

**

It was fall now. Glory sat on a bench surrounded by an expanse of orange colored leaves in the middle of a park. It was almost too picturesque, too cliche. Asmo had run off to get some warm drinks from the coffee shop down the street. It was getting cold again, the human realm had always felt so much colder than Devildom, but maybe that was just because of where Poland lived?

It was their last visit here before winter set in. Poland already had pulled a lot of strings to get the others to tag along on visits throughout the year, especially since she almost never seemed to invite Diavolo along. Glory wasn’t exactly sure what was up with that, maybe the Prince of Hell was just too busy, or maybe there was some sort of feud going on between them. It didn’t matter much to him though.

“I’m back!” Asmo said, walking up with the two, tall cups in either hand, “Sorry it took so long. They don’t have the drink you like here, so I had to improvise to get something similar.”

“That’s fine,” Glory said, plucking the cup from Asmo’s hand with just their finger and thumb on either side of it, “Probably would have tasted gross either way. Human food is bad.”

“Hey, you may have suffered through Solomon’s cooking over at Purgatory Hall, but that doesn’t mean everything from the human realm is bad,” Asmo chided, “Poland isn’t a great cook either, but there are tons of places all over this world with cute desserts and stuff.”

“A shame we won’t get to see them,” Glory sighed, popping the lid open and taking a sip.

Asmo stared at him for a moment before starting to get up, “I actually saw a shop selling some macaroons earlier! Let me go back and get them-”

Glory grabbed his sleeve to stop him.

“Stay,” they mumbled, avoiding eye contact, “We can go get some later.”

Asmo remained frozen for a moment, then slowly sat back down on the bench, “Alright then.”

They fell into an uncomfortable silence. They watched birds in the empty park peck at the ground, but it was far too hard and cold for their beaks to find anything beneath it. The carpet of leaves was rustled by the wind, a few brown leaves breaking off to dance in a violent circle, their dried and dead edges scratching against the concrete and making a grating rhythm to the ears.

“It’s only going to be until the spring, you know that, right?” Asmo asked, “It’s not a long time for a demon.”

“It’s a long time for me because I can’t come and go as I please.”

“You… like the human world now, don’t you? I thought with how you always were ignoring Poland, you didn’t like coming here.”

“Don’t get the wrong idea, I only come here to hang with you. Poland is just… well she’s convenient, she’s just my ticket for a new hangout spot. I just didn’t expect to find other humans so interesting.”

“They are interesting, aren’t they?” Asmo laughed behind his hand, “They’re so funny to tempt-”

“-to trip up-”

“-to trick-”

“-to observe-”

“-and to love,” Asmo finished, a deep sigh escaping him as he leaned back against the bench, watching his breath rise with the steam of the drink, mixing together in the air. Glory watched him confused, and although Asmo was wearing a thick scarf, Glory’s eyes shot to where he knew that marking was over his neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Glory crossed his arms, setting the drink down on the bench, “But I’m just annoyed because I don’t like being restricted. I don’t care what’s going on with Diavolo and your brothers and Poland and everyone else. It’s stupid of them to restrain us from coming to this realm whenever we want.”

“You could always walk through the eight layers if you really wanted to get here-”

“You know I would never do that to myself. Horrible idea.”

“It’s just a thought,” Asmo shut his eyes, “I might traverse it if Lucifer lets me. I’m sure I won’t be the only one rushing back up here. Poland has a fashion show in January. I might come see it.”

Glory didn’t respond. They just sat and stared at the city skyline rising just behind the trees at the edge of the park. Eventually, Asmo leaned his head on Glory’s shoulder, his hands unknotting Glory’s posture as he pulled Glory’s hands in his. He cracked open his eyes just a bit as he brushed his fingers along the old polish, humming when he noticed the chips.

“You should let me do your nails again. Or give you a makeover. We’ll have so much time in the winter to hang out. Nothing will change.”

Glory sighed again, and shut his eyes and let his head bonk against the top of Asmo’s gently.

He was right afterall. Nothing would change.

**

It was winter. Snow was not really a Devildom “thing” but Glory was certain they would be seeing some in the coming days because Diavolo had a knack for using whatever magic he could harness to simulate as much of the human world as he could. Glory had holed themselves up in the bedroom at Purgatory Hall, sitting on the window seat as they watched the moon outside.

Simeon and Solomon were in the courtyard, doing something with Luke. While teasing the young angel did give Glory some entertainment, they really weren’t in the mood right now. They had gone over to the House of Lamentation to hang with Asmo, but realized they had forgotten he had skipped off to the Human World for Poland’s fashion show. Glory had been invited, but had declined because nothing was being made easy through the use of seals, and they had no idea why Asmo would ever want to torture himself taking the footpath there.

So, now they were alone.

Meaning things had changed.

Belial and Kolia were probably downstairs, Kolia holed up in her room no doubt surrounded by books, ugh. But there was no one to compete with or talk aimlessly with. They supposed they could just go outside and steal Simeon aside, the angel was always too polite to decline even if he wasn’t really interested in the things being said, but that sort of genuine disinterest they would sense from him would just continue to make things boring.

They missed Asmo. He hadn’t even painted their nails before they left.

Whatever, they could do it themselves. If only they could find the energy to move.

Glory knew the human world would be unreasonably cold and snowy and blustery right now, and that was no place for demons, but it would be better than the mundane, boring days full of RAD classes that would continue to stretch on for the rest of their eternity. They still didn’t really understand the point of the academy, just knew that if they didn’t attend it Diavolo would probably rear his true nature and execute them for treason or something.

Glory sighed again, something they had been doing a lot since the seasonal depression set in, and got up finally to move back over to their bed. If they were leaving their room that meant getting dressed up, and although they were the Avatar of Vainglory they weren’t feeling the need to fulfill their sin right now. Instead, they flopped over on their bed, face first as they let themselves sink into the blankets, their mind aimlessly drifting through thoughts but never clinging to one.

At some point, they fell asleep.

And were abruptly woken when Asmo crashed into their bedroom from a portal breaking through time and space.

“Asmo, what the fuck?” Glory sat up, rubbing their eyes.

The demon stood up from the floor and brushed himself off, reaching a hand out to Glory immediately as he kept the portal open behind him.

“Hi! Guess I got the teleporting right! Anyway, you need to come with me to the human world, right now.”

“What? I’m not dressed, why?”

“Poland needs another model for her fashion show! It starts in an hour and one of the models broke their ankle. Come on, we have to go!”

Asmo was pulling Glory out of bed, tugging them towards the portal.

“What? Hold on, is this another seal?” They pointed at the portal, “When did you get this?”

“Poland has one for emergencies. Come on!”

Glory was tossed through the portal with Asmo, popping out on the other side. They opened their eyes as the remnants of the seal disintegrated in Asmo’s hand. He shook off the dust before pushing open the door to a backstage area. There were models milling about, people running around holding bundles of fabric and palettes of makeup. Peeking out from behind the curtain, Glory could see flowers covering the walls, real flowers pasted from floor to ceiling all the way through the maze that had been set up for the runway.

Poland rushed by, nearly missing them as she talked into a headset and carried a dress she was still beading. Asmo caught her arm and froze her in her tracks.

“Wonderful! You’re here!” Poland’s face lit up as she shoved the dress to one of the (Glory presumed) assistants, “Let’s get your makeup done right away!”

They both started to guide Glory to one of the vanities, but they dug their heels in and turned around, “Wait, wait, wait. I’m all in for this but, Asmo, how are we getting back to Devildom if the seal broke? I’m not walking all the way back. Do you even know the entrance to how to get back?”

“I don’t have another seal,” Poland said, “That was for emergencies. Guess this just means you’ll have to stay with me until the others can come pick you up?”

“It will take me a few days to get back home on foot,” Asmo laughed, “If you’re insistent about waiting for another portal home, then that would probably give you a good week or so before Diavolo and Lucifer come to drag you back.”

Glory mulled it over for a moment, really not liking the idea of being stuck living with Poland for a few days, but then Poland flagged down someone who was walking by with the rolling rack, picking a hanger off it to show.

“This is what you’ll be wearing, by the way!”

Glory stared in awe as Poland continued, twisting the fabric of the outfit and pulling more accessories off the top of the rack, “...and so you’ll be the beginning and the end of the show, wearing this at the start and then coming back out at the end to transform it by tugging these pieces off. Oh, and then you’ll be the one to walk out with me at the very end because that’s when the designer normally does their walk- uh, is this all okay?”

“Perfect,” Glory grinned, sitting down in the chair, “Asmo, you need to redo my nails while I start the makeup. You owe me after all.”

“Of course!” He chimed, shooing the cosmetologist away as he found a bottle of polish from inside the makeup kit.

“Um, are you really going to be able to do their nails while they’re moving their hands so much?” Poland asked doubtfully.

“Just leave us, love. You interrupting will be the more likely cause of a disaster if anything.”

“Just trust us,” Asmo said, softening the blow.

Poland didn’t mind. She just shrugged and walked off, wheeling the rack away as she went to manage the rest of the show’s set-up. Glory ignored the stares from the models next to them, as there was no way they were hiding their horns tonight. Grabbing a beauty blender and a bottle of foundation, they smiled wickedly in the mirror at their and Asmo’s reflections.

“We’ve got this.”

“We’ve got this.”

And they set to work.

[ash-rabbit]

Abitc: Chapter 9 cuts

Before I go into why what's below was cut, I'm going to preface this by saying that due to how I write:

This is not beta read, I send the chapter their way when it's done. And I haven't given this my own layer of gratuitous edits. I edit as I write, usually tweaking lines and moments to better flow to where I want to go, sometimes this includes gouging out 2.5 pages of writing.

Anyway here's why I cut 2.5 pages.

It simply took too long, chapter 9 is already 15 pages (7650 words). This would come in around pg 9, and I don't think I could have concluded it in any satisfying or timely way. I'm not going to have a 10,000 word chapter unless it's the ending of an Arc, ala ch 6&7 which was split into something more easily digestible. And my intentions went off the rails by Elias electing to make an especially stupid decision. It halts the progression of events, and doesn't tell us anything that's pertinent. It feels like filler, especially if I followed this thread to it's end.

And most important of all I don't like it.

He skulks into his dark office, slips his throw over his head and tosses his blazer to his right. No use putting this off, but a harmless Leitner was a rarity in itself. Though, there was a copy of ‘Goodnight Moon’ that was liable to be harmless. So long as it didn’t blow up the moon it should be fine.

He walks back out and ignores their raised eyebrows as he tugs the blanket tighter. “A copy of ‘Goodnight Moon’ will be our choice of reading, I’d recommend that three of us should hold an artefact that can counter a theorised side effect of the book.” He pauses, waiting for any sort of reply.

“The children’s book?” Sarah exclaims, followed shortly by a yelp as someone, likely Rosie jabs her. Michael’s much too polite for assault.

“I don’t- I can handle a proper demonstration.” He can hear Michael’s frown, but Elias doesn’t care for any larger risks then necessary.

“It was at the top of my list for Rosie’s training.” Elias scans the shelf for the slim volume, it sits beside Jon’s ‘Mr. Spider’ which is as poor an omen as any. “Leitner’s are something of a different animal, and if any of you would like to guess what wild effects the book can have, please go ahead.”

“What is the Moon’s destruction?” Sarah’s amusement sits thick in her voice, coating her words in a playful lilt.

“We don’t have an artefact for that.” Elias laughs. Saying goodnight was a form of goodbye, that would be loneliness? Or maybe he was overthinking it and it would simply turn off all the lights. It’s been awhile, and he can’t just run off to a bookstore to check. “I’ll mark you down for the removal of light sources.” A ‘Hand of Glory’ or other objects that dealt with sight, Beholding as Mikaele and Jon preferred to call it, seemed an easy counter. Though would any fire starter suffice? Hm, best to pull one of those down as well in case they needed to dispose of the book. Reality warping was a possibility, the pseudo erasure of things could be untwisted? If anything it would act as an interesting third control, though perhaps, the reader would be a separate subject, and they’d need a pure control for the best observable results.

He grabs the book and doubles back to the table, scratching out his theories on a scrap of paper.

“Fine- um- it’s a children's book, and those are uh fantasies.” Michael starts, and while he’s on the right track, ‘Goodnight Moon’ is hardly a fantasy. “So I guess that if it does do something it would be drawing the fantasy out here?”

“Reality warping.” Elias nods, seems there’s a general consensus on this at least.

“There’s no guarantee that it’ll be anything like the original, we’ve had cases where whole sections were rewritten in a gruesome parody.” Rosie says, and that’s a fair point as well. “For all we know it could be a- I don’t know a way of disappearing someone.”

“I’ll mark that down as carnivorous literature.” Elias sighs, before holding the page out towards Rosie. “Do you think there are other types of artefacts that could counteract any of our theories?”

“What if the reader is stuck? Do we have a magical bucket of water, or do we just slap them in hopes of breaking the effect?” Rosie asks, though she knows the standard protocol, passing the paper to Sarah. Right of course, the Archives crew wouldn’t know.

“We remove the book while wearing gloves, or set it on fire.” Arson tended to solve most problems, not all of them unfortunately, but enough to be an easy fallback.

“And in the worst case scenario?” Rosie presses, slipping between the shelves, her movements are purposeful, her two weeks alone must have been productive.

“I suppose we can give Gertrude a warning, just a ‘If you don’t hear anything from us in, say twenty minutes, assume the worst.’” He shrugs, before frowning, right then. “Not it.” He’s had enough of management for one day, and if he’s lucky a large enough mess can be a tidy excuse to escape Wright later.

“Not it!” Michael and Sarah chime.

“I- how old are you people?” Rosie huffs, stepping back into the open research area, arms full of misc objects that Elias only vaguely remembers. Hng, he’ll probably just use the monocle in his office, it was dependable and the side effects weren’t any different then his normal brand of paranoia. Assumedly of course, it’s been a while since he was without a buffer, supernatural or otherwise.

Rosie grumbles as she kicks off her heels, pulling out another set of shoes, black and lowheeled with little bows on the toes. Another set of shoes? Where on Earth? Why?

“I’ll be back, don’t start without me.” And she flits off towards the Archives.

“Right then, we can parse out who does what.” He drags the blanket further over his head as they turn towards him. “I need to fetch something from the office but I’m sure you can decide between the two of you who’s better suited to reading or acting as an observer.”

He traces his eyes over the small office, now where did he put- Ah, there it is, wedged under his desk. He pulls out the damaged monocle and watches as it swings like a pendulum, the cracks catching the light with a peculiar shine.

He hasn’t tested the object since, hasn’t had the occasion or much cared to. Would the effects be amplified or would it be rendered completely null from damage and what he can only assume was something amounting to overuse? Only one way to find out. He wedges it into place, slipping his blazer back on so he can safely notch the chain through the lapel hole. Elias keeps the blanket on as he shuffles back out.

Michael and Sarah seem to have come to a conclusion and it would seem the power of the lens was only magnified by the incident. He sways under the sight of it all, there’s a sort of afterimage of thousands of eyes winking in and out of existence across the room. Bile rises in the acrid tangs of burnt coffee and curdled cream, this was unexpected.

He needs to sit down. Now.

So he does. Practically collapsing on the spot as he gathers himself beneath the throw, dragging it over his eyes. The world goes dark and he breathes, short and quick, a cold sharp breath that mingles with the burbling nausea.

He wraps his fingers around the chain, and tugs. Once, short and light, it doesn’t budge. Twice, more forcefully, a stern yank, nothing. His breath quickens. He grabs the frame of it and tries to pry it away with trembling hands.

It doesn’t budge.

Fuck.

Right then.

“Good news everyone,” he says, swallowing his tremors the best he can, hardly a waver apparent as he digs his nails into his thighs. “We don’t need to test the Leitner.”

“Are you, er alright?” Sarah asks.

“The bad news is, we have a different artefact issue.” he tugs the blanket down and regrets it immediately as a thousand eyes bore into him and find him wanting.

Don’t get sick, don’t get sick, don’t look them in the eye and- he fumbles for a cigarette.

The nicotine does nothing and he finds the sick rising faster.

[deathfrisbeeinthetardis]

i love you by billie eilish but it's playing while ryan is driving a car to their haunted destination and shane is sleeping on the other seat and ryan may be pining a bit. suddenly it starts raining and shane's face scrunches up so ryan just puts some hoodie as a blanket over his friend and shane relaxes again.

This made me cry at 9 am in the morning so here’s a drabble  :’)))

Shyan week day 3: Togetherness

as it gets dark

The road stretches before him and Ryan’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, blinking his eyes hard in a vain attempt to stop the aching there. The tires hit a bump and the half-empty cup of coffee in the console sloshes. 

He spares a glance at it, weighing warmth against some more extended consciousness. 

Shane makes a soft noise in his sleep, and Ryan looks up at where the other man had curled up in the passenger seat, a fleece blanket thrown over his lap, his head tucked into the nook between the seat and the window. 

Shane looks young like this, the shadows under his eyes smoothed over in the semi-dark. A smile tugs at Ryan’s mouth, and then he’s swallowing down the cold liquid left in the styrofoam cup. The bitter taste lingers even with the milk he had dumped in, and he almost wishes it was something stronger, something that would dull the ache in his chest. 

It’s not like you can just tell your best friend you love him. 

Especially when that best friend’s already taken. 

‘It’s not trueTell me I’ve been lied to’

Ryan fastens his eyes back on the empty road, they shouldn’t be far now. There’s a low silky song playing on the radio, fingers that had given up guitar years ago forming patterns against the wheel as if he could pluck he melancholy cords out of the car. 

The rental does that well enough on its own. 

There’s really no use thinking about it. He’s seen how Shane looks at Sara. He knows she’s the one for Shane, he can see it in the way they are around each other, the comfortable silence and shared glances, the twinning expressions of adoration when they pet their demon of a cat. He has no right going in any direction that is even vaguely between them, he’d never do that to the two people who had only ever been there for him when he needed it. 

It was the two of them that took him in after the breakup, letting him tag along on their outings and half-dates just so he could get out of his apartment and breathe easy, so he could see their merriment and remember what it is to be happy again. 

Sometimes he permits himself to look, when he’s sure no one would see. And each time what he sees makes him ache more, knowing that she offers Shane the sanctuary and comfort in ways that Ryan never could, not while he could live with himself.  

He looks at you like that too, he hears, and it may as well be the devil and his conscience combined. 

Would it be better if he hadn’t ever met Shane, he wonders. If he had never gotten to know and bond with the kind funny man that always takes the care to make the people around him comfortable. The man who indulges him and his supernatural beliefs and follows his lead until Ryan drives himself to the edge of overexposure, who would then become the support Ryan needs. If he had never gotten himself into this complicated tangle of emotions, had fallen so completely.

No. 

Ryan wouldn’t give those years up, he’ll take the pain, damn it. 

He shouldn’t mess with what they all have, he doesn’t have the right to. He could more than live with the strangely spectacular friendship that’s already in place. Why tamper with perfection, right?

’ Up all night on another red eyeI wish we never learned to fly’

The first splatter of rain against the windshield startles Ryan, and because not everywhere can be nice like California, it’s pouring within minutes. The running water filters the road markings back at him in their distorted yellow glow under the headlights. His view of the outside world blurs.

And so does everything in the car. 

’ Maybe we should just tryTo tell ourselves a good lie ’

It’s the song, Ryan thinks, wiping at his face furiously. He’s always been an emotional son of a bitch, and this one is stupidly on the nose. 

Shane’s face scrunches up in his sleep, the blanket coming a little short in covering his lanky limbs. For all that Ryan startles easily, the big guy’s actually the lighter sleeper of the two, but when eyes open before they should, Shane can always find his way back to comfort in the darkness. And Ryan, well. 

They’re driving through the last stretch of country before reaching the town, and it’s all open fields on either side of the road with no sign of humanity. Ryan knows the crew isn’t far behind them, can see their headlights around corners and turns, but it feels like its just the two of them passing through the darkness.  

It takes him a few careful seconds of maneuvering, but he manages to shrug off his hoodie, reaching over to drape it over Shane. Warmth curls in his chest when the other man’s face relaxes, even when the chill air rushes to meet all his newly exposed skin. 

He keeps his eyes on the road, it’s just the song, he tells himself. 

‘I don’t want tobut I love you’

Ryan’s fingers tremble against the wheel, and he grips it tight. 

Ryan watches Shane sleep, he almost always does in these haunted places. The sight soothes him, knowing that he’s not alone here, though it’s not like Shane would be much help if a ghost tried to murder them. 

A few pencils lie on the floor next to them, tools of a bygone age that they had tried to use in a knock off seance hours before. Ryan creeps an arm out from the warmth of his sleeping bag and picks one up, twirling it in his fingers. If he moves it just right, it spans the height of Shane’s head perfectly. An idea pops up in his overactive brain. 

He’s not sure what insane surge of energy prompts him to do it, but he finds himself tracing Shane’s face, the eraser of the pencil ghosting over the other man’s skin in a barely-there touch. It’s almost like asmr, and Ryan feels his heartbeat in his fingers, steadying for what feels like the first time tonight. 

’ There’s nothing you could do or sayI can’t escape the way, I love you ‘

The fucking song’s stuck in his head now, the low woeful tune playing in a loop in his head, every word stabbing at his mind. He turns his mental back on it, blocks it out with the care he takes to trace the pencil, again and again. 

A largish hand comes out of nowhere to clasp his, and Ryan lets out a yelp. Then Shane’s looking at him through bleary eyes. 

“Jesus man.” Ryan says. Shane lets go of his hand after a second, and Ryan shuffles it back against his chest. The unexpected contact burning into his skin. “A little warning next time?”

“Mmm, I thought you were a spider,”

“And your first instinct is to grab it?” Ryan asks, incredulous. 

“Well, yeah.” He can hear the smile in Shane’s voice, see the flash of teeth from his sleepy grin. “Can’t sleep?”

“Yeah.” Ryan admits. It’s far from the first time this has happened, why the fuck is he still embarrassed?

Because it’s Shane, his mind supplies. 

Shut up, Ryan thinks. 

“C’mere.” Shane murmurs, disentangling an arm from his sleeping bag so Ryan can tuck himself close. They’re plenty experienced at keeping themselves comfortable in these places and Ryan’s not cold, but the solid warmth of Shane at his side is something to hold onto in the dark. 

“It’s okay Ry, I’ll protect you from the demons.” 

Shane settles again, soft steady puffs of air glance across Ryan’s face. They’re a bit close, maybe too close while both of them are on their backs, anyway. Ryan’s body is stiff where it presses against Shane through two layers of sleeping bags, and he doesn’t dare move. He matches his breaths to Shane’s. 

“That’s it, I’m right here.” Shane’s hand rubs small circles into Ryan’s shoulder, and his face is so close. 

That’s the moment Ryan chooses.

He chooses and it’s dangerous and entirely unreasonable, but he’s got just enough fear and sleep deprivation and an ever-looming sense that the world might just lose it very, very soon that he doesn’t care for a split second. 

Shane’s lips are soft against his own. 

Too bad reality’s a real bitch sometimes, by the time he regains his brain, it’s already done. Ryan jerks back. 

’I don’t want to, but I love you.’

“I’m so sorry.” He whispers, eyes stinging. He should be watching Shane’s face, he’d always been bad at reading the big guy but at least it could have helped. But the shadows swallow them whole in this room and Ryan’s not brave enough to make out Shane’s expression through it all. 

His breaths are coming fast again, there’s going to be a hitch in his voice soon, “I’m sorry, Shane. I didn’t mean to, fuck what is wrong with me–”

“Ryan, Ry stop.” 

Shane’s hands grip his shoulders and Ryan shudders out a breath, “I’m sorry.” he repeats. 

“Don’t be.” Shane’s voice is rough, like he’s having trouble breathing too. He brings a hand down to tilt Ryan’s head towards him, “I’m not sorry.” He enunciates, eyes searching. 

“But Sara–”

“Sara knows.” Shane swallows and he almost looks shy, “She’s, uh, rooting for us, actually.”

“She is?” Ryan chokes out.

“We care about you, Ry, both of us.” Shane pauses, and Ryan feels their eyes meet in the dark. “We’d like to be more, if you’ll have us.”

The air is stuck in Ryan’s throat, it seems too good to be true. He manages a jerky nod, a tear slipping down his face. 

Slowly, Shane reaches out and wipes it away. 

“We can talk more about this when we get back, just, sleep now. I’ve got you.” Shane settles his chin on the crown of Ryan’s head, and Ryan can feel the vibrations of his voice. He makes an effort to count his breaths, slowing them down. 

One, two, three–

A ting sounds from the corner of the room, and Ryan jolts. 

“It’s just the radiator, shh.” 

Four, five, six, seven, eight–

I love you.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

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. 

No one has my permission to repost this fic, including translations. All rights reserved. Copyright © be-ready-when-i-say-go.

__________________________

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.

[btsrmono]

Trial & Error | chapter 14

Main Pairing: (jimin): student/idol x (main): foreign student  Side Pairs: main x (nct) jaehyun

PART 13

“Wait, so you mean to tell me you actually believe in spies?”

You nodded your head, positively. “Dude, they’re totally real, I’ve done my research.”

“You’ve done your research.”

“Yes, there’s plenty of articles and documentaries on it.”

“What, on the dark web?” Jaehyun teased you. “There’s no way it’d be that easy to find.”

You rolled your eyes. Yes, it took you some digging to find, but you weren’t lying!

He laughed at your semi serious appearance and tapped you lightly. “Come on, I’m just joking y/n.” He looked at you for a second before deciding to pour you both another glass of wine.

When you had first arrived, he took you to the rooftop of his building and had a whole set up for you two laid out. A few candles and more than enough layers of blankets laid upon the ground, which was quickly dried up from the rain earlier, to your surprise. He didn’t fail to have some snacks and a small meal prepared.

To be quite frank, you weren’t expecting anything more than chilling inside with him, maybe watching some T.V but no, he actually arranged a real date with you. You couldn’t help but get butterflies upon the idea of his thoughtfulness.

You chuckled at the silly conversation as you picked up the glass, thanking him. He picked his up too and looked at you. “Cheers?”

“Cheers.”

After clunking the glasses, you both took a sip of the bitter yet smooth wine. It was pretty strong so you were getting a good buzz from it, allowing you to be more relaxed with him.

“You’re the type to believe in aliens too, I guess,” Jaehyun spoke, taking another sip.

“Sweetie, I believe in those more than I believe in spies.”

He almost choked from laughing too hard and you couldn’t help but to join him.

“Our next date should be at the movies. We should see a sci-fy together.” He laid his back on the ground, the pillows supporting his neck.

You smiled at the idea as you decided to get cozy and lay next to him. “We should,” you agreed. “What’s your favorite genre?”

Looking you in the eyes and smiling brightly, he took an arm and wrapped it over your waist. “You can’t laugh,” he told you.

“I won’t, I promise.” He stared at you and you could tell he didn’t want to say it. “Goodness, don’t tell me it’s romance.”

“What if it was?”

You accidentally chuckled before quickly shutting your mouth and trying to keep a straight face for the sake of his dignity. In response, he lightly gripped your side as he giggled. “You promised!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, it just happened. There’s nothing wrong with you liking romance, hun.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.... What about you?”

You sighed, resting your arm across his chest. “Thrillers, horror, action.” His eyes widened upon hearing this. “I like the suspense,” you explained. “And the unrealistic realities of it all. As crazy as it may sound, it’s an escape from the real world.”

He nodded his head in understanding as you continued.

“For me, I’m not the biggest fan of romance because it sets unrealistic standards. It’s a let down, none of that stuff happens in real life. Love is... more complicated than what they show.”

He stared for a while, trying to read you when the wind lightly blew, causing your hair to fly. He took a second to enjoy the view of your messy hair before pushing it out of your face and behind your ear.

“It is,” he whispered.

You bit your lip, feeling that maybe you were looking at it too deep. “Sorry, I—”

“You wanna know why I like it?” he asked. You nodded. “Like you said, it’s unrealistic. It’s also my escape from reality.”

“Yeah except it’s in the guise of what’s supposed to be reality, that’s what annoys me. They’re nothing but a bunch of impractical projections.”

He laughed, his dimples deepening more than usual, causing you to blush. “Something tells me you were on the debate team at your last school.”

You playfully slapped his chest. “Shut up!”

“It’s just.... they give me hope. It’s okay to wish for the best in a relationship, y/n. Maybe with time, you’ll see that.”

He was right, maybe you were looking at it from too much of a negative stance. You couldn’t help it when most of your relationships ended bad. It was safe to say you did hold a grudge against love for a while and it’s okay to admit that.

You let out a breath, feeling defeated. “You’re not wrong, Jaehyun. You’re not wrong at all.”

While he laid, staring at you, you started to realize just why there was a romantic spark in him. You mean, the date alone showed how he viewed dating and to you, it was... adorable?

Before you noticed, you were staring right back at him. “What are you thinking?” he asked you in a hushed voice.

You grinned at him, placing your hand on his soft face. “You’re so pretty,” you said, stroking his cheek with your thumb.

Next thing you knew, he was kissing you. Small pecks at first. Once, twice, then three more before it progressed intensely, yet he still managed to be gentle. You remembered that he was a good kisser but now that you were more sober than before, you were in actual awe with the way his tender lips molded perfectly with yours.

You both went on like this for a good while and didn’t stop, you didn’t think you ever wanted to. But when he groaned softly, he knew it was time to pull away.

You pouted your now puffy lips at him. “I was enjoying that,” you whined.

He grinned from ear to ear, taking his eyes off of you and glaring at the night sky. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty more where that came from.”

“Ooh, is that a promise?” You mimicked his moves, looking up at the sky too. It was more beautiful than usual that night.

“It is,” he replied. “And unlike you, I know to keep a promise.”

You jokingly nugged his leg with your knee and you both let out a blissful laugh and enjoyed each other’s company until 1’oclock hit and you had no choice but to end the date and go back home.

The bar might have been low for you due to your dating history but you could easily say that was your best first date ever.

~~

You were shocked when you woke up for school and made it to the bus stop on time. What you almost forgot about for a split second was Jinsoul’s existence until you saw her sitting on the bus bench by herself for once.

When her sight landed on you, she froze as you rolled your eyes at her and looked the opposite way. You were so not in the mood to deal with her right now.

Suddenly, you saw Jimin coming from around the corner, putting you in a semi happier mood. When he saw you, he smiled brightly and you waved from afar. As he got closer, you realized he stopped by a 7-11 on his way.

“Hey, sleepy head!” he yelled.

“How’d you know?” you rhetorically asked as you took the plastic bag out of his hands to examine the items he brought.

“The eye bags explain it all.”

“You asshole!” you shoved him as he laughed and then you picked out an item: samgak kimbap. You unwrapped the food and started to eat, enjoying it more than usual since you skipped breakfast that day. “Thank you,” you said with a full mouth as you handed the rest of the food back to him.

He scrunched his nose in disgust but shook it off quickly and threw you a grin. “You’re so cute when you’re hungry.”

You turned up your face, pretending to be disgusted by the compliment. “Anyway, loser. Where’s Tae and Jungkook?”

He laughed, taking out some food for himself to eat. “Those idiots missed the first bus because they were up all night playing video games. They thought Winter Break started today, not tomorrow.”

Sad to say you weren’t surprised by this at all, it definitely sounded like something they would do. But on the other hand, you couldn’t judge. After everything yesterday, you felt like you didn’t have school either.

You shook your head, giggling at the situation. “I still can’t believe you guys have to catch two buses before this one. You all live so far compared to everyone else.”

“This area is too nice for our company to afford, I think.” He forced a smirk as he bit into a beef jerky stick and looked around at the other students waiting.

You knew it wasn’t his intentions but now you felt slightly bad and it was only 7am. But you quickly waved it off and continued to eat when you saw Jimin look behind you.

“I think someone wants to speak to you,” he said.

For a second, you were confused. But when you turned around, you saw Jinsoul walking your way. You sighed and dismissed yourself from him as he said he would just go chat with Minho.

“Y/n,” Jinsoul spoke, now standing in front of you. “Can we talk?”

To be real, you didn’t want to but you knew it wouldn’t be fair to not hear her out. So you nodded, approving of this request.

As she ran her fingers through her blonde hair, she let out a small sigh. “I had no idea about any of the things Heejin said to you yesterday.”

“Yeah, right—”

”You gotta believe me!” she pleaded. “Not to brag or anything but keep in mind that Jimin was my friend first. The only reason you know him is because of me, y/n. Do you really think I would be okay with someone using you and him for some clout?”

You licked your lips, almost at a loss of words. She was proving some points with that one. Now you just felt like a fool.

“I hardly know those girls, I only just started talking to them the other day and that was only because they were with you.” She paused, staring at you for a second, then she grabbed your arm lightly. “I know this might be hard to believe, given our circumstances but... I kicked her out right after you left. Y/n, you’re one of my best friends, I would never be okay with someone doing that to you.”

You tilted your head, looking at her adoringly. “You still consider me a best friend?”

She chuckled, squeezing your hand. “We never stopped. We just went through a small bump because I got so caught up with...” Jinsoul was now looking at the pavement, a somber expression taken over her face and you instantly knew the reason behind that.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about him, are you okay?” You still couldn’t believe that Jacob would cheat on her. She liked him so much and as far as you were concerned, he liked her too. Everyone knew they were the cutest couple, him doing that was a complete shock.

“I wish I could say I was over him but it’s not that easy,” she replied.

“You’re strong and independent, you’ll be okay.”

“Eventually.” She looked back up at you and cracked a small smile. “Fortunately, I’ll be busy with training now so that’ll take my mind off of it.”

Just then, the school bus pulled up and you all hopped on and got ready for the school day. You knew you had some consoling to do so you linked arms with Jinsoul and sat on the bus with her as the two of you caught up on the ride to school.

~

Right before home room, Jimin insisted on walking with you to your locker when you realized you left your Chemistry textbook in there by accident but you assured him you’d only be a minute so he stayed behind.

As you exited the class, you began to put you hair in a ponytail when you were caught by surprise to see Heejin standing in front of your locker, clearly waiting for you.

You immediately rolled you eyes but continued to your destination to open your locker. “What do you want?” you asked, an annoyed tone hinted in your voice.

Heejin didn’t seem nervous. You can see that she looked apologetic but also, she wasted no time to start talking.

“I shouldn’t have told you any of that,” she spoke.

“You guys shouldn’t have done any of that, Heejin.”

She sucked her teeth. “It wasn’t me, y/n. And I’m not excusing anything. It was wrong, no matter what way I try to look at it. I just regret not telling you sooner.”

You shook your head, breaking eye contact from her to look for your book. “I don’t care, Heejin. It is what it is.” Your eyes laid upon your Chemistry 102 and as you grabbed it, you just realized that you were over it. Completely over it.

“Y/n, I was in a really bad mood the other night and I shouldn’t have snapped like that. I was mad at Kayla and was mad at you for defending her—”

“Which was childish,” you spoke, cutting her off as you now closed your locker. “Kayla is your best friend, Heejin. And I love Jinsoul but you can not let other people’s personal opinions about your best friend control you like that. Ever.”

Now she seemed regretful as she bit her bottom lip and clasped her hands together. “And I realize that now. I plan on talking to her. In the meantime, this is my apology, y/n. Please don’t be mad at me?”

You sighed, knowing you were going to have to face Kayla during class today as well. With so many confrontations happening today, you knew you had to persevere your energy and that started with forgiving people.

“I’m not mad at you, Heejin, I’m dissapointed. I just feel I need some space for a few hours... or days.”

With a nod, she agreed. “That’s understandable.”

That being said, you knew what you needed to do next. You walked back to home room and went right to your seat, turning to the woman whom sat directly behind you, still finishing a half eaten bagel.

“You need to talk to Heejin.”

“I know, she’s been acting really funny towards me lately?” She swallowed the bite that she was chewing before sitting up straighter and looking at you curiously. “Wait, is she acting weird with you too?”

You rolled your eyes. “Kayla, I’m not getting between this, just talk to her.”

She shrugged, not seeming too bothered. “I guess. Anyway, you wanna hang out tonight?”

It was very clear that Kayla had no idea about the situation at hand. And yeah, if you were upset at anyone, it was her. So, if anything, this put you in an even more annoyed state.

“Can’t. Ask Jimin, maybe he can spare you some company.”

At first, she looked lost but then she quickly shook it off, asking you if you really thought he would hang out with her.

Guessing that Jimin happened to hear his name being said, he turned back to look at you. Even though he wasn’t sure what you two were talking about, he had a feeling that you said something petty.

“Don’t,” he mouthed to you.

Sighing, you decided to take Jimin’s advice. Now definitely wasn’t the time or place and to top it off, it was just way too early for all of this. So you turned fully around just as your teacher walked in, prepared to start class.

~

By time lunch came around, you noticed you were one of the firsts in the cafeteria. As you stood in line, waiting to be served your tray, you felt an arm cling over your shoulder and you didn’t even need to look to know who it was. The scent of his godsent cologne gave it away, making you immediately blush.

“I think,” the voice to your left began to say, “we should start sitting together.”

You looked at Jaehyun, cocking your eyebrow conceitedly. “Someone moves fast,” you teased.

“Is that a ‘no’?” He grinned at you as you gently took his arm off you.

“Where in that sentence did you hear a ‘no’?”

“Nowhere, so I’m taking it as a yes.”

You giggled at his boldness but deep down inside, you felt flattered. “I take it you’re used to getting what you want.”

“You’d be suprised.”

You shook your head, opposing this statement. “Actually, I would not. And something about that makes me want to play hard to get.”

His jaw dropped in a joking manner as he tried to keep a poker face but couldn’t help but to let out a laugh. “You’re evil y/n.”

“And you’re lucky you’re cute.”

He playfully shoved you with his elbow and you followed by poking his dimple. The both of you smiled at each other sweetly as the line moved up.

“Y/n, we didn’t get to talk about that date.”

“Yeah, we didn’t,” you replied, suddenly getting butterflies as you thought about last night. “I had a good time.”

He smiled, relieved to hear you say that. “I’m glad you had a good time because I would like to take you on another one. A proper one... If that’s okay with you, I mean.”

A proper one. You weren’t sure what exactly he meant by that, as to you, that was a proper date. Especially considering your age and his schedule. Was the timing of the date messed up? Maybe, but he did what he could. And that alone, was the sweetest gesture.

You were about to respond but before you could even get the chance, you saw Jinsoul walking over to join you two in line as she looked at you both skeptically, arms folded in suspicion.

“Oh, hey—”

“What are you guys talking about?” Jinsoul cuts you off.

Jaehyun took a quick glance at you before looking back to Jinsoul. “I was just telling y/n that you guys should sit with us today.”

The line moved up.

“Sit with ‘us’? As in you, Jungkook, Eunah, Mingyu, Kyle,Hyeri and those other freaks?”

Jaehyun took the name calling very lightly as he cocked his head, chuckling at her. “Yes, me and those ‘other freaks’,” he confirmed.

“I’d rather choke on rocks,” she deadpanned before turning to you. “Y/n, if we sit there that means we’ve officially hit rock bottom, people are going to think we belong to a clique. Do you want to succumb to that?”

Jaehyun huffed. “You would know, little miss perfect, not too long ago you were sitting with us. And you know we’re not a clique, we’re friends with everybody. Come on, you say it like we’re not all still friends with you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Is Jacob there?”

Jaehyun sighed, seeming to suddenly remember that night. “No, he’s been sorta M.I.A. He’s been telling people he’s sick to get out of things.”

“Once a liar, always a liar,” Jinsoul scoffed, shaking her head in disgust. “Whatever, it’s up to y/n.”

You smiled, shaking your head in approval. “We should!”

“Then I guess we have no choice.”

After taking your trays and paying for your lunches, you all began to walk to Jaehyun’s table where some of his friends already sat, as you noticed Taehyung sitting at your usual table, distracted on his phone as he waited for the others to arrive.

You hadn’t seen Taehyung in a while and knew this was your chance to finally chat with him.

You slowly stopped walking as you got closer and closer to passing him. Jaehyun and Jinsoul looked back at you, curiously. “I’ll be there in a minute, you guys.”

Upon hearing this, Taehyung looked up and the other two shrugged this off and kept it moving. You looked over at Tae, whom was now smiling at you as you approached him completely. “Taehyung,” you greeted.

“Wow, she’s talking to me,” he jokes.

“I know you’re not speaking. I haven’t even gotten so much as a text message from you, this goes both ways!”

He pursed his lips together before blowing out an exhausted breath. “Well, I don’t know if you know but we’ve been preparing for a comeback. I know it’s not an excuse but—”

You chuckled upon hearing the news of this. “Wait, comeback? Oh my god, when?”

He grinned, shrugging a shoulder. “We’re not exactly sure yet, we’ll know officially in a few weeks the comeback date.” He raised an eyebrow. “Jimin hasn’t told you?”

“No, he didn’t.”

Taehyung let out a chuckle before looking back at Jaehyun’s table. He paused in thought, momentarily. “Why aren’t you with your friends?”

“I’m not gonna beat around the bush. I thought it’d be nice if you and I have a little chat about what happened. You’re always disappearing, I don’t know when we’ll get this chance again.”

He sighed and by the looks of it, you could tell he saw this coming. “You’re right,” he replied, nodding. “We should talk about it.”

You sat your plate on the table and took a seat next to him.

“Look,” he started. “I’m sorry I kissed you like that. In my head, I was mad at myself for ignoring you for so long that when we finally talked things out, I couldn’t hold back my feelings. But in reality, it shouldn’t have happened.”

“Your feelings?” you questioned, to which he then cocked his head, looking away as you saw him poke his tongue in his cheek.

“You’re really gonna make me say it, huh?” he asked, a grin on his face.

You started smiling, teasingly, as you realized what he meant.

“Yeah, I, uh...” Tae ruffled his black hair, getting slightly nervous before looking back at you. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t have a small crush on you, yn.”

You froze for a second, trying not to burst out into a fit of laughter but you couldn’t help it. As you laughed, Taehyung joined in, blushing deeply.

You weren’t stupid, you had your suspicions the day he asked you on that “date”, him kissing you just confirmed it. “I kinda knew,” you admitted. “I’d also be lying if I said I didn’t kind of have one on you too.”

He looked you dead in the eyes. “I knew, also. You’re not the only one who sucks at hiding their feelings.”

Now you were the one blushing.

“But if it makes you feel any better, I’ve been actually seeing someone. So you don’t need to worry about our past getting in the way of our friendship.”

He gave you a reassuring smile but all you could do was drop your jaw in response. Seeing someone? “Whhaaattt?”

He chuckled. “She doesn’t go to either of our schools and she’s not an idol or anything of that sort. But I actually like her. I’m gonna give it a little more time as of right now but then I’ll bring her around to meet you and everyone else.”

You pouted in happiness at this news. Taehyung was an amazing person and he deserved to be happy and loved.

“So going forward,” he continued, “I don’t want things to be awkward between us. I don’t feel weird and I hope you don’t either.”

You shook your head eagerly. “Of course I don’t, Taehyung! And I’m happy for you. We’re still gonna be besties. I love you, you know this.” You gently gripped his arm to let him knew you meant what you said.

“I love you, too.” He stifled a small laugh. “It’s good we’re both over each other. Plus, I think Jimin—”

“You think I what?”

You both turned to find Jimin walking up towards you guys, Jacob, surprisingly, following right behind him. You rolled your eyes.

“Aish, nothing,” Tae waves off.

Just then, you heard your name being called. You turned your head to the source of the voice, which was no other than Jinsoul’s, of course. She looked annoyed. Must have been Jacob’s presence being there. You couldn’t blame her.

“What’s the point of being over there when we agreed to sit over here today?”she yelled.

You sighed, standing up to get ready and go back over. As you began to pick up your tray, you suddenly remembered something.

“Oh yeah,” you started. “So my parents are going to Japan next week. My fathers company is having a conference there and my mom decided to tag along, I decided to stay behind. Anyway, I’m gonna have a small sleepover with my close friends, nothing crazy. Think you guys will be able to come?”

Jimin and Tae both looked at each other then looked back at you and simultaneously shrugged. “I don’t see why not,” Jimin spoke.

“We’ll be there,” Tae added. “Hopefully. We have to check our schedule but we’ll most likely be there.”

“Okay.” Then you looked at Jacob, who was shamelessly hiding his face from the side that Jinsoul could see him from. “Oh, and Jacob.” He looked up at you. “Just to clarify, you’re not invited. I’m sure you knew but I just had to make it clear.”

You gave him a smart ass smile as he squirmed in his seat before you turned on your heels to join Jinsoul, Jaehyun and his friends.

PART 15

A/N: bruh i can't believe it took me this long to update sjldjs my bad I've been so busy working everyday. capitalism is sickening! I'm at the point where i really dont think I'm cut out to work like someone pls make me a house wife at this point, i’m begging! skfslkfs anyway lots of small confrontations this chapter, let me know what you guys think, ily!

[aveaugvstus]

❛ You made a mistake. Everybody makes them. Even me. I’ve made many. It’s only fair that you made one. ❜

it’s strange how the passage of time warps and bends around the shape of the people in your life, the silhouettes they carve from the liminal space of your soul — it’s like that thing about stars and how when you’re looking up at the night sky, you’re actually looking at stars that could be already be dead a hundred years ago, their fading requiem only just now reaching earth’s stratosphere, a thousand light years away. 

this is what it feels like to see vladimir standing in the door frame of his childhood bedroom looking like the ghost of fuck-ups past.  (  he has no lock now, which is mildly insulting and excruciatingly patronising; he’s an addict, not bloody suicidal, but to his family the distinction might as well be non-existent.  )  he looks different, and also like nothing has changed at all in a way that august can’t quite pinpoint. it’s as if he’s lost his ability to translate him; the myriad tiny, insignificant nuances and habits he used to obsessively decrypt with his very own rosetta stone, a whole stele for the vladimir yamatov script, forgotten like a dead language. or maybe he no longer cares to. he doesn’t know if that should make him feel nostalgic, or furious, or bittersweet. feeling particularly strongly about anything these days is a herculean task in and of itself. which, he supposes, was the original sin that instigated everything to begin with.

he thinks he can remember asking vladimir to come home.

he thinks he can almost remember begging, knees in the dirt and gravel scraping his flesh raw, over voicemail like a needy fling who had accidentally gone and done the thing you and every other idiot knows you’re not supposed to do, and fallen. 

he thinks he might have begged for absolution. 

but that could have also been the sixth line of blow cut with ketamine and procaine and only god and the devil knows what else  (  he’d been desperate, it was three a.m. in camden  )  and he’s composed text messages nay, goddamn fucking letters, ad nauseam, ad infinitum, like he’s on the receiving end of some dear john bullshit, and he’s never been sure which of them actually made it to the send button. he’s smashed, or lost, or misplaced, half a dozen phones, for all the futile effort to replace them. collateral damage in the dawning realisation that vladimir wasn’t replying because he was mercilessly leaving him on read, but because he wasn’t receiving them at all, and judging by his infrequent instagram updates, was doing absolutely fine / fuck him, happy / having the time of his fucking life on his primitive anti-tech detox.

for a moment, he entertains the fleeting, whimsical distraction that this could be yet another delusion. after all, he’s conjured vladimir enough times that this wouldn’t be unusual.  (  why, sometimes i’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.  )  he has imagined vladimir heartsick, wretchedly beside himself with guilt. he has painted him alabastrine, cold and immovable, patron saint raphael of the lost and the meek indifferent to august’s self-inflicted torment. he has envisioned him lit with madness, seized in catastrophic rage, gripping him by the jaw and rattling his bones till he might see reason. there were other imaginings, too, steeped in the unspeakable, tauntings of an uninhibited mind free to conceptualise the reality of its most ludicrous desire. in the worst dream, the most terrible, most fantastical one, vladimir comes home because of him. for him. it plays out like the final scene of a cult romantic comedy, or the odyssey, maybe, much-enduring odysseus returning home to penelope at last. two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk, their hands meeting as light spills in a flood, the sky pouring out the sun. and he would take his other-soul’s face in his hands and kiss him and say the words this lifetime’s vladimir would never say.

there is, of course, a singular difference in this one. this vladimir. the vladimir he filled his dreams with never looked at him like this. with this curious amalgamation of horror and — most tellingly so; am i not what you expected, vladimir? how did you imagine you would find me? beatific? flourishing? — disgust. 

august knows what he looks like. five shades too pale and ashen, like the vivacity has been drained right out of him. a layer of grease shines in his hair, the fade he alway maintains with meticulous care and precision grown out into his natural, unruly curls. he’s not quite skeletal, his frame was always too lean and muscular for that, but he seems perilously thin for his height. it shows in his face, he knows even though he’s been avoiding mirrors and isn’t allowed one anyway, because a) addicts use those to cut their coke, and b) suicidal ones might be inclined to break them, he knows because of the way his mum looks at him when she comes into his room to bring him his meals three times a day like a convict. it hurts him a little, more than the physical pain of looking at vladimir, of hearing his voice, that he sees him like this. he had not been informed in advance that vladimir would come calling. if he had, he would’ve — he doesn’t know what he would’ve done  (  attempted an escape, maybe; broken his twelve-day sobriety, maybe  )  but he might’ve. cleaned up a little. tried to look less like a shell of himself. augustus has always been vain, has always been a gilded, preening thing who took great pride in being pretty and well-loved for it. it pains him. not to be even that anymore. he is rusted. tarnished.

if he had known, maybe he would have told vladimir not to come. 

now that he is here, he is split in two, cleaved in half by the urge to tell him to go and the more pressing compulsion to make him stay to never go never leave again never go anywhere that is out of his sight out of his life out of him. 

his ambivalence makes him poor company and a poorer conversationalist. not that this is entirely his fault — what are they supposed to do? chat about the weather and trade perfunctory banter just to fill the air? he’d rather do a line right here in front of vladimir. 

your hair is longer, august had said. the only thing other than what are you doing here, which had come out of his mouth, part-shock and part-petulance, when his mother had opened the door and presented vladimir like some screwed-up surprise gift for reaching a whopping week and a half of not being a fucking disappointment to everyone around him. so, now he can disappoint the person that matters most fundamentally, tortuously, to him in the world, too. how delightful.

vladimir’s hair being longer is the only thing he can think to say that doesn’t make him want to give in to the pulverising sensation in his head, in his bones, in his chest, screaming for a deus ex machina reprieve. if this is what they have come to — the two of them, who had spent their entire lives talking about nothing and everything till they could anticipate exactly what the other’s response would be — augustus is glad he didn’t come home sooner. he looks handsome, which feels like another slight against august’s pride. rugged and sun-soaked like a male model cum travel influencer, but one that actually does something meaningful with his life. time, and sunlight, and the kind of hard labour that builds muscle definition and character, has certainly been kinder to him than it has been to august. he doesn’t say you look good because that would sound like he has any remotely positive feelings towards this interaction, and, indeed, the cause of vladimir’s looking like a golden, newly-anointed demi-god. it seems they have traded places. or maybe vladimir is exactly who he was always supposed to be. and august is, too.

august supposes it’s the silence, and the reality that vladimir cannot abide it either, that prompts him to say what he does.

what happened?

he doesn’t say anything for a long moment, he drifts in the absence of an answer because he is allowed to, because he is technically, partially an invalid now, and people who are sick are allowed to be not altogether there. 

(  sick. malaised. he likes this word for it. he likes that there is a scientific explanation for what he is. a brain disease. a diagnosable mental illness. see, vladimir, he almost wants to say, a little deranged part of him finally gleeful at not having a pedestal to stand on anymore, you aren’t special. i’m fucked up now, too.  )

well, vladimir. it’s a very long story that i don’t care to repeat as i’ve recounted the tales to you so many times through missives you were never inclined to respond to. there was angel, and bennie, there was emmy, and good old molly. ah, and charlie, my favourite of the lot. ours was a whirldwind love affair. but it turns out i loved him more than he loved me. seems like i have a nasty little habit of doing that. it’s one i haven’t learned to kick yet.

god — august...

it’s the look of wrenching disgust, again. the thing that twists and snakes across vladimir’s face and awakes something snarling and animal shackled to august’s throat, something that slams into him chest-first and doesn’t stop until it’s gone right through him, left him raw, all bloodied edge and teeth.

what happened? what happened? what’s the point of asking now when it’s all been said and done. how long am i supposed to carry this black mark? until everyone around me deigns to let me bury it? i’m not a fucking child.

it’s not an explanation, which is what vladimir is after. he would know, however, if he had bothered to answer august any of those times. he would know, he would have known, if he hadn’t left august in their bed that morning at the warwickshire summer palace and run from everything they’d ever touched. they’d had the world world in their hands in that bed, in that room, in that place of stolen summer outside of time, outside of life itself. they could have had — everything. everything august had to give. and he gave it, and vladimir looked him in the eye and decided it was not for him.

you made a mistake. everybody makes them. even me. i’ve made many. it’s only fair that you made one.

he feels each word grate right through him, each syllable catching on his skin like little knives, the thin strand keeping him tethered to the present grinding down into dust and bone. he doesn’t blame vladimir for what happened to him. he blames him for leaving. but it’s a mistake that vladimir won’t — can’t acknowledge because to do that, he would have to admit to the thing he doesn’t want to say, or can’t say, and august can’t make him say it. that’s what made him do it, the first night at that grimy, filthy club in the berlin underground. that’s what made him want to trade his soul for just a night of rapture so euphoric he wouldn’t have to remember how fucking miserable it was to be unloved by the one person you thought you were meant for. but then, it’s never just one night is it? it couldn’t have been. you don’t get over something like that with one goddamn night.

(  if august were honest, and his heart not surrendered, he would say it was this, too: that vladimir could walk away from them, has always been able to walk away, and think nothing of it. him. that vladimir had found purpose and higher meaning in something other than themselves and the stupid, foolish, boyish dreams they used to talk about like they might someday happen. that august had disappointed him somehow by, what, not being enough? not living up to the unearned greatness that vladimir saw in him and was supposedly the only person in the world who could? that vladimir would forge a path for himself in life that diverged from august and not feel his soul rending itself in half to be half a world away from him, and survive it. — it was enough to ruin him then, it still ruins him now.  )

“if you’ve come all this way just to lecture to me, you can sod the fuck off back to phuket or hanoi or fucking antarctica if that’s what you want. maybe there’s some disease-riddled penguins out there that you can save to sate your saviour complex. saint francis of assisi. a non-shitty mother teresa. malala.”

he’s exhausted before the first word leaves his mouth, strung out just with the effort of starting, but he can’t stop them now any more than he can stop the hunger and thirst clawing at his head howling for a drop of blood, a pound of flesh, any part of him that it can cannibalise in retribution for starving. it’s easier to be cruel than to be wounded, better to be the conqueror than the fallen — but right now it just feels like he is going through his twelfth or two hundredth day of withdrawal and the boy he loves has come back but not the way august wanted and not the way he wants to be wanted. it hurts just to look at him, it hurts to have him looking back. every part of his body aches with dependence, codependence. they’re the definition of it. see what happens to me when you are not in my life?

alexander lay on hephaestion’s bed for three days. but you are not him. you are just a spoiled, arrogant, silver-spooned nothing who will never amount to greatness, glory, or anything at all. it is no wonder he would not have you.

his rage breaks, like sea foam crashing against cliffs; it rends and shatters down the fault line mapped throughout his body, the one that winds from his throat to his sternum, down to his thighs and feet, and aches forever mostly at his heel. helpless to the unbidden trembling of his hands as he curls them around the sheets of his bed, unmoored. he looks small and disarmed, more lost than he’s ever been with vladimir by his side. it doesn’t mean the same thing anymore, does it? not if he cannot make vladimir stay. whatever they had between them — is it damaged, now. they could rebuild it, but the foundations would still bear the memory of where the cracks lie. he would still remember this look on vladimir’s face.

he has looked at him a thousand times, and there has always been an echo reverberating between them. the wavelength of an elegy he knows the words to like they are writ upon heartbeat, upon headstone. there have been other faces, but vladimir’s eyes have always been the same. fathomless as distant stars in an entire universe light years away and yet close enough to touch if he dared to. if it is fate, or circumstance, or a reiteration of the immortality that stands between them and their freedom, then he already knows how this ends. vladimir knows it, too. it doesn’t make him want it any less. it doesn’t make him suffer for it any less. this ache he has spent an eternity chasing after, this feeling of being so incandescently alive that even death cannot keep them apart, this is what vladimir ran from. augustus cannot blame him. if he was not the one who always outlived him, he’d do the same.

“is this why you came back? because you think you can save me, too?”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Mechanical Dragon (Part 3)

She finds it hard to remember anything at all these days, she’s been here for so long. Her face is covered in many layers of grime. The foul stench of the place won’t leave her nose, she can almost taste it. Mostly she finds herself completely alone, an unexpected brand of anguish. She believes that it has been at least a month since she has seen anyone, even her captor. She wonders fleetingly (and not hopefully) if someone is looking for her. For company she only has the centi-worms and spider-ants--and if she’s particularly unlucky an elephant-rat or two. It is wearing away at her mind in a new way. She has been alone before, she recalls that much. But never completely. Back when she had been a human being she at least had nurses pretending to care. She had at least been able to see another human. Presently she isn’t even sure that there are any people in the world at all. Somewhere in her mind she thinks that she might be the only creature left. Left and waiting for her ration of unsavory food to reach its end. She has been doing her best to conserve it, but the heap of food is growing smaller. Sometimes the elephant-rats help themselves to her food, she supposes that it is better than the few days when they had nibbled on the pelts and her skin beneath them.

Eventually, with the help of the rodents, her food does run out. For three days now she has been without and is almost starting to miss the rancid taste of it.

At last the old woman joins Azula again and she sees why it has taken so long for her captor to get back.

The woman takes her time in setting up and Azula spends it in dread. She shivers recalling their last embroidery session. Faintly, her chest still gives a few phantom throbs at the thought of the needle.

Inhale. Exhale.

This time the mantra does nothing at all to alleviate the fear. She is hard pressed to level her breathing at all. The old woman’s antics only agonize her worse with each progression; Azula struggles to come up with something worse than their last encounter. Unfortunately her warden isn’t as unimaginitive.

The old woman clicks her tongue a few times, a sickly noise if Azula had to comment. But she doesn’t, she has learned to hold her tongue. Whoever she was before, under here, in this hole, she has no voice.

No right to one.

She knows this.

She knows that her words will only lead her to hurt more.

Today, though, is a special day. A grisly day.

The man is there too. As per usual he ogles her, makes her feel generally squeamish. His hand brushes over her back between her shoulder blades. His touch makes her shudder, still she says nothing. The woman grumbles something and draws herself a paint brush. She mutters something else to the man and draws two small circles; one for each shoulder blade, just a little off center.

Azula’s eyes fall on the woman’s newest find. She wonders if the woman had actually come across a dragon for the man to slay or if it is simply a very elaborate, well-crafted costume piece. A closer look tells her that they are no dragon wings at all, but rather, rotten and pockmarked wolf-bat wings. The bones protrude where those demons had ripped them from their sockets. “This dragon won’t fly.” She hisses into Azula’s ear. The princess believed that her flight ended long ago. She feels herself falling deeper within. It’s the only thing she can do to protect herself. The old woman comes to face Azula, her Oni mask renders her as a presence even more menacing. She dips her paintbrush in red and sweeps it across Azula’s face from the corner of her mouth in an upward curve and repeats the stroke on the left side. “I missed that smile…”

The woman rubs Azula’s head. First she cuts the little of Azula’s hair that had grown back. She is not careful and knicks the former princess’ scalp constantly. The princess can ignore this, she is used to this kind of pain these days.

.oOo.

She knows that she is in for a whole new world of strife when the man holds her steady and rigid. Apparently the X bindings no longer suffice. Azula squeezes her eyes shut. She doesn’t like what she hears and she doesn’t want to see it too.

The drill meets her back with a relentless fury. Her body gives an impulsive jerk, one that is futile against the man’s hold. In some twisted irony she is thankful for his jarringly tight grip, it is the only thing that had, and continues, to save her from flinching and widening the drill’s circumference of damage. Her skin squashes and suckels as the drill fights its way in. The blades must be horrifically sharp if they can grind away at her muscle tissue. The drill bit is wedged deeply near her left shoulder blade, it is massive and she wonders if she can survive the hole it left in her back. She is already weak, she has already lost so much energy and blood to this place. She can’t really see herself lasting much longer.

Somehow the thought is more comforting than fear inducing.

Her elderly abductor sets the drill to the side, and with more force than a little old woman ought to have, jams the wolf-bat wing into the opening she’d just created. Azula shrieks, an agonized wail that splits her already hoarse throat. Her breathing grows dangerously erratic. She feels sick and light-headed. And merciful she drifts away from her distressing reality.

.oOo.

She wakes up unbound and sprawled out on the floor, face down. Her back still throbs; she can feel the pain encompassing her upper neck to her mid back, spanning even to her chest, and finding a heart at the two puncture marks by her shoulder blades. She can barely move, if she shifts even slightly, the wings do too and a fresh barrage of stabs fork up and down her back. Instead she lies as still as possible, sobbing.

She just wants to go home. Wherever that is.

Even her wails are too violent for her fragile body. The wrack it and rock the wings in the most unpleasant way, beginning a cycle. One where she cries and shakes, moving the wings so that the pain intensifies, which induces another choking sob that displaces the foreign appendages more.

She fights to stop them, a battle that wears her down even further. But she has won.

Eventually her cries slow.

She fixes her eyes on the slits in the wall and stares blankly. The last rays of day are fading, she longs for the world they come from.

Some hours from then she will drag herself to the slit, reach her hand--now thin enough to fit--out, and grasp at sunlight.

Some hours from now, by chance--the same luck she supposedly had--her hand will be spotted by a lone figure.

[trippin-over-my-fandoms]

White Winter Hymnal

(also on AO3)

— — —

November 1988

He holds the steering wheel with the same white knuckle grip he’s had the last three and a half hours, navigating dark and slippery back roads while the Impala’s windshield wipers fight against the heavy snow. John isn’t sure which he’s more worried about; the case that waits for him in Lovell, the mess he’s left behind in Sioux Falls, or the two little boys asleep in the backseat.

The boys, definitely the boys, he thinks as a shiver runs through his whole body, fingertips feeling like ice when he takes one hand from the wheel to adjust his coat tighter around himself. He doesn’t dare turn around in the seat to check on them, not wanting to risk what could happen if he takes his eyes off the slick road for more than a second. Instead he flicks his gaze to the rearview mirror he angled towards them miles ago for this very reason. Every few seconds he checks the reflection, making sure they’re safe.

Young Dean sits slouched on the bench behind the driver’s side, face pressed against the cold glass of the back window and mouth slack. He’s completely relaxed as he snores ever so slightly, his too big beanie pulled down over his eyes, and his favorite bright red blanket slowly slipping off of his shoulders with each bump in the road. Sam is curled up opposite him, laying against the leather seat in a tight ball, wrapped in at least two blankets on top of his three layers of clothing. Every once and a while his eyes will open sleepily, taking in his surroundings when John hits a particularly deep pothole he can’t see in the snow that wakes Sam up only to drift back into a light sleep.

He should have left them with Bobby, John thinks, it would have been better for them. It was most of the time anyhow. John was a fool but he wasn’t stupid enough to the point he couldn’t recognize that Bobby did a better job of taking care of his children than he could himself. At least they’d be warm there. He was going to leave them, too. Lovell Wyoming wasn’t far from Sioux Falls, he’d have been back for them within the week. They could have spent the storm safely indoors and played in the paper white aftermath all the next morning. But Dean begged to come with him and Sam had nearly started crying when he realized John was going to leave without them again.

:readmore:

John didn’t have it in him to let them go so they’d be truly safe but he didn’t have it in him to give up getting revenge for Mary neither. It was bad enough he’d never sleep soundly again knowing what’s out there, all the things that pose danger to his precious boys.

Damn these empty roads, they really got him in headspaces he didn’t want to be. John checks the mirror again, no change.

The storm, that’s what’s important right now, he reminds himself. Focusing on not crashing the car, struggling between speeding up to get there faster or slowing down to be safer. They were probably miles from town and running out of gas quickly, a reality John had realized when the sun was still up, when they had pulled over to get the spare blankets out of the trunk to keep warm. Having the heat on would burn too much gas. The previous station was too far behind them and the next to far past them. John certainly was a fool when he had thought the tank was full enough this morning. His only option was keep going without the heat in the freezing cold and hoping Lovell wasn’t much further.

John checks the mirror once more, meeting Sam’s gaze in the split second he looks. He’s fully expecting him to go back to sleep like he had the last few times he woke up through the night but he doesn’t. Instead, John hears from behind him, “Daddy,” a soft whimper, “I’m cold.”

“I know buddy,” John sighs, shifting in his seat. Why can’t they be in town already? He needed to get those boys warmed up and put them properly to bed for the night. He curses himself for taking a job so far out, curses himself for giving in and letting them come along, curses the weather, the distance, his foolishness in the early morning when he made the judgement he didn’t need more gas, that they’d be fine, they’d reach Lovell in plenty of time.

The exchange seems to have woken Dean up. John hears movement behind him followed closely by a whispered, “Come ‘ere Sammy,” glancing at the mirror yet again to see Sam shuffling across the seat to press into Dean’s waiting side. John watches Dean fuss with getting their blankets situated, making sure Sam is nice and tucked him before wrapping his arm around him.

It gets quiet again, it’s just the thud of the windshield wipers and the purr of the Impala’s engine, their only ambient noise. John keeps his focus on the road, surely they were getting close, it couldn’t be much farther now. They’d been driving all day, it was only a twelve hour trip, how there hadn’t been any sight of town yet was both bizarre and frustrating. John prayed he hadn’t passed it by somehow.

Yet again he checks the mirror, hoping the boys have fallen back asleep, warmer now that they sat together and dreaming of something far away from all this cold. Except, they haven’t. Both of them watch the snow as it passes by the window, looking utterly miserable huddled together. It breaks his heart enough he begins to slow the car down.

His little vigilante soldier, the ever observant Dean, perks up when he notices the change in speed. “Are we there?” He asks, looking around out the windows as John pulls the car to the side of the road and to a stop. Dean cranes his neck in his search, careful not to disturb Sam. John assumed he was looking for their hotel of the week, thinking they had made it to town.

John shakes his head as he shifts into park then flexes his stiff fingers as he lets go of the steering wheel, “Not quite yet, son,” he tells him, reaching out to the dial on the dash and turning on the heat. It’s only on the lowest setting but even just the little bit that comes out is an incredible relief, “It’s getting late, probably too far to keep going. We’re just gonna sit here for now, alright?” John twists in his seat to watch for Dean’s reaction, making sure he understood. The little boy nods and nestles in closer to his baby brother, who’s already falling back asleep next to him.

Knowing the two of them are at least somewhat content is a rare relief that washes over John like a wave, crashing down and melting the tension he’s been holding the whole drive.

John sits back right in his seat, leaning across the bench to the glove compartment on the passenger side and retrieves his journal from inside. He begins to fill in the remaining details he forgot from the last case and what he already knows about the next one. He didn’t plan on sleeping, he was going to stay up and watch over the boys, make sure that nothing happened to the car and that they didn’t freeze to death in the night. He would have to figure out the gas situation in the morning. Maybe he’d call the hotel to see how far out they were and if they could get some sent to them or at least someone to pick them up. Perhaps even a tow for the Impala, John hates to be without his heavier equipment for jobs just in case they’re harder to handle than he initially thought.

Of course, come morning when he makes whatever phone calls he has to, be it to town or nearby hunters, he’ll let the boys throw snowballs and build snowmen that wave at passing traffic while they waited. For now he lets them rest, lulled into a deep sleep by the hum of the engine as they idled on the side of the road.

[assass-is-here]

Where do we start?

What is a story without a beginning? Without an ending? Well, that would be life. When we are born, that is not the beginning, for there has been a whole other story leading up to that moment. When we die, that is not the end, for our memories, our influence continues to move the story along, even though we are not there to do anything. There is no beginning. There is no ending. There is simply where we decide to start telling the story, and where we decide to stop. So, that leads to the question: Where do we start telling this story? We could start from the day he was born; the day he drew his first breath as his first tear fell down his face. He had gone from such a sheltered and warm environment to this cold, godforsaken world. Or maybe the day his mother first struck him. He remembers the burning sensation in the back of his throat from trying to hold back his tears more than that of his left cheek. He knew if he were to start crying, the little baby girl in his arms would start crying as well, making his mother even more mad. He didn’t blame her. How could he? This was his mother. He pitied her. This was the only way she was coping with the death of his father. It wasn’t healthy, but he prefered she took it out on him rather than herself. It was from this age- the age of 8 that he learned to be stone. No more emotions that were his own. Only that of his baby sister’s and his mother’s. Perhaps we start on the day his mother left the picture. Emotions where her true enemy. All she felt in her small and insignificant life was misery. She wanted to be with the only man- the only person that made her feel alive anymore. Unfortunately, he was still dead, so she decided to join him in the sweet release of death. Who would care for the two children? The boy wasn’t old enough to provide for himself, let alone another life. Perhaps we start at the day that eventually, they came for him. They split him and his baby sister up. He remembers the cries that came from her raspy throat as they pried her from his arm. His arms. The only home she had ever known her entire life. He watched as the overjoyed couple bounced her in their arms in attempt to soothe her. This was the last he saw of her. He was less fortunate. Moved from house to house in what he later learned was called, “foster care.” This life continued until the age of 18, when he was finally able to leave these shelters that people had asked him to call his temporary home. Maybe this is where we start. There are an infinite amount of places to start this story. Should we start from the day his baby sister lets loose of the life she had been trying so hard to hold together? She was right in his arms. They had finally found each other again, and the next thing he knew, her limp, lifeless, and cold body was laying in his arms. No. That’s too far. That's where we shall end this story. Yes, now I know. I’ll start telling this story from the time he opened the door. He was 25 and a half. Making it by as much as he could, being a young adult with no actual career. Three days after was his baby sister’s 18th birthday. He made a note of it every year. He found that date more important than his own birthday. Yes, he didn’t know her- not at all, but he still loved her. Or maybe he was more in love with the memory of her. She was the only thing that had brought him happiness. His memory of her was the only thing that made him smile throughout the years. The thought that she was most likely happy made him happy. He distinctly remembers the soft knock at his door. He was in his apartment in Seattle. It was cold, as it was January 30th. His cheap apartment didn’t exactly have the best heating system, so bundling up in layers of blankets was the best he could do. He must have had at least four layers on, including the two layers of clothes he had underneath his two blankets. Removing the extra two layers, he sluggishly made his way over to his door in his grey sweat pants and dark blue sweatshirt. Underneath were even more clothes. He peeked through the little peep-hole. There she stood. He didn’t know it, but this was her. The girl he thought about every single cold day of his damned life. He unlocked the door. At that moment, his cold, blue eyes met with the warmest pair of brown eyes he’d ever seen. Her complexion was that of a porcelain doll. She had freckles scattered all across her cheeks and nose. She could have passed for a natural red head, where it not for the fact that her hair was brownish/black in color. It was much like his own. He took note of the fact that she kept her hair short and fluffy, while he kept his locks long. She was very short. Maybe 5 feet tall? Maybe a little taller? He couldn’t tell. He could see her take in a quick and sharp breath. What would he had done, had he known who she was the moment he saw her? What would he had done had he known before he even heard the knock on the door? Would he have hid? Would he have been overjoyed? She was frail, he could tell. Scared of her own shadow. She looked young. What was she doing out here all alone? The way she squeaked and stuttered as she tried her very best to muster up all the courage she could told him just how scared she was. “He-Hello- Hi- Uhm-” She swallowed as she averted her eyes. “My-My name is- Uhm- Noa-” One quick glance at his sharp and piercing eyes and she hid back in her shell. “I’m uhm- I’m looking for uhm- for Donovan?” It really caught his attention. The way those names sounded, and together at that. He never thought he would hear them together again. All at once, he could tell. Those were the same big brown eyes he once looked at as a child. The eyes he thought he missed oh-so-much. Now though, he was facing the reality of being reunited with someone he hadn’t seen in almost 20 years. It’s a terrifying feeling. It truly is. He couldn’t stop looking at her stunning face. She had grown up to be such a beautiful young woman. This- the person standing in front of him- this was someone to be proud of. Thoughts consumed his mind. Thoughts of how disappointed she’ll be when he tells her- and he eventually will have to. He watched as she started growing uncomfortable. This was going downhill so fast. He didn’t know what to do. He had to say something- and quick at that. Not giving himself much time to even think about it, he sputtered, “Me.” She looked up one more time, her eyes bearing into his as she asked, “Donovan?” He took one huge gulp. One he was sure she would be able to hear. One nod. That was the extent of his courage. One single nod. She drew in one big breath. It was so big, her shoulders raised along with her chest. A forced smile spread across her lips. A shaky hand shot out in his direction. “My name is Noa- I mean- I guess I already told you that-” Giggles. She giggles. Sure, they were nervous giggles, but he never knew that such a sound could be music to his ears. “I don’t know if you uhm-” A swallow. “-if you remember me, but I’m your-” “Happy birthday.” He finally did it. He muttered some actual words. The expression of shock spread across her face. He probably wasn’t much different though. One glance down at her hand, and he found that he was acting before his brain could process it. It was like a reflex. He grabbed it and pulled her into a hug- something he’s been told he was not capable of because he had “no heart.” Even though he could feel every single tiny muscle in her body tense up, he had never felt so right in his life until now- having her in his arms. Slowly, he pulled her away. Just one more look. He knew this moment wouldn’t last long at all, so he wanted to memorize every single detail before his happiness was torn away from him once again. Her eyes welled up with tears. Even if this might not be as emotional for her, it was still emotional for him, and that truly meant a lot to her. He had remembered her birthday. Almost 20 years later, and he still remembered. It then hit him. He was vulnerable. That wasn’t something he was used to, and he wasn’t sure he liked it all that much. With a clear of the throat, he stepped back. No more contact. He was what everyone associated him with: stone. He wouldn’t dare look at her now. He already knew. Her eyes were burning into his face with confusion. I mean, who wouldn’t be confused? Grabbing the door, he asked, “Why are you here?” no love in his voice like there was a moment ago. She shrunk back and answered, “We-We need to talk…”