May 9, 2021
Moments like this
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Moments like this
@duskregrets { Teresa } said: “I know it’s supposedly bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding— but how do I look?”
“That’s what they say and yet here you are anyway,” he answers in mild [ and amused ] exasperation, eyes closing. “I’m not going to look. I’m not.”
While not superstitious himself, after all, there is a custom to these things––a certain way in which they’re supposed to be done––and if they’re going to do this right then they’re going to do this right.
[ @duskregrets liked this post for a starter ]
It was quite a spectacle to be certain. The drumming and dancing and singing, if one might call it that––Babkak, Omar, Aladdin, and Kassim!––and the overall execution of it.
And so, as it is, he certainly knows the name the other claims for his own, and yet, when the performance draws to a close, he finds himself drawn towards the other despite his brothers’ attempts to convince him of the possible danger.
What if it’s some sort of trick, Cyrus?
Perhaps we should find mother first…
Unsurprisingly, risk considered and then promptly ignored, he steps before the trio and addresses their current ringleader, the other––Aladdin––having slipped away.
“Who are you? And why do you have my face?”
“If you mean to play some game or other with magic, I can assure you that you’ve chosen the wrong opponent.”
@duskregrets { Teresa } asked: ❛ if i were you , i wouldn’t love me neither . ❜
Were it any other time, any other circumstance, it would be an exceedingly odd statement to be spoken with her arms wrapped around him, holding him close to her, his head on her chest and his own arm wrapped around her.
Were it any other time, he wouldn’t still feel the sharp stab of pain in his chest at the words or the weight of what Devon had so kindly exposed at the winery: Teresa had used him from the start.
I won’t ask why. Camila’s right hand man. It was the smart play.
James had spoken the truth last night. He perfectly understands why she did it. Hell, in some strange, maybe twisted way, he can respect it, the cleverness, the drive. She was in a bad place, she was vulnerable, and that was the surest way to hedge her bets. Because if there’s anything he knows with certainty about Teresa, she’s a survivor, and she did what she had to so that she could survive.
But… It wasn’t as simple as that.
It started that way, but now…
But now, w h a t ?
I haven’t been faking anything with you for a while now.
If he can believe her––and how desperately he wants to––her own game turned against her. She started out manipulating him, and then… it wasn’t a manipulation anymore.
It was real.
And now, here she is, quite literally naked and vulnerable, and he can hear her heartbeat just beneath his ear… Here she is, still holding him, telling him that she couldn’t blame him if he doesn’t love her.
Slowly, carefully, he begins to move, though not away. Any distance might shatter them both now, when their souls are so completely intertwined, one with the other, and certainly after the revelations of last night. No, he needs the closeness, and so he simply shifts to one side a little that he can prop up on his elbow to look at her. His other arm still at her waist, calloused fingertips slowly begin to trace aimless patterns over the rises and dips of her ribcage, his eyes wander over her for a moment before seeking her gaze, his own a tumult of hurt and need and wariness… something more than that. Something so much more.
“… I do,” he says at last and, somehow, the words are deliberate and his voice is steady even if a little thick, a little heavy.
“… I do love you…”
He allows the words to linger for a moment, to settle, before he continues.
“This… This doesn’t change that. I don’t know that anything could anymore… But there are things I need to know. Answers I need from you…”
@duskregrets { Teresa } said as she screams in the woods: “I’m a damsel, I’m in distress, I can handle this. Have a nice day!”
“If you can handle it, then why are you screaming? That doesn’t quite seem like something being handled. At least, not well,” he says, brow furrowed in utter confusion as he stares at the young… nature spirit? nymph? minor goddess?
He can’t quite decide what she is yet, but there’s an ethereal sort of quality to her, a luminescence, a grace and a magnetism that certainly isn’t possessed by any mortal. [ She’s beautiful. Beyond beautiful, in fact. ]
Though how strange she is! It isn’t every day that someone like her decides to step into this particular clearing––a hidden entrance to his domain only just behind those rocks––that she may begin to scream at nothing.
“For that matter, why are you screaming at all? What’s wrong? Why are you in distress? I could hear you all the way from–– my home. I could hear you all the way from my home.”
[ Perhaps it’s best not to lead with my home that is also the Underworld. He would hate to frighten her… ]
a starter for @duskregrets { Teresa }
He doesn’t remember exactly when the world went dark. One moment, he had been desperately trying to focus on Teresa’s face beyond the fog and the next… nothing.
The return to consciousness is a slow, arduous, and not exactly steady climb. He remembers vague flashes of almost wakefulness. He remembers pain. A ragged sound… had that been him screaming? He has a fleeting thought of fighting, struggling to no avail. A quiet voice, assuring him it would be okay. He’s doing well. It’s almost over. He doesn’t remember anything more for a while. Just snatches of conversation.
“—as close. Barely—“
“—e wake up?”
“—t and see. It’s––”
He loses track of time. Doesn’t know how long it is before he has some idea once more that there’s a world outside the darkness.
Fingers twitch, eyelids flutter, and then there’s a soft but rather disgruntled sound that precedes bleary brown eyes peeking out from under dark eyelashes, framed by skin that is clammy and far too pale. Those eyes wander the room, aimless and unfocused before they shift to his arm, the feeling of an IV drawing his attention… Of course… then his gaze moves to just beside his arm and his breath catches, a whole gordian knot of emotions tangling up in his chest, knotted so tight around his heart that it almost hurts.
It’s been almost a year. At the start of his repayment to Devon, he had hoped––almost every day––that it wouldn’t be too much longer. That he would be another day closer to being able to return, maybe to tell her everything and hope she would understand. To let her know that she wouldn’t have to worry about Finch now.
But then the days drew on and he felt heavier and heavier and heavier, and it wasn’t long before he doubted if he would return at all, even if Devon did release him. The things he had done… the blood on his hands… How could he ever work for her again? How could he ever stand in the same room as her again, look her in the eye, and pretend that he could ever again be what she thought he could be…
And yet… here he is… and here she is, head against her arm as it rests on the bed, and––
He swallows hard, a ghost of an almost smile appearing despite himself even as mistiness fills his eyes.
Her other hand holds his own.
She’s here, holding his hand, and he can almost pretend that nothing had changed. That everything was like it had been in Phoenix. Or, at least, like it had been before her trip to Bolivia.
Almost.
His right hand, the hand not currently held by hers, he raises and starts to reach to touch her arm––
… only to come up short with a sharp hiss of pain.
starter for @duskregrets { Jonah }
"This is both embarrassing and terrifying," he begins with an exasperated sigh, his patience at last tested beyond endurance.
He just came to this godforsaken store for some extra ammo, and, instead, he's had to watch this sales associate bungle his way through attempts to––not?––sell anything from the firearms counter.
"Hey. If you don't know what you're doing––and you clearly don’t––why don't just step aside and let someone handle this who does?"
He's already moving past the little gate and behind the counter, kneeling down to gather up the rounds of ammo that had hit the floor again and settle them back into the case with remarkable speed. Replacing the lid, he pushes once more to his feet and places the box of bullets into the employee’s hand even as he holds his other hand out to him.
“Keys.”
@duskregrets { Teresa } said: " nothing about what you've been through is easy. you don't need to push through anything... just rest. recover. heal. nobody is rushing you. okay? "
“I know that. I do. I just… I want to be better already. I have to… I have to deal with Cortez and fucking Pecas and I have to… I have to be there for you. I have to be able to watch your back and right now I can’t…”
There’s something in his voice that hurts at that, breaking on the last word as though that admission alone had irreparably damaged him where even Cortez and his methods of torture had failed.
“Every time you leave on business, I’m here and I don’t know if– I can’t protect you out there when I’m stuck in here.”