#opposite weekend

[mournus]

"Ronan, come on. I know ye're pissed and hate me but..." It was then that Callum took a closer look at the lump on the ground below him. He squinted. What were all those plants around--"BLEEDIN' HELL!" In a fraction of a second Callum was scrambling back down the rocks, trying to move as carefully he could in his haste to reach Ronan before the vines consummed him. "RONAN! WAKE UP! WAKE UP RIGHT NOW!"

Ronan only falls into a deeper sleep, more exhausted and drained than he ever has been before. The vines continue their way around his body, covering him inch by inch, slowly claiming him as part of the land.

[mournus]

It was such a brilliant plan. He'd climb up alongside the rock and then pull Ronan up once he reached the top. It could only be the pixies' fault that the last damn ledge between him and the summit was /just/ out of his reach, even with the rope. It was only a foot tops, but he'd need a boost. Damn it all to hell. Callum sighed and looked down at the lump that was his unwilling partner. "Ronan," he called, voice neutral and even. The climb had dissipated his anger and annoyance.

What normally would have been a struggle does not come with difficulty. His sleep had been encouraged, and even more so, his paranoia faded with it. In his slumber he does not feel the vines that wrap around his body, keeping him still and pressing him deep into the ground.

[mournus]

All right, Callum thought once his rope was finished, staring up at the rock. You will not defeat me. Ever so carefully--and thanking god he always wore boots--he began to climb the smaller rocks. As long as he the climb remained relatively easy, the rope would remain looped over his arm. He'd only use it to ease himself over particularly difficult patches or places where the rocks were too far apart for him to navigate them without help.

He lays on his side, curled up and trembling. Whatever. It’s fine. Eyes close and he attempts sleep. But this foreign place with foreign noises and foreign creatures fills him with paranoia. What is he meant to do? What could he do? Try harder. Squeeze his eyes shut. Ball up. Force it.

[mournus]

@wildroseofarran

Callum worked in silence, ignoring Ronan completely. He wasn’t about to waste energy on an argument that would get them exactly nowhere. He was always going to be the villain of Ronan’s story, always. Trying to change his mind was a fool’s errand.

Though he supposed the same could be said about trying to get up that giant rock without any help. But at least there he had a chance. The rock wasn’t clinging to hatred for unfathomable reasons.

When his rope–composed of vines and flexible branches that he’d woven together–was nearly complete, Callum began to think of a way to use it. The rock was too tall for him to try to attach it at the top, but maybe he could inch his way up alongside it using the smaller rocks that surrounded it.

If Ronan knew Callum’s thoughts, he’d spit on him and tell him he thought too highly of himself. Ronan’s villains were a handful of old men. Mirrors. Himself. He’d sooner call Fletcher a villain in his story than Callum. That’s giving him too much credit, too much attention, too much recognition. No, Callum deserved less. He deserved one single chapter in Ronan’s life that went on for three and a half pages.

Eventually, he manages to dry his eyes, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he stares out at the strange sky and forces himself to imagine beautiful things. Matheus. His arm around his shoulder, his lips to his cheek. Luke. No Fletcher. Guildias. No Callum. Emmanuel and his little kid, Jude, or whatever the fuck her name had been. Tristan. Salt. It only makes him feel more empty.

[mournus]

@wildroseofarran

In a normal situation, Callum would feel bad for upsetting Ronan. It wasn’t like Ronan had ever felt bad for upsetting him, but still. And in a normal situation, he never would’ve upset Ronan at all, because that would mean saying things he wouldn’t ever say, no matter how nice it would be to not be the one crying and hurt for once.

Now he was filter-less, stuck in the freezing Fae realm with someone who despised him, Ronan was crying, and the only source of warmth was out of reach. Great. Juuust great.

Callum zipped up his jacket and began gathering anything that could be easily be fashioned into a rope. He was getting up there.

Callum could do whatever the fuck he wanted. Try and climb the rocks. Fucking die for all he cared. Ronan will find the nearest patch of hidden ground and slump himself down on it. Knees to his chest and face buried in his folded arms.

He had forgotten this feeling. He had forgotten how it felt to be hopeless, to have nobody and nowhere. Matheus had helped him forget. He was remembering it, though. It was all too clear and familiar, the cruel sharp nails of depression that dig into his shoulders controllingly. 

Have it your way, Callum. That’s how things always turned out, right? Wonderful fucking Callum gets what he wants yet again. Wonderful fucking Callum will set them free from this place. Wonderful Callum will be the fucking hero and save everyone and be the great man everyone knows him to be! Perfect Callum! Everyone loves him! Everyone gathers around to hear him sing! He can do no wrong! Incredible Callum! Blah blah blah! It’s like Callum is being rewarded for not being abused, for not being mentally unwell, for not spending each day being tortured by his own mind. What the fuck did Callum deserve? Why couldn’t Ronan catch a fucking break?

[mournus]

Another sigh, this time accompanied by a head shake. "Let's see how well that works out. I told him Guildias wasn't the one he had to worry about. Maybe now he'll believe that." The gods weren't giving his patience quickly enough. "So you'd rather stay here in the cold with me than go home? That's what I'm gatherin' from this. You hate me more than you love yer fiance. In fact you hate me so much, you'd rather be stuck here takin' shots at me than cooperate long enough to get home to him."

What? He told Matheus that? And so easily, tears start to form in Ronan’s eyes. He takes a deep breath and lets it subside into anger. He’d pounce on him, but he’d only end up getting hurt for every blow he lands. Normally, he’d adore that. But this isn’t a normal situation.

Instead, Callum is shoved as Ronan walks past him. In a single breath he had told Matheus that he’d hurt him, while also saying that Guildias felt nothing for him. Good job, Callum. You ripped his heart out.

[mournus]

Callum sighed. Gods give him patience. "Yer fiance then. I don't think he would appreciate it considerin' the lengths he's gone to in order to insure domestic bliss for you both." He frowned at Ronan. "Why wouldn't we go up there? I don't want to be a bloody popsicle in the Fae realm. Do you?"

“He’s not perfect. But I love you. So I wouldn’t fuck Guildias jus’ to get back at your dead body.” how sweet. Ronan’s a real charmer.

“I’m alive. Bein’ cold bothers me.” he shrugs and smirks. “An’ I don’t like seein’ you cold an’ upset.”

[mournus]

"I don't think Matheus would think verra highly of you if you did," said Callum, rubbing his hands together as he followed Ronan's gaze. The damn Fae had to be getting buckets of enjoyment from this. Why else would they put warmth so out of reach? He sighed. "All right, let's get up there. Any suggestions?"

“Say his name.” No. Don’t fucking say his name. You don’t deserve to say Matheus’ name. You don’t deserve shit with your ugly little voice and stupid fucking mouth.

Ronan felt as though he could get up there alone. If he climbed fast enough it wasn’t as if gravity could suddenly not like him. But... they’re not on Earth. They’re in Druid land. The rocks would probably crumble out of spite.

The reaper shrugs. “We could go up there.” We could just not go up there.