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[desmondbeaumont-blog]

ruthsheart‌:

The air around Des was so thick with tension, Ruth was surprised he wasn’t suffocating on it. She’d never had such a shy model before. It was a bit unnerving the way he’d pause and glance at her, his soft eyes wide and begging for help. A sympathetic ache squeezed at her heart. Pausing in her hurry to get Des posed, her hand poised on her sternum bone, she considered what this feeling could be. Were Des’ timid puppy-dog eyes actually working on her?

Pull yourself together, Ruth, she chastised herself. You know what he went through. Sort of. Don’t let it hurt you too. You’re stronger than that.

When she glanced back up at him, she had to let out a shocked cackle of laughter at the way he scuttled over to her in an awkward, bow-legged crab walk. “Saving the best part for last, are you? I’ll just have to wait and see~” It made no difference to her whether he decided to reveal or not. She only hoped he felt comfortable with his decision. The way he flinched beneath the gentle brush of her fingertips suggested that was not the case. Her round lips pursed into a tiny frown as she gingerly adjusted his direction. The hurt in her chest tried to claw up her throat, but she swallowed it back down with a forceful gulp. He hadn’t meant to recoil from her. It was merely an accident, at least, that’s what she hoped it was anyway. It wasn’t like Des to avoid her touch after grasping her hand so excitedly as they wandered through her family’s orchard just last week.

She stepped back to examine how the light played against Des’ angles, but didn’t make it far before Des’ nervous sense of humor struck again. Ruth burst into a melodic trill of giggles. She raised her hands beside her face, wriggling her fingers energetically. “Give them the old razzle-dazzle, sweetheart!” Grinning, she backpedaled on clumsy bare feet to stand by her easel, jazz hands outstretched in front of her. “Hmm… Arms…” With her fingers, she visually measured out the perspectives of light and dark.

“Des, look at me, babe,” she reminded him gently. In spite of the amused smile on her face, the hurt still lingered in her chest. “I know this might be a little… intimidating for you.” She continued on in a quiet, humming mutter. “But it’s okay. This is a safe space. It’s just you and me… and my little pencils.” Her giggles bubbled softly in her chest as she twirled a charcoal pencil between her long fingers. “You’re safe here. I promise, nobody will judge you.” For the first time, she looked him up and down, from head to toe. Her eyebrows raised in quiet surprise. His ribs rippled at the sides of his chest, hip bones stood out sharp and proud. He was thin, but where she had expected him to be modestly sized, he was defiantly well endowed. “I can’t make any promises for the pencils, though. They can be a touch sassy,” she continued on with a sweet smile as if she hadn’t noticed anything at all.

“Could you fold your hands behind your head for me? Like you’re lounging in a hammock on the beach… our beach, in the Bahamas.” Des always needed a bit more help setting the scene. Perhaps she could send him somewhere nice in this little fantasy, to take his mind off of her examining him. “You’re soaking up that nice warm sun and listening to the waves roll in and out.” His arms would form two pointed wings around his long neck and chiseled jaw, a heart-shaped semblance of a halo to draw the eye where it really mattered. In graphite, she began to scratch a rough outline onto the paper.

Des shifted his gaze to her, swallowing the tightness in his throat. He knew there wasn’t a reason to be nervous--that he was in a safe place. Just like when he was at Jude’s. Maybe, he was a little more exposed than he was comfortable with these days, but it was just skin and body parts. Besides, Ruth wasn’t even attracted to men, so, really, he was just a naked bloke standing in her living room. Not a big deal at all. He took a deep breath before giving her an easy smile, a quiet laugh bubbling from his lips. “As long as they get me right then I can handle a bit sass,” Des teased before licking his lips nervously. “And thanks. For that. I’m over-reacting,” He added. He would explain that it’s been ages since anyone saw him naked, but he was pretty sure Ruth didn’t want to hear about his sex life, or lack of sex life. 

Listening to her instructions, he positioned his arms and let his eyes slip shut, trying to put himself in the right mindset. It was a bit like the few shows he was in, preparing himself to get into character. He missed those days. He tried to imagine the feeling of the sun’s rays on his skin and sand digging into his back. Des and Ruth weren’t in a flat, but a serene beach in the Bahamas, and finally the tension fully eased from his body, leaving him pliant and relaxed. 

Des cracked an eye open when he felt a buzzing at his palms and realized that in his attempts to picture the sun, he accidentally conjured it from his hands, casting a soft glow around his head. “Whoops,” He laughed. “I don’t think that’s what you meant. I’ll just turn those off.”  

something strong is building where you belong

[desmondbeaumont-blog]

Autumn Equinox - September 22

Power Up: Darkness Manipulation

September 22nd marks the beginning of Libra season. The seventh sign of the zodiac, symbolized by the Scales, tends to be concerned with diplomacy, finding balance, and seeking justice.“You can’t have the light without the dark, and this season, as the day and nights are balanced, we’re asked to accept and love all sides of ourselves.”

During the last Autumn Equinox, Desmond’s PTSD led to a power overload–an explosion of light that resulted in a few months of darkness that he had no control over. Though, his light is back, the darkness will never be completely gone. It’s part of him now. This power up will focus on balance, giving Des control over both light and dark.

Darkness Manipulation:

User can create, shape and manipulate darkness and shadows. By itself, darkness is mostly used to cloud everything into total darkness, but by accessing a dimension of dark energy it can be channeled to a variety of effects, both as an absence of light and a solid substance: one can also control and manipulate the beings that exist there, create and dispel shields and areas of total darkness, create constructs and weapons, teleport one’s self through massive distances via shadows, etc.

It’s sunny, cool day. Not a cloud in the sky. Des takes advantage by eating his lunch on a bench in the courtyard. There’s nothing to listen to but his own thoughts, and he finds himself staring at his own shadow in a daze, taking in the the silhouette of his short, slim body, the curls on the top of his head a strange looking blob. He lets his thoughts wander, imagining what his shadow would looks like if he was just a little taller–if it’d take over the whole field or still be underwhelming. For a second, he thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him as he watches his shadow stretch longer, and longer, but as it takes over the expanse of the field, he realizes it’s not his imagination at all.

[desmondbeaumont-blog]

ruthsheart‌:

Oh, shoot.

It took a while for her words to sink in, but the look on Des’ face once they finally did was something akin to pure horror. Maybe, she should have told him. Ruth grimaced as she rocked forward and backward on her bare feet. In the back of her mind, she remembered a similar wide-eyed, pale and lifeless expression on his face years ago when she’d picked him up from the wild, disastrous party on the football fields. She bit her lower lip, trying not to feel guilty for inspiring such panic. “It’s not a big deal–for me, I mean.” She stepped in closer with tentative motions, like a rabbit cautiously approaching an offered carrot. Her eyes scanned his for signs of emotion. “I’m not expecting anything. It’s just a body. Everybody has one. I’ve drawn enough naked men to get the general shape figured out, anyway.” She smiled, hoping her grin came across as encouraging, rather than awkward.

She let out a huff of held breath at Des’ forced laughter. At least he seemed to be warming up to the idea. Who knew, maybe whatever pain that had twisted Des’ confidence against him had begun to subside. She’d seen glimpses of the bold, cheerful boy he had once been during their game in the orchard. It was pleasantly unusual, like a catchy song she’d never heard before. Not quite the thoughtless and over-confident party boy, yet not the feeble and frightened shut-in either, the Desmond Beaumont that met her in the garden was someone entirely new. Yet, the comfortable familiarity of his sultry dark eyes and wide smile had whisked her away into enchanting memories. When her class assignment caught her by surprise, asking she find a model as soon as possible, only one man came to mind.

She rolled her eyes with an amused smirk. “I know they aren’t all the same. I’m not daft.” Her grin widened as she silently thanked the Goddess that Des hadn’t scampered away like a frightened animal. Still, she had to be gentle. The timid shudder in his voice, though understandable, was unnerving. She didn’t want to send their rocky relationship off on another catastrophic wrong turn by being too pushy again. “That’s right, just toss your clothes on the couch there while I finish up setting the lighting. Then we’ll figure out where to put you so it all looks fantastic.”

She hoisted the chubby pumpkin in her arms and shuffled away to set it on the kitchen table, where she planned to do some intricate carving later on in the week. As she continued to bustle about, shoving aside her heavy paints chest and fidgeting with the lamp next to her easel, she spoke her thoughts in a bubbly flow of chatter. “I’m picturing something like a fashion shoot, but, like, sans the actual fashion? Solid background color, dynamic pose, maybe some accessories to move the eye across the image… I’m not really certain yet. You know how art is, it develops a life of its own as you make it. Okay-” She waved Des over to the lit wall with one hand while she brushed errant hair from her eyes with the other. “Come stand right here, my love.” As he approached, she reached out for his shoulders as if to pull him into a hug, but she kept her distance so that only the tips of her fingers rested on the balls of his shoulders. She nudged him a few inches over, then shifted his shoulders toward the light. “A little sideways, like this. Hmm. Little more. There. Perfect.”

Des didn’t move right away. Even though he warmed up to the idea, there still seemed to be a mental block as he shuffled over to the couch, fingers pausing at the hem of his hoodie. He waited for Ruth to walk off with the pumpkin before lifting it over his head and dropping it on the back of the couch. He only let himself look down at his bare chest for a moment before moving on to his pants. He was still toned, but there was some definite muscle loss after his few months spent mostly in bed. Hopefully, all the future footie practice would help. 

Biting his lower lip, Ruth’s voice sounded a little muffled in his head as he stared down at the clasp of his trousers, more focused on the next steps of his undressing process than her artistic vision. Taking a deep breath, he convinced himself it was like ripping off a plaster before undoing the clasp and shoving his trousers past his hips in one go. He stepped out of them, stumbling a little when they caught on his ankles before tossing them on the couch with his hoodie. Now, all that was left was his pants. Jesus, he was really taking his time with this, wasn’t he? He spared a glance in Ruth’s direction before quickly shucking those off too. Rather than throw them like his other clothes though, he carefully tucked them underneath his trousers, so they weren’t on display. 

The air was a little chilly on his bare skin, causing goosebumps to litter his arms. He looked down at his exposed hips and froze with his hands awkwardly in the air, unsure whether he should cover his front or his back. He awkwardly cupped a hand over both, not ready to expose himself fully to Ruth just yet. He shuffled over to her like a crab with a sheepish grin on his face. “Don’t want to give it all away just yet, right?” He laughed shakily, and nearly jumped a foot in the air when her hands rested on his shoulders. He stopped himself with the reminder that it was Ruth’s soft, caring touch, and not the rough, demanding one that he saw in his nightmares. The reminder only made him flinch a little, but he tried to disguise it with a weak smile as he let her direct her to the correct spot.

The longer her hands rested on his naked skin, the more comfortable he became, and a shiver ran down his spine. This time from the warmth of her hands and not the chill in the air. It brought him back to the night he saw flashes of tanned skin and warm brown eyes while kissing Jude. His body reacted to the mental image instantly, a flush reaching his cheeks. He forced himself to think about anything but that, because there would be no hiding his budding arousal. 

When she finally found the perfect position for him, he just stood there, hands still covering his more intimate bits before he finally forced himself to drop them to his sides. “Alright,” He cleared his throat nervously, refusing to look past his hips, as if it was someone else’s body and not his own, which was fitting because it felt like that most days. “What do I do with my hands? On my hips? By my sides? Jazz hands?” 

something strong is building where you belong

[desmondbeaumont-blog]

leo witch aesthetic (requested)

more here // request here

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ruthsheart‌:

If the events of the summer had prepared Ruth for anything, it was handling awkward situations. It had been a humiliating season. One that had taught her many hard lessons. Lesson one: Sometimes you need a helping hand.

Des, however, was probably not expecting her to spend her hard-earned favor for this kind of help.

Ruth moved the lamp three feet to the left, then stepped back to the other side of the room to observe how the positions of light cast angular shadows on her dummy subject, a pumpkin sitting atop a plastic chest of paints. She lifted a hand, finger and thumb extended into an L-shape, and examined the number of triangles cast across the floor and the lumpy, rounded surface. “Hmm, too harsh,” she decided, grimacing at the sharp corners and the drastic contrast. Des’ aesthetic was bright, but not so over-dramatic. She shuffled back into her bedroom to grab another lamp to offset the hard angles.

She carried out a tall floor lamp and plugged it in just as the knock came at the door. “Coming~!” Ruth flipped on the lamp before racing over to the door. She moved easily in her black shorts and grey cropped tank. Her paint-splattered silk robe fluttered behind her like a thin set of wings. She yanked the door open, bare feet stumbling backward with the force of her enthusiasm. “Oh Des, thank you, thank you, thank you for doing this for me! You’re doing me such a huge favor! I missed the session with the live model in class and if I don’t get this project turned in next week my professor will totally fail me!” Once Des stepped inside, she briskly shut the door behind him. “I’m so sorry to bother you with this, but I’ve already asked Marco to model so many times, the prof is starting to think I don’t branch out enough. Besides…” She spun back around, her hands wringing shyly behind her back as she looked Des in the eye. “People might get the wrong idea if I turned in a nude portrait of my twin brother.”

Her expression remained casual and sweet as she revealed the nature of the portrait session. She hadn’t mentioned it before, fearing Des might back out of the favor he owed her if he knew. Now that he was here, she could at least work her adorable pouty puppy-dog eyes to beg him to stay in the noble defense of her struggling grades. “But you don’t have to undress, if you don’t want to. It’s fine. I’ve painted enough male bodies, I know what they look like. I can just… imagine it, if you’d rather keep your pants on. I know, it’s such a weird request and not everybody’s comfortable with showing off.” She chattered away in a soft, bubbly tone of voice while she shuffled over to her dummy set-up and dragged the art supplies chest and the pumpkin away from center stage.

@desmondbeaumont

Of all the things Des thought Ruth might request for her favor, he never considered that modeling for a portrait would be one of them. There were loads of other blokes she could’ve chosen, particularly from their group. He understood why she chose him though, because he owed her, and it wasn’t like he could say no after making a big show of challenging her to hide and seek at the charity ball. 

He wasn’t sure what he should wear to model, so he settled on something simple, but hopefully striking enough to be considered attractive. At least he was finally out that phase where he needed to hide himself in Jude’s over sized jumpers. Des arrived at Ruth’s flat, clad in a fitted orange hoodie and dark wash skinny jeans. He thought the orange might be a fun pop of color, but what did he know? He didn’t know what the requirement was for this project other than needing a male model. 

As Des knocked, he wondered if they would ever reach that point again where he could just waltz on in. Though, he wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to reach that point. There were a million things he could walk in on Ruth doing, and all of them gave him an uneasy feeling--from being lost in a vision to dancing naked with forest animals for some ritual. As the door opened, he forced a grin that he hoped made him look ready to go, even if he felt completely out of place. “You don’t need to thank me. It was part of the deal, yeah?” Des stepped inside, gaze going to the pumpkin on the chest before turning to Ruth with a raised, inquisitive brow. 

Laughing quietly, he nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I could see how a nude painting of your brother might not come across--wait, what?” He whipped around to stare at Ruth with wide, fearful eyes. “You didn’t say anything about nude modeling.” It shouldn’t be a big deal. If it was a few years ago, Des would’ve jumped on the opportunity and had fun while doing it. But now? He could hardly look at himself most days. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he let himself stand in front of the mirror naked to give himself a good look. Him and his body--they just weren’t friends right now. With time to heal and his frequent therapy sessions, he was doing loads better than he was last winter, but he still had a lot of healing to do, and he had yet to shake the idea that his body was tainted. Des probably looked a little like a caged animal as he wrapped his arms around himself, wide eyes darting from Ruth to the pumpkin. He realized she was giving him out. He could keep his clothes on and she could put his head on a body that she conjured up from memory, but somehow that felt worse. Like he was regressing, rather than moving forward. He could practically hear his therapist in his head telling him the symbolism behind giving himself a new body.

Blinking rapidly, he untangled his arms from himself and laughed weakly. “Ruthie, I know men aren’t your thing, and our willies aren’t the nicest thing to look at, but we don’t actually all look the same,” He said evenly, only the slightest tremble in his voice. “There’s no way I’m letting you get my cock and arse wrong, I’m actually quite proud of those,” It was all false bravado, conjured from the years where he actually felt that way, but it did help the tension ease from his shoulders. Des moved to the pumpkin, patting it lightly before shifting into the lighting experimentally. “So what? Do I just shuck my clothes and sit here? Is there a pose I should be in? I’m guess your professor doesn’t want my legs all spread out,” He huffed a shaky laugh. He was still mentally panicking, but he was already getting used to the idea of posing naked. Maybe, it would even be a little therapeutic. 

something strong is building where you belong

[desmondbeaumont-blog]

ruthsheart‌:

“I’ll never go back, Des. I won’t. I can’t.” Ruth’s smile faded to a stern pout as the conversation turned serious. “I mean it. If we survive the ritual but no longer can cast any magic at all, I’d rather die. I’ve been working so hard on this, and finally I’m starting to feel like I can really make a difference in the world, like…” She stopped herself short of saying anything pathetic or embarrassing. This was the charity ball, after all. They weren’t supposed to be talking about death or magic, they were supposed to be drinking and goofing around. Des would probably laugh at her, or argue with her again, if she admitted to being the untalented and unintelligent twin. Compared to her brother, she’d never be outstanding, not unless she could use magic. Even now, he was so much more powerful than her, but at least she’d found a unique niche of magical skills nobody else had managed to come close to. She needed this. Just like all human beings need air, and food, and love to survive, she needed magic.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she forced a smile. Less than a year ago, she had tried to pack up and run away from all of this. Sometimes the idea still called to her, though it was harder to accept now with a time limit on their lives and a grimoire to build. She turned her forced smile to watch her feet shuffle on the stone path. “If we make it through all this, I am not going to a mountain getaway. There’s a beach in the Bahamas calling my name, thankyouverymuch.”

It felt good to be free of the watchful glow of the house beyond the shroud of the dense treetops. The grass was soft and plush beneath her feet. The coolness of it sent chills crawling up her bare legs. Abandoning the rest of the party to twirl through the orchard, the soft-yet-bold presence of Desmond hovering just behind her, she hadn’t felt this gloriously happy since… Well, not since she and Faye had met under the sweet springtime full moon to dance and make love in the wet grass beneath the shadowy woods. This night was strangely similar, and yet it couldn’t be more different. She wondered if Des could feel it, the curious light that glimmered in his eyes. Could he feel how different he was tonight, compared to the Des she had coaxed out of his shell to cast one little spell with her?

She stood up tall as she could manage without her heels. With her chin raised high and her hands on her hips, she attempted to imitate Des’ deep, silky-smooth voice. It merely sounded like herself speaking in a puffed-up and girlish tenor. “Hide and seek is a serious game, Ruth. That’s why I’m so bad at it.” Her lips spread into a wide, cheeky grin as another hiccup of giggles bubbled out. “Okay, Mr. Sunshine, I’ll take that bet! I’m no Rory, but I’m still an excellent finder. You’ll see!” She was dying to know where Des might hide that wouldn’t get his shined shoes muddy or his hair full of twigs again. “But what do I get if I find you, hmm?” She stepped in closer to look him dead in the eye. “It better be good.” A thin, dainty finger prodded at Des’ sharp lapel of his jacket. “Bring it on, tough guy.”

Des understood how Ruth felt--like dying was worse than losing their powers. It was a horrible, selfish thought, considering it wasn’t only his life at stake, but the other eleven. When they first met the authors, Des just wanted to give into his fate, unable to comprehend how he would survive without his light anyway when he was that broken. It was the reminder that this wasn’t just his life on the line, but the group’s, and that forced him to out of his spiraling thoughts. He was better than he was then, but the idea of not having his light still left him with a hopeless, empty feeling. “There’s gotta be a way to have both,” He sighed. “Both surviving and keeping our magic. We just need to figure out how.” Which was easier said than done, considering none of the previous groups figured it out.

The subject was too dark for the moment, and Des was happy to drop it, grinning at Ruth’s suggestion. The beach was more his speed than a mountain anyway. It was only fitting that he loved the sun. He could lay under it’s rays for hours. “Even better,” Des agreed with a laugh. “I’m getting pale with all this all work and no play,” He held up his hands to prove it. It also had something to do with the emotional toll he took this past year, but he wasn't going to bring that up again. 

Des couldn’t help but playfully roll his eyes at her poor imitation of his voice, laughing under his breath. “Hmmm,” Des began, tapping his chin in thought as he tried to come up with a good enough prize for Ruth. He wasn’t sure what he could even offer at this point. Her true passion at the moment was magic and rituals, and Des just had a lot of candles. “I’ll let you use me for whatever you want,” Des decided on the spot before wrinkling his nose at the phrasing. “Help with rituals, help with chores. Whatever you decide. A one time opportunity,” He grinned, his gaze boring into hers. Without breaking eye contact, he took her soft, delicate hands in his own before placing them over her eyes. “Don’t cheat. Count to ten,” He instructed before stepping away and disappearing into the garden.

undergrowth with two figures

[desmondbeaumont-blog]

Reece King

—Born: 1 November 1994

[desmondbeaumont-blog]

ruthsheart‌:

The more he talked about his power, the more a quiet somberness crept in around the edges of his smile. Ruth blinked up at him, taking in the elegant softness that hung around the fluttering tips of his dark eyelashes and the deep impressions of his dimples. She nodded in understanding. Though she didn’t feel anywhere near the same amount of attachment to her curse, the sight that tormented her day in and day out with endless warnings of pain and suffering, she could see why he needed his light. Without light, there would only be darkness collapsing in on them. The small orb of blessed light that rested by her bedside had become a vital source of comfort in the recent months. She was never truly alone when the darkness of night closed in to feed her nightmares of death and grief, or when the insomnia gripped her and left her staring out the window at the starlit sky for hours on end. Always, the crystal glowed warm and gentle in her hands like a small vigilant spirit. Now, she wasn’t sure she could get through a night without Des’ light either.

“I don’t know. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to have this power. But…” She wrung her fingers as she smiled up at him. “There is something about being magical, being able to do such extraordinary things, that I don’t ever want to give up. Can you imagine being normal again? How dreadfully boring to be just like everyone else.” Though she giggled playfully, it hid a deeper anxiety that twisted in her stomach and tweaked at her smiling eyes.

She clasped her hands to her chest, over the thin silver chain of the crescent moon necklace that had tucked itself into the low-cut bosom of her dress, and she laughed with joyful glee. Her laughter leapt from her chest in hiccups and melodies like bells tinkling in a shuddering wind. “Oh, how wonderful would that be?! Just you and me far away from all of this! Escaping up into the snowy mountains until everyone finally stops telling us what to do!” It did sound lovely to get away, and who better to get away with than her childhood best friend? It seemed like ages since they’d really been alone together for more than a couple of minutes. She still felt like there was something there, unspoken, he kept locked up inside, no matter how she tried to pry him open.

A soft, warm hand slipped around hers like a tiny hug. Ruth’s eyes batted open, pleasant surprise twinkling in her eyes. She glanced back at the radiant glow of the party, then up at Des, who grinned at her with all the shine he had within him, his creamy golden-brown skin alight from within. “Yes,” Ruth decided with a firm nod. “Absolutely.” She wasted no time stepping out onto the manicured grass in her stiletto heels and dragging Des behind her, his hand clasped in hers comfortably. She took a few awkward steps as her sharp heels sunk into the soft earth and she wobbled from side to side. “Ugh, please.” She leaned heavily on Des when one heel dropped dangerously quick. “Darn heels,” she grumbled as she paused, hanging on Des’ arm while she balanced on one foot at a time, tugging the sparkly silver shoes from her feet.

“There,” she sighed with relief. The stiletto heels hung from one hooked finger, thin and delicate in the hazy moonlight. The grass tickled at her toes, bringing a bright grin to her face. She wriggled her feet in the damp, soft blades of grass, then pranced ahead into the orchard with renewed vigor. She didn’t seem to notice how her skirt trailed over the damp lawn. Tugging on Des’ hand, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “We used to play sooo many games here. Do you remember when we were pirates and we stole Elizabeth’s jewelry and buried it under an apple tree? God, we drew a map and everything. Eduardo was so furious he made us dig and dig and dig until we found which tree we’d buried it under. My hands were sore for a week!”

She slipped away from him, her fingers sliding out of his grasp, so that she could twirl freely under the shard of glistening moonlight that drenched the world in an otherworldly fog. Her feet brushed through the thick grass, kicking up droplets of dew as she went. “Or when we played hide and seek!” She exclaimed as if remembering suddenly. She whirled around to giggle at Des, her fingers moved to her shoulder to lift a wandering bra strap back onto her shoulder from her childish dancing in the grass. “You would always end up with twigs in your hair. Every time! You were so bad at hiding!” She covered her mouth to stifle another flood of jubilant laughter.

That night on the beach wasn’t that long ago, a little over a year, but it felt like ages. Who he was before then felt like a completely different person. The memories were still vivid, but it was more like thinking back on a film than his life. What would he be like if they never got their powers? There would parties, and fucking around with his teammates, but he would still feel like he was playing a part--that something was simmering under his skin waiting to erupt. “I can’t,” Des replied honestly, a small frown etched on his lips. “I don’t know how we’re supposed to go to back to that if we do this thing either. It’s not like we can just be normal again.” 

Ruth somehow managed to find a way to make being sent away to an institution in a mountain sound appealing. He started it, but he wasn’t that serious. But the thought of being hidden away from society without stifling expectation sounded pretty brilliant right about now. It was definitely better than abysmal grades and a death warrant looming in the near future. As tempting as it was, Des knew that running wasn’t the answer. It never got him anywhere before. He hid away in his room for months, and it accomplished nothing but paler skin and unnecessary weight loss. It was time to face up to reality and get his life together. “If we make it through all this, then we deserve a mountain get away,” Des decided the frown lifting into an amused smirk. “I could spend a few months away from the world.”

Des helped Ruth balance as she slipped out of her heels, bringing her back to a height he was used to. He watched as her feet sunk into the grass, and it made him think about the times they ran around the garden barefoot. It made him want to follow her lead, but untying his shoes and slipping out of his socks seemed like more hassle than what it was worth. He laughed quietly to himself as he remembered the exact story she was retelling. Even after knowing the twins his entire life, he never got used to the fact that they call their parents by their first names. Des’ parents weren’t exactly warm and fuzzy, but the thought of calling them Natasha and James just gave him the willies. 

“My parents were ready to ground me for a month after they found out. Going on and on about the worth jewelry and how you need to respect it, and it wasn’t a toy,” He rolled his eyes. Their hands fell and Des watched as she twirled under the moonlight. He still didn’t know much about astrology, but he couldn’t help but think in that moment how fitting it was for Cancer to be ruled by the moon. Ruth looked like she belonged to the moon. He blinked in surprise when she returned to him, realizing he was staring again. He fought back the rising flush and shook his head in amusement. “My hair collects things. I can’t help that. And I wasn’t bad at hiding, I was just willing to take risks. Hide and seek is a serious game, Ruth. I bet you wouldn’t find me if I hid now.”

undergrowth with two figures

[desmondbeaumont-blog]

ruthsheart‌:

Ruth rolled her eyes with a threatrical sigh. “Your deep Neanderthal voice? The last time we played “guess who” you sounded like a little girl.” She smiled fondly up at him. She didn’t mean the comment to be hurtful in any way, simply an observation of how much time had passed between them. “I wasn’t sure until I noticed your cologne. Your voice may have changed, but you always smell the same.” She raised a long, delicate finger (scrubbed clean of all signs of paint, ink, charcoal, or graphite for the first time in months) and tapped the tip of her nose. “Fresh and warm, like… like laundry hanging on a clothesline in the wind, fresh cut grass and summery golden sunshine…” Her eyes shut momentarily as a wistful picture formed in her head. A whimsical sigh fluttered in her lungs like the breeze in the leaves of the apple and orange trees. “You gravitate toward those kinds of cologne. Clean and soft with a hint of spice. You even smell like it without the cologne…” Her dark lashes shuddered open, shimmery pink eyeshadow framing her soft eyes with a blushing sparkle. “Not that I pay attention to how you smell. I just remember those sorts of things.”

There was something different about Des tonight. No, not different. It was familiar, like re-watching a favorite old film again for the first time in years. Through the comfortable play of scenes she noticed new things she hadn’t recognized before. He’d grown a little bit in the last year. It was likely only a few centimeters, maybe an inch, but it was enough to put his eyes higher than she expected them to be. She blinked in surprise, wondering when that had happened and why she hadn’t noticed it until now. Des stood tall now, tight bushy curls reaching for the scythe of crescent moon high above while his shoulders reached out wide and square. Ruth caught herself thinking back to last autumn, when he’d let her nest on his couch for a span. He’d been an entirely different creature then. He’d huddled down low into a hoodie that didn’t fit him like some withering cut flower, his skin pale and his eyes ghoulishly dark. Ruth tilted her head to the side as she thought she spied a youthful twinkle in his eyes. There was no mistaking it, something had brought back the old vibrant Des, her Des.

“Curses.” Ruth smiled. She swayed mischievously from foot to foot, feeling the silky soft fabric of the dress slide over her smooth waxed legs. “I was hoping I could summon people with my mind. That would be way more fun than playing future guessing games.” His gaze turned upward to the stars overhead, most of them clouded by the hazy glow of the city. She didn’t follow his gaze. Instead, her trained eyes drew lines across his sharp features–down the cut of his jaw and over the curve of his adam’s apple. Des wasn’t as supple or fair as he used to be so many years ago, but he did still make some pretty lines, though they were harder than she liked.

“Ugh parents.” She grumbled with another roll of her eyes. The night had barely started and she was already running low on patience for their constant fussing and complaining. Ruth had been avoiding the ballroom for as long as possible, just to avoid the inevitable disappointed lecture from her parents. “They are the actual worst. I’m just trying to avoid getting locked up in a sanatorium tonight. They keep threatening to send me away to this place in Switzerland. Like I need mountain air to stop being crazy. They’re ridiculous.” She laughed with only a hint of forced humor, as if she really did find their antics amusing. The worst part was, she would have taken them up on it last year. She had been ready to drop out and run in a heartbeat. Maybe she too had been a wilting flower back then.

Her dark eyes flickered up to meet Des’, a pensive dainty finger tapping on her pale pink lips in playful thought. “I’d rather be here. It’s such a lovely night, it almost doesn’t feel real. Can you hear the frogs down in the stream? And smell the apples in the trees? God, it’s like a dream. Like we stepped back in time.” She shut her eyes again and dropped her hands to her sides to bask in the warm night breeze that carried the sounds and smells of the orchard to her. They swirled around her and held her like an old friend. “I just want to disappear into the garden and never come out,” she decided, her eyes still closed to the reality of the ball.

“I’m just glad you don’t still think I sound like a little girl,” Des laughed quietly. He accepted a while ago that he wasn’t ever going to be the picture of masculinity. Despite the sports and his rowdy friends, he was always on the softer side--both physically and personality wise. It didn’t mean he still didn’t want to be seen as a man though. Not that any of that mattered to Ruth though. It didn’t matter if Des liked pink, he was still a bloke, and Ruth fancied girls. He had to keep reminding himself during moments like this, when his gaze lingered on her face for too while her eyes were closed, distantly listening to her when he was really taking in her soft features. He averted his gaze to his feet when their eyes met again, a soft flush reaching his cheeks. “I never liked sweet scents that much. Or sweets, in general. So, I guess that all makes sense.”

Des laughed, nodding in agreement. “Do you know how many times I wished we could’ve picked our own powers?” He shook his head in amusement. It felt like a whole lifetime ago when he discovered his light. He was a completely different person back then--so naive. “I remember being so frustrated, because everyone could do something and all I did was glow. I wanted something cool. But--” He paused, wondering if he really wanted to get into that when they were having a nice moment. But if he wanted to have a good friendship with Ruth again, then he needed to be open with her. “Well, I lost it. And I felt like I lost a massive chunk of myself. So, I guess the point I’m making is, even though this future seeing stuff has been pretty shit so far. You might feel even worse without it.” 

Letting out an exasperated laugh, he winced as he imagined Ruth being forced into exile on some snowy mountain. It sounded like her own personal hell. “Well, if they send you, they’ll have to send me too. My parents have been looking at me like I’ve got a second head ever since I started going to therapy. Like they’re just waiting for me to start talking to myself or something. Maybe, we could learn how to rock climb or something,” He smirked. When he told his parents he wanted to start going to therapy, they agreed pretty easily, but he could tell they were just waiting for him to end up like Ruth--in the hospital. They didn’t even know what was wrong, and he had no plans to tell them. 

He fell silent and tried to hear and smell what Ruth did. He had a large imagination, but hers was on another level. It was almost like Ruth could dream things into reality. He heard the quiet croak of frogs and occasional chirp from a summer bug. It was calming. He would rather be here than in there any day. Before she could open her eyes, Des took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “So, let’s do it. Come for a walk with me?”

undergrowth with two figures

[desmondbeaumont-blog]

[desmondbeaumont-blog]

marco-marino-hart‌:

desmondbeaumont‌:

Marco inclined his head at Natasha’s praise. “You’ve always been kind, Mrs. Beaumont,” he said. “And beautiful.” He could feel his parents’ silent approval hovering behind him. His father had always told him that flattery was a dish best served to older women, but he did not think of Natasha Beaumont as old and he did think she was beautiful. It made him wonder sometimes how someone as radiant and put together as Natasha had ended up with a son as sloppy as Des.

He turned his attention towards the young man as he wiggled out a hello that was as drawn out as an echo. Marco’s eyes narrowed into slits and he shot Des a look of extreme disapproval. What an idiot. If the glaze in his bloodshot eyes or the dopey smile plastered on his face didn’t give him away, then the earthy smell clinging to his expensive clothes certainly was a telltale sign of his previous indiscretion.

“Hello, Desmond,” Eduardo said, offering a hand out to him. “Your parents were telling me that you’re studying sports management. That’s quite the endeavour. Tell me, what do you intend on doing with your degree once you’ve finished?”

Marco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His father did not think that sports management was an actual career. He didn’t think that anything outside of the fields of engineering or medicine amounted to much. Marco still remembered the look of disappointment in Eduardo and Elizabeth’s eyes when Ruth had broke the news to them that she was going to study art at Durham. She might as well have told them that she was going to join a cult or become a street busker.

Des pressed his lips in a thin line, Eduardo’s question caused his brain to short-circuit. Thinking about the future was never Des’ strong point, but it was basically a fictional concept this past year. His grades were horrendous, he was very close to being kicked off the football team, and he wasn’t even sure he would live past graduation. He wasn’t exactly thinking about how to best use his studies. 

“I uh--” Des began, brows furrowed in thought as he pointedly ignored the looks his parents were giving him. “I wanted my own team at one point. Maybe, I could’ve been an agent. I guess we’ll have to see if I make it that far, yeah?” He shot Marco a knowing grin. That definitely wasn’t the right thing to say. After a few glasses of champagne and a spliff, his filter wasn’t working. He was lucky he hadn’t started showing off his glow to the other guests. 

Honestly, he thought about switching to studying drama a lot lately, but that would only put him even further behind, and there was only so much his parents were willing to put up with. If the way his mum pinched his elbow was any indication, he was very quickly breaching his limits. 

“Desmond has always been the--flexible sort,” Natasha let out a forced sounding laugh that paired nicely with her tight smile. “He likes to let time decide what works best for him, despite our advice. Unlike, you Marco,” Her smile became a little more genuine as she looked at him. “You must be getting excited to graduate soon. I bet your doing so well in your studies. You’ve always had a bright future ahead of you.” 

Des had to resist the urge to audibly groan in response. His mum always adored Marco. Back when they were kids, she loved to remind Des about all of his great qualities. About how perfect he was. How smart he was. Why can’t you be more like Marco, Desmond?

“Why don’t you just adopt him, mum? Jesus,” He blinked in surprise when there was another pinch at his elbow. He didn’t realize he said that aloud. Swallowing roughly, he gave Eduardo and Elizabeth an apologetic smile. “What I meant to say was. Ruth and Marco have always been like the siblings I never had. It’s like my parents did adopt him. You must be so proud, mum.” 

Are We Alone Now?

[desmondbeaumont-blog]

ruthsheart‌:

Her calls were answered only by the distant chatter of guests in the ballroom and a soft shuffle of wind in the leaves of the orchard trees. “Hmm,” She muttered to herself before turning back to the spiny roses. Absently, she raised the tiny puncture on her fingertip to her lips. The salty metallic tang of blood slipped over her tongue as she suckled at the pinpoint stab wound and pondered whether she wanted to head out into the trees or back inside to join the party.

Before she could settle on one way or the other, a warm body pressed up against her back and mysterious firm hands brushed over her eyes. Ruth sucked in a startled gasp, her body going tense one moment before relaxing into the gentle touch of the stranger. The dark, rumble of his voice against her ear was pleasantly familiar, though she couldn’t quite place it. It could have been one of a dozen boys who would chase her down every year at these events. They flirted and teased as over and over Ruth reiterated her polite practiced responses before walking away. Something told her, however, that this wasn’t one of her constant suitors. Though the voice sang sweet and soft, as though she should know it, she found herself drawn more toward the snickering tone of his laughter and the careful pressure of his hands. An oddly amused grin spread over her lips.

“A mysterious stranger in the garden, how thrilling!” She giggled. It was like her own personal trashy romance novella, though she could have probably done without the strapping muscular man aspect innate in all those corny stories. “Hold on, let me think…” She raised her hands to feel the shape of the fingers that covered her eyes. They were small and soft, not the roughened hands of a worker nor the nimble hands of an artist, yet she could still feel strength coiled right beneath the skin, vibrant youth and power. An athlete, she suspected. Still, it didn’t narrow her guessing pool by much. Most of the boys in this social circle attended at least one sports club.

Her hands patted over his knuckles and backward to the face over her shoulder. Giggling childishly, she searched the curve of his smooth jaw and sharp chin. Her fingers brushed over the shape of his nose. A vague picture began to form in her mind. Pausing, she caught a whiff of his cologne on the air—like sun-baked wood, fresh grass stains, and spiced vanilla. “Des!” She cried out in victorious excitement. The child had grown into a man, with a strange deep voice and a body hewn from hard muscle, but there was only one person she knew who eternally smelled like sunshine and grass.

Grasping his hands in hers, she whirled around to confirm her suspicion. It was him, smiling so warm and welcoming at her. Ruth stepped back, still holding his hands captive. A pink flush washed over her cheeks as she giggled to herself at her success. “I knew it! How did you find me? I was just thinking about how you and I used to play all day out in the orchard when we were small.” She released his hands, but her smile widened with a youthful energy. “Did I summon you? Do I have another power again?”

Des smiled fondly as bite back the laugh bubbling in his chest. He started the game, but in true Ruth fashion, she continued it and turned it into something akin to a mystery novel when she could easily turn around and find out. Her fingers traced over his, and he wondered what she could tell from them. If she didn’t recognize him from his voice, he wasn’t sure what would give him away. 

His hands were on the more delicate, petite side, very much like the rest of his body. When he was younger, he always felt too big for his own body. Like he had too much spirit and not enough space to hold it. And then last year happened, and Des suddenly found himself wishing he was even smaller. So small he could tuck himself in the most hidden corner and never be seen again. Luckily, it wasn’t really like that anymore. If anything, he was starting to feel more like the boy who wished he was so tall he could touch the top of a mountain. 

As Ruth’s hands reached his face, a quiet laugh escaped his lips, his eyes crossing as she touched his nose. Her hands were warm and soft against his face, and an image formed in his mind of her cupping his cheeks while looking into his eyes. His chest filled with want, and he had to try and diminish it before it grew. The more time he spent with Ruth, the more those feelings grew, and it was getting harder and harder to push them aside. 

Finally Ruth called his name, and he beamed at her as she turned around in his arms. “I thought my voice would give it away. What was it then? My nose or my hands?” Des grudgingly let his hands fall to his sides, wishing she would just keep them in hers. He wanted to lace their fingers together and lead her through the garden like old times. Back then, holding hands was something they simply did, because they were best friends. Now, he was craving something a little more--something he couldn’t have.

“Maybe,” He gave a little half shrug, a smirk settled on his lips. “Or maybe I came, because I was also thinking about when we used to play out here. I like it out here,” He admitted quietly, shoving his hands in his trousers as he looked up at the dark sky. It was easy to forget real life when he was somewhere that made him so nostalgic. “It’s better in there, at least. My parents are acting like my babysitters.” 

undergrowth with two figures

[desmondbeaumont-blog]

marco-marino-hart‌:

The splitting headache that was pounding Marco’s temples was not the result of a few too many old-fashioneds. He had barely touched his drink all evening. What he had done was discover that his date, the girl he had wanted to introduce to his parents, was higher than the Shard. He hadn’t managed to get the whole story out of Cleo, only that it would probably end with him punching Jude in the face. Who brings weed to a charity ball? Marco wasn’t stupid. He knew the kids he had gone to school with dabbled in their fair share of illegal activity, but cocaine was always the flavour of choice at these types of events.

He had stashed Cleo in one of the rooms just outside the grand hall, pleading with her to stay put so that he could fetch her a glass of water. But it seemed that ill-timed interruptions would be a recurring theme of this long and trying night for as he approached the bar, his mother intercepted him.

“Have you seen your sister?”

“No.” The word slipped out just as he remembered that he had promised Elizabeth he would find Ruth for her. He added quickly, “I think she’s with her friends.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Your father and I would like her to join us on stage later when we make our speech.” A message for him to deliver to Ruth. Why were his parents always using him as a homing pigeon when it came to his sister?

“Marco, there you are!”

Eduardo approached him with an entourage in tow. “Look who I’ve just run into.” He stepped aside to reveal the Beaumonts and their son, Des. “It’s been ages hasn’t it?”

@desmondbeaumont

When Des left his parents, he was perfectly sober and put together. And now? Well, since he last saw them, he managed to share a spliff with Jude and Cleo, and have a few glasses of champagne. It definitely made the party easier to deal with, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep it together. He was hoping to miraculously go through the rest of the party without seeing his parents again, but James tracked him down after an hour of being missing and immediately returned him to his mother, like he was five years old and not twenty. 

He wasn’t sure how good his parents were at noticing the signs of marijuana usage, but he hoped they didn’t notice his glazed eyes. It took everything in him to not randomly burst into giggles, just the knowledge that he was secretly high was too amusing to him. Any time his parent’s addressed him, he merely nodded in response, not trusting himself to actually contribute to any sort of conversation. 

His plan to remain discreet fell apart when Eduardo Marino approached them, and before he could comprehend what was happening, he was being swept away. As he reintroduced the Beaumont’s to Elizabeth, Desmond could only blink in confusion. Luckily for him, his mum was quick to pass along polite greetings. 

“Elizabeth, it’s wonderful to see you again. Thank you for inviting us. It’s such a lovely party,” Natasha grinned as she kissed each of her cheeks. Desmond wondered when she became French. 

“And Marco. I think the last time I saw you, you were just a teenager. You’re so handsome.” Des had to choke back a laugh at that, and it came out sounding like a strained snort, causing his dad to give him a suspicious look. “It’s great to see you again,” James said diplomatically and reached out to shake each of their hands. 

When Desmond offered nothing, his dad nudged him, a clear indication that he wasn’t showing proper Beaumont etiquette. He wracked his brain for something pleasant and well-mannered to say, but all he could manage was a slow, “Helloooo.”

Are We Alone Now?

[desmondbeaumont-blog]

ruthsheart‌:

Even as the moon drenched its icy cold light over the winding cobblestone paths of the pristine gardens that surrounded the Marino-Hart estate, the muggy summer air still clung close to Ruth’s skin. She could feel it sliding over the bare skin of her shoulders and across the plush swells of her bosom. Hot gusts of humid breeze sent chills tingling down the damp skin at the base of her neck. Still, she ducked out of the glamorous theater of ball gowns and pleasant small talk to wander under a stark chunk of waxing moon. She heard a soft call tugging inside her chest. Just beneath the crash of the leaves tangling in the wind, and the chorus of the night bugs, she could hear the roses crying.

Ruth’s heels clicked sharply against the curved stone steps. Behind her, glittering crystal lights poured through sky-high, monstrous windows. The charity ball could not contain itself inside the regal walls of the estate house. It gushed out into the gardens. Lights and laughter and the clatter of glass leapt out of the double doors, past the Closed to Guests sign, and down amidst the small bushes of flowers. A meandering, delicate melody hummed in her throat. Maybe she knew the song from somewhere many years ago–perhaps it buried itself in her subconscious as a babe, when the nanny sung to her and rocked her to sleep, or something the cook would hum in her deep throaty tone when she thought no one was around to hear. It could have been from any of the cleaning staff, countless girls whose faces changed from season to season, too fast for Ruth to ever remember their names. It certainly could not have been Mr. Dale Abernathy, as often as her father’s personal assistant was sent to drive Ruth to sports and activities or to deliver whatever she desired to her, the nervous little man never seemed like a singer at all. Or had it been the gardener? The stiff and stern-faced old man never once spoke to Ruth directly. He rarely spoke to anyone at all. She’d only gathered through observation that he was a retired military man, he walked with a slight limp, he never smiled, but he did sing in a very plain and humble tenor that rang out over the trimmed hedges. He knew many songs, most of them about lasses across oceans and the boom of cannon fire. Maybe this was one of his–a ghost of a summer day long ago when Ruth lay in the grass and traced pictures in the clouds while the old groundskeeper shuffled around her, singing to his flowers about the love he lost when he went to war.

Ruth bounced her fingertips over thick hedges with tiny dark leaves and spiny rose bushes with luxurious velvety pink flowers. Did old Mr. Webber still tend the garden? She wondered. Sliding her long fingers down the stem of a prickly rose, she gingerly tested the sharpness of its hooked thorns. Such elegant beauty had always captivated her, even as a child. Petals as soft and fragrant as freshly washed bed sheets, woody thorns like tiny daggers, swift and merciless–all of it so carefully tended to. She hoped Mr. Webber still cared for the Marino-Hart’s extensive gardens. Though her father had likely hired him as another of his generous acts of charity, the old groundskeeper had poured his strange and tragic compassion into each and every flower for them.

Something moved behind her, and Ruth recoiled from the roses in surprise, dragging her finger across a thorn as she did. “Ow,” she hissed sharply. Cradling her hands close to her chest, she whirled around to look for the source of the sound. “Hello?” She glanced down at her finger, then back up across the wandering paths of the garden. A tiny bead of red blood, no more than a pinprick, welled up on the tip of her finger. For a moment, Ruth considered hiding. She could slip away down the path into the orchard and vanish in the dense rows of fruit trees that lined the creek where she and Des used to play for days on end. The moonlight could hardly break through the canopy of leaves, making the orchard a shrouded and wild place where night things could take shelter from the noise of the big house. A flutter of excitement in her chest told her to wait. “Is someone there?”

@desmondbeaumont

Desmond’s parents kept a close eye on him from the moment they stepped through the Marino-Hart’s front door. It was obvious they didn’t trust that their son would be on his best behavior at such a upscale event, despite the fact that he’s done this numerous times before. By now, he knew how to turn on the that aristocratic charm for the other partygoers, chatting animatedly about politics or his “studies.” Though, he didn’t do much with those anymore, and his parents were well aware. Given the fact that he asked to start therapy in December and then his grades began to slip, his parents were hyperaware of his every move--afraid he’d pull something as reckless, like he used to.

It was easy to feel suffocated in a room full of people just like his parents, so concerned with appearances that everything about them screamed fake. And with his parent’s constant watch, he couldn’t excuse himself to try and find his friends. When a server handed him a glass of champagne, his mother’s eyes narrowed in disapproval. Apparently, one glass meant he was going to start swinging from the chandeliers. And then, when Desmond tried to loosen his tie a bit, his father quietly snapped at him to fix it. He knew he was going to lose it if he had to stay with them for another second, so he set his glass on the nearest table and excused himself to the bathroom. When his mother looked ready to protest, he escaped out the door before she could try.

His feet seemed to be moving on auto-pilot, as if his body knew where it wanted to go before his brain caught up. Soon, he was hit with the sent of flowers and earth, a fond smile reaching his lips when he realized he reached the gardens. It didn’t matter if he hadn’t been to their house in ages, he still knew where everything was. He practically grew up at the Marino-Hart estate. As he drew closer, he heard soft humming and somehow knew it was Ruth. This was their place as kids, they could spend hours playing in the garden. 

It was dark, but he could see her silhouette under the moonlight. He knew things were still tense between them after they defeated Ulfric, but nostalgia urged him forward, quietly approaching her. When she called out, he didn’t announce himself right away, a slow, mischievous smile reaching his lips. They used to play Hide & Seek in the gardens when they were kids. Maybe, they could play again. He stepped up behind her and carefully placed his hands over her eyes. “Guess who,” He chuckled lowly in her ear. 

undergrowth with two figures

[desmondbeaumont-blog]

Desmond Beaumont’s Charity Ball Outfit

[desmondbeaumont-blog]

eye of the storm

After the battle with Ulfric and the wolf pack has reached its turbulent end, Ruth attempts to kill the last wolves in England before Marco can escape with them, @desmondbeaumont holds her back and attempts to talk her down from her violent anger, only resulting in her turning her venom on him.

tw: blood

Keep reading

[desmondbeaumont-blog]

ruthsheart:

“Thank you~” Ruth sang in a bouncy gleeful voice. After the fiasco of trying to teach Imogen sigil magic, Ruth was starting to think she wasn’t cut out for teaching. Marco had always been a natural at it, tutoring her in any subject with patience and well-crafted explanations. Ruth didn’t have his gift. She didn’t have any of his natural talents, but that never stopped her from trying with all her might. Des was trying, too. Magic wasn’t easy for him, that much was obvious. For a second, Ruth was tempted to believe this whole spell might fail. Her attempts at teaching paired with his inexperience and whatever weird juju was going on with his belief and self-confidence for the last year, it didn’t make for the most powerful alignment of energies. Before that thought could root itself in her mind, she  it from she brutally cut it from her consciousness. Of course they would succeed, because she said so.

She plastered on a flimsy smile at his joke. It wavered, then fell as she spoke the truth of the matter in a soft, careful voice. “Thankfully, we don’t have that much time on our hands, and the spell knows that.” Thankfully? That’s a weird way to talk about death. “In a year I’ll lose my clairvoyance, whether we live or not, so it has that much time to pick a perfect moment to show me, preferably sooner than later, before I can’t see any more future secrets.” She paused, her gentle frown turning downward. Things were getting morbid. She could feel the tension pulling tight in the air. Des was still fragile. Whatever made him so afraid, it stripped him of his courage in the face of death. She had to say something to ease the coiled tension. “It’s going to be okay. Once we put your light into the crystal, it’ll show us what I’ve been missing, the secret we need to solve everything. We’re going to live. That’s what this is all about.” She waved a hand over the crystal ball and the notebook with the scribbled intentions. “This might save us. And if it doesn’t, there’s a million other things we can try. I’m not rolling over just because some geriatric white men told me my days are numbered. I’m going to fight this every day. Now that we’ve been brought back together, I can’t let it tear us apart again, and I think… I think together we’re strong enough to do something about it.” She couldn’t keep convincing herself that she could solve this all on her own anymore. As much as it hurt, she had to accept her own weakness. She didn’t know why, but somehow she felt safer admitting that awful truth to Des more than anyone else. Maybe somewhere, deep down, Des understood what had been nagging at her since childhood.

Changing the subject back to the spell, Ruth cleared her throat and placed a new smile on her lips. “I’ve already cleansed the space, now all we have to do is empty our minds of everything that isn’t our intention. Essentially, clean out our thoughts, yeah? Then we chant the spell together while we envision your light filling the crystal. Oh, and I almost forgot-!” She threw her hands up in a quick flustered flurry before reaching over and grasping Des’ hand in both of hers again. “We have to create a connection between us. Something that both tangibly and intangibly ties us together. That way our powers become one unified force, connected by…” She waved her hands vaguely in the air once again. “Y’know. Whatever holds you and I together.”

Now wasn’t the time to go through a down-whirl spiral over the thought of losing his light, but whenever he thought about it, he seized with panic. It was the only thing that go him through most days, waking up from a nightmare and being able to soothe himself with his own glow. He would probably learn other coping mechanisms through his therapist, but he could’t imagine it being the same. Inhaling deeply, he forced his mind away from the panicked thoughts. They definitely wouldn’t help with the spell. Ruth’s encouraging words helped ease his worry a little bit. She could see the future, so he hoped she would see the right path for them, but it wasn’t that black and white. He just had to have faith in her. “That is what the authors said. We need to work together,” He gave her a half-hearted smile. 

Des’ eyes went wide as she suddenly took his hand again, thoughts racing as a result of her question. What did hold them together? It was so hard to define after everything they went through. She used to be his best friend, and maybe they were breaching that point again, but his body seemed to have a different idea of what he wanted. He didn’t use to heat up from something as simple as her hand on his arm. He didn’t use to envision her in not so platonic ways. What if his confusing thoughts tainted the spell somehow? 

“Right a connection,” He agreed, voice strained. Like with Cleo, he let his eyes fall shut, so he could attempt to clear his mind and focus on his breathing. Focus wasn’t his strong point lately, so he just poured all of it into the vision of a light up crystal ball. When he felt less on edge, he opened his eyes again to read the words on the page, quietly saying them aloud to himself. “We fill this crystal with clarifying light to show us hidden truths when the time is right.”  

caught a star, burned my hands