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arhvste · 3 years

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❝ kuroo tetsurō - rate-a-child ❞

in which kuroo takes a more refined but catty approach towards having his say on your daughters ex boyfriend leaving her in tears

an - sorry this took so long to get out, this went hand in hand with the hcs i did that’s why it’s a little late seeing as i changed the concepts for oo of yesterday’s work !!

tetsu week masterlist

“i’ll kill him.”

“you’ll do nothing of a sort.”

“i meant with kindness.”

“kindness my ass, the look on your face says it all!”

you were currently in a hissing match between yourself and your husband as you stood outside the bedroom door of your 16 year olds daughter who was currently curled up under her sheets which were damp with tears.

the catalyst to the situation was when your daughter first slipped in through the front door and failed to greet yourself and her father as usual. you hadn’t missed this as you poked your head out of the living room only to see a pair of legs stagger up the stairs without much care placed in each step.

“tetsurō, is she okay?” you whispered nodding towards the door your daughter had just entered through from school.

“i couldn’t tell you, she didn’t look in my direction.” kuroo raised an eyebrow as he looked up from his laptop screen briefly towards the hall.

“i think i’ll go and see.” you muttered as you dropped your phone onto the couch and headed towards the staircase.

“i’ll come.” kuroo got up ready to stand only to halt when you shot him a piercing look.

“this is mother-daughter time i think.”

“aw don’t be like that! why can’t i be included and see what’s wrong with my little girl?”

you rolled your eyes and shook your head.

“because i don’t think she likes how you baby her so much. she’s independent tetsu, we have to accept it. just let me talk to her first and you can come up in a few minutes okay?”

“guess you’re gonna have to take her amounts of babying in her place then.” he pouted to which you let out an airy before heading upstairs to your daughters room.

you knocked and waited for the signal to come in but it never came. you tried again and still no reply. pressing your ear to the door you heard soft sobs coming from inside as your heart rate sped up.

“i’m coming in” you quietly warned before gently opening the door, your daughters saddened form right before your eyes.

“oh!” you rushed over to her side and pulled her weak state into your arms as you sat on the side of her bed.

“baby what’s wrong?” you cooed stroking the hair stuck to her face as a result of wet tears dripping down her face.

“-he -he dumped me.” she hiccuped as more tears dropped down her face.

you frowned silently to yourself as you racked your brain for an appropriate response.

kuroo had been your first and only boyfriend so you had never been broken up with before so you couldn’t understand the pain she must’ve been feeling. for now, rocking her back and fourth and calming the crying seemed like the best option until you could think of how to approach it without looking too aimless.

as if the heavens had opened their gates specifically for you to grant any wish you so much desired, your husband entered your field of vision in the doorway as his eyes softened at the two of you.

“so much for mother-daughter time.” you tutted and kuroo softly smiled before approaching the two of you.

“i know you’re relieved i’m here, it’s written all over that pretty face of yours.” he replied he took a seat on the other side of your daughter.

“can you not flirt while in front of me whike i’m going through my first teenage heartbreak!” you daughter snapped as kuroos eyes widened.

“heartbreak?” you sent a pleading look his way as if to beg for him to say something to attempt damage control.

“o-oh i mean, heartbreak yes. well, i’m just waiting on you to confirm it was that ugly boyfriend of yours who did it so i can take matters into my own hands.”

you glared at your husband who now had a small fire ignited in his eyes.

“it was. -but please don’t say anything! i don’t want this to be a thing!” you daughter tugged at your husbands arm pleading him to keep this to himself.

“no can do. princess, you’re crying. i never want to see you cry especially over some boy who’s league you were well above anyway!” he scoffed as he got up to leave.

“don’t worry pretty one, dads gonna get him back for ya!”

“tetsu don’t-”

and with that he shut the door behind him, leaving you to scramble to your feet offering an apologetic look to your daughter to which she dryly laughed and waved off her fathers antics. you hastily dashed out the room to grab kuroos hand before he could get any further down the hall which was where you were presently questioning your husbands motives.

“y/n, let me go please.” he whined as you held his arm tighter.

“and if i do then what?” you pressed, raising an eyebrow at him.

“then i’ll get revenge for our little girl.”

“then i’m not letting you go.” you quipped back frowning at him.

“makes no difference to me.” he sighed using his other arm to scoop you up easily off of your feet and out of shock you let him go.

“tetsurō! let me go! i want no part in this!” you hissed as your husband carried you down the stairs and into his home office.

“why are we in here?” you quietened down once he placed you on the plush black couch in his work space.

“you didn’t seriously think i was going to actually show up at his house or something did you?” he grinned as he sat upon his desk chair to fire up his desktop.

“yes.” you honestly muttered, raising an eyebrow towards him.

he cackled and shook his head before motioning for you to come over to which you found yourself obliging to.

“look, i’m not gonna be too embarrassing speaking for her but i think you’re gonna want a say in this eventually.” he explained as your confused face only stuck as you watched him open his emails.

he typed in the email address of your daughters ex boyfriends parents. you knew you had their contact details as they had requested your husband help them get their son into the sport industry to which kuroo very reluctantly agreed to, only because you insisted.

kuroo was never a fan of the boy. he knew from the first time he met him that he would cause trouble and as much as he’d like to have his ‘told you so’ moment, he knew that it could wait. he’d prove his point another way instead.

‘dear mr and mrs whatever your last names were, i’ve forgotten it already,’

you flicked him on the arm for that but something told you to let him continue as you silently fed off of the pettiness yourself.

‘it’s come to my attention my suspicions about your ‘boy’ were right. he is in fact a trouble maker and i should’ve prevented him from getting involved with us from the very start when i first had a hunch.’

kuroo typed with such precision and passion. you had never seen him so into an email before and you weren’t sure whether you should’ve been concerned or not.

‘i first had an idea of what sort of person your son was when my daughter for some reason brought him over for dinner. his manners? comparable to a farm animal. who eats with their mouth open?’

humming as he typed, kuroo mentally listed all the time he didn’t like the boy which wasn’t exactly hard since you knew he had disliked him from the very start and while right now your daughter might’ve been upset and distraught, he was silently happy that he was finally out of the picture.

‘another thing i find closely similar to a farm animal in him is his hair. i don’t particularly understand why you allow him to leave the house looking such a state, but you’re certainly not doing him any favours by doing so.’

you snorted reading this one as kuroo glanced up at you.

“i think that’s a bit rich coming from you.” you hummed as your husband snickered.

“my hair and his hair are two very different situations. mine is unintentional and you love it. his... well, his is just straight up ugly and he intentionally styles it that way.” kuroo replied before turning back down to face the screen.

‘i remember the first time i enquired your son about his very ‘unique’ hairstyle and he scoffed in my face and told me it’s what was currently ‘trendy’. forgive me if i’m wrong, but a trend is a pattern multiple people follow and make normalised no? i haven’t seen another soul wander around with the same bizarre mop on their head as your son, perhaps a dictionary is in order to be purchased for your son so he can educate himself on what a ‘trend’ really is, because no sane being would follow along with his atrocious aesthetic.’

your eyes danced over the screen as kuroo typed it up so flawlessly, it was as if he had revised everything he’d been wanting to say for months which in all honesty, wouldn’t shock you considering how vocal he was speaking against your daughters then boyfriend.

‘so not only is your son lacking in the aesthetics department but also the personality. i’m not quite sure why he thinks his rude tone is normal, but it’s not. why does he act like owns the place whenever he visits my house. i hate to make assumptions, but your boy isn’t bringing any income to the table is he? so tell me why he acts like he does whenever he comes over.’

the irritation deepened on kuroos face as he recalled all the times the boy would come over and treat the house like his own. his shoes muddy and left in the middle of the hallway, his feet always propped up on the coffee table centred in the living room by the couches, no greeting or acknowledgment when he’d come in, he’d simply come in and head straight upstairs to your daughters room. kuroo was agitated each and every time but held his growing aggravation together at the insistence from you that your daughter would come to her senses soon enough and dump him. the outcome is technically what yourself and kuroo had wanted, although, the two of you were confused as to why your daughter was crying over someone so inferior. nevertheless, you were both internally relieved it was all over now.

‘while i know your son is still growing up and such, i do think 16 years old is a little concerning for him to not know manners. this is exactly why i was reluctant to help him into getting into the professional sports industry. both yourselves and your son were demanding of my assistance however, let it be known msby weren’t fans of your son and his awful mannerisms in the slightest so i wouldn’t prepare myself to cheer him on at their stadium anytime soon so hold your breaths.’

kuroo recalled the few times he brought the wretched boy to work with him only to suffer at the hands of secondhand embarrassment. he was rude and obnoxious towards the staff and had provoked several of the players leaving kuroo to apologise in his place and guide him as far away from the pros as possible.

‘i’m glad myself and my family are finally able to wash our hands with him. i didn’t like him and my wife wasn’t too keen either. teach him to do better than this. while i’m bothered by my own daughters current state of upset, i know her tears will dry quickly once she realises what a waste of time this all was. i don’t want a reply, i want an improvement from your son. don’t let him treat his next girlfriend (if he’s lucky enough to get one) the way he treated my daughter and i think basic manner instructions and examples are required for him to start an improvement.’

your arms draped over kuroos shoulders as he gunned finishing his email.

‘my daughter will move on quickly from this, i have no doubt in that, but teach your son what it means to be a responsible man and reshape the strange looking piece of clay of a child you’ve moulded him into. there’s still hope (if you’re optimistic). overall, i’m rating your child 2/5 stars. he was reliable but that’s the only good thing he had going for him. take my constructive criticism and work on improvements for the future! yours sincerely, kuroo tetsurō’

with a slighter harder press on the final letter of the email, kuroo clicked a few options on the email and wasted no time in hitting the ‘send’ button before exhaling.

“that was... something.” you muttered as kuroo turned to face you on the office chair.

he laughed softly before pulling you onto his lap and leaning in. his hot breath ticking the back of your neck as he spoke.

“i think this is going to shake them more than a visit to their house won’t it? i’m sure an email is the last thing they’re expecting.”

you leaned back into his chest as his arms wrapped around your waist as he pressed soft kisses to the back of your neck.

“i hope one day, she finds someone who’ll love her the way you love me.” you sighed, eyes fluttering shut.

“i know she will, she has your good looks and my sharp wit, i don’t have a single doubt she’ll find someone as good as her over time.” kuroo murmered his kisses ceasing for a moment.

the two of you sat there in contentment for just a moment before you pulled yourself from his grip and stood before him offering your hand.

“boys can wait, the only boy she needs in her life right now is sat right before me and i think she needs him to come and comfort her with me for now.” you softly smiled as kuroo smirked.

“so, i finally get an invitation to mother and daughter time?” he leaned further back in his chair, sharp features only more defining.

“looks like it.” you confirmed as kuroo reached for your hand.

“then, i gladly accept.” his calloused hand took in your own as you tugged him off the dark leather office chair.

you and kuroo had no doubt your daughter would pick herself up on her own over time. that didn’t mean you wouldn’t slyly defend her behind the scenes though because while kuroo loved the idea of his daughter staying his little girl forever, he knew better than to tug at her independence.

nevertheless, your little girl or not, yourself and kuroo would go to all ends to make her happy and if that meant to send a petty email, the so be it. yourself and kuroo would gladly sit at your screens for hours and type up as many needed if it meant to make your daughter happy.

there wasn’t really anything kuroo wouldn’t do for his family and you loved that about him. always taking the higher ground and solving issues in sometimes questionable but logical ways was kuroos method at tackling things. youd question his motives but he’d always come through in the other end. perhaps you’d have to trust your husband from the start of these situations a little more in the future.

dt - @aislastetsu

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#kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo imagine #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #hq #hq x reader #hq x you #tetsu.week<3 #queue !!

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ben-c-group-therapy · 3 years

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Benedict Cumberbatch Fluff

You’ll find all of my Ben C Fluff here

“Lost In A Daydream” Benedict finds out you (his assistant) writes about him and your secret feelings. Figuring there is no chance he’d ever have feelings for you, you opted to stay quiet. Will he figure it out?

“Some Guidance” Benedict knows what's best for you while you are stressing over exams. “A Dance” Benedict is in a cheerful mood tonight after work that he decides to have a dance. “The Straw That Broke The Camel’s Back” After a crappy week, this day is the last straw…thank god for Benedict. “Happy Birthday Ocean" A wonderful Birthday from Benedict. “The Cramps” Ben is a lot better at taking care of you than Sherlock is. “Mum, Dad, Meet My Fiancée” Ben gets the chance to introduce you to his parents for the first time. “It’s Okay to Cry" After the lost of your mother Ben tries to comfort you. “A Magical Day with Benedict" Being the wife a celebrity isn’t that bad, especially when you can have a private tour of Disneyland! “The Camping Trip" After a few scary stories around the campfire you have a hard time getting to sleep. “Who Are You?“ A journey from not remembering anything to finally remembering enough. “An Emergency” You are very scared when you are hit with a massive pain. Ben reassures you that you will be okay and he will be right with you. “The News" Some bad news at the doctor has you very upset, Ben comforts you the best way he knows how. "I’m Just Trying to Protect You” Ben is being very protective of you and it gets a bit old. “Maybe…Perhaps…” Ben has a hard time confessing his feelings for a coworker. “Dinner?” A AU Ben fic where he asks his coworker Lucy Lui out on a date. “The Workout” Upset with your weight you start training a bit to much and end up in trouble. “Maybe I Need Help” A follow-up to “The Workout” You’re struggling with your self image and Ben finds out about your dangerous ways to lose weight. “My Story” After heart surgery your are insecure of your scar and Ben comforts you. “My Love, My Heart” After surgery Benedict remains at your bedside until you wake up. “A Lesson in French" Juliette speaks with a heavy French accent, she doesn’t like it but Benedict loves it. "Sometimes, All You Need Is A Hug" After a stressful few days of work and caring for the family things come to a crashing halt and Benedict is left to pick up the pieces. "Homesick” After moving to London on a whim several months ago you start to become homesick so your wonderful boyfriend Ben arranges a surprise for you. “Lonely Nights" After a romantic weekend in Paris Ben returns home but has to leave again for work. Lonely Nights part 2”A follow-up to Lonely Nights. "The Heavens Opened” This fic adds some back story to a fic Cumberbanon wrote for me. You are caught up in a rain storm without an umbrella, thankfully Benedict is walking your way and notices and offers to share his umbrella and takes you back to his flat for some tea. “Ben! I’m Pregnant!" A journey from conception to birth. "I’m Not Jealous” Ben has work to do at home but instead he attends your office party with you, when you run into an old co-worker Ben gets a little jealous “Every Day, Every Hour…” It is date night again for you and Benedict, he proclaims his love for you over a romantic dinner. “Poor Benedict” Ben is really sick and stuck in bed, it is up to you to make him feel better. “The Sultry Villain” You land a guest star spot on Sherlock along side your boyfriend Benedict. “Is This The End?” Facing a difficult breakup you and Ben get into a heated argument. (this one has a happy ending) “The Surprise” Ben has been away for five weeks now, four weeks to long for you. “A Spring Day” Ben has a surprise for you on this beautiful spring day in London “The Morning After” A fluffy follow-up to the smutty “Lesson Learned?” “The Café in Copenhagen” Ben meets and falls in love with a Danish Girl. A fluff for benedictcumberbatchsdanishwife “The Motorbike” You hate when Benedict rides his motorbike around the busy streets of London. “Does He Remember Me?” Ben falls for one of his Australian fans “A Misunderstanding” Ben is interested in you and you are him but thanks to miss messages things turn sour but all ends well.(smutish…no actual act) “Awkward Fangirl at Oz Comic Con” A revamp of “Does He Remember Me?” “The Starry Night” A little surprise for Ben on your anniversary. “The Quiz Night” After a chat with another man at the bar during a quiz night Ben becomes very jealous. “My New London Life” You enlist your old friend Benedict’s help in finding a flat in London. “The Cabin” A strong snowstorm catches a hiker off guard, lucky for them you’re spending a few weeks in a small remote cabin in the mountains. “You Are the Worst Patient!” A fluffy about you taking care of Benedict as his friend, nothing more. Yet. “The Restless Night” You have a hard time getting to sleep, thankfully Ben can help with that. “Old Flames” Running into Ben at a party lights old flames inside of you. “The Nurse and Her Patient” Ben’s in the hospital and under your care as his nurse. Who know what will happen. “A Magical London Day” Ben leads you around London on a scavenger hunt with a little help from his family and friends. “The Audition” You are a great actor, but when you come face to face with Benedict at an audition you flub up! “You Make Me Feel Safe” Just some awesome fluffy Benedict that holds you and makes you feel happy after a long day. “Ben, the Worry Wart” You’ve gotten one of the lead rolls in an upcoming movie with Benedict, while you are off for a month you head back to New York to continue your studies but Ben is persistent on keeping fans from bothering you. “Secret Places” You’ve started a flame between you and Ben on a recent trip to London, now that you’re home a flirty text-a-thon ensues. “Benedict The Hulk” Ben had a rough day and when he gets home an argument gets a little heated. “Ladies?” You and Ben’s ex have a run in at a celebrity event. “The Farmers Market” Your niece gets lost at the farmers market, thankfully a nice British gentleman finds her and reunites you both. “Mummy Doesn’t Always Know Best” Ben’s mother isn’t so keen on you at first, how will things turn out. “Get Motivated” You are having a particular rough day, Ben helps motivate you to accomplish your goals. “Let it Be” A cute fluff about Ben asking your parents for your hand in marriage “I Promise” You wake up in a hospital bed with Benedict Cumberbatch sitting beside you and holding your hand, but why?!? “Fight or Flee” You and Ben have been great friends but what has he been hiding and how will it come out? “Stop Ignoring Me” Working very hard on the set of Sherlock keeps you busy and unable to chat with Ben, he keeps after you but you keep working. Turns into a little game of hard to get. “The Surry Farm” A farm out in Surry shared with Ben. “Sorry That Was Corny” A handsome man approaches you at a local pub and begins to flirt “A Needed Break” Ben has be really working hard lately so while in NY you treat him to a nice getaway. “Dopy Benedict” Ben goes under the knife and the medicines make him a little goofy when he wakes up. “The Competition” Two hot actors vying for your attention? Sounds perfect! “The Wedding Song” While celebrating Benedict’s parents anniversary Ben takes you for a spin to his parents wedding song. “The Tree” Ben is leaving for a very long time. “Grocery Shopping” A sweet little fic. Ben and you go food shopping together and fun ensues “Breakdown” A really stressful week leads to a huge meltdown in front of Benedict “Time For A Baby?” As you babysit your nieces you and Ben have such a wonderful time that you two begin to think it may be time for your own child. “It’s All Very Funny” You are cooking dinner for Ben’s parents as they are coming over to meet you for the first time. You head upstairs to take a shower while Ben waits for them…embarrassing moments ensue. “They Aren’t True Fans” After coming out publicly as a couple, you get egged on your way home from work. “The Misquote” Ben slips some things during an interview that could lead the public to believe your marriage is on the rocks. “The Puppy” After rescuing a box of two puppies you try to help them and then convince Ben to keep them. “To Church” Ben and you head off to church. “The Return of Napkinbatch” Ben loves making you laugh. “The Press” Ben does a little press conference about Hamlet but somehow it gets turned into a meeting about your relationship together. “The Letter” You come across a letter from Ben to his pen pal Greg and you try to sneak a peek. “Parent Teacher Meets” Its the night of the first parent teacher meets and one of your students has a very special guest along. “The Undercover Star” Benedict is on a hidden camera reality show and you happen to be his target. “The Lights Went Out.” You’re afraid of storms and to make matters worse when a particularly strong one comes up and knocks the power out, you’re also afraid of the dark. “Love Knows No Age” Age is not a matter for two people truly in love. “Benedict and the Stars” Ben is a romantic, with you having a PhD in Astronomy Ben has the stars to woo you. “A Babybatch in the Oven” It’s time to share the big news with Ben’s parents! “The First Kiss” Wonderful evening leads to a wonderful goodbye. “We’re Going to be Alright” Going through some difficult depression episodes I was sent this prompt and I decided to use it as a therapy for myself. “The Unexpected Miracle” You and Ben learn that due to some health problems you aren’t able to conceive. “My Heart Is On Fire For You” Ben finds a sweet way to propose to you. “Face to Face” This is for my dear friend “Sister” Emily. Ben sets up a meeting for her and I to finally meet in person! “We Miss You” Ben is stuck in L.A. filming for months, he misses you and your little girl so much and you miss him also so in a last minute decision you take Jenna and pack up to head for L.A. for a impromptu visit. “Benedict’s Bad Day” Ben has a rough day at work, it’s up to you to make him feel better. “The Corinthia Ball” A charity ball is occurring at the Corinthia Hotel in the heart of London tonight and Ben has something special planned for later. “The Nomination” - A little way to celebrate Benedict’s and the Sherlock team’s Emmy nominations. “Benedict Cumberbatch in ‘The Emmy Winner’” Ben and you watch the Emmy’s from home and celebrate when he’s announced the winner. “The Gala and Napkinbatch” You and Ben have fun in New York “Missing You” Ben is finally arriving home after a trip to Toronto. “Sunday Mornings" No one likes to wake up on a Sunday morning but this one isn’t so bad for Ben and you. "Always Beautiful to Me” Having a fat day, Ben cheers you up. “A Fire Inside” Letting off a little steam in a bar you meet a dashing man. “Hands” “Shh Sleep” “Celebrate Tonight” “The Return of Napkinbatch” “I Have To Tell You Something” “Sunday Mornings” “Something Better” After hearing your celebrity crush (Chris Evans) had been spotted with a girl in L.A. you had an unexpected meeting Ben for the first time.

Fluff/Smut

“One More Chance" Makeup sex is the best… "Ben! I’m Pregnant!" A journey from conception to birth. "My Plans” Celebrating a wonderful anniversary with Benedict over dinner but dinner isn’t the only plans he has for you. “The Interview” Ben says some really lovely things at an interview and when he gets home and you ask him about it, a simple kiss gets heated. “The Rose” You attend the Hay Festival with Benedict and try to wake him up after a very tiring day.

#benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch fluff #fluff #fluffy #soft #ben c fanfic #benedict cumberbatch fanfic #fanfiction #benedict cumberbatch fanfiction #fanfic writer

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artnerd1123 · 3 years

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A Familiar World

Land On Your Feet ——————————————-

Before Journal was “Journal,” he was Theodore: a mischievous kid with a handful of charm and a whole lotta stubbornness. On a normal trip to town, he sees something strange that would change his life. For better or worse, the kid has yet to find out...

The masterpost for AFW can be found here. The chapter post for AFW can be found here.

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ultimately I had planned for there to be a lot more going on here, but the chapter got way too long and i need validation to live. i’ll get on my other plans as i can, but there’s this for now! enjoy!

“Are we there yet?” “No, not yet.” “Are we there yet?!” “No, not yet.” “Are we THERE YET?!” “No, not y-” “Would you guys quit it back there?! I can’t focus on driving!” “Just ignore them, we’re almost there, anyway…” Such was the standard soundtrack on trips like these. The wagon bumped along the well worn dirt road, the horses kicking up dust as they went. The front row of the wagon was full to capacity- four people across, full of two parents and two elder children, with no space to spare for the four younger kids in the back. Just a farming family on their way to marketplace, laden down with kids and corn. Another standard around here. Three of the kids tumbled around among the market-boud corn, fooling around in the way bored children do. The last sat with his legs dangling over the back of the cart. The farmer boy kicked his feet idly, green eyed gaze sliding over the brush and wide fields along the road. A shock of messy brown curls rustled in the breeze. He reached up to smooth it down. It needed to stay in the cool swooshing style he’d seen on the cover of his older brother’s novels. His plaid tunic hung loosely off his lanky frame, his leggings more like a pair of pillowcases. Hand me downs. Nothing he wasn’t used to. He’d stuffed the ends of his leggings into his boots. Snatched a belt from his father’s closet to cinch the tunic around his waist. A patchwork look, sure, but he was working on it. Heroes can start off a little rough, his books told him. They soak in every little trip until they stumble into adventure. He believed it wholeheartedly. Though he did wish there was more action on their town trips. Heaving a sigh, he pulled his legs under him. Now crouching on the back of the cart, he considered his next move. He could hear whispers of “do a flip- backflip-! Do it do it-” behind him. He tensed his legs, holding tight to the back of the cart. Coiled to flip backwards, he cast a mischievous glance back at his siblings- And caught his mother’s eyes. “Theodore, don’t y’all dare!” her sharp voice flew back. “How many times’ve ah told ya ta stop doin’ that? Yer gonna get hurt ‘n knock corn outta the cart!” “Sorry ma,” Theodore said sheepishly, “cain’t help myself…” He let himself flop backwards instead. His siblings giggled and squawked as he did so, tossing corn at him. Grumbling from the front of the cart said his mother wasn’t amused. But it was fine, when was she? “Theo theo theo!!!” his youngest sister- Elise- chattered. “Whaddaya think we’re gon’ see in town today???” “Probably nothing cool,” Nilo piped up, his arms crossed defiantly. Always the cynic, his younger brother. “There’s never anythin’ cool in town…” “Don’t be so sure!” a chipper voice piped up, another slinging an arm around Nilo’s shoulders. “There could be ghosts ‘er somethin!!!” Nilo’s twin, Tyler, was definitely the more energetic of the pair. Theodore couldn’t help but chuckle at their antics. “We’ll find out when we get there, eh?” he grinned. Popping his collar, he leaned in conspiratorially. “Ah heard from Jessie that th’ candyman’s in town again,” he whispered. His siblings’ eyes gleamed in excitement. “Ah can prolly buy ‘n sneak a bag ‘er two inta th’ wagon. Jes make sure y’all stick by ma ‘n pa this time.” “We don’ want a repeat a’ last month,” Nilo snickered, nudging his twin. “Ay, you shuttit, I did mah part!” Tyler squeaked. “‘S not mah fault pa decided ta check th’ cart fer Theo!” “Y’all both need ta pay attention ta what’s goin on ‘round ya,” Elise giggled. “I’ve always been better at coverin’ than y’all.” “Hey now, one week at a time,” Theodore shook his head, beaming widely. “We’ll git it this time. Ah promise.” Theodore cast a look at the cart’s front row. Dean and Carrie were busy talking to ma and pa about something or other. Crop pricing, probably. Didn’t seem like anyone heard anything. Good. He stuck his hand out, winking at his siblings. “Hands in fer good luck?” Giggling and smiling, his siblings stuck their hands on top of his. “Hands in!” “You bet!” “We gon’ git it…!” “Awrite. Let’s get this show on th’ road…”

The wagon trundled into town half an hour later, the horses snorting as their hooves clacked on a cobblestone road. Sun beaten buildings lined the path, worn wooden sides tacked up with posters and shoddy repair jobs. Plenty of people milled about between them. The crowds parted ways lazily around the wagon, a couple people waving or shouting out a greeting. Standard trip. Standard town. Standard people. The kids in the back didn’t pay mind to any of it. Their eyes were fixed on the approaching town square. Today it was chock full of wagons just like theirs. Wheat, beans, hay, millet- you name a crop, someone was probably selling it. A few travelling merchants had their cart shops set up, too. Bright colors and fabric hangings adorned their stalls. All the better to catch someone’s eye. A good thing, too. That’s what the kids were really interested in. Theodore and his siblings exchanged glances as their parents guided the cart into their usual space. He’d have to work fast today. His siblings had better be on their game. The gentle rock of the wagon as his father climbed to the ground drew him from his thoughts. “Awright y’all,” His father called out, hands on his hips. “I wanna see alla’y’all helpin with the sellin today. Les’ git movin’.” Dean and Carrie hopped down after pa, both instantly pulling down their usual stall crates to set up. So those three wouldn’t be a problem- hopefully. He trusted his partners in crime to keep them busy. They’d scrambled down after the group, already squabbling about something or over. Nah. It was ma he worried about. Ma was busy adjusting her large sunhat and southern belle’s dress, swiping off dust from the road. He tried to look as innocent as possible when she turned to face him. “Yer pa’s gonna help Dean ‘n Carrie up front with handlin’ th’ gold,” his mother explained firmly, “so I don’ wanna hear of any funny business goin’ on while ah’m out browsin’.” “Of course, ma,” Theodore nodded. “We’ll be mindin’ th’ shop. Ya don’t gotta worry.” “Mmh. Thas’ what y’all said last month,” his mother huffed. “Ah expect more a’ all of you. No funny dancin’ around ’r tumblin in the dirt ‘r runnin off ta who knows where ‘n scarin us half ta death, or any’a that.” “I getcha, I getcha…” Theodore’s fingers twitched up towards his hair, fidgeting nervously. “I promise we’ll be handlin things here.” Mostly. “Awrite,” his mother said drily. She sighed, giving her sunhat one last tug before hopping down. “An quit playin with yer hair, Theo. If y’all keep treatin it like a toy, we’re cuttin it off.” His hands fell quick as a hare, knuckles nearly knocking them against the wagon’s wood. “Thas’ what ah thought.” Theodore watched her walk off into the marketplace, face burning a bit. Revaew, he had to quit doing that in front of his parents. There was no way he’d let them ruin his look. Sheesh. He waited until ma quit glancing back to move. He slid off the cart, making his way around to the gated back. He grunted as he slid his hands under it, carefully unhooking and lowering the gate so none of the corn spilled out. Around him, he could hear Nilo and Tyler arguing over who’d get to put the sign out. Dean and Carrie would get on that after they finished stall setup. And Elise was up with pa, using her influence as a papa’s girl to keep his eyes on her. Perfect. He fooled around in the back for a little longer, pretending to inspect the corn. He just needed an opening. Just a small one, so he could slip out. Eventually, the moment came. With all three of his partners in crime deep in bickering, squabbling, and poking at things they shouldn’t, the three elders had their hands full and then some. Theodore managed to sneak out easily around the back. He ran along the cramped alleyway behind the stalls, making sure to put plenty of distance between his home wagon and himself. He popped out in the middle of the silk merchants’ stall. They gave him a strange look at first. But when he swaggered right past, hands tucked in his belt and gaze comfortably uninterested, they turned back to business. Good. Nobody ever pays attention if you’ve got enough confidence, he thought smugly. The marketplace spread vibrant and dusty before him. The usual area sellers were shouting to sell their wares much farther down the street. The town kept this place open for merchants. They were hard to come by, sure. But they had their busy weeks. Theodore grinned as the mix of colors, smells, and sounds swirled around him. “Silk! Fresh spun and cut to a length of your liking!” “Handmade bags and jackets! All cheap! Come’n get it!” “Exotic plants! Guaranteed to keep great and make even greater fruit!” “Toys for the little ones! Wind ups, drag alongs, stuffies, we got it all!” Oh yeah. This was a busy one. He sauntered down the cobblestone paths, keeping his eyes peeled for the swirls and starbursts of the candy stall. The more he walked, the more confused he got. Funnel cake, cotton candy, sweet tarts… all good things, but not something he could stash and hide on the ride home. Where in Revaew’s green world was the candy stall? It had to be somewhere- he trusted Jessie to know what was going on around town. If he doesn’, I’ll have ta find someone better ta be my informant, Theodore thought to himself. Nevertheless, he kept moving. Casual glances from one side of the road to the other and a meandering pace let him blend in with all the other market goers. At least, enough to mask his nervousness. C’mon… his siblings would be so disappointed if he didn’t find- Suddenly, he froze, eyes going wide. Oh no. Oh no. Not ten feet from him stood his mother. She wasn’t facing him, thankfully, but she was right there. If she so much as turned her head the slightest bit, she’d see him. And if she saw him now, he and his siblings be in so much trouble- Not thinking, the boy ducked behind the nearest stall, sprinting back along the alleyways behind the market. Ducking and weaving between different paths, he tried not to focus on the sound of footsteps and squawks from someone trying to tail him. All he wanted to do was get as much distance between his mother and himself before she noticed. He ran faster, ducking down alley after alley, desperation and adrenaline fuelling his mad dash. He could not get caught, he just had to find the candy stall and head back, he- he- Wait a minute. Where was he? Theodore slowed to a stop, leaning heavily on a nearby building. He glanced around as he tried to catch his breath. These were alleyways, sure. But somehow he’d managed to stray from the ones behind the marketplace. Through the gaps of the buildings, he could see the wide open fields and scrub of town outskirts. The hustle and bustle of town echoed far behind him. Where, he couldn't place. Oh boy. Well. This is… less than ideal, he thought nervously. Ah guess ah better keep movin. Try ta find my way back, maybe. His steps were hesitant as he moved forward, eyes sliding over unfamiliar wood and stone. Recognizable landmarks would be great right about now. But. Well. He hadn’t exactly been in this side of town. If those were a bust, maybe he could follow sound? Someone was always trying to play some instrument in the marketplace. He cocked his head to the side, straining for any hint of music. He tensed as something else registered in his ears. A strange… puffing sound. Like someone was throwing something at the ground, or stirring up dust. His brows furrowed in confusion. As he strained for more, he caught a glimpse of something bright and gold flashing above the roof of a nearby building. His eyes glimmered softly as it faded away. “What’n th’ hell…?” he mumbled. … his worries about getting back to the marketplace didn’t seem so dire. I gotta find out what that is. Head cocked and gaze sharp, Theodore jogged toward the source of the strange flashes. The closer he got, the more he sped up. The sounds got louder, and he could just make out a voice or two. The gold flashes shimmered bright as diamonds in the sun, looking for all the world like someone was turning treasure into mist. Eventually he spotted a cloud of it receding down an alleyway. There!!! Eagerly pressing forward, he all but ran down the alleyway, skidding to a stop once it opened into a small dirt patch outside of town. His mouth dropped open, eyes widening at the sight. In the center of the patch, someone was busy weaving air into towers. Or, he assumed it was air- what else could the curious coin-colored clouds be??? As he watched, they jumped off the top of one, tucking and rolling several times before their hands hooked on a newly-formed branch of smoky gold. He silently registered a couple other town kids beside him. But they were far from his thoughts. All he could do was watch in complete awe as the stranger swooped and swung through the air, puffs of smoke and gilded air weaving a lovely dance before him. Eventually, the stranger seemed to notice their audience. They smiled, winking at the little group. Theodore could only manage a tiny wave in return. He’d never- never- seen anything like this. The flips, yes- he’d been doing those since he was little- and the stranger was doing one hell of an impressive job with ‘em- but he’d not seen anything close to the strange gold sheen in the air. Not even in his wildest dreams. None of his storybooks had this sort of- sort of- whatever the stranger was doing. Yet he couldn’t help but feel he was staring down a legend. With a rather extravagant backflip, the stranger tossed a puff of gold at the air before them- and- disappeared?! The little group gasped. Theodore felt his shoulders tense anxiously. Where had they gone? Why was their gold fog fading? Had he just imagined the whole thing??? He glanced around helplessly at the few others around him. They all blinked, just as confused as he was. What happened? Before he could wonder too much longer, another puff of gold exploded in the air above them. Everyone gasped again as the stranger popped back into existence, flipping through the air. Dust kicked up as their boots landed firmly in the center of the dirt patch, mingling with the glimmering sheen of fading golden smoke. Everyone sat in awestruck silence for a moment. Then... The stranger grinned. And took a deep bow. Theodore was clapping before he knew what he was doing, a dopey grin taking up half his face. He faintly registered one of the group peeling off towards the alleyways. He didn’t pay it too much mind. He was much too focused on how the stranger was looking at him. “Well, seems someone enjoyed the performance, mh?” they grinned. Theodore glanced around- surely they were talking to someone else- but, no, their gaze was squarely on him. Everyone else wasn’t even moving. He nodded vigorously, eager smile still in place. “Y-yessir! Er- ma’am- er- pal?- It was real cool! I ain’t never seen anythin’ quite like it!” he stammered.. “Yer moves were amazin- and- what- what was that cloudy stuff?” He paused, wondering briefly if he wasn’t supposed to inquire such things. His face reddened as he continued. “A-ah mean. If y’all don’ mind me askin’...?” The stranger just chuckled, shaking their head. “It’s quite alright,” they hummed. “I don’t tend to pass through here often- I’m jus glad I caught some gazes while practicing. And… I don’t think you’da seen much of this anyway.” They held out a hand, Theodore gasping softly as golden smoke rose from their palm. “It’s magic, kid.” The second the words registered, Theodore froze. Eyes wide and jaw slack, he felt he couldn’t breathe. Magic? That was magic? His brows furrowed in utter confusion. His gaze bounced between the gold mist and the stranger’s face. Part of him whispered he should turn and go, but- surely- surely it couldn’t be! Magic was a destructive force. Something horrid and corrupting and full of nothing but misery and laziness. You knew it when you saw it. You knew it to avoid it. And it was never, never anything good. At least, that’s what his parents said anytime someone mentioned it. That’s all anyone in town ever said when someone mentioned magic. He’d not had reason to doubt until now. “... are… are y’all sure that’s magic…?” he echoed softly. The stranger seemed to pick up on his unease. Letting the gold fade away, they nodded. “Yeah, that’s magic, kid,” they replied. “Swear on my heart.” “But- but how’d ya-” Theodore gestured for a minute, trying to put to words his clashing thoughts- “how’re y’all usin it without gettin hurt or somethin? That all looked like- like fun, not like trouble!” The stranger tilted their head a bit, a flash of something- pity?- crossing their face. Theodore fidgeted a bit, and it was gone. “Magic’s not bad, kiddo, as long as you’re keepin an eye on it,” the stranger said gently. They gestured to the air around them as they continued. “You can do a whole lot with it- every little bit of gold you saw was a spell! ‘S not all bad, ‘s long as ya know what you’re doin. Magic helps ya do anythin ya put your mind to. Like ya saw, you can mash it together with all kinds’a fancy moves, too. Y’all can do amazin’ things if you keep tabs on your spellwork ‘n watch yourself.” “... really?” Theodore breathed. “Really,” the stranger nodded. “Tha’s… I… hey, wait a sec-” Theodore said hurriedly, “who’s the “you” y’all’re talkin’ ‘bout? Y’all n who else? ‘S there other magic castin’ folks around? Where- where’re they hidin? Who are they?” The stranger chuckled at his eagerness, holding up a hand. Theodore fell silent reflexively, standing up a little straighter. They didn’t look annoyed, but. Well. Habit wouldn’t be ignored. They looked down at him, spreading their hands out at their sides. “Well… yeah, if you know where to look,” they smiled knowingly. “Just… for safety, I won’t list names. But, if you want to know…” They leaned in conspiratorially, eyes shining. “It’s me and every other human around.” Theodore stared at them, blinking owlishly. His words took a minute to find their sound, drifting around his head before he could get bits of them out. “Ev… every… person...? Y… w-whaddaya… how…?” he said softly. “Anyone can use magic, kid,” the stranger said gently. “Even you. You just gotta dig for it.” Theodore just… fell silent. This felt like something he shouldn’t know, but. Well. Here he was. And he’d never been one to turn down something big. Slowly, his gaze drifted down to his hands. Anyone can use magic? He knew he wanted to do something big when he grew up. He couldn’t run the farm- not with Dean ‘n Carrie filling those roles. He loved his little siblings, but they… his parents had plans for them. He was just. Stuck in the middle. He knew he had to do something to stand out. And… well… something about the sight of the stranger swinging around, the clapping and cheering, the golden haze and look of pure bliss on their face, the pure legendary aura that hung off of them, and the amazement they got from the crowd... He wanted that. And he wanted it desperately. Unfortunately, he didn’t have long to think on it before an angry voice rang out. “What ‘n the hell’s goin’ on here?!” Theodore froze in place at the voice, body going stiff and straight as a board. Uh oh. He cast a nervous glance behind him. Standing at the mouth of the alleyway was a small group of adults. The kid he’d seen sprint off a few minutes ago was among them, hiding behind the leader. And- with his heart sinking- he realized that wasn’t the only person he recognized. His mother was there. Glaring at him. In fact, none of the group looked happy. At all. “Kids, git over here, will ya?” the leader said calmly. Though his eyes said he was anything but. The other couple kids around trotted obediently into the group. They disappeared behind a wall of adults, a ring of angry cattle protecting their calves. But Theodore couldn’t get himself to move. He hadn’t quite realized how close he’d strayed to the stranger. And now, with all these eyes on him, he couldn’t move. He just looked back at the leader, terror bubbling across his face. The leader eyed him for a moment. With a click of his tongue, his mother darted out from the group. Theodore cowered as she neared, but that didn’t stop her. Her hand shackled quickly around his wrist, yanking him roughly- frantically- desperately- panicky- back with her to the group. He felt himself pushed into the center quickly, pressed up against other wide eyed kids. A second later, grumbling and muttering broke out. Voices were muffled, stretching over him and his fellows like a cup over a fly. What was going on?! He wiggled around a bit, trying to get a good look. But the wall of adults- his mother included- wouldn’t budge an inch. He needed to see what was happening. But he had to work with what was on hand. He took a gamble and crouched down, peering out from their legs. The sound didn’t travel well, but he could see the stranger’s face. And lip reading did the legwork there. “‘S there a problem, sir?” the stranger asked, chipper tone wavering. “Yeah. I’m lookin at it,” the leader growled. He spat on the ground, disdain all over his face. “Y’all know we don’ like yer kind around here.” “I’m afraid I’m not sure what you m-” the stranger tried, but they didn’t get far. The leader took a menacing step towards them. Theodore could feel the anger radiating off of him. Go, he pleaded mentally, you’re not safe here. “Git out of our town,” the leader hissed. “Or we’ll make ya.” “There’s no need t-” “Ah said git.” With another click of his tongue, the group suddenly lurched forward. Panicked legs crashed against Theodore’s back, sending him tumbling facefirst into the dirt. Oh shit. Theodore curled up frantically, arms covering his head. The group surged forward again, boots and bare feet barely missing his body. When he looked up again, the group was advancing steadily towards the stranger. The sight slammed his heart into his ribs. Oh Revaew- what was going on?! The stranger just stepped back cautiously, hands out and trying to placate them. Theodore couldn’t see what they were saying, but he knew they were in trouble- they were in trouble- they had to get out- they- oh Revaew- his breath was catching in his throat. I can’t let them do this. Scrambling to his feet, the boy ran blindly past the menacing mob. Nobody noticed him until it was too late. He waved his hands at the stranger desperately. “YOU HAVE TO GO!” he cried. And that was all he had time to get out. The mob- that’s what it was- oh revaew- exploded into chaos. He felt hands grabbing and shoving him back behind the adults, many of them surging forward toward the stranger. He tried desperately to slip past- to yell- to hope frantically that the stranger was ok. But they’d been warned. With a flash bang of smoky magic, they were off. The sound and sight was enough to freeze the crowd for a moment. Enough for Theodore to wiggle free and watch. Though the mob bellowed and crashed, the stranger swung out of reach, golden clouds lifting them out of the way. Their gold branching towers ferried them quickly- gracefully- away from danger. With a tuck, roll, and dive, they landed perfectly on their boots a hundred feet away. Theodore felt their eyes linger on him for just a moment. His own were wide, full of naught but wonder. “REMEMBER, KID!” they shouted, turning tail to run, “A TRUE SHOWMAN ALWAYS LANDS ON THEIR FEET!” And hits the ground running, theodore thought softly.

The boy didn’t really process what happened after that. He felt the mob quiet back into a crowd. He felt their anger melt into crushing concern. He felt the words of many swirling around him, none of them sticking with the phrase that echoed in his mind. Eventually, he felt his mother dragging him back to the family stall, berating and fussing over him the whole time. It was only when corn gently rustled beneath him, and his siblings gently touched him, that he finally broke from his stupor. He shook his head, holding up a hand. He did what he could to soothe his siblings worries. It wasn’t too hard- spin a tale, flash a confident grin, and make some joke about having to try again on the candyman- they calmed down quick enough. He was left to sit in the back of the cart. As the sounds of the ride relaxed into something resembling the standard, theodore stared thoughtfully out over the path. A true showman always lands on their feet. … And hits the ground running. But… Magic isn’t dangerous, not if you keep an eye on it. How had nobody told him this before? Or that… that… Anyone can do magic. … Even him. The boy’s thoughts trundled steadily along like the wagon, though they were many miles away. The day left much to think about.

#afw #a familiar world #afw chapter #my story #arty writes #journal sherman drapht #wahoo fun times with da boi :VVV #anyway slkdjf #enjoy this #i had fun workin with it n figurin out my boy ^^

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getreadytosmash · 3 years

Text

Honey, it ain’t home

Note:PLEASE be aware that this fic contains child abuse/neglect and death as well as implied transphobia and know that I do not regret hurting my kids feel free to toss fish and squid at me UwU

“(Wake up, scum)!”

The voice range into Skaar’s cage and eventually a small grey child sat up and stared back to the cage master. Green on black eyes almost seemed to light up the darkest corner of his cage. Shrinking back from the yelling was never a good thing, so the slave was sure to crawl forwards until he was enough in the light that made the cage master nod with satisfaction.

“(You have a fight later),” They knocked a hand against the cage, red skin pulling back into a smirk when Skaar flinched back and bore his fangs without thinking. The stone of his skin stood out far more than any other slave here. “(Make sure you’re in top condition, the King will be watching).”

No one knew where he came from. No one cared.

The mention of a king got a flinch from him then and Skaar was careful to not say anything that could have potentially set the master off. The last time he had been too loud and the electrified whip across his back - bright flashes he had barely had the time to comprehend before something flew across - left Skaar screaming as wrong coloured blood dripped out of his back.

Greyskin and wrong eyes with wrong blood. He looked every bit like the monster that they all said he was.

The cage was going to open soon. Skaar could see his sword being brought out, the shocking prods with dazzling and painful light as well as a bucket of water to dunk his head into and to wash away the old blood from the before fights. He was kept away from the smooth feeling of Earth and solid cold metal was all he could live and sleep on until he was forced out into the ring. Skaar didn’t know why they were so certain on this, but any idea of asking was immediately followed by the fear of what could come for such a thought.

He would fight and he would kill and then Skaar would scream when he was hurt over and over. It was a hellish life and the only time the grey-skinned monster felt better was when he was asleep and the planet felt like it rocked him to sleep.

The rattling of his cage startled Skaar and he looked up to see the Cage Master banging the pain stick, a smirk on their face as they leaned against the door, water splashing from the bucket in their free hand. Fear cradled his heart and if he wished that someone would save him, please.

“(Let’s get this over with, killer of killers. The less I have to touch a monster, the better.)”

~~~~

Rick screamed, and he hated the fact that it took only eight hits of the cane to do this to him. Sure, he had grown past six, but it still stung his pride far worst than it did physically to know that he was giving Sister Maude what she wanted. He didn’t want to scream for her, listen to the lecture she always gave or the way his back pulled and stretched around his caning injuries later on.

He didn’t know what he had done wrong this time, but it always seemed to be something. Sometimes he was too messy, too loud, just too much for anyone and that was why he was alone. Sister Maude said these things and Rick had nowhere to go so he was stuck here, grunting in pain as cold words were the only thing to soothe him.

“Time after time I warn you about this happening, Richard.” Sister Maude’s scowl could be heard clearly, even though Rick couldn’t see her at the moment, or at least didn’t want to. “You start these fights for, what? Attention? To cause more problems for the poor sisters? Answer me!”

The cane came down much lower than it usually did, and the fourteen year old shrieked when the cane hit much lower than it usually did. Pain rushed up his back and Rick fought to not scramble away. Trying to run would only mean that a worse punishment would follow. “N-no!”

When it finally ended, Rick bit back any last noises, not wanting to give the nun anything else to tell him off over. Besides, it was better that it was Rick on the receiving end of these punishments instead of anyone else. Usually he had it coming, whether it was because he was too loud when trying to learn a new song on the guitar his father had left for him or when he was trying to take away any attention from the younger kids here. No one deserved to be yelled at or made to feel like nothing and Rick had been here long enough that he was used to it.

Besides, it was like Sister Maude always said, Rick had nowhere to go and no one wanted a fourteen year old anymore, he had to keep the younger kids safe so it was up to him to make sure that they got adopted or at least taken to a better place than this. God knew he would want that.

“You won’t be given dinner tonight.” Sister Maude spoke and Rick felt a roll of nausea when he heard that. He already hadn’t eaten for most of the day. “You’ll go straight to your room and if I or any other Sister, must hear that horrific strumming, your guitar will be removed. Am I clear, Richard Jr?”

He wanted to run. Run away and never come back, sink into the ground where his parents were and never come back up.

“Yes Sister Maude.”

~~~~

“Brian, please.”

Aunt Rebecca’s voice is hushed, like she doesn’t want Jennifer to hear her and Uncle Brian arguing. Or at least, her aunt arguing. Uncle Brian doesn’t seem to really wanting to argue back, which was odd and silly since Jennifer always liked to debate stuff, like when her and Dad would have a mock argument over the pros and cons of eating sugary pancakes for breakfast vs the gross healthy oatmeal Dad always wanted her to eat.

“No Rebecca!” Uncle Brian’s voice was much more harsher and Jennifer was in bed, safe and sound, but she still tensed up and tried to not flinch. Bruce was sleeping on the floor in his own makeshift bed and she didn’t know if he was secretly awake too. “Every time we come here, I have to stand around and see what the hell Elaine lets her kid do, it’s disgusting, she should be ashamed of herself along with Morris.”

“Brian-”

“We only come here because I want you to be happy and apparently what makes you happy is coming to see my family, bringing that wretched monster-” Jennifer’s heart clenched and she fought to look at Bruce. “And to remind me of everything I’ve been through? Isn’t that inconsiderate of you?”

She wants to tell Uncle Brian that he’s wrong. That Jennifer is a really good dancer and she can argue well and her hair is finally long enough to go into those pretty long braided ponytails. Aunt Rebecca was the best aunt, who took her and Bruce to the cool museum and one time that beach and aquarium, but Jennifer knew she wasn’t allowed to talk about that part to Uncle Brian ‘cause she knew that he wasn’t going to be happy about them going to such a cool place without him.

Jennifer secretly thought that everything should have been done without Uncle Brian and they would all be for the better. Aunt Rebecca and Bruce wouldn’t have those awful bruises anymore and Bruce wouldn’t think that he was a monster. But Dad always got this weird look on his face and would glance at Mom and she would just turn away, scowling into the window and not smiling for the rest of the morning or afternoon.

“We aren’t going to come here anymore.” Her uncle’s hushed voice drew Jennifer’s attention away form her thoughts again. “I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to see all of these reminders of being a fucking child again.”

Aunt Rebecca must have tried to say something, because there was an odd noise before he kept on talking. “It’s sick. I feel sick looking at Elaine’s kid in those dresses. Everything here is sick and I have half a mind to know what’s causing it-”

His voice came closer then, like Uncle Brian was reaching for the door handle and wanting to come into her room. Jennifer pulled her covers up higher and she didn’t miss the hitching noise that came from the floor. The only thing that stopped her from calling out to her parents was when Aunt Rebecca’s voice rose somewhat. Not a lot. She never yelled as a choice.

“Okay, okay.” Her voice sounded soothing now. “We’ll leave first thing tomorrow and- and you won’t have to come back here. I’ll make something up to Elaine and Morris.”

“Or you. I don’t want you coming here either, Rebecca. I need you with me.”

“...Okay.”

The voices faded away more from her door and Jennifer blinked in the dark. She didn’t feel tired anymore though, instead, Jennifer felt wide awake and like she had just missed a step of the stairs or like she was standing on a tall bridge, ready to fall at any moment. She wanted to say something, but Bruce had curled up further into his bed and Jennifer didn’t want to wake him up just in case he had been able to fall asleep.

She didn’t think either of them would be able to sleep again if one of them said something.

~~~~

The plumes of smoke rose into the air, forming from such intensive heat that Thad was shocked that it didn’t go anywhere further. The summer day was hot, the kind where you wanted to sit with some ice cold lemonade or to run as fast as you can through New Hampshire trails with friends laughing and chasing you, eager to win the game.

Momma- Mom was waiting back at the farm where Mr Thomas was gonna show Thad those frogs by the river after he had helped her out with some chores Mom had shooed him away from, claiming that he was young enough to not have to worry about helping out so much. Thad wished that she would let him help, let him be useful enough around the house, especially now.

He had always liked red and orange and yellow. Warm colours, colours of war that Dad had always said fit Ross men. Aunt Betsy would always smile at these colours falling from the trees before threading her fingers with Uncle Jeff’s hands.

These warm colours blended and danced together, threading into the sky in a swirling blaze that could bring tears to anyone’s eyes, even a man’s.

The heat caught Thad strongly and even though he was standing far away enough for it to be safe, the heat still made it hard to breathe, like the air itself wanted to take everything away.

But it already had done that, just not to Thaddeus.

The roaring of the flames mixed with the odd ringing in his ears and while Thad couldn’t feel the energy to rub at them, he still winced slightly at the sound. The ringing was joined by a horrible screaming, the kind of screaming that you only heard once and never wanted to hear again ever.

Henry was nearby, screaming and tearing at the ground and himself. He was strong for a ten year old, only a year older than Thad, due to the boxing lessons he took up. Thad would watch him sometimes and the sun on his face would only flush him further as he laughed and watched Henry hit the heavy sandbag. Henry offered to teach him some stuff and Thad found himself eager for it.

Only now though, Henry didn’t seem to have any of that same easy-going assurance. His voice was raw from screaming for the past hour, struggling from where Mr Thomas has rushed over when the explosion hit and had immediately taken Henry into his arms, holding tight to ensure that the ten year old couldn’t run into the flames.

Henry wouldn’t look at Thad. Green eyes were glassy with terror and tears and he screamed harder towards the flame, directing Thad’s attention over to it.

He didn’t want to look. But Henry’s father was in the plane, the centre of fire, and he had finally stopped screaming himself. Thad looked and felt his chest clench with..something. He didn’t want to know what, didn’t want to give it a name as he stared into bloodshot and burning as his previously white skin went all sorts of hues of red and black, charring and burning and rotting away.

He stopped struggling and he stared and he gaped and Thad thought he would have screamed if he could.

Mr Thomas screamed at Thad to get away and later on, his aunt and uncle and mother and Mr Thomas would fuss over him. Dad would slap him on the back and tell Thad that this was a lesson in shirking his duties for personal reasons. Thad would be sick and he would dream of burning red hues and charred skin for the rest of his life. He would look into a mirror one day and see the same horrible hues and blackened eyes staring back at himself.

For now, Thad stared.

~~~~

“God dammit, Robert,” Daddy’s voice was high and dizzy and Bruce maybe would have sounded the same way if he could talk right now. “What did you make me do?”

Mommy was on the floor and red coated the ground around her and tinted the top of her dress and Bruce wasn’t anywhere near her because Daddy was too close and Daddy would do the same to Robbie and he felt sick and he felt that feeling where he got angry and something made him want to scream and run but his legs felt too buzzy like the tv static and he couldn’t run there was nowhere-

“Look at me!”

The voice sounded like a monster now and Robbie stared up with wide eyes, glassy and wet and his chest heaved with everything bad in the world. Daddy had blood on his hands.

He looked like he wanted to have Robbie’s blood on his hands too.

He felt sick.

Robbie’s head didn’t feel like it was working right now and that was never a good thing when Daddy was staring and looking so angry. His green jacket was tainted now and Robbie was only glad that he didn’t have the same rushing feeling of the monster in his head - the other monster that wasn’t him - wanting to scream and hit Daddy back.

“You made me do this. You made me into this.” Daddy snarled and he stunk of his drinks and Robbie couldn’t even flinch back without his head hitting into the car. “I could have been better, Robert. Rebecca was going to fix me. She was making me better and then you came along and it was all just a giant fucking reminder that I can never have anything good.”

He stepped forward and this time Robbie’s head did smack into the car. He didn’t wince though, he had been hit harder.

Daddy’s chest heaved and Robbie wished that a sorry could fix this all. He was sorry he was born and made Mommy feel like she had run away, sorry that he made Daddy so unhappy. But his head felt like it was full of cotton and thoughts slid away and feelings took their place of screaming grey static.

Robbie’s eyes fell onto the green jacket Daddy wore, right where green was tinted with the red and they stayed there.

He wished Daddy could say sorry for taking Mommy away though.

Daddy loved Mommy, but he didn’t seem to care about the fact that Robbie loved her too.

Mommy didn’t move from the ground. She must have been cold there and Daddy didn’t seem to know what to do about that. He stepped away, covered his mouth and paced for a little while. Robbie heard sirens and Daddy screamed into his hands, a muffled and agony filled noise that made Robbie flinch back again, a hollow bang following it easily.

“You...” Daddy sounds hoarse now. The bad scary when he came into Robbie’s room sometimes, standing near the big monster and he would stare for an hour before leaving again. “You aren’t going to let them know it was me because it wasn’t, okay? It was you, it was always you!”

Stepping closer, Daddy seems to loom over him, the same way the scaled monster in Robbie’s room does.

“You made me into this because that’s what monsters do. Rebecca...Rebecca loved you for some deluded reason and she wanted you to live so-” Daddy laughs wetly and Robbie wonders what’s so funny. “So you’re going to live. Live with what you did to me and her and you will never forget this, no matter what-”

And then he leans down and Robbie stares into brown eyes that are dilated and he notices a smear of blood on Daddy’s cheek. “You’re heartless Robert. You kill everything near you, monster, but I won’t let you kill me.”

He stepped away then and the sirens were closer and Robbie felt like static grey and blood tinted green were all that he could feel and see. A small sob finally slipped out of him.

Robbie wished that he wasn’t the only monster, that maybe Jen or the monster in his head was real so they could be here and share a hug or try and help him take away some of that awful feeling in his chest.

He reached out a finger and caught it in the stiff pinkie of Mommy. She was still warm and even though Robbie wanted to hug her, he resisted that urge.

This was good enough for a monster like him.

~~~~

“No! Put it down, Phil!” Sam stared in horror and horror was the correct word right now because his brother was currently holding his most important book, the one that Mommy had given him before she left.

She was going to be back soon, it had only been a week, but until then Sam had thought it would be good to keep the book she had given him safe, especially since she would want to read it with him when she got back. It was all about sharks and their different habitats and Mommy liked it when she could have fun talks with Sam afterwards and even about who would win in a shark fight to the death.

But now, in his big brother’s hands, Sam feels his worrying problems push themselves to the front of his mind and he feels like it’s harder to breathe when he doesn’t have the book.

His brother wasn’t nice at times, the bruises up his chest and arms and the missing tooth proved that, Although Mommy and Dad said a lot that it was an accident, right? And Phil was nicer when Sam agreed that it was an accident. Phil didn’t mean to play so roughly, or to push Sam about hard enough for him to get hurt, but it still sent thrums of panic up his back to see his book in Phil’s hands.

“Why should I?” Phil was already taller than him by lots, despite being thirteen. He grew a lot over the summer and that only served to make him so much more scary when Sam was still eight and waiting for his own growth spurt. Sam tried to keep it to himself, but maybe Phil knew, especially when he got this weird smile on his face when he stepped closer and Sam had to look up.

“Mommy gave me-”

“Mommy gave me!” Phil copies him and he makes his voice so much higher than it needed to be and Sam’s face feels hot and awful at it. “Do you hear yourself? All this talk of being some sort of big boy now and you’re still too stupid to know that Mom isn’t coming back.”

“She is!” Sam argues back and he feels his chest clench already, panic and bad ideas forming at the words.

What if she wasn’t coming back? What if she got hurt and couldn’t and-

What if she didn’t want to come back?

Phil seems to catch some sort of look on Sam’s face and his smile turns ugly and Sam wants to back away and run but Phil still has his book and the last time he did that, his brother had grabbed him by his then-long hair and had yanked hard enough that Sam had a headache for hours. It was part of the reason why Sam had gotten Momm- Mom to cut it all off.

“She doesn’t want to come back and why would she?” Phil stepped closer and jabbed a finger into Sam’s chest, ignoring the small cry of pain. “Dad just sits on his ass all day and only gets up to yell at us now, nothing I do ever seems to be good enough for him or her and don’t even get me started on you!”

Maybe he shouldn’t ask, but Sam’s chest feels so tight now and he knows he should try the breathing exercises Mom tried to show him, but he can’t right now. Everything is piling up more and more, like the dishes in the kitchen that are starting to smell.

“What about me?”

“You, Sam Sterns, are a freak.” Phil practically spits the word and Sam tries to not flinch. “You’re annoying and talk so goddamn much so no wonder Mom wanted to leave when you’re always causing problems over being scared of everything or wanting to look different and I’m so fucking sick of sharks!”

He swore and Sam stared with wide eyes, but a wail escaped him when Phil seemed to reach the height of his anger and ripped out pages of the book. Sam reached over for it but Phil shoved his hand into Sam’s face and roughly shoved him away, ripping more pages out and chucking them into the mud.

His book was ruined. The pages were too torn up now and dirty to read and nothing would fix it. Tears rose to Sam’s face and he shoved a hand into his mouth to bite down on the oncoming sob from his book being ruined. The hurt in his chest grew and he felt like screaming and he was shaking now, hands reaching down to touched the ruin pages and his fingers shook as he touched muddy ruined words.

He didn’t want to say anything else, not when breathing was so hard right now and his face felt flushed. Phil just stood over him and he knew that he was going to have worse.

Later that night, after a trip to the medial room, Dad didn’t even bother asking how Sam broke his wrist. The mud and tears and ruined book seemed to be enough for him.

#Found in body but lost in mind (Skaar)#fic #movie star (Rick)#green goddess (Jen)#one man army (Red)#the man inside the monster (Bruce)#he swims in a sea of regret (samuel)#tw child abuse #tw child abandonment #tw transphobia #tw injury #tw death #tw sister maude/brian banner/phil sterns amiright #ngl i wanted to do the smoking one for red SO BAD #and tbh i don't like skaar and rick's but that was just because their ones started out as small fics ughh #love red and bruce's one tho #pay my onlyangst's and maybe i'll write a happy version ksksksksks

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yourdeepestfathoms · 3 years

Text

chasing pegasus (part two)

part one

[horse racing au]

tw: there’s some discussions of unhealthy dieting in this one, so watch out!

------------------------------------------------------

a lap around the yard

The Trainer

Four days later, the sound of hoofsteps came crunching up the driveway of the Netherworld. It was a wet, early morning, the sun not even up yet. Animals were still asleep, as were Barbara and Adam- not even Lydia had showed up for work.

And yet, there were hoofsteps coming from the street.

It had taken little persuasion to convince Presley Lind’s parents into allowing Beetlejuice to be her new trainer once they found out he was associated with the Maitland’s. Their bored expressions lit up instantly, and Beetlejuice easily saw the greed shining inside of their eyes. He had managed to bite back a laugh in the moment, not wanting to ruin this opportunity.

As a child, horses were Beetlejuice’s entire world. Despite his mother working in politics, he lived on a farm, where the plains rolled out to him every morning like green carpets and the air was fresh and clean. There was so much space, and absolutely nothing to fill it.

Lawrence “Beetlejuice” Shoggoth longed for a pony of his own more than anything. Almost every day, he would watch the neighbors ride around on their horses, practically radiating smugness like, “Hahaha! Look at us! We got horses and you don’t! Hahaha!”

He tried to get a horse. Every single Christmas, every single birthday, he would ask his mother for a pony of his own. And every single time he was shot down. She would say that his wonder towards the animals was just a “phase,” that he would lose interest in the beast and leave her to take care of it, but Beetlejuice knew the real reason she said no was because she didn’t like when he got anything he wanted.

It wasn’t until he was seventeen that he finally got the horse he had been dreaming about.

She was a little black-and-white thoroughbred filly that Beetlejuice nursed himself after her mother was killed by a pack of hungry coyotes. His mother had been furious when he carried the foal into the house that dark evening, but he managed to convince her into letting him keep the animal, as long as he paid for everything and didn’t come running to her when he needed help. He was ecstatic.

That little black-and-white thoroughbred filly was the same large black-and-white thoroughbred mare standing beside him at five-thirty in the morning before the sun had even risen, waiting for their pupils.

Sandy, aka It’s Showtime, was the highlight of Beetlejuice’s life. She was fast, full of energy, and had more of a personality than most people Beetlejuice had met. She was everything he dreamed about and more. He didn’t know what he would do without her.

“Good morning, student!” Beetlejuice greeted Presley animatedly when she finally finished her walk down the driveway. Strangely enough, she wasn’t riding her horse, instead guiding him by a halter. She didn’t seem to have been on his back at all that morning, deciding to make the whole trip on foot.

“Good morning, Mr. Shoggoth,” Presley greeted back. In the faint glow from the light attached to the wall of the nearby barn, he saw that she was dressed in a soft-looking flannel, a tank top underneath that, leggings, and boots. Her helmet and goggles were hanging from the side of her saddle. She had her crop with her and she kept fidgeting with it as some sort of nervous tic.

Beetlejuice couldn’t help but laugh at her insistence in formality. She truly was the epitome of a Southern Belle, even up in Connecticut.

“You can call me Beetlejuice, kiddo, it’s okay.”

Presley wrinkled her nose, but nodded anyway. Beetlejuice was sure that was going to last for maybe an hour, and then she would be back to referring to him like he was the president of the United States or something.

“So, are you ready for our first day of training?” Beetlejuice asked, hoping he didn’t sound too much like an excited child on Christmas. He had been waiting for the perfect protégé for what felt like forever and he finally found someone who showed real promise. He couldn’t wait to teach her about everything he knew.

“Yes, sir!” Presley answered. She matched his energy, so Beetlejuice decided to ignore the fact that she replied to him like he was a drill sergeant and she was a wannabe soldier preparing for war.

“That’s what I like to hear!” Beetlejuice clapped her on the back. “Let’s get out to the track.”

--- --- ---

The first hour and a half, they didn’t even touch the horses.

Sandy and Presley’s stallion, a scraggly grey thoroughbred stallion named Peril, were put into the carousel to get their muscles warmed up for later riding--

--except Peril attempted to physically fight the equipment the moment it turned on and tried to guide him around the circle, which he did not like at all. Beetlejuice and Presley both had to rush to calm him down before he could break something or hurt himself or worse: wake up Barbara. After a few moments of resistance, he finally gave into the tug of the machine and relented to following its pull.

By the time the sun had finally come up, Presley was soaked in a fine layer of sweat. They spent those first few hours exercising; or, rather, Presley was exercising. Beetlejuice watched over her with a hose at the ready if he caught her slacking off.

Being a jockey was a lot harder than anyone initially thought. Despite being small in stature, easily half the size of any NFL player most of the time, they were required to guide twelve hundred pounds of pure flesh and muscle at speeds of up to forty miles per hour. Strength was needed to stay on the backs of the sprinting beasts, hence why the training regimen for jockeys were so intense.

After the initial stretches, Beetlejuice had Presley do a myriad of exercises- squats, lunges, jumping lunges, flutter kicks, bear crawls, burpees, and one-leg deadlifts, and even after finishing all of that she still wasn’t done. He told her to run a mile around the track, and she went without complaining.

“Lawrence, you better not be killing our jockey. We just got her.”

A voice like a songbird’s sweet chirping broke through the silence of the morning. Beetlejuice turned to see Barbara and Adam walking over, both of them smiling. He perked up.

By then, the sun had come up, bathing the Netherworld in soft golden rays. Horses emerged from the stables, moseying out into the pasture to graze, though some of them stopped to peer curiously at Peril. He and Sandy were mulling in a nearby holding pen after they finished their own exercise on the carousel. When Peril caught the stares he was getting from the other horses, he lifted his head, grass hanging from his mouth, and flicked his ears at them in some kind of silent, equine gesture, then went back to eating.

“I’m not!” Beetlejuice said, laughing. “She’s fine. Doing great, actually!”

With impeccable comedic timing, Presley skidded to a halt at the fencing in front of them, kicking up a plume of dirt, which only furthered to dirty her even more than she already was: head-to-toe, she was completely covered in silt from the track, turning her pale skin a faint orangey color. It effectively stuck to the sweat already coating her body, making her look like she had tried to test the dust baths the horses sometimes took.

She raised her head, face red from exertion and orange-brown from dirt, and squinted through the morning sun at Barbara and Adam.

“Good morning, Mrs. Maitland. Good morning, Mr. Maitland,” She greeted the couple with her trademarked politeness, even as she was doubled over and heaving her breaths.

“Morning, Presley,” Adam said.

“Good morning, dear. How are you?” Barbara asked.

“Good,” Presley answered. “You?”

“I’m doing very well.”

Presley nodded. She shook herself out, though it did little to remove the dirt clinging to her frame, then stood up straight, hands pressed against her lower back like she was trying to pop her spine.

“BJ isn’t working you too hard, is he?” Adam asked, looking at her, then squinting at Beetlejuice in playful suspiciousness.

“No, sir,” Presley answered. “I’m okay.” She dragged her feet through the dirt, brewing up another storm around her, as she walked over to the fence and braced herself against the wood.

“Rude,” Beetlejuice poked Adam in the ribs. “You’re acting like I’m gonna torture her or something! I’m a great teacher! Right, kid?”

“I got sand in my boots,” Presley said distractedly, kicking the heel of one of her musty boots against a small rock.

“See!” Beetlejuice said, and Adam and Barbara laughed.

“Before you continue your teachings, I want you both to eat breakfast,” Barbara said, for all the world sounding like a mother to a soccer team. She looked at Presley. “Do you like danishes?”

“Oh, uhh,” Presley shuffled her feet awkwardly, then scrunched her face up like a disturbed bunny when the sand must have scratched around in her boots. “I don’t eat breakfast.”

Barbara and Adam stared at her. She blinked back at them, then glanced up at Beetlejuice with a worried expression that said, “Did I do something wrong?”

“Ever?” Adam asked.

“No,” Presley shook her head. “Sometimes I’ll have a shake. Maybe an apple. That’s usually it, though.”

“Honey, you have to eat,” Barbara said, sounding concerned.

“I’m on a diet,” Presley said back, as if that justified her skipping meals all the time. “It’s kinda strict, so…” She kicked at a pebble, avoiding their gazes.

“Diet for what?” Adam probed. “You’re already so thin!”

“We have to be thin,” Presley reprimanded. “Jockeys, I mean. There’s a weight restriction for a reason. And if I slack off one day, then I’ll snowball, and you know how easy it is to regain weight?”

“How much do you weigh right now?” Beetlejuice joined in on the questioning. He hoped nobody could hear the curl of concerned sickness edging his voice.

“Uhhh,” Presley had the audacity to count on her fingers, which made Adam’s eyes practically bulge out of his skull, as if he were expecting her to say some absurd number like seven or ten. Though, in his defense, what she actually ended up saying was equally as concerning.

“If I remember correctly from the last time I checked… I think ninety-nine pounds?”

“Ninety--” Adam sputtered, cutting himself off. “NINETY-NINE?!”

Presley scrunched her face up at him again. “Yeah…” She said slowly. “Usually I’m ninety-four, though.”

“NINETY-FOUR?!”

Presley blinked at him. She seemed innocently oblivious to how worrying what she said was…or maybe she did know how worrying it was and was just acting like she didn’t in a way to convince herself that what she was doing was okay and perfectly healthy.

She didn’t look emaciated. To be honest, Beetlejuice used to think that anyone under a hundred pounds were like those people in the sad pictures of Africa, the ones that stated that everyone on the continent were starving to death and tried to convince you to do some twenty-four hour fasting thing to “see how they lived” or something like that instead of doing something useful like asking for donations to help those people. You know- drum-tight skin, ribs showing, stomachs sunken into empty caverns, every detail of the hip bone being perfectly highlighted, limbs like matchsticks, more skeleton than human.

But Presley looked like the exact opposite of that. Her skin wasn’t pulled tight over her bones, her bones weren’t showing at all, even, and she definitely was not a skeleton.

But Beetlejuice also knew firsthand that the effects of “jockey dieting” weren’t always physical. Sometimes it all on the inside- throat eroded from constant purging, muscles weak with no energy, stomach cannibalizing itself in a desperate attempt to get nutrients.

He knew because he, too, had slaved himself over the jockey diet before eventually accepting that he would never meet the weight restriction and get to race in a real derby.

Seeing his new pupil torture herself with such a hellish thing did not make him happy.

“Presley, you have to eat,” Barbara said gently before Beetlejuice could blow his top and scold his new student.

“I do,” Presley tried to assure her. “I eat dinner. One meal per day; that’s what the regimen says. I have to follow it if I want to be a jockey. Those are, like, the rules.”

“Well, I don’t see any rule book around here,” Adam said.

“It’s an unspoken one.”

“Presley, Barbara is right,” Beetlejuice spoke up. “You have to eat. I get the whole ‘staying in shape to stay in the weight requirement’ thing, I do, but you’ll be no use in a race if you’re too weak to ride.”

Presley seemed to be getting flustered. She opened her mouth, then closed it and ducked her head. Her boot scuffed at the grass.

“Danishes sound nice. Thank you, Mrs. Maitland.”

--- --- ---

After a breakfast of danishes, scrambled eggs, grilled ham, and orange juice, Beetlejuice and his student were back outside. Now that it was light out, he decided to let her muscles rest a little longer and give her a tour. Lydia, who had been dropped off by her father, joined them.

Most of the horses were out in the pasture, as were the other farm animals the Maitland’s kept, but most of the broodmares spent their time inside the stables, a breezy building that smelled like hay and dirt. The pregnant horses rumbled and huffed to each other, and Beetlejuice recognized the low-level threat in those sounds. Foaling mares were often aggressive. They were kept separately from each other, in large stalls with heavy wooden walls and thick layers of rushes on the floor.

Six mothers filled the stables. Barbara and Adam were encouraging more breeding to replace the three mares they had recently lost, and to fill the orders they had gotten from richer racers that were seeking out a good horse. Lydia pointed out all the foaling horses as they went by, and Presley listened with great interest.

The first was Bullseye aka Target’s Grand Splash, a solid black Arabian with a single white spot around her left eye and pure white socks. She was fierce and standoffish.

The next was Sky aka Up, Up, and Away, a pure white standardbred with hints of pink around her dark eyes. She was the restless type, constantly resetting her bedding because it wasn’t good enough for her liking.

Then there was Flicker aka Light The Night, a buckskin paint horse with white splotches all across her body and a constant need for playing. As they passed by, she was throwing her hay up into the air with her teeth.

After her was Pisces aka The Zodiac Killer, a dark chestnut thoroughbred with even darker socks around her hooves. Her ears were pinned back and she glared as they walked by her pen.

Fifth was Magi aka Blaze of Enchantment, a blonde quarter horse with a silky brown mane and tail. Her gentle nature made her easy to care for.

Finally, there was Sneeze-Breeze aka It’s A Long Story, a second thoroughbred, this one with a coat of red roan. Upon hearing her name, Presley gave Lydia a confused look, to which Lydia replied with, “It’s a long story.”

Presley laughed.

“And then that’s my horse!” Lydia said, pointing to a black abyss that was a Tennessee walker gelding. Its dark coat really fit Lydia’s aesthetic. “Well, he’s my favorite horse, but I still like to call him my horse. His name is Gloom!”

Gloom lifted his head from his stall and blinked big blue eyes at Lydia. She patted his large cheek.

“His show name is The Moon Man,” Lydia further informed.

“He’s so handsome,” Presley said in awe, staring up at the void.

Beetlejuice allowed the two teenagers to chat a little longer before pulling Presley back out to begin training. It was good that Lydia talked to girls her age. She usually just made conversation with the horses ever since the recent passing of her mother. Maybe a human friend would be good for her.

“Alright, kiddo,” Beetlejuice said once they were all back outside. Presley had Peril by his halter for an inspection. “Let’s see what you got.”

Beetlejuice, for one, knew a pretty horse when he saw one, and Peril was the epitome of thoroughbred beauty. His coat was a glossy steel grey, rippling rays of light when the sun hit the fur, and his mane and tail were the color of storm clouds. He had four black stockings up each of his legs as if he had crawled out from the shadows. There was a freckling of grey on his snout and his eyes were a bright flame blue. Beetlejuice could see why Presley liked him so much.

Unfortunately, outward looks were just about the only thing Peril had going for him.

Although he was huge, easily twice, maybe three times the size of his tiny jockey, he was gangly and awkward. His legs were stalky, knees knobby, and his tail was bushy. His ears were moving constantly, like spirits were whispering in them, telling him secrets, and his eyes were always looking around.

Peril twitched when Beetlejuice laid hands on him. He lifted one of his back legs, scraping the dirt with the edge of his hoof, but seemed to decide against kicking for the moment, though he still leered at Beetlejuice out from the corner of his eyes, silently warning him.

Beetlejuice went on.

Peril quickly proved to be the exact opposite of the phrase “gentle giant.” He was a stubborn thing, bearing enough tenaciousness to fill all of Connecticut. Even Adam’s mule wasn’t as hard headed as this beast.

The stallion refused to lift his hooves for Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice had to wrestle with his leg just to be able to check his feet, though he decided to let the attitude slide because it made Lydia and Presley giggle.

Peril had thoroughbred-typical shitty feet. Thin soles. Too flat. Underrun heels. Typical racer. Best to get the farrier down to the farm to start drawing the toe back into something that would at least be considered a little healthy.

He dropped the foot. The joints flexed cleanly. Peril had muscle, Beetlejuice could see, but it was hidden beneath his bulk and awkward girth. At least his ribs weren’t showing.

Beetlejuice stole a glance at Presley, who was holding Peril steady by his halter and chatting avidly with Lydia. Her horse ate better than she did.

Dropping the subject from his mind for now, Beetlejuice began to check Peril’s withers and back. Peril humored his touch, keeping his hindquarters cocked for the moment, not ready to kick just yet. Beetlejuice eyed them wryly. As lanky as his legs were, he could knock someone’s brains out with those hooves.

Beetlejuice ran his hands over Peril’s soft hide. Peril shifted beneath his palms, letting out an impatient huff. He looked at Presley, who looked back with a nervous expression.

“How often do you train with him?” Beetlejuice asked.

“Six days a week,” Presley answered, and Beetlejuice caught the anxious tremors in her voice. “Sundays are our off days.”

Beetlejuice nodded. “It’s good that you both have time to relax.” He stroked Peril’s broad neck, and the muscles bunched and released beneath his fingers. “What is his diet like?”

“I give him two to three meals a day of grain and hay,” Presley told him. She was whiteknuckling the halter leash nervously, as if she fed Peril baby heads or something and didn’t want to reveal her bloody secret. “He gets carrot and apple slices in the evenings. Sometimes other fruits and vegetables I have at home. And if he’s good I give him peppermints.”

At the sound of the treat, Peril’s ears flicked to alertness and he began to lip at Presley’s hand. Presley laughed and fished out a mint she had in her pocket. Peril devoured it instantly.

Beetlejuice began to rattle off several questions, and Presley answered them with little hesitation, though her anxiety remained.

“Does he receive yearly vaccinations?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When was he last seen by a vet?”

“Two months ago, I believe.”

“Who grooms him?”

“I do.”

“Has he ever had colic?”

“No, sir.”

“What kind of bit do you use?”

“Usually a D-ring snaffle, but sometimes I use an eggbutt snaffle. They’re both easiest on his mouth and he gets cranky if it isn’t comfortable.”

“Where did you get him?”

“My neighbor gave him to me.”

“For how much?”

“For free.”

Beetlejuice raised an eyebrow at Presley. “Really?”

“Yes, sir,” Presley said, and Beetlejuice was sure he had been called ‘sir’ more times in one day than he had in his entire life. “He really didn’t want him anymore and just gave him to me.”

“Huh,” Beetlejuice looked up at Peril. “Well, let’s see how he rides, shall we?”

The four of them walked to the hooded paddock. Presley looked supremely uneasy. She wouldn’t stop fidgeting for some reason.

“Be safe,” Presley whispered.

Beetlejuice couldn’t help but give her a weird look as he climbed onto Peril’s back.

Oh, Beetlejuice thought as he was being bucked off mere moments after sitting down. THAT’S why he was given away for free.

--- --- ---

“He’s certainly an…opinionated horse.”

Several hours later, Beetlejuice and Presley were sitting on white picket fence together: Beetlejuice nursing a half-empty bottle of bitter apple cider, Presley sipping lukewarm water. In the enclosed field they were balanced before, Peril trotted the length of his pasture, tail flagged, head snaking in front of him.

“He’s not bad.”

“Never said he was, kid.”

Presley ducked her head. She looked guilty. Beetlejuice hadn’t realized someone could say sorry so much in one breath, and yet Presley had. Even though he only had a minor bruise on his side from being bucked off, she still wasn’t over what happened.

“Doesn’t like doors very much,” Beetlejuice observed.

Presley winced. He was referring to when Peril had viciously fought the door to a small pen she had tried to put him into earlier that afternoon.

“He’s not-- I mean, he doesn’t usually--” Presley was fumbling. She was pale, hands clenched in her flannel. She looked like she was about to spiral into a full blown anxiety attack.

Beetlejuice put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay,” He said. “Horses have their quirks. Sandy used to snort sand all the time.”

Presley blinked big doe eyes at him. “Really?”

“You didn’t think she was named because of her colors, did you?” Beetlejuice tipped his head at her, looking amused.

“There’s black sand! That exists!” Presley tried to argue in an attempt to save face.

Beetlejuice laughed. “When she was a filly, she used to stick her nose in EVERYTHING. Always these big mounds of dirt, and then she would sneeze, knock herself backwards, and look at me indignantly, to which I would say, ‘Then stop sticking sand up your nose!’ She never listened.”

Presley giggled.

They both watched Peril for a minute. His head was still in the air, neck arched, ears pointed at some unknown distant object he deemed worthy of his attention. Then, he caught them staring and took off in a dead sprint around the corner of the yard, ripping up chunks of turf with his hooves. He stopped abruptly, glanced to make sure they were still looking at him, and then trotted away regally.

“I like this horse,” Beetlejuice said, breaking the silence. “I want him to win.”

“Everyone wants their horse to win, Mr. Shoggoth,” Presley mumbled, shoulders slumped like they were being weighed down by some unruly sin.

Guilt, Beetlejuice rationalized.

He gave Presley a look.

“Beetlejuice,” She corrected herself. “Mr. Beetlejuice.”

“That’s Mr. Juice to you,” Beetlejuice said, poking her in the side, and she nearly squirmed right off of the fencepost. She giggled again. It didn’t last long.

“I want him to win, too,” Presley whispered.

As awkward and ill-tempered as Peril was, he could.

Beetlejuice had met a lot of horses. He had run his eyes and his hands over champions. Hundreds from afar, and dozens up close. A.P. Indy, The Strawman, Stay Thirsty. Even Ocean Liner, though he’d been long retired by that time. There had been Sweet Devil, getting roses draped around his mud-spattered neck; Slipstream, bounding around the winners circle; Permafrost, head held up in haughty pride as he passed by other horses.

Beside The Dying Fire could outrun them all.

“I just don’t know if I’m enough for him.”

The comment caught Beetlejuice off guard. He looked down at Presley, and he could see it now: the self-doubt, the worry, the fear, the painful anxiety raking up and down her insides like jagged horse hooves.

Presley “Jeopardy” Lind wasn’t just timid, she was fragile, too. Much too fragile for the awful things spiraling in her head.

Beetlejuice set a hand on her shoulder. “We chose you for a reason. You rode that beast and got third. You have skill, Presley. You’re exactly what he needs.”

Presley’s eyes were sparkling up at him. Beetlejuice smiled.

“You’re our jockey.”

Presley looked out at Peril. He looked back at her. A thousand plus pounds of muscle, and even heavier than that, the weight of all the dreams each one of these beasts carried. A dark, sharp look in his eye that was either intelligence or haughty pride, or maybe just the hope of his human creators reflecting back at them.

She looked up at Beetlejuice again and, buried beneath the fear and anxiety and doubt, there was confidence.

“I’m your jockey.”

#horse racing au #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice the broadway musical #beetlejuice au #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice fic #beetlejuice fanfic #beetlejuice #lawrence beetlejuice shoggoth #barbara maitland #adam maitland #lydia deetz #the jockey #beetlelands #tw: eating problems

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p3nny4urth0ught5 · 4 years

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One Step Back - Chapter 1

Hey everyone! I finally finished the next part of One Step Back. Thank you so much to everyone who has been so supportive so far!

If you want to be added to the taglist please let me know! Also big shoutout again to @singeramg. I honestly don’t think I would be able to do this without her. You all should read her stuff.

Just a reminder, this story takes places after the events of Justice League. The timeline is a little different so if things seem a little incorrect that is why. Also this part is still from Clark’s POV. I’m planning on officially introducing the reader the next chapter. Thanks everyone!

Taglist: @singeramg @queengeorgiaaa @spookypeachx @ayame236 @ohjules

Clark was anxious. He was so nervous that he could barely breathe. He kept having to stop his leg from bouncing. His hand rubbed the nape of his neck and his entire body felt as stiff as a board. He decided to take the bus back home instead of just flying, and while it was probably a good idea for him to not be in the air right now with how much of a mess he was, it was also very counter-intuitive because it gave him more time to dwell on what was to come.

He hadn’t been able to get Y/n off his mind in months and yet now he felt like an idiot for making this trip. The two of them had grown up together. They met when they were kids and became joined at the hip despite his parent’s reluctance to him having any close friends. She had fought tooth and nail for the right to be his friend and had proved time and time again that she was worth the risk it was to him and his parents. In fact, after the whole bus incident from when they were kids, she became so defensive and protective of him that she had definitely scared off both kids and their parents alike from confronting him or his mom and dad about what happened. Lois had even been intimidated by her when she came around looking for answers about who he was, and knowing how Lois was, that in and of itself was extremely impressive and surprisingly heartwarming.

After his dad died, he hadn’t been able to stay in Smallville. He felt like in order to find himself and assuage the pain and guilt and loss he felt, he had to leave. Clark hated leaving his mom to deal with his father’s death all alone, but it was eating him alive being in his home when his dad was gone and he could have saved him. He had been so angry at him for not letting him help and at himself for listening to him. Despite how hard it was, he needed to leave, to get himself straightened out.

As difficult as it was to leave his mom, his home, and everything he knew, it had been especially hard for him to leave Y/n. He had been through everything with her and not only was she his best friend and his rock, but the two of them had eventually fallen in love and became high school sweethearts. He had proposed to her just a few months prior to the death of his father. The two of them hadn’t even started seriously planning the wedding but they had decided on a few things here or there very casually, such as possible colors they liked or how many people they wanted in the wedding He loved waking up and knowing that he was going to spend the rest of his life with his best friend and love of his life. Clark had been so in love with her. Leaving her, had left the both of them heartbroken and wishing things were different, and it was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.

To this day, he still could remember her standing on his porch, tears in her eyes, telling him that she didn’t want him to leave. They had fought over the prospect of him being gone for weeks but eventually she had told him that she understood why he was doing what he was, she just wasn’t happy about it and didn’t agree, all she asked was that he come back to her.

The bus he was in was crowded and noisy and the sound of a crying child dragged him from his memories of Y/n. He looked up and saw a frantic mother of three at her wits end, her two boys fighting next to her and her toddler crying inconsolably in her arms. The child had her arms outstretched toward the ground, reaching for something, and when Clark looked down, he saw a stuffed elephant sprawled across the floor of the bus. His heart stopped at the shear pain on the child’s face and the anguish in her cries. He felt himself feeling her pain as his own, wanting to cry out as she did, but he couldn’t.

Clark reached down and grabbed the ratty old stuffed toy, clearly something that had been loved on for years so probably a hand-me-down of some sort, and held it out to the teary-eyed child. Upon receiving what she was looking for, the child gurgled for a moment and then immediately quieted. The mother looked down at her now silent baby and breathed in a sigh of relief. A smile broke out across Clark’s face. The young girl stuck the elephant’s ear into her mouth and started to suck on it. He had to hold in a laugh at how quickly she had been pleased as he shook his head and turned to the window, looking out at the changing scenery. A flash of regret struck through him. By now, he thought that he would’ve had a whole gaggle of kids or at least, that was the plan when he was still learning to be a man.

As the view outside changed from the city to the countryside, Clark tried to clear his head of the nonsense running through it and get back to focusing on seeing his mom. He hadn’t been home since he had helped her move back into their house after Bruce bought the bank. He still couldn’t believe that he did that. He definitely appreciated it, but Clark just couldn’t fathom anyone having enough money to just up and buy a bank. He had grown up on a farm in a small town and while he lived in Metropolis now and worked for a very successful newspaper, he still wasn’t exactly flush with cash. Being a pencil pusher mostly meant he wasn’t paid super well. Clark liked his job well enough and it gave him an excuse to poke his nose into things and places where it didn’t belong but he didn’t have the passion for it that Lois did. Something just didn’t feel right, like there was something missing.

After a few hours, Clark was finally home again and he felt himself fill with joy at the thought of seeing his mother. Despite his underlying reason for coming home, he was still very excited to be back. He imagined this is what he might have felt had he gone away to college and come home for the summer. The bus dropped him at the city limits so he started the long trek to his family farm. He decided to walk through the center of town because it had been such a long time since he had seen it.

Everything he saw as he walked along the familiar sidewalk brought back memories from his childhood, both good and bad. There was the diner on the corner where he would spend time with his parents when they had a little bit of money to spare for a night out. The old movie theater that he and Y/n used to sneak into, well... that Y/n used to help him sneak into. He could practically see the two of them running around town like the hooligans they were, getting into trouble and Y/n always took the blame. Most of the stuff they did was her idea anyway but he played an equal part. People were always confused as to why the two of them were such good friends when she was such a troublemaker and he stayed on the straight and narrow. He couldn’t help but laugh thinking about how people used to talk about what a bad influence on him she was. It was 100% true, but he didn’t care either way.

A few things had changed here or there in the town, it actually seemed a bit bigger than he remembered, there seemed to be more people that he didn’t recognize but Clark didn’t put much thought into it. He continued on his journey home and started to pass by the other family farms that were in between town and his home. Clark noticed that most of them seemed to be doing quite well and it looked like there had been a few updates done to the houses as well as some newer cars in the driveways. It was puzzling to him how they could afford that but once again he didn’t let that thought bother him.

As he got closer to home, he felt his throat start to close up and it felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. The air started to fill with the scent of wildflowers and lavender that always seemed to permeate from the property no matter what season. He took a deep breath and stopped in his tracks. In his mind, as clear as the light of day, he could see Y/n lying next to him smelling so strongly of those two things, her skin soft and sun kissed from being outside. His mouth watered for the taste of apples, something she always seemed to have on her that the two of them would share at lunch or after school. He could feel her touch on his skin and hear her laugh almost as if she was right next to him. Just as Clark started to lose himself in the memories, he noted that the air smelt dusty and barren, as if the house hadn’t been lived in properly for months if not longer. His eyes snapped open and he had to stop himself from rushing to the front door. He took a good look at the house and while it still looked like it was in great shape, it was obvious to him that no one had been there in quite a while. The house was obviously still being maintained by someone as it looked quite clean and put together, but he didn’t see or hear or smell anyone living there. His heart sank in his chest and he started to feel light-headed. She wasn’t there.

Clark tried to push all the negative thoughts creeping up in his mind that something had happened to her or that she was with someone else. For some reason the second option sounded all the more terrifying and filled him with more dread then the first. He continued walking toward his mom’s house, the trek feeling like it took even longer than it should have. His feet felt like they were filled with lead and seemed to get heavier with every step that he took further from her home and toward his previous one. He tried to focus on the other reason he was here, his mom, but Y/n was hovering in the back of his mind and he had to focus on not letting it overwhelm him.

He continued walking and arrived at his mother’s home just a few moments later even though it felt like it took a good four hours. Clark felt a little bit of the weight on his shoulders fall off at finally being home. His chest didn’t feel like it was completely caved in anymore and he could breathe. A small smile graced his lips as his mom walked out of her house and the family dog, Frank, ran out of the house and up to him. She smiled and laughed, cupping her hand over her brow to block out the sun, “Is that my boy?”

He crouched down and scratched Frank behind his ears and ruffled his fur. “Hey Mom.”

It was hard to believe as he looked around that just a few months ago all of this had been seized by the bank. His mom had to move with all of their stuff and abandon their home where he grew up, and yet it didn’t look like a thing had changed, it looked the same as it always had. A small part of him was comforted by the fact that nothing had changed.

She walked down the porch steps and threw her arms around him. Still touch sensitive, he flinched and tried to disguise it by hugging her back tightly. His heart sunk at still feeling anxious like he was. He thought if anyone would be a comfort instead of another reason for him to feel tense, it would be his mother, but apparently not.

“I wasn’t expecting you to come home. If I would’ve known I would’ve made a roast or something.” The two separated and he crouched down to grab his bags as she led him inside.

“I wanted to surprise you.” His cheeks hurt from how wide he was smiling, meanwhile his skin still ached from where she had touched him.

“Well I’m always happy to see you honey. Come on in, let me get you something to eat.”

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Being at his mother’s house for the past few days had done him some good. Clark felt like he was a little more relaxed, less on edge. He loved being home, getting to help out his mom around the house, working in the fields, it made him feel like a kid again, but something kept nagging him at the back of his mind, Y/n. He hadn’t dared to bring her up yet. It was causing him to lose sleep thinking about her, not knowing where she was or if she was alright. He knew that his mom knew something was on his mind, and he was sure she knew what that was as well. He never could hide anything from her. Sometimes she would look at him like she wanted to bring it up but then turn away. Clark knew that it was his responsibility to bring her up, he knew that she was trying to get him to admit his mistakes and ask her what he was dying to ask.

It all came to a head about a week after he’d come home. He couldn’t let the thought of her eat away at him any longer without getting answers. The two of them had been working tirelessly all day and were now in the kitchen preparing dinner, well, his mother was at least. He had offered to help and she had shooed him away like always, claiming that she liked to do it and didn’t need any help.

“Hey Mom?”She looked up from where she was stirring something in a pot on the stove.

“Yes dear? What is it?”

He had a sense of déjà vu, sitting at the dining room table drinking a half empty mug of coffee. A sigh passed through his lips as his stomach turned and his soul filled with dread. Now that he had begun the conversation, he was having second thoughts, but he knew he had to push forward even though things were about to get very uncomfortable.

“Where’s Y/n? I walked by her home the other day on my way here and it seemed like it had been empty for a while.” He gulped and felt like he was trying to swallow a boulder. His chest was tightening as he waited for a response and his heart felt like it was about to pump out of his chest.

Clark’s mom’s back straightened. He could hear her take a deep breath as she turned off the stove. His mind raced when she didn’t immediately start talking. She took a few moments to wipe off her hands and settled herself down at the table beside him. Her hands reached out and grabbed one of his into her own.

“She left town shortly after the funeral we had for you here at the house. After she found out about Lois, she was completely devastated and she got a great job offer out of town and took it. I tried to talk her into staying but you know how hard headed she is.” His heart stopped; she was gone. He had hoped to have told her about the Lois situation himself but knew that was probably just a pipe dream at this point. “Son I love you but I have to say I have never been more disappointed with you with the way you treated that poor girl. She deserved better than that.”

That statement hit him hard. He knew he should have treated her better and come clean sooner with her about him and Lois, but he was scared, and it was difficult trying to juggle his superhero persona and his normal life as Clark Kent, reporter for the Daily Planet. Y/n leaving because of him was the last thing he wanted. He had hoped that the two of them could sit down and talk like adults and try to mend the bridge he had broken by leaving in the first place. A big part of him knew that the conversation would not go that way at all but he had still hoped at the time. Now, he was lost.

“Where is she Mom? Where did she go?” It felt like someone was choking him from the inside of his throat and he felt his eyes fill with tears.

His mom had a dejected smile on her face. She cupped his cheek with her hand and he felt himself grit his teeth at the touch, it still made him ache. “I don’t know son.”

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neighborhoodmoonchild · 4 years

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ᾰ̓γᾰ́πη

Pairing(s): Cursed!Seokjin x Reader

Genre(s): Fantasy Au, Fluff, Soulmate Au

Summary: “There’s a story whispered around here. One surrounding the beautifully carved statue of a man at the center of the town. Legend says that when the hand of his true love graces his palm, he shall wake from his cursed marbled slumber. It’s always been a silly old wives tale, until you give in to a friend’s dare.” (prompt idea from writing-prompt-s)

Warning(s): mild language

Word Count: 1.8K

Part I, Part 2, Part 3, ...

taglist: @best-space-boy @maryelixabeth @mochimaw @yeontanismypresident @hannahantonette17 @ign-is @fanfuckingfic @koala-wonderland @suchgayaesthetic @dulcaet

~ if you want to be added to the tag list for this fic, feel free to send me an ask! thank you💜

The statue was no doubt beautiful. At times, it looked as if it truly was just an incredibly pale living man standing still, transfixed by something the naked eye could not see. Stories, old wives tales, the likes, manifested around it, creeping their way into the homes of every person ‘lucky’ enough to dwell within the town. They graced the tongues of parents at each late night bedtime story to their children, snuck into the early morning gossip of elderly women topping off tea cups, and laid dreamily in the back of every young girl’s mind, each one hoping to be the key to end the curse.

Growing up in this small town, it was hard to ignore the incessant buzz surrounding the terrifyingly detailed slab of marble. However, the challenge intrigued you, spurring you on at a young age to scorn those of ‘childish’-enough mind to ever believe in such nonsense as the ‘Story of the Statue.’ How ridiculous could one be to believe that the statue was once a man, and that the only way to return him to his ‘true form’ was the hand of his ‘one true love?’

If one should believe in such a thing as a living hunk of rock, it would make just as much sense to one day find half the townspeople deep in conversation with their hairbrushes.

Insane is a good way to describe it.

Completely and utterly bonkers another.

Much to your dismay, however, the entire town seemed to believe the exact opposite. Placing your hand upon the statue’s at midday became a reveled ritual for the townspeople. Men and women alike took their chance to entertain the mystery; to indulge in their deepest fantasy of being a part of the magic.

It was this 180 of belief from yours that ended in your own scrutiny. Instead of the ‘magical statue’ being the center of ridicule, it most often times was you. You couldn’t count on your fingers and toes combined the number of times you’d heard your name amongst the petty laughter of your neighbors, or caught the wicked smirks of the other girls your age as they hushed their voices as to be ‘undetected.’

It was painfully obvious that your reluctance to accept what has always been a town tradition made you an outcast amongst them all. The only friend you’d had to stick around being the quiet girl in the house neighboring yours.

In all honesty, she was quite drab at times, most of her vocabulary consisting of the words ‘soulmate,’ ‘statue,’ and ‘magic.’ Yes, she was just as deep into the mess of it all as everyone else, it seemed. As much as it pained you to sit through her lengthy airs on how romantic the whole situation was, that she’d do anything to be the soulmate the man was waiting for, she was the only one that had stuck around to entertain your rants.

Maybe her head was so far in the clouds your negative words never truly reached past the tips of her ears, but you were nonetheless grateful to have someone to at least pretend to listen, and she never made you feel any less-than for having differing opinions. Though, it didn’t stop her from picking fun every now and then, claiming that there must be a small part of you that was even slightly curious.

Her efforts to bring forth the inner-believer in you is what led to the present moment you find yourself in.

The face of utter disgust mixed with slight terror must have looked quite an odd combination for someone about to do the most mundane of things one could do in this particular town. It was as normal as walking your dog, or fetching the mail, yet this was a spectacle most could agree on as being anything but.

The nervousness could not be helped, no matter how desperately you tried to remind yourself that this was nonsense.

An intense burning sensation was the only thing your tingling form could truly comprehend, the eyes of nosy day-goers relishing in the sight of the known town hypocrite about to suddenly go against her beliefs. If anything, you seemed to attract an entire crowd, as if you were the main act in a thrilling road show that would come and go so quickly, the people rushed to witness it before it was gone.

A shooting star, a comet across the night sky, or an eclipse perhaps.

‘Get ahold of yourself,’ you thought, wiping your increasingly sweaty palms across the denim of your jeans.

‘It’s just a silly story, all you have to do is touch it,’ your mind reminded you. The more stares you garnered, the whispers becoming a loud buzz in your ears fighting above the rush of blood pounding through, the more your confidence seemed to crumble.

A tiny speck of a part of you wormed its way up through the depths of your being to call out to the reasonable part of your brain ‘what if it’s true?’

In the unbelievable off-chance that you were wrong, could you deal with the backlash of standing so firmly against it?

As you felt the warm push from the instigator of this whole affair, her face adorned with a slightly amused smirk, you realized that even if this whole story is true, there was no way in the universe that you would ever be the soulmate the story talks about.

Your experience with men is virtually nonexistent. The last time you’d indulged in the whirlwind of possible ‘romance’ had been when your middle school crush had kissed you quickly on the lips after school on a dare, promptly gagging afterwards and swearing to the high heavens that ‘girls are gross.’

Maybe you were traumatized from the whole experience, never mind the fact that the men of your town just weren’t vying for the attention of the town laughingstock, but romantic relationships just weren’t a part of your story.

It didn’t really matter much to you anyways, considering all the eligible men are, have been, and always will be, meager farm boys living off what their ancestors have laid down for them. Not that there was anything innately wrong with that way of life, it just wasn’t what you wanted for yourself and your future.

You have big plans, ones that include getting as far away from this place as possible, and no man was going to get in the way of that.

You’d rather die a painful, lengthy death than be a little hometown wife the rest of your life, reduced to nothing more than mindless cleaning, cooking, and birthing children. To be the ‘property’ of some man that could never understand your true potential; your true worth.

So, despite the twinge of fear lacing the edges of your mind, creating a rigidness in your limbs as you crossed the dirt path to the statue, you rose to the occasion, in a sense.

Maybe this would lay to rest the constant chatter of snobby folk, let them believe that, even for a moment, they’d found a way to manipulate you into their way of thinking. Maybe they’d finally stop whispering petty words when you passed, even begin to accept you into their society, not that you were desperate for that.

Or perhaps, it would give you a little more piece of mind, at least. Quell an unadmitted thirst to understand the hype so you could be completely unattached from this silly thing and hopefully move on with your life.

Those things would not change over the few seconds it would take to finish the deed, but as your mind raced through the possible aftermaths of what you were about to do, a change of sorts had definitely begun.

It was like all of time and space slowed around you. The closer the statue came into your field of vision, it was like entering a tunnel, or vortex, that sucked you in further and blurred reality around you.

And then everything stopped.

There, mere centimeters from you, lie the statue. It’s intricate detail and craftsmanship a new level of divine when admired closely. This was the closest you’d ever been to it and it stole the breath right from your lungs.

It was a strange feeling, mixed with the stares, the heat of the summer day, the nervousness in your belly, and the charge floating through the air. An unnerving mix that, shockingly, calmed the thoughts waging war within you. Like everything was numb, quiet, peaceful almost.

“Just do it already!” A shrill voice called out, followed by the sound of agreement flowing through the crowd. It snapped you from your state, reminding you of the task at hand.

With a little less reluctance than you’d expected, your hand reached out in the direction of the statue’s. Fingers shakily outstretching, all at once, your palm slid into the cool marble one.

It was smooth, yet you could feel every ridge and line like that of a human hand. The cool feeling of the marble against your clammy flesh was surprising considering the temperature the day had suffered through.

You hadn’t even realized your eyes were closed, breath held, until you opened your eyes upon the exhale, coming face-to-face with...

A statue.

You couldn’t help the anxious giggle that slipped from your lips like a mad woman.

You were right, well, at least that was one possibility. You’d touched the damn thing and nothing happened, just like you’d expected.

So why, among the rush of relief, was there an aftertaste of disappointment on your tongue?

The crowd, mildly satisfied and admittedly bored, had begun to disperse as you stood there, hand still placed in the statue’s.

Even though you’d bit the bullet, gotten it over with, you weren’t sure what to do now that it was done. For some reason, you couldn’t seem to pull yourself away, tell your friend ‘I told you so,’ and get on with your life, finally free of the unknown.

That same familiar warmth that pushed you here found its way back to your shoulder.

“Alright, you’ve proven your point...for now. Let’s go.”

Without turning your head to acknowledge her, you looked up into the face of the hunk of rock. For a fleeting moment, you felt as if you were staring into the eyes of another human being.

Without a word, you slowly turned to retreat back to your home, emotions a frenzy you couldn’t quite understand, let alone share with another soul.

As you began to take that first step away from the thing, your hand slipping carefully out of its grasp, you felt the smallest bit of movement behind you.

Before you could turn around on your own, something warm wrapped around your wrist, spinning you back to face the creation that plagued your mind.

Only, you weren’t met the the stark white of the marble, but the ivory tone of skin. Stiffly sculpted hair now flowing freely, dark, with the wind. Empty, pale eyes now filled with a deep rich brown, struck wide as emotion after emotion swirled within them.

Shouts and gasps echoed throughout the square, eyes of every villager as wide as their gaped mouths, returning to their prior posts, the show ending with a twist no one could have predicted.

Mind and body going into an immediate state of shock, there was no time to process anything at all before the weight of the now-man collapsed down from his pedestal onto you.

So the stories held some truth after all...

To Be Continued...

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circleofcavan · 3 years

Text

Nebraska

Macey daydreams about spending winter break somewhere else, with some envy sprinkled in there, too; suite shenanigans and some $300 Bose noise-cancelling headphones. One-shot. Content warning: themes of parental neglect, mentions of alcohol use, smoking + abuse.

(Read it on AO3 here.)

There are moments when Macey wishes everything could just be stable and balanced.

“Normal” is too much to ask for; it’s a big ticket item that’s just out of reach, that she hasn’t worked quite hard enough for just yet. Instead, she’d settle for stable: an ideal situation with no boat-rocking, no absent fathers or narcissistic mothers, no forced appearances or quick-changes in the back of limousines, no hidden hangovers, no concealer on the bruises along her upper arm. Stable. Secure.

Idealistic. At this point in her life, there’s no chance she’ll ever know balance. If she keeps down the path that Gallagher has her going down, it’ll be a constant chase – maybe not a sprint, but a jog, and even that can get exhausting after a while.

She envies Cammie, even despite her hardships. Cammie has support, she has crumbs of normalcy to cling to, a warm home to run to during breaks and tight spots and panicked moments. She has options, even when she thinks she doesn’t. Even when she feels like every door is closed, there are always more.

Macey watches her chatting with Bez and Liz, her feet curled under a blanket, back to the wall of their suite. Cammie has a slight smile on her face, a fullness in her cheeks that made a return when she did, another escape on a lark that she magically realized had consequences; Bex is trying to reverse engineer a heist, Liz is French braiding Cam’s hair, which is brown now, thinner but longer. She can only slightly hear her roommates over the music she’s blasting, $300 Bose noise-cancelling headphones be damned, but she can imagine the conversation, more or less – more homework trouble, more boy trouble, more girl trouble, more acne trouble, more TV cliffhanger trouble, more “I can’t believe I got a B on this test” trouble, more normalcy. A feeling she’ll never have.

The conversation halts for a moment, all of them on the precipice of laughter, but they look to her, expectant, waiting on an answer; she points to her headphones and down to her book (Art of War, of course), and loudly yells “What?” as though she’s clueless and miffed, out of the loop. Bex laughs, Liz joins in, Cammie smiles and her volume goes back up. Stability. Everything is level again.

She’s damn great at playing the part, something she was born to do. (Is she talking about herself or about Cammie? She’s not sure. Projecting, much?) Macey is the perfect daughter, even when she’s a rebel; she’s the supermodel even when she’s strung out and hungover in the Great Hall at breakfast, stumbling through Farsi between sips of Gatorade; she’s America’s Sweetheart, Vermont’s darling, even though she hasn’t been back to Vermont in years. (Not that there’s anything there for her, aside from a hiking trail where she used to run or smoke cigs, plus the parking lot where she had her first kiss – awkward, sloppy and too much teeth – and her childhood home – her permanent address, she should say, because it’s not like she’s ever really felt like it was a home for her at all.)

They’re talking about winter break plans now. “Nebraska” floats past the music, clinging to her brain, cloying and sweet. What she wouldn’t give for a proper, home-cooked meal, a scratchy wool blanket, a too-warm-but-too-cold room with a draft. Farm smells. Barn chores. Callouses. Sweat. Burnt coffee in smooth metal thermoses, a cold winter sun, some dustings of snow, a hot mug of potato soup – a too tight pickle jar lid. It’s so vivid it hurts, digging into her brain like it’s eating her alive from the inside out, starting at her brain and burrowing its way into her heart. Nebraska.

She can only imagine what that reality would be like; there’s something lived-in about it that she won’t be able to come close to touching, an inherent familiarity that she’s just not cut out to experience. Her winter break will likely be Aspen or Geneva, maybe both, and that’s a dream, too – she’ll probably see some classmates there as well, the ones that fit the Gallagher mold, the one that she’s apparently supposed to fit, too.

The trip will be booked as a family affair, but her parents will be anything but present, her mom chasing after seasonal ski patrol staff, college students in their prime, her dad on “work calls,” probably brokering some deal that will just line his pockets a bit more than his congressional salary. She’ll be drunk and alone, partying with ski bunnies or diplomats’ kids, settling into her old-money-rich-heiress role like she has so many times before.

Maybe if she’s lucky she’ll be able to slip away – if they’re preoccupied for a few days into the weeklong trip, she could pack a bag and hitchhike her way a few towns over, blending in like she’s new in town and visiting extended family, weaving a cover story for herself and patching it up every time she gets caught in a lie. She might have normal clothes on but she’s still anything but; they’ll remark on her beauty and her perfectly-manicured nails, ones that wouldn’t be in such pristine condition if she were just a girl from just a farm in just Nebraska.

Then she’ll get call after call to her phone, her parents demanding an appearance because it’s time to fly home now, and she’ll have to abandon the fake life she created for herself in this little mountain town, the cover that was just on the verge of being blown. She won’t be a girl from Nebraska with boy trouble and homework trouble and normal trouble, she’ll be the Macey McHenry, heiress and stone-cold bitch, sugary-sweet but too much to handle.

She’s not sure how Bex was able to get on her bed without her knowing, but she’s got a hand on the right ear of her headphones before Macey can turn to stop her with a bewildered laugh. “We’ve been trying to get your attention for ages,” Bex says, sitting back on her haunches, glancing at Cam and Liz. “What movie do you want to watch tonight? Tina’s running a Bourne marathon, but we were thinking Clueless, but then we realized you haven’t picked a movie yet, so it’s your call.”

Macey slides the headphones off fully now, settling them around her neck. She pauses her music. She pauses herself. Maybe this is the closest to stable and balanced that she’ll get: the closest thing to normal is four teenage girls watching 80s movies in their pajamas, LUSH masks smeared on their faces, shitty manicures and burnt microwave popcorn, falling asleep on the floor next to an overheated laptop and projector and her roommates, snoring softly.

Tomorrow’s Saturday. She could sleep in, pretend like the meal she’s having is home-cooked. She could wander around the halls and act like this was the home she deserved all along, because it was, and maybe even talk a bit more about winter break plans. Macey knows enough social graces to not invite herself to spaces where she might not be welcome, but maybe it could happen; maybe things will balance out in her favor. It might not be Nebraska, it might be London, or maybe it might just be here, in the mansion, if she can talk her way into it. The only people who normally hang back anyway are ones who either can’t go home or won’t go home, and Macey surely falls into both or either.

But that’s neither here nor there, and they’re still waiting on an answer. Macey dogears her book page, the same page she’s been stuck on this entire time, reading the same paragraph over and over, and sets it aside. “Clueless for sure,” she finally says, forcing a grin, cutting a glance at Cammie. “But only if we stay up way too late talking about how much Paul Rudd kind of looks like J-O-S-H.” (He doesn't.)

Liz squeals, Bex laughs, and Cammie blushes. Mace flashes her a knowing smile and grabs her blanket, ushering them up, while Bex says something about stealing cookie dough from the kitchen. Liz is convinced that they need to swipe Madame Dabney’s projector, even though there’s a perfectly good one in their room (apparently the one that isn’t theirs is 10 times more energy efficient and smells like the essential oil of their choice), and Cammie is watching her, grabbing her hand, helping her up. Cam’s hand doesn’t have callouses yet, but it will, and Macey thinks about what they’ll feel like after break. Will they be rough and ragged, or torn, exposing new, smooth, bright pink skin, the outline just barely visible?

Macey snaps back to reality for a moment; Bex and Liz have left on their respective conquests, and Cam is lingering near the door. “You coming?” she asks, gesturing to the hallway with her chin, and Macey can’t help but remember the annoyed (and annoying) girl that she met on her first visit, the one who just wouldn’t leave her alone. “You know we can’t let them traipse around by themselves; Liz will end up with a sprained ankle and Bex will probably burn the place to the ground.”

“Let’s do this,” Macey shoots back, grabbing a compact fire extinguisher that Liz had made in the labs a semester prior. This was normal. And she’d create balance and stability where she could, starting with her two renegade roommates. “I’m right behind you.”

#gallagher girls #macey mchenry #cammie morgan #gallagher girls series #gallagher girls fic #also on ao3 #one shot #ally carter #hahahahah this is my distraction from zoom university

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leaderoflostboys · 3 years

Text

come away little light || closed

Irish Countryside, 1846, 9:30 pm

Peter alighted a poorly thatched roof of a farm and sighed. He had been aiming for the early 1990s, in hopes of finding Lion King bug pops to bring to Fauna, but had ended up somewhere so far from where he’d find those, that he’d spent most of the day wandering around. Ireland was always beautiful, but everyone seemed so sad here, moaning on about not having potatoes. He planned to try again tomorrow, and decided to take a rest on this rooftop for the night. The stars were all twinkling, and the brightest start to the left seemed to wink at him. He stretched out, arms tucked behind his head like a pillow, toes scratched by the rough thatching. His mouth became a cave as he yawned, bare chest rising and falling gently as he settled into sleep.

12:00 am

The siren of a child wailing woke Peter, and he opened one of his sore eyes at the start. He lay there waiting, hoping someone would tend to the child, but as it carried on, Pan sat up, straw poking out of his hair. Leaning back on his hands, he pushed himself to stand up, and walked the length of the roof casually. He leaned forward on the gable, head stuck out over the edge to see if any lamps were lit. When it was clear that the house was all dark, he dove forward silently into the air, and hovered outside the open window.

His eyes took only a moment to adjust to the darkness inside, and he could see a small bed containing a little lump of a child, and across the room from it, a cradle with the screeching babe. Peter stepped in through the ledge, down one step onto a small trunk situated by the window. He floated in coolly, and perched himself on the edge of the cradle in a squatting position, peering down at the reddening face of a child no more than two years of age, his face distorted in an uncomfortable cry. Pan cocked his head, and after glancing back over his shoulder to the other sleeping child, slowly rocked to the left, and then the right, picking up a gentle rhythm on the cradle. The babe quieted slightly, curious as to what was causing the movement, and peered down the cradle to see Peter, who gave a slight wiggle of his fingers as a hello. The boy watched Pan in rapt attention, eyes closing ever so slowly, the rocking pulling him back towards slumber.

“Oh my!” a quiet voice behind Peter made him start and nearly fall into the crib. The jerk made the baby’s wail begin again, and Peter hopped into the air and spun around to see a young girl sitting up in the center of her bed. “You--you can--” she started, and Peter crashed backwards against the wall, ducking behind the crib. “D-demon?” she cowered slightly, drawing her bedclothes up to her nose.

“No!” he choked, glancing at the open window, weighing his options. “Boy,” he said, pointing at his chest. “Flying boy,” he added, and to his delight, she lowered the blankets, an amused, curious smile playing about her lips. “Peter,” he added in introduction, standing up properly.

“Maureen,” said the little dark haired girl with a tilt of the head. “How do you do that?” she asked, and Peter took to gently rocking the cradle once more to silence the cries of the baby.

“I just push it from side to side,” he responded with a frown.

Maureen giggled and shook her head.

“No, the other thing. The flying.”

They always ask that.

“I’m really smart,” he flashed a pearly grin, cocking his head to the side. The girl laughed again, pushing her blankets off and climbing out of bed. As she walked towards him, Peter rounded the opposite side of the crib, not wanting Maureen to get too close.

“Are you magic?” Peter weighed the question for a moment before shaking his head.

“No, just clever,” he responded, now on the other side of the cradle; he was closest to the window now, and she closer to the door. He wondered if she would run out and tell her parents, but she just gave a small smile.

“What are you doing in my bedroom?” Maureen asked, a glint in her eye.

“I heard him crying,” he commented, pointing at the baby that was only whimpering now.

“Her. Ellen’s just hungry,” Maureen responded, looking down at the baby. “She’s always hungry.”

“We should get her some food then, right?”

The girl looked at Peter as though he were the most curious thing she’d ever seen, and he probably was.

“I can’t tell if I’m dreaming,” she said softly, circling the cradle again, and Peter wondered if they’d do this silly dance all night, or if she’d realize he didn’t want her to get too close. He had no intentions of bringing anyone to Neverland tonight. “Why do you move away from me?” Maureen asked, a slight lilt of hurt in her voice.

“I--” before Peter could answer, he stepped backwards onto sharp jack piece and crumpled to the ground cursing a pirate word and grabbing his foot. It set Ellen off crying again, and he hissed angrily before going still as a mouse. Maureen turned around to face the door, a hand on the cradle. Someone was coming up the stairs, and the curious, brave girl turned to Peter with a face as white as a Neverland ghost.

“Go. Go now. He’ll kill me if he thinks I’ve got a boy in here,” she said in a rush, and without a word, Peter was out the window in a flash. He stayed close; he didn’t want Maureen to get into too much trouble for his sake.

“You.” An angry, accusatory voice grunted from inside the window. Peter had his back to the side of the house, listening intently. “ ’Ow many times do I have to tell you.”

The man sounded like the layabouts that hung around Mulligan’s; drunk and brutish, looking for someone to fight. His blood began to boil in his veins when he heard a distinct kick of wood, and the baby gulped and swallowed a cry.

“Shut up, you.” He growled at Ellen, who was whimpering. Babies didn’t stop crying like that because of a kick to the cradle. Unless it’s happened before. Unless it already knows to give up. “And you. Wakin’ ‘er up. When yous knows we t’ain’t got nothin to give her. I could kill you fer that.” There was a resounding slap that could only come from a palm connecting with a face. “But I won’t do that. You know why? ‘Cause your mother’d wake up to ‘er firstborn dead and would lose that baby I put in her from the shock. An’ we don’t want that. Might be a boy.”

Peter really didn’t like this man; he felt his hand move instinctively to his dagger.

“You’re a right stain in my life, you know that? Sixteen an’ nothin’ but another mouth to feed. ‘Ad to take you in if I wanted your mother, didn’ I? I come in after workin’ all day, no dinner to speak of, no wife awake to lie in, only to hear you wakin’ up wee Ellen. Ah I could kill yeh. I could kill--” The voice stopped a moment, taking a step forward. “I’ll teach ye to torment your sister,” he stated with a finality that Peter despised, and Pan closed his eyes as the fury burned inside of him. The unmistakable sound of a belt sliding through cloth loops swished through the air. For a moment, Peter thought he might strike Maureen with it, but instead of buckle hitting flesh, it hit the floor.

Pan’s eyes whipped open; his blood that had been fuming suddenly ran cold, and his decision was made. He span in the air and stood in the window frame, his body blocking out the little moonlight that had come in, appearing just as the burly, drunken man had shoved Maureen down onto her small bed.

“Wha’? What is that? Get down from th--” Peter gave a dark grin at the man’s confusion, and relished the look of terror on his face as Pan floated forward. “Demon!” The brute cried, putting his hands up, keeping his eyes on Pan as he circled backwards, trying to get away from him. Peter kept on grinning, a twisted pleasure at the man’s fear rising up in his chest. “Get away from me!” He yelled, backing towards the window as Peter predicted in circling him, shepherding him to the window.

“I know what you were going to do, you nasty old man,” Peter spoke in a voice he saved especially for the damned. “I’ve seen your kind, crawling over my island. Boorish devils.�� He said, corralling the man back to the open window. “Know what happen to boars that go mad?” he asked, a glint in his eyes as he raised his sharp dagger.

Maureen’s stepfather shook his drunken head, unable or unwilling to speak. The dark haired girl was in the corner of the room now, hands on either side of her head.

“We gut them!” Peter cried, raising his weapon above his head with both hands. He had no intention of sullying his blade. He knew what would happen next, and found it funny.

As predicted, in fear the man stepped back, tripping on the small trunk at the window, and tumbled out into the night. There was a distinct crack as the man’s neck folded into itself as his head connected with the ground outside.

Peter leaned out, watching the hulking, still shell of the brute for any signs of movement. He didn’t want to, but he wasn’t against stabbing if the blighter was still alive. Peter gave a satisfied nod, tossed his dagger in the air once, spinning it and catching it deftly before sheathing the blade. He turned to Maureen who was staring at him in mortified shock.

“Is he--” she started, taking a cautious step forward.

Peter nodded solemnly.

“Oh, Peter,” Maureen stepped closer towards the window. When she was nearly in front of it, Pan stuck his arm out to stop her.

“You don’t want to do that,” he said gently. The girl froze before turning into Peter’s chest, crying.

“Oh, it was awful,” she whimpered. Peter held her calmly, though every fiber of his being wanted to move away. Maureen clung desperately to Peter, her arms over his shoulders, sobbing heavily into him. “Oh-” she peeled herself off of him suddenly, fear welling in her eyes. “They’ll all think I killed him. And what’s mother going to do?”

Peter frowned at the change. He’d just helped get rid of a villain. What more could there be?

“I suppose I could work,” the girl continued, sniffling. “But then to leave her with Ellen and the new baby?”

“Don’t you have family here?” Peter asked. “And isn’t it better to have that man gone?”

“Fionn was terrible,” Maureen agreed, picking up Ellen and cuddling her close. “But he did provide us food and shelter. And took us in when father died.” She closed her eyes. “And no. It’s just me, mum, Ellen, and that little stranger inside of mother.” Maureen began to cry again into the soft hair on Ellen’s head.

Peter sighed inwardly before shaking himself.

“Can’t you just say someone came in and killed him?” he asked, irritation only somewhat masked.

“In my room? Why? No one would believe me.”

“Maybe someone hated him--”

“Everyone loves him. They’d all point the finger to me. It’s not like you came to steal anything and he happened to get in the way.”

Her words struck an idea inside of him. It wasn’t a new idea. He’d had it dozens of times.

“Come away with me.”

Maureen looked startled, but there was a longing in her deep, brown eyes.

“I can’t.”

“Come away and leave it all behind.” The girl looked thoughtful, but then shook her head.

“I can’t leave them,” she said ruefully, clutching Ellen close to her chest.

“Bring her too,” he told her, stepping closer. “We’ll have loads of adventures and you won’t have to explain to anyone.” There was an eagerness in his tone now. The seductive dulcet call that every sad and lost child bent to in the end.

“I can’t,” Maureen murmured again, this time raising a hand to her stomach. “This wasn’t the first time Fionn has come home drunk and angry.” She spoke softly, as though it were the first time she’d spoken of it aloud. “I can’t,” she repeated, and held Ellen out to Peter. “But she can.”

Peter’s head buzzed at the action, and he instinctively took the shy babe. He looked down at her, and then back to Maureen.

“Why?”

“If Ellen is gone too, it will look as though someone killed Fionn and took her. She will be safer with you.” Pan couldn’t process this, unsure that this was truly a good idea.

“What about you? Fionn’s gone.”

“There are always men like Fionn. And mother finds them. With you, she’ll be safe. And maybe one day...maybe one day you’ll bring her back. When I’m grown and out of this wretched house.

Peter held the little one close to his chest, the feeling so unfamiliar. He’d played at being father in the past, and treated his lost boys like a family. But never a lost girl so small. It could be an adventure, a small voice in his head spoke. He cocked a brow at Maureen, taking it all in, before giving a small nod.

“Okay,” he agreed, holding onto Ellen a bit more firmly. “Are you sure?” He asked, noting Maureen’s tear streaked face.

“Yes. Only,” she reached out, stroking Ellen’s pink face. “Only do come back with her.” Peter nodded. “In three years. Can you return in three years?” She asked, eyes welling with tears. “How can I contact you?”

Peter reached out, pulling Maureen into his side and brought her to the window (although, not close enough that she could peer down at Fionn’s shape).

“See that star? The bright one to the right of the moon,” he nodded to the sky. When she confirmed, he looked down at her. “Call to it at midnight. I’ll hear you,” Peter told her. Although this was a lie, he thought it a pretty lie, and he’d remember to come back when the little one was three years older. Probably.

After a tearful goodbye, and packing a small bag of Ellen’s things, Maureen watched Peter take off into the night with her sister. The girl dropped to her knees at the window, heart breaking.

It wasn’t until two nights later, after a day full of screaming from her mother; of having the police come around; after the wake where everyone in the village had come around to say goodbye to Fionn; after having to explain a hundred times over that she never saw who took Ellen, or who killed her stepfather, that Maureen felt a sinking regret.

She lay awake in the dark, listening to the clock ticking, waiting. At midnight, she sidled to the open window, clutched the frame and looked out at the stars.

“Peter. Bring her back. Oh God, bring her back.”

The air was cold, and the only movement in the firmament were the clouds rolling over the moon. Peter did not come back, and would not. For Neverland is for the lost ones. Neverland is for forgetting.

#woo okay hi #this is an explanation of why peter is bringing what he is bringing to neverland #closed #peter pan #tw abuse #tw death

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emo-does-things · 4 years

Text

Sleeping in Sunshine

So this is my Christmas gift to the ever fantastic @ace--writes and boy has it been an ordeal to write this. I started out thinking it would be 2000, maybe a bit more, words, and now here it is at... more than 10000, so... yeah, fair warning it’s long.

other things to note, this may be a fae au and set sometime in the past but i’m playing fast and lose with the rules of both of those... so...

and also, while I am not cis, i am not specifically a trans man so if anyone that is finds something insensitive or disrespectful please let me know and I will try and find a way to fix it! anygay~

Fandom: Thomas sanders

Relationships: Remile

Warnings: Emile’s parents are Not Great, an arranged marriage, cursing, trans male character, misgendering, anxious thoughts, please let me know if i missed something

Read it on AO3: here

Words: 12,061 it is longggg (for me)

The four times Remy asked for Emile’s name and the one time he gave it

Emily Picani was a smart girl. She knew how to read (after her parents had realised that she was basically blind and really did need glasses), and she knew a lot about people, and she knew not to go into the forest alone.

However, while Emily was generally a smart girl, she did not always make smart decisions.

She’d been told dozens of times by her parents, neighbours, and most especially her grandmother that she shouldn’t go into the forest. She knew they were afraid of it. She knew all of the stories- she’d read dozens of books telling sometimes delightful and sometimes gruesome tales, and she knew very well all the reasons why she shouldn’t.

That didn’t mean that she didn’t.

You see, the forest fascinated Emily, and so did the concept of The Others that lived there. Not that she would ever admit that anyone out loud.

Yes, her family’s little farm was all very interesting, but she didn’t much like the sorts of things her mother had her do or the sort that her father wouldn’t let her. So instead, she did exactly what she shouldn’t, and spent far too much time exploring the trees and hollows and hidden paths in the forest.

Oh, sure, she filled her pockets with iron filings and holly berries, to be safe, and copied the little rituals her grandmother practised for protection, but one is never truly safe with these kinds of creatures, only left alive for the moment.

But Emily had complete confidence in herself, in the way that only children could. She had explored the area of the forest nearest to her house inside and out over her childhood, and really, never found anything that mysterious, or dangerous, or in any way indicative of the strange creatures she’d been warned so much about, and secretly wanted to learn more of.

That was, until one day, when Emily suddenly wished she hadn’t been quite so bold.

She had been playing, enjoying a story of her own devising, where she was a great wizard with power over the elements. Her story called her to find sacred objects to return power to the land, (which in reality were different, particularly pretty looking rocks) and it also pulled her deeper into the forest than she had ever wandered before.

She was just mumbling to herself the dramatic, musical climax of her story, with various dums, dees and das, as she jumped around, when she noticed that something was wrong.

Suddenly, the area around her felt colder, despite the warmth of spring that had surrounded her just prior.

She froze in place, watching her breath puff out into the chilled air in front of her. She saw the briars, with thorns that looked as if they were coated in sharp, deadly metal, and the trees that seemed that much taller, now towering over her even more, and she heard the eerie silence that had overtaken the bird and bug song.

“This is fine,” she said, quietly but cheerfully to herself, forcing a smile onto her face, as she tried to decide what to do. Her hands found their way into her pockets, grasping at the iron filings

She heard a branch snap behind her, and she spun, a scream on her lips, not considering how much more sense it would make to remain quiet.

She expected to see a monster standing there- a beast with a large gaping maw, come to gobble her up, or one of the strange, ethereal moonlit beings of her fairy tales.

Instead, she saw a boy, about her age, although much stranger, grinning at her

“You know,” said the boy with a smile filled with too sharp teeth, “It’s kinda rude to lie in company that can’t.”

Emily felt her jaw drop and her body freeze up once more. This boy looked nothing like the tales she read. He had no skin woven of moonlight or eyes hewn of gems and blessed with stars. In fact, he looked rather like a normal person, but just slightly to the left enough to be unsettling. His limbs were just slightly too long, and his teeth just slightly too sharp, his ears were pointed, and twitching, and his curly red hair looked like it had strings of gold and amber woven through it. Had he not addressed her so, and had they met anywhere else, she may have thought him human.

“Staring is also considered rude in most places, but I’ll let you off with that one, considering I am particularly cute,” the boy spoke again.

Yes, his teeth definitely were far too sharp to be human.

“Um, Hello?” Emily said, finding the voice that had until then died in her throat, and trying her best approximation of a curtsey, the way she had seen her mother do it. (She only managed to trip over her feet and settled for a bow instead).

The boy’s smile, somehow, widened further, and he stuck out a hand for her to shake- his left hand, actually, which he didn’t seem to see a problem with. She shook it as quickly as she could, and then returned her own hands to her pockets, playing with the iron filings.

“May I have your name,” the boy asked, and he looked like he was trying to remember something he had to recite.

“You can call me Em,” she said after some deliberation.

He looked slightly disappointed, and Emily knew it was because she had seen around his trick, although, he brightened momentarily.

“Oh well,” he said with a grin and a shrug, “It was worth a shot. I didn’t really want to trick you anyway.”

Emily didn’t know how to respond to that, blinking owlishly at his sudden change of mood. This boy was very strange, she thought, and not at all easy to understand like most of the people she knew.

“What shall I call you?” she asked eventually, when she realised that he seemed to be waiting on her.

“Oh, huh, I hadn’t thought of that. You’re very clever,” he said looking truly taken aback. He paused a moment, sticking his tongue out through his teeth as he thought, “You can call me Sleep, I guess.”

“Sleep it is,” she murmured, wondering silently why he would choose something like that. She really shouldn’t wonder so much; she might start asking questions. And she figured, that by now that might not be a smart decision.

But then again, Emily Picani wasn’t known for smart decisions.

Although, it seemed she wasn’t the only one with questions.

“So, Em, what are you doing out here? The forest really isn’t safe for little girls, you know,” he said, fake-serious. He really should have been real-serious.

“What about little boys?” she shot back defiantly, delighted when this caused him to grin rather than glare.

“Well, little boys shouldn’t be out all alone either. Good thing we found each other, huh?” he said waltzing forward and grabbing onto her arm. He was surprisingly strong for someone who looked so gangly.

He was so strange.

“You’re not human, are you?” she found the question past her lips before she had even thought it over.

He laughed at her, bright and clear, “Oh you are clever. I like you. No, I’m not human, but why does that matter? I have a bright and charming personality regardless, which is what should matter.”

She was surprised that he would admit it so honestly, but then again, she had a feeling that perhaps Sleep wasn’t particularly normal by human standards, or his own people’s for that matter.

“I’m sure you light up some people’s world,” she said, the pun coming to her naturally, but surprising her with the ease that she spoke to him. The way that he laughed and smiled back only encouraged her.

“Oh, I do, I do like you little Em,” he crowed, “I think I should keep you around… It would be nice to have someone to play with.”

She frowned a little at that. She didn’t have any intention of becoming a plaything for the good neighbours. She had enough sense at least to try and avoid that at least.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind playing with you, Sleep, but you would have to let me go home, if you wanted me to come back and not simply pass out from exhaustion,” she said, trying to avoid any firm promises and also trying to sound smart, one thing she had learned from her grandmother, and one she was trying to convince herself of.

He looked for a moment like he was considering something very important.

“Well, I know that you come to the forest every day to play. If you agree to play with me whenever you come here, then I will let you go and do whatever it is you humans do for the rest of the time, no harm done.”

She looked him carefully up and down, trying to find any hint of malice in his face, or any twisted meaning to his words. Seeing none, she decided, as children very often do, to disregard most of her earlier concerns in favour of a new playmate.

“It’s a deal,” she said, grinning, forgetting one fundamental rule in that moment.

And she would not remember this mistake for some time, if at all, in favour of playing with Sleep.

Because, with him around, the woods, even the darker, sharper and more dangerous sections didn’t seem as scary. He had a way of putting the situation at ease. He lifted up the briars with a stick longer than he was tall, grinning and making a show of wounding himself, even as not one thorn scratched him.

He dragged Em the long way around a stream because he swore up and down there was ‘something in there out to get him’ that she ‘probably didn’t want to see if she didn’t want super super weird nightmares’.

Quickly, Em discovered he was quite the drama queen, and more than a bit of a scatterbrain, although that only made her laugh all the more when he fell out of a tree and complained that he ‘would never ever ever in all his life come back here,’ because he was ‘not going to put up with such dishonest and bullying behaviour’ from the tree.

At the same time that he was completely unlike any human she had ever met; he was also very much like every human child she knew. He was strange, but she couldn’t find it in herself to mind. Instead she was intrigued, filled with as many questions as she was ideas for games to play.

What felt like hours later, when the sun began to set, Sleep even helped Em to find her way home. It took a little convincing first, because he still wanted to play not even feeling a little tired, but at Emily’s insistence, he guided her through various paths from the darker, mysterious part of the forest, into the part where trees were just a little bit too big instead of dangerously so.

When they reached the edge, he stopped, not passing the line of trees.

“You’ll come back tomorrow?” he asked, eyes pleading.

She nodded, unable to stop herself from smiling.

“Then I’ll meet you here,” he said patting the tree he leaned against. “I’ll find you. I don’t want you to get lost in the woods and have one of my family find you instead. They care a lot more about those traditions and weird adult word games than I do, and I don’t want you to get hurt. So, it wouldn’t be a good idea for you to wander around on your own.”

Quietly, Emily thought that it hadn’t been a good idea for her to go out in the first place, or to meet Sleep again either, but she just nodded, and smiled, and ran towards her house ahead of her, in the setting sun, throwing a wave over her shoulder.

That night she was uncharacteristically quiet at the dinner table, not recounting the many adventures of her day and instead focusing on her meal far too intensely. Her parents barely noticed, too busy corralling her five other siblings. And she herself was too absorbed in thought to see the look her grandmother gave her over the tops of her glasses.

That night when all was quiet save for the shuffling of her sisters in the beds near hers, she thought she heard a whisper, from somewhere far away brushing against her ear.

“Sweet dreams,” it said, “Sleep well.”

Emily Picani was a smart girl. She learned how to knit and sew far faster than her sisters, she could easily tell a liar from someone telling the truth and she knew that fae were dangerous.

Emily was not, however, known for putting her wisdom into practice.

If you visited the fae once or twice and still remained completely aware and not charmed or, more likely, dead, then perhaps you could be excused. But Emily didn’t just visit once or twice.

She found herself in the forest almost every day for three years.

She would finish her chores and her mother’s lessons as quickly as she could, (which was much faster than you would think, because Emily was a smart girl) and then she would run off to the woods before her parents could find something else for her to do.

They barely noticed she was missing, really- or rather, they noticed she wasn’t around but were grateful for the reprieve from her loud and boisterous manner and incessant questions and weren’t particularly worried that she would get hurt.

So, she was free to disappear and play with a friend that no one, especially not her grandmother would approve of.

This day was no different from any other. She had finished mending the boy’s clothes and cleaning the house and setting out things for dinner, before she bolted from the house, ignoring any calls her grandmother threw after her.

She got to their tree, as usual, earlier than Sleep, and rummaged around inside the hollow that had become her hidey hole for anything important. And, most important and relevant in that moment was the pair of pants she kept there.

Her mother and sisters liked to insist that ‘she was a young lady that should dress like one’ and while she rather liked the pretty colours and stitching that complicated ladies skirts sometimes had, she did not like the fact they were… well… skirts, so she had stolen a pair of her brothers too small-pants, and had made much better use of them than he did, if she did say so herself.

She changed, and then slumped down by the tree, staring up at the pretty jade green leaves and daydreaming about nothing in particular, when she heard a thud and saw Sleep land, and stumble a little, in front of her, after jumping from one of the branches above.

Immediately she jumped to her feet, giving him a large hug.

“It took you long enough!” she exclaimed, grinning.

“Hello to you too, sunshine,” Sleep said with a laugh, “I’m sorry I was late, there were some… issues.”

His smile was too sharp and brittle to be real.

She looked at him, concerned, and frowned.

“With your family or The Others?” she asked, poking and prodding him, trying to check for injuries.

“It was fi-“ he cut off and frowned.

“Ok, maybe not but like, you totally shouldn’t worry about it,” He amended.

“Well, it’s clearly not fine if you can’t say it.”

“It is no longer a problem.”

She chewed her lip worriedly. It was always concerning to hear about drama with the good neighbours. Of course, she knew that it was perfectly normal with them, but she didn’t want Sleep to be hurt.

“Well, let it be known that I am concerned, especially because you can’t even say that it’s ok out loud, mister”

“You’re like, overreacting and stuff,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, don’t go getting into trouble again, then.”

He smiled a little, “I don’t think either of us could stop me if we tried, Em.”

“You know- you know what that’s probably fair.”

“Yes, exactly. Now!” he said, suddenly clapping his hands together, “I have an idea.”

“And what would that be, Sleep?”

“Well, it’s like, our third anniversary of meeting each other, did you know that?” he said grinning, “And I heard that you humans get gifts for each other on anniversaries or whatever, so I thought hey, maybe we could do that.”

“Well first off, that’s for people that are romantically involved, which we aren’t so jot that down, and second off, even if we did get gifts, that’s today and I don’t have anything for you,” Em said, frowning.

“You could always give me your name,” Sleep said, mischievously.

“I- oh so that’s what this was about you cheeky little- urgh! No, I’m not giving you my name!”

“But Emmmmmmm,” he said with fake puppy dog eyes that immediately told Emily he was kidding and found the whole situation hilarious, “Aren’t we friends?”

Her grandmothers warning danced through her head, as they did every time Sleep pulled one of his silly tricks, but she found herself listening to every one of them less and less. Especially, ‘You cannot be friends with the fae’.

“Of course we’re friends, silly, but I’m not going to give you my name any more than you would give me yours.”

“What if I did give you mine,” Sleep said, grinning wildly.

“Then I would probably have to eat my rock collection… Well, maybe not quite so extreme, rose quartz would not be a fun thing to try and eat, if you’re me- because yes Sleep I am aware that you eat various dumb things that I defiantly couldn’t”

“Oh, all right then. But, like, for real though I did have an idea for something that we could do, because, like, three years is a long time for you humans, isn’t it?”

“Well, I guess, but how long something is really is relitv-“

“Fantastic, that’s perf,” he says, grabbing Emily hand and pulling her through the woods.

“What exactly are you thinking?” Emily gasped between panting breaths and laughter.

“That we should totally,” Sleep said, picking her up to jump over a new fallen tree in one of the many familiar paths of the forest, “Build a tree house.”

He set her down not a moment later, in front of a huge, solid old oak tree, that would take several people with arms stretched right out to wrap their arms all the way around it.

It was not unique in a forest as old and full of magic as this one, but it was still pretty damn cool to look at.

Emily stared at it, stunned for a moment, then turned to Sleep.

“Is this in a part of the forest where you can like, change things easily?” she asked, “Because I don’t think I could manage to take very much from my parents, and I’d feel bad if I did, so I can’t really help much that way.”

“Nah, you’re fine Sunshine,” Sleep said, already climbing up the tree, and onto one of the huge branches, and beckoning Emily to follow, “You’re on ideas duty, considering you have all those fancy stories in your head.”

Emily clamoured up into the tree after him, already thinking a mile a minute. They sat together in the tree for ages, making countless plans and moving about, figuring out which branches would be good for what things.

When Emily went home that night, she was still buzzing with excitement, as sleep promised that for the next day he would have (somehow) found everything they could possibly need to make their tree fort.

And, as she had become used to over the past three years, that voice whispered into her ear, “Sweet dreams, Sunshine, and good night.”

And indeed, he did have the materials (mostly magical ones) the next day, and over the next several years, the treehouse became a safe haven for both of them. It was one of the only places deeper in the forest that Emily could get to reliably, with some exceptions, because they’d trodden the path solidly into the forest’s memory.

They upgraded it and added to it as their interests changed. They added back entrances, rope sings, blankets and cushions stolen from both homes and usually worn half to death. Sleep added glowing lights and pressed magical carvings into the wood getting more interesting and complex and strong as he learned about his magic (he was, after all, a child just like Em, even if a different kind). And Emily painted stories from her books of tales, (all now stacked in their hideaway, out there instead of in her room) and her grand imagination all across the walls, and they both often found they were more at home there than with their families.

It was a space that was truly theirs.

Emily might not have given Sleep her name, but some would say she’d shared something even more precious.

Em Picani was smart- able to read, write, tell stories and charm people within moments of meeting them, but also intimidate them with that intelligence.

Because being smart wasn’t something girls were really supposed to be.

Em was a lot of things girls weren’t supposed to be. She was outspoken, loud, brave, and loved the outdoors. She was secretive, charming- but not in a sweet or demur way- a little cunning and bold. She hated dresses, but loved bright colours, and would rather wear pants than skirts, she wanted to be able to write and create and be smart without being written off.

Em was a lot of things girls weren’t supposed to be, and especially smart… Smart enough to realise that he wasn’t a girl. Emily Picani was intelligent and sharp and witty and… Not Emily Picani, he decided, but Emile.

He knew, that even if tomorrow the world was turned on its head, and everything that he was girls were allowed to be, he still wouldn’t be one. He was a boy, and he’d finally come to terms with it.

Emile was a lot of things that boys were supposed to be, except for recognised as one.

Because, yes, Emile was a smart boy, but he lived in a world where no one else thought that.

Well, he hoped that after today, there would at least be one somebody.

Yeah, sure Emile knew he shouldn’t be going into the forest, his grandmother had drilled that into him since before he could walk. And sure, he knew better than to tell the fae secrets, at least in theory, but it had been years since he had kept anything from Sleep. He was his best friend, after all and he was often (if not always) more comfortable around him than the extended Picani family.

Sleep knew him better than he knew himself a lot of the time- and whether that was because he was fae or simply because they were friends, he would never be able to tell. But he trusted him. He trusted him to understand him when no one else would.

They’d done so much for each other. Emile had all but given up lying because it made Sleep uncomfortable, and he’d long since stopped carrying iron filings in his pockets. The only fae repellent weapons he kept were stored safely in a place that would not damage Sleep, but Emile could access if there was a squabble with another fae. Which had never happened yet, with Sleeps dutiful protection.

And Sleep, well Sleep had welcomed Emile with every single one of his quirks, his intelligence and interests. He’d found or made trousers and shirts that more suited Emile’s clothing sense, and made the tree house a safe haven for both of them. Even though he surely could have killed Emile in an instant if he tried, now, or tricked him into some other bond, he’d never tried.

Sleep wasn’t a child anymore, and neither was Emile, and yet against all odds their friendship persisted, even as Sleep’s power and Other nature grew, and Emile’s responsibilities pulled him away from the forest more and more often.

So yeah, Emile had little doubt that Sleep would accept him for what he had learned of himself, but that did not mean he wasn’t still hesitant to tell him.

The day he decided to commit to it, was a day just like any other for them- they met much later in the afternoon now, because Emile had to do the work of a proper ‘lady’ in the house, not just a child, which meant it was often not until into the afternoon that he could sneak away.

And it was indeed late afternoon that found him waiting as usual under their tree- not the house, but the one at the edge of the forest, where he’d wait sometimes if he didn’t trust the path.

“Hey babes, what’s up?” is the first thing he’s greeted to by Sleep, who appears as usual from nowhere. It was much harder to spot him in the late afternoons of autumn, with so much of him blending in. (Some of it was natural- his hair changing like the colours of the autumn leaves, shining and mesmerising, and some of it was the magic he pulled around himself to disappear and torment Emile).

Emile managed a slight grin, pushing himself from the tree and wiping his damp palms on the skirt he had no choice but to wear when coming from home.

He opened his mouth, ready to greet him, ready to tell him, ready even to say that he had something to tell him, but he found all the words died in his throat.

“I dunno. Just thinking about some stuff, I guess,” he said, and the lie felt like acid on his tongue. One would think he’d been cursed to tell the truth, rather than it being self-imposed.

“Uh-uh gurl that is an absolute indicator that we need to sit down and talk about stuff, don’t you try and pull that shit with me. If I say shit like that you jump straight to trying to solve my problems so now I’m gonna have to return the favour,” Sleep said, and linked their arms together, he didn’t seem to notice Emile’s flinch at the address.

He pulled Emile along the path, well warn between the tree line and their house. Em’s caution on that day was in fact proven justified, when they found part of it blocked off with the thorn bushes that looked made of metal and were still intimidating to this day. To Sleep, of course, they were nothing, banished with barely a wave of a hand, but Emile would have had far more trouble. And staying in one place that was not the tree house was decidedly dangerous in a forest like this.

There were no other issues however, and Emile found himself quickly ushered up the ladder of the tree house and pushed unceremoniously straight down onto one of the many pillows they had borrowed or otherwise relocated.

“So, babes, spill,” Sleep said, arms crossed.

“It’s not that much, really,” Emile found himself saying before he could help it. Lying really was second nature to humans, even the ones who schooled themselves so hard to be honest, it seemed.

Sleep scowled, clearly seeing the blatant lie. (Just because Emile could lie didn’t mean he was particularly good at it, you know).

Emile looked down at his skirts and then looked up at Sleep again.

“Do you know what? I’ll tell you, but you need to let me change first. I can’t stand to be in this a moment longer, and it is rather relevant,” he bargained, standing and moving towards one of the other small rooms they had created.

“Fine, but don’t think you can avoid this forever, sunshine!” Sleep sighed, slumping back against pillow and wall, absolutely undignified.

It always made Emile laugh a little when he did something like that. To the best of is knowledge, Sleep actually held some kind of importance in his court, and often had moments of that ethereal grace so often accredited to the fae, and yet there were plenty of other moments where he was simply all gangly limbs and ‘please believe I’m badass’ attitude.

He returned five minutes later, pants replacing skirt and hair tied back in a much more comfortable and personally acceptable manner.

“All right,” he said, sitting back down.

“Ok, gurl, what the Ef is up?” Sleep asked, staring him down.

Emile flinched again, just a little.

“Ok, yeah, uh here’s the thing. I’m not. ‘Gurl’ that is. I don’t consider myself to be a girl. I’m a boy,” he said, repeating himself, but not stumbling over the words.

Sleep looked at him blankly for a moment.

“So this is you like, asking me to use He and Him and seeing you as a boy, I’m guessing?” he asked and frowned at Emile’s hesitant nod, “Wait a minute, is this another one of those bullshit human things, do you guys not think people can be different genders? You seem like, far too nervous about this if that wasn’t the case.”

Emile felt something in him truly lighten in that moment. He hadn’t thought Sleep would completely reject him, but he hadn’t expected him to think it was so, well… normal.

“Yes, I would very much like you to do that… And, uh, no, not really…”

Sleep blinked at him owlishly for a moment, “Well, that’s stupid. But if humans don’t do that, then what made you realise if you don’t mind my asking?”

Emile shrugged a little sheepishly, “Well, I’d always felt something was a little bit off, you know. And, uh, it wasn’t all me really. Last week, when my family went into the village for the autumn celebration there was like, travelling performers there. And one of them- a sword swallower, he was a guy like me, and I had spoken to him briefly, obviously curious about his life, but then my parents pulled me away.”

He sighed a little, “They think that people like him- like me are sick, that they’ve been cursed or cursed themselves I guess.”

“Well, you know, this is just adding another tally to my ‘list of reasons why humans are dumb’ you know. If you say you’re a boy then you’re a boy, it’s not that difficult really. Like sure you guys can lie and stuff and that’s cool, but that’s just a total dick move. And we’re the ones with a reputation for being sadistic, honestly!” Sleep said dramatically, draping himself more horizontally across the pillows.

Emile laughed. It was just for a moment, but in that second he swore his heart would burst with love for his dramatic friend, he was so strange and funny, and the fact that he could say that with such confidence when he could not speak a lie, truly warmed Emile’s heart and calmed his fears. Emile loved Sleep and his ridiculous personality and ridiculously handsome face. Well. Ok, maybe that was a thought to categorise for later and Not Think About.

“So,” said Sleep, righting himself, “Babes, have you picked out a new name for yourself, I’m sure it’s super cool just like you.”

His grin was pointy and feral, and Emile laughed, shaking his head, so very used to his antics by now.

“C’mon Sunshine, you should totally tell me your name!” he was laughing now, clearly not even trying to be taken seriously.

“Real nice attempt there, buddy, perfect form, but no, not this time.”

Sleep made a show of being wounded, but eventually returned to a normal sitting position for him (which was to say, he splayed himself across the floor like some sort of cat stretching).

Emile laughed at him but ignored his antics in favour of picking up one of his books. It was a gift he had received recently, and he was yet to finish it.

“You know,” Sleep said, after a while of them sitting in companionable silence, “This probably means that even if you had told me your name before, it wouldn’t count anymore. And anyone that still knows you by that name has even less power over you than before.”

Emile looked up at him and smiled.

“That’s surprisingly good to hear… Thanks.”

There was another long silence.

“Do you like having long hair?” Sleep asked suddenly.

“What?” Emile looked up, confused this time.

“I said do you like having long hair, keep up Sunshine.”

“Well, I mean, no not really. I’d much rather have it shorter, but I’d be worried I’d make myself look ridiculous, and my parents would kill me.”

“Well, I can make it look good,” he said waving his fingers about in a gesture that Emile could only interpret as ‘look at me I’m special I have magic’, “And quite honestly your parents can suck it.”

Emile had laughed at first, but with even the barest hint of an agreement from his lips Sleep pulled him about and got straight to work. His first action was to chop clear off the braid Emile had been wearing, and hand it to him triumphantly, smiling at the rope of golden hair. Then, he had gotten to work, doing stars knew what, removing large chunks and small strands, fluffing, smoothing and running his too long and bony fingers all through it. When he pulled back and announced himself done, Emile was suspicious of the results, but upon seeing himself in the mirrored glass he was presented he couldn’t help but gasp. He hardly recognised himself- definitely in a good way. He looked, almost, like his older brother, with the curly blond hair now cut short, curling around his ears and just bushing his eyebrows when not pushed back.

He leapt from his chair at a moment’s notice, squeezing Sleep into a tight hug.

“I love it,” he said, slightly tearfully, “Thank you.”

“Then, I give you this gift,” Sleep said, resting his hands on Emile’s head, “No strings attached, no payment needed, that for as long as you wish it, your hair shall not grow any longer than this.”

That was another thing he knew he wasn’t supposed to do with the fae- thank them or accept gifts. But it was Sleep, and he’d honestly just done one of the most amazing things he’d witnessed in all his life, so it really would have been remiss of him not to thank him.

After a few more moments of Emile’s tearful hug, they honestly spent the rest of the afternoon as they always did, sitting around, talking and sometimes doing their own thing in silence with each other. And that night, even as dusk began to fall, Emile was unwilling to leave. He didn’t want to go home and have to pretend to be someone else again. He knew he had to eventually, but for now he wanted to hold on to that sense of peace one moment longer.

And so, without even realising it, he drifted off to sleep on the floor and cushions of a tree house that had always felt that much more like a home than where his family lived. Distantly, he knew his parents, and especially his grandmother would be furious, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

That night, for the first time, he knew he could truly hear the voice when it whispered in his ear, “Good night, Sunshine. Sleep well,” while the body it belonged to carefully covered him in a blanket.

Emile Picani was a smart boy. All the people from the village asked him for advice on their problems, even though he was just eighteen, he could tell stories that enchanted the young and old alike and that was barely scratching the surface of the many, many things he could do.

Most people thought he was fantastic, if exceedingly odd. Of course, most people also thought that Emile was a girl, and spent his afternoons painting in the fields or reflecting in nature, which did detract from their opinions just a little.

And Emile was happy with that, mostly. He was happy to exist as he was, as long as he had the opportunity to escape, as he did as often as he could with Sleep.

Sleep, his best friend since childhood who he knew as well as he knew himself. Sleep, the boy he had watched grow from baby face to… strikingly handsome, and borderline beautiful. Sleep, the fae who strayed closest to the forest’s edge, and who knew enough about what he was to do it properly now, and still never used his magic against Emile. Sleep, who had done every single thing inside his power, which only extended so far out of the forest, to make Emile more like the man he was- who cut his hair, and found him clothes, and charmed his voice, and loved and accepted him as he was.

Sleep, who Emile had realised- or rather, admitted to himself- four months ago that he was in love with.

It was still strange to think about, that he’d finally owned up to it. (he hadn’t said anything to Sleep though, of course not, what do you think he was, an idiot?). It had taken years, and multiple thoughts that he had decided to ‘think about later’ and then never got around to.

But he was. He was hopelessly in love with his best friend, who also happened to be a fae of importance in his court.

He was in love with his beautiful face, freckled and sharp, his curly, autumn toned hair that shone in the sun, his perfect brow and his long, admittedly slightly gangly limbs. But he was also in love with the way he made him laugh, the way he didn’t always understand human things, but made an effort if Emile cared, the way he felt when he hugged him, and the sweetness he would speak to him with.

Emile could probably name any trait of Sleep’s and declare himself in love with it, because he was. And trust him, he knew this wasn’t a trick or curse. As soon as he was willing to admit it to himself, he tried every magical method he knew to detect or lift a curse, to learn about meddling magics and everything he could possibly try. And none of it helped, and he was forced to admit that it was all him, and his… feelings.

Usually Emile was good with feelings, though, apparently that didn’t apply to his own.

And after his brief tirade of trying everything under the sun to rid himself of a curse, he started returning to the forest again, and for every time he refused to answer Sleep on his absence, his heart grew a little heavier.

But he adapted, and accepted it, and internalised it, because there was no way someone like Sleep would be interested in me. I’m mortal. My friendship is one thing, but that was quite another. So, they went on as normal, and if Emile noticed the Sleep noticed that something was wrong, neither would admit it.

Emile wouldn’t dare to disrupt something that was already working so well. Why do that for some simple feelings when the friendship they already had was so important.

So, it was normal. For a while at least. And then Emile’s parents had to go and destroy all of it.

He’d been told on a perfectly normal winters morning. He’d just finished cleaning up the hearth from the night before and getting ready to light a new fire for the rest of the day, when his mother and sisters had pulled him away. They’d refused to tell him what for, wittering away between each other as they pulled him and sat him down at the kitchen table.

His grandmother sat behind them, frowning at their antics, and throwing worried glances his way. He wasn’t sure how to interpret that, his grandmother had never seemed to like him, until recently.

Eventually, his mother stopped dancing about, and grinned widely.

“Darling, darling we have such wonderful news for you!” she announced, practically dancing in place. “We’ve found you a husband.”

Emile felt cold. This was terrible. He had tried so, so hard to avoid this. He had walked out on more than one conversation about it and had done everything in his power to ensure that none of the men in the village would be interested.

He didn’t want a husband, not just because he was in love with Sleep, but because he knew that they would want him to move away, to live in the village or some other farm, and leave his forest, and Sleep and everything that really mattered, and the only person that understood and accepted him as a man.

“Oh, look! She’s in shock, it’s so sweet!” twittered his youngest sister, Mary, who despite being only twelve had wanted a husband and her own family since forever. “Oh, I’m jealous, you’re so lucky Em, I thought we’d never do it!”

“Yes, it really is quite a miracle, it’s almost as if she’d been trying to avoid it,” Annie, his other sister said, with as much dry bite as she could manage, looking down her nose at him.

He squirmed in his seat.

“Now, girls,” his mother said, hushing them, “Emily may have made it a little difficult, with the short hair, and the pants, and the disappearing and the… general lack of approachability to suiters and…”

Emile knew that she was trying to find a way to say “and everything else” without sounding rude. And honestly, he was proud of that. Half of that was just who he was, but the other half had been a deliberate attempt to ward off such suitors. And it had apparently worked until now.

“Yes, that is rather a lot of difficult things to contend with, isn’t it,” said Annie, primly.

“Oh, but it’s soooo romantic that he decided he wants to marry her regardless, don’t you think Anne? I’m sure she’ll just love him- He’s so handsome! And I think that he like, thinks he’s rescuing her,” Mary said dreamily.

From behind them, in the doorway, Emile’s grandmother spoke up.

“Do you girls plan on hearing what Em has to say on the matter, or are you content to continue gossipin’ about the engagement like village hens?”

Emile was surprised, he’d never heard his grandmother speak in his defence in that way before.

They all looked in shock at their grandmother, before turning back to Emile, now waiting for him to say something.

“I think,” he said, hating how his voice shook, “I think I shall have to spend some time contemplating this. In nature.”

Then he stood from the table roughly and hurried out the door, ignoring the many calls after him and the clattering of his chair.

He hurried past the tree line, into the forest, and down the path. He had no idea if it was safe that day, and he didn’t care. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, all he knew was that he needed to be not here and rather there. There, at the treehouse, there with Sleep, there away from that nightmare.

He stumbled along the path, basically running blind, and up, into the treehouse. The first thing he did was change out of his dress, the second was collapse in a heap on the cushions.

Not too long after, he felt a hand on his arm, and without thinking threw himself towards it. He could tell in a moment that it was Sleep, from just the touch, but even more so for burying his face in his shirt. He smelled of crisp autumn leaves even in the winter, and soft, earthy scents like mushrooms.

Emile barely managed to get his story out, between gasps for breath and his body shaking.

He was sure that Sleep could tell, just by listening to his thoughts. The thoughts screaming, I don’t want this. I want anything but this.

Sleep gently stroked his hair and listened to him speak. When he was done, he pulled him tighter against him, and calmed him gently.

“Babes, what do you want me to do?” he asked, seriously, his jet dark eyes glinting.

“There’s nothing you can do… I can’t… there’s nothing I can think of that will fix this- I can’t, my family will disown me if I don’t…” he sighed.

“You could stay with me, Sunshine?

“Don’t be silly, Sleep. They’d come looking and take me away. And then they’d be after you too”

“No, babes, I meant it. You could stay here with me. You promised me, back when we were kids, that your time here in the forest would be spent with me. If you stay in this forest, they can’t take you away from me, if you don’t want to go. Promises with the fae are binding, you know that,” he said, seriousness coating his features in an unfamiliar pattern.

“Oh,” said Emile, for a moment, hope blossoming in his chest, only to be crushed by reality. “Oh, I wish I could Sleep, but… I don’t belong here. I can come, and visit you- you’re not the problem, but I’m… I’m just a human. I couldn’t truly live out here…”

It hurt. There wasn’t much flowery language that could dance about that, he was, simply put, sad.

Sleep frowned.

“I’m sure I could find a way to work around that- I have magic, I have people who know magic. I could, I could find something. I could do something, anything. I would- I’d do anything to keep you here with me Em- Hell, if only you’d tell me your name I could end all this right now and-” he said frantically, hands dancing around, and voice clipped.

In that moment, Emile could really see the fae shining through- he wouldn’t lie and say it wasn’t a little scary. He’d never really believed Sleep when he’d asked him for his name before, never thought that there would be a moment when he would actually fear the question, and it scared him. But after a second, he calmed, he breathed deeply like Emile had taught him for dealing with bad emotions and steadied himself.

“If it is what you want, Em, I will find a way to stop this. Be it keeping you here, or some other way of removing him I will do it- but only if that’s what you want. I will look into any option- What’s the point of being a prince if I can’t, find a solution to this- but I won’t use any of these options without you asking first. I swear it to you,” he declared, and the rush of magic this time was palpable.

Oh. Oh, he thought. Sleep is a prince, he thinks first, stunned. His second thought could not be distilled down into so simple a sentence. It was more a vague amalgamation of emotions- gratitude at the offer, regret at having thought he would ever hurt him really, doubt in his ability to do anything, and mostly pure, shining love.

“Thank you,” he whispers softly, “I- I don’t think that I can choose that but thank you…”

There’s a long moment of silence, and he realises in that moment that he can’t leave with these things left unsaid.

“I- Sleep, you’re my best friend in the world and it would hurt so much to be apart from you but… I couldn’t stand to be with you all the time either, because- because-” he felt like he was choking on the words, like his throat was filled with precious stones that didn’t want to come forward, until they all spilled out in one moment, “Because I’m in love with you and I couldn’t stand to have you so close, all the time, and not, not have that, but I know I can’t, because you’re- you’re you- you’re fae, and a prince apparently to boot and I’m just the mortal boy who fell into every stereotypical trap. So, thank you for the offer, but I can’t.”

And then he turned and fled for the second time that day before he could even look at Sleep’s face. He cried, alone, in his room that night, when even his sisters were avoiding him.

When he fell asleep, he didn’t expect to even hear the voice that whispered in his ear, but he did. And it said, “Sleep well,” but it felt like it was calling him home. It felt like, “I miss you,” and “I’ll protect you.” it felt like his heartbreaking, and he couldn’t do anything to fix it.

+ 1

The day that Emile met his fiancé was not a good one.

It was freezing cold, but his mother hand forced him into the fanciest dress he owned, which was far thinner than was appropriate for this kind of weather, and they expected him to walk into the village with them.

The walk felt longer than usual. He tried to focus on something other than the cold air stinging his lungs or nipping his skin. So, instead, he thought. He thought about his fiancé, his fate, and future. And the niggling reminder of Sleep’s promise. Well, he tried not to think about that one, honestly. But out of all his concerns, that was the only one that didn’t leave him feeling as cold as the winter he walked in.

He still knew nothing about his fiancé, not even his name. There were a dozen eligible young men in the village it could be, and Emile would be happy with… none of them. Not a single one.

Once, he thought he could have accustomed himself to the idea. And then he realised two integral things to his whole… being, and suddenly he didn’t think he could.

These thoughts were such a dark, spiralling hole he barely noticed when they finally arrived in the village, and his mother and sisters pulled insistently at his arms to guide him.

There was only one other family at the village square, that morning, everyone else inside like smart people, and in seeing them- Well, if Emile had been cold before he was practically frozen now.

With no one else in sight, there were no other options, and the panic bubbled lowly in Emile’s stomach.

Fredrick Jackson, and his father, grandfather, mother and sisters, stood by the frozen village fountain. Fredrick, whose family were known for being hunters and trappers and their cold, cruel nature. Which was all well and, well, bad on its own, but the Jackson’s were also known for something else, something that Emile thought was easily worse, to him at least. They didn’t just hunt animals; they hunted the supernatural- and especially the fae.

Emile stopped dead in his tracks. The glare his sister threw him was withering, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

His mother grabbed his arm roughly and pulled him forward, pasting on a brittle smile between the jab to his ribs. He tried his best to school his features into…impassivity… he couldn’t manage sweet or happy and he knew it.

“Ah, and there she is!” Fredrick exclaimed loudly, “The not-witch.”

Emile flinched at the name. He knew he’d been called it in the village for years, but not many were game enough to say it to his face. They didn’t want to risk his anger if he were a witch and didn’t want to feel the guilt if he wasn’t.

“Jackson,” he said, schooling his voice to neutrality.

“Oh, yes, yes, you were right Maria, you cheeky little minx. I can practically see the magic on her, oh she will be a challenge.”

Oh, Emile could hardly stop himself from bristling.

Fredrick’s mother, Lucinda, ran her eyes over him savagely, and then sighed pointedly.

“Yes- you can see it in basically everything- the hair, the voice- just,” she paused gesturing her up and down, “All over. Either she is a witch or has consistent contact with something else of strong magic.”

She said that as though it made a bad smell appear under her nose. Emile barely contained the urge to bolt.

“Yes, mother and that is what will make her a challenge. I’m sure you’ll make a proper Jackson spouse of her eventually,”

“I happen to be a person, not a challenge, Fredrick, and would appreciate if you would treat me as such,” Emile said, voice firm despite his mother’s glare.

Fredrick waved his hand dismissively.

“What are her hobbies, again, Mrs Picani? How does she spend her free time?” his sister, Maria, asked.

“Well, she’s quite good at painting and writing, and telling stories... and likes walks in nature and the like. She’s also quite skilled at embroidery.”

“I happen to be able to talk for myself!”

His mother jabbed him in the ribs again.

“Hmm. Well, we will have to teach her a few things- respect, namely it seems. And dispel that awful charm on her hair, but this could work,” Mr Jackson said.

“Oh fantastic,” his mother said, ignoring the slight in the words, “It would be an honour to join our families Mr Jackson. My husband would be happy to discuss negotiations with you, while I discuss wedding plans with Lucinda.”

Emile squirmed. He just wanted to be at home, with a book, or with Sleep or really, anywhere but here.

Mr Jackson nodded curtly.

“Wonderful. Girls, why don’t you return home and give your grandmother of the good news.”

Emile immediately turned to flee.

“No, not you Emily, you should stay and get to know your future husband,” She said tightly.

“Oh, it’s no matter. We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other after the wedding,” Fredrick said with what he probably assumed to be a winning smile.

Emile shuddered internally.

“Indeed. In that case,” she said making a face but waving Emile off.

He turned on heel immediately. He walked as fast as he could without looking like he was running. There was something welling up inside him. He couldn’t tell if it was panic, disgust or something else entirely.

His sisters trailed behind him, gossiping between themselves and giggling into their gloves. It didn’t take long to completely lose sight of them.

When he made it home, he collapsed at the dining table, not even with enough energy to make it to his room.

“Is he as bad as his father?” a voice asked from the doorway. Emile looked up, startled by his grandmother’s presence.

“what?”

“I said, is he as bad as his father. Fredrick, I mean.”

“Oh… well, that depends on what you think is bad.”

“Abhorrent personality, stuck up, hates anythin’ magical unless it’s one of their own weapons,” his grandmother suggested.

“I mean, yeah, he’s all of that- wait, don’t you hate magic grandmother?” he asked, confused.

She stared at him for a long moment, her wrinkled face set in a mask. And then it broke, as she laughed.

“Hey- what are you- what’s so funny about that?” he exclaimed.

“Oh, oh you think that I hate magic, little one? That does explain some things, indeed. No, of course I don’t hate magic, how could I? I’m a witch.”

Emile stared at her.

“But- you- but when we were younger, you told all those stories and- and…” he trailed off, more confused than before.

“I told you stories so you could protect yourself from the good neighbours, and other people usin’ magic against ya, kid. Not that you listened to a single one, mind.” She said, pinning him with a knowing stare.

He squirmed.

“Why do you think I taught you all those ways to test for magic- they’re magic in and of themselves, boy. Anyone can carry iron and holly berries on them, but it takes magic and will to do the rest.”

Emile’s head spun. And then, he paused, and something stuck out to him.

“Wait, what- what did you just call me?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer, but hoping so, so hard.

“Well, I called ya boy, and I ain’t calling you man, because you’re still far too young for that, kid, but it’s what ya are aren’t ya- don’t think I can’t tell these kinds of things. I thought we just established that I use magic. An’ speaking of, I think it’s about time I knew what name to actually call you, kid.”

“How did you know? When? I never said anything and- why did you never say anything… I thought that no one would understand… I… I’m Emile…” he said, surprised, sadness and hope warring for equal place in his tone.

“I knew before you were born. When you mama was pregnant with you, I tested, just as I did for all your brothers and sisters, and the magic told me you’d be a boy. Your parents thought I was looney when you were born, but I haven’t been wrong before or since, I knew it was just a matter of time…”

“Then why didn’t you say something, if you knew, why didn’t you… help me?”

She looked at him, and laughed, “You wouldn’ta accepted my help if I’d offered boy, don’t think I don’t know that. You were scared of me for years, and weary and distasteful after tha’. I knew my place. An’ besides, that boy of yours in the forest seemed to do a damn good job of it anyway.”

“He’s not my boy- wait, you know about Sleep? I thought you hated the fae, how can you be so nonchalant about me- me being friends with one of them?”

As if that day couldn’t be any more confusing.

“Of course, I know about your boy- what kind of witch’d I be if I didn’t know about my grandson traipsing around in the woods with the prince of the fair folk. I was keepin’ an eye out for you. Now, this don’t mean I like them, mind, but he’s… he’d good for you, Em. I’ve seen him lookin’ after you, in a way that none of us here could. I don’t trust him… not for me, but for you… you help each other, don’t you?”

“I mean… I like to think so… but that doesn’t matter, anyway… I probably won’t be able to ever see him again, after I’m married.”

His grandmother snorted.

“I have no idea how your mother convinced the Jacksons to even talk to us- they’ve been out for my blood for forty years- but please tell me you ain’t actually thinkin’ of going through with this just ‘cause it’s what your mama wants, boy?”

“What else am I supposed to do, then? I can’t say no and stay here, and the only other option I have is… well…” he trails off, staring out the window at the forest in the distance.

“Ah, your boy has a way out does he?”

“He’s not my boy,” Emile repeated, “We’re just… friends…”

“Of course, you are, sweety, I haven’t seen you pining for months or anything.”

“Hey! I’m not that obvious- oh, oh darn…” he sighs, “I mean, yeah, he has a way, but I wouldn’t be able to leave the forest again, I don’t think… and he almost certainly hates me now, after my last visit.”

His grandmother levels him with a look for a very long moment, before sighing and resting a hand over his.

“There ain’t nothing here for you honey, I think we both know that. You’d be miserable with Fredrick, you ain’t no wife and you ain’t no Jackson, you’ve had magic in your veins since before you were born, an’ that boys only strengthened it… An’ if you ain’t either of those things, I think you’ll find it’ll be hard to be with the rest of this family, anyway. An’ that boy, he gave his word to protect you, if you wanted it, I can sense these kinds of promise’s Emile, an’ the fae ain’t gonna make them lightly. He loves you just like you love him,” her eyes were grim, but the hand on his was warm, and comforting.

He sighed, resting his head in his free hand.

“You’re right, probably- about the protection, not the liking me back- but I don’t- I can’t… what about you? and what about them they’ll come looking for me, I know,” he said, voice small.

“Don’t you worry about me, boy. I’m old, but I still got enough left in me. I’ll come an’ visit you in those woods of yours,” she said with a strange grin, before her features turn serious once more, “An’ we’ll deal with them others, don’t worry. I have a plan.”

When his family returned that night, Emile joined them in their ‘festivities’. He pretended, as well he could when every lie still felt like a betrayal to a promise, that he was happy, that this was what he wanted.

He ate dinner with them and tried to ignore the burning the feeling of the letter in his pocket, that felt as though it would burn a hole through the cloth, and the thought of the bag, packed upstairs ready to flee.

He waited until both his sisters had gone to sleep before he dared enter their bedroom, changing as quietly as he could, pulling on warm, thick trousers and a coat. He took the bag, and crept downstairs, thinking his parents to be in bed. He laid the letter down on the table with the words, written as neatly as he could have in a shaking hand, face up, for the world to see.

Dear Family,

Know that I love you, and will miss you dearly, but cannot remain. I cannot marry the man you have chosen for me, and I cannot continue to live a lie. I love another, and am not who you think I am. Please do not look for me, you will not like what you find.

Your daughter, and sister, Emily

Your brother, and son, E.

He couldn’t bring himself to lie, in his final message, and that strike through was the only alteration made.

The letter was his goodbye to his family, and as he took a moment, to have what he knew would be one, final, look around the kitchen he had grown up in, he said his goodbye to that place, and walked out the door.

He left the warmth of his house in favour of the cold, dark, outside, and began his trek into the woods.

Perhaps if he had taken a moment longer to look around that room, he would have noticed his father watching from the doorway.

Halfway to the tree, Emile heard noises. It was shouting, the yells of men and the bays of dogs. He turned and saw lights in the distance.

Oh. Oh, no.

He ran. Before, he had been content to walk, but now, he fled with purpose. The path was dangerous at night, and the thorns reached for him at every opportunity, but he ignored every one that made contact. He had to go.

His breaths came in loud, puffing gasps, sending mist spiralling into the cold, and the crunch of his feet on snow was just as loud in his ears.

But then, ahead of him- More lights, not the ones of pursuers, but ones of safety. He tumbled into the clearing with the tree, and threw himself inside the house, still so cold, and curled into a shape as small as he could manage, on the pillows.

He hoped with every shred of his being, that Sleep would come, that he would know, and he would find him.

He could still hear the yells, the cries to split up or stay together, but in some moments, his frantic breathing overtook it.

Stop this. He told himself. You know better than this. Breath. Breath properly Emile.

He focused and schooled his breathing into something resembling normalcy. He steeled himself. He could do this. He was strong enough for this. He would hide, and they would not find him, or they would, and he would refuse to leave. He could do this.

Then, there was a hand on his shoulder, pulling him up. He wanted to scream, but there wasn’t enough air in his chest. And then he saw Sleep, and he stilled.

“Hey, hey babes are you ok, hey babes c’mon, what’s wrong?” he asked fluttering his hands all over Emile, checking for injuries.

“I’m- I’m here because I can’t do it, I can’t marry him. I missed you and I hate him and there’s nothing there for me and I love you enough that I could- I could be happy to be with you even just as your friend, but I can’t go back. I won’t.”

“Oh, oh Em, sunshine, darling, I wouldn’t ever make you go back,” he said, a hand on his cheek, “Of course I want you here with me. However you’ll have me… because… I love you too, my Sunshine.”

Emile’s heart stopped. He loved him. Sleep loved him. He could cry. Gods, he wanted to kiss him so bad.

“Hey! Over this way, there’s light!” he heard a yell, in the distance. Even from here, he could tell, it was Fredrick.

“Oh, no- oh- Sleep, that’s him... he’s- darn, no. I’ll have to face him, convince him to leave,” he jumped and started to pace, thinking

“Absolutely not, I might look like a lanky bitch, but I am stronger than you! and besides-” Sleep was cut off as Emile whirled around.

“I am not a damsel in distress, Sleep, I came out here to save myself, and besides, he’s a magic hunter- He, if anyone, can hurt you, but he won’t touch me!”

“I was going to say- ‘besides, I told you before about your promise’. They can’t take you, it’s against the magic.”

Emile’s mouth formed a comically round ‘O’. For a moment, he looked relieved, and then he blanched.

“Wait, is that- is it as strong as gifts you gave me for my hair and my voice?” he asked cautiously.

“About the same, yeah, babes,” Sleep said with a cocky grin.

“Then that won’t work, he- His family seem to know how to dispel those kinds of things- I don’t know if it’s true but… I don’t like the risk.” He sighed, pacing again.

Sleep frowned.

“Well… then, babes… I was going to wait to suggest this… but… I- I was trying to find a way to, like, make sure they couldn’t take you if you did… come back, and to… be able to keep you with me, forever, after that.” He said slowly.

“And did you?”

Hesitance.

“Well, yeah babes… but, it’s a- it’s like a whole commitment and a half. It’s a lot. It’s a spell, old, fae magic. To take a human partner and give them the life of a fae while they remain bound to their… partner… only- only like super powerful fae can do it, and totally don’t like to brag, but I think that I can manage it… for you. No other magic, or dispelling, could remove that…”

“There- that has to be her, she’s not dumb enough to wander around in the dark out here,” the voice comes again, closer now.

“I’ll do it,” he says without thinking, not that he needs to.

Sleep looks startled, but nods and pulls Emile to the middle of the room, and laces both his hands through Emile’s.

“Here, in this moment, I call the world to witness me, as I ask you to join in my eternity. I ask of you three things, that I will return in kind, to bind us together, truly and fully. I ask first of you a proclamation of your heart, your feelings laid bare with no dishonesty,” Sleep didn’t waver in his clear recitation, staring directly into Emile’s face.

“My feelings… My feelings for you, with no dishonesty, are love, and trust, and loyalty. I love you, once as a friend and now as… whatever this is,” Emile’s voice did waver, as he tried to put to words the love he felt.

He also felt a little lightheaded, this was all so fast but nothing about it felt… wrong. On the contrary, it felt like exactly where he needed to be.

“You are, quite literally my Sunshine. You brighten my day and everything around you, you make me as happy as I’ve ever been and there is nothing, I’d have over you. I’ve loved you ever since I’ve known what love was, as a friend, and now… as this… My sunshine.” He takes a deep breath and continues to recite as the yells outside carry closer, “I ask second of you that you swear your life and loyalty to me, that will last as long as this bond.”

“I swear my life and loyalty to you, the love of my life, with no regrets,” Emile said, feeling almost bold as he could sense the magic coursing through the air around him.

It felt like it was digging into his skin, taking root, and pulling him forwards. He leans towards Sleep, feeling like he had his own pull of gravity.

“And I swear my life and loyalty to you, with no regrets, my cheeky little human, who clearly is trying to outdo me in dramatic declarations of love, which is quite clearly criminal,” Sleep laughs, releasing his hand to rest a palm against Emile’s cheek, tenderly.

Emile leaned into the touch.

“I ask, third and finally of you, your true name, freely given in exchange, to bind us as one,” Sleep said, face so close to Emile’s he could barely focus on anything else.

“My name- My true name,” he said, breathing deeply, “Is Emile Picani, and I give this freely, in exchange.”

The magic around him clashes then, sudden bursts of sparks along his skin, searing but not burning, and leaving pleasant warmth in their place. It surges, and surrounds him, and it moves and pushes, it pushes him towards Sleep and then in a moment- it freezes, and it holds, and waits, like a wave caught just before the crash, a second away from spilling over and waiting for the push.

“And my true name, freely given, is Remy,” says- says Remy, and the magic falls.

It’s like a tidal wave, and a tree falling, and a hurricane. It catches on every part of him and pushes them together, their chests touch, their fingers still laced and Remy’s other hand still on his cheek, and it’s almost like they’re falling into exactly where the world wants them to be.

Their lips meet, and it would be remiss to say that it was like magic- because it wasn’t just like magic, it was magic, zipping through them at every connected point, like sparks between their lips.

It was wonderful, and everything, and perfect, and just a little awkward to experience so much at one time. And then it was over, and the magic dimmed, and it was just them, and something between them that Emile could only assume was whatever… that had been building.

And their second kiss was just as good as the first, less signing fire and more slow, tender caring, and understanding.

“I love you, Remy,” Emile said quietly.

“I love you too, my beautiful Emile,” He smiled as if the taste of his name on his lips were like wine, “I’ve waited years to be able to say that, and now, no one will stop me again.”

Emile could still hear the shouting, but as he rested his head on Remy’s shoulder, knowing that this- this bond was unbreakable, he didn’t fear. He was strong, and standing side by side with Remy, he was stronger, and he wasn’t going back. He had everything he needed right there.

#remile #remy sanders #sleep/remy #emile #dr emile picani #fae au #trans!emile #fae!remy #cursing #friends to lovers #four and one #writing #fanfic #emo writes things #sanders shorts #cartoon therapy

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heli0s-writes · 5 years

Text

Surprises

Summary: You and Bucky babysit the Barton clan. Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes A/N: Silliness, little angst at the end. TW: Mentions infertility.

Bag of Tricks One-Shot Masterlist

You are surprisingly good with kids.

When you visited the Barton farm for the first time, all of Clint’s kids loved you. After the initial excitement over Captain America, Thor, and Auntie Nat, they always came back to you. You’d be plopped down on the couch, flipping through the channels, and Clint’s daughter would find her way into your lap with a picture book.

To be polite, you had read it to her the first time, accidentally becoming very invested in the Lorax’s plight for environmental justice and the next thing you knew, your voice was loud and booming, rising and falling with the cadence of each line. The boys had shown up, too, clapping and cheering at the end and requested another book.

Clint never let you live down reading his kids four books that evening. And building a blanket fort. And rolling yourself up in the blanket and hobbling after them.

The next time you returned, Lila had moved onto chapter books, and you were happy to help her read those as well. She had a lot of questions about volcanoes and dinosaurs, and you would answer them to the best of your ability. She knew quite a lot for a 2nd grader, so you ended up asking her quite a few questions about volcanoes and dinosaurs as well (who the heck knows how to pronounce Deinonychus anyway?)

At the end of the night, she was curled up in your lap while you braided her hair. You were glad she fell asleep because it was quite honestly a travesty that all 7 braids were different sizes and shapes.

“You ever think about raising your own kid?” Clint asked later that night. “In this business? Pfft.”

So, you settled on being the Barton’s babysitter when they needed one. And on one dark October night, you enlist Bucky Barnes’ help.

“Can you braid my hair while we watch the movie?” Lila asks as she settles in next to you on the couch. Cooper and Nate are down on their bellies in front, squished pillows underneath them to soften the hardwood flooring.

“Lila,” You sigh, “You don’t remember this, but last time I braided your hair… you looked terrible.”

“It’s okay.” She giggles, “It just feels nice!”

Bucky is on the other side of the couch, gaze attached to the slasher movie you had been told specifically not to put on for the kids. With a slight kick to his knee, you ask him for help with your eyes. Lila doesn’t know, but you can’t braid worth a shit—most of what happened to her hair last time had a lot to do with sheer dumb luck. And it was still a travesty.

She might say that she doesn’t care, but you know any eight-year-old girl cares about what their hair looks like. Even if it’s just a night in with her brothers.

He sends you an annoyed look back, because you dragged him to bumfuck middle of 80 acres of nowhere and he’s watching Planet Terror with a bunch of children. Barton is going to skin his ass when he gets back.

“Bucky, can you braid?” You whisper as Rose McGowan fires her fucking machinegun leg and the ricochet shudders through the T.V.

“Yes.” He replies.

“Help a girl out, man.” You motion to Lila, who has now covered her eyes as red sprays from an enormous wound. Bucky grimaces at the way your fingers have separated three locks. Already it is a tangled mess and you haven’t even started.

“What are you trying to do? Give the kid dreadlocks?” He scowls, slapping your hand away and scooting over so that she’s now mostly in front of him and you are squished and diagonal, pushed away by his shoulder. In mere minutes he makes short work of the herculean task you had tried to take on.

It’s a perfect fishtail braid, and he’s even used strands of her hair to wrap around the elastic neatly. You stare open-mouthed at him as Lila pats the back of her head and happily squeals at what he’s done. Bucky grunts in reply and then sinks back into the sofa, crossing his arms.

“I gotta turn this off. This can’t be good for the kids.”

“EARTHQUAKE!” You scream, grabbing the edge of the dinner table and rocking it so hard all the pieces of the board game fall over. Cooper is out of his seat, throwing his hands up in the air as he yells, “CHEATER!” And Nate looks like he’s on the verge of tears.

Lila could care less, still enamored by her beautifully weaved locks.

Bucky puts his face in his hands as you expertly dodge the metal dog and thimble piece Cooper is throwing at you. It’s bad enough that you had been massively in debt to the bank but shaking the board because you were losing is a new level of low. The kids chase you around the house and throw pillows at you when you climb too far out of their reach. Pastel strips of Monopoly money lay scattered all over the house.

Bucky hisses your name as you perch on the hutch in the dining room. “Get down from there! Christ!”

Nate tosses a cushion up that you swat away easily. Cooper throws a cookie that you catch in your mouth. “I’ll die before I come down.” You mutter, “Stupid, capitalist, Monopoly-monocle’d, pocketwatched motherfu—”

A pillow to the face muffles the rest of your complaint and Bucky points at you in a silent scolding. Thank God he has good aim because if the Bartons come home from date night and little Nate was calling someone a motherfucker, Laura would skin his ass.

“You are terrible with children!” He whispers when the kids leave the room to find something else to do.

Slowly, you climb down and pat his shoulder. “My favorite part about kids is the part where I give them back to their parents.” You admit. “I didn’t think they’d take this long.”

From the corner of the dining room, Nate and Cooper rush forward screaming at you. Pillows are raised high above their heads as they leap and pummel you with the fluffy squares. You shriek and fall down and make a huge show about it—something about melting and turning green and flying monkeys. It’s all too much, but the kids love it and tell you it’s what you deserve for being a cheater.

But then Nate and Cooper yelp as you snatch their ankles in your hand and stand tall, holding them upside down. It’s easy to forget that you have super-human strength because you certainly don’t look like it. But it’s on display now as you spin around on your heels and take the boys circling with you.

Nate’s head misses the corner of a wooden chair by centimeters and Bucky thinks he might fucking faint. Lila takes this opportunity to try and jump on your back to save her brothers, but she’s just a fraction too slow and your arm crashes into her instead, sending all three siblings tumbling and you as well.

Bucky sighs severely as he stands over the mess in the kitchen. One adult (tentatively labeled), three children, rubbing their heads and limbs, pouting like babies. There is a swelling mark underneath Nate’s hairline and he rubs it gingerly, whimpering when his fingers touch it.

You run to the refrigerator for an icepack before he can burst into tears.

Forgiveness is earned after three hurriedly made root beer floats—extra whipped cream piled so high that it overtakes the entire glass and the kids stick half their noses in it to try and lick some off. You slump heavily in a chair and dig a spoon into your own glass of fizzing cream and soda.

A single cherry is plopped on top of the bubbles. Bucky peers down at you, licking the syrup off his finger with a smirk.

“I guess you’re not so bad with kids.” He says, glancing over at where the three previously dour Bartons sit, now giddy with cheer as they slurp their desserts. Cooper has stuck his finger in his glass, scooping up the last remnants of sweetness before turning over and eyeing Nate’s half-full container.

You throw the cherry into your mouth and grin, “Yeah. I’m kind of a miracle worker.” And then your tongue pokes around in your mouth and you shut one eye as if in intense contemplation. When you stick your tongue out again, the cherry stem has been tied into a little knot, glistening with spit.

“Woah!” Lila yells, “How’d you do that?”

“I wanna learn!” Cooper rushes forward, peering at the stem between your fingers, and then all three kids are screeching, “me too!” and jumping in circles around the table. Bucky puts both his hands up when you start explaining what to do because he—an actual, reasonable, adult—does not think teaching three kids to tie a cherry stem into a knot is a good idea.

Before he can do much else, the Barton children are shoving each other and arguing. Then they break out into laughter and take off into the living room. All Bucky hears next is screaming and the sound of six feet jumping on every cushion there is. They tumble, wrestle, run, and in general act like little hazards. Nate screeches at the top of his lungs—just because, apparently.

Bucky takes your spoon from your mouth and scoops a big chunk of ice cream for himself, resigned to getting skinned. When Clint and Laura come home and find their kids cracked out on sugar at—he checks the clock—good fuck, half past midnight, they are going to kill the both of you.

The spoon is still in his mouth when he mumbles, “You are terrible with kids.”

“Huh.” Clint says when he enters the living room and finds all five of you settled in comfortably with the children sound asleep. Laura’s cheeks are a bit peachier than you remember and there’s a lazy little smile that graces her features as she peers down at her children.

“Sorry—they fell asleep during the movie and I didn’t have the heart to wake ‘em up.” You say with a sheepish grin, tilting your chin up and watching him upside down.

“That’s okay, kid.” Clint grins, hand on his hip. “Jeez, you really wore ‘em out. What’dja do?” He gives Bucky a curious look but doesn’t say much else. The two of you are sharing a blanket in the middle of the floor, heads propped up by one couch cushion. Lila is to your left with her head on your arm, fishtail braid bursting apart, strands of hair flaying about around her head like a halo. Cooper and Nate are on the other side of Bucky, mouths open and snoring softly.

They’re even changed into their pajamas, teeth brushed and everything.

Slowly, Clint picks up Lila and Cooper and Laura does the same to Nate. They go upstairs to put the kids to bed while you and Bucky peel the blanket off, quietly making your exit.

Before you can reach the car, the front door swings shut and Clint is stepping out with his hands tucked in his pockets. “Hey.” He calls, “Thanks for the night. Laura and I haven’t been out alone in months.”

“Don’t mention it.” You beam. Behind you, Bucky scoffs just enough for you to hear.

“You sure you don’t want any kids? You’re damn good with ‘em.”

Bucky snorts louder, kicks the dirt beneath this boot and puts his hand on your shoulder, “Her favorite part is giving ‘em back.” He announces before you clamp your hand over his mouth. His eyes twinkle under the moonlight as Clint waves goodbye and retreats into his home. The screen door clicks quietly, and you watch the yellow glow of each room turn off until the cabin is just an afterimage against the darkness.

“You think brushing twice was good?” You mutter with a sigh as Bucky pulls out of the dirt driveway.

“No, which was why I suggested mouthwash.”

A silence passes before you suck on your teeth and say, “Hey, check it out.”

Peeling your lips back, you show him the cherry stem from earlier in the night, now neatly tied with another knot next to the first one. Bucky scoffs and snatches it from your teeth.

“I swear to all fuck, how you got them fooled is beyond me. Fuckin’ Planet Terror, then shaking the goddamn Monopoly board, and then teaching fuckin’ kids how to tie--” he throws the stem back in your face, “and then ice cream at midnight.”

“Hey! They had fun!” You cry, dodging him.

“They threw up!”

You cackle, because they did all throw up, and it was really funny. Bucky groans and rolls his eyes because you would absolutely be the worst mother. Your kids would grow up in the most chaotic household. But, he thinks, they’d be loved. So maybe you wouldn’t be the worst. You also had them help you clean up the house and were firm with them when they didn’t want to. Bucky feels a smile grow on his face. Maybe you are good with children.

“You’re pretty responsible, Buck. You think you’ll ever have kids?”

It’s a quiet question. Suddenly your demeanor is sullen as you turn to gaze out the window, peering at the full moon and he knows where your mind has wandered to.

Clint has something the rest of you can only dream about. You might crack jokes about being terrible with children, but it’s no secret that domesticity is something you long for. A baked apple pie in the windowsill, running under summer sprinklers, hanging the sheets up to dry, dancing through the living room barefoot, kind of life.

There are mobiles of stars and paper airplanes in your dreams, swaddling cloth with giraffes and moons. Gerber Baby food jars and baby-proofed corners. There are nights when you think about what the gene experiments did to your body and all you can do is stare silently.

The irony of you being so good with children is not lost on him.

A warm hand clamps itself over yours. Bucky links his flesh fingers through your smaller ones, holds onto the wheel with his metal hand.

“Nah.” Bucky says, “My favorite thing to do with kids is give ‘em back.”

A short laugh escapes as you grip his hand tighter, letting the moment pass on by like it always does. Usually you ride the wave on your own, crash on your own, and awaken the next morning in disarray on your own. But this time, his warm hand is holding you steady as the pain crests and ebbs away.

“Hey.” You say, rubbing your thumb over his in a surprising show of affection. Bucky feels his heart pick up a faster beat as you worry your lip with your teeth. Then, because you’re always full of surprises, you stick your tongue out where the cherry stem has collected another knot. “Check it out.”

He laughs, a deep, rumbling, genuinely joyful sound as he squeezes your hand. “You’ll have to teach me that some time.” He jokes-- anything to keep you from looking so sad.

Your lashes flutter as you blink slowly in contemplation. Bucky’s heart picks up again when you turn to him and shyly say, “If you pull over, I can teach you right now.”

#marvel #mcu #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #self insert #fanfiction

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kyidyl · 4 years

Text

Not Deer

(This was inspired by that post that was circulating about the Not Deer in Appalachia and the town that I currently live in. @leftturnat4thandbananas I especially thought you would enjoy this little bit of quarantine-induced madness. You’ll probably recognize some of the things I’m describing.)

“Alexa, stop!,” Macey yelled at the black cylinder sitting on her night stand. The alarm shut off, and I started packing up my stuff. I caught her frown as she watched me.

“What?,” I asked, “It’s almost curfew. You know how my mom is about curfew.”

“It’s snowing outside, and it’s dark,” she swung around so she was sitting on the edge of her bed and flipped her long, dark braid back over her shoulder.

I finished packing my homework into my backpack and stood, “It’s always dark and cold when I go home in the winter. I’ll be fine.”

Both the argument and the concern in her brown eyes was familiar. She was definitely the mom friend in our group, “It’s not always snowing. People aren’t careful in the snow.”

“They’re never careful on that road,” we both lived along a back road that wound through farms and woods. It had a lot of curves, hills, and blind spots - and no sidewalk. But it was the only way to get home, so it’s the way I went. She stood up too, following me as I left her room and started down the steps.

“You can stay the night, you know. My mom won’t mind.”

“I know, Mace, but I will. You know I don’t like getting ready for school here. All my stuff is at home. I’ve either got to get up at the ass crack of dawn,” which never happened because we always stayed up late talking, “Or do a walk of shame.”

I let my backpack down in the hallway with a thunk, and retrieved my coat from their closet. I’d brought gloves, a scarf, and a hat, too even though I normally don’t. I was glad I’d grabbed them. She stood on the bottom step, chewing her bottom lip. Her parents were out to dinner, so she couldn’t bug her dad to drive me, but I know she would have if they’d been here. She tried one more tactic to get me to give up on my walk home, “What about your mom? Can she come get you?”

I shook my head, “Dad has the car. Listen, I’ve walked home in the snow before. It’ll be totally fine.”

She sighed and dropped her arms, “This is what you were talking about earlier, isn’t it. The worrying.”

“Yeah, but it’s ok. I get why you do it,” I gave her a quick hug and hefted my backpack onto my shoulders, “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

“Text me when you get home?”

“Of course! Later!”

“Later, Apple,” I smiled at her nickname for me and left. After I closed the door behind me, I heard the lock click into place. Her parents’ rules: if you’re home alone, you lock the door. I shifted the weight of my books on my back, and looked around.

Macey lived on a small farm, and so she had a long driveway between her house and the road. I started walking, and the sand and rocks of the unpaved drive crunched under the soles of my shit-kickers. Macey’s dad had salted the drive before they’d left, and the stones glimmered wetly in the moonlight. It turned out that the snowing had stopped while we’d been hanging out, and the clouds had gone. The ground was blanketed in a couple of inches of unblemished white. Just enough to cover the grass, but not enough to get school canceled.

The moon was out, bright and full, and it illuminated the flat, white expanse of the land that stretched out on either side. The air smelled like ice and cold, like icicles and sleeping forest. There was only a little wind, and it blew up swirls of loosely packed snowflakes from the ground. Everything had that cushioned silence that follows a new snowfall.

It took a few minutes for me to reach the actual road, and unlike the Romero family’s driveway, it hadn’t been touched by salt, sand, or plow. Typical. It probably would be covered until tomorrow morning. Our little town wasn’t exactly proactive about things like that. They preferred to suffer, I guess. I gave an annoyed snort to the empty night,

I was careful as I turned left onto the empty road, watching for the glow of headlights to give me some forewarning of a car. None came, and I kept walking.

Soon, the flat land of the farms gave way to the woods. Houses, none of them of the new construction that made up the subdivisions further up the road, were set back from the road or behind a screen of trees. This road had hills, and further along it the side of the road would give way to steep ditches and gullies. Our here, there were plenty of animals. My parents have hit deer especially a number of times; my dad even bought these weird things for his hood that are supposed to whistle and chase the deer away.

As the landscape transitioned into woods, there was an old, broken barn. Not even a barn, really, more like a two sheds stuck together. Half of it was beaten, lilting boards and a slice for a door. The other half was a rusting tin can of a structure, the metal walls little more than rust and the vines that held it together, and a set of open doors that led into gloom. A barely-there metal roof was slanted over the rested half and pitched over the wooden half, and it was only slightly less rusted than the shed itself. A useless decaying horse gate was off to the side, slanting drunkenly to the right, and a path into the woods was behind it.

(picture to break up the wall o text.)

I hated that barn.

It creeped me out. The hairs on the back of my neck rose every time I got close. Even as a little kid I hadn’t been curious enough to overcome that particular fear, and it hadn’t gotten better over the years. Every time I walked home I crossed the street to avoid walking too closed to it and sprinted passed it. But tonight, the snow and slickness made it dangerous for me to do either of those things. My heart rate ticked up and I took my hands out of my pocket. When it came to fight or flight, I was very much in the fight category. It seemed like the wind blew a little harder, and suddenly I thought I could hear all kinds of noises that I hadn’t heard before.

The cracking of a stick somewhere in the woods, almost like a gunshot in the dark.

The fump has a pile of snow was pushed off of a branch somewhere.

The flap and tumble of some unlucky bird.

A barking dog menacing me from one of the homes nearby.

These sounds were normal, but as I was walking in front of the sad, lonely little structure, they all seemed sinister. They were living things, pulsing in the darkness when I wanted to be alone. The sounds of my steps in the snow answered. Shit kickers aren’t stealthy.

I walked past that structure as fast as I could, the fear tightening my shoulders more with every step. I clenched my teeth and my fists, and walked. The stillness was oppressive now, where moments before it had been soothing. Fear makes you see things in shadows.

Which is why, when the winter-bared bones of the bush in front of the shed clacked and scraped together in a gust of wind, I screamed and ran. Damn the snow, damn fight or flight, I was not looking to fight some supernatural entity tonight.

Apparently, though, the laws of physics still applied to me. I ran, but I didn’t get very far before I tripped have a big branch on the side of the road. My feet slipped in the snow, and I went down face-first onto my hands and knees.

In case you have ever wondered: snow does very little to cushion a fall onto rocks and rough pavement. It only makes your clothes wet on top of giving you road rash. And that ish hurts.

“Great, Alisha, juuuust great. Skinning your damned knees like a five year old because of some wind,” I grumbled aloud to myself as I stood and started brushing debris off the now-wet knees of my jeans. I checked under my gloves, and while my hands stung, the gloves had saved me from the words of the skinning. In fact, the worst was the throbbing on the back of my head where my backpack had slid up my back and smacked my head. Well, that and the knowledge that whatever goblin lived in that shed was probably having a laugh at my expense.

The fall did do one good thing, though. It broke through the worst of my fear, and I laughed to myself as the adrenaline started wearing off. I started down the road again, stomping in protest, my cold hands jammed back in my pockets.

From here, the road got darker as the trees reached overhead. Even in the winter they blocked most of the light from the moon, and out here in the country they didn’t bother with street lights. The embankments on the side of the road rose and forced me to walk directly on the road instead of off to the side. This was the most dangerous part, because this was also where the tight curves started. I felt my adrenaline spike again, but this time there was nothing supernatural about it; I was alert for headlights bouncing off of the tree branches.

As I walked, I listened to the world around me, my caution making my senses stretch further. I heard the same things as before: the cracking of sticks in the forest as some creature shuffled around them, the huffing of a dog that probably just wanted to play, the whispered hush of snow rearranging itself in the trees, and the occasional noise of some small creatures settling in for the night. They were the same noises I always heard around here at this time of year, familiar as the nose on my face. It’s funny how the mind plays tricks.

I found a good walking speed that wasn’t so fast it was dangerous, but wasn’t so slow that I’d be frozen before I got home, and the time passed quickly. Before I knew it, I was almost at the little bridge before the turn off for my house. Really, bridge was a generous word for the small overpass that took the road over the little creek. It was just a flat stretch of road with a thin shoulder and a low concrete guardrail. On the other side, the road curved out of view.

(another pic to break up the wall o text. Both images are screenshots of Google street view edited in PS.)

Here, the trees pulled back some and the moon was able to shine clearly on the flat surface of the bridge. There, standing in the middle of the road, was a huge buck. I’ve seen a lot of deer living out in the stix, but this was easily the biggest one I’d ever seen. I’m 5′2, and this thing looked like its shoulder would be somewhere around my head. I didn’t even know they could get that big. The moon painted its orange-brown coat with silver, and threw the shadows created by its twisting antlers into sharp relief. They were as big as him - thick and heavy, and wickedly sharp. I couldn’t count the points from here, but it had to be at least twelve.

Wait...antlers? It was February. My dad liked to hunt, and even though I’d never gotten into he, he’d taught me a few things about deer. One of those things was that the bucks dropped their antlers earlier than this, and it was a good time to go hunting for the shed racks in the woods. This deer shouldn’t have any antlers this late in the season.

I stopped in my tracks, and as I did, it whipped its head around to look at me. There moonlight was a sharp little blade in the dark eyes of this thing as it stared at me from the other side of the river. It stared, and stared, and as it did, the same fear grabbed hold of my guts and scratched its way across the nerves of my skin. My heart was pounding, my muscles clamped tight. This was nothing like the fear I’d felt while passing the shed. It seemed like a cozy little refuge, now, as I started down this deer.

I couldn’t understand why I felt this way - it had done nothing but be big and not shed its antlers yet. That logic didn’t matter. I wasn’t getting a single step closer to that thing. I ground my teeth as I stared at it. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. Right now, my actions were being guided by a part of my brain that kept my ancestors alive.

Predator, it screamed, that is a predator!

It made no sense. It was a deer. Sure, they’d eat meat sometimes if it was around. They looked at gut piles like they were treats this time of year, but they didn’t kill and eat humans. That was another thing my instincts were saying - hungry. This thing was hungry. I still couldn’t say why or how I knew any of this, but I knew it down to the red marrow of my bones.

It was strange - the longer I stared down that deer, the more of a tug I felt to keep walking. To cross the river. But the terror was useful; it kept me from following that impulse. The deer huffed, and its breath didn’t fog in the cold. My brain filed that detail away automatically with the height and the antlers. The animal sounded frustrated, although it shouldn’t have been possible for me to identify that emotion so clearly.

Then it started pacing. I watched in fascination horror as it moved with an awkward, stuttering gate. It didn’t seem to know how to place its hooves, and it swayed back and forth, all while not taking its too-intelligent eyes off of its prey. It didn’t know how to move properly, and I remembered that my dad had told me of an illness. Chronic Wasting Disease - mad cow for deer. He told me how to spot one, and to steer clear of it. He told me it was neurological; that it made it hard for them to move.

But this wasn’t that. No, this deer moved like it was something else wearing the skin of a deer. Like it was new to that body and didn’t know how to use it. Its fumbling reminded me of the way a toddler moved - wobbling and unsure of what its muscles should do, but enthusiastic about being up and walking instead of crawling. It was like that, but with far less innocence and far more jerks and twitches in its movement. It almost looked like it was adjusting its deer suit as it paced on its side of the river.

It huffed again and then growled. Not like a tiger or a dog would growl, more like a cat growling if that cat had the vocal cords of a high-pitched cow. I screamed in surprise and covered my ears at the sound.

Come. Here. I could feel its anger and frustration pressing in on me, looking for purchase, looking for a crack in my terror.

There was none. It was all-encompassing. It was terror of the sort that fueled strength. Terror that sharpened your mind, that made time slow so you could think faster and survive. It was the same kind of terror that had saved the earliest of my kind on the savannahs in Africa. It was terror that whispered to me with a small, comforting voice, do not cross the moving water.

Of course - it hadn’t even attempted to cross the stream, pacing back and forth over where the edge of the stream was rather than where the edge of the bridge was. It couldn’t cross the moving water.

As soon as I had the thought the creature’s growling was honed into a scream. It stood on two legs, making it tower over me. It was trying to be more threatening, but I knew now. I knew as long as I stayed over here I was ok.

“No,” I said, my voice stead and calm. I wasn’t loud, but my voice carried in the snowy stillness and into the moon-bright night, “I won’t cross. You can’t have me.”

It screamed at me again, eyes narrowing in an almost human expression of incredulity. Inside my clothes, my skin was hot from the anger coming from the not-deer, sweat trickling down my spine, but I planted my boots and fisted my hands and would not move. I could taste ice on my tongue, and I took a deep breath through my mouth, letting the cold soothe me.

Then, there was a sound. High pitched and clear, it came from somewhere in the woods or fields around us. It was sweet, and some of the heat of the not-deer’s anger seeped away from my skin. Its had flung around awkwardly towards the sound and it went back on all fours with a loud thud. It snorted and pawed the ground, but it hesitated. Then, the call came again, louder this time. With a final, angry look at me, it took off into the forest away from me and the road home.

I stood there on that road waiting, too afraid to cross, until I was sure that I couldn’t hear it crashing through the bushes anymore. Then I took off like a shot, snow be damned. I ran across the creek, my feet sliding as I took a sharp right onto the road that led to my house, down that road and up to my house. I ran straight in the front door, locked it behind me, and pounded up the steps to my room.

I texted Macey when I got my backpack off, but I knew it was going to be a long, sleepless night.

#fiction #stories #writing #horror #not deer #appalachia #creepy

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whispersafterdusk · 3 years

Text

Lost in Time - ch 15

"So what part of Lucien are you from?"

Harrison quickly adjusted the pillow behind him (padded and pillow'd booths were still something he was trying to adjust to - how did Django keep these clean and free of stains?) and then settled his hands back around the fragrant mug of tea in front of him. "We used to live on the border near Duvos but were forced to move."

The girl - Lily - frowned. "Oh. Yeah, I...I hear that a lot."

"When you live so close to warmongers it's going to be a common story."

"Did your family stay in Lucien?"

Harrison nodded and took a sip of the tea before answering. "We did. We went from a farm to a small home on the opposite side of Lucien -- not enough room for a farm but big enough for my mother's pottery business to continue."

Lily's eyes lit up. "Pottery? Did she happen to be the one who made the little teapots with the lids shaped like wild flowers?"

"...yeah, actually," Harrison answered after a pause. "You've seen them?" ((Continued below cut))

"Ha! Seen them? I owned four!" she giggled. "I loved those things. I love floral things in general...what with having the name Lily and all. My mother's name is Rose - you could say a love for all things flowery runs in the family."

He laughed with her at that, and again sipped from his tea; it was a black tea blend with a really intense flavor that he'd had to temper with more sugar than he was used to (it was still very delicious though). "-I just wish the place had a bigger yard. We owned six dogs when we had to move and there never seemed to be enough space for them to run around once we set up mom's workshop in the back yard."

"Aw..." Lily sighed. "I always wanted a dog but my mother wouldn't let me have one."

"Ours were farm dogs - they kept predators away from the chickens and goats. We couldn't keep the chickens or goats but the dogs came with us when we moved."

Lily nodded and rocked back and forth for a moment with a dreamy look, then made a little popping noise with her mouth and turned her attention back to him. "What was farm life like? Did you have siblings to help out? How many animals did you have?"

"Eh...it was a lot of work. I had just turned seven when we moved so I didn't have to do a lot of it but I had an older brother and sister who both complained about having to get up so early to get chores done before school. I had just gotten old enough to be trusted to feed the chickens each morning..." He sighed -- he really missed the farm some days. All that open space to romp around in, the rooster crowing each morning, the smell of freshly plowed dirt. "How about you?"

"Mom and I lived in a small cottage on the western side of Lucien. Close to the border with Duvos but not so close that we ever had any trouble. OUR troubles always came from the Peripheries -- lots of random beasts would wander out of there every spring. Mom would go drive them off or have to kill them and then we'd sell the meat and hides. She also had this big flower and herb garden too and she'd sell dried and pressed flowers for scrap-booking and the herbs would go to local chefs."

"Were beasts actually that big of a problem? I'd sometimes hear my schoolmates talking about big monsters but it always sounded...like just stories, you know?"

Lily lightly slapped her hands flat on the table, leaning toward him with her eyes wide. "Stories? Ha, no - you should see some of the things that wander out of that area. Nothing that mom couldn't ever handle by herself but sometimes they made a really big mess."

Harrison nodded slowly at that, and for a moment his attention was caught by the steam curling up out of his mug; in a flash of imagination he pictured the steam curling out of the nostrils of some big beasty, and shuddered a bit. "That must have been rough."

"I guess it was."

Lily paused as Sonia brought out the fruit salads they had ordered; someone with a broken ankle had come in to the clinic during Harrison's lunch break and he'd gotten back to eating much later than intended so he wasn't all that hungry but had ordered something anyway because it had seemed like Lily was going to forgo eating since he was.

"-do your parents and siblings still live at your new place? -- well, I guess it's not new now if they have been," Lily giggled. She stuck a grape into her mouth and Harrison could hear it pop from across the table as she bit down.

"They do. We've sort of dug in, you could say," he chuckled. "Set down new roots and now they're in deep." He picked out a grape for himself and almost drooled when he chomped down; these were really, really juicy -- perfectly ripe. Portia really had some of the best produce around. "-how about your family?"

"Mom's still holding down the fort," Lily mumbled around her mouthful of grape pulp. "I don't think anything could convince her to move...it's kind of annoying, really."

"Why's that?"

"Well..." Lily sighed heavily, swallowed, and then absently twirled her fork around with her fingers. "...I don't know. When I was younger she always seemed so bright and cheerful, and loved doing odd jobs that took her out and about to new places. At some point though she came back totally changed and swapped over to pressing flowers and growing herbs. Life...got a lot more difficult when she did that, both monetarily and just in general. It's like a totally different person came home."

"Oh."

Lily shrugged and began picking the rest of the grapes out of the salad; Harrison tried to keep a neutral expression but inwardly he was sort of dying for having managed to make this awkward.

"It's not a big deal," Lily finally went on (after what felt like forever). "Mom doesn't have the heart to travel anymore so I do instead. Take back all sorts of trinkets and stories. She seems to love that part so I keep doing it. It's pretty easy to find odd jobs everywhere so I can see how she managed to do it all the time."

"Yeah, neat," Harrison replied in a rush. "I mean, uh - that's neat," he added after a moment, hoping he managed to get a more normal tone out this time.

She simply grinned at him and bit a bite of watermelon in half. Some juice trickled down her chin; she didn't seem to notice. They ate in silence for a bit; Harrison still felt ready to melt into his seat and disappear but Lily seemed at ease, and the fruit really was good.

Thankfully they managed some more small talk once they'd emptied their bowls -- when and why Harrison decided to become a doctor, more about his mom's pottery business (she asked him to ask his mother if she could hold a lily-patterned tea pot for her, and he promised to write to her about it), Lily's vast knowledge of flowers and their care, some of her traveling stories. That earlier feeling of awkwardness had faded and was replaced with a light, giddy feeling of having met someone new (and someone who...apparently thought he was cute, which was its own sort of sensation that made his heart race a bit).

It was almost closing time by the time they'd paid and walked outside; there was a chilly breeze whistling down the street and Harrison zipped his coat up to the very top.

"How long will you be in Portia?"

Lily shrugged and tightened her scarf. "I didn't plan on staying long but I think I'll stick around for awhile." She flashed him a mischievous grin with that. "Pretty good reason to."

Again he felt his ears burning. "A-ah."

"Do you work every day at the clinic?"

"Not EVERY day, no, but most."

She nodded and bounced on the balls of her feel again. "All right. I'll come poking around again...maybe tomorrow?"

"I...think I'd like that, yeah." They smiled at one another and the burning in his ears spread across his face. "Where are you staying?"

She pointed across the way to Happy Apartments. "There, for now. I WAS camping out near the beach but I'm tired of how cold it's been. And with my arm having a hole in it I wanted ready access to hot water so I could keep it clean."

She waggled her arm at him and he nodded - clean water, hot or not, was definitely better than unfiltered sea water to keep the wound free of infection.

"-oh, speaking of my arm, I had a...weird question."

"Hmm?"

She pursed her lips and hesitated, then huffed. "So up in Atara I overheard folks talking about some kind of machine you had down here - something that surgically fixed things?"

Some kind of-- oh. "You mean the Uplifter?"

"Not sure what it's called but maybe? Someone there was bragging about how it had fixed their split lip without even leaving a scar behind. Does it...only work on faces?" Harrison nodded and her shoulders slumped. "Well, poo. So much for that idea."

"What...idea? Were you wanting to try and use it on your arm?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm cleaning it like the doctor told me to and everything but I was hoping it could be...you know, fixed, without me having to deal with it for the next several weeks."

"Ah. Y-yeah, unfortunately it's only designed to work on the neck and up."

"What's it do, then?"

"Uh..." Harrison shoved his hands into his pockets, thinking -- Xu hadn't formally taught him about the Uplifter just yet but he sort of knew a few things. "It...repairs injuries, and I know it can alter things about your face. It can also temporarily cause your hair to grow in a different color too."

Lily's eyes lit up at that. "Different hair color?! Really?" She blew out a breath and looked up toward the sky, smiling. "I've always wanted green or blue hair... But it only does it temporarily?"

"Yeah. No idea how long it lasts - I haven't been taught much about it."

All of a sudden her expression froze and she looked to him wide-eyed. "Hang on - you said it can ALTER your face?"

"Yeah. Dr. Xu said he's used it to fix cleft lips and a few other facial birth defects on people from Atara and Ethea."

"How?"

"I have no idea," he sighed. "It's a complex piece of machinery. I guess if I read the manual I could figure out the science behind it but I doubt I'll be learning about it any time soon...or ever. I won't have one when I become a doctor and strike out on my own so it might not be worth my time to learn about something I won't have access to later."

Lily's expression relaxed, as did the rest of her, and she rocked back and forth from toes to heels. "That's a good point. Kind of wild that something like that exists and used to exist in the Old World too... I bet Old World people had crazy hair colors," she giggled.

He opened his mouth to respond and then immediately closed it; right on the tip of his tongue was Eli's name and situation -- if anyone would be able to talk about hair color trends of the Old World she'd be the one. But...it seemed like it wasn't his place to tell anyone about her. There was rumor enough floating around without him pointing more people toward her, and he'd seen her therapy sessions; it just...wouldn't be right to put more pressure on her right now. She was a person, not a novelty.

"Either that or they were really terrible about not injuring their faces," he said finally.

Lily let out a laugh that ended in a snort; she clapped her hands to her mouth and blushed a bit (or maybe it was just the way the lights outside the Round Table lit her face - it was hard to tell). "Ha- uh, eheh. Sorry. That just immediately made me think of an entire civilization of people with too-short doors banging their heads everywhere they went."

Harrison bit his lower lip to cut back on his laugh - that WAS a funny image. "Maybe the doors were all normal-sized and Old World people were just really tall."

"Or bad at building doors!"

She started laughing again and Harrison let himself laugh along; even if he knew that was just goofy speculation it was still pretty amusing to picture.

Once she'd caught her breath she turned toward the Apartments in the distance. "Ok. So I'll see you at some point tomorrow?"

"Sure thing."

"All right! Good night!" She waved over her shoulder and headed off toward the apartment building.

Harrison waited and watched until she made it through the doors and inside, then let his feet carry him to Dr. Xu's house. He had a few books to pick up before he returned to his own rented room at the Happy Apartments building.

Oh. Maybe he should have mentioned he was staying there too.

Man...he was really bad at this.

-----------------------------------------------

Two more weeks and no sign of the spy.

At least by then Mali had come back and she'd helped Arlo, Remington, and Sam comb the entire Portian countryside again as well as most of the territory between here and Sandrock.

They'd found a few old campsites but the tracks were too muddled to tell who they belonged to; with Old Bob wandering around and tourists moving through Portia it just wasn't possible to positively confirm who had stayed where -- Eli, Asher, and Mali had worked out a rough "when" for the sites but it wasn't any help at determining the "who" part of it. And that rope bridge that went underneath the waterfall was gone now too.

They were essentially at a dead end and it had Arlo frustrated; he hated the idea of danger lurking around Portia. Maybe that spy was sent here to do exactly that - spy. But what if they were sent to harm or steal something? They'd already taken one gun off the first spy...who knew what this semi-invisible person possibly had on them now that their presence was known?

They'd all spent a lot of time discussing tactics; for now they were going to ask Selene to design a sprinkler system to keep the area nice and muddy and also borrow some of the builder's fine wire and hide trip wires in the tallest grass attached to...well, they hadn't decided on that part yet but it was going to be something that could be easily hidden and also made a ton of noise if something shook it. Since none of them could come up with anything that could overcome the suit's near-invisibility they would have to focus on what physical variables they could actually affect.

One decision they'd made that Arlo didn't agree with was what Eli called a "Stupid Plan" - capital S, capital P. The logic, she explained, was that the spy knew that THEY knew the spy was around; they should assume that the spy would be carefully watching them for signs of vigilance and be purposely avoiding their search efforts. The trick to getting the spy to lower their guard again was for the rest of them to pretend to be stupid: everyone goes "back to normal" and pretends to stop looking for them (with emphasis on pretend - they'd all of course still be as vigilant as they could without tipping their hand).

"If we can just convince this person that we're convinced they're gone," Eli had said, "then I bet they'll get bold and sloppy, just like how they got bold the night we first fought them."

It made a sort of sense in a way but Arlo didn't like the idea; he wasn't comfortable with pretending to let his guard down (mostly because he didn't know how to actually do that). The Pigs, Sam, and Remington had been willing to give it a shot so he'd been outnumbered, though they'd at least all respected his concerns about it.

The one good thing out of the decision to enact the Stupid Plan was he and Eli were free to go back to their respective abodes and sleep in their own beds. He didn't realize how much he'd missed his bed until he was back in it - no hard pillow beneath his head, no rough canvas surface of the cot under him, no carpet burns on his elbows from said canvas. It felt like a shameful luxury to be back in a proper bed and he actually overslept the next morning. By the time he'd dressed and hurried down to Selene's to meet the others for their newly restarted morning training sessions they were already halfway through the warm up exercises. It did make him feel a bit better to see Eli looked a little...not tired, but not exactly focused. More like she could fall back asleep if she laid down somewhere.

Adam was here today in Asher's place; he moved to a spot next to the man and started in with the rest of them as they swapped between exercises and stretches to warm them up for their run and the harder stuff afterward.

"Anything?" he grunted after a bit, glancing toward Adam.

"Nothing," came the answer.

Well...he supposed he wasn't surprised.

It was nice to be back to training at least; Eli seemed to be going easy (easier) on them today. They finished their warm ups, did their run, and came back to do the harder things but it felt shorter than he remembered it being. Still...the combination of sore muscles, sweat, and a heightened heart rate felt good. When they were done and had cooled off some Remington and Sam headed out to take up their old patrol routes; Adam left to, presumably, head back to the facility camp, leaving him and Eli alone in the yard.

As he watched she did some stretches (ones that were different than those she'd taught them) and then moved over to lean against the fence and stare out into the fields; he glanced out that way too -- there were barren trees, bushes, and a few llamas out there that were picking at the first green shoots coming up. With the spring melt finally upon them the bushes and trees would be budding soon and there'd be more out there aside from the isolated spots of hardy herbs that, somehow, managed to survive and grow even in freezing temperatures.

"I have to be honest," he said into the silence. Eli shifted just enough that he knew she was listening but not so much that she was looking at him. "I have no idea how to act like I'm not aware of my surroundings. That's probably going to be the hardest part about all of this for me."

"Want to learn?"

He came up to stand beside her at the fence and eyed a couple of llamas as they suddenly burst into a hopping fit, bouncing around one another for a few moments before going back to grazing. "How exactly do you teach something like that?"

"It's not hard - you just have to learn new ways to pay attention without paying attention."

She looked over to him with a smug smirk; he blew out a sigh but smiled. "I'm guessing it's something I have to be shown that can't really be explained."

"More or less, yeah."

"I guess the next question is when would you want to start?"

She shrugged. "Can be anytime we're both free. It's not something that's easy to teach so you're going to need a lot of time to dedicate to it."

Arlo nodded; his schedule was back to normal now that they were acting out the Stupid Plan. "We can make it work."

Out in the fields there was suddenly the noise of startled llamas; Arlo shifted his attention from Eli back out to the animals and could see a pair of figures walking in the fields. He squinted that way and it took him a moment to realize it was Dr. Xu and...someone else. Probably that student of his. Xu had what he thought was a basket over one arm and seemed to be gesturing at the little dots of bright green among the brown, soggy grasses. His student nodded and walked over to bend down over one of the green spots and began to carefully remove bits and pieces and hand them up to Xu -- Arlo knew the doctor went on walks to collect whatever freshly growing plants he could find, even in the dead of winter, so it seemed they were observing one of those.

Movement from the south caught his eye then and he saw someone approaching the two in the fields; whoever it was was bundled up in a heavy coat and had a scarf on -- it looked to be a woman, but not anyone Arlo recognized. She waved at the two in the field and the student waved back (what had been his name? It started with an H...Arlo had only met him once and now he couldn't remember the man's name). Whoever the woman was didn't stick around long: she greeted them, very briefly talked to them, then continued on back toward Portia.

"Any idea who that is?"

Eli shook her head. "Nope. I've seen her walking around town but I've not talked to her myself. Guess I can ask Dr. Xu at my next therapy session."

Arlo nodded, then looked over to her. "...I don't want to make you uncomfortable with personal questions, but..."

A faint smile crossed her face; this time she did turn her head to look at him. "How's it going? It's...going. Some days are better than others but overall it's getting easier. Time heals all wounds as they say."

"I'm glad to hear it." He turned to put his back against the fence and leaned. "There's a holiday coming up - Day of the Bright Sun. I bet a lot of people would like to see you there."

"What's the holiday for?"

"Have you heard of or read about Peach yet?"

She nodded. "That's the guy who invented some machine that got rid of the clouds in the sky, right?"

"Right. It's a holiday to celebrate the sun returning. We spend the week leading up to it wrapping gifts and delivering them to city hall, and on the day of the holiday the gifts are dropped all over town from an airship that flies over Portia."

Eli raised an eyebrow at that. "Not sure which is harder to believe - air-dropped presents or the fact an airship still exists."

"It-" Arlo paused, thinking on how to word it. "-it's probably not the type of airship you might be thinking of."

"I'd hope not. Airships were bigger than Portia is."

"Really?" he asked; she nodded, and he shook his head. "Hard to picture... But ah, no. This airship isn't all that big. Not much bigger than Mali's plane, to be honest."

"Is this a sort of buy in thing to participate then?"

"Buy in?"

"Do I have to give gifts to be able to receive any?"

"Not..." Again he paused. "Not really? I don't think there's any actual rule about it. Why?"

"I'm not the greatest at choosing gifts - especially not for people I hardly know. And I don't want to receive something if I didn't give someone a gift."

"Oh, don't worry about that. Everyone gives something - usually several things - even if it's just small trinkets or even raw materials of some kind, and the gifts don't have anyone's names except for the giver on them. Just last year a pair of gifts I received were a bouquet of flowers and a roll of cotton fabric -- it's sort of a crap shoot for what you might get."

Eli nodded slowly, wrinkling her nose. "Well, if I'm not buying for specific people that makes it a lot easier in that regard. A lot less awkward too, since I'm not physically giving them out myself."

"Nope. Just catch presents falling from the sky."

"Sounds...interesting, then. I'd at least show up for the novelty."

He smiled at her. "And companionship, I'd hope."

She returned the smile. "Yeah, yeah, that too." With a small grunt she straightened and dusted her hands off. "I'll add gift shopping onto my To Do list. Let me know when you next have some free time and we can start in on teaching you a few new tricks."

"I'm free now if you are."

He watched as she turned to head toward the opposite side of the yard where the gate to the road was; after a breath or two he followed her -- what else was he supposed to do?

"Now's good, I guess. Without turning around, how many llamas were out on the field?"

"Uh." Arlo slowed to a stop; the urge to turn around or at least peek was strong but she'd specifically told him NOT to do that. "...five?"

"Seven. How many bushes were out there?"

"Si...six?"

"Four."

He blew out a sigh and started to follow along behind her again. "I'm guessing my first lesson is to assess everything I see?"

"The idea is to sort of...absorb it without actively counting or noting things. Things like numbers, patterns, colors, people, details of places, sounds and what directions things are coming from or moving in. Take it all in, in a glance or two, and be able to recall it quickly."

"Right..." Ahead of him Eli headed out of the gate and then waited, holding it open for him. "Well. I'm up for the challenge."

She just smiled and led the way down the road.

----------------------------------------------

Something about the sound of the airship overhead was distinctly...uncomfortable.

Not enough that it wasn't something she could tolerate but enough that she could feel anxiety and a bit of fear just beneath the surface; with it came an urge to duck into cover, or to otherwise get out of sight. Eli couldn't recall ever hearing something like it but clearly her subconscious did, and inside her head a small alarm system was starting to blare.

She'd been standing with the crowd of townsfolk only moments ago but the arrival of the airship had sent them all into a stumbling jog together as a group, laughing and lightly jostling one another; no one stopped unless they'd actually managed to snag a present and then those persons hung back to let the group run ahead and get a head start on the rest of the falling presents.

Eli wasn't anywhere near enough to catch any, and at the moment she didn't particularly care.

I'm FINE. I'm fine. There's no danger here.

She kept it going as a little mantra in her head and forced herself to focus on the spectacle of an entire town catching things raining out of the sky. Sam had said the airship swept across the city and then out to the fields; it should be out of sight and range soon.

Sucking in a breath she scanned her surroundings; a ginger-haired woman with a parasol and Gust were still here, as was Gale. They were walking at a slow pace, talking and laughing amongst themselves, and hadn't seemed to notice she'd lingered.

She should...probably move. To avoid drawing attention to herself. This wasn't something she wanted to try and explain to anyone - especially not on a holiday. Let them have their festivities and fun...no reason to bring the mood down.

Of course that meant following the source of the sound.

Come on. I can handle this. It won't be much longer.

It took another breath or two to urge herself into a slow walk, heading off after the crowd. Here and there in the street were bows and ribbons - she assumed they'd fallen off the gifts since she was still trying to wrap her head around how the presents could survive falling from such a height. Did shock foam persist through the ages? Maybe she could get a look at a box later.

The crowd was at the far side of the plaza ahead - the one with the big tree in the middle. Eli glanced up and traced the path of a package that was wrapped in bright orange paper with white ribbon; it suddenly hit her that those looked an awful lot like New Year's Dawn presents. A holiday that didn't exist anymore...one she'd never experience again. No presents, no family dinners, no games, no costume parties...

Simultaneously she felt a heavy weight settle in her gut coupled with the sensation of her stomach twisting into a knot, followed by a familiar hot prickle behind her eyes. Abruptly she stopped and spun on her heel, fully intending to retreat as quickly as possible back to her room. In a split instant she realized Asher had been walking up behind her - it was clear he'd been trying to catch up to her and her sudden reversal of direction had caught him by surprise while also nearly bowling him over.

"Whoa-" Asher stumbled a bit as he tried to put some space between them.

"Sorry. What's up?" she asked quickly. She side-stepped him and looked up the street -- no one was in sight now. Good. She could still make an escape.

"Uh." His eyes were on her as she moved. "-is something wrong?"

In the moment Eli knew she could just lie and say everything was fine; the problem was if he could already see it on her face then it'd be pointless to try and hide it now. With a deep breath she rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "Yes. Sort of. I just need to get some distance between me and here."

With that she started walking; it was a little difficult to hear him over the sound of the airship but after a pause Asher's footsteps hurried after her.

"At the risk of sounding insensitive, what's the exact problem?"

"Dunno," she replied. "Just something about that sound is...not good."

He sped up until he matched her speed and then walked at her side. "Gotcha. Um. Let's -- have you seen the hot spring retreat? We can catch the Dee-Dee up there and it ought to be far enough away you won't hear the airship."

"I hope you're not expecting me to actually utilize the springs."

"No, I wasn't thinking that. That's just the first location that's within quick and easy reach that I could think of that would also be fairly quiet."

"I could just go home."

"Do you want to be shut in a room at the moment?"

Eli sighed and squeezed her eyes shut; what she wanted, right now, was to be normal and at the festival, holiday, whatever-it-was in the plaza. Which...after that airship left, maybe she could go back. Maybe. Her obvious lack of caught gifts might invite questions she'd rather discuss with Dr. Xu first though, so maybe not.

Luckily as they came within sight of the Dee-Dee stop the Dee-Dee was only ten yards down the road; Asher waved at it and the driver stopped and waited for them to jog down to the stop instead of continuing on. The hum of the Dee-Dee motor seemed a little more familiar, if a bit rougher than she was accustomed to, and it helped a bit to drown out the airship's rumble. It was a short drive up to the retreat and, as Asher had said, it was way quieter -- she could barely detect the airship from here, and once they were standing on the dock that surrounded the little inset pool meant for the hot spring patrons to sit in there was the lapping of water and a bubbling noise as well.

Now that the "danger," according to her brain, was gone she could feel a bit of tension draining away and leaving what felt like a gaping, empty ache behind her right eye. Asher found and unfolded a pair of fabric deck chairs and set them up facing the west, away from Portia and any chance of spotting the airship. Eli dropped into one and ground the heels of her palms into her eyes.

"So." She had to clear her throat and try again. "-so, was there something you needed?"

Asher lowered himself into the other chair but didn't lean back. "Not in particular. Mali wanted to talk to Arlo and I was asked to play messenger but since he's busy with the holiday she wasn't expecting him to go rushing out."

"Don't let me keep you from an errand. I'll be fine."

He waved a hand dismissively. "They can wait. Unless you're wanting me to leave." With that he looked over to her.

She blew out a long sigh. "I don't know what I want. Well, I do. But none of what I want is possible. I want to go home. I want to hug my husband and parents again. I want to see my squad. Some days I wake up and I'm perfectly fine with the thought that all that's gone and there's nothing I can do about it...other days, you just have to press on and act like you're fine."

Asher bowed his head slightly, resting his chin on his fists with his elbows braced against the hard wood of the arms of the deck chair. "I wish there was something I could do, or say, to help with it all. Sometimes being human seems like a waste, doesn't it? Brains we don't have control over stirring us up and making someone think or feel things they probably wouldn't choose to otherwise."

Eli managed a very faint smile. "I definitely can think of better emotions to be stuck with, yes." She let out another heavy sigh and rubbed at her temples - the ache was spreading across the front of her head, through the forehead area and behind both eyes now. "I think I have a slight edge in that part of ranger training was focusing on instinct and logic and forgoing most emotional reactions. We were...always ready for it to go to hell. You had to be ready to switch off the emotional part of your brain and get shit done at any moment. I think my 300 year long nap damaged that switch, or maybe this is just too much to switch off whenever I want to."

Asher nodded at her but didn't say anything; they both went quiet and Eli focused her attention on the details and soft noises around her: the wind, the bubbling of the spring, the small waves caused by the bubbles hitting the pilings that supported the dock. A few times she heard faint birdsong. There was a small building on the dock that she assumed held whatever was needed for the hot springs business; it was partially blocking the wind coming off the fields so the steam off the springs was actually making it a bit too warm for her liking. She thought of taking her jacket off but didn't want her shirt to get damp.

Without any other option Eli just sat and steamed inside her coat until every last hint of sound of the airship was gone; after giving it a few minutes more she stood up and turned to look toward Portia -- at least from here it seemed like the airship was actually gone.

There was the creaking of a deck chair to her right and out of the corner of an eye Eli could just make out Asher standing up.

"Are you ready to head back?"

"I think so. It seems pretty quiet."

He studied her a moment. "Are you wanting to go back to the celebration, or just head home?"

"We'll see how I feel when I'm at the gate again."

They put the deck chairs away and headed back toward the Dee-Dee stop to wait for the next one to drive by.

"...as embarrassing and awkward as this was... Thanks."

Asher flashed her a gap-toothed grin. "You're welcome. Have to earn my keep somehow."

She snorted and shook her head. "Typically 'friend' is not a salaried position."

"Good job security, at least."

------------------------------------------------

Everyone around him was buzzing with excitement and chattering over the gifts they'd gotten this year; Arlo had gotten a neat looking woven wristband in purples and greens (no name on it so no idea who had given it) along with a new bronze blade from Django, and (purely by accident, since his third gift had technically been caught up in the tree without anyone noticing until it fell out and hit him as he was walking by) a nice woolen blanket from Sophie.

The box that the blanket had come in was a tad too bulky to comfortably carry around so he had it sitting on the bench beside him as he stood off to the side of the Research Center; everyone was beginning to break off in small groups to go take photos together, and he knew that once Sam and Remington had done whatever personal ones they wanted to take that they'd be looking for him so they could all take their yearly Civil Corps picture together.

Skimming the crowd Arlo couldn't help but feel a bit sad that he didn't see Eli anywhere; he had the urge to go walking around to see if he'd just overlooked her somehow but knew it'd be easier for Remington and Sam to find him if he stayed put.

He knew that logically it was going to take time for Eli to feel fully welcome, and like she fully fit in...still, he couldn't help but feel like he was at fault in some way. Should he have personally invited her along, instead of leaving it open? But then would it seem like he was being overbearing or guilting her into something she didn't want to do? There were times he held back out of worry that he was about to be too pushy but perhaps that instead was making him look too distant?

"Arloooooo-"

At the shout he looked up sharply only to see a mob of children heading his way - the triplets, Jack, and Toby at their head.

"No need to yell. What do you need?"

Toby walked up and let the boxes he was carrying drop to the ground in a heap. "Have you seen Eli? We can't find her anywhere."

Hm. So that confirmed that she just wasn't here rather than he'd somehow missed her. "I haven't, sorry."

Toby huffed out a sigh. "Guess we'll keep looking. Mayor Gale let us grab some extra presents for her since no one had seen her and we wanna give them to her."

Arlo looked the kids over; the boxes at Toby's feet had been opened, as were the three boxes Jack was toting. Each of the triplets had two opened boxes each but they also all carried one extra, unopened gift. "That's very nice of you kids to do that."

"Guess we can check if she's at home," Jack said. Toby nodded and scooped up his opened gifts.

"Try not to bombard her," Arlo called after them as they started to head off up the street.

"What was that all about?"

Arlo turned to see Sam standing there. "They're looking for Eli. Don't suppose you've seen her today?"

"Not since the very start," Sam answered. "She was with everyone when the airship started its pass. You don't think something happened to call her away, do you?"

He frowned; that hadn't crossed his mind, actually. "...I hope not. We should go check - have you seen Remington?"

"Selene cornered him for a few pictures but he should be free here in a few."

With a nod Arlo turned around and looked over the blanket box; there was a recycle bin at the bench near the base of the tree. He first took the bronze sword out of its box and fastened its clip to one of the straps on his jacket, then slipped the sword into place until he heard it click securely. Next he took the blanket out of the box and tossed it over his shoulder; it didn't take long to walk over to the recycle bin and deposit the boxes, and by then Remington had spotted them and they all met up at the barbershop.

"Do we have trouble?" Remington asked once he'd reached them.

"Possibly," Sam replied. "Seems Eli disappeared right as the airship started its flight over town - we're worried something might have called her away so we're headed out to the facility to go looking for her."

Arlo nodded (even though they hadn't discussed the 'facility' part - it made sense to head in that direction so he wasn't going to try and correct her). "If you're done here let's head out."

Remington gave a curt nod and the three of them turned to head up the street; once they'd crested the hill and arrived in Peach Plaza they, to their surprise, spied Eli -- she was standing with Asher and the five kids were huddled around them near Peach's statue.

"-well that's good news," Sam said after a pause. "If she AND Asher are both here then there's probably nothing wrong."

"At the facility," Arlo added. He looked between the two of them. "There might be something else wrong, if you catch my meaning."

Remington frowned. "Hmm. Yeah...could be. I bet this reminds her of a holiday back in her own time. Bad memories."

Sam matched his frown. "Didn't think about that. ...well, let's go see."

Arlo walked with them up toward the group around Eli; Asher caught his eye and flashed them an 'OK' signal discretely, which Arlo acknowledged with quick jerk of his head.

"-AND," Toby was saying, as they got within earshot. "Look! I kept my grades up just like I said I would!"

The three unopened gifts were sitting in a small stack at Eli's feet; Arlo watched as Eli turned her attention to a square of paper Toby was waving around. Finally she managed to grab it out of his hands and hold it still so she could read it and after a moment she nodded and handed it back.

"All right, fair enough - you did like you promised your mother you'd do. So now, once your mother says it's ok to start, I'll start teaching you. But only when your mother says so," Eli said, emphasizing the last part.

"Man, this is going to be great!" Toby squealed. He stuffed the report card back into his jacket pocket and spun around, taking off in a sprint only to collide with Remington. "-oof, sorry!"

Remington helped get him steady on his feet and then wisely stood aside as the boy took off running again. "It's fine just-" and then, rather than finishing his sentence, just shrugged with an amused look as Toby was already mostly out of sight.

The other kids giggled and said their goodbyes and headed off to follow Toby (though at a much slower speed), leaving the five adults to look to one another.

"We were worried when we didn't see you," Remington finally said.

Eli smiled faintly; Arlo thought she looked tired.

"I'm fine. Just had to step away to get some air," she replied. Her attention flicked down to the gifts at her feet, and then Arlo was almost certain she looked at the wristband he was wearing; the smile got a little deeper and he had an inkling as to who had given the gift without putting their name on it. "Was nice of them to think of me like that."

"They wanted to make sure you got something," Arlo said. "You were missed today."

Something flickered across her face but the smile came right back. "Ha, c'mon - you're going to make me blush."

As she talked there was something written on Asher's face but Arlo couldn't read it well - it was something like thinly disguised concern, he thought. It seemed to him like Eli hadn't just stepped away for air...but what had happened?

Asher noticed Arlo studying him and the odd look went away, replaced with a smile of his own. "Well! Now that that's taken care of, what say we all head down to what's left of the festivities?"

"It's just pictures left, and then the town photo," Sam said. "If we hurry we might be able to get one or two in before the big one."

Eli's brow furrowed. "Another town photo? Is that just...something that's done at every holiday?"

"Mostly," Remington chuckled. "We do like our photographs here in Portia."

After a pause Eli nodded at that. "I guess some things don't change -- ah, er. I mean, people's desire to document things don't. There's no conceiveable way that ANY city in my time could have ever gathered together for one big group photo where you could still even tell it WAS people."

She bent to pick up the gifts; Arlo stepped over to her and offered a hand. "Want to open those before you head down?"

"Oh. Guess I should, yeah."

Arlo took two of the gifts off her hands and stood there while she balanced the third one on top of them. The first box opened revealed a finely carved crystal inside a delicate wire filigree that was strung on a leather tie -- something Arlo immediately recognized because HE'D been the one that had bought that one from a traveling craftsman months ago and given over to city hall as one of his gifts.

When she flipped the tag over to read it Arlo saw her expression soften a bit, and the smile grew. "Ha - interesting twist of fate, that."

"Y-yeah, I guess," he laughed quietly. "Is the wristband something you...?"

"Saw me looking at it, huh?" she said as she tied the crystal necklace on. "I couldn't figure out what to buy so I made a couple things. Funny we got one another's gifts."

"Better than getting one of your own?" Sam offered. She looked amused but also admiring of the necklace. "Where'd you even get that?"

"I'll tell you later," Arlo answered. He swapped one of Eli's unopened gifts with the empty box and stood there holding her last one while she opened the considerably larger box.

Inside was a pot (plastic, but painted with a gorgeous geometric pattern) with a healthy looking asteria plant in it with a tag from Alice attached to it; Arlo again swapped out her last gift with the empty box and then, as she was opening it, began to carefully break the boxes down so they could go into the recycle bin. Inside the last box was a copy of Journey to the East, from Django.

Eli turned the book over in her hands. "Huh...I remember a book by this name existing back in my day. I wonder if this is the same story."

"Only one way to find out," Remington said with a grin. He gently clapped a hand to Eli's shoulder and looked down the street. "Why don't we all go get one photo squeezed in?"

"Sure." Eli tucked the took under an armpit and carried the potted asteria in the same arm.

Arlo quickly collapsed the book the book had been in and deposited them in the recycle bin as they passed by; they had their picture taken together just outside of Portia's gates then hurried back inside to get on the riser for the town photo.

"How about dinner?" Asher asked once the picture was taken. "We can all squeeze into a booth, probably."

"Didn't you have a message for Arlo?" Eli asked dryly.

Asher shrugged. "I'm getting to it. Mali stressed that it wasn't any rush."

Arlo looked over at him. "What?"

"Mali wants to talk to you, when you've got time. She specifically said it's not anything immediately important because she didn't want to interrupt your holiday. So, let's go get dinner, then you and I-" he said, pausing to waggle thumb between himself and Arlo, "-can take them some dinner and see what Mali wanted."

"Assuming we can get into the Round Table," Sam said with a smirk and a nod of her head toward the crowd of people walking toward the restaurant.

Asher shrugged again and grabbed the elbows of Remington and Eli. "Then let's get moving so we don't get shut out." He began to pull them along with him, and Sam and Arlo followed.

They did manage to get a table, with Remington and Sam on one side and Eli sandwiched between Asher and Arlo on the other. Arlo found it...a bit suspect, that it always seemed like Asher found a spot next to Eli; it wasn't his business but it stood out to him in a way he thought he should remember.

It looked like Eli's first lesson on noticing things had already sunk in.

#Lost in Time #lit #Lost in Time - ch 15 #Arlo #Sam #Remington #Mali #My Time at Portia

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welcometophu · 4 years

Text

Into the Split: Reconstruction 2

Twinned Book 3: Into the Split

Reconstruction 2

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Nikolai almost expects a celebration in Haverhill the next day, but there is nothing overtly done. Instead there is an air of calm that replaces the anxious expectation that had suffused them all in the recent weeks. In many ways, that’s easier. Nikolai feels like he can finally relax, even if there are still things that he needs to do. The worst of it is over; they have time for the rest.

His home will still be there, his family alive and waiting for him, and that’s the most important thing.

The delegates drift away, most of the older crowd and Clan leaving earlier, while many of the Mages linger. Rory says goodbye to his parents and grandparents, but Valentine stays, her daughter trailing after Alaric like a brightly-caped duckling, while her son lingers around the edges of the PHU crowd, listening intently.

At one point Cass turns to Elijah, her lips pursed. He blinks, as if surprised to gain the regard of one of the older people. “You’re staring,” she says curtly.

“So?” he retorts. “You do the same thing. Besides. I might want to go to PHU someday. I’m studying you.”

“Hmph.” Cass crosses her arms and turns her back on Elijah. At the same time, she takes a step to the right, a little closer to Nate, making space for Elijah in the circle.

He hesitates before stepping in and allowing them to include him.

Dayton makes a late entrance, moving as if she doesn’t have a care in the world while the rest of her community’s contingent waits impatiently to start the long drive home. Stormy trails behind her, barefoot and still in a rumpled sleep shirt and shorts. Stormy rubs at her eyes, yawning, stretching just as Dayton turns around and reaches for her.

Stormy falls against her with a small noise that turns to a low rumble as Dayton kisses her, then rubs her cheek against Stormy’s. Dayton sets her back on her feet, and Stormy sways slightly, her cheek flushed from the attention.

“I knew that was flirting when you met her,” Rory mutters.

“It wasn’t, not then, but oh man, she is fun,” Stormy admits. “It’s probably not a long-term thing, but it is going to be a good time every time we meet up. When are you planning on staging another crisis? I’ll pencil in another round of crisis survival sex.”

Mac coughs around a laugh while Rory looks pained. “I don’t need the details,” he mumbles, while Stormy nudges him with her shoulder.

“You’re still taking me back to PHU for the festival this weekend, right?” she says. “I promise to behave better than Thorne. Just let me go shower and pack up, and I’ll be ready to go.”

“It’s not hard to behave better than Thorne!” Rory calls after her, and Stormy laughs as she blows him a kiss before walking away.

Heather’s phone pings, and she opens it up, frowning. “I think I’m missing an exam. I don’t even remember an exam being scheduled this week. Why would anyone schedule an exam for election week? Everyone skips classes this week.”

“The professor’s a dick, remember?” Cass mutters. “I’m pretty sure he scheduled it on purpose because everyone still on campus probably got drunk last night.”

“Your absences are excused,” Pawel says. “I spoke to administration and you have all been noted as working on a special project for me, details to be provided upon my return to the school. You’ll be able to make up the exam next week, just in time for finals.”

“Lovely,” Heather mutters. “I didn’t have enough work to do in the next two weeks. Is there any chance they’ll just drop those grades? We did save the world.”

“I don’t think there’s any magic you can work for that one,” Nikita murmurs, her arm around Heather’s back. “But that’s okay. We just need to get through the tests—we can scream a lot during primal scream time—and then we get a whole summer off.”

“Some of us have to work for the summer,” Rory points out.

“You’re touring,” Nikita counters.

“That’s work! Have you ever set up heavy equipment, then spent an hour performing on a hot stage, and then lugged that heavy equipment off stage again so you could pack it up before getting stuck in a small, beat up van for hours on the road? It’s hard work,” Rory grumbles. “Plus it stinks. And I think Andy’s fiancé is coming along with us, and that’s just going to make all the arrangements at the motels messy. Plus we have an album to record. That we need to write songs for.”

Someone else counters with an example of working on a farm for the summer, and someone else complains about serving ice cream to hoards of small children. It’s all outside of Nikolai’s frame of reference, but it sounds like it’s normal for them.

Seth wraps his arms around Nikolai, whispering, “I’m looking forward to getting back to Havenhill and getting our own jobs. It’ll be hard work there, but it’ll be safe. Imagine what it’s going to be like when nothing’s chasing us, and the world isn’t falling into darkness.”

It sounds like bliss.

“Dax!” Cass’s voice breaks through the low chatter as Dax comes into the room. His light jacket is unzipped, hanging open, and his curly hair is windswept. He smiles, and there’s something lighter in his expression as he approaches Cass, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her quickly.

“Well?” Alaric asks.

“It’s done,” Dax says, his smile infusing his tone. “Orson’s settled, finally. He might still be around; I get the impression he wanted to stick around for you and Drea, if you want him to. But he’s not worried about war anymore. If he’s worried about you in general, that’s something you’ll have to solve yourself. If you go there to talk, he might be listening.”

“Is there a point, if he can’t talk back?” Alaric growls softly. Chris’s hand on his back stops him from stepping forward, but his expression is gloomy.

“Would it make you feel better?” Dax asks.

Alaric rocks back, gaze dropping.

“Let’s take a walk,” Chris says quietly. “We don’t have to leave right this second, and I don’t mind heading out there.” He slides his hand into Alaric’s and waits.

Alaric huffs, a disgruntled sound. “Thanks,” he grumbles before he turns away.

“Hey.” Carolyn touches Nikolai’s arm. “Can we talk for a second? Before we all get into cars and things get even more chaotic than they already feel.”

Nikolai glances at Seth; with his tacit approval, they both head for the back of the house and Carolyn follows them outside.

They sit on the bench that says for cats.

“Del left early,” Carolyn says quietly. “She woke me up before she went, but Sam and Shawn wanted to get home, and I think they were worried that if she stayed, she’d go back into the Dreamscape.”

“They think taking her home is going to change that?” Nikolai knows Carolyn understands from the way she smiles. “I don’t think anything will keep Del out of the Dreaming.”

“It wasn’t always about that for her,” Carolyn admits. “A long time ago we were very different people. We’re still trying to catch up with who we are now. But yeah, she’ll be there. She said to tell you that she’ll stay in touch with you, and that she promises not to get lost.”

Nikolai isn’t sure he believes that. He thinks the Dreamscape is a siren’s song to Del, something that wants to pull her in. It’s different from how it usually is for other Dreamwalkers who want to pull the Dreamscape into the real world instead. “You can tell her I’ll come find her after I’m home,” he promises in return. “But first Seth and I have to figure out how to get home.”

“Actually.” Carolyn twists her hands together. “I have a favor to ask you. Before you go.”

Nikolai can’t think why she’s nervous, unless…. “Does it involve staying? Because we really don’t want to unless we’re stuck,” he admits. “You’ve got a lot of good things here, but home has Josef and Mikhail.”

A soft, rough laugh. “No, I know you want to go, and I don’t blame you. I can’t imagine being somewhere separated from Kit, and yes, we’re twins, so maybe it’s different, and actually that—” She looks at him sideways. “Have you thought about what it’ll be like to be apart from Nikita now?”

“We aren’t that kind of close.” The words come easily, because they aren’t. Not like twins who were raised together, and not even like his brothers, despite the years when Nikolai thought they were dead. “It’s more like we’re the same person, not like siblings.” He likes Nikita, but he can handle the idea of being in a different world again. That seems more right than how they are now.

“I’d actually like to take a look at that scientifically.” Carolyn’s fingers tighten where they’re tangled in her lap. “This probably isn’t a thing in your world anymore; maybe it was before the Split. But we do a lot of genetic testing. People can send off their spit and have it come back with a report saying whether they’re related. People are always trying to find out their genetic heritage, or seeking out lost relatives. But I was thinking that I’d like to see how you and Nikita are related. If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Does it hurt?” Nikolai asks. When Carolyn shakes her head, he adds, “Is it dangerous?”

“Not at all. It’d just be a blueprint for who you are, and nothing really could be done with it.” Carolyn wrinkles her nose. “It might cause some confusion with the government since technically you don’t exist, but that’s what Sera’s for, I think. We can have her take care of things.” Her shoulders are still hunched and tense. “If you’re leaving, you probably won’t ever find out what—”

“Tell Del, have her tell me if you want to make sure I have that kind of closure,” Nikolai suggests. “You’ve already said she and I have a date to lie around in the meadow and watch butterflies, right?”

Carolyn’s shoulders soften as she laughs. “Right. I guess you do. I think—this might tell us something more about the genetics of Talent. Which I really would like to know more about, even though that’s not my field. I think it’ll help Kit, though. He wants to be a doctor. And I want to study why people do what they do, and sometimes knowing how things work helps. And the more we know about these twinned worlds—”

“The more of them you can go off and save?” Nikolai asks.

Carolyn gives him a startled look. “That’s not—”

“You said your Traveling is linked to the same kind of Talent that Dreamwalkers have and Shadowwalkers have, right?” It makes a kind of sense to Nikolai. “Now that the Split isn’t a pit of darkness, maybe it’s something you can use, too. Maybe you’re more like a traditional Shadowwalker than the corrupted kind that had been Emerging, and that’s why you couldn’t figure out how you fit in.”

“I—” Carolyn cuts off, her mouth slightly open.

Nikolai figures that’s a thought for later, because it might take Carolyn some time to come to terms with it. He reaches over, covers her tightly clasped hands with his own and squeezes. “Maybe I’ll see you again someday, too. I’m not sure I can say I’m glad about all of the things that have happened, but I’m glad we met, and I’m glad we were able to help each other here.”

He rises, Seth coming with him. When Nikolai reaches, Seth’s hand is there, fingers tangling together like they’ve always fit.

Carolyn stays where they left her, head bowed, brow furrowed.

“Do you want us to tell someone—”

Carolyn shakes her head. “Pretty sure Kit won’t let them leave without me,” she says quietly. “I’m just going to sit here and think for a little bit.”

“That was a hell of a theory to drop on her,” Seth whispers as they walk back into the house. Voices come from the front and they head in that direction so they can catch up with their ride back to PHU. “I didn’t even think of it.”

“I might be wrong,” Nikolai says. He doesn’t think he is, though. The more he rolls it over in his head, the more sense it makes. And he suspects that’s how they made it from one world to another in the first place. She might not be able to control it now, but he suspects that Carolyn is some kind of hybrid Shadowwalker that let her use the Split as it was. And hopefully as it is, eventually, too.

Valentine stands in the hall, meeting them before they can get to the crowd at the front. “I spent some time talking to Alaric,” she says.

“About Havenhill?” Seth asks, nodding as soon as he asks. “Okay, yes, about Havenhill.”

“Empaths are honestly a little disturbing,” Valentine replies. She looks down the hall, then motions for them to move into the great hall. It’s empty and echoing, aside from some tables around the edges, and a few chairs.

Nikolai really isn’t in the mood to sit down for another serious conversation again. “He told you about Val?”

“My counterpart that’s married to Alia’s counterpart? Yes,” Valentine agrees. “And that I apparently helped create this safe haven, and that I’m Alia’s right hand there, and her reasonability. And that I told you to leave.”

“It was a group decision, I think,” Nikolai says. “And we didn’t argue it. We broke the wards and let the Shadows in. We broke the rules of Havenhill.”

“Do you get to go back?” Valentine asks.

Seth laughs dryly.

“If we can figure out how,” Nikolai admits. “Why?”

Valentine stands with arms akimbo, hands resting on her hips and wrists bent with her elbows wide. She turns on her heels, looking out over the large room. As she exhales, tight shoulders lower and loosen, although her stance remains stiff. “Do you think you can carry anything back with you? I’d like to send you some research to give to the me of your world. They’re things I’d understand, and things I might not have thought of because we’re just different enough.”

“If we can carry it, maybe,” Seth says slowly. “Or if we read it, we might remember enough.”

Valentine makes a small displeased noise. “I think it’s going to be more than you’ll want to memorize. And you aren’t traditional Mages. You don’t know the Rituals and if you make mistakes when translating it through your memory, it might not go well when Val tries to use it. I’ll email Pawel. He can print it, and if you can carry it, fine. If not, well, I tried.”

“And what about here?” Seth asks.

Valentine turns back slowly, her weight resting on one heel as she turns. “What about here?”

“You’re going to work toward forging a relationship with Alia now, right?” Seth says firmly. “We may have pushed out the darkness created by the Shadows, but you still have a government out there that created them in the first place. You’re going to need each other.”

“What kind of relationship do you mean?” Valentine says curtly.

Seth raises his eyebrows. “The alliance kind. She’s married. I’m guessing you have a husband somewhere—”

“We divorced,” Valentine interrupts.

Seth makes a motion with his hand as if that isn’t important. “I’m not saying to get involved with her romantically. But befriend her. Forge that alliance between here and Burlington, the same one that Alaric already started.”

Valentine rocks backwards, turns away again as her hands slowly fall from her hips to hang by her sides. “We’ve started, too. I met with Theobald yesterday, and with Alaric, and we aren’t going to stay separate. We need each other, you’re right. The world needs to change, and I’m ready for that. From what I’ve heard of your world, it sounds like that change was pivotal to helping keep Talented people safe. We aren’t as endangered, but there are things here, as well. Like the virus that broke out in New Hampshire. Like the Shadows. Like the old histories between us that we could repeat again if we don’t watch out. So yes.” She turns back slowly. “We’ve made our alliance. This might not be your Havenhill, but we will work on creating a haven, both here and in Burlington, and possibly amongst the other communities as well. We are bringing our world together.”

Seth hesitates, his expression intent as if he’s trying to read her. He finally nods, and reaches back to tug Nikolai forward. “I think we’re all set, then. I’m glad things are in good hands here.”

Valentine doesn’t ask before stepping forward, her arms around both of them as she tugs them in. It feels awkward and strange, as she kisses first Seth’s cheek, then Nikolai’s. This Valentine is much more open—much less hardened—than their Val.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Valentine says. “Give her time to warm up to you. And to relax. I can imagine what she’s like.”

“You should see Alia,” Nikolai mutters.

Valentine laughs at that.

She keeps her arms around them as they move through the house and out to the front, where most of the cars are gone, but a few still linger. Pawel stands with Alia, his hand out and clasped in hers. She stands almost relaxed, her shoulders rested and loose as they speak quietly before Pawel finally draws back.

He looks up at waves as Nikolai and Seth emerge from the house. “I’d wondered if I was going to have to go find you. Mac’s already in the car. Ready to go?”

Pawel still looks like he’s half a ghost. His skin is pale, his eyes darkly rimmed in shadows. But there’s a life to his step that’s been missing, and Nikolai suspects that he’s slept more than anyone else. Which is good; he needed it.

Nikolai pauses by the car to take one last look at the big house. Alia stands on the step, as Valentine turns to go inside. It’s familiar, but not, and Nikolai hopes that the next time he sees something similar, he’ll be home.

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#welcome to phu #welcometophu #into the split #phu twinned #twinned #its reconstruction

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