#My head hurts. I stayed up past my bedtime to read this.

[idyllghost]

I finally sat my ass down to finish the stupid book I was reading and what the fuck was that

[crescenthistory]

in the silence, there is an us

Pairing: Paul Atreides x Reader

Summary: Throughout their lives, Paul and reader have often found themselves in each other's bed. Childish games after bedtime, late-night studying sessions, nightmares, and a burning need to not be apart.

Part of Paul's point of view can be read here: "you are my favourite silence"

Words: 7.2k

Warnings: not proofread, possibly some inaccuracies about plot details (have not watched dune in ages, i'm just obsessed with paul), best friends to lover, tension, light angst, jessica being a bit rude, reader being an orphan and of a lower social rank, duke leto's death (rip), lots of cuddles and lingering touches, fluff, the whole deal

***

The grand halls of Castle Caladan always had an eerie stillness after sunset. The select servants walked quietly, the sound of waves crashing below barely made its way through the stone walls, and the Duke and Lady Jessica kept to their quarters. For Paul and you, though, this was the perfect time to sneak past the sternness of bedtime. The day never seems long enough for young children whose eyes are still filled with stars.

“Come on!” Paul’s whisper was loud, almost too loud for sneaking around, but you didn’t think long enough to care. The thrill of the game was enough to make both of your hearts race. You were barefoot, your steps making soft thuds against the cool floor as you tiptoed through the hall toward his room.

“If we get caught—” you whispered, but Paul cut you off with a grin.

“We won’t. Besides, who can stop us?”

You rolled your eyes at his cocky confidence. He wasn’t wrong, though. You had never been good at staying still, at obeying the invisible rules set up by adults. With no living relatives to share your name, Paul was more than just a best friend – he was all you had. Him and Duke Leto, whose unwavering sense of duty made him take you in at the Castle when your parents died on a mission he orchestrated. Responsibility above all else, all the qualities he aimed at instilling in his young son. And it couldn’t hurt Paul to have a friend his own age, could it? 

You slipped into his room, both of you giggling like you’d just played the best prank on his sleeping parents. His bed was huge for a 7-year-old, more space than one boy could ever need regardless of his nobility. Tonight, it was your playground, stretching for miles.

Paul scrambled up first, then turned and offered you his hand. “Bet you I can jump higher than you,” he said, a challenge clear in his eyes.

You took his hand, pulling yourself up and laughing as the two of you bounced on the mattress, trying to outdo each other in height and bravery. You weren’t worried about waking anyone. Even if Duke Leto found you – and he often did – his stern reprimands were laced with amusement.

This was not the first time the two children had snuck into each other’s rooms after dark, the activity becoming more habit than occasion. Nights like this were your shared rebellion, a refusal to let the day end just because the sun had gone down, just because Jessica had tucked Paul into bed an hour earlier for bedtime.

Eventually, after you had worn yourselves out, you collapsed side by side on the bed, your breaths heavy from laughter. You stared up at the ceiling, still giggling as the adrenaline began to fade.

“I don’t want it to be bedtime ever again,” Paul said, his voice soft, almost wistful.

You turned your head to look at him, sprawled out on the massive mattress, dark hair in his eyes that reflected the dim moonlight streaming through the window. You understood exactly what he meant.

“Me neither,” you replied with a smile. Your hand found his under the covers.

Neither of you moved as your true bedtime took over, the quiet settling in around you, comfortable and warm. You fell asleep like that, fingers intertwined, with no concept of what it meant to have boundaries. There was just Paul, and you, and the night that was never long enough.

  ***

In the wake of your early teens at the castle, sneaking into each other’s rooms had become less about rebellion and more about comfort. The innocence of bouncing on beds and stifled laughter gave way to whispered conversations in the dark and the shared weight of fears neither of you quite understood yet.

The first time Paul came to your room because of a nightmare, it startled you. You were just about to drift off when you heard the soft creak of your door, followed by the quiet patter of feet. You jerked up from the mess of blankets, blinking into the darkness. Confusion and perhaps a bit of fear grasped you, until you saw his silhouette standing near the edge of your bed.

“Paul?” you whispered, straightening up. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer at first, he didn’t know how. With his tense expression and shadows playing across his face, he looked haunted despite his still small, boy-like frame. You knew him in and out by now, and could clearly read the signs of his nails digging into the skin of his fingers, breathing shallow and uneven. 

“Can I stay?” His voice was rougher than usual, like he was barely holding it together.

“Of course.”

You didn’t ask any questions, it was a silent understanding. Instead, you lifted the blanket, making room for him. He crawled in without hesitation, laying his head on the pillow on your left. His body rigid beside yours for a moment before he relaxed, the tension slowly draining away.

Lying there, you listened to the sound of his breathing steadying, feeling the warmth of his presence next to you, arm against arm. It was quiet, but not silent – the kind of quiet that only existed when you knew someone else was there with you. Someone who understood. Someone who would never judge you for being afraid.

In his newfound safety, Paul drifted off easier than he could in his own bed. Yours was significantly smaller, but somehow softer, and he could actually feel the weight of you beside him on the mattress. He could ground himself in your presence. When he fell asleep, his head fell slightly to the side, his hair brushing against your cheek. 

You, on the other hand, stayed awake a little longer, staring up at the ceiling, your thoughts racing. 

You’d always been each other’s rock, but now, something was different. The comfort you found in his presence was deeper, more profound. It wasn’t just about not wanting to be alone anymore, it was about needing him specifically. It brought a smile to your face to know that he found that same assurance in you.

***

The weights on your shoulders materialised and became clearer as you grew beside each other. At sixteen, the favours Duke Leto had bestowed upon you by allowing you residence and education at Caladan felt like a debt more than a blessing. One you had to repay through excellence, through true devotion to any and all training given to you. While Paul tried to seem more lighthearted about it all, it could be felt in the air all the same. You were no longer just two children sneaking around a castle that seemed to never end. You were a future duke and a noblewoman-in-training, navigating a world that seemed to have its eyes on you at every moment.

To earn your gifted title and position and prove yourself worthy of your place as Paul’s friend, you poured over every textbook your teachers assigned you. The study of Caladan, of politics, traditions and customs occupied your mind to the extent that you neglected the occupant of your heart. 

Yet, at late hours, it was always Paul’s bedroom floor the pair found themselves splayed across. 

Sheets of notes, pens and books layed on top of themselves in a system neither of you could have been able to explain to an outsider. Paul against the wall with his notebook, you stomach-down on the carpet, nose buried between the words in your textbook.

“You’re going to wear yourself out.” Paul’s words were muttered, watching you through tired eyes.

You shook your head. “I’m fine. Just one more chapter.”

“You said that an hour ago.”

“I mean it this time.”

Paul didn’t argue, but you could feel his eyes on you as you worked, his presence a quiet comfort beside you. It had become routine, the two of you studying together, you claimed you worked better that way. Paul occasionally asking questions while you tried to focus on your own work but more often than not, you ended up helping him instead of yourself.

Your one-more-chapter became two more as you tried to retain the information, but your eyelids grew heavier, your focus slipping. The same sentence became burned into your retinas without making much more sense.

Ever so slowly, your head was brought closer and closer to the ink. Eventually it was all you could see before your cheek hit the page – you were out as a light.

Paul watched you for a moment, a soft smile playing on his lips. This was not the first time. He closed his own book and moved quietly to your side. He brought a finger up to brush some of your hair out of your face before he rolled you over. Gently, he lifted you, careful not to wake you as he carried you to the bed. His bed.

It had almost become part of the routine, he watches you exhaust yourself and then ensures you get the rest you deserve. He had done this before, but each time, it made his chest tighten more in ways he didn’t fully understand.

As he laid you down delicately, he hesitated by your side for just a moment, watching the rise and fall of your chest, the peaceful expression on your face. He didn’t realise how often he found himself staring at you like this, wondering when the girl who used to be his playmate had become someone he couldn’t stop thinking about. Someone he wanted to protect, to keep close, even as you worked yourself to the bone. He wanted to tell you you didn’t have to, that he knew and that you were enough. Instead, he let his instinct win and lightly caressed the soft flesh of your arm.

After a brief pause, Paul pulled the covers over you and sat on your edge of the bed for a while longer. He was tired himself, but he didn’t want to move. Not just yet.

***

The past few months felt as if they stretched on for years with how much change and development you were faced with, almost forcefully. Despite your efforts, the older you got, the more you felt like a young girl attempting to parade as a grown woman ready for whatever duties Duke Leto sees fit of you, as a “noblewoman” without any true blood given nobility. 

Paul had been dancing around your worries for a while now, cutting off your worried rants with funny quips and dragging you from the library or training room to the beach when he believed you too worrisome. However, his duties were catching up to him as well, even when he tried to balance on the beam with you. He would be a duke one day, and though he had acted like a prince all his life, this was much more real.

His duties were specifically catching up to him in the form of one Lady Jessica. Reminders, comments, requests to his teachers and staff. She wanted him to start becoming the man he needs to be.

One of her lectures was playing out before your eyes in the library, though it escaped you how it even began. The soft, rhythmic drumming of the rain against the high windows felt like the one thing tethering you this world as she spoke, shadows cast across her face. 

Lady Jessica’s voice sliced through the rain, calm but pointed. Leaving the air around you feeling heavy. You sat at a table beside Paul, as she stood above you, a judge passing through your reading session. Her sharp eyes, blue within blue, never seemed to miss anything.

She had always watched you carefully, ever since you were children – though it wasn’t until recently that you noticed how her gaze lingered on you. Emotion indecipherable, yet somehow your stomach seared from it. She was assessing you on criteria it felt you had no control over. 

“You’re both approaching the age where things will change,” Jessica said, her gaze flicking between you and Paul. Her tone was deceptively gentle, like the calm before a storm. “You can no longer afford to be... careless.”

There was a long pause, a silence that felt charged with unspoken meaning. Paul shifted beside you, and though you didn’t look at him, you could feel the tension in the way he carried himself, alert, almost defensive.

“I’m not just speaking about duties to the House or the formalities expected of you as you come of age.” Lady Jessica’s eyes rested on you, sharp and assessing. “I’m also speaking about the way you conduct yourselves in your personal relationships.”

Your heart stuttered at the implication, warmth creeping up the back of your neck. You did not wish to dig into the meaning behind her words.

This was not the first time she’d given such a lecture, but it was the first time it felt so personal. So aimed. It was understood she must be referring to the hours upon hours you spent together, including in the moonlight. The quiet moments where you and Paul sought each other out, clinging to your comfort when the world felt too heavy to bear alone.

It was never intended to be anything inappropriate. You were each other’s safety nets, just like you had always been. But still, you felt a pang of shame coil in your chest at the thought of it being seen that way.

“You have been given responsibilities that go beyond your own desires,” Jessica continued, turning slightly toward Paul. “You are the heir to the House of Atreides, Paul. Every decision you make now, every relationship you allow to develop, can impact that legacy.”

Paul’s jaw clenched, and for the first time, you risked a glance at him. His face was unreadable, but the tension in his posture betrayed his discomfort. His eyes flicked to you, worry clouding them more than annoyance at his mother’s words. He searched your face for something, and did not seem happy with what he saw, but you ripped your gaze away a mere second after.

He was not thinking about his legacy. In that moment, all he thought about was you and how you were feeling.

Your stomach twisted, and the weight of it all – the difference in your status, the expectations that shadowed both your lives – seemed too much. Lady Jessica was not wrong, and Gods did you hate it. You glanced down, willing the words to settle somewhere far away, somewhere that wouldn’t hurt so much.

“You must understand,” Jessica said, her voice softer now, but no less firm, “the time for childish games is over. It’s time for both of you to take your roles more seriously. The future will not wait for you to be ready.”

The words hit you harder than they should have, like a reprimand for something you had not yet done but already felt guilty about. You wanted to say something, anything to show that you understood, that you weren’t some distraction pulling Paul away from his responsibilities, but the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you nodded stiffly, keeping your eyes trained on the floor.

Jessica gave a tight-lipped smile you did not see, before turning around to take her leave, pleased with the efficiency of your talk. She was gone, her robes whispering against the stone floor as she left you alone with the silence she had created between you two.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The weight of Jessica’s words still hung heavy in the room, thickening the air between you. You could feel Paul’s gaze on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him, not yet.

“She didn’t mean it like that,” Paul finally said, his voice low and careful, like he was testing the waters.

When you did not respond, Paul let out a soft sigh, moving his body towards you. “She’s just worried. That’s all. My mother—”

“Your mother is always worried,” you cut in, more sharply than you intended. You could feel the weight of it all pressing down on you. The constant reminders of how you didn’t quite fit into this world of nobility and politics, how your presence was tolerated but not truly embraced by the one woman you wished to be on your side. “And maybe she has a point. I’ve been distracting you. I shouldn’t... I shouldn’t keep coming to you.”

You did not elaborate, you did not need to.

Paul’s expression tightened, and before you could move away, he reached out, gently gripping your hands between his. His touch was warm, grounding, but you tried not to let yourself sink into it.

“No,” he said, his voice firm now. “You haven’t been distracting me. You’ve... you’ve been keeping me sane. It’s not the same thing.”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head again. “But your mother thinks—”

“I don’t care what my mother thinks.”

The words were out of Paul’s mouth before he could stop them, and for a moment, he looked almost startled by his own admission. He blinked, as if trying to make sense of his own boldness, before his grip on your hands tightened just slightly, his eyes locking onto yours.

“I don’t care what she thinks about the time we spend together,” he said, quieter this time, but no less intense. “She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning, like the world’s pressing in from every side, and you’re just. Alone.”

You looked up at him then, your breath catching at the rawness in his voice. Paul never let anyone see him like this—not even you most of the time, not fully. But now, there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Desperation, maybe. Or something deeper, something unspoken.

“Whenever I’m with you, it’s the only time I don’t feel that way,” he continued, his voice low, like he was sharing a secret he’d been keeping for too long. “You’re not a distraction. You’re the only thing that keeps me steady.”

Your chest tightened, torn between the overwhelming urge to believe him and the guilt that had been festering inside you since Jessica’s words. You wanted to argue, but the look in his eyes made it impossible to say any words out loud.

So instead, you swallowed your thoughts, pressing them deep down where they couldn’t be reached.

“We just need to be more careful,” you said softly, pulling your hands away from his grasp. Your skin still tingled where his fingers had been. “Your mother’s right. We can’t keep hiding away in each other’s rooms. We can’t... we can’t keep acting like kids.”

Paul’s face fell, the tension in his shoulders sagging slightly. His now-free hands went up to rub at his face before he sighed. “But we’re not acting like kids.”

“Aren’t we?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “We’re literally sneaking into each other’s beds in the middle of the night, Paul. We’re still pretending like nothing’s changed.”

Paul was quiet for a long moment, his eyes flicking away from you, as if he couldn’t bring himself to argue. Maybe because deep down, he knew you were right.

But then, just as the silence between you started to feel unbearable, he spoke again, his voice quieter, but full of conviction.

“Nothing has changed though. Not between us.”

The words lingered in the air, and for the first time in a long while, you didn’t know how to respond. A part of you wanted to believe him, wanted to cling to the idea that no matter what the world threw at you, no matter what Lady Jessica said, you and Paul would always be the same. The same two people who had spent years leaning on each other, who had always been there to catch each other when the ground fell away.

Yet, you knew what Paul’s wishful thinking sounded like more than anyone else. You knew everything about him. And in this moment, you knew he was wrong. No matter how much you both tried to ignore it, the future was closing in around you.

“I should go,” you said quietly, getting up from your seat before he could say or do anything to stop you. “I need to think.”

Paul didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes was enough to keep you rooted in place for just a moment longer, looking down at him. He still looked so young, his eyes so wide. That familiar ache settled in your chest, the same ache that came whenever you thought about what you were trying so hard not to lose.

“I will see you tomorrow,” you said, and with that you left him to sit with the sound of rain drops against glass.

After Jessica’s most pointed lecture, your unease at night, the one you and Paul seemed cursed to be forever plagued by as children of the castle, had only increased. You woke in cold sweat or you did not wake at all – regardless, you stayed in your own bed, never venturing down that familiar path in the hallway. You hugged your knees for comfort. 

You were a proper young woman. As you ought to be.

Nothing could get you and Paul to stop spending time with each other entirely though, not his mother and certainly not complicated feelings. There was already a lot of that flowing around anyway.

Classes, meals, walks around the hallways, the occasional silent moment watching the waves side by side in a large window. Never late-night visits. Never lingering too much, especially not around Jessica. 

She seemed pleased with your development, so you bit your cheek and played the part.

It had been months since either of you crossed that invisible boundary, but the comfort of those nights lingered in your minds, a shared memory you couldn’t quite let go of. One that you held tight on rough nights.

Ironically enough, it was the nights without thunder or storms that you struggled the most. Gripped by fear and horror, you fought through the worst nightmare you had experienced in many years. Mangled bodies, fire and smoke, Paul’s face distorted by sandstorms that you swear you could feel cut into your fragile skin like class.

The scream was lodged in your throat as you shot up, finally able to pull yourself out of the depths of your consciousness of all that has happened and all you fear will. Drowning in sweat and tears, violently trembling all over, you suddenly found yourself on your feet in the cold hallway.

No coherent thoughts were running through your head, just instinct and an intense need to be saved from your own mind. Even in a waking state, you still felt half infused in the nightmare, seeing the scenes when you blink, as if tattooed on your eyelids.

Almost running down the known path, your hand grazing the wall as you went to stabilise yourself. The rational part of your brain told you it wasn’t appropriate, that you should listen to Jessica, you were both too old to be doing this – but you were not in a rational state of mind right now. Right now you were the same scared little girl you have always been, the one you fear you always will be, and you knew what you needed to do to quiet her screams. 

When you reached his door, you paused, your hand hovering over the handle. What if he didn’t want this anymore? What if he would turn you away?

Before you could second-guess yourself further, the door creaked open, and there he was. Paul stood in the doorway, lit up from behind by a single candle on his nightstand. His eyes were wide as he took the sight of you in, but there was no real surprise etched on his face. However, if you weren’t mistaken, you thought you saw relief in it. Like he had been waiting for you, hoping for you to come.

Paul breathed your name out like a ‘thank you’, stepping aside to let you in before you could even speak. His hair was dishevelled, his shirt wrinkled from where he must have been lying awake, staring at the tall ceiling.

You slipped in past him, already feeling some tension leave your body as soon as the door closed behind you. You weren’t sure what to say. Maybe you didn’t need to say anything at all. Letting your eyes meet his, the look on Paul’s face told you everything you needed to know.

Without a word, you moved toward the bed, and Paul followed, his presence a warm, steadying force behind you. He didn’t ask you any questions, he didn’t need to. You both knew that whatever it was, it was enough to bring you here, to him. 

You hesitated for just a moment, feeling the weight of the years between you. When you were children, there had been no second thoughts, no hesitation. But now, voices were creeping in – but you shoved them aside like his blankets, and climbed into his bed.

When Paul slid into bed beside you, everything felt right again.

The tension in your body melted away as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. You could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing, feel the warmth of his skin against yours, and suddenly, the fear that had gripped you moments ago faded into nothing.

You rested your head against his chest, closing your eyes as the last of your tremors subsided. He was your anchor, your constant in a world that was rapidly spinning out of control.

“Are you okay?” Paul finally asked, his voice soft, almost a whisper.

You nodded against him, but your throat felt tight, your words stuck behind the weight of everything unsaid. The nightmare had shaken you more than you wanted to admit, and it wasn’t just about the dark images in your head. It was the fear of losing Paul, of losing the one person who had been by your side for as long as you could remember.

“I’m glad you came,” Paul said quietly. “I wanted to come to you, but—” He trailed off, his hand tightening slightly on your shoulder as if to ground himself.

“I know,” you whispered, finally finding your voice. “I wanted to come sooner.”

There was a pause, and then, after a long moment, Paul’s thumb began tracing slow circles on your arm, his touch gentle but deliberate. It was a gesture of comfort, of familiarity. 

“I’ll always be here,” he murmured, so softly you almost didn’t hear him. “I swear it.”

You opened your eyes and tilted your head up, meeting his gaze in the dim light. His face was serious, his eyes reflecting the weight of the promise he’d just made. For a brief second, you thought he might say more, something you’d been waiting for but weren’t ready to confront. 

Instead, Paul’s expression softened, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, the gesture tender, reassuring. It was something he might have done when you were younger, but now it felt different. It wasn’t just comfort anymore—it was a part of the promise.

Neither of you said anything after that. You simply held each other, letting the quiet settle in. The world outside might have been shifting, changing in ways neither of you could control, but here, in the stillness of the night, there was nothing but you and Paul.

You didn’t know when you fell asleep, only that, for the first time in a long while, you felt safe. And unfortunately, as the next few days would ensure, it was the last time for a long while as well.

***

When Arrakis claimed Duke Leto, it also claimed something inside Paul.

He wasn’t the same after that day. The boy who had been your partner in rebellion, the one who made you laugh even in the darkest of times, had hardened. His grief was silent, buried under layers of duty and survival, but you could see it. It was in the way his hands trembled ever so slightly when he thought no one was looking, the way his eyes had dulled since your arrival on this cursed planet.

In the middle of it all, you felt lost too. You had lost the closest you had to a father figure in Duke Leto, but worse, you were losing Paul—bit by bit, day by day, as he was forced to become someone you struggled to recognise. This was a different kind of nightmare, one you couldn’t wake from.

After growing used to the luxury of Caladan Castle’s beddings, you found yourself huddled with Paul in a small tent in the middle of the desert, the harsh winds of Arrakis howling outside. There was nothing but sand for miles, and for the first time since arriving on this planet, you felt truly untethered from the life you once knew.

Paul sat across from you, his back pressed against the rough fabric of the tent, his face half-shadowed by the faint light from a small glowglobe. His eyes were distant, fixed on something you couldn’t see, something only he could comprehend.

“Paul?” you whispered, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

He didn’t answer at first, but then, slowly, his gaze shifted to you. There was a fragility there that caught you off guard—a vulnerability that reminded you of the boy you used to sneak around the castle with, the one who used to chase away your fears with a single glance.

Without thinking, you moved closer, kneeling in front of him. His breath hitched as you reached out, gently placing one hand on his arm and the other on his cheek. He looked down at your fingers, as if surprised by the touch, before his eyes met yours again.

You wanted to say something, anything at all, to ease his pain. To take some of the burden off his shoulders, even if that meant taking them upon your own. No words felt worthy enough and died in your throat, while the sentiment remained hot on your tongue.

With Arrakis raging around you, you wanted him to feel some sense of security.

“I’m still here,” you whispered, echoing the words he had said to you when you were the one needing the comfort.

For a moment, he just stared at you. Then, with a twitch of his lips, something cracked in his expression, something that had been carefully held in place to keep it all in. Paul’s shoulders sagged, the weight of loss and doom pressing down on him all at once.

He didn’t say anything, but when you shifted closer and pulled him into your arms, he didn’t resist. He simply let you hold him, his head resting against your shoulder, his breath shaky and uneven.

You sat like that for a long time, wrapped in each other’s presence as the storm outside raged on. The world around you was crumbling, but here, in the faux quiet of the tent, there was nothing but the two of you. You didn’t have words for what you were feeling, but it didn’t matter. Paul understood. He always had.

As if the continued touch broke him, Paul made a sound like a tear-less sob, saving water while still drowning in emotion. His arms tightened around you, holding onto you for dear life.

He murmured something against your neck that you couldn’t hear. You made an inquisitive humming sound as you began to stroke his back, coaxing him through his pain.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered. His voice was raw, it sent ripples through your heart. “Please.”

“You won’t,” you promised, your fingers moving up to card through his hair. “I’m not going anywhere, Paul. I’ll be right here with you.”

If he wanted to answer, he couldn’t. Instead he let himself have this moment before facing a world that seemed increasingly too big.

***

Life among the Fremen was harsh, unforgiving, but the two of you had learned to survive. It had been weeks since you arrived in the sietch, and every day felt like a battle—against the elements, against the constant threat of danger, against the growing distance between you and the boy you grew up with.

The desert night was deceptively cool, the air carrying a sharpness that contrasted with the oppressive heat of the day. You stood just outside the sietch, gazing up at the unfamiliar stars that stretched endlessly above the dunes. The sky was clear���almost too clear—so different from the comforting overcast of Caladan, the gentle crash of waves a memory long lost to the wind. You inhaled deeply, trying to ground yourself, but the vastness of the desert made you feel small. Disconnected.

There were few quiet moments here, and you took a deep breath as you were surrounded by it.

“I thought I’d find you here.” 

There was a shuffle of footsteps behind you, soft but deliberate. Without turning, you of course knew it was Paul. He came up behind you, standing slightly to your left so you could see him in your sideview. You leaned back, resting your shoulder on his own.

You smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Paul laughed lowly – some things never change. “Neither could I.”

You shook your head, still staring at the stars. “I don’t know if I’ve had a proper night’s sleep since we left Caladan.”

“I miss the rain,” Paul said quietly. “I never thought I would. I used to complain about it when we were kids.”

You smiled faintly. “Don’t lie, you hated being inside when it rained. You’d drag me out into the mud even when it was pouring.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “Well, you never said no.”

“I never could.”

There was a pause, one that carried the weight of the past few months – Arrakis, the loss of Duke Leto, the constant struggle for survival. The two of you had grown so used to moving, fighting, planning for the next step, that there had been no time to sit with your grief. No time to just be, in the way you only can with each other.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Paul murmured, glancing at you sideways. “How quickly everything changes. A few months ago, we were on Caladan, complaining about studies, sneaking into each other’s rooms like we always used to... and now–”

“We’re here,” you finished for him, your voice quieter. “In the middle of the desert.”

Paul’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, and you felt the weight of his gaze. You’d been through so much together, seen so much of each other, in ways no one else had. Yet there was still a distance between you now, a hesitation that hadn’t been there when you were younger. 

It was as though you both knew you were standing on the edge of something, but neither of you dared to cross it.

“I was thinking...” Paul started, his voice trailing off. He looked away, frowning slightly as if choosing his words carefully. “Would it be... strange if you stayed with me tonight? Just for comfort, I mean.”

Your heart skipped, somehow caught off guard by the question. There had been so many nights, both as children and as teenagers, where you had found solace in each other’s company. Whether from nightmares, from stress, or simply because being apart felt wrong.

“Not strange, anyone would need a bit of comfort in our situation,” you tried at humour before looking back at him with soft eyes. 

He didn’t say anything, seemingly trapped between his thoughts. Usually when you spend the night together lately it was because of difficult emotions. You open the door for him to talk about his feelings.

“Are you– are you okay?” you asked, searching his face for the answer. 

Paul was always the one holding everything together, always taking on the weight of his responsibilities without complaint. But tonight, standing under the cold desert sky, he seemed tired. Tired in a way that went beyond just sleepless nights.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he looked out over the dunes, his expression unreadable, though the subtle tightening of his jaw told you he was wrestling with something.

“I’ve been thinking about my father,” he finally said, his voice thick with the grief he rarely let slip. “About everything he wanted for me. For us. How he wanted me to be a ruler who led with compassion, but how can I...?” He trailed off, swallowing hard, and you could see the battle raging behind his eyes.“I don’t know if I can be what he wanted.”

Your heart ached at his words. You had always known Paul felt the weight of his future, but you hadn’t realised how deeply it cut. Stepping closer, you touched his arm lightly, drawing his attention back to you.

“You already are,” you said softly. “Even in the middle of all this, Paul, you haven’t lost that part of yourself. Your father would see that.”

He exhaled shakily, meeting your gaze, and for a moment, it felt like the world fell away. There was a vulnerability there, one he rarely let show. It made something inside you shift, as though the careful lines you had mentally drawn to protect yourself, to keep things unchanged between you, were suddenly blurring.

“I’m just afraid of losing more,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Of losing everyone I care about. Losing you.”

The words settled heavily in the space between you, a truth that had always lingered but was now undeniable. You were no longer just childhood friends. You were no longer just companions trying to survive. There was a throne in your heart, and on it, Paul was more than just a duke. 

“You won’t lose me,” you said firmly, turning towards him and stepping even closer. “You couldn’t. I’m here, Paul, I’ve always been here.”

Paul stared at you, his expression shifting into something you couldn’t quite place. His eyes softened, the hard edges that had been carved into him by grief and duty melting away, if only for a moment. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at you now, something that had been building for years but had never quite been said aloud.

“You don’t understand,” Paul whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I can’t lose you. Not just because you’re the last piece of Caladan I have left... but because I—”

He stopped, his throat working as if the words were too hard to say. But you knew what he meant. You’d always known, hadn’t you? 

Paul took a step closer, the last step separating his body from yours. His hand lifted to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers lingered at the base of your neck, and you were sure he could feel the rapid beat of your heart in your pulsepoint. It echoed the weight of what he wasn’t saying. 

“You can say it,” you whispered, your voice trembling, though you weren’t sure if it was from fear or anticipation.

Paul’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he looked like he was on the verge of stepping back, of retreating into that familiar space where he could hide from the truth. But then his palm made contact with the side of your neck, and he leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours. Breathing in deeply, slowly.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words tumbling out like a secret he had been holding onto for too long. “I have loved you for so long, and I didn’t even realise it. But now, I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.”

Your heart stuttered at the confession, your breath catching in your throat. It wasn’t a declaration shouted from the rooftops, it wasn’t a grand, romantic gesture. It was quiet, real, the kind of love that had grown slowly over years, woven into every shared moment, every laugh, every late-night conversation.

“And I love you,” you whispered back, the words barely audible in the quiet of the desert night. “You’re my best friend, my person. You must know that.”

Paul let out a soft, almost relieved breath, his hand moving up to cup your cheek as he tilted your face up to meet his. There was a question in his eyes, one he didn’t need to ask. You answered it by leaning in, lips barely brushing against his, before he closed the final gap with the gentlest of kisses. He was tentative, as though testing the waters of something new, something fragile but real.

It was a kiss that felt like a promise.

It lingered, even when he pulled back ever so slowly, resting his forehead back against yours. 

You both stood there in the quiet, the weight of the desert and the night around you, but the tension between you finally dissipating through your touches.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Paul whispered again, his voice steady this time, though the vulnerability was still there, just beneath the surface.

“I will stay with you every night, if that would make you happy.” There was no hesitation in your voice or your heart. Just love.

A smile spread on his face before he pressed it against your lips in another kiss. Searing, caring, passionate. This was the closest you have seen him to his old boyish self, always happy to bask in your presence.

Letting his hand travel down to find yours, he interlaced your fingers and pulled you back into the sietch.

His room was small, barely big enough for the both of you, a stark contrast to your conditions at Caladan. But as you lay down beside each other, it didn’t matter, you were glad for the excuse to keep him even closer. Paul wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly, and for the first time since Arrakis had stolen everything from you, you felt safe. Safe in the knowledge that whatever came next, whatever trials the desert or the universe had in store, you wouldn’t face them alone.

As you lay in his arms, your head resting against his chest, you whispered, “We’ll get through this, Paul. Together.”

Paul’s grip tightened around you, and you could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

“We will,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Not ever.”

“And I you. No matter what, my love.”

Warmth spread across Paul’s face at the name. He thought, with sleep beginning to cloud his mind, that though there are many uncomfortable changes – that is one he will happily accept. 

For the first time in weeks, you both fell asleep easily, wrapped in the comfort of each other, and the quiet promise of the love that had finally, after all these years, been released into dry air.

[kitkio]

Caregiver Tips : BedTime ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

Create a Schedule!!

Schedules can be very helpful for little ones to get into and say in the groove of bedtime. It can also be helpful if you find yourself not know what to do most night.

Creating an actual Bed-time for bedtime is something I consider important. It doesn’t have to be strict nor does it have to be required though setting a structured though flexible time for your little to head to bed is a good idea !

I don’t suggest any times past 11:00pm though that’s up for you and your little to decide.

A few ideas for Bedtime,

Bath Before Bed ! Not only do baths help to stay clean but it can also be a fun, calming time for little ones

Bed Time Snack. In my personal experience bedtime snacks can be very helpful. Nothing too big because you don’t want the little one to have an upset stomach ! ( You can also treat the snack like a little reward before bed )

StoryTime. You can pick up a nice child friendly book to read your little one to sleep. It’s a safe, calming, and enjoyable activity before bed.

Situational Advice !

Nightmares

Your little woke up from a nightmare ? That can be quite scary for them.

Don’t get upset with your little for being awake. This should be obvious but getting upset with a little for something like this isn’t okay and will only make the situation harder for both of you.

If they’re feeling up to it take a moment to talk about the nightmare with them, get some water, overall show them that they’re safe with you.

Pouty Little having a tantrum at bedtime

Check in to see if there’s any specific reason for it. Wether it’s about being hungry, hurt, or just not wanting to go to bed the reason can be very helpful.

Ease the little to bed. Maybe put on some calming music or a show you think your little could relax while watching.

Explain to them why sleep is important, that you care about them and why you want them to go to sleep in a way they’ll understand.

Different things work for different people and that works the same with littles. If this stuff doesn’t work or you feel they’re better ways to do it for your situation than go ahead !

DNI: NSFW, NonSfw Agere, DDLG, Ageplay, Anti-Agere, Anti-Petre.

[gingerteawrites]

BY THE HEARTH: LEAP

A/N: I can't even justify why it took me so long 🏃🏾‍♂️🏃🏾‍♂️. My apologies guys, but I do hope you enjoy this chapter. Have a fun read. Previous part here

Content: Royalty!AU, Nanami x female reader, king Nanami, Princess Y/N, Widower Nanami, Toddler Yuuji, hurt, angst. Not beta read

Word count: ~2.6K

Banner by @cafekitsune

ACT VII

Walking out of the grand reception felt more than refreshing. The excitement of the party quieting down to a buzz in the background, and the fresh evening air filling your lungs. Events like these always seemed to be succeeded by a lingering sense of fatigue, which settled over Nanami’s shoulders. He sighed. Having to entertain people for so long was nothing short of draining, even for an experienced king.

Albeit feeling a bit guilty, he had started using the excuse of having to take his son to bed as an escape from the endless drag of various festivities. His evening ritual with Yuuji was one of the things that helped him recenter. Remind him of his priority, his child.

But tonight, there was an intruder. A beautiful one at that. He hated to admit it, the rational part of the king’s mind told him it was but a fact. He tried so hard to ignore the way your skin glistened under the warm lights, or the way your pretty eyes sparkled when you smiled down at Yuuji.

Stop looking. He chastised himself in vain. His eyes always seemed to find their way to you throughout the evening.

As soon as you had stepped into the night air, Yuuji had insisted on holding hands with you. And he now merrily swung your intertwined fingers back and forth, skipping as he stepped in tow with the two adults.

“Are you very tired?” He asked, looking up at you. “You should wash up before bed.” He prescribed, giving advice with a serious expression.

You nodded obediently, matching his expression. “Yes, of course.” Closing you eyes solemnly, you added “But I cannot seem to find sleep some nights.”

“Papa always reads to me before bed!” Yuuji exclaimed, turning towards his father for the first time since he had linked hands with you. The child proceeded to go on about all the bedtime stories he likes, giving a long list of recommendations and why you should enjoy each.

Even more than your beauty, Nanami hated to admit how his son’s openness with you warmed his heart. Apart from himself, Alma and the head of the knights, the child was merely polite with other people. He could not quite place why Yuuji felt so comfortable to share his likes and dislikes with you, but grew fascinated with the scene unfolding before him.

He listened to the quiet conversation between the two of you, almost in your own bubble. Spring was announcing itself more pronouncedly, the cool air carrying the delicate fragrance of blooming flowers. You passed the gardens you had visited on your first day in the palace, noting the way the tulips were starting to show their colorful petals, still bundled up in their buds.

The trio finally reached the wing of the castle that held the royal chambers, your first time in the more secluded area. The walls that lined the walkway were low but had carved vines that snaked their way along the winding path, mimicking the vines that hung onto the walls.

Now standing in front of his son’s quarters, Nanami hesitated to push the door open for a beat. You were not meant to be in this space. Having you in here was past his comfort zone. But he could not muster the strength to tear the boy away from you now. Not when Yuuji clung to you like you were the only person he could see then. The king pushed the heavy door open, stepping aside for the two of you could enter.

To his surprise, you did not make a move to enter but instead bent down so that you matched the child’s height.

“It’s time to say goodbye, my prince.” Your hand rested on his shoulder. “I need to go put all of your advice into action.”  The boy’s lips turned; disappointment evident in his features. He wanted to argue. For you to stay longer, but your touch somehow placated him.

“We can talk about the story you read next time?” He asked softly, to which you nod, feeling your heartstrings getting tugged at “Of course. And you tell me about yours, alright?”

The maid who was tasked with taking care of Yuuji in the evenings, materialized in the space as soon as she noticed your little party, moving to get things ready for bed. You stood back up, giving the child a last smile and ready to turn around when Nanami’s words stop you.

“Wait here for a minute, please.” He requested, then grabbing the boy’s hand and walking him to the small couch inside the spacious room.

The king crouched down, sitting the boy and him take off his leather shoes before looking into his eyes.

“I am sorry, Yuuji, I won’t be able to read to you tonight.” He holds his cheek. “I need to make sure she gets back safely.”

Yuuji smiled, his lids now heavy with fatigue he had been trying to conceal. “Is she my new mama?” The boy asked softly, leaning into his father’s touch.  The simple words shook Nanami to his core, stunned into silence by the boy’s words. It took him a few seconds to find his words, thoughts running wild with the idea that Yuuji wanted a mother. Was he not enough? Had he failed as a father?

He moved his hand to squeeze his son’s gently “Would you like that?” He asked quietly, setting everything all the conflicting emotions in his heart apart to listen to his child. “For her to be your mama?”

Everything he had done since Yuuji was born had been for the child’s sake. So, for his sake, he would listen.

Yuuji’s drowsy body leaned against his father, and he replied with a mumbled “Yes, papa.”

It was with a heavy heart that Nanami left the room, finding you standing in the spot he had asked you to wait in. Guilt gnawed at his insides. By closing himself off, he had deprived his son of maternal love. Something he had not realized that the child craved until now. God had he tried to be the best father possible. Encouraging every interest. Making time for him. Being loving in ways his own parents had failed to.

But it’s not enough. I was not enough

Your eyes finally met, and he knew you saw the slight sadness that his eyes carried before he had the chance to school his expression back to its usual passivity. Too close. You felt way too close.

“I will escort you back to your quarters.” Were the only words he offered, stepping beside you as he started leading the way back to what you now realized must have been the guest wing of the castle.

The walk back was silent. Uncomfortably so. At least with Yuuji, you were mostly successful in ignoring the imposing presence of the king. Whose eyes you had noticed had not strayed far from you. But now, tension was taut.

A cool breeze blew over your exposed shoulders, causing your skin to erupt on goosebumps and a slight shiver to rattle you. Before you could even begin to mentally chastise yourself about not thinking about a shawl, you felt the softness of the king’s velvet cape fully engulf you. You looked up to him with wide eyes, finding him already facing ahead, as if nothing happened.

“Thank you,” was a quiet whisper between you two as you branched into a smaller hallway that opened into the guest wing of the palace.

He wanted to tell you that you should have worn something warmer, but he didn’t. It would have been dishonest to say anything but a compliment about the way you looked. You finally reached the door to your room, but the king did not make any move to leave, and neither did you open the door. Instead, you took a deep breath, as if to brace yourself and faced him.

“I want to apologize for the way the evening ended,” you bit the inside of your cheek recalling the almost-fall. “I promise that it will not happen again.”

If I am ever invited out again. A part of your mind screamed at you.

“It is alright, it was an accident. Accidents happen.” He shook his head “I know the invitation was on a very short notice and it must have been hard to prepare for the evening.” He added, causing the tension to dissipate with a sense of relief. The more time you spent with him, the less he felt like that cold man you had met on your wedding day. While the king was definitely not a warm person, he had shown care and a modicum of respect for you tonight. And that was enough to make you respect him in return.

You bowed your head, ready to excuse yourself when you felt his fingers close gently around your arm. You looked up with curious eyes. “I want to make your stay here more comfortable,” He began, his eyes locked with yours. “Speak with Alma and pick out some ladies-in-waiting.” You bowed again, taken aback by the offer.

“Thank you, your majesty.” He had finished speaking, but his hand lingered on your arm. He did not let go yet, and you stood there, awaiting whatever came next with bated breath. A few moments pass in silence.

“And…” He took a deep breath, “Would it be alright if you made time to spend with Yuuji?” He asked, and despite the calm of his tone, you noticed the slight tension in his brow. The way his body seemed to be wound up tight with what seemed like nervousness? apprehension? Was he worried you would say no? Did he even want to make the request?

You smiled up at him, the urge to reassure him overpowering any sense of propriety. Using your hand, you gently peeled his from where it rested on your arm and covered it with both of your hands.

“Of course, I would love to. Yuuji is such a wonderful child, and I must commend you for the wonderful job you did raising him.” You squeezed his hand in yours, your eyes holding his gaze.

Something flashed across the king’s features, and he looked down at your joint hands, breathing out his relief. His eyes found yours once more, and you swore you could make out  the ghost of a smile on his lips. His features held a raw honesty, and you decided to commit the moment to memory, uncertain about if a moment like this would ever present itself again.

“Thank you,” was a quiet whisper between you two as you finally parted for the night.

When you opened your eyes the next morning, the light filtering in through the thick drapes did not feel quite as offensive as it had the days before. You rose with a warm feeling in your heart. A foreign peace that enveloped you. For once, you actually looked forward to the day.

By the state of the empty room, you knew that you had managed to wake before Alma diligently came in every morning to get you ready. The idea of having your own ladies-in-waiting lifted your spirits high. Finally, company that wouldn’t just cajole or serve you. The mere prospect brought a smile to your face.

You swung your legs off the bed, rolling your neck in a gentle stretch. Without thinking, your fingers reached for your nightstand, letting the soft velvet fabric of the king’s cape caress your skin. He wanted you to be Yuuji’s mother. And that despite the strong hesitation you had noted behind his features. Your mind returned to the small fragments of the story you knew about the dead queen.

Maybe that is why I am here, after all.

You had time to open the windows and freshen up before Alma knocked at the door, letting herself and the usual horde of maids in to dress you for the day. For once, the group did not move in dull silence. In fact, it seemed that even the maids who usually met you with cold indifference and apprehension had suddenly warmed up to you. They engaged in light chatter, suggesting jewelry that would complement your skin, and asking if you wanted to try a new menu for the spring.

Being perceived as close to the king sure did have its perks. Somehow, you had graduated from complete outsider to an actual member of the royal family in a way.

The rest of the day was spent carding through the files of various high-born ladies for the task of accompanying you. You mostly went with the head maid’s recommendations, trusting the small descriptions Alma gave you of each possible candidate. You were unsurprised about her clear disapproval of Mei, the sharp-tongued lady who had questioned you at the ball. And seemed pleased when you insisted on having the lady whose name you remembered to be Shoko in your entourage.

Having gone through the extensive list of possible candidates, you had picked out three ladies from the lot and insisted on penning them letters personally requesting their assistance. Afternoon tea and a light lunch was served by the time you were done, which was spend with stories of your home to Riko, the young maid who had wandered in with the food and the others.

The warmth that had woken you up carried you through the rest of the day. This place was starting to feel less and less like a cage, and you could not be more grateful, reminding yourself of horror stories that often followed political marriages. Soon after you finished eating, you decided to stretch your legs with a little walk in the garden, and Alma kept close to you.

“His majesty the king informed me of the request he made,” she spoke in a calm voice, pace matching yours.

“Regarding Yuuji?” You looked at her, and she replied with a nod.

“The young prince’s days are quite full. With his tutoring and other things,” She explained, “But we can arrange something depending on what you want.”

“I do not want to disrupt his usual flow of activities,” You paused by a tulip whose petals were wide open, caressing the soft tissue with your finger. “How about we ask him when he would like to spend some time with me?” You returned with a smile.

And so it was decided that you were to spend your early afternoons with Yuuji a few times a week, who explained that it was the best time to be outside. The boy was ecstatic when he learned of this new arrangement, and all but launched himself into your arms on that first afternoon together. You spent the time back at the library where your first day together had ended, cooped up on the smooth sofa, reading about his most peculiar interests.

Soon after, you received letters from your now ladies-in-waiting thanking you for your request and found yourself spending a few times a week holding tea parties with the small group, learning about the kingdom and its high society in a way that books could never cue you to.

Getting used to this life was becoming easy. Falling into the rhythm of your days reading, conversing with the ladies that were starting to become friends and playing with Yuuji in the afternoons. But you could not help but notice those brief instances when your path crossed with your husband. The king kept those moments nothing but polite. Like when Yuuji would drag the both of you into an activity, or when he would pass by the garden where you sat during a walk. He would greet you with a bow of his head, but the way his eyes lingered on you always made you want to squirm. The intensity of his gazes had started to ignite something in you. A longing for more of those chance encounters. A hope for maybe something more.

Is it bad to dream for something more?

As always, please let me know what you think! Sorry again for making y'all wait so long :((

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated (❁´◡`❁)

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@bopsigles @flaneur002 @evans-dejong @ladygojooo @bl3333h

@lazypostfandomer

[its-in-the-woods]

Down the Rabbit Hole Chapter 6

Chapter one here, two here, three here, four here , five here

Pairing: Walton Goggins x You

Rating/Warning:  As always minor get out.  Little angst, lots of fluff, handholding,kissing, Very Fluffy, Pinch of Angst, Relationship Development, Hurt/Comfort, Older man/ Younger(30s) women, Alternative universe, fictional work (IDK WHY BUT I AM PUTTING IT) Probably more as I go.

Synopsis: Working in film as a make-up artist is hard enough, but then Walton Goggins requests you, well it's way too easy to fall down the rabbit hole.

Note: they are both single, all for fun.

I think I may have an ending now. Posts will continue to be 2-3k long. Every other day more than likely. The whole fic will be around 30k words.

Thank you all again and again for taking the time to read the stories I put out.

***

Your phone hasn’t stopped buzzing, your head is a little fuzzy but not nearly as bad as you’d experienced. Opening your eyes you flip the phone over to see it’s nearly twelve-thirty in the afternoon. Blinking a few times you make yourself sit up in bed flipping your phone on to see a deluge of text messages. Groaning you turn your phone off and stretch. Before any messages were answered you need coffee and maybe a shower. 

Showered and suitably caffeinated you finally flip open the text messages. 

Trevor: 

9 am: So what happened?

9:1 5:Hello?

9:30: Look do I need to call the police?

10:30: It’s been hours….

10:32: You never texted me when you got home

11:01: Okay it’s after eleven. You never sleep in. 

12:45: I am coming over in thirty minutes if I don’t hear from you. 

You reply:

I am fine, I just got home super late. I hope you’re not coming over

Trevor:

You scared me! 

Why didn’t you text me back?

How late were you out

Wait did you go back to his place?????

You groan squeezing your eyes close and drinking a healthy swig of coffee.

You: 

We went for sushi, then went down to the beach. 

Trevor:

That’s all you're giving me! What kinda 1950s dating scene is this?

You chuckle replying:

We stayed at the beach until 3 am. 

Trevor: Wait did you have sex on the beach

You:

TREVOR! 

Trevor:

It’s an important question. Don’t want to find out on the gossip train.

You:

why can’t I have nice things TREVOR. No there was no sex in PUBLIC, we kissed and held hands. Can I not do that????

Trevor: Are you secretly asexual? There is nothing wrong with that. I think it’s romantic. 

You:

I am going to become asexual if it means you stop asking me these questions. 

You could almost hear him laughing at you. 

Trevor:

You like it! 

You snorted and switched messages.

Walton: 

10 am: Hey beautiful, wanted to check in. See how you’re doing this morning. 

11 am: I was wondering about maybe going out to bar a city over next Friday? 

11:10 am: Promise I am not trying to kidnap you.

12:20 pm:  Thought you never slept in?

You:

Hey handsome, sorry I actually slept in. Kept me out past my bedtime.

I would love to go out with you next Friday, fingers crossed they don’t keep us late

You set your phone down, pondering if you still trusted the milk in the fridge to make pancakes. Getting up you get a refill of coffee, phone buzzing. 

Walton: 

If they do we can always go out saturday? Can’t be keeping you up so late. Got make sure you can keep up with this old man. 

You:

Oh I am sure I can keep up with you 😉

Walton:

Careful little lady, I might have to come by and test that theory.

Your face goes bright red and that heat coils low in your belly. 

You: Promises, promises, 

Walton:

If I didn’t have a zoom meeting in ten minutes 😠

You:

Maybe next Friday. 

You’re not sure why you’ve become a tease, but you’re enjoying winding him up. 

Walton:

Monday will be more like it.

You:

😜 Your trailer or mine.

Walton: 

Yours just so Trevor will stop texting me.

You let out a laugh, seemed like Trevor was also enjoying winding him up. You spend the rest of the day chatting with both of them. Sunday is a bit quieter, more zoom calls for Walt and Trevor had gone to Decon’s. 

*** Monday goes by in a blur, Walton keeps his hands to himself when others are around. But it doesn’t stop him from following you behind the food tent to steal kisses. You are now sporting a permanent flush and some of your co-workers are raising eyebrows. You are ever grateful that Trevor has kept his mouth shut. Liz is as pissy as ever but seems to be letting it lay. Katie has slowly warmed up to you again, why you weren’t sure. 

The rest of the week is pretty similar. Early mornings bleed into later evenings, the endless weeks have worn on you. Then Walton slides into your chair with his latest story and you feel like a weight is lifted off of you. The man once more touches you gently and gives you lingering cheek kisses as he goes over to set or costumes.   

Friday night rolls around and it’s going to be a long one. You fiddle with a few of your brushes when the door opens quickly. 

“We are being released. There was a fire on stage, and it looks like we are out at least until Monday,” Liz rolls in looking flustered, her normal perfect facade gone. She looks haggard and frazzled. 

“There was a fire on set?” You ask sitting up and feeling much more awake. Panic shoots down the back of your neck.

“Yep, green sparky left a light on too close to set.” Liz sat in the chair grabbing cleaner. You had stayed in the trailer to start tucking things away as Walton was off-screen for the first three setups. You are out the door before she has time to say more. You stop at costumes knocking at the door. 

Rebeccas opens it and looks down at you, she looks flustered but still has a smile on. “Hey, I am guessing you heard about the fire?”

“Yes, I did,” You say trying not to sound panicked, even though your mind is racing. The thought of him being hurt makes you nauseous. “Umm -is.”

Rebecca looks into the trailer, “Walt. You almost done in there?” There is a bunch of commotion going on in the trailer, with people moving back and forth, and different actors in various stages of undress.

You looked at her puzzled at how she knew you were looking for him. 

Rebecca turns back to you, “He never shuts up about you, so figured that’s why you are here,” She replies, and you immediately feel flustered, clearly rumors are moving again. 

“Oh- umm- Yeah. I just wanted to make sure he was okay.”

Walton pops his head above Rebecca his fingers nimbly button up his shirt. “Be right out.”

You blush and look away, “Sorry, I should probably go.”

Rebeca waved her hand at you, “Your secret is safe with me,” she winked. You wonder not for the first time if you were the only one who was never included in the rumor mill. 

Walton pops down the stairs, and has on grey button-up sleeves rolled up, navy wash jeans. He tilts his head when he looks at you. You let out a sigh seeing him unscathed. 

“You okay?” He asks, his hand touching your shoulder. You nod your head, turning to walk back towards the makeup trailer. You really don’t want to make a scene right now, there were way too many eyes on you both right now. 

“I know I said we should go to the bar tonight,” Walton says, his fingers brushing against yours. You try not to grab his hands, just to know he is still there. “But maybe we should get take out at my place?”

You get to the trailer, unable to stop looking around. He looks right at you, the way he could focus on you was both flattering and unnerving. Especially as you are trying to keep things under wraps. 

“Have to stop and grab a few things first.” You say trying to keep your voice from carrying. “Have you pick me up again?”

He smiles, “I would pick you up any day.”

You are bright red, as you open the door and follow the man into the trailer. 

***

A large paper bag of Chinese food was acquired, along with a couple of bottles of wine. You both devest at the door, slipping off your shoes, and placing the wine on the counter. You watch him move around the kitchen. Practice ease, you watch his muscles move under his shirt. You were tired as anything but being in his kitchen, waiting to eat greasy Chinese food couldn’t have been more perfect. 

You grab plates from him, laying out the smorgasbord board of different food. The two of you scooped a little of everything, before sitting down at the table and pouring some wine. 

“I feel like I should apologize for having you over instead of going out somewhere,” Walton says taking a sip of wine. “I don’t want you to think I am taking advantage of you being here.”

You chuckle, “Don’t know what you mean Mr. Goggins. I thought you invited me to your place to play some chess and listen to swing jazz.”

Walton nearly loses his food at the comment, his hand covering his mouth. “Swing jazz? How old do you think I am?”

“Oh you got to be at least in your seventies,” You tease back taking a bite out of your spring roll. 

Walton coughs, “I didn’t realize you where into grandfathers.”

You choke a little, “Well to be fair,” You wave your hand, “I am usually good with trying anything once.” 

Walton sips on his wine eyebrows raised, “Anything?”

You nod your head, a smile spreading across your face. “Can’t say I don’t like it unless I try it.”

He puts his glass down, watching you carefully as you finish your cup. “I could make some coffee while we clean up.”

You grab his plate stacking it with your own as he grabs the glasses. You two make it over to the kitchen, there is tension in the air as you clean things up. He grabs a French press out of the cupboards aswell as some coffee and cups.

You slide over to the counter and sit on top of it. Feet kicking back and forth as you watch the man ready things.  Flicking the kettle on to heat the water. He comes over and moves himself in between your legs.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” He whispers, placing hands on either side of your hips. Face inches from you.

You wrap your hands lazily over his shoulders, opening your legs to let him in closer. 

“No, you haven't today.” You lean in to kiss him, kissing him will never get old.

“You are stunning.” He whispers against your ear. Sending shivers down your spine. The kettle clicks and he's moving away from you. You watch him pour grinds and then water into the press. 

“Why did you wait so long to ask?” You inquire, moving your feet back and forth. Letting yourself briefly wonder if maybe the question was too forward.  

He turned to look at you, bottom lip caught in his teeth. “Umm-”  

Leaving the coffee he came over to you. Cheeks slightly pink, he tucked his hair behind his ear. 

“I - ahh. I didn't think you'd want to go out with me.” 

Your mouth falls open, “Are you serious?”

He shrugs, fingers fiddling with the outer seam of your jeans. You take his hand in yours using the moment to drag him back between your legs. Once he is there, you tip Walton’s head up to look right at you.

“You're so dumb,” You grin leaning in to kiss him. He chuckles and leans into the kiss, strong arms wrapping around you. “I am also dumb, 'cause I thought the same thing about you.”

Walton pulls back looking at you, eyebrows scrunched. “Didn't you just call me dumb? Seems like we both may have missed the sign somewhere along the way.”

You grin one hand finding its way to rub along his jawline. “Took us long enough.”

He smiled, “Trevor is never going to let us live this down.”

You let out a groan, “He is beyond impossible. I am gonna have a small textbook of text messages.”

Walton’s eyes glint, and he pulls his phone out. “Why don't we give him an update.”

You can't help but laugh, “Oh absolutely!” 

Walton flips his phone on turning on the camera he flips it to the two of you. You lean in and kiss him deeply as he clicks the button. The phone is placed on the counter as you wrap your legs around his waist. You pull out a deep moan that rumbles out of his chest when you bite at his bottom lip. It doesn't stop you from pushing your tongue in. Rocking your hips a little, the room feels hot. 

Walton pulls away, breathless, “If you keep doing that, I am liable to forget about our coffee.”

You let out a sigh, “I suppose a little coffee couldn't won't hurt.” You unwrap yourself from him. 

He moves down the counter as you slide off it. He mixes your coffee just the way you like it, handing you the cup as he fixes his own. You wait, watching him work, he turns and gestures toward the living room. You make your way over to the couch.  

Folding yourself up on the end of the sofa, tucking one leg underneath the other. You sip on the coffee, it is delicious and beats any store bought. Walton comes over and sits beside you, taking a long sip of his drink. Looking out the windows you can see part of downtown and the north shore. The lights still dazzling, as the evening wore on. 

“I know, before, I said I wasn’t sure you would want to go out with me,” He said looking out at the window as he spoke. “I tried, unsuccessfully to give you space. But the further I got away the more I missed being near you. Then when we went out for sushi, it all just kinda clicked. This isn’t conventional.” He gestures between the two of you. You hold your cup listening intently. 

“I am, ahh, older than you. And my life is not exactly straightforward. I don’t take relationships lightly, not that this is that. Or.” You can’t suppress the smile as he tries to explain himself. “I am terrible at this. I don’t want to move too fast, but also. I can’t stop thinking about you.” 

You put your cup down, and gesture for him to come closer. He places his cup down beside yours and moves over. Patting your lap, he slips down and lays his head on your lap. You run your hands through his hair, his eyes close and he hums softly against your legs. 

“I can’t tell you what's going to happen,” You say softly, “I am also not good at this, but I am willing to try. However fast or slow you want to go. As for the age thing, I don’t care, it’s never bothered me.” 

Walton’s breath slows and his hand slips under your thigh holding you close. You sit there a while longer, letting him just relax against you. Again you are struck by how simple it is, to just sit here with a warm cup of coffee and the city lights. You could get used to weekends like this. But as always he is moving sitting up and smoothing out his hair, grabbing his cup of coffee and taking a sip. 

“Would you like to come to bed with me?” He asks, you turn away from the lights. His eyes fixed on you, not hungry but curious. 

“I would like that a lot,” You say licking your lips and heart pounding in your chest. 

Walton stands up offering you a hand, which you take, pulling yourself to your feet. The coffee is left on the table as you follow him. Fingers laced together like they are two puzzle pieces. You pass by the guest room and there is a door at the end of the hallway. He opens it and you walk into the large room. There are floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the sea, a large king-sized bed on a wooden platform. The room is sparse, with two side tables with lamps. A large walk-in closet to your left along with a bathroom beside it. You wonder for a moment how often he has brought others back here. The thought lingers in the back of your mind as you wander over to sit on the edge of the bed. Walton has disappeared into the bathroom.

“I think I have another toothbrush in here,” He calls out, poking his head around the corner. 

You smile and move towards him, “I thought you wanted to take things slow?”

He’s blushing again and handing you the unopened toothbrush, “I–I umm. Just figure I’d offer.” 

You move into the bathroom grabbing some toothpaste off the counter and leaning against it, “I appreciate it, besides don’t want to have coffee breath. Would you happen to have makeup wipes?”

Walton thinks for a moment before he scoots you out of the way, as you brush your teeth. He pops up with a bottle of cleanser and a fresh hand towel. “I knew I had it here somewhere.”

You grin and thank him, he brushes his teeth before disappearing again. You take the moment to clean off your face and neck. Looking into the mirror you got a permanent smile on your face. Letting out a happy sigh you finish up, telling yourself not to put the cart in front of the horses. You walk out and Walton is standing there shirtless, blinds drawn. He slips into a grey cotton t-shirt, that you currently hate, and black sweatpants. Sensing you staring he turns around to see you. 

Chapter seven

*tiny cliffhanger. I always need at least one 😜*

*As always if you'd like to be tagged let me know! *

*reblogs, likes, and comments appreciated! *

[tklpilled]

lullabies

freminet often feels detached from the world.

it’s all he knows how to be. in the house of the hearth, there’s no room for error. he has to be strong. he can’t have any weaknesses.

(he does. he has lots of them. he cries when it rains sometimes, he freezes under extreme pressure. he’s just a pathetic child, deep down.)

so he’s built up walls, so many, too many for even him to count, and even if someone, somehow, manages to break through one, they aren’t even close to knowing him. he likes it that way. he hates when attention is on him. he doesn’t want to be known.

(yes he does. he’s so, so lonely.)

he’s not weak. how can he be, with so much protection?

(he whispers those words to himself late at night, trying to convince whoever may be listening.)

but when he’s underwater, things feel a little less overwhelming. he can forget about it all, even if just for a few minutes. the creatures down there don’t want to hurt him. they aren’t going to abandon him.

(and yet father is still here, and lyney and lynette. he’s slowly starting to wonder if, maybe, they mean it when they say they’ll stay. after all, they’ve gotten past most of his meticulously crafted walls. someone who doesn’t care wouldn’t spend all that effort on him, would they?)

freminet is on the couch one gloomy day, watching pers toddle around the room, when lyney suddenly sits beside him, throwing his arms around his shoulders.

“what’s wrong, dear freminet?” is all he asks. 

freminet hums, closing his eyes. he feels himself beginning to lean into the touch, but he quickly stops himself. “…i’m fine,” he says.

lyney sighs. “come on, there’s no use lying. i can see right through you.”

“nothing’s wrong.” it’s mostly true. it’s not that nothing is wrong, it’s just that he doesn’t know what’s wrong. he gets days like this a lot.

“cheer up,” lyney says with a poke to his side, seemingly realising he won’t get any answers. freminet flinches, tensing up. “oh?”

freminet blinks up at his older brother, confused. lyney pokes him again, as if that explains anything. freminet jumps again.

ah. he sees where this is going.

“freminet,” lyney starts, a smile growing on his face. “are you ticklish?”

“no,” answers freminet immediately.

more fingers start prodding at his sides, making freminet squirm almost uncomfortably. “are you sure—”

“i’m not ticklish,” freminet says, a bit more forcefully than he had intended, then shrinks in on himself.

lyney blinks. “o-oh,” he says, and despite the situation, freminet feels a twinge of pride at knowing he’s managed to make lyney stutter. “my apologies, i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

freminet stares down at his hands in his lap. “i’m not weak,” he mumbles, not looking up.

“hm?” lyney tilts his head, as though he hadn’t heard correctly.

freminet squeezes his eyes shut. “it’s a weakness. i…don’t like it. i’m not weak.”

he knows it’s a silly thing to say, especially knowing that lyney himself is ticklish, too. the difference, though, is that lyney is so much stronger, it hardly has any effect on his skill. but freminet…

he’s not strong enough. he can’t afford something as childish as being ticklish.

(he feels even more embarrassed about it knowing that this is lyney, the same person who has read him fairytales and acted out sappy bedtime stories for him; things that are arguably more childish.)

ugh. he wants to put his diving helmet on and hide for days.

“freminet,” lyney begins, sounding a bit amused. it only makes freminet want to hide even more. “being ticklish doesn’t make you weak. it’s fun, between people who care about each other.”

freminet knows he’s right, but still…

“i won’t tickle you if you don’t want me to,” lyney continues, “but please, don’t say things like that. you’re not weak, alright?”

freminet is quiet for a long time. lyney stays put the whole time.

“…is it really fun?” freminet asks finally, in such a tiny voice that he’s surprised lyney can understand it.

his brother laughs. “i suppose, for some people. it depends who you ask, i guess.”

freminet thinks to when he was younger—to when his mother would tickle him on occasion, to when he would watch his friends get into tickle fights and how he would smile along with them even though they weren’t touching him. he thinks about watching lyney and lynette tickle each other, and suddenly the gloominess in his chest is replaced by longing, so strong it’s almost painful.

“okay,” he whispers. “you can. tickle me. if you want.”

he regrets those words as soon as they leave his mouth—what if lyney doesn’t want to? what if he just laughs and walks away? what if—

all his worries are cut off by fingers crawling across his stomach over his shirt, and he doesn’t have time to think before he’s choking back giggles.

“it’s okay,” lyney teases. “you can laugh.”

so he does. it’s been so long that freminet himself forgot what it sounded like. he squeaks as lyney’s hand travels along his stomach, then suddenly dances along his sides up to his ribs, making him burst into a fit of proper laughter. 

lyney coos. “i can’t believe you’ve been hiding this from me all this time! you really do need to laugh more, freminet, it’s so cute.”

“b-behe quihihiet,” freminet whines, covering his blushing face with his hands. he squirms, moving closer to lyney as he does. “wait, wahahait, wait!”

lyney stops, one hand resting on his side and the other on his ribs. “yes?”

“ihit tickles,” freminet chokes out.

“do you want me to stop?” lyney’s fingertips press into his skin gently, making him squeal.

still…

“…no.”

for the first time in a long time, freminet feels like he’s in his own body again.

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

The Taming of Man: chapter nine - Dragon Shifting!Katsuki Bakugou x F!reader

OMG I'M BACK FROM THE PITS! That writer's block was hell, but lemme tell ya, I came back a stronger woman. Enjoy this new chapter, my wifeys! (Ps- ACOTAR brought me back, highly recommend reading something to get those writer juices flowing.)

Words: 2,163

This is incredibly based on the song The Willow Maid by Erutan, I highly recommend giving it a listen for the best experience.

Warnings: Cursing, reader is She/Her and will be AFAB in later chapters, angst, reader revisits traumatic events (loss of her father), Katsuki is lowkey a bad listener, but he's trying dammit!

I can't remember my dad's face anymore...well, not all of it. I can remember his smile, and I can remember his eyes, but that's about it. I like to think I remember the more important things, though, like his laugh, and the stories he would tell me. Uh...He always used to take me on adventures, even if it was just wandering through the gardens. He used to bring me here, to this realm, and we used to sit on the giant stump, eating tea fruit and talking for hours. We never left the circle, because the Dragonborne on the other side were dangerous.

"Hey, What's that supposed to mean," Katsuki huffed.

"Relax, I'm trying to build up the story, just wait," You said.

"Fine."

"anyways..."

My mother never liked us going out, but my dad always seemed to be able to convince her to allow it. I think, at this time, it wasn't so crazy to leave. the portal was more prominent, and people were more willing to allow us to leave.

One day, as we walked around the circle, my dad seemed like he was different, distant and thoughtful, the way he was when he had big ideas. He had a lot of ideas, he liked to make new potions, and build little gadgets, and study the plants and animals everywhere. When he was around, the palace had energy, it had soul.

A-as I was saying, He looked distant. I asked him what he was thinking about, but he just smiled and patted my head. he said, "Nothing, Doodle bug," and kept walking with me. Uh, He used to call me "doodle bug" because I used to roll around in the dirt, like a slater.

"Of course you did," Katsuki scoffed, with a hint of laughter and a ghost of a smile on his face. He didn't look and sound as condescending as he wanted to, he seemed more...lovesick.

"Do you wanna tell my story," you ask, frowning at him.

"Whatever, just do it already!"

ok, so...he told me not to worry about it, and so I didn't, being a kid and all, and we kept playing for a while. We always used to look at the clouds and try to find shapes, or watch the constellations and trace them with our fingers. Sooner or later, he said it was time to go home and...and he sent me back, alone. I was used to going home alone, because he usually did his best thinking in the circle when no one was around. So, he sent me home and I walked all the way back to the palace.

I found my mom, and she picked me up so I could watch her paint. She was different then, she did things like paint in the garden, and play with the village children, and laugh and smile with light in her eyes.

Eventually, it had reached a late hour, and I remember looking out my window and watching as mom rode her Pegasus into the forest, along with three armed guards. I didn't know it then, but she was going to look for my dad.

I should have been asleep by the time she came back, but Dad always told me a bedtime story, and I couldn't sleep without it, so I stayed awake, waiting and waiting and waiting. My mother had returned hours later, and by then I was just walking past the entrance to get to the kitchen, planning to get the chefs to allow me to have cookies and milk.

I'll never forget the look on her face.

She had little burns on her skin, and her clothes were torn up, but it was her face that hurt me...I feel it might have been the first time I ever experienced deep sorrow.

Her eyes were wide and glossy, blank, not as if she were feeling nothing, but as if she were feeling so much of something that she couldn't process it. Her lips were parted, taking in breaths so slow you might think she was dead. Her brows were furrowed, as if she were confused, or even angry.

She looked at me, gaze drifting emptily to meet mine, and when our eyes met it I felt this overwhelming sense of fear and sorrow.

We stepped closer to each other, simultaneously, and she collapsed to the ground, taking me with her. She sobbed into my hair, her face hot against my skin, and all she could do was whisper that she was sorry, over and over again she apologized to me. I didn't know what had happened, but I sobbed too, big hiccupping wails because I feared the worst. I remember asking, and this may be a little selfish, "where's daddy," starting quietly but getting louder with impatience every time I repeated it. I demanded to know, I needed it, I wanted her to say it out loud even though I knew her sadness was overtaking her.

you looked to Katsuki for a moment, only to see he was staring at the ground, listening closely to your story and seeming to be lost in thought about it. He seemed a little...awkward, like he was unsure of what to do or say to this. You took a deep breath, continuing.

She wouldn't tell me anything until we had calmed down, and even then she just told me that he was gone. Neither of us did anything but cry for the weeks leading to his funeral, although in my mourning I had been confined to my room, and as such could hear every conversation the guards had outside of the door. I didn't pay much attention, until the topic of my father and how he died came up. I remember pressing my ear to the door, listening close to see what they would say. I needed to know more. I can't recall their words, but I know they said that he had been killed by a Dragonborne after venturing out of the circle, and my mother had arrived just in time to see it happen, and fight a fruitless battle.

I was so angry, after all my dad always had hope that things had changed since the beginning, since our ancient tale, and yet he had been killed by the very thing he had tried to defend. I think I would have been resentful, perhaps even vengeful, forever, had it not been for the following week.

We had hastily thrown together a funeral...oh, because, In our culture, the sooner you mourn someone with a proper ceremony, the easier their voyage to the afterlife is. It's said that when a fairies dies, Time moves much slower for their soul as they travel to the after life, and your funeral helps push them along...their heart becomes a certain type of flower, their brain becomes a certain type of tree, and their soul moves on to Edelsteinländer, or the Gemstone lands, to live happily and protect their loved ones.

"What do you mean, 'certain type of' stuff?"

"What you become depends on who you are, as well as where you die. Sometimes people say that if you are buried with specific things planted on your grave, that's what you'll become, so you get to choose."

"Oh."

As I said, It was the following week that the funeral commenced, and Everyone close to us attended the intimate gathering. As royals, there's a parade for the dead that the entire country participates in, in some way, so we like to have a smaller funeral first. Everyone showed up, wearing red because of how he died-

"Wait, what?"

"Uh, it's a lot to explain, but basically people wear different colors based on how a person died. Red for murder, Black for natural, blue for uncontrollable, stuff like that."

"Right...keep goin' already." He seemed a little calmer, more considerate.

Ok, so one of the people to show up was my grandmother on my Dad's side, and although I had never met her, I felt strangely connected to her. After the service, She had asked to take me on a walk, and my mom allowed her to, assuming it'd be a walk in the garden. Well, she walked me all the way to the river. We didn't enter through the portal, but we sat on the riverbed and watched as the water flowed past. She asked me, "(Y/n), How do you feel about the Dragonborne?" Naturally, I responded with, "I hate them, I wish they never existed."

You glanced again to Katsuki, who didn't snap at you this time, instead opting for silence. You began to balance on a tree root as you walked, already nearing Schatz. Katsuki took your hand instinctively, fearing you'd trip.

She smiled and shook her head, handing me her woven basket. She said, "Do me a favor, dear, go and fetch me as many pebbles as you can fit in this basket." I did as she asked, finding pebbles of varying shapes and sizes and colors, carrying as much as my little arms could bear to, before returning to her. She peered at the rocks, and sifted through them. "Now tell me," she ordered, "Do all of these appear to be the same?" I shook my head no. "But, they all came from the same river, no?" Well, I, only being around 8, did not understand yet and said, "But that doesn't matter at all!" She nodded, and told me, "This river is the Dragon lands-" we don't know the correct term for Forrmidūl in Gildflå, but she continued with- "and these pebbles are the Dragonborne. Some are sharp, some are smooth, some are red, some are blue, some are good and some are bad."

In my head, then, it all seemed to click for me. I realized exactly what she was saying to me. She let me keep her basket, and all the pebbles I wanted. I loved her a lot, even if that was the first time I ever met her. I wasn't allowed to see her again after, too, because I unwittingly told the story to mother, and she banned her from coming near me. It was around this time that mom started to...decline, but that's a whole other story.

"So...yeah, that's how my dad died," you finished unceremoniously. Even though you had stopped walking on that root long ago, Katsuki still held your hand.

"...'m sorry...about all that," Katsuki mumbled, cheeks burning from embarrassment. He wished he could be more for you...he'd have to work hard on that, read a book on it or something.

"It happened forever ago anyways, I'm doing...better now. Good now." You squeezed his hand, peering at his thoughtful face. "What about you? Uh, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, I just-"

"It happened when I was 12," He grumbled, his hand slipping out of yours and being stuffed into his pocket. "It wasn't much, not some big story like yours, he just...got sick. Ate somethin' bad, I don't know. Whatever it was, he was sick for a while. Had time to get all his shit in order, and he went in his sleep so it wasn't painful or anything." Although he seemed to be trying to ease your mind, it looked like he was trying to ease his own mind. He sniffed a little, looking away and roughly wiping his nose with his finger.

"Katsuki," you started, but he cut you off. "Don't give me any 'better place' bullcrap, It's not that big a deal!" without another word, you brought him into a tight, warm embrace, standing on your tiptoes to rest your chin in the crook of his neck. His arms hesitantly came around your back, holding you to him. Right, he forgot this was you. Caring, empathetic, always knowing what to do you. He didn't have to worry about you being condescending or stuck up towards him, you understood him for who he was. You knew what he needed. He didn't know how he lived before you.

you pulled back from him, eyes meeting his as he looked at you with intensity. His face was hard, just as it always was, but his eyes held truth. His eyes held every emotion possible, all at your beck and call. You suddenly began to cry, and Katsuki immediately took you back into his grasp. "Hey, relax, it's not that big of a deal," he reassured you, gruffly, as he frantically searched your face for a hint as to what he could do for you.

"N-no, it's-" it's just that I have to leave you soon, forever. "I'm ok, just a little worked up."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

The two of you kept walking, the cool breeze causing your wet cheeks and nose to feel as if they were getting pricked by a thousand tiny knives. You reached the Circle in no time, ready to go home as the sun began to set on your adventure.

AUGHHHH I've missed this! as always, let me know your thoughts, I will always do my best to comment back, and if you have any questions at all, you can either ask in the comment section or in the Ask Me box! I don't bite, pinky promise!

Taglist: @sky-angel101 @the-galaxy-fiend @chixkadee @ssplague @sappho-the-kitten-tamer @andysdrafts @daria-rona @tanjirofan63 @aizawaslut09 @tsukiiomii @me1297

[calzone-d]

"Wait, don't go, please..." with Jason

oooh me likey

this turned out way longer than i originally planned lol, my apologies.

tw: talks of cheating, crying, mild panic

read more here!

—-

It was late. Way past your bedtime. A frantic phone call from Jason is actually what woke you up.

“Y/N.. I cant- I need.. can you come over? please? I don’t..”

you could hear the tremor in his voice over the phone, and although he’s stopped calling and texting as much as usual, you still felt inclined to answer his call. regardless of how irritated you were with him, the sound of him in distress still had you jumping out of bed and into your car.

after letting yourself in, you found him on the couch. his hair was a mess, his eyes wide with panic as he bit at his nails. it had been longer than usual since you’ve seen him, but he didn’t look like he was doing well.

your situation-ship had been neglected lately. as jason got over his split with olivia, the two of you rekindled your old romance. you’d spent most nights tucked into his side on his couch, a kid in each of your arms with a movie on in the background. you thought things were going well, but jason had gotten distant and you saw pictures online of him with a girl so you pulled back too.

it didn’t last long. the kids asked him everyday where you were, and eventually you ended up confronting him. after a long talk once the kids went to bed, you both ended up frustrated. he tried justifying his actions by explaining how he felt too “fucked up” for you, and you were frustrated because you had just gotten back to how things used to be.

texts were sent here and there but you hadn’t seen him for the better part of the last three months.

that’s why you were so surprised at the way his shoulders seemed to relax at the sight of you.

“i-i fucked up.” his voice sounded choked.

you immediately thought the worse. did something happen with olivia? did he get his fling pregnant?

“wh-“

“i got in too deep with her.. it was just supposed to be.. a thing. but then i felt worse about myself, a-and you, and-“

“jason, you’re spiraling.”

he let out a breath at your words and rubbed at his eyes.

“I was happy with what we had.. you’re a grown adult who decided to see someone else. it’s fine, that’s your decision, it’s just still an open wound okay?”

“y/n, it was just supposed to be a quick fuck, I-“

“please don’t tell me that” you said with sad eyes. “are the kids okay?”

“they’re fine” you nodded and bent down to pick your purse off the floor where you’d put it.

“wha- where are you going?”

“home, jase. i really don’t want to hear the details of you finding someone younger to fuck and being surprised when she wants to be your next wife. i-… that was.. yeah. i’m goin’ home.”

his voice trembled as he choked out,” wait, don’t go.. please.. i-“

when you turned to look at him his eyes were glossy and his jaw was clenched. all you could do was stare, it hurt too much to comfort him.

“it’s done, okay? it’s fucking over!” his voice sounded defensive when you eyeballed the way his hands trembled. before you could make another move he let out a choked sob. as hurt as you were there’s no chance you’d just walk away from him in that state.

your purse hit his floor again and you sighed as you sat next to him. he seemed to relax the tiniest bit when you toed off your shoes and brought a warm hand to his back. he gasped for air as he choked on another sob.

“please don’t go..we- we need you! fuck, i need you.”

“if you want me to stay you’re going to have to start talkin’, jase.”

“i fucked up,” he cried into his hands. “i didn’t mean to fuck up what we had.. it wasn’t my plan! i just- i had started drinking and going out more and began feeling worse and worse and i-“ he shook his head and his voice was tight, “i don’t know what part of me thought that would make things better.”

you silently nodded and let him take his time.

“i was- we were drunk at a party, and by the time i was sober enough to tell you i felt even worse.. i panicked and pulled away. it was a mistake, and i’m sorry..”

before you could respond the sound of little feet padding against the hardwood stopped you.

“daddy?”, daisy’s voice was small and her eyebrows were furrowed. she looked just like him.

she climbed on the couch beside him and got on her knees to wrap her arms around his shoulders as best as she could, “why’re you crying?”

he quickly wiped at his tears and gave her a watery chuckle. “it’s adult stuff, sweetheart. m’okay.”

as soon as he reassured her she was crawling over jason’s lap, knees digging into his thighs as she made her way to you.

“did you come to make daddy stop crying?” she looked up at you with wide eyes and tucked herself into you.

“yeah, honey. he’s okay. why are you still up, daisy girl?”

“heard daddy crying..” her words trailed off with a yawn. “wanna go back to bed now.. daddy’s okay?”

jason’s eyes had begun tearing up again as he watched the two of you.

you stood with her in your arms and carried her back to her bedroom. “he’s gonna be just fine, dais. promise”

her nod against you was weak and as soon as her head hit the pillow she was nodding off.

jason had seemed to calm down a bit by the time you came back to the couch. he was still sniffling, and still shaking but his breathing began to even out again.

“i’m so sorry, y/n.. fuck” he whispered

“jase, i can’t- i can’t keep doing this. hurts too much.. because i didn’t stop loving you for a second, you know? like.. was i doing something wrong? did- did i overstep with the kids?”

“no! not at all, you.. you’re their second mom at this point. they’re always askin’ for you.. when something goes wrong you’re they’re go-to.”

a hint of a smile found its way to your face.

“you didn’t do a single thing wrong, y/n. s’all me. and i don’t expect anything from you, please know that. i-im just so fucking sorry.” his shaky hands reached to wipe at his eyes again.

your hand moved towards the hem of his t-shirt to fiddle with it as you mulled his words over.

“just hurt.. seein’ her all over you. felt like it was supposed to be me, y’know?”

“it was.. is. she.. fuck, y/n where do i even start. she was put off by the fact that the kids even exist. a-and god forbid i ask her to not post on social media about us. it.. kinda felt like being with olivia again when things went to shit. was fuckin’ ridiculous.”

“should’ve just told me from the get go and we could’ve worked past it.”

“i’m so fuckin’ sorry i didn’t, hun..”

“i.. i know. i cant just move past it right now.. but… just give me some time okay? m’not quitting on you, okay?”

his eyes were wide. he wasn’t expecting you to be willing to try again at all, he just couldn’t live being on bad terms.

“y-yeah, of course. just tell me what you need me to do and it’s done, i swear.”

“let’s talk boundaries.. have you broken things off?”

“i did it a week ago. been callin’ nonstop but i haven’t answered,” he leaned forward to get his phone off the table. “here, you can even look.”

you gave the screen a quick glance, seeing that all the calls from her had gone unanswered and it did put you at ease.

a soft hum left your lips, “m’kay..”. jason’s eyes were so heavy and you could tell he needed sleep.

“look, let’s talk about it more tomorrow, okay?”, he nodded but his face contorted at the thought of you leaving now.

before he could open his mouth you interrupted, “i’ll stay, jase. no funny business though.”

he finally chuckled. “okay, but can you spoon me?” his voice was soft and quiet. “s���been a long night.”

“only for you. c’mon, let’s go check on the kids first.”

—

thanks for reading!

[aheckinmess]

Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire

(Part 3 of The Snowball Effect)

Read on AO3.

Tags: Enji Todoroki, Endeavor, Female Reader, Endeavor x Reader, Enji Todoroki x Reader, Christmas Special, Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire, Teenage Fuyumi, Hot Tea and a Crackling Fireplace, Overall Cozy Vibes, Enji Gets Sentimental, Soft Enji, Won't Lie, This Came Out Late Because I Was Rewatching the Twilight Series

Word Count: 630 words

Summary: After a cold, snowy evening filled with playtime and fun, Fuyumi is up way past her bedtime in hopes of hanging out with you and Enji. She changes her mind after you both make kissy faces at each other.

Playlist: The Snowball Effect

December 3

The flames crackling in the fireplace feel like hot soup trickling through your veins after an evening playing with the kids in the snow. Anticipation of the joy on their faces whenever they open their presents on Christmas morning adds to the flavor like a hearty helping of vegetables in a beef broth.

“Mother, can’t I stay up with you and Father?” Fuyumi huffs from the kitchen as she finishes a glass of water. 

You chuckle as you stir a little cream into your mug of steaming tea. Enji’s, you leave plain except for a dash of steeping tea leaves. Both mugs are topped with a swirling plume of steam.

“Stay up? Fuyumi, it’s almost 10, you should be in bed. You have school tomorrow.” You tut, running your fingers through her hair and pulling the strands from under her night shirt.

“I know, but I can’t sleep. I had too much fun!” She laughs. “Like did you see how Toya body-slammed Shoto in the snow?! I was so worried he was hurt, but they were laughing! Boys are so infuriating and entertaining.”

“They are, aren’t they?” You lick your thumb and rub a stray smudge from her face; she giggles and ducks away.

“Mooomm!”

“Oh, fine.” You sigh, relenting. Taking the two warm mugs, you pad into the living room where Enji sits in the armchair in front of the fire. You set both beverages on the table beside it and then drape yourself across Enji’s lap. “You’ll get to hear both of us talking about how much we love each other.”

The moment you start making kissy faces at Enji, Fuyumi’s footsteps stop.

“Eww.” You turn just in time to see the way her face wrinkles with disgust as she turns away. “Nevermind. You can sit together. I’m tired.”

Enji shakes his head and rewards you with a full-on laugh when Fuyumi’s door closes down the hall.

“I’ll have to remember that trick.” His massive hand rests at your hip. “You’re so cold, my frosty queen.”

“Am I? I didn’t really notice.” You shrug, before curling up into his chest. “But I did notice you’re very warm, Fire Boy.” 

“Am I? I didn’t really notice.” He quips back. He leans in for a peck on the cheek. 

A playful battle ensues between you both; Enji vibrates with soft chuckles as you paw at his chest, sliding your fingers up his neck and into his hair. Kissing Enji tingles just underneath your skin like static electricity. Every touch thereafter ignites and explodes between your nerve endings, tying you both together.

He is your everything.

“Did you have fun with the kids?” You whisper after pulling back to recover from the way he makes your head spin.

“I always have fun with my family, you know that.”

“Yeah, but it’s nice to hear it out loud sometimes.” You admit, caressing the scruffy texture of his beard. “We’re your family. We love you and like to know the feeling’s mutual.”

 After a homey sip of tea, he rests his forehead against you.

“You are all the most important people in the world to me.” He vows, blue eyes searching yours. “If I lost any of you, I would lose a part of myself.”

“Hmm,” A soft snort escapes you as you grin. “That must mean for all of our strange mannerisms, they all give you life anytime you learn more about us and our silly habits.”

“Perhaps.” He tickles your sides. “Or perhaps I just love you all enough to tolerate those habits.”

“You know you love the chaos in this household!”

“I wouldn’t want to live without it.”

The fire crackles and pops its agreement, and Enji indulges in his own silly habit: peppering tender kisses all over your face.

Day 4

Credit to @saradika-graphics for the holiday banner! Thank you so much!

[little-teacupss]

The trapped fairy. Part 5

Note: Guys, I can't believe we're on the fifth chapter of this series! Thank you to everyone who has been enjoying and supporting this series and thank you all for reading my fics! Remember to go show love and support to my many friends @skellseerwriting, @brokenmilkcrates, @leoisbabygirl, @frenchgirltalya, and @giveityourworst

Warnings: kidnapping, manipulation, pregnancy, Hook drinking, implied past underage drinking, anxiety, fluff, Stockholm syndrome call 800-799-7233 to get help because even though this is a fic this is a real life thing people go through.

Note 2: The song "Hoist the colors." Will be sung copyright belongs to Disney :>

Note 3: Go to my master list to find the whole series because it hurts my fingers to type it all out.

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Fay sat crisscrossed on the bed with Harriet in her lap, who was tossing around her father's hook. As promised, he gave it to her just before bedtime. Meanwhile, she watched as Hook entered the room with a foggy, almost black bottle in the head along with his hat in the other. As he swung back and forth, the door creaked every time he pushed it back and forth with his wrist tapping the handle as he sang a familiar. "Yo-Ho! The pirate life is the life for me!"

The old wooden door slammed shut behind him as he danced his way into the room, swinging the bottle around before tipping it up to take a drink before setting it down on the vanity to tip his hat and tapped his boots long the wooden floor that creaked beneath him. His eyes then landed on Fay, who stared up at him with disgust to see him act this way, especially around their young daughter. "Aye! My wee fairy! And my wee baby lass!"

James practically pranced over to them with his hand falling on Fay's shoulder while his wrist caressed Harriet's head which she rubbed against it while giggling as she hadn't seen her father act like this before.

"Are you... Drinking?" .Fay carefully asked as she gulped her eyes focused on the bottle that he left on the vanity. His attention turned back to where she was looking before he shrugged in response. He sloppily turned and sat next to the mother-daughter pair. He leaned in close so he was close to Fay, and his hand was rested on Harriet's head. "Aye, rum is quite nice, but I fear I've had it too much over the years for it to truly hold any effect on me; whiskey, on the other hand, is a different ball game, my wee fairy."

She turned away from the drunken pirate who sat next to her and stared down at the sheets. Fay didn't know what to think. She'd never seen Hook drink before, let alone be a drunken mess around their child.

It made her uneasy to see her heart pound in her chest from anxiety, or maybe it was something else she didn't know anymore. Everything felt so confusing. The anxious fairy was snapped out of her thoughts as she felt she was being pulled in by something. She felt herself rub anything, the blankets, and Harriet being pulled with her till she found her back pressed against something warm.

James had moved her over to sit in his lap, so he could hold his young family close by as he hummed a gentle yet familiar song he'd grown up with. "Yo-Ho all together hoist the colors high. Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die."

Fay could feel his hot breath against her neck as he sang quietly mainly to himself, but oddly, it began to somewhat lull her to sleep. She turned her head to look at him. His face was pressed mainly in her shoulder and neck, exhausted. Her brown eyes focused on his appearance now as she realized he wasn't wearing his red coat and that he had come in with his white button-up and his hair all ruffled up.

James lifted his head and stared back at Fay his eyes blinked slowly as he tried to stay awake and coherent. "Why did you leave, didn't we make you happy?"

In his alcohol-induced state, he started rambling random questions that his normal self had bottled up for quite some. Time, the captain was emotional as he knocked his head back into Fay's shoulder to hide from her gaze. She could feel little wet droplets begin to form there. Carefully bringing a hand up, she combed her fingers through his windswept hair, pushing it back and fixing some areas.

"I told you why I left isn't that good enough?" .She tried to explain to the great pirate lord, thinking maybe he'd listen to at least a little bit, but it seemed to only made him cry harder as his arm tightened around her, yet he was still very mindful of her and Harriet and not to hurt them. "But, why, I gave you everything you ever wanted, I- I.. I love you."

He lifted his head to stare into her beautiful eyes that, in his mind, held a million stars, and nothing could ever compare to her. James carefully knocked his forehead into Fay's so they were staring into each other's eyes, but he also wanted to feel her warmth and love for him again. "Please tell me you won't leave me again?"

The fairy's eyes widened in shock at his question because, truth be told, she didn't know what to feel anymore. Some days, she felt like she was nothing without James and Morgie, and other days, she just wanted to grow wings and fly away from this awful place with Harriet. But deep down, even then, her heart still called for them and yearned to be theirs. It's all she ever knew, and with James, he had been her first everything, her first kiss, the first to ever look at her in that way as far as she knew of. In so many ways she felt she owed so much to them for loving her, caring for her, and never abandoning her.

Fay wet her lips as she tried to think of what to say to the blubbering pirate she stared into his teary eyes trying to let her anger take over her and tell him she never wanted to see him again and that she no longer wanted anything to do with him, but she couldn't she could only feel her calling out for him. "I'm right here."

She whispered out loud as her gaze fell back down to the space between them. James let out a soft hum thinking over what the fairy had said he couldn't come to a conclusion if she was just saying to make him feel better or if she actually meant her words. He allowed his right hand to trail up and carefully cup Fay's cheek lifting her face up so she was looking at him he felt his mouth go dry the longer he stared at her even in such a gloomy and daft place she still was so beautiful to him.

"I love you, Fay." .James said to her, his eyes never leaving hers. He could see how they twinkled and lit up at his words, her cheeks going a soft shade of pink. Fay could feel the weight of his words and what they did to her, but she knew she shouldn't. Not after everything, how could she be enjoying this after they kidnapped her and took her away from the place she had learned to call home?

Fay pursed her lips as she found herself leaning into his touch, allowing herself to enjoy the stroke of his finger over her cheek. She felt the walls she was trying to build crumble like there had been no point in them forming in the first place. The warmth of his hand against her once-cold flesh made her swoon. Maybe, she could forgive them? Her heart ached for them, so why not try? "I- I... Love you too."

She muttered under her breath a part of her, hoping he didn't hear her confession of love at the chance that maybe if he didn't hear, she could get over her confused feelings. However, she felt the moment his fingers stopped tracing along her face and his gaze locked onto her processing what she had said before a small grin graced his lips as he gently rubbed his head

Against her forehead in an affectionate manner. He looked down at where Harriet was sitting in her mother's lap still fiddling with his hook mesmerized by the details in the silver the little scratches along it and the chipped parts of it he brought his hand down and patted her head before carefully taking his prosthetic away from her as she let out a soft yawn. "I think it's time for bedtime, me wee duckling?"

Fay shifted and carefully lifted Harriet from her lap bringing her to the middle of the bed while Hook made himself comfortable against the wall and held the blanket open for them. She set Harriet between them before finally making herself comfortable amongst the blankets. The two parents looked over when they heard the door creak open and Morgie come in shaking his damp hair from the pour down out before unbuttoning his top and throwing it in the pile of dirty clothes by Hook's closet.

"How bad is it?" .James sounded from his spot on the bed, giving his hook to Fay to sit on the next stand by her side of the bed. Morgie let out a soft sigh as he kicked off his boots and socks before making his way over to the bed, where he sat close to where Fay was lying. Running his fingers through his dripping yet hair he turned to look at the small family. "It's not great, but the sails are holding up and the scuppers are draining any water that's overflooding the deck."

The prince explained to the sea captain, who nodded before laying his head back against his downy pillows while Morgie climbed under the covers, pressing his bare chest against Fay's back while Harriet scooted closer to her father where Hook draped his arm over her so she could nuzzle in close to him.

The fairy felt the shapeshifter behind her drape his arm over her waist holding her close to him she watched James turn so he was laid on his side with Harriet curling herself against his side closing her eyes and allowing her little eyelashes to brush against the under the lid of her eye Fay brought a hand forward and gently brushed her hand over her hair.

She was so focused on watching Harriet she jumped back in surprise when she felt a pair of lips against her forehead before retreating. Fay let out a soft breath as she calmed down from her moment of shock and laid back against the warmth that was provided by Morgie's body while Hook's amused laugh rang in the background. Her hands traveled down and laid over where Morgie's were firmly planted over her midriff as she felt his hot breath against her ear.

"how are you feeling?" .His raspy voice filled her ears she let out a small sigh as she felt his growing in stubble scratch along her neck as she mumbled back. "It comes and goes."

James focused on what she just said as he recalled all of the other symptoms she'd been experiencing at this point he'd begun to believe it wasn't seasickness, he tried to rack his brain of any ideas of what it could be that was making Fay so ill. His eyes widened a little as he sat back up he turned to look at Morgie and Fay as he stumbled to find the words. "D- do you t- think."

The pair turned to him with shared confused looks trying to figure out what James was trying to say whatever it was seemed to panick him a bit as he fumbled. "Yo- you know do you think your-"

He let out a frustrated sigh tossing his head back making his hair spiral out around his shoulders. Morgie and Fay stared at him and watched as he shook his head before finally throwing a hand up out of exhausted.

"Do you think you could be pregnant?" .He outwardly asked as it was his turn to stare at the two faes laid close together. Fay's jaw dropped as she took in his question processing what the answer could be and what would happen if it did turn out she was. The lower-tier fae let out a soft gasp as she felt Morgie's arms tighten around her waist. His eyes stared back into Hook's, who wore a rather neutral expression, possibly because he was intoxicated or because he simply didn't see it as a big deal. "W- why do you think that?"

The panic in her voice was palpable as she felt her neck being squeezed she felt light-headed long gone was her comfort from earlier her mind was filled with the possibility she would have another child how would she be able to take care of an infant while on a ship that could be targeted at any point by other pirates or be sunken. How could she look after an infant when she already had a four year old soon to be five year old that needed her how could she look after both at once it all confused her and made her anxiety spike.

She felt a hand turn her head to the left where her eyes met Morgie's her breath was quick and uneven as she tried to focus on him, but her vision began to blurr before a brilliant amber cut through her foggy gaze. She felt her body go taut before her breathing came to a easier level no longer hyperventilating. "It's okay just calm down, Fay."

Morgie whispered to her his eyes shined a bright color of amber before going back to the hazel they were naturally she stared up at him and gave a small nod giving into his command without any struggle settling back against him allowing him to control what she'd do.

The night seemed to go on slowly as Fay closed her eyes under Morgie's spell while the two men stared down at her with worry and love. The young mother drifted off somewhat peacefully, but she could feel the anxiety of James' theory weigh on her and build up. Morgie carefully ran his large hand up and down her waist sensing her unstable emotional state. "It'll be okay, my little fairy, I promise."

He whispered as he pecked her temple and laid his head back while him and James stared at each other knowing that this would be just another reason for Fay to stay with them even more so now because they both knew it was Morgie's.

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Thank you all for reading and I hope you've been enjoying this series can't believe we're on the fifth chapter, I hope you all enjoyed reading this one and remember go show love and support to my friends and if you want to be a part of the tagged list just put mail in the mailbox!

Tagged list: @brokenmilkcrates, @leoisbabygirl, @skellseerwriting, @frenchgirltalya, and @giveityourworst!

Anyway till the next story! Ba bye!!

[mikaelsrose]

Starry Night

Pairing: Tyril x f!human!MC (Reyna) Book: Blades of Light and Shadow 2, chapter 3 Word count: 4000 Rating: T Warnings: emotional hurt Category: hurt/comfort Synopsis: Having reunited with most of her party, Reyna discovers the true extent of the traumatic events of the previous months. A/n: special thanks to @starlight-starfury for encouraging me to include Tyril speaking elven 🫰🏻 × Calanín - my light: elven word of affection, the elven equivalent of the Common language's "my love;" the elves believe that love is often fleeting, but the Light is constant, and the most precious resource they possess. Tag list: @starlight-starfury @cashweasel @watatsumi-island @lilyoffandoms @sophie-summer @lazypartridge @brycesgirl @agattthaa @secret-fungi @megas-choices (if anyone wishes to be added/removed pls let me know!) @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesbookclub

Nia, Mal, and the children had developed a routine, thanks to which the kids changed into their pyjamas, brushed their teeth, and were tucked in under thirty minutes. If one would take Nia at her word, developing the schedule took weeks, but due to eager cooperation the group managed to reduce the time from two hours to just thirty minutes, saving the guardians a considerable amount of time—time that they would spend reading, searching, and discussing the possible methods of rescuing Reyna. After ten minutes, Nia and Mal returned downstairs, having wished the kids a good night and slumped in the chairs, exhausted. Soon, the giggles and banter upstairs quietened down, and Mal breathed out a sigh of relief while Nia smiled at her friends, her features softened by the warm candlelight. 

“Can I offer you anything? Water, tea? We don’t have much, but I’d love to host you properly,” the Priestess chirped, already rising from her seat, but Tyril held out his hand to stop her. 

“It’s alright, thank you, Nia. Save what you have for the children.”

Nia nodded, while the elf rested his left hand on Reyna’s thigh, gently squeezing it in a poorly disguised display of affection. Her lips curved in a soft smile, and she vaguely covered his hand with her own before addressing the rogue before her.

“Lord Weasley of Riverbend, huh?” 

Mal smiled sheepishly and scratched his neck, blushing faintly as if he had been caught in a lie. “I had to improvise, and Riverbend just happened to occupy my mind an awful lot lately.”

“Gotta admit, you really nailed the accent. If I hadn’t known better, I’d think you were a native,” she winked, drawing a laugh from Mal.

“What can I say? I had spent an awful lot of time with you, kit.”

Nia joined the conversation. “How is Kade? I’ve been meaning to visit him, but there was always something urgent to attend to, and…”

“He’s doing just fine, cooped up in the library or in the royal gardens with Loola and Threep. He’s made the Master Librarian his archenemy, though.”

The Priestess chuckled. As Mal rested his arm on the back of her seat, a quiet yawn escaped Reyna’s lips and her eyes watered uncontrollably. She rested her head against Tyril’s shoulder, continuing to smile at her friends. Although she did not feel the true length of her absence, she had missed them, and at that moment she felt at peace. 

The idyllic atmosphere was disrupted by a quiet childish giggle coming from the top of the stairs, and the group's heads turned simultaneously in that direction. Mal sighed exhaustedly and rubbed his tired eyes before addressing the children.

“Guys, we talked about staying up past bedtime!”

The grave silence that followed his remark was soon interrupted by barefoot steps and the creaking of the old wooden floor. A frail, pale blonde girl stood next to Mal and whispered in his ear, her big eyes glued to Reyna. In response, Mal smiled at the child and nodded. “Do you want me to introduce you?”

The girl nodded her head excitedly, and he addressed his friend. 

“Kit, this is Nyra, she's a big fan of yours.” 

Reyna's brows furrowed. "Fan?"

“Mal and Nia often told us stories of your adventures! My favourite is the one when you ran after Duchess Xenia and fought her! I want to be as brave as you when I grow up!” the girl chattered reedily. “Can I ask you a question?”

"Ask away, Nyra," she sent the girl an encouraging smile, squeezing Tyril's hand under the table. 

"Weren't you afraid?"

"I'd be crazy not to be afraid,” she smiled. “Bravery isn't about not being afraid, it's about doing the right thing despite fear."

The girl nodded, drinking the words off Reyna’s lips, staring at her heroine in awe. 

“Now go to sleep, Nyra,” Mal rubbed the girl’s arm, softly pushing her towards the stairs. Before disappearing in the darkness, Nyra waved at the couple, and Reyna sighed.

“Said like a true hero,” Nia concluded while the men agreed silently. 

“It’s good to see you, guys. I just wish Imtura was with us.”

“We’ll find her, don’t fret, Rey-Rey,” Mal assured. The nickname made Reyna groan.

“Please don’t call me that.”

“How about Rey of Sunshine?”

Reyna glowered at him. “Mal, I’m warning you.”

“Reiny?”

“Oh, I like Rey!” Nia joined in the conversation, grinning. 

“What do you think of “Reine”? I think it suits your personality,” the thief continued. “What do you think, elf boy?”

Tyril, smiling softly at the course the conversation took, looked to his left at his partner, his eyes glistening with the reflection of a nearby candlelight. “I believe my answer falls under a public display of affection.”

Nia brightened up. “Aw! It’s so nice seeing you two together again. Tyril had been so miserable without you, Reyna.”

“Tyril, my man, I’d like to remind you that we were direct neighbours at the Palace and their walls are surprisingly thin, so you really shouldn’t be em—”

Tyril cut in, blushing. “Stop talking.”

Grinning, the rogue continued teasing, pointing to Reyna with a nod of his head, while Nia and Tyril grew considerably more abashed. “I see you already had a chance to celebrate.”

Reyna touched her neck, remembering the necklace of red love bites that her lover bestowed upon her the previous night, and bit her lip, slightly embarrassed. She forgot to cover the bruises in the morning as she was in a hurry. The Priestess intervened.

“Stop teasing them, Mal. They’re young and in love, of course they celebrated their reunion.”

In love. The couple looked away, uncomfortable with the subject, but Nia continued, oblivious to their discomfort.

“I’ve been meaning to ask before—” she bit her tongue, cleared her throat, and continued. “Who said it first? Was it romantic? I bet it was! Tyril always had a way with words and—”

“Oh, Priestess, read the room!” Mal chuckled. The redhead’s smile faltered as she raised her eyebrows in question, tilting her head slightly. The rogue explained. “Look at them! Elf boy’s about to turn dark purple, they obviously haven’t said that yet.”

Nia’s lips shaped into the letter “o” as the realisation dawned on her, but before she had a chance to apologise, Reyna intervened. “Alright! It was great to see you, but we should go. It’s getting late, and we need to rest.”

“True,” Mal agreed. “No offence, but you look terrible, lordling.”

“It takes one to know one, thief.”

“You don’t like my haircut? You wound me,” with feigned offence, Mal placed a hand over his heart, making Tyril roll his eyes. Reyna smiled at the exchange, but agreed with Tyril. Mal looked exhausted, the dark spots under his eyes and slouched posture explicit evidence of that. “Let me walk you to the door.”

Hugging Reyna goodbye, Nia whispered, squeezing her eyelids tight. “Please, don’t disappear again.”

Reyna rubbed her friend’s back reassuringly before moving away from the warm embrace. “I’ll do my best.”

“Your disappearance wreaked havoc, kit,” Mal admitted quietly, patting her back. “I know it may look like we just moved on, but there wasn’t a day Nia didn’t stay up late sifting through the Temple’s scrolls in search of rescue. Whenever I got a promising lead, it turned out to be just an urban legend. We—” his voice broke. In no hurry, Mal took a deep breath and moved away, his hands resting on Reyna’s shoulders. “We really tried, kit. I’m sorry it wasn’t enough.”

Reyna smiled comfortingly. “Don’t beat yourself up, Mal. I’m here, in one piece, am I not?”

He smiled. “I suppose.”

“Thank you for trying.”

Unpersuaded by her assurance, Mal nodded weakly, and before the couple took their leave, he patted Tyril’s arm. “Don’t let her out of your sight. See you in the morning.”

Strolling through the streets of the capital, slowly climbing towards the Whitetower castle, Tyril and Reyna grudgingly discussed the following day’s plan, in the meantime looking around for a seamstress. Despite the late hour, one of the very last vendors was still folding clothes in the town square, and being in desperate need of a more appropriate gear, Reyna left Tyril waiting outside. Patiently pacing around the ornate fountain, the elf studied a nearby florist when his gaze stopped at a bouquet of familiar flowers in the man’s hands. It took a bit of haggling and bragging about his title for Tyril to purchase the flowers imported from his homeland—black-petaled frilly sunflowers with luminescent red stamen—but he purchased them, and he could not suppress the proud smile on his face when Reyna emerged from the building with a paper package in her hands. He handed her the gift wordlessly.

“Oh! What’s the occasion?” 

“There is no occasion. These flowers are native to Undermount, we call them melissë anar’insil. They were my mother’s favourite, she grew them in our garden, and…” he bit his lip, blushing slightly. “And they remind me of you.”

“They’re beautiful,” she said quietly, awestruck. “Thank you, Tyril. But you shouldn't have, they look like they have cost a fortune."

"There's a possibility that the saviour got a discount."

A hearty laugh escaped her lips upon hearing the word saviour yet another time the same day. "Admit it, you like being the hero."

Tyril bit his lip, trying to contain his smile. "I suppose the title carries some benefits."

Chuckling, she climbed on the tip of her toes and pressed her lips to his for a short, sweet kiss. She could still faintly taste the sour lime lemonade with mint on his lips, the drink he claimed his favourite, the memory bringing a smile to her face. She thought of their first, and at the same time last, date—the day they partook in festival activities, roamed the streets of Whitetower holding hands, made love in a secluded tower, and ended up intoxicating themselves at a local tavern with Riverbendian drinks. As if reading her mind, Tyril’s lips curved in a knowing smile.

“Does the name of the flower mean anything in Common?” she asked, interlacing their fingers. Resuming their lazy stroll back to the castle, the elf nodded, yet he took his time with the answer, eventually smiling sheepishly. 

“It translates to ‘the lovers’ sunflower.’ These sunflowers are considered the flower of royalty in Undermount as due to their rarity only the wealthiest can afford them, and they symbolise devotion, loyalty, and adoration.”

Nodding, Reyna brought the bouquet closer to her face and took a deep breath. The smell was sweet but not overpowering, reminding her of the first days of summer, and the exact smell of Tyril’s bedchamber in Undermount. She remembered walking out to the balcony when he fell asleep and seeing the luminescent stamen in the darkness, thinking how otherworldly they made the garden look. 

“I can see why these were your mother’s favourites.”

“Their appearance is but a fraction of the reason for her admiration. Mother adored them because father asked for her hand in marriage with half a dozen bouquets of these flowers and had showered her with grandiose bouquets ever since on the most important occasions. She always said it’s a perfect addition to any confessions and talked very fondly of the day Adrina was born as father had the Manor’s ballroom filled with flowers,” Tyril reminisced, his gaze distant but a smile was playing on his lips.  

“I’d love to hear more about your mom, she sounds like a very kind soul.”

Tyril nodded. “She was. However, that is a story for another day. We should hurry, it will rain soon.”

The moment Tyril locked their chamber's door, the toller announced the clock struck eleven and Reyna plopped down on the mattress exhausted. 

"You don't have to buy me flowers if you want to propose, I'm a simple girl, Tyril," she teased, yawning. The elf flushed purple, realising how inauspiciously he crafted his words back in the town square, and smiled at her. "Duly noted."

"And if you want to fool around, just stay the word," she winked, unlacing the corset of her dress. "Not today, though, I'm dead on my feet."

"Ever the romantic," he smiled. As he helped her out of her clothes and into a loose nightgown, Tyril made sure she was tightly tucked in, and soon joined her, stroking her back until she fell asleep.  

People have a saying, one that Tyril overheard while patrolling the streets of Port Parnassus, just minutes before he first bumped into Reyna. They say that what does not kill will make you stronger, and during the year she was gone he prayed it was true. He hoped all this suffering was not in vain.

Yet now she was here with him and he felt everything but stronger. He felt weak, broken, undeserving. He couldn't protect her. It should've happened to him. 

He hadn't slept the night before—after he lulled his beloved to sleep, he stayed guard in case of the worst. It gave him plenty of time to look at her, admire the features that he had prayed to see again, to assess the damage she had suffered at the hands of… Of who exactly? She didn't want to talk about it, and he didn't push her. Overwhelming her was the very last thing he wanted to make her feel so soon after returning; alas, because of that choice, his imagination was running wild. His mind was painting the pictures of Reyna running through the obsidian desert, fighting the remaining Shadow soldiers, battered, aghast, and disappointed she had to save herself because the people closest to her had failed. 

Studying the fresh horizontal scar on her inner arm, Tyril ventured into a dangerous territory of fear-fueled theories as to what lay ahead. The Shadow Realm was an unexplored area, where unlike Morella they were on a hiding to nothing. Tyril did not doubt the loyalty and capability of their group, but they managed to win the fight against the Dreadlord by a stroke of fortune—had it not been for the Priestess’ sacrifice, the party would have lost at least two members, himself included. If the new enemy was indeed a competition to the Shadow Court, they needed allies. 

Tyril noticed that upon her return, Reyna not only possessed new wounds and scars, but also lacked that mesmerising glint in her eye, her movements were slower, and body weaker, not to any sudden or loud noises paralysed her with fear. Reyna came back different. Tyril would even risk saying that it was not Reyna who came back. Not the one he knew. It was someone new entirely.

The woman next to him took in a shuddering breath, her fingers gripping the duvet tightly. Restless even in her sleep, Reyna was indisputably facing the consequences of living through numerous traumatic events within a short time period without respite. Reaching forward, Tyril smoothed out the worried crease between her brows with his thumb, deluding himself that with this simple gesture he was able to transfer all her worries onto himself. 

Take the utmost care of her and relay that Father and I rejoice at the news of Reyna’s return! 

Against his will, Tyril’s mind replayed the moment of reading Adrina's letter. Could he truly protect Reyna? Without demur, he would give his life trying to ensure her safety, albeit such sacrifice seemed pointless from his current standpoint. If he was gone, who would protect her?

“I suppose sleep is not my ally tonight,” she sighed to herself, having woken up from a nightmare-filled sleep. Wrapped in their sheets, Reyna observed Tyril, carefully studying his back, the hair that cascaded over his muscles, the way the moonlight reflected on his skin and how utterly ethereal he looked against the starry night sky. He was sitting on his legs on the balcony, facing the city, unnaturally still. As concern gripped her heart, Reyna cautiously walked over and touched his shoulder. 

"Tyril, are you alright?"

The elf looked up, snapped out of his reverie, and his hand covered hers mechanically. "I was meditating. I'm alright."

As it dawned on her, she covered her lips with a hand, doused with a wave of embarrassment. "Oh, I'm sorry, that's— that makes much more sense than what I feared," she blubbered. She did not intend to reveal the exact reason of her concern, he did not need to hear that her initial thought was that he had been petrified the same way Kaya was. "I won't bother you any longer, I'll just—"

Tyril slowly rose to his feet and rubbed her arm. "It's alright, Reyna, I was supposed to finish a long time ago anyway. Let's get you back to bed."

As his hand rested on the small of her back, he noticed the dampness of her skin. 

"Do you do that often? Meditate?"

He nodded. "It's supposed to be only thirty minutes a day, but…" he sighed. "Once the feasible solutions were depleted, I started praying for a miracle. There was nothing more that I could do but pray, so I prayed for hours on end."

Reyna bit her bit as an impulsive thought emerged in her mind. "Would you pray with me?"

As the look of surprise flowered on his face, his brows furrowed, but his expression changed into a kind, encouraging smile within seconds.

"Absolutely. Is there anything in particular you'd wish to pray for?" 

Her answer was affirmative. "Do you mind telling me a bit more about your prayers first? I'm not exactly religious, and I don't know much about your gods, but I feel like it's the right thing to do."

"Anyone is welcome to seek comfort and guidance from the gods, you needn't be religious for that," he reassured. "We do not have many prayers per se as we'd rather engage in a silent conversation with the gods during meditation, but should one need a prayer there is a universal formula. I can't know for certain, but I believe the gods would look kindly on prayers for blessing or good fortune," he explained, gently rubbing her back as he guided her inside. As they made themselves comfortable on the silk carpet, assuming the exact position Reyna found him in, the elf interlaced their fingers and rested their hands on his lap. "I suppose one could also pray to nature, as do orcs, although I haven't heard of my kind practising that."

"I'd like to pray for Kaya, to put in a good word for her, so she can rest easily," she breathed out quickly, almost cutting him short. When his expression fell, she rapidly added: "Unless that's not how it works, then—"

"No, it's just— it's very thoughtful of you," he smiled, and Reyna breathed a sigh of relief. "If you wish, you may repeat after me, but it’s not necessary since you may find it challenging to pronounce certain words.”

“I’ll try,” she nodded and took a deep breath. As soon as Tyril noticed her shoulders relax, he began reciting the prayer, slowly, pronouncing the words clearly, giving her time to repeat. 

“Alcarvalda nostar, varyando o in nór nosyë, iqulmë lissë an vilissë o Kaya Duskraven. Cé pataro imbi eleni, nínion ‘nin gwannad lîn. Hiro hyn hîdh ab 'wanath.”

As he finished, the elf stroked her knuckles softly, observing her carefully. Reyna was on edge, that was clear, although he could not figure out the exact reason—however, as tears spilled from her tightly shut eyes, he intervened, closing her in an embrace.

"Do you think she rests in peace? That Xenia's deed hadn't influenced her eternal rest?"

"I believe our Gods are omniscient and just, and as they welcomed Kaya, they saw her for the wonderful person she was before her life was stolen from her."

She hummed in response. They stayed like this for several minutes until Reyna’s breath evened out, and a yawn slipped past her lips. Tyril helped her climb onto the mattress and lulled her to sleep, just the night before, telling her a story of Undermount society’s attempts to open the city to the world. "Thank you," she whispered. “I— The prayer did bring me some comfort.”

Two hours. It took only two hours for Reyna to wake up again. She sat up straight, her skin blanketed with sweat. Tyril stroked her back through the damp gown as she took deep breaths to compose herself. 

"It's alright," he comforted repeatedly, allowing her to rest on his chest and cry out all the emotions bothering her at that moment. 

But it wasn't alright. At that moment, Reyna could not remember the nightmare that caused her to wake up drenched in sweat and with a plea on her lips, but she felt utterly devastated and powerless, and no amount of consolation was able to calm her down. Her heart would not stop pounding against her ribcage as tears would not stop flowing down her cheeks, and the terror she awakened to deftly transfigured into suffocating panic that immediately alerted the elf. 

Fixing their position so that they were sitting facing each other, Tyril's palms cradled her face, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Reyna, focus on me, alright? Breathe with me, take as long and deep breaths as you can, and hold it in for five seconds," he instructed, feeling his equilibrium wane as the woman before him struggled to settle her nerves. The calming spell was ready to roll from the tip of his tongue when at last Reyna took a deep, shaky breath. 

He counted down the seconds out loud for her, time after time, until her muscles relaxed, and the body became heavy in his hands. The back of his hand wiped the drops of sweat off her forehead as he laid her down, back to the same position she woke up in, and kissed her cold temple, pressing his lips for several long seconds.

She hadn't slept well the night before, and that night would probably be no different. Rubbing her back up and down, he proposed to tell her another story, in a poor attempt to help her fall asleep. 

"Just hold me, please,” she pleaded. And as a devout worshipper, Tyril held her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, although his heart ached seeing his partner in pain. 

"Are you asleep?" 

Startled, Tyril blinked repeatedly to rid his eyes of the remainder of sleep. "No." 

“I want to cut my hair.”

The elf’s brows furrowed in confusion, his gaze focusing on the pendulum clock on the far side of the room. “Now? It’s three in the morning.”

“I need a change, and my hair reminds me of what—” she held her tongue. “Will you help me or not?”

Rubbing off the blur in his eyes, Tyril rolled off the bed and approached the mirror she was sitting in front of.

"Are you certain?"

"Just do it."

Visibly unstrung and beaded with sweat, Reyna sat facing the vanity mirror, holding back tears. Unconvinced, he took his own sword from her hand and gripped the hilt tightly. Several seconds and one skilful swish of the sword later, inches of her dark locks hit the floor silently. Holding her blurry gaze in the reflection, Tyril inquired further.

“Calanín, what’s troubling you?”

Reyna dismissed his worry with a shake of her head and made her way to the en-suite bathroom. “Sorry for waking you up,” she added before disappearing into the dimly lit room. The last sound he had heard before drifting off to a turbulent sleep was that of Reyna climbing into the ornate bath. 

As the full moon gave way to the sun, coolness to sparkling dew and thin fog, the couple set out to meet their friends, shyly setting out on a new adventure, leaving the turbulent night but a memory. 

[bluejaysandblackbats]

If There’s Nothing Missing In My Life…

Fandom: DC Comics, Superfam

Summary: Newly-emancipated popstar and child actor, Conner (screen name: Lucky) navigates high school and stardom on his own.

Chapters: 16/?

Characters: Conner Kent, Lois Lane, Roxy Leech, Rex Leech, Lois Lane, Clark Kent, Hillary Chang

Additional Tags: Highschool AU, Celebrity AU, Conner Kent Needs a Hug, Conner Luthor, Lex Luthor is Conner’s Parent, Teen Angst, Angst, POV First Person, No Powers AU, Conner Kent-centric, Bisexual Conner Kent, POV Conner Kent, Protective Lex Luthor, Child Celebrity AU

Chapter Sixteen: In The Wind

The wind hit my face as I stood on the ledge of my apartment building. I texted everyone I knew and said goodbye. I didn't think it'd be so hard to jump, though. My eyes were red and swollen from crying, and I could see just enough to be paralyzed with fear. I held onto the wall and stared straight ahead. "Kid! Lucky!" Rex yelled. Rex used me, too. He was the worst of them all, and it reminded me of why I was there. People like him telling me who to talk to, what to wear, and how to look...

"Go away!" I screamed.

"Lucky, listen... Don't jump! You've got a lot to live—."

"Shut up! All you ever cared about was the money! So go ahead, take what you want, and get out!" I interrupted. I didn't want to hear his voice anymore. I didn't want to hear anything.

"Lucky, I'm sorry! If you wanna fire me, fire me, but don't do this—."

"Get out, or I'll jump!" I yelled. I heard sirens and laid my head back against the wall. "No... No, please tell them to go away!" I started crying again because I didn't want an audience. I just wanted to go out quickly and quietly.

"Lucky! How many of these did you take?" Lois asked.

"Lucky, come back to the window so we can help you—."

Lois and Clark meant well, but hearing their voices hurt me even more. I felt so unloved and unwanted, and I'd already pushed the only person that ever really wanted me away. "I don't want any of you! I want my dad, and he's not coming! So, I'm gonna stand here until I go to sleep! And if anyone tries to stop me, I'll jump!" I threatened.

There were no more bargaining chips. I was in control. And for once, I didn't wanna be. I closed my eyes and thought about how badly I wanted to curl up in my dad's office and read a book. I wanted to go home with him and let everything return to normal. I didn't see that as possible, so I couldn't turn back. Life wasn't worth living if I couldn't have my dad back. I started crying so hard I could barely hear the police sirens. I felt sick to my stomach, and I wanted to throw up. I swallowed hard as I wept.

"Conner! Conner, don't you dare jump!" Dad yelled. I wiped my eyes and turned my head toward the window. "Let me come and get you!"

"Dad?" I asked. The pills started to kick in, and I felt woozy and needed to sit down. "Dad, what are you doing here?"

He leaned out of the window and reached for my hand. "It's past your bedtime," Dad chastised me. I reached for his hand and stumbled, shaking my head as I regained my balance.

"I can't reach it," I cried, "Dad, I'm so sorry for everything! I should've stayed home with you! I should've listened to you—."

"I'm the adult here... And I wasn't acting like it. I let my pride get in the way, and I stood idly by as everyone picked you apart... I was wrong, and I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, Conner. Now, stand still, and let me get you," Dad interrupted. I stood still and watched as he climbed out the window and grabbed my hand. "I need you to walk with me."

I shook my head. "Dad, I can't! I'm too scared!" I cried. He squeezed my hand.

"Me too... But I am not about to lose my little boy," Dad replied, "I'm not gonna let you go this time. Let's get you inside." I nodded, swallowed hard, and we took small steps until he climbed into the window. I started to panic, and he squeezed my hand. "Shhh, I'm still here. I'm not gonna let you fall." I crouched down and climbed in, and my dad yanked me away from the window so hard we both fell down, and he held me in his arms. I pulled away and threw up. It was just us two. Everyone else left. I was thankful for that because I was a mess and didn't want to be looked at by anyone.

"Dad," I gagged. "I'm so sorry—."

"Don't worry about it. I've got you now... It's all gonna be okay," Dad reassured me. Everyone's voices faded into the background as he spoke to me.

I felt so tired and cold that I couldn't talk anymore. I hugged my dad and closed my eyes, but my dad shook me and tried to hold me up. "Conner, I know you're sleepy, but you've gotta stay up late with me just this once. You told me you missed hearing your name. Your real name. Conner. You wanted us to call you Conner—."

"I gotta go to th' hozp'tal. News—."

My dad shushed me. "That doesn't matter right now... What's important is that you stay awake until the paramedics get up here. Can you do that for me?" Dad asked. I wasn't sure if I could. I didn't want to lie to him. "Can you try?" I nodded. "Good boy... That's my boy. Wanna come home here or with me when you're released from the hospital?"

"Wanna go wi' you," I slurred. He held my face in his hands. "'M ready to go now."

"They're almost here... The elevators are slow. Conner," Dad raised his voice, "Conner, I heard your song. Your manager's daughter sent it to me. Did you write that?" I nodded, and my head drooped. "You've matured so much. I had no idea you could write like that."

The paramedics took me, but I wouldn't let go of my dad's hand until they promised to let him come along. I lost consciousness in the ambulance, and when I woke up, I had to speak with a doctor who explained where I was and what would happen to me. I told them that I wanted to be released into the custody of my dad, and they promised to take note of that so I could take it to court. I was still out of it, but I meant every word. My two and a half days at the hospital were a blur, but it was good to finally see my dad again when he picked me up. We immediately got on a plane and went home to Metropolis, and I slept for nearly three days straight.

Dad never left my side. Every time I got up to eat or shower, he was right there, with a hand in my hair and a smile. He was happy to see me home, really happy. After four days of jet lag and feeling like crap, I asked my dad if I could see my phone. He hesitated but gave in anyway. I immediately looked online to see what people had to say. I ran a hand through my hair and took a deep breath. "I'm gonna see if I can call—."

He took my phone and shook his head. "Let's be Conner for a little bit. I missed Conner," Dad whispered, "But we can go outside if you want. Get something to eat at one of your favorite restaurants?" I nodded and got dressed in sweats and a hoodie. I didn't want to be seen... But I wanted to go outside. The concept of having to face anyone but Dad terrified me.

"Hey, Diddoo?" I whispered as he waited by the front door with his keys.

"What's the matter?" Dad asked.

I wrung my hands. "Why—? Lois and Clark... Have you talked to them?" I asked. He nodded.

"Do you want to see them?" Dad questioned. I shook my head. "It's okay if you do... I won't be upset."

I walked up to him and hugged him. "I feel like I screwed everything up," I mumbled. He shook his head.

"No, you're still learning... And I can't shield you from that anymore. You made a lot of good decisions on your own. All you needed was a little guidance," Dad reassured, "Come on, let's go get you something to eat."

[free-for-all-fics]

So… Turns out I wrote waaaaaay more than I thought because what I was hoping would be only a 3-part fic at most turned into 7 parts due to post limits. Whoops? Anyway, hope you Claude Rains fans enjoy this crossover fic. If you’re inspired by it at all pls tag me and I’d love to read it! 1/7 💜📸📝

Warnings: Harsh language, intense anger issues, bullying, time-period sexism, religion and antisemitism mentions, violence, age-gap romance (you’re in your 20’s, the Claude character is in his 40’s) Fanny Skeffington bashing and strained/tense mother-daughter relationship (in the context of the story, you’ll see.)

“I’m very happy, Fanny. How about you?”

“Well, at the moment, I'm more surprised than happy.”

“Don't you like children?”

“No. They always seem to be so wise.”

“Well, I think any child of ours has a fair chance of being stupid, Fanny.”

On April 16, 1916, Mrs. Frances “Fanny” Skeffington unexpectedly gave birth to twin girls, you and your sister, Fanny. When you were born, you screamed like your body was rebelling against your existence - as if you’d arrived in a world that made no sense at all. When you were very little, one thing ever upset you and brought tears to your eyes: When your father went away. While either of you were awake, Job would never leave your sister or yourself for more than an hour or two. But being a Skeffington meant he had duties to perform. As much as he missed his daughters when he was away, especially if it was for days at a time, and would have loved to have taken you and your sister with him on various business trips, even he had to admit that it was no place for children and, sometimes, you and your sister were better off staying in the safety and warmth of the house on Charles Street. You seemed to disagree most days. Temper tantrums were inevitably bound to happen, especially in very young children. Job knew this. You were so little, you just didn’t know how to regulate your very confusing emotions yet. Job didn’t think much of it back then. But there was one day where it was especially bad.

You, your father’s darling daughter, were sat in the middle of your nursery. Your small face was red and scrunched up in displeasure. Tears were streaming down your cheeks and onto the carpeted floor below. It was half past seven o’clock in the evening. You were supposed to be put down for bedtime thirty minutes ago, but nothing seemed to work. When it was bedtime, Fanny usually fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. But you were usually a bit fussy and didn’t want to sleep. You wanted more food, you wanted to play, you wanted to be held, you wanted something. The nanny put you in your crib like always, but you just tossed and turned, rolling this way and that until you kicked off your blankets, like always. You used the wooden bars to support yourself and stand up. You couldn’t climb over and out, so you just stood there, watching and waiting. The nanny tried everything she could think of, but you were determined to stay awake. So she brought in your father for help. Maybe you wanted him. He picked you up and lifted you out of your crib and, after holding and rocking you for a few minutes, placed you on the floor. It made your father’s heart hurt to see you this way, but nothing he said or did seemed to console you.

“I’ll be back very soon, my darling,” he cooed from where he was crouched in front of you, brushing back some of your baby hairs from your forehead. “It’s only for a short time. Then I’ll be back.”

Though you were little more than a baby at the time and couldn’t possibly comprehend what he was saying, it was almost as if you didn’t believe him. After a short pause, you leaned back and inhaled, and then let out a great wail of anguish.

Your father winced. “Please, sweetheart.” He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe your tears, but you turned your head every which way, hating the feeling of the soft cloth on your sticky, wet face. Job snatched a cushion off the nearest chair and threw it on the floor on the other side of the short-legged tea-table before lowering himself to the floor, sitting squarely opposite you. He moved quickly and quietly, sweeping you onto his lap and crossing his legs, allowing you to rest easily on his thighs, and gaze up at him. “It’s all right. No need for such tears!”

“Mr. Skeffington, I can fetch the nanny,” Manby said from her place by the door in a small voice. No doubt, she didn’t think it was suitable for him to be on the floor, holding a wet and weeping child.

“Nonsense. She’s my daughter, I can handle—”

His words were cut short by another wail, one so loud he doubted it even came from you. Was such a thing even possible? You were so small, and the voice was so loud… Suddenly, Fanny, his wife, swept into the room. Manby, still stood by the door, bowed her head in a polite nod to acknowledge her Mistress’ appearance. Fanny caught Job’s eye and, upon seeing him on the floor, frowned slightly. Clearly, it wasn’t just the household staff that thought the image of the Master on the floor of the nursery was an interesting one.

“I wondered what had happened to detain you,” your mother said slowly, making her way into the room.

“Apologies,” he replied, raising his voice slightly to be heard over you who, on seeing your mother, had begun to squirm and cry even louder than before. He turned his attention back to you. “There’s no need for that, my love,” he huffed, a sound halfway between amusement and a sigh. “As you can see, I was preoccupied,” he continued, bouncing his legs slightly, mimicking the flap of butterfly wings, hoping that the action might’ve pleased you and gave you a respite from your tears. It didn’t as, once again without warning, you let out another wail.

“What in all the world has happened to warrant such tears!” your mother asked your father with wide eyes.

Still bouncing his legs, Job explained, “I made to leave.”

Your mother didn’t understand, but Manby understood immediately. Job looked down at you with a small and sad smile, before raising his head towards the door. “You can go ahead and leave us, Fanny. Inform Mr. and Mrs. Malloy that I will not be at the dinner this evening.”

“Well… If you’re certain, Job.”

“I am. I’m sure Chester and Freddie won’t mind if I don’t come along.”

Fanny exited the nursery, Manby following and closing the door behind her, leaving just you and your father alone, the nanny not having been called. You sat in silence for a moment, your father watching as you sniffled and looked up at him with your large, wide eyes. Your face was still damp with tears and the color in your cheeks had dulled to a flushed, rosy pink. You were seemingly much calmer now, as if you heard the door click shut and had the keen awareness that your father had given in and opted to stay with you after all.

Suddenly, Job let his relieved smile, that he had stifled in your mother’s presence, show. He leaned forward to run his hand down your face. You finally let him brush away the drying tears and, while he was at it, he took the opportunity to also brush back your hair, trying to tame the wild strands that were messy and poking up in every direction. “Well, darling, looks like it’s just you and me tonight. I’ll tell you a secret: I didn’t want to go to that dinner party anyway. I’m sure Chester and Freddie will be pleased. Come on, sweetheart. Come on,” he said, somewhat gleefully. He picked you up like you were expecting but, to your disappointment, he laid you back down in your crib and covered you with the blanket. You were about to pout and fuss again, but his voice stopped you. “Darling?” your father asked carefully, “Would you like to see something? Something special?”

Another thing that you had in common with your father: A burning curiosity. You nodded furiously, and Job smiled. You watched, enthralled, as your father held a mobile in his two pale hands out in front of himself. He hung it up over your crib. It was beautiful, with butterflies of all kinds, all painted beautiful shades of blue, green, and purple. The light from your room illuminated it in a way reminiscent of the moon as it reflected off the spinning mobile. You watched in awe as the small butterflies began to move and fly out in all different directions. You laughed and wriggled, before reaching out your hands in the direction of the butterflies, as if to grab them. But you had no luck in reaching them, they were too high up.

“Dada!” you whined suddenly, dropping your hands in defeat.

Job froze, as did the nanny who had come in to check on you.

“Dada! Dada!”

The nanny raised her head to Mr. Skeffington, intent on sharing a surprised look, but instead, she noticed his eyes had filled, and he looked ready to cry, and yet he was smiling.

Nine years after your birth, your chubby little baby face had developed into a beautiful little girl. In your mother’s words, your sister, Fanny, inherited all of your father’s brains and none of her looks. As a matter of fact, Job said she looked like his grandmother. You, the other daughter, however, were the exact opposite. You inherited all of Fanny’s looks but none of Job’s brains. By the time Fanny was only six, she was as gentle as a hummingbird. She knew her courtesies well. Not only that, she was a model student. She had her struggles in certain subjects like every child but, unlike her, you were struggling and failing almost everything. It was around the time when you were both nine years old that the people around you, especially your father and Uncle George, began to really notice your behavioral problems. You began to exhibit hostile behavior. The littlest things seemed to set you off. One day at school, you and Fanny were playing on the playground, complete with a swings carousel, jungle gym, and a tall corkscrew slide made to look like a rocket ship, just like the other kids. You played amongst yourselves, but then you noticed something that made you stop short. A girl approaching on a bicycle. It was Emily. You didn’t know her last name, nor did you care. All you knew was that she was your main bully. She acted as ringleader to a group of girls whose mission it was to make your life harder than it needed to be.

You had a Christian mother and Jewish father, but you and Fanny were raised without an affiliation to either religion. You’d always considered yourself non-religious despite your regular conversations with God. You didn’t understand that your mother and father were of different faiths, nor the importance of it. Until you realized that, in New York, all the neighbors and other kids’ parents were either Christian or Jewish and their children were raised to be the same. One or the other, but never both. The group of girls always called you names. You didn’t understand what “crossbreed” and “kike” meant. You felt you had to make a choice to "belong", so you decided to do your own research about faith. You attended two Christian services with your mother and one Jewish service with your father, but you found the services boring and hard to follow (as you didn’t know the songs or the meanings of anything), and spent the time counting hats. You also dealt with the issues of growing up and puberty—including worry over periods, feelings about boys, getting your first bra, and jealousy about others. The girls at school pulled your hair, messed with your personal belongings… But Emily was the worst of them.

They didn’t go after your twin sister, Fanny. Just you. She wasn’t bullied, harassed, or tormented by other children like you were, probably because you were the much easier target. Fanny was a little lady, practically perfect in every way. She was everything you were not, but you didn’t envy her. She could be shy and soft-spoken at times, but she made friends easily, got good grades, and dressed and behaved in a way a girl should. You, on the other hand, were cursed with your late uncle’s temper at times, and the rudeness was all yours. You were furious when Fanny’s friend’s parents insisted that you both must be a Christian because your mother is one and faith passes through the mother—and they could overlook the "sins" of your father being Jewish. You were already angry at them for coming to visit at all, but them insisting on you being Christian was your rage breaking point.

“I found it odd you didn’t join us in saying Grace at dinner. With your father, it’s understandable, but... Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to.”

“Your sister did.”

“She wanted to. I didn’t.”

“Are you one with Christ like your mother and sister, Miss Skeffington?”

“Your parents didn’t raise you and your sister to be of different faiths, did they? That’d be rather…unheard of.”

“How about you shut your damn mouths?”

“Language, young lady! Don’t use such words. The Lord hears everything, even after we say ‘Amen’.”

“You’re guests in our house. I’ll say whatever I damn well please. If you don’t like it, you can leave.”

“Won’t you tell us a story? My old man, God rest his soul, used to say that Jews are good at telling stories. You must have your father’s Jew blood in you.”

“You want a story? Fine. There once was a man who came to know Christ in a monastery. He wanted to be a priest. And under the guidance and discipline of the monks who lived there, he came to memorize both the testaments, the writings of Assisi, Aquinas, Erasmus, all the saints and scholars. His father, a vulgar man, did not think much of this education, and so he and his brothers conspired to pull him out, lock him away, where, between beatings, starvations, and the failure of Christ to intercede the beatings and starvations, he slowly forgot all about the testaments. Assisi, Aquinas, Erasmus, all of it.”

“Stop.”

“And so to answer your boring question, there is an ocean between Christ and myself. I hope that satisfies you. But who can say. Your brain must be collecting dust in your skull from years of disuse, you pigheaded fool.”

“Stop!”

“Then don’t do that shit here! Not with me, not with my sister, and not with my father. You understand?”

They left the house and never came back after that. You weren’t sorry to see them go, of course. You were only sorry that Fanny lost a friend because of you. Going back to school was awkward. Both for her and for you.

October 1925

Today was P.E. and we played soccer. Jasmine and I were team red. I think Kristina wanted to be team red too. Jasmine is really good at soccer. P.E. is the only subject I’m good at. I’m failing almost everything else. I hope Mother and Daddy won’t be mad at me. I don't like after school programs, especially ballet. It's difficult, and boring. And I hate proper etiquette. What's wrong with being myself? I don't need to be like Mother. Miss Brook came to pick me up from my after school program and defended me today. The kids walked away when she said her brother is going to catch them and put them in jail. He’s a politician or something. I don’t know. I want to be like her. I want to be the next Miss Brook! That way, no one will ever bully me.

November 1925

Yesterday’s classes were the worst! Mr. Davis was usually very nice, so I was happy to be in his class again today. But this morning, I was disciplined for the first time. During class, Mr. Davis caught me daydreaming again. I didn’t realize what I was doing until he called my name two or three times. He made me show him my slate, (a test to see if I was paying attention? A test I was doomed to fail?) and, instead of spelling, there were doodles all over it. I pleaded and insisted that I didn’t remember drawing anything, but…I must’ve. Why else would those doodles be on my slate? I said that I wouldn’t do it again, but he didn’t believe me because this wasn’t the first time. He had me stand up and come to the front of the classroom. He struck me. In front of the entire class. Something about being an example. I was terrified, but Mr. Davis said it needed to happen for me to learn and grow. He struck me. He hit the palms of my hands with his ruler so many times, it made me want to scream. I wished I could go numb to what was going on. I don’t want to experience it ever again. I can cover the marks with gloves and Mother’s makeup for now, but I just hope nobody will notice. It hurts to even hold a pencil or piece of chalk.

“Class is dismissed.”

“I hope this will teach her a lesson. Stuck up thing.”

“Miss Skeffington, you may close the door.”

“Mr. Davis, if I solemnly promise not to draw anymore on my slate when I'm supposed to be practicing my spelling, may I go?”

“Have I your promise?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well. Give me your slate.”

“Oh, no.”

“Your slate, Miss Skeffington.”

“I beg of you.”

“The slate. Did you draw this, Miss Skeffington?”

“I-I think so.”

“Hand me the ruler. Hold out your hand. Higher. Higher.”

“I'm ready, Mr. Davis.”

“You may go, Miss Skeffington.”

“Oh, thank you. Thank you. Oh, thank you, Mr. Davis.”

Emily pretended to not see you and just rode right by. You watched, your face strangely slack, then started to follow her. Fanny gave you a confused look, but tagged along. You found Emily’s bike parked nearby where she was playing. There were kids playing and moms and dads watching. You ignored them all. Emily was climbing on the jungle gym with some other kids. You walked over with Fanny in tow and just watched Emily play. When Emily saw you watching her, she made a face. You just stood there, staring.

“What are you looking at?”

No response. Fanny tugged on your arm, but you were rooted in place, staring blankly at Emily. Finally, Emily couldn’t take it. She climbed off the jungle gym and walked away, and you watched her go. Emily got on a swing but, just as she started to get some height, you were right there, staring at her again. Fanny happily grabbed a swing for herself, but you were fixated on Emily.

“Stop staring at me! Stop it!”

But you were unwavering and couldn’t take your eyes off of her. Emily got off the swing and ran away, while you walked after her. You looked calm on the outside, but inside you were simmering with rage. She had to pay.

“Go away! Stop following me, freak!”

Fanny saw you following Emily and grudgingly got off the swing, hurrying to catch up. Emily gave the both of you an angry look as you followed her across the park, Fanny still uncertain about what was going on. Emily headed for the tall corkscrew slide. Steep stairs led to the enclosed top, the tip of the rocket ship.

Emily started up the stairs, then paused. She turned to you. “You go first.”

You didn’t move, but Fanny gladly took her turn. After a beat, you followed Fanny up the stairs. Emily stayed behind, watching. Fanny went down the spiraling slide, but you just stood at the top, looking down at Emily.

“Go!”

You continued to stare down at her for a beat, then turned and disappeared from sight. Only then did Emily climb up. Fanny ran to the stairs for another turn, while Emily reached the top and looked around. She saw Fanny, but where were you? She turned, and suddenly, you were right in front of her. You didn't go down the slide, you were just crouched out of sight. Emily gasped - then you spat In her face and pushed her down the stairs. Emily screamed as she fell, her limbs flailing out of control. She landed hard in the dirt and just laid there crying, clutching her arm and bleeding from a gash in her forehead. Emily’s scream drew alarmed looks. One of the playground mothers came running to help. But Fanny stood frozen, gaping at you in total shock. You stared blankly down at Emily from atop the slide, utterly emotionless. Emily’s father arrived on the scene. Emily said something to him and pointed at you and Fanny, who watched from a distance. The principal was called, who in turn personally called your father to come pick both you and Fanny up, cutting your school day short. You and Fanny waited outside the principal’s office, sitting in uncomfortable plastic chairs while he and your father were having their private discussion about the incident at recess and your involvement in it. You couldn’t hear anything of their conversation except for,

“Well, to begin with, your daughter has many good qualities. She’s intelligent. She has imagination...”

“Oh, this is gonna be even worse than I thought.”

And then the heavy wooden door closed, preventing you from listening further. Twenty minutes felt like an eternity to the two of you, especially since you couldn’t hear a word of what was being said from inside.

“Are you going to tell on me?”

Your sister shrugged, unsure what to do.

“I didn't mean to hurt her. I just wanted her to stop picking on me.” When you noticed the look your sister was giving you, you continued, “Don't you hate it when someone is mean to you for no reason? Wouldn't you do almost anything to make them stop?”

A beat. Fanny nodded. Finally, mercifully, the door opened and your father emerged.

“Come on, girls. Let’s go.”

You and Fanny both immediately got up, eager to be free from the hard plastic chairs. Your father walked between the both of you, holding your hand in his right and Fanny’s hand in his left. In your free hand, you clutched a sketchbook held together with a rubber band. Your feet were encased in saddle shoes and they clicked on the concrete as you walked outside to your father’s car. Activity on the playground stopped as the girls watched you leave. None of them looked sorry to see you go. You ignored them. Your father put your things - your backpack and your paintings - in the trunk of the car.

November 1925

Manby saw the marks on my hands and helped me. She cleaned my wounds. It was painful. I told her what happened, told her that I could not stand the degradation of being forced to attend school with a lot of ill-mannered girls who stick their silly noses into other people's business. Manby said I should be patient. But they threw stones at me. Manby told me to forgive and forget. She said they don’t know what they’re doing. I like Manby, but I hate the other kids.

"Sweet child, it is a myth that the strong bully the weak. It is those who cannot handle their stress with grace, who attack the gentle natured. You are attacked because you have self-restraint, a trait often only seen in adults. You are mature beyond your years, although you are still a child. Those bullied are often the "too much" children. They are too clever, too pretty, too kind... The things said to justify the abuse are false. They are excuses and no more. No person can tell you who or what you are, for you build yourself with your own choices, as do they. With every choice to be unkind, they build themselves to be unkind. You're different. That's good. With every choice you make to be kind, you build yourself into a kinder person. Every great person I know was bullied as a child. That which makes you a target now, will make you great in your lifetime. Through sadness we learn empathy, to know how others feel in pain transforms us, and we make ourselves kinder all the more."

She told Daddy. That made me panic. What did he do? What did he say to Mr. Davis? Is Mr. Davis going to punish me more? She said he didn't say anything to Mr. Davis. Not yet, at least. When she told him how I'd been humiliated, he merely told her that he would most certainly take me out of that miserable school. He told her he could not stay to discuss the matter with me just now as he had to prepare for Uncle George’s charity gala he’s attending tonight, but he will as soon as I get up and have my breakfast tomorrow. It’s a school night, but Fanny and I don’t have to go. He still expects us in bed at the usual time, though.

November 1925

Daddy told me this morning after breakfast that I won’t have to go to school anymore. He was looking at other options for Fanny too, but Fanny is gonna stay because she likes it there, has friends, and is a good student. Her teachers are nice to her, but Daddy says he’ll pull her out too if he ever gets even a whiff of trouble like he did with me. He says he's gonna teach me out of books and things. He says it'll be better for me. But everybody goes to school. I don't. Not anymore. Maybe I can't ever go anywhere. Maybe I’ll just have to stay home all the time.

You sat alone in your painting room in the attic. You could hear your parents below, but didn’t pay attention to what they were saying until you heard your name. You stopped painting and listened, suddenly apprehensive. Though you couldn’t see your parents, your mother sounded troubled by what your father had told her.

“We’ll talk to her about it tonight.”

“You think that’s enough?”

“What do you suggest?”

“I could take her to Dr. Jaquith.”

“I don’t think we need to call in the shrink just yet. We already had Dr. Melton examine her. We're not going to keep taking her to doctors until you hear what you want to hear.”

“That’s not what I'm trying to do, Fanny. I want this to work just as much as you do, but there are serious questions that we still don't have the answers to. If the school principal, Mr. Benson, was right about her, then children are getting seriously hurt because of her.”

“Maybe. It still could’ve been an accident. Kids fall off of things all the time. He didn't really believe that our daughter would intentionally hurt another child.”

“He didn’t want to believe it. But he was worried enough to think we should put her in Dr. Jaquith’s care until we found out for sure.”

“For all his good intentions, Mr. Benson is not a trained psychologist. I get what you’re saying and I’m not trying to dismiss or diminish your concerns, Job, I just don’t want to make a bigger deal out of it than it is.”

“The incident at the playground yesterday… It just reminded me of what Mrs. Saunders said. We really don't know that much about her.”

“She had certain suspicions about her and they turned out to be wrong. Dr. Melton told us she’s just going through a phase and that she’ll come out of it on her own. Why can’t you accept that?”

“And what if, down the road, somebody else thinks there is something seriously wrong with her? Somebody like Janie Clarkson? If it’s a dead end, I’ll drop it. But we have to get a second opinion at this point, and Dr. Jaquith is a specialist.”

Fanny considered what Job was saying. She didn’t want to be unreasonable. If you could be helped in the way she wished she could’ve helped Trippy, she’d take that opportunity. She nodded. “All right. See what you can find out.”

“Emily says you pushed her.”

“That’s not true! We were just playing and she tripped! I swear!”

Your father turned to ask Fanny, “Did you see what happened?”

You eyed Fanny expectantly. She hesitated, but eventually said, “It was an accident, Daddy.”

Job sighed, not entirely convinced. The door opened, and Soames appeared in the doorway of the parlor.

You turned on him with extraordinary violence. "Didn’t I give you the strictest orders not to come in?" you cried.

So much violence about so small a thing. Why shouldn’t Soames have come in? The poor man, still obviously in a state of inner turmoil, only wanted to take away the tea. You were their daughter and all that, but the strict orders and the violence did seem rather overstepping the bounds of what you might and might not do. Funny, how everybody and everything was that day. Nothing, since your mother left her bedroom that morning, had been in the least what she was accustomed to. Soames, met by this outburst, hesitated on the threshold. Yes, he had been told not to come in but, after a while, he had found it impossible to stay out. He was much too frightened. The silence, the death-like silence downstairs, had frightened him enough to begin with, but it was nothing to the fright which overwhelmed him when you started screaming blue murder. When you finally exploded, you didn’t go for the pictures or tchotchkes as usual, you went straight for him; pummeling, hitting, kicking, biting. Your father was quick to intervene and break up the distressing scene, grabbing you and pulling you away from Soames while you thrashed and bucked like a wild animal. Your father glanced uneasily across at Soames. This was the final straw. Despite your mother’s reluctance, your father knew he needed to consult with Dr. Jaquith immediately. It couldn’t be put off any longer. He should’ve gone to him months ago, but both he and your mother were still in denial, under the illusion that either you’d grow out of it or they could help you without needing a doctor’s assistance. Dr. Jaquith was a renowned psychiatrist that specialized in working with both children and adults. He’d know what to do, much better than anyone else in the household. Job knew it was time to swallow his pride.

“Fanny, darling, go find Marie and play with her for a while. Soames, call the doctor. It’s too late in the evening now and the last train has gone, but there may still be a late one if he drives into Waterbury. If not, tell him that we need him to get on a train to New York as quickly as he can. We’ll reimburse his travel expenses if we have to. Just get him here,” was all he said, and Soames hastily bowed and turned on his heel, eager to flee the room and follow his Master’s order. Fanny was a bit more hesitant, obviously concerned about you. A part of her wanted to stay but, after staring at you for a few more seconds, she realized her presence wouldn’t help you in this situation, so she left the room to find Marie as she was told to. Hopefully Dr. Jaquith would be here by the day after tomorrow and, until then, Job could find ways to console and calm you down.

“Messy things, pipes. I like them. Mr. Skeffington. Mrs. Skeffington. How do you do? I’m Dr. David Jaquith.”

“Dr. Jaquith. Of course. You’ve taken us by surprise. We weren't expecting you until tomorrow.”

“Yes, there was a mix-up. I had to take an earlier train. I apologize for dropping in on you unexpectedly. I know you may not want me here at this very moment since I’m a day early. If this is a bad time, I can go to my hotel and come back tomorrow.”

“Hotel? Don’t be silly. There’s plenty of guest rooms here. We can have Manby make one up for you. And it’s quite all right, Doctor. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Come in, come in. Clinton can take your coat. So long as you help our daughter, you’re welcome under our roof here. We’re happy to have another set of eyes and hands looking after her, but we do hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“How grave you make it sound. Of course, I want you to know that I’m here to help you with anything you need.”

“That’s real kind of you, Dr. Jaquith. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Skeffington. Though I could use a coffee, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. Manby, could you make Dr. Jaquith a cup of coffee? Well, thank you for coming, Doctor. Really, we’re honored by the visit of the foremost psychiatrist of the whole country. We think it was pretty sweet of you to come all the way from Vermont to New York. We know that, generally, you don’t come to see people. They go to see you.”

“That’s from lack of time, not from vanity. But the phone call I received from one of your staff - Soames, was it? - sounded very urgent. I had to come in person so I could properly assess the situation and determine for myself if your daughter is an urgent case or not.”

“The people who recommended you said you treat adults, too.”

“That is correct. But I’ve always found children’s minds to be more interesting.”

“What we’d like to know, Doctor, is if you can cure our daughter. Before we end up in a heap of ash.”

“As a psychiatrist, I treat mental and emotional disorders in my patients, and I try to alleviate their condition. I do not presume to cure them. If you don’t mind, I’ll have to ask you and Mr. Skeffington some questions first.”

“Of course. Ask us anything you like.”

“Soames said she’s been throwing inexplicable temper tantrums, that she’s been lashing out violently. How long have these tantrums and acts of violence been going on? Do you have any idea what could have triggered the first episode?”

Job had a flashback to when you were five years old. You pulled the rope next to your bed to ring the bell and call your nanny into the room. You asked her to retrieve him, hoping against hope that he was still awake at such a late hour. You knew he was rarely less than ten steps away. When he arrived you were crying in the corner, sucking your thumb with a teddy bear in your arms. He picked you up and held you, patting you consolingly on the back and combing his fingers through your hair while he paced back and forth around the room as you cried and screamed. At the time, Job thought it had just been a terrible nightmare. But maybe…maybe it was something more. Whatever it was, you just needed to let it out… Surely, if he could find a better outlet for you, then these episodes would stop or, at the very least, decrease in frequency.

“Since she was five years old, she’s had a history of temper tantrums and fits of violence. We didn’t reach out for help sooner because I was often called away on business, Fanny had her own engagements, and we didn’t think it was anything more than the usual temper tantrums and aggressive behavior that come with being a toddler. She was a holy terror but we thought that, with our help, she’d eventually get past it, grow out of it once she reached a certain age. But it’s been over four years and not much has changed. Now she’s nine and hasn’t shown much improvement, despite our best efforts to console and help her. I wish I could be here more but, as a banker and businessman, I’m always being called away without warning and without any say in the matter. As much as I’d like to, I can’t take my daughters with me everywhere I go. I’d much rather be here with her. Although…”

“Mr. Skeffington?”

“It’s just that it hasn’t been very easy for me to talk to her lately. Whenever I called her from abroad while on my business trips, which was at least once a day, she always seemed to fly off the handle for no reason. We’d be talking about the weather or school or something equally innocuous, and suddenly she’d bellow at me and slam the phone down, which doesn’t make sense. My other daughter, Fanny, has always been extremely level-headed and even-tempered. She never gets angry. But with her…”

As Job spoke of you, he mused on you, how you weren’t anything like your sister, but you weren’t like your mother either. You were like him in some ways but oddly, or maybe not so oddly, in many ways, you reminded him of Trippy, Fanny’s brother. Was it possible that you took after him instead? He kept that thought to himself.

“Are you sure you didn’t inadvertently say something…you know, argumentative?”

“I promise you, these rages of hers are totally uncalled for and quite…unbearable. Everyone in this house loves her dearly but…she is making things very difficult. Frankly, talking to her is something we’ve been quite unable to do lately. These temper tantrums of hers make rational discourse well nigh impossible. We’re just about at our wits’ end. We don't know how or why she is the way that she is, but we do know she's a good kid, underneath it all.“

“Maybe she’s just unhappy here.”

“We don’t know why. I mean, she was thrilled to start the new school year and couldn’t wait. Something has changed her. We’re just as bewildered and upset by her behavior as any parent would be.”

“The last doctor that examined her said that aside from a little dry skin, which is not unusual for her, she was perfectly fine,” Fanny interjected.

“I didn’t trust his judgment, Fanny, so I had to get a second opinion from a doctor who wouldn’t be afraid to give us an honest assessment, even if it upset you.” Job turned from his wife to the doctor. “My father used to say that when a child misbehaves, it’s a parent’s duty to correct that child. Now as a father myself, I’m inclined to agree, but… Never mind. You asked for signs and symptoms. The first signs of a tantrum begin with her breath turning from quiet and regular to a panting gasp. She sucks at the air like it’s suddenly become thick and is now almost too difficult to draw in. She becomes deaf to my soothing words, and I’ve had to rapidly back-track on my previously tough stance, offer her more than what she had asked for in the first place. But by then, it’s irreversible. Her next stage is always to smash whatever she can lay her hands on. Fanny and I have seconds to hide everything we care about. Most parents, like my father, would have just held the child down until their energy was spent or they became too big, but I don’t want to do that to her. That’d only frighten her and make an already bad situation even worse. There’s got to be a better way, but… I just don’t know what more I can do for her. I feel like I’ve tried almost everything. Please get to the bottom of this, David. You’re our last hope.”

“She’s just testing us, there’s no doubt about that. But I know we’re doing a good job. Maybe we’re not strict enough with her, but it’s been nowhere near as bad as we expected.”

“I’ll have to be the judge of that, Mrs. Skeffington. Can you describe to me her behavior during these fits? What kinds of things has she been saying and doing? Can you tell me of any incidents that stand out to you?”

“Impertinent. Upsetting rules. Thinks she can run the works. Talking back to me. Purposefully disobeying. I've been going out so much lately that, by the time I get back, I have no energy. I was exhausted after attending a dinner party and said I just wanted to relax...but the banging on the walls and slamming of the door was making it hard for me to unwind. If she would just be quiet for a little bit, everything would be fine. But…”

“Anything else? Mr. Skeffington?”

“Last year, there was the dinner party Fanny and I were invited to by the Cookhams. It was Sunday, the nanny’s day off. We had planned on leaving the girls at home and having George watch them, but something came up at the last minute and he couldn’t. So we brought them with us. Fanny was on her best behavior, but our other daughter hated the dinner we shared. I could hear my parents’ voices in my head, telling me I should probably teach her to eat things she doesn't like. I was forced to eat things I hated when I was a kid, but we were poor. You have no idea how poor.”

“You weren’t actually hungry?”

“My father sold chocolate bars with almond nuts on a pushcart. When he had a good day, we ate meat. When he had a bad day, we ate chocolate bars with almond nuts. The bad days had a slight edge. It had to be done. But then… My brother died of a food allergy when he was young. We couldn’t afford the medicine that might’ve saved him.”

“You remember a lot about when you were a little boy, don’t you?”

“Especially the lack of plumbing. I was afraid that same allergy might’ve passed on to her or Fanny, but I thought that limiting what my daughters did or didn’t eat because of an uncertain possibility could be just as damaging to their eating habits as the allergy itself. The world of medicine isn’t what it used to be when I was their age. It’s evolving every day. I can be thankful for that. There’s medicine and treatment now to cure many food allergies, not to mention safe and controlled allergy tests so that medical professionals can find out what patients are allergic to without putting them at risk. So that’s what I did with her and Fanny. I took them both to get tested, and they both got off scot-free. No allergies detected. With her and Fanny, the only rule I enforced when it came to food was that they had to at least try it first before deciding if they liked something or not. She and Fanny aren’t extremely picky. They’ll eat practically anything you put in front of them. It wasn’t the food that bothered her, but she threw her plate onto the floor, breaking it and making a mess. I had to take her outside, apologizing profusely to everyone, especially the staff.”

“What’s wrong with her? My friends looked annoyed when we left. Our friends, our neighbors… I hear them in the church… They’re whispering about what’s happening in this house. And now certain friends of mine don’t visit as much as they used to. I hope they don’t hate me... She definitely needs some form of discipline, but she still won’t take to it. If I don’t figure something out, I may never see those friends again.”

As a psychiatrist, Dr. Jaquith was always making notes. Not just on paper, but mentally as well. And what he was noting about Fanny’s attitude and priorities was…troubling. Though she didn’t say it, Dr. Jaquith had a feeling that Fanny used you, her daughter, as an excuse to arrive and leave dramatically and make herself the center of attention. Though Dr. Jaquith was a professional and kept his face neutral, he was less than impressed from what he was inferring about the household environment, if the parents were anything to go by. And, in almost all cases, it most definitely was.

“And she dropped some rather vulgar language on me a few days ago. I can’t bring myself to repeat it. It was language that is unbecoming of a lady, especially a Skeffington. I swear, we didn’t teach her to say such things. At first, I thought she could have picked it up anywhere. She probably heard it at school. But this wasn’t something she overheard. She knew what it meant. And the way she said it… I don’t even think she expected to get in trouble over it. If she’s saying it to my face, what’s she saying or doing when we’re not around? We have to be thinking about what kind of influence she’s having on Fanny.”

Dr. Jaquith raised his eyebrows in comic, exaggerated surprise. “No explanation necessary. I don't think there is anything that girl could say that would surprise me. But this is important so I must ask, is she only talking back and disobeying you? Or does she behave the same way with you, Mr. Skeffington?”

“Not with me, no. She’s never once disobeyed or talked back to me, at least…not deliberately. If she ever did either of those things, it was because she was in the middle of an episode and couldn’t hear me or focus enough on my voice to listen to what I was saying, like her body was there but her mind was elsewhere, somewhere far away and beyond reach.”

“I see. Soames mentioned acts of violence. Have there been any incidents where she hurt either herself or another person?”

“Well… A girl she and Fanny were playing with in the school playground got hurt. There were some broken bones.”

A beat. Dr. Jaquith was suddenly apprehensive, but tried to cover by asking, “Really? Is the girl all right?”

“She broke her arm and had to have something like eleven stitches, I think. She was lucky.”

“She doesn’t sound very lucky.”

“She's lucky she didn’t break her neck.”

“She broke that girl’s arm only days ago, and now this! Poor Emily. They had a…small fight. She just pushed her, but she had a bad fall. I’m so ashamed… Her parents must think we raised a savage.”

Dr. Jaquith seemed troubled by this. “May I meet her?”

“Of course. She’s in her painting room. She adores drawing and painting. Fanny wouldn’t allow her to paint or draw in her bedroom. She was afraid she’d get paint on the carpet or the furniture, so I suggested that perhaps she might like her own area in the house for her art. It was a good compromise. The attic was largely unused, so I had it refurbished and repurposed so she could have her own space to get as messy as her heart desired. I still remember when I first surprised her with it last year…”

~

Enveloped in darkness and trusting your father as he led you through echoing hallways was something you never imagined you would be doing on what had, so far, been a typical Tuesday. He was brimming with excitement though, and the smile on his face had been so genuine that you had let him tie a silk blindfold over your eyes so he could properly escort you to the surprise. You needed a bit of cheering up and, besides, his anticipation was catching. Well, that and the fact that his hand wrapped tightly and comfortingly around yours was sending little sparks of electricity that you knew to be excitement throughout your body.

“There’s a ladder here, darling. Watch your step. I’ll be right behind you in case you slip, but no peeking!”

Despite being blindfolded, you realized you were going up to the attic. You’d gone up there many times before, usually after school. It was your safe space, your tower. The temptation was so strong, but you refrained from peeking. If your father went to so much trouble to make something special for you, you didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

“Excuse me, darling. I just need to reach over you to open the door.”

You bit your lower lip to conceal a grin, one eyebrow arched above the blindfold. You felt your father’s chest pressed against your back as he reached an arm over and past you. You heard a door latch turn, and the creak of hinges.

“Okay. You can step forward, darling. The attic is just there. One more step.”

Once you climbed up and your feet touched the familiar wooden flooring, you walked a few paces forward to give your dad enough space to follow behind you. You had stopped and waited. "Can’t I take this off now?"

“Not yet. I told you, I want this to be a surprise.” Once again his hand slipped into yours, your fingers interlacing easily and naturally. He squeezed your hand and drew you forward. Immediately you were assaulted with familiar smells…but weren’t able to place them.

“Now?”

“Impatient girl,” he chided, tweaking your nose. “Not yet!”

He moved away, letting go of your hand, and you could hear the rustle of fabric. The darkness around you grew a tad brighter, as if he had opened curtains to let the sunlight in. You couldn't hide your smile. “Now?” You felt him loosening the knot at your nape, his energy rolling down your spine like a physical being. The blindfold loosened.

“Okay…now,” he said, and slid the silk away from your eyes.

Immediately you gasped, a hand fluttering up toward your mouth, changing its mind, and then settling against the base of your throat in amazement. Golden sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the twenty easels that stood guard over hundreds of pristine canvases, all waiting for an artist. Tall tables, regular tables and low tables were placed casually around the room, piled high with every medium on the face of the earth, oil paints, watercolors, charcoal, pencils, inks, acrylics, woodblocks, stained glass, beads, and brushes that ranged in width from the size of a Hoover vacuum cleaner to the size of a pinhead. In addition, stacked neatly along one wall were sketch books; two pieces of light shale wrapped in cotton with pieces of vellum and parchment sandwiched between. Everything you would ever need. A small platform with candles placed strategically around it for a model to pose from, and drop cloths in perfect rolls swinging from a hammock that was suspended from the cathedral-like ceiling. Tears glistened in your eyes as you walked slowly around the room.

“I don't believe it…I've never seen so much…in my whole life!” you said, awed and unable to find all of your words.

Your father saw the mixture of tears and happiness on your face and smiled nervously. “Does this please you?”

You beamed at him over your shoulder. “Yes, oh, yes!”

“Then it is yours,” he said.

No one had ever given you something so wonderful, so perfect for you. You rushed to him, taking his hands in yours and, without thinking, rose on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, thank you so much, Daddy!”

In surprise, he turned his head slightly towards you, questioning to himself if this was indeed the same angry and violent little girl who was responsible for that horrid playground incident. But you were so overwhelmed with joy that you didn't notice. In the span of one second it was no longer his cheek under your mouth, it was your forehead under his lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he locked his arms around your back, and you held each other in a warm hug as you both cried tears of joy and maybe relief. You lowered your head, blushing furiously and unable to meet his eyes, as if you suddenly came to your senses and were embarrassed by your emotional outburst. One hand rose to cup your chin, and lift your face to him. He was as cool and refined as ever, and only smiled at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He didn't draw unwanted attention to your own tears, only used his thumbs to stroke your cheeks and wipe your tears away. In this emotional moment, your familial bond grew stronger.

“You’re welcome, my dear.”

~

“But, Job, painters are not highly thought of in good society. And there is nothing so difficult to marry as a painter, especially one who’s female.”

The statement was so absurd, it snapped Job out of his reminiscent reverie and Dr. Jaquith out of his train of thought.

“Marry?”

“Marry? But, Fanny, she is not yet thirteen. She’s a bit young for us to be thinking of such things.”

“Not now, but someday, I mean.”

Of all the things to take away from what was being discussed about her daughter, Fanny’s main concern was her future marriage prospects. Disappointing? Yes. Surprising? No.

“She’s been really absorbed in her work lately. I thought she might finally be free of her despair, her anger, because she never before felt this inspired. She said she was going to put every last bit of herself into this piece. I found her painting today. It was almost done. While I did in fact encourage her to take up this new hobby, after seeing this piece I… Well, it sickened me. It made me question my own advice. It wasn’t her technique that gave me pause but, rather, her subject matter. She decided to paint two girls jumping off a roof. They looked exactly like herself and Fanny. When I asked her about it, she said they weren’t falling, they were flying without wings and that she’d like to think they left this place for something better. It’s a strange, swirling vortex painted in dark watercolors. My head throbs when I look at it.”

“Won’t she be coming down?” Dr. Jaquith asked as he stood up.

Mr. Skeffington followed suit. He took Dr. Jaquith’s arm and lowered his voice to a confidential tone. “It might be better if you went up. She’s a bit upset. There was a little trouble here this morning.”

Dr. Jaquith gave Mr. Skeffington a quick look. “What kind of trouble?”

Mr. Skeffington was quick to follow up with, “Nothing serious.”

Dr. Jaquith and Mr. Skeffington could hear humming coming from down the hall or, to be more precise, above it. They followed the humming to a room that was overhead. The ladder was already down, so Mr. Skeffington climbed the rungs. “Wait here a moment. She doesn’t let just anyone come inside, so I have to clear a path for you, tell her you’re a friend and can be trusted. She doesn’t trust easily.”

“Of course. I’ll wait here.”

You sat staring at the unfinished painting on your easel, willing yourself to just bring your brush down to it, to feel inspired, to feel anything other than numb. But instead of adding to your creation, you sighed and brought your brush to the cup of water. You watched as the colors stained the water red until nothing was left on the brush but the taupe of the pokey bristles. Lately you'd been feeling like the brush, like all the color had been drained out of you. This feeling wasn't foreign. Sometimes you felt stagnant, letting moments pass you by. Being there but not being a part of them, at least not how you wanted to be. From the floor below, your father knocked on the attic trapdoor in a unique rhythm. A secret code to tell you that it was him. Your humming stopped.

Dr. Jaquith could hear a little girl’s voice telling Mr. Skeffington to come in. As he waited, he could hear your father talking to you.

“What’ve you got there? Are you drawing something?”

“Nothing special. I’m just bored.”

“How’s it coming?”

“All right.”

“What’s it supposed to be?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you mind if I join you? What’s the title of the painting?”

“I don’t know.”

“Darling, I hope you won’t mind, but I’ve brought someone to come and meet you today. He’s my very good friend, Mr. Jaquith. I ran into him on the street and brought him by for tea. I thought your mother and sister would be pleased, and I hoped you would be too. I’ve told him what a bright and talented girl you are, and he would very much like to meet you. May he come up? He’ll help you to paint. That is, if you don’t mind. Of course, some people prefer to do a painting alone.”

“I guess… If he’s your friend, Daddy, then that would be okay.”

“Wonderful! You can come up now, David.”

Given the all clear, Dr. Jaquith climbed the ladder to the attic. Light slanted in from a big-window, shining on you, a little girl in blue jean overalls and a striped shirt. You hated skirts and dresses since you were old enough to walk. Before that, ever since you were born, you’d always take off the bows and headbands your mother tried to put on your head or in your hair. Since your parents were always too busy, and Uncle George couldn’t be trusted to be knowledgeable when it came to girl’s fashion, Miss Brook often took you and your sister, Fanny, shopping, especially in the summer when a new school year was about to begin. But for you, it never went well. Trying to get you to conform to what was socially acceptable for a girl to wear was like pulling teeth. As you and your sister looked through racks of children's clothes, Miss Brook pulled a dress with flowers embroidered on the pockets. The material would be perfect for playing outside, while looking very stylish and pretty. But you scrunched your face in disgust and shook your head.

“This is cute,” she insisted.

“Dresses are ugly.”

“But, sweetie, you have to have something you can play outside in.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to look like a doll.”

As unconventional as it was, you spent most of your time in trousers. Girls often teased and bullied you for “dressing and acting like a boy” and called you mean names.

And there you sat in front of an easel, all alone, painting another extraordinary picture. Dr. Jaquith watched, curious. You ignored him and your back was to him, so he couldn’t see your face, just your hair messily pulled back, strands of it coming loose from your shoddy attempts at tying it back with a bandana or hair tie. It spilled down a bit over your shoulders and clung to the back of your neck, but so long as it didn’t get in your eyes, it didn’t bother or distract you. You never learned how to properly do your hair. Your mother tried to teach you, but you were stubborn and refused to learn, believing it to be a waste of time. She gave up on teaching you the importance of a beauty regimen quite early on. The paintbrush froze mid-stroke as you turned to face him, as if you suddenly decided you were ready to acknowledge his presence in your space. Like your sister, you had pale skin and bright, doe-like eyes, your delicate features framed by Shirley Temple curls. Yours was the face of a porcelain angel, a perfect little living doll, friendly and inviting.

“Why, what’s this? Did you do these? Are these paintings all yours?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Well, the point is how you could. They’re really professional. Do you mind if I look at them?”

“No, I don’t mind. They aren’t very difficult. Daddy gets the paints and materials from New York, so I have the tools. It’s just a matter of the doing.”

“And the skill. You know, this is very good detail. I have a great admiration for people who are clever with their hands. I was always so clumsy with my own.”

“I should think you were the least clumsy person I’d ever met. Do you really like them? Really, really?”

“Very much. They’re remarkable. Where did you learn how to do this?”

“I’ve just had lots of time to practice, I guess. My unfulfilled ambition is to paint a great many things, to tell stories about my adventures. I do know a thing or two about pirates.”

“What adventures?”

“I’ve yet to have them, but they will be perfectly thrilling. My paintings are stories that come from my imagination. This one’s about a sad mother wolf who can’t find her cubs. She’s dreaming about her babies. It’s the only thing that makes her happy.”

“Well, I hope she finds them.”

“She will. Look.” As you spoke, you dabbed your brush and painted little wolf cubs curled up in front of their sleeping mother. “They were lost in the jungle and they were so scared because they didn’t have a mother or father. But just when they thought they’d be alone forever, they found their mother sleeping under this tree. And they felt so safe that they fell asleep too. Now when the mother wolf wakes up, her dream will have come true. She’ll have her family again. Isn’t it lovely? Look at my new paintings.” You took Mr. Jaquith’s hand and led him around the room, eagerly showing him your other paintings.

He noticed a gothic mansion in several of your older paintings. “Is that a real place?”

“No. I just made it up. It’s a haunted castle where a beautiful princess was locked away. She waited so long and was so sad that she filled the moat with her tears, but then a handsome prince swam across it and rescued her. I like happy endings. Don’t you? I’ve even done a portrait for everyone in the family. And a painting of everyone together. Come see!”

The painting of your family was indeed extraordinary. You were all smiling and holding hands. But Dr. Jaquith couldn’t help but notice that your mother was missing from it. It was just your father in the middle, with you and your sister on either side of him.

While you were looking elsewhere, Job tapped Dr. Jaquith on the shoulder and whispered in his ear, “I wish she would have drawn her mother as well...”

In an equally hushed tone, Dr. Jaquith said, “Maybe she doesn’t realize she is part of your family?” He then turned to you and said in a normal volume, “That’s one good-looking family you’ve got.”

“I know. Aren’t they perfect?”

“You know, these are excellent.”

“You may have one if you like.”

“May I? Any one?”

“Of course. All except this one.” You took a ruined canvas off its easel and put it off to the side. “When I was working on it, my mother sent for me. My brush slipped and I spattered paint on it.”

“A pity to ruin such a nice painting.”

“Yes. I’ll get you something to wrap it in.”

“Oh, don’t bother.” But it was too late. You were already rummaging through drawers for brightly colored tissue paper. “Well, then any old piece of paper will do.”

While your back was turned, Dr. Jaquith and your father shared an amused look. Once you haphazardly wrapped the painting in pink tissue paper, you handed it to him with a big smile, showing off your baby teeth, though some looked to be missing or growing in. The tooth fairy had paid you a visit or two, it seemed. You then took him by the hand and led him from easel to easel. Dr. Jaquith saw all that you were working on, including the pencil and charcoal sketches pinned to your wall. In most of your paintings, you had captured the subject perfectly, but there was nothing special about them, nothing to show your personality, your personal touch.

“These are perfect copies of reality. But painting is not about replicating the world, it’s about interpreting it, improving on it, showing something you see.”

“Can you help me with my painting? Daddy said you might.”

Dr. Jaquith grabbed a blank canvas and set it on the easel in front of you and handed you a palette of paints and a brush. “Here, try looking from a new perspective, a different approach. Try to imagine something that doesn’t exist. Something you’ve never seen. Now, concentrate…on how it makes you feel…and let your hand drift across the canvas.”

You looked down at the palette of paints and your brush, then to the white canvas in front of you, waiting to be colored in. You dabbed your brush into the paint and closed your eyes, and just let your imagination guide your hand. You didn’t think too hard about it. In fact, you didn’t think about much at all. You just painted what you felt, what you questioned about yourself. Your identity…anger, doubt, hope, pain, sadness, belonging…who were you? What was hiding deep down inside you, just waiting to come out? When you opened your eyes, you took in your creation. Your masterpiece. It was almost done, but there were still some things missing.

“Give me more blue, please!” When you held out your palette, Dr. Jaquith did as you requested, grabbing a tube of blue paint and squeezing some out. “Thanks! Now, can you give me some red?” Again, he fulfilled your request. But the bottle of red paint was nearly empty and made a sputtering noise as he squeezed out what little was left. It wasn’t enough for you. You needed more to complete your creation. “More red, please!”

“I’m afraid the red is all out. Maybe you could use magenta or orange instead?”

“Out?…But…But we can’t be out.”

“It’s okay, you can ask your father for more and—”

“You’re hiding more red from me... I know you are.”

“I’m n—”

“GIVE IT HERE!”

And suddenly you snapped and lunged at Dr. Jaquith with teeth bared and nails out. But you were grabbed and held back by your father before you could make contact with your intended target. You were like a feral wolverine as you fought against his hold, foaming at the mouth and ready to bite or claw at anyone who came too close. You were desperate to make Dr. Jaquith bleed if it meant you could get your precious red paint. As you kicked and screamed, you accidentally kicked the light switch off, shrouding the attic in total darkness. While your father was about to turn the light switch back on, he stopped. Dr. Jaquith did too. The paintings they saw… The mother wolf and her sleeping cubs… The cubs were now dead and the mother's mouth was dripping with blood. The paintings that looked like typical family portraits in normal light were now nightmarish visions of death and violence. In one, your eyes had been gouged out. In another, your throat had been slashed. In the picture of the whole family, you and Fanny and your father looked normal, but your mother appeared in the background, only visible under darkness, and she was a decomposed corpse. You stopped fighting, but your father didn’t notice. He was frozen. He staggered back in shock, still holding you, while Dr. Jaquith just looked at you, expressionless. The telephone rang, startling all of you.

While you were sitting by yourself in a corner and curled up in a ball, the doctor said to Mr. Skeffington, “A violent temper is often the result of trauma brain architecture, which is a form of developmental mental illness. It can be fixed with a bouquet of coping strategies, from a calmer environment, to exercise and talk therapies. Music, dance, and the expressive arts are all wonderful for gaining good insights into the self. We can expand positive role models via movies or stage plays, because this is how we dream together, expanding the healing power of dreams into the community. We need to see the temper as a symptom and really tackle the cause, the need to develop a healthier brain, with multiple solutions at once.”

Later, you weren’t sure exactly how much later, you had calmed down and were suddenly very remorseful for your outburst. You apologized to Mr. Jaquith immediately, but were very afraid that he wouldn’t accept it. You didn’t mean to snap. You didn’t want to hurt Daddy’s friend. You didn’t want to hurt anyone. You just…you didn’t know. You didn’t know why you said the things you said, thought the thoughts you thought or did the things you did. It was like you blacked out and someone or something else took control of your body.

“Of course I accept your apology, Miss Skeffington. I’ve worked with many children just like you, so I know you didn’t mean to do it, that you couldn’t help it. I know it’s scary, even for you. But I promise that, through it all, I’ll still be your friend.”

What did he mean he’s worked with other children just like you? Was he a teacher? Or was he a doc…? You suddenly became apprehensive, unsure if you could trust a word he said. “My friend?”

“Yes. And since we’re friends, I wonder if I might ask you a favor. Would you be nice and show me around this house? You must be an expert and know this house in and out. One doesn't often get the chance. Yes, that's right, I had a look at the downstairs when I came in. There's nothing like these old New York homes anywhere. On Marlborough Street or Beacon Hill, you see them standing in a row like bastions. Firm, proud, resisting the new. Houses turned in upon themselves, hugging their pride.”

“Introverted. That’s what my teachers call me.”

“I wouldn’t know about that. I don’t put much faith in scientific terms. I leave that to the fakers and the writers of books.”

You didn’t take his hand again, wanting to keep him at arm’s length just in case it turned out he couldn’t be trusted after all, but you signaled for him to follow you. You climbed down the ladder, and Dr. Jaquith and your father followed. Your father was smart on his feet and quickly made an excuse to leave so he could give you and Dr. Jaquith some much needed one-on-one time. It’d be better if Dr. Jaquith got a chance to know you, the real you, without him lingering over your shoulders. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a mass of letters to write and phone calls to make before lunch. I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything, I’ll be in the library. Darling, please be a good girl for Mr. Jaquith while you show him around.”

As soon as your father left, you turned to face Mr. Jaquith. You suddenly eyed him skeptically, suspecting he wasn’t a Mister at all. The ruse fooled you at first, but you wouldn’t let it go on any longer. You were keenly perceptive, far more than most children your age. “I know who you really are.”

“You do? Who am I?”

“You’re not Daddy’s friend. You’re my new doctor.”

“No, I’m not. You’re quite wrong.”

“You can’t fool me. And I know why you’ve come here. To make sure I don’t run away from this place again.”

“Did you run away from here once? I didn’t know. Where were you headed when you ran away?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere but here, I guess.”

“What’s your name?”

“You know my name. That’s why you stood there and stared at me.”

“That was very rude of me. But, you see, you reminded me of somebody.”

“Who?”

“Well, if you must know…my wife, Charlotte. Of course, at your age. You’re about eleven, aren’t you?”

“I’m nine...nearly ten. You know my name, but what’s yours?”

“David.”

You nodded once then continued giving Dr. Jaquith a tour. “My mother’s room.”

“And your father’s also?”

“No.” The conviction with which you said the word made Dr. Jaquith raise an eyebrow.

“Your parents sleep separately?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know why?”

“They just do. It’s always been that way. I don’t want to talk about this. What difference does it make anyway?”

Clearly you didn’t want to talk about it anymore, so Dr. Jaquith let the matter drop. But already he was making mental notes.

“Fine room.”

“Do you think so?”

“Of course, I’d prefer to see what your room is like. Is it nearby?”

“I’m not your patient yet, Doctor.”

“Well, now, nobody thinks you ever will be. I’ve seen the rooms of lots of people who aren’t my patients. My friends. Of course, if you don’t want to...”

“It’s on this floor, down the hall.” You then brought Dr. Jaquith to your room. You stopped sharing a room with Fanny when you were six years old. You took out a key. “She locks her door, Doctor. Make a note of it. Significant, isn’t it?”

“Well, it signifies that it’s your door. I never heard it said that a girl’s home is not her castle.”

“My castle, Doctor.”

“You know, stuff like this was built to last a lifetime. Solid.”

“Enduring and inescapable.”

“Are you comfortable here?”

“I try to be. I’m here a good part of the time. It’s so boring here.”

“You don’t play outside with the other girls in the neighborhood? Sounds like they’re having fun.”

A beat. You were hesitant. “I don’t like playing with the other girls. I like going outside, but…the other girls and Fanny usually prefer to stay inside. That way they don’t get their dresses dirty.”

“Well, that’s very responsible of them, but couldn’t they find something else to wear when playing outside?”

“No. Image is everything.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. But I hear Mother and the other ladies say it a lot.”

“What about at school? Don’t you play then?”

“I don’t go to school anymore. I’m homeschooled. When I used to, sometimes during recess, Fanny and I played amongst ourselves or we split off and she played with the other girls while I played with the boys. They weren’t afraid to get dirty and were much more fun.” You knew many things that boys talked about. You played more with boys than with girls, and liked them better. You were a picture of energy and aggressiveness. You were common, but with a frank and engaging commonness. “The girls were prissies.”

“Upon my soul, how children are educated nowadays. Where did you learn that word? It’s not a very nice word.”

“I’m afraid I am not learned at all, Doctor. It’s true! They were all cowards. They were boring and just played with their ugly dolls and lame dollhouses. Dolls are ugly and stupid, and sometimes creepy. I don’t know why Fanny liked playing with the girls. They were stuck-up. Total snobs. They thought having the most popular or most expensive doll made them better than other girls. Karla and Jessica showed off their Princess Eliana dolls. During recess, Katie couldn’t play with them because she only had the Dearly Doll. She liked her Dearly Doll, but she thought Princess Eliana was really pretty and wanted to play with them. But they told her to go away. They wouldn’t let girls who didn’t have the same dolls play with them. I didn’t get why. Those girls were dumb and they made up dumber rules. I didn’t think it was fair for some girls to have plenty of lovely things and other, prettier girls to have nothing at all. Fanny’s too prim. If she doesn’t take care, she’s going to grow up and be an affected little goose.”

“Aren’t there any boys in this neighborhood you could play with?”

“No, there aren’t. So I stay inside. I want to explore the woods, but Mother wouldn’t like it if I tracked mud and dirt into the house, so Marie doesn’t let me go beyond the park. But there’s nothing to do at the park. I’m not even allowed to climb trees. I'm just different from everyone, I guess.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being different.”

“Yes, there is. Everybody says there’s not, but it isn’t true.”

“I’m just saying you could probably go outside and make friends, if you really wanted to.”

“I don’t care what they think. If I’m sad or lonely, I just come to the attic and paint a story with a happy ending and when people say they like my paintings, like you did, it makes me feel better. I think people should always try to take the bad things that happen to them and turn them into something good. Don’t you?”

Dr. Jaquith was taken aback. Before he could respond, your father came back.

“How is everything?”

The two men shared a look and gave a subtle nod to each other. Dr. Jaquith had seen enough. It was clear to him that you were a very precocious child and could be sweet at times, but that you’d need to spend a considerable amount of time at Cascade. Weeks, maybe even months depending on how you progressed. You definitely had spunk. A Skeffington needed that to get along in the world, but you needed to learn there were better times than others for it. Though they both knew you’d take it very hard and that it was going to be a big and scary change for you, it really was for the best, for your own benefit. Now was the time to tell you their decision.

“Your father has told me much about you. Both he and your mother have told me a great number of things, some good and some…not so good. What your mother and father have described to me, and what I’ve seen for myself, your latest peculiarities...your fits of crying, your secretiveness...indicate you’re on the verge of a mental meltdown.”

“I’m not melting down!”

“Now, nobody said you were. Not definitively, at least. But your uncontrollable fits of anger and violence, your lashing out is—”

“What Dr. Jaquith is saying, darling, is this is why we worry about you. We have given this a great deal of thought. Darling, believe me, we’re only trying to help you. Dr. Jaquith has a sanitarium in Vermont, I believe. Cascade has an excellent reputation. He’s suggested you spend a few weeks there.”

“A sanitarium? But that’s a terrible place, everyone says so! It's like a jail! Probably one of those places with a high wire fence and yowling inmates. If I go with him, he’ll drive an ice pick through my skull! I’ll be a vegetable!”

“Well, now, I wouldn’t want anyone to have that mistaken notion. Cascade is just a place in the country. People come to it when they’re tired. You go to the seashore. They come there. What you’re describing is called a lobotomy, a procedure that went out of fashion years ago and isn’t practiced anymore. At least not by any reputable doctors who still have their license to practice medicine. I promise you, you won’t be subjected to inhumane experiments. I’m a psychiatrist, not a mad scientist. I only want to help you.”

“But I’m not sick! I’m not a bad person, I’m really not! Daddy, tell him! Tell him I’m perfectly fine and don’t need to go!”

You looked close to tears and Job felt something tear at his heart, but he was determined.

“Of course you’re not a bad person. But, darling, sickness can present itself in many different forms. It’s not always a fever or common cold. There are people, both children and adults, who are afflicted with sicknesses of the mind. Now, while Dr. Jaquith may not be able to cure you, he can help you manage your anger, if you let him.”

“No! I won’t go! The other children will laugh at me! I’ll be the local failure! I’ll just die from shame! I’ll just die! I’ll just die!”

“Darling, please don’t dramatize!”

“There’s nothing shameful about my work or frightening or anything else. It's very simple, really, what I try to do. People come to a fork in the road. They’re confused. They don’t know which way to take. I just put up a signpost: ‘Not that way. This way.’"

“Girls emerge from there as refined young ladies well-versed in etiquette and manners, both of which you are sorely lacking. There’ll be girls and boys there that are around your age and just like you. Maybe you’ll even make friends with some of them.”

“But I don’t want to be one of those girls.”

Your mother entered the room, curious as to what was causing so much commotion. “Which is precisely why you must go. I cannot let your unbridled nature ruin your chances for a respectable future. Remember your courtesies, young lady. You will thank us for this. A lady, especially a Skeffington, needs to know how to control her temper!”

“Fanny, please.” Though she meant well, her presence and comment certainly weren’t helping. Your father turned to you with apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry, but we have to do what’s best for you, sweetheart. You’ll be angry with me at first, but you’ll see that this is for your own good!”

“I won’t do it. I’m not like those girls. I won’t go! I won’t go!” You fumed and angrily threw objects across the room, uncaring if they were breakable or not.

“Dr. Jaquith, could you leave us for now? I and the servants will get her all packed and ready to go and we’ll meet you outside within the hour. If you could just wait for us in the foyer?”

Forty-five minutes later, your bags were packed. Dr. Jaquith walked out to his car, concerned as he helped Soames load your bags into the trunk. He didn’t see you spying down from your bedroom window, just staring at him with that strange, blank look. Five more minutes passed, and Dr. Jaquith, your father, and yourself were in the car and on your way to the train station. You turned around in the backseat and looked out the window as Uncle George, Fanny, your mother, and the servants watched you go and waved goodbye. You put on a smile and waved back, but once the car pulled out of the drive, your smile faded. You seemed vaguely troubled as Dr. Jaquith drove, your father in the front passenger seat. You didn’t pay attention to their conversation. You were too deep in thought. Even when the three of you were on the train, you didn’t say a word the entire ride. Neither your father nor Dr. Jaquith pushed you too hard after their first attempts at engaging with you and making conversation failed. They realized you were still angry at them and giving them the silent treatment. They knew they wouldn’t get a word out of you while you were like that, so they let you be. You only focused on either looking out the window or drawing in your sketchbook.

Once you arrived at Cascade, Dr. Jaquith gave you and your father a tour of the facilities.

“The exercise room is over here. The music room is down the hall. The dormitories are upstairs, and you may have seen the playground. You look as if you like playing outdoors.”

Patients, both children and adults, were sitting on benches and sunning themselves, swinging on swings, playing games and sports, etc. So many patients were smiling and seemed to be having fun and enjoying themselves. It really was a beautiful place. It wasn’t at all what you thought it would be, nothing like the horror stories you heard, but you still didn’t want to be there. Your father stayed for a few hours to ease you into being there. He knew the transition would be uncomfortable at first, but he couldn’t stay forever. When it came time for him to leave, you cried and clutched onto him, begging him not to go. You didn’t care if you were making a scene. You didn’t care if people were staring at you. You were afraid. Deathly afraid. You didn’t want to be abandoned and left all alone here, surrounded by people you didn’t know. It was only when your father promised you that he’d write every week and call you every day that you relinquished your hold on him.

“Promise me you’ll be a good girl and try to make friends while you’re here?”

“I-I’ll try,” you hiccuped. You did your best to cease your crying and put on a brave face.

Your father nodded. Trying was better than nothing, and he was proud of you for wanting to make an effort. “If you ever need anything, please don't hesitate to call,” he told both you and Dr. Jaquith.

“We will.”

Your father shook hands with Dr. Jaquith before giving you one last hug and kiss on your forehead. Then he was gone.

A violent temper in the home harms the developing brain of the child in the same way as combat harms a soldier. Their PTSD is massively under-diagnosed. Additionally, such emotional harm influences the expression of over nine-hundred genes via epigenetic toward poorer health - survival mode over longevity. The child learning to cope with their own stress in positive ways through meditation, mindfulness, and self-awareness could be the most important thing Job and Fanny could do as parents.

At the end of your lesson, you were fuming at the nurse who doubled as your teacher. Your head pounded and your eyes were sore from constantly staring at the page. You left as soon as the lesson ended. You never wanted to see your nurse ever again. In fact, you would run away from the sanitarium and make your father miss you so much that he would find you and have to take you back home. That would really show him. You loved your father like none other, but he could be stiff at times. He was a great businessman and banker, you reminded yourself, and he was Jewish, which meant he was held to different standards than most men, though you didn’t understand why. Why did it matter if you could or couldn’t read? You would, in all likelihood, get married to a handsome and intelligent man when you were older, and you’d manage the house while your husband managed the money and signed all the important papers, just like Mother and Daddy did. Miss Trask tried to get you to do your homework, but you just ran away from her. You could hear her calling after you, but you didn’t listen and kept running. She couldn’t keep up and you left her in the dust as you ran and ran and ran until you reached your sanctuary. Here, you could be alone, enjoy peace and quiet as you listened to the sounds of nature. You climbed one of the trees and tried to forget all about your lesson by doodling in your sketchbook. You didn’t have any particular live subject. You just let your imagination run free and drew whatever came to mind, like how Dr. Jaquith showed you to do when you first met. Here you could lose track of time. You could stay here for hours, even as the sun set and the sky began to darken. You’d stay in the great outdoors forever if you could.

There was a quick, rapid knock on the door, and Dr. Jaquith looked up, frowning. Everyone knew not to disturb him when he worked on his patients’ documents. It must’ve been something important. He called for them to enter. It was Miss Trask, one of the nurses.

“Dr. Jaquith,” she began. Then she stopped talking.

“Yes?” he said, looking straight at her. “You came into my office during a critical time. Clearly you have something important to tell me.” Dr. Jaquith could see her swallow away the lump in her throat. His fingers drummed the desk, and he glanced at the stack of documents on it.

“Sir, it’s about Miss Skeffington.”

When Miss Trask said your name, Dr. Jaquith’s attention was immediately piqued. His stomach dropped. He wanted to swallow nervously just out of habit, but refrained from doing so. Oh, God, what happened this time? He thought you had been doing so well in your therapy sessions, but he knew that slip-ups and relapses into old habits could still happen. You’ve had them before. After all, this was a long process and progress wouldn’t be obvious right away. But did you do something as bad as break another kid’s arm again? Or something worse? Miss Trask, though, couldn’t tell his mind was going a mile a minute with worrying, for he kept his same stoic expression. A perfect mask of impassivity that took over a decade of hands-on experience to perfect.

“She’s not doing well in any of her classes. She’s failing almost everything except for P.E., and is especially struggling with her reading. I’ve been doing my best to help her, but she’s being stubborn and won’t cooperate. Now she’s run away again. I tried to chase her, but she was too fast and slippery.”

“Oh, dear. Again? Not to worry, I know where she is. I’ll see to her now. Thank you, Miss Trask. You may go.”

She nodded and left the room.

Dr. Jaquith looked over at the pile of documents on his desk. He had managed to finish the bulk of them, and had hoped he’d be able to finish them all, but it looked like they’d have to wait until tomorrow. He had to see to you, see what the trouble was right then. If Miss Trask personally came to his office to seek out his help instead of that of another nurse or Dr. Brine, it must’ve been more than serious. It must’ve been an emergency. Unlike his paperwork, you unfortunately couldn’t wait until tomorrow. He left his office, giving only a nod of acknowledgement or a quick but polite “Hello” or “Good Afternoon” to the patients and staff he passed by as he walked briskly through the sanitarium. Not wanting to alarm anyone unnecessarily or look unprofessional, he refrained from running or sprinting, but his pace was fast enough to signal to people that he had somewhere to be and couldn’t be bothered to slow down or stop for even a moment. He went through the gardens, then followed a dirt trail in the woods for about five minutes. It was technically outside the bounds of the grounds of Cascade, but was still safe. It was a perfect place where you could wander, explore, climb up trees…you could do almost anything there. Sure enough, Dr. Jaquith found you seated on a low yet sturdy tree branch of one of the larger trees. You looked to be sketching, so deep in thought that you didn’t hear his approaching footsteps. He cleared his throat so as to alert you to his presence without startling you too much. He didn’t want to make you jump and fall out of the tree. You weren’t very far off the ground, but you could still hurt yourself if you fell.

Your heart stopped. You turned to look at him and, seeing him standing there, it was as if you realized the danger you were in with his arrival. You swung your legs over and jumped off the branch and to your feet, smoothed your clothing and stood before him. Even though he grinned at you, you felt a shiver pass up your spine. You had been more than a little frightened of him.

“I want to talk to you.”

“Who, me?”

“Yes, you.”

“I thought you might.”

“Miss Skeffington, does Miss Trask know that you are skipping your lessons to go wandering in the woods by yourself?” He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from you. “Why aren’t you in your lesson, Miss Skeffington?” he asked, cutting to the point.

“I don’t like my nurse. She’s a boring tutor.”

“You’re learning to read, amongst other important life skills. Lots of children your age don’t get that opportunity. Someday you will thank me for everything I’ve done for you,” he said.

You glared up at him. “I just don’t like reading. I’m not good at it, and I can’t do it. No matter how hard I try, I don’t understand the letters.”

“Is that so? Have you told Miss Trask?”

The mention of that odious woman gave you flashbacks to your lessons with her and no matter how much you tried to forget it by coming here as some form of escapism, the memory of your horrid experience with her just minutes ago was brought to the forefront of your mind.

~

“What are you doing here?” you asked as Miss Trask entered your room.

“You need to study outside of your lessons,” she said firmly. “Where are your books?”

“I just got out of my lesson! I need a break!” you cried.

“Your mind is sharpest right after a lesson,” she said. “Do you want to learn to read or not?”

“I don’t want to learn!” you snapped. You had crossed a line, and you knew it.

Miss Trask’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You will read those books, Miss Skeffington, and I won’t ask you again,” she said in a low voice. “Your father went to a lot of trouble to get you treatment and an education here. You wouldn’t want to disappoint your father, would you?”

“No…”

A determined look flashed across Miss Trask’s face. “There was a boy that was like you. He was angry with me too, but now he can read. Ever since, I thought this might happen again with another child… and it looks to me like that child is you.”

“And how did he learn how to read?”

“I sat him down with me for three hours each day, which is exactly what I’ll do with you.”

“Miss Trask!” you cried.

She cut you off. “Be quiet. Don’t dramatize.”

“But three hours!”

“I expect you downstairs with your book in five minutes.”

You shrunk back, fighting back the tears that threatened to escape your eyes. You hated disappointing your father. He was your hero. But Miss Trask just didn’t understand how hard it was for you to read! You watched as she left the room. You didn’t move for a moment and, when she was gone, you threw your easel against the wall. You picked up the book and tried to read it, determined to show both Miss Trask and your father, but the more you looked at it, the worse your headache got and you found you just couldn’t do it. You didn’t want to visit Miss Trask, but maybe if you just studied for many hours at once, you could get it all done and over with. Hugging the book, you stomped past your broken easel and out the room. Every step taken was torturous. You really, really did not want to see Miss Trask. What did that old lady know anyways? Why couldn’t Dr. Jaquith have given you a fun nurse to be your teacher? You bet even he himself would’ve been more fun than Miss Trask. She was waiting at the table, but you walked right past her. When she called after you, you ran. You were worried that if you didn’t get away, you’d do something you’d regret. You were sent three hundred miles away to be educated. But what your parents didn't understand was you only wanted to step just outside your fence...so you did.

~

“I tried, but she just said I’m not working hard enough. But I am working hard! Really, really hard, Dr. Jaquith! I spent two hours looking at the same page, and when Miss Trask asked me to read aloud, I just couldn’t do it,” you argued. “All I do is stare at the page. I know the letters. I see her write them, and I can go through the alphabet. She says my penmanship is wonderful, but when I have to read a word, the letters move around on the page and I can’t make any sense of them!”  

Dr. Jaquith nodded, and you were quiet. He had heard of this sort of learning disability before, but it was rare. So rare that not very many teachers had ever personally dealt with it before, or even acknowledged it. You gathered your things that were resting by the base of the tree, including the book that Miss Trask was trying to force you to read. “I’m going to go now, if that’s okay. I don’t like to stay too long in the same place. Dr. Brine might find me.” You made to leave, but Dr. Jaquith’s voice stopped you in your tracks as he turned around to face you.

“Where are you off to now?”

You stared at him, fingers clutching the book. You wanted to run, but you knew you needed to be brave. He wasn't really a monster. He was frightening, but he was still your doctor and he only wanted to help you. Tina Durrance, so far the only child - heck, the only person you befriended - got along with him, and you trusted her judgment. If she could trust him, you probably could too. “I’m going to Miss Trask,” you said shortly. “I’m learning to read.”

“When you said you didn’t understand the letters… Are you mixing up the letters on the page?” Dr. Jaquith asked in a gentle tone.

“Um…” How did he know that was your problem? Did Miss Trask tell him? Or maybe Charlotte did? He was her husband, after all. But Mother and Father were husband and wife too, and they didn’t tell each other much, if anything. Maybe, as your doctor, he just had a way of knowing. Like a sixth sense. “Yes…”

“Just like some children that came before you, or so l hear,” he said. “You don’t need to go to Miss Trask anymore. I’ve already cancelled her. She'd only further bore you to tears with her lessons. It looks like she already has.”

He had a point. More than once you woke up with your face buried in a book. Books were makeshift pillows for you many times. Every time it happened, you panicked slightly but, by the sky outside your window, you knew it wasn’t time for supper yet. You’d always sigh with relief, then pick up the book.

“But I have to learn to read so Daddy will be happy,” you snapped, embarrassed.

“Yes, we must keep your father happy.”

“I need to go.” When you turned away, Dr. Jaquith gently laid a hand on your shoulder, turning you back to face him. You froze, remembering what your classmates had told you about shrinks. Dr. Jaquith looked kind of funny, but could he really be a monster like the inhumane doctors at insane asylums?

“D-Doctor,” you stammered, voice squeaking. You knew you’d been impertinent and were afraid he’d call you on it. You had been acting like you were no longer his patient, like you'd become a member of his staff with how often you tried to test and push boundaries.

“I have a proposition to make to you. Mightn’t Charlotte be your nurse instead? She will teach you to read.”

“Do you really mean it?”

“Well, I’m crazy, but if you promise to behave yourself and not to do anything like what you and Tina did again without asking my permission first.” His tone was final, but soft. It was true he was probably softer with you than most doctors were with children, but it was because you reminded him so much of his dear, sweet Charlotte. “I’d also teach you if I could, but I’m afraid my days are sacrosanct and I don’t have the luxury of the time necessary to properly dedicate to one-on-one lessons. Charlotte, however, doesn’t have anything to do with her time, so she’ll be teaching you instead. She’s read a lot and, like me, she’s even stumbled on some of the studies of the human brain that recorded other children with the same problems you were having.”

“You’d do that? Just for me?”

“Of course. We’re here to help you.”

“So Charlotte is going to be my new nurse?”

“Not just your new nurse. She’ll be your friend, if you’ll have her. She’ll stay with you. Pay attention to you. Make you feel wanted and important. Go back to your room for now. I’ll speak with both Charlotte and the other nurses and doctors about the changes in your scholarly pursuits. You won’t learn to read by supper, I’m afraid. You’ll have to come back each day, but I promise you Charlotte will make it much more painless than Miss Trask’s method. You’ll be reading in no time. Once you learn how to read, a great many worlds will open to you, worlds beyond this one that your imagination wasn’t able to comprehend before.”

Your lips quivered for a moment before breaking into a shy smile. You looked to be on the verge of tears again, but it was happy tears that time. You suddenly hugged Dr. Jaquith and he didn’t know what else to do other than stroke your hair. Though you didn’t say anything, he knew this was your way of thanking him. You gave him one more tight squeeze around his waist before letting go and stepping back.

“You're only on probation. Remember what it says in the Bible, ‘The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.’”

“How does it feel to be the Lord?”

“Not so very wonderful since the Free Will bill was passed. Too little power.”

And then you ran off. He watched you go, slightly amused, but slightly exasperated at your behavior. You were often unpredictable, always keeping him on his toes. He still remembered the day you and Tina skipped your lessons and went to the park to play without permission. That was a big offense, but since you and Tina were both found unharmed and it was the first time either of you had smiled or laughed in days, you were both given only a mild punishment and had to promise Dr. Jaquith that if you wanted to leave the grounds again, you’d have to ask him or a nurse for permission first so you could have a trusted adult to watch you. Maybe he liked your impertinence. Just a smidge. No day at Cascade was ever boring with you around, that was for sure.

You had been visiting Charlotte ever since. With Charlotte as your teacher, you were able to see improvements you never thought possible. Even Miss Trask praised you when you actually read two pages aloud and only had to pause a few times. What really confused you though was that you were actually starting to like your lessons. What would Mother say? Perhaps Father would be happy for you. Charlotte was kind to you and very patient when you made mistakes. She was constantly egging you on, but in a way that showed she really cared.

“You know this word,” she said as you hovered over the same word for over a minute. “You can do it...”

“Elfan... No, that’s not right.” The letters were moving again. “El...eh…Elephant!”

Charlotte applauded you, and you blushed. You then read the full paragraph aloud:

“‘She was a happy little train. Her cars were full of good things for boys and girls. There were all kinds of toy amin…animals. Gir…Giraffes with long necks, teddy bears with no necks, and even a baby el…elph…elephant. There were all kinds of dolls. Dolls with blue eyes and yellow hair, dolls with brown eyes and brown hair, and the funniest toy clown you ever saw. There were toy trucks, airplanes, and boats. There were picture books, games, and drums to play. The little train carried every kind of toy that boys or girls could want.’”

“Wonderful!” She said, “Wonderful! Can you read the next paragraph?”

“‘But that was not all. The little train carried good things to eat, too. Big, round oranges...fat, red apples...long, yellow ban…banan…nana… bananas...fresh, cold milk...and lawl…loli…lollipops to eat after dinner. The little train was taking all these good things to the other side of the mou…mountain.” Your voice went up a notch at the end. You glanced up at Charlotte, praying you'd gotten the paragraph mostly right and, by her smile, you knew you had. And again she applauded you.

“I did it! I’m learning to read, Charlotte! You’re the best!”

You kept improving, and you actually sought out books to try and read. Most of them you couldn't, but you could understand a lot more than you could before. Four days later, you were in yet another lesson with Charlotte. She and Dr. Jaquith no longer frightened you, and the words of the other kids at school seemed to fade from your memory. Those kids had no idea what they were talking about. Charlotte was ever so nice.

June 1926

Today a new girl came to Cascade. Her name is Christine. She is close to my age. Maybe I can be friends with her. I really like her, but I’ve never been good to new people. Nobody else seems to like her, so she must be a really awkward person. That’s okay, because I’m awkward too. I promised Daddy I would try to make friends. I overheard Charlotte and Miss Trask talking about her.

“By the way, her room is next to yours, so you’ll share the same bathroom. Don't be disturbed if you hear her crying. She has spells of it. Just ignore it. It’s one of her little tyrannies, like refusing to eat. Just ignore that too. Only if you could manage to get a little food into her tonight, it would help.”

“I’ll try.”

She was sitting alone at a table, a puzzle in front of her. She wasn’t at all interested in working on it, though.

“How’s it coming?”

“All right.”

“What’s it supposed to be?”

“I don’t know.”

“Here’s the little girl’s other slipper. Do you mind if I join you?” You sat down next to her. “What’s the title of the picture? Oh, ‘The Proposal.’ I’ll collect all the pink pieces, that is, if you don’t mind. Of course, some people prefer to do a puzzle alone. How long have you been at Cascade?”

“Ten days. Nearly eleven.”

“You don’t like it much, do you?”

“No.”

“Neither did I at the end of ten days. The first two weeks are the worst.”

“I shall never like it.”

“Do you want to go home?”

“No.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know. My mother doesn’t want me at home. That’s why it’s helping Father for me to be here.”

“My mother doesn’t want me at home either. But Daddy said being here would be good for me. I didn’t believe him at first, but he was right. I stay here for Daddy. I know it’s wrong to have favorites, but I love my daddy more than my mother.”

“So do I.”

Whenever either you or Tina were feeling homesick, Charlotte made you feel better by helping you fall asleep or taking you out for ice cream and letting you call your dads.

“It’s me, Tina. Don’t be afraid. What’s the matter? Oh, Tina.”

“Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t till you’re asleep. Tell me, what’s the matter?”

“I’m ugly and mean, and nobody likes me.”

“You?”

“I’m not pretty in the least. You know I’m not.”

“Well, whoever wants that kind of prettiness, Tina? There’s something else you can have if you earn it, a kind of beauty.”

“What kind?”

“Something that has nothing to do with your face. A light that shines from inside you because you’re a nice person. You think about it. Someday you’ll know I’m right.”

“Will they like me then?”

“Who are they?”

“Everybody. All the kids at school, Miss Trask, and the nurses and the doctors. There must be something awfully wrong with me.”

“Do you like them? The kids at school, and Miss Trask, and the nurses and the doctors?”

“No, I hate them.”

“That’s something else you’ve got to grow up with. If you want people to like you, you’ve got to like people. That’s why Miss Trask asked you to cooperate, and that’s what Dr. Jaquith means when he tells you to play the game.”

“I bet you’re only fooling me.”

“You try it and see. In the meantime, if it’ll help you any, I like you. I think you’re very pretty, and very sweet.”

“All right?”

“All right.”

“Why are you so good to me?”

“Because somebody was good to me once when I needed somebody. Now, go to sleep. Close your eyes and let your muscles go all limp. That’s better. I’ll tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a little girl who was afraid. A little girl who was afraid because she thought she was alone…”

“Listen, Tina. There’s the telephone booth. And here's my change purse. Do you think your father will be home tonight?”

“You mean I can call him now?”

“That’s exactly what I mean. Go ahead.”

“Help me, will you, please? I’m not sure I can run it.”

“Of course.”

“Number, please.”

“Long distance, please.”

“Long distance.”

“I want to put in a person-to-person call to...”

“Jeremiah Duveaux Durrance. Mount Vernon 2940.”

“...to Mr. Jeremiah Duveaux Durrance. Mount Vernon 2940.”

“2940?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Deposit 50 cents, please.”

“All of that?”

Depending on whose turn it was, either you or Tina would sit at the table with Charlotte so whoever was on the phone with their dad could have some semblance of privacy. It was your turn.

“I want to put in a person-to-person call to...Mr. Job Skeffington. Charles Street 2926.”

If Dr. Jaquith was the Lord, then Charlotte was an angel.

Job Skeffington hadn’t gotten much sleep the past few days, in part because the fools over at Wall Street were shortsighted and wouldn’t know whether to buy or sell or invest if common sense slapped them in the face, but mostly because he laid awake at night thinking about you. He had been pouring over documents and filling in terms and conditions and signatures all morning but, after lunch, he found himself again sat in his study, staring at a half-blank page as he tried to draft a letter to you. The postage stamp on your letter was not neatly in the top right-hand corner of the envelope, yet creatively positioned as if its landing place was an act of random joy. Job could only suppose that it was your first attempt at sending your own letter and he found himself smiling as he opened and read it. Never before had putting his thoughts to paper been so difficult. What could he have possibly said to you that he hadn’t already said over the phone?

My dear daughter,

I was sorry to see you in tears when I left. They say we cannot feel the pain of another, but your screams were agony seeping into my skin. I took it in, let myself feel it, and stayed right there to radiate the love I felt for you. Daddy understood - you were crying because you were being left alone. But today I made a discovery - All people are alone in some ways and some people are alone in all ways. Even after someone is grown up, she can be alone.

Dr. Jaquith told me that once you mastered being alone, then you were ready for the company of others. That didn’t make it easy though. When everyone's life journey separated from your own, when the only heart beating in this house belonged to you, it wasn't something most children would be able to take. There were days when your brain became a cold fire. Perhaps that was what others called panic, but when you were alone, who were you going to call? I guess the good news is that, in time, after many unpleasant days, you’ll be okay. Then you’ll find joy again, or maybe it will find you. After that, your journey can change, take on new and exciting adventures… I wish I could wave a cure for you who are alone, but there are some things you must learn the hard way, my love.

He couldn’t get your tear-stained face out of his mind. He didn’t particularly like upsetting his daughter, but he was determined to give you the best life he could. Being a father as well as a banker and businessman could be difficult at times. It was a delicate balancing act, and he worried he’d tip too far to one side. You had been much more rebellious than Fanny, so he at least should have been grateful that he didn’t have to deal with that when it came to her, but it didn’t make having only one daughter at home much easier. It had been two weeks, and while Dr. Jaquith kept him informed, he had to be honest about how you were doing, even if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He told him that, while you were showing signs of improvement, progress was slow. Though he tentatively suggested two weeks at Cascade, as the two weeks almost came to an end, he told Job that you’d have to remain at Cascade for the foreseeable future, maybe even another year or two. To take you out of Cascade prematurely would only be detrimental to your treatment and everything you’d worked so hard for would be lost. He trusted Dr. Jaquith’s judgment and agreed to keep you there for as long as the doctor saw fit, but that didn’t make him miss you any less. He talked to you on the phone every day, but he regrettably hadn’t been able to come see you at all in the two weeks you’d been away. Just when he thought he could get away, he was pulled back in by something. He couldn’t seem to catch a break from the incessant phone calls, business meetings, and so-called “emergencies” that his partners and associates seemed to find themselves in. Not since Russia had declared war on Germany in 1914 had he witnessed mass-panicking of this magnitude. He was heartsick for you. So was your sister, Fanny. She wrote you letters too and he felt awful that he couldn’t take her with him to visit you yet. He was broken out of his thoughts by his phone ringing.

“Hello? Yes? Hello? Hello? Hello?”

“Hello? Hello, Daddy.”

“My darling girl! Anything wrong?”

“Oh, hello, Daddy. Are you all right? Oh, Daddy, I just wanted to hear you speak to me. When are you and Fanny coming up to see me? I'm so lonesome here. Why can't you come tomorrow?”

“I’m sorry, darling, but I’m afraid I can’t. Tomorrow I’m meeting Mr. Parker at the station. We’re leaving at an early hour for a business trip up country.”

“But, Daddy, you promised.” Your voice was almost a whine as you said it, but you couldn’t mask your disappointment after waiting for so long, only to be told you’d have to wait even more. Two weeks felt like a lifetime.

“I know, I know. But I have other commitments that unfortunately can’t wait and need to be attended to first. It’s all rather dull, but it’s very important I finish with the bulk of my work before handing it off to someone else. Dr. Jaquith has been telling me what a good girl you’re being and I’m so sorry to have to break my promise, but as soon as I can get away, Fanny and I will come see you. The next time I see you, I’ll make it up to you. That’s a promise I will not break. Do you remember your promise you made me about making friends?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Have you had any luck?”

“Well… I’m not going to have a nurse anymore. I’m just going to have Charlotte. She’ll be my... What are you?”

“Your friend.”

“Yes. She’s going to be my friend. And she’s from Boston. And she’s ever so nice.”

“Tell her t…”

“What’s that, Daddy?”

“Tell her ‘thank you’.”

“He said to tell you thank you.”

“Charlotte sounds like a lovely person, but have you made friends with any of the other children?”

“Well… I did make one friend. Her name is Tina Durrance. Really it’s Christine, but she wants me to call her Tina. She was so unhappy here, but I’ve gotten to know her.”

“That’s such wonderful news! I'm glad to hear you’re coming out of your shell. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

“It’s just one friend.”

“One is better than none. And if you ask me, it sounds like you have three very good friends. Keep at it, and I’m sure you’ll make more in time.”

“And just as soon as Dr. Jaquith said we could, Charlotte made plans to take us camping in the woods. Tina adores camping, just like me. Of course, I couldn’t do it without your permission. I wouldn’t. We’re supposed to be heading out tomorrow, but if you want me to stay and study…”

“No, I want you to go. Camping sounds like a wonderful break for her and for you. Daddy’s got to go now, darling, but I’ll call you again tomorrow at lunch, as always. Have fun on your camping trip. I love you. Goodbye.”

“I love you too, Daddy. Goodbye.” You hung up the phone and turned to Charlotte. “Thank you for letting me call him. Thank you, thank you.”

The next morning, it was Saturday. Time for you, Tina, and Charlotte to go camping. It was your favorite activity. You loved it just as much as you loved your art.

“There you are, Mr. Skeffington. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Hello.”

“Good to see you again. Where’s Mrs. Skeffington? Isn’t she with you?”

“No, I’m afraid not. She had a prior engagement that she couldn’t cancel or reschedule, so I’ve brought her cousin, George Trellis, with me in her stead. He’s my daughter Fanny’s godfather and like an uncle to both of my girls. George, this is Dr. David Jaquith.”

Dr. Jaquith and George shook hands cordially, but the disappointment in the doctor’s eyes was hard to miss. “Well… I can’t say I’m not disappointed that her mother isn’t here to see her, especially after so many months of hard work, but I’m glad you’re here in her stead, Mr. Trellis. it’s very nice to meet you.”

“And same to you, Doctor.”

“And of course, you remember Fanny, my daughter. Say hello, Fanny.”

“Hello, Dr. Jaquith.”

“Hello, young Fanny. It’s good to see you. I’m glad you could come along to see your sister. Maybe you could help to lift her spirits.”

“Sorry we’re late. We lost our way a bit. Tell us, how is she?” George asked.

“Better every week. In fact, she’s almost well, but she doesn’t believe it. The prospect still looks dark to her. Going through a sickness like hers is like going through a tunnel. It’s pretty dark right up to the last few hundred yards.”

“Have you seen my daughter yet?”

“Literally speaking, no, but I did talk to her. Not that she told me anything. As I said, she’s in low spirits. You’ll find her feeling depressed today because this morning, I told her she’s a fledgling now.”

“A fledgling?”

“Well, it’s time for her to get out of the nest and try her own wings. Contemplation of going home has struck her pretty hard. I haven’t told her there’s any alternative.”

“Then you think well of my alternative?”

“It’s a gift from Heaven. But we won’t tell her about it till you’ve gone. Now, don’t expect to find her looking well. She’s a pretty sick girl.”

You were in your room, painting and cleaning with Charlotte. You hung up some of your paintings to dry as she did some tidying up around the room. You were a mess. Your hands, face, hair, and clothes were stained with both dirt and paint. Clearly you had been playing outside earlier in the day. Your father didn’t expect anything else, and it was a welcome sight. Your eyes lit up and you smiled when you saw him, Fanny, and Uncle George, but they quickly dulled again and your lips drooped lower when you suddenly remembered what Dr. Jaquith told you just that morning. Your excitement had been overshadowed by the realization of what their presence here meant. Fanny was quick to run up to you and give you a hug. You hugged her back.

“Darling, I’m so glad to see you. Dr. Jaquith says you’re much better, almost well,” your father said.

“Yes, that’s what he says.”

“Mr. Skeffington, Fanny, Mr. Trellis, this is my wife, Charlotte. She’s chief of my police force here and has been acting as Miss Skeffington’s nurse. Charlotte, this is Mr. Job Skeffington, Mr. George Trellis, and young Fanny, her father, her mother’s cousin who’s like an uncle to her, and, of course, her twin sister.”

“How do you do?”

“What’s this, sweetheart?” Your father put his arm around your shoulder and kissed you on the side of the head as he looked over at the canvas you were currently working on.

“I’ve been helping Miss Skeffington with her painting. Now you’ve come, if you’ll excuse me, I have a million things to do.” Charlotte and her husband shared a knowing smile as she left the room.

“How’s Mother?” you asked nervously as you played with your hands and picked at your fingernails before stuffing them in the pockets of your trousers.

“Fine. She’s been having a wonderful time entertaining, paying visits to all her friends and blessing them with her presence at parties. She’s spending the day with Mrs. Thornton and her sister at present.”

“Has Dr. Jaquith told you?”

“Told me what?”

“He says I’m well enough to leave here now. I’ve got to go home. Daddy, I dread it so terribly. I know it’s awful not to want to see Mother, and it’s wrong...”

“Stop, look, and listen. New England conscience on the track.”

“Perhaps you don’t have to go home.”

“Mayn’t I tell her, Dr. Jaquith?” Fanny asked.

“Later, maybe. We’ll see how she behaves.” When you looked at Dr. Jaquith quizzically, he explained, “We have a scheme, your father and I. Your sister knows about it.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not telling you yet. Marvelous chance, though, to use your re-education. Well, my time for pleasure is just about up. I thought I’d show your Uncle George around the place a little. You can show him and your father the rest of the works when we get back. Meet me outside in a minute, Mr. Trellis?”

“Oh, I’ve been thrown out of better places than this, Doctor. Fanny, would you like to come with?” Taking their cue, your Uncle George and Fanny followed Dr. Jaquith out of the room, leaving you and your father alone for a tearful and heartfelt reunion. As soon as the door closed, you hugged your father tight. You didn’t want to let him go. You told him all about your time at Cascade, not sparing any detail of your experiences and adventures, both good and bad. Though you often rambled incoherently in a way all children do, your father avidly listened to every word. He responded to you, asked you questions, matched your energy. He cared about you and your interests, even if they were so different from his own, and that meant the world to you. You couldn’t wait till you could show him the big surprise.

You never cared much for keeping a diary. You tried, but only wrote a handful of entries before your time in Cascade. But Dr. Jaquith said it could be a good outlet for you to let out all your pent up emotions and encouraged you to take it up again. Since you would be at Cascade for the next two weeks, possibly even longer depending on how you progressed, it seemed to be a good time to start keeping one again. When your time at Cascade went from two weeks to two years, you were so glad you followed Dr. Jaquith’s advice. Journaling the day’s events and what you were thinking and feeling helped you in more ways than one. Even after you were deemed well enough to return home and your time at Cascade came to an end, you still kept the diary going.

September 1927

It’s finally Daddy’s day off today but I can’t show him my drawings or how I’m coming along in my reading just yet. Daddy is so busy. He said that he was sorry, but he was hung up with Thomas, the lawyer. When he wasn’t sleeping, he was talking to Thomas on the phone. He seemed mad at him. I don’t know what lawyers do, but it sounds boring and tedious. Daddy is always working now, so I only see him on his day off. The babysitter’s name is Hannah. We talk about Daddy sometimes. I think she is Daddy’s friend. I am glad Daddy has someone who cares about him. She picked Fanny up from school yesterday since Daddy was too busy. Daddy said never to go with strangers, so Fanny had to call him just to be sure Hannah could be trusted. Hannah’s nice, but I don’t really like having babysitters.

You found yourself outside your father’s study. He would be finished with his paperwork any moment. You waited there, going over again and again Charlotte’s cheers in your mind. The door opened, and your father stared down at you, as if surprised to find you there. You drew yourself up as tall as could be, but he still towered over you.

“Do you need something, sweetheart?” he asked.

You nodded, but didn’t answer. Without a word, you strode right inside his study. You heard your father close the door behind you and follow.

“Is something wrong? Are you hurt? Sick?” he asked you.

You shook your head.

“Have you finished your studies today?”

You reached up and took the first bit of parchment off the stack.

“Careful, darling, those are important documents. They can't be lost—”

“Public notice… Pending dem…demo…demolition… This property will be demol…demolished as ordered by the Department of Ins…inspec…inspections and Lice…Licenses.” You looked up from the random sentence and hid your smile. Then you continued, and you read the entire letter out loud to your father. “No person may remove this notice prior to the approval date which the demolition may commence. The owner of this property has not been found and therefore this dwelling unit and the surrounding land will be placed under ownership of the state. The area is to become a natural wildlife refuge until further need or sale approval by the state courts. The structure and fou…founday…foundation of this property are not stable. Anyone entering the premis..is…is…premises under permit must take pre…preca…precautions and care. Multiple injuries have occurred due to the structural inte…inte…gritty…integrity of this property.” When you finished, he actually laughed, and you felt your cheeks go red. You loved it when you pleased her father. You had seen his smile more times than you could count, but you rarely heard a laugh.

“You see, darling? You are a Skeffington! You always had it in you!” he said. “You've got quite the attitude, but I'm proud of you. Keep up the good work.” He touched your face and then embraced you. “Come now, supper is waiting for us.”

You beamed at him, and you headed to the dining room together. You recounted the story to Uncle George, and he laughed first and then congratulated you. Then he hugged you. After supper, you returned to your room to practice some more and then prepare for bed. You still had much farther to go, and the letters still got jumbled, but you were determined to work hard. The next morning, you once again found yourself pouring over a book. You finished reading the paragraph aloud and looked up at Marie. She was absent-mindedly working on something with a needle.

“Um… Marie, I have a question,” you said.

“Ask away,” she urged you.

“Well, it’s just about something that I overheard. One of the neighbors said a Miss Rosalyn seduced her husband. She called her a whore. Marie, what does seduce mean? And what’s a whore?”

The needle suddenly slipped and pricked her finger. You felt bad for giving her an ouchie.

October 1927

Although they live in the same house, Mother and Daddy hardly speak to each other. Mother was very upset because Daddy had lady friends that came to visit him in his office at the bank, but Mother has gentlemen friends that come to see her at the house, so I don’t see the difference. Why was it wrong for Daddy to have friends? Mother and Daddy are always telling Fanny and I the importance of making friends. Can’t they just all get together for a play date like me and Fanny did at recess? It’s after dinner. Fanny and I have been sent to our rooms. Mother and Uncle George are arguing with each other. They're talking about divorce. Weren’t Mother and Daddy supposed to work everything out? Did something happen? What changed?

“Five secretaries in a row? I’m not that forgiving.”

“The second secretary must have forgiven him for the first. The third for the second, and so on. Can’t you be as forgiving as a secretary?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m very grateful to Job for making it so easy for me to divorce him. I must admit, at first I was very angry. And then suddenly, I realized that the five secretaries were five gates to freedom.”

“And now you can live with your conscience.”

“Well, yes.”

“I hope the two of you will be very happy.”

I thought I was being so careful, but Mother saw me peeking from the railing.

“What do you think you're doing, young lady? Upstairs. It’s books and study. Besides, your father and I have something to discuss.”

November 1927

I think I’m finally finding my study groove. My test scores are really good. I’m worried about how much my parents are fighting recently, though. They were yelling at each other again today. I asked Mother why, but she wouldn’t say.

December 1927

This is it. Test day tomorrow. But this Monday isn’t going to be like other Mondays. It’s different because it’s the last big exam day before the end of the semester. Daddy told me I should be proud of myself since I've worked so hard, so l’m feeling great. He’s not around very much, but I know he loves me, and I love him. Daddy, I’m going to ace this test tomorrow for both you and Mother!

December 1927

I did really well in all my tests! I studied really hard. I still have two more semesters to go, but I wanted to show Mother and Daddy. Maybe they will become happy if they see how smart I am. It’s winter break and I’m going to enjoy not having to do any lessons for the next week or two.

January 1928

Where’s Daddy? We haven’t seen him since Christmas. Uncle George won’t say. Fanny and I have been talking and playing almost all day, every day, except for the time we have to do our homework. Homework is boring, but it’s nice being in the same room together.

February 1928

It’s the day after Valentine’s Day. Usually it’s Mother’s favorite day of the year because she gets spoiled with even more attention and affection than she does on any other day of the year. Abundant gifts of chocolates, flowers, and other pretty and sparkly things from men take up so much space in the house, the servants don’t know what to do with it all. I don’t think even Mother knows what to do with it all. This year was much of the same. The men gave her presents and impassioned proclamations of love, but there was no payoff. But, today, she was very angry and upset. When I innocently asked her where Daddy was, she snapped at me and said he wasn’t coming home anymore. What happened? Did Daddy get a time out?

February 1928

Mother keeps getting visitors. Peter is still here. He showed up again with a smile on his face and flowers in his hands from the new place he was raving about. He was here last week too. I now know why the neighbors say Mother and Peter are more than friends. I would have called them a couple too if only Mother wasn't so…so… I don’t know what the right word is. I mean, she spends more time looking in a mirror than looking at people when she’s talking to them! Today, Peter got Mother a gift made from Goldstone. It’s already her second since he came here! Are there other presents I don’t know about? He bought Fanny and me a bunch of books and toys. He must’ve thought, that should be enough to keep us occupied, right? The last present I got from Daddy was at Christmas. When he still lived here. I know Peter is doing this just because he’s worried about us. He wants us to feel more comfortable with him in our home. Did he really think these things would be enough to keep us occupied and out of his way? It might be enough for Fanny, but not me. I feel like he’s giving way too much to Mother. I know I’m immature to think this way. Daddy hates when people are immature. Everything seems to be going well now that they’ve been going out on dates. But I don’t trust Peter whatever-his-last-name-is. He’s trying to take Daddy’s place. I won’t let him. I’ve taken a permanent offense at him and I’ll make sure he knows it. I’ll look him right in the eye and I’ll tell him, “I don't know who gave you the right to call my mother your wife. She's not your wife yet and will never be your wife.” I wish Daddy would come back. I need to stop thinking about stupid things.

February 1928

If only Mother and Daddy could make up. Mother, Daddy... Can you try to behave like a happy couple? Or wouldn’t that be rather dishonest? They haven't separated yet, but it is too late. Mother and Daddy are liars. They always told me I need to make up with my friends when we fight. They told me to forgive Sarah whenever she took and broke my stuff. But they won’t make up. Even though they aren’t together anymore, I still hear them fighting over the phone. Sometimes Daddy says he is going to keep Mother away from us. Daddy says that he is going to rescue Fanny and I from Mother. Why can’t they just stay together? Would it kill them to put on a show for a few more days? The thing is, I don't want to give Janie Clarkson any ammunition by extension. I’m “friends” with Brenda, who’s friends with Janie’s son, Jeremy. I know Janie and Mother don’t like each other. Yet Janie keeps trying to go out with Mother to lunch. Grownups are so confusing.

March 1928

I got a letter in the mail. It was one from Brenda again, asking how I was feeling about Mom and Dad’s break up. With a flick of the wrist, I threw it in the trash. It was none of her damn business how I felt. None. Just because Brenda had been the one I’d gone crying to, it didn't give her the right to keep on prying. Nosey parker. She was probably having a good old laugh about it with her friends. I know she’s a blabbermouth and is friends with Jeremy Clarkson. I didn’t tell her anything, so how did she find out? Fucking Jeremy. The twerp always sticks his snotty nose into other people’s business. Like mother, like son. He said his uncle saw Daddy at a speakeasy with a lady who wasn’t Mother. Miss Eleanor Morris. And that Mother was also there with a man who wasn’t Daddy. Max MacMahon. Neither of them knew the other was there, so their running into each other was an unpleasant surprise. Usually he’s full of shit, but this…I don’t want to believe it, but…it’d explain why Daddy is gone so much. I don’t know. I’m still mad at Brenda for telling Jeremy about Mom and Dad. Well, I’d show her. Come exam day I’d get the top grade. If there was anything I didn't understand I’d have Brenda explain it, then I’d go in and beat her. It worked like a charm every time. When Brenda didn't understand something I would just pretend I didn't get it either, even if I did. The phone is ringing. It’s probably Brenda again, something about a family emergency and she needed to talk. The last thing I needed was some crying mess wrecking my day. There’s more important things to do.

You sat at your easel, painting. Your father entered and sat down on one of the chairs. You bid him enter the attic, but you didn’t look at him. You were painting a sophisticated, stylized royal portrait of a fluffy cat dressed like it was a man from the Renaissance era. Why? You saw a stray cat in the neighborhood and thought it was pretty. Other animal portraits were already leaned up against the wall. You were either experimenting or going through a weird phase.

Your father shifted uncomfortably. “We need to talk about last night.”

“Do we?”

“Yes. There are certain things that grownups do, that kids aren't supposed to see. And that was one of them.”

You kept painting. You still didn’t look at him. It was the first time he was home in weeks, and the first thing he did was…that. With another woman. He hadn’t realized that when your mother, uncle, and sister went out for the evening, you had stayed home because you made an excuse that you weren’t feeling well. You didn’t want to believe Jeremy, (you mentally nicknamed him “germy” for good reason) but now you had to, because you had more than just his word. You saw the proof with your own eyes. When he realized you were there and what you had seen, your father was quick to react by hurriedly cleaning himself up and sending Miss Morris home, all but pushing her out the door with a million apologies on his lips. But the damage was done.

“Darling, I need you to listen to me.”

You paused. You deliberately set your paintbrush down and turned to your father. An awkward beat.

“See, when two grownups love each other very, very much, they like to…show that love to each other.”

“I know. They fuck. Like Mrs. Ledger’s basset hounds. Do you love Miss Morris? More than Mother?”

Your father was dumbfounded. You regarded him with a bored, aloof look.

April 1928

I miss you sometimes, Daddy. Today was a cleaning day and Manby found some of your books and cologne bottles that you left. I miss you. I smell your favorite cologne bottle just to remind myself what you used to smell like. Mother got so upset when she saw the bottle. She made me throw them away. I secretly kept one. I miss you, Daddy. Sometimes when you went to visit other places, you’d come back with candy for me and Fanny. You told me that you would write to me if you went somewhere else. That was three weeks ago now. No one wants to tell me if you went somewhere else. The neighbors and servants just tell me to keep my lips zipped. I'm sorry for what I said about Edward and Freddie at dinner. Is that why you aren’t coming to stay at home anymore? I know Mother likes them, I just— I just want you back and didn’t want them to replace you. I miss you, Dad. I love you, Dad.

I haven’t seen you for a while. I wonder when you’ll be back to visit me. Every time I entered Dr. Jaquith’s office, I could smell his tobacco. It reminded me of your study room, even though you don’t smoke. It was the perfect reminder when you were gone for so long. I miss you, Daddy. Mother wrote, but she never visited. She was always busy with her friends. She has no time to spare for me. Sometimes I wonder if Mother loves me. Maybe I should call Charlotte or Manby my mother instead.

For your whole life, seeing the world had only been a dream, but, with your parents’ divorce and your father taking you to Europe with him after gaining full custody of you and Fanny, it could be a reality.

[stardustedknuckles]

It's bedtime and I'm being very sappy, but I just came across a joke that my ex taught me, way back when, and it was good to have a reason to think of her and smile.

There's a great nothing where we used to be, and I feel like I recall the broad strokes and the bad details whenever I think of her. Her trauma and my unassuming arrogance in trying to help her, the nights she wouldn't reply to my texts because she knew I would stay awake terrified she'd hurt herself, the way the only thing she knew how to do with someone who cared for her was to manipulate them just to feel in control of something, and all I knew to do when I knew someone was trying to be better, when they wanted to be good and wanted me, was to stay with them - more importantly, to never give up being wanted by someone I wanted in return.

But the bad is never the whole story. And it's not excusing the fucked up little ball of issues we made together, but we wouldn't have fought so hard for us without the good. And she did teach me jokes and I did get her to sleep at my house that one time, early on, and I smiled up at my ceiling feeling floaty and warm while she slept because I was safe enough to fall asleep around when nobody else was, and she tried as hard as she knew how no matter what anyone else said. Of course she sucked at it. Of course I should've stood up for myself, of course it shouldn't have gone on for as long as it did. Neither of us even knew we were together until it was over and didn't find out we were lesbians for another five years after the end.

But she brought me to her dorm before I ever really understood the risk she was opening herself up to by having someone in a small and empty room alone, I clearly remember the first time she touched me (head on my shoulder) after months of me being careful not to touch her lest she jump out of her skin or start trembling, the paint speckled up her arms the first day of our class together, and the way it felt to have earned every morsel of her stunted and spiky affection. The nights we lingered in my driveway after she got in her car to leave, the cramps in my muscles after leaning for so long and how bright the stars always looked for all of those extra, stolen minutes. Her body weight across my lap while I threaded my fingers through her fine, fine hair (which I could probably still find attached to something, somewhere, even after 8 years). It was like becoming friends with a feral cat and I got scratched plenty. It's much healthier to read about than to live, I promise.

But it's okay to acknowledge that our explosive and often terrible attempts to care for each other were rooted in the earnest attempt to be good to and for the other, whatever our personal reasons why. And sometimes, many times, certainly more as the years went on, we succeeded. There's still nobody I would rather haunt that town with. Those moments of joy snatched from two conflicting kinds of broken shine all the brighter for the confusing mess of hormones and feelings and pasts we snatched them from. How it felt to be safety for someone who had never known it, to feel that sense of purpose before I was old enough to really understand why that was such a problem. I could go on until the sun comes up, but that's okay. Maybe one day I will. But for now I read that dumb little joke and, just for a second, I can remember how she smelled and the way the light that filtered through the old library windows poured over us like beams of honeyed time unspooling around us, the way I rolled my eyes and tried not to laugh lest I break the hush of the third floor - the wicked pride in her eyes, the surprise in them at discovering how much she liked that she made me laugh... and the smile it brings to me isn't bittersweet anymore.

[gay-stegosaur]

Building new habits is hard 😕 (a small rant, not using tags because I don't really want this seen by as many people and I just need to vent a bit. It's nothing major or deep, I'm just having an off day and need to clear my head. Nothing bad or scary, but if it's a possible strain on your mental wellbeing just skip it; your safety and comfort are always the priority! Stay strong, stay brave, stay you 💜)

I'm trying to do better at taking care of myself, but it's a struggle, and how am I supposed to hold myself accountable? Like, sure, I can *say* I'm going to limit my screentime and set a proper sleep schedule, but then I don't have the self control not to drink a can of monster with dinner and stay up all night watching videos. I've tried sticker charts and "if you go to bed by this time or drink this much water or brush your teeth before bed every night this week you can buy a small treat" but then there's nothing stopping me from not doing any of that and then still buying the treat anyway. Idk what it means to be an adult, idk how to actually manage self care. I used to have a really good routine down but then I moved to a new country and even though I've been here for six and a half months, I still haven't gotten back into my routine and it's a mess. *I'm* a mess, and I don't mean that in a bad way; autumn leaves can be messy but still pretty and fun; they can be bright and colourful and still all over the place. It's okay to be messy sometimes, but I get frustrated with myself because I didn't learn that growing up so I'm hard on myself.

But like, gods, I just want to have someone to hold me accountable sometimes. I feel like I *need* it some days, I need help setting and enforcing rules, I need someone who's actually able to be responsible and has accountability to help me actually take care of myself, but I'm scared. Without much detail, I've got a lot of reasons that I'm terrified of any relationships. I live with my sister and she knows about my regressions, but neither of us are comfortable with her being in a CG/authority role. Two friends and one of my exes know too but they're across the ocean 5,000+ miles away and I only ever even still talk to one of them and I wish she'd stop too but I'm too much of a people pleaser with immense guilt to block her, no matter how many times we fight or she hurts me.

I just want help. I want someone to tell me it's too late in the day for caffeine, to remind me to brush my teeth, to take my phone when I've been on it too much and do something with me to pass the time that doesn't involve screens, to enforce a bedtime even if it means dragging me into bed and wrapping around me like a koala to keep me there so I actually sleep. I want to feel small and cared for, to have a happy drop instead of a lonely and sad one, I want to make a blanket fort to make a little nest in and cuddle with my cg and just *actually relax*. I want someone to actually recognise when I'm Little and keep me safe, because my sister doesn't realise when I'm regressed sometimes and it can get dangerous and scary. I just want to be able to let someone in, but I don't know how to get over the fears of my past. I don't know how to be an adult, I struggle with being a Little, and as much as I pretend I don't irl in day to day life, I *desperately* want a partner and/or CG, but I just can't, and it's hard.

If you read all of that, I'm sorry. Ramble pity parties are gonna be rare but I just needed to vent, and I decided to here on the off chance someone has advice. I'm just not having the best day, probably because a) that "I had a monster in the evening and didn't sleep" was from last night so I'm exhausted, b) my tummy is rebelling again, and c) my chewy necklace needs replaced but I lost the replacements so I can't; so I'm just grumpy and frustrated and overwhelmed and I just really need to cuddle with someone who makes me feel small and secure, regardless of not having anyone I can. I just hope tomorrow is better, but even if tomorrow isn't, it will get better eventually and I'll be brave and strong until it does. Hopefully back to regular cute content tomorrow if I can think of any ideas, we shall see 🙃

[chokingonthewords]

I'm so tired. Like, I need to go to the grocery store, but I'm way too tired to do that. I'm too tired to do anything. If you're so tired, you might say, why don't you go to bed early? Ah, that is the question. Because I don't want to? I want to keep reading my little fic, because it's the only thing that fills my empty soul with any warmth lately. But I'm afraid that I'll keep doing that way last my bedtime, again, because I'm so tired it makes me feel extra empty, so I keep chasing the feeling of emotional fullness I get from fic, long past the point where it would make sense to stop.

And anyway, I'm taking a break from the fic at the moment because the characters are having an emotionally charged conversation involving hurt feelings and I couldn't handle it for a bit, but I'm going back to it soon because it would be stupid to stop in the middle for a silly little thing like that just when it was getting good. And I'm trying to face my fears more. Which is harder when I'm so tired. But I'm afraid if I go to sleep before facing that painful scene, I'll just run away from it in the morning and find a different fic to read instead. Which would be so dumb. So I'm not doing that.

I started this blog to talk about things that are bothering me that I feel I can't talk about with ppl I know, because my main blog is known to ppl i know in real life. I've been struggling with depression a lot lately, and the whole thing i described above with sleep and fanfic is happening because fanfic is an addiction for me, but also it's my go to way to avoid my problems. I'm really good at avoidance, actually, any time I start to get overwhelmed by any sort of negative emotion, I just hop into a fictional universe and focus on it so hard I forget where I am, and what I was even running from.

Of course, that's not really a helpful tactic in the long run, because in running from one thing, i end up avoiding everything else, too, so focused on the story and not spending time in the real world. Everything starts to fall to the wayside, and then I feel bad about those things, too. And then I'm reading fic to avoid thinking about not just the initial thing, but the chores I've neglected, the friends I've put off and ignored, the personal goals I've not made progress on. And for some of those things, the guilt and shame of not doing them is so strong it is enough to make me depressed all by itself, just for one of them, so with a bunch of things at once... let's just say it becomes painful to spend too much time with my mind in the real world.

Lately I've been reading fic as soon as I get home. Sometimes even in the car before I go inside. I usually always shower first thing when I get home from work, because I have a relatively dirty job and I feel gross until I can shower. But lately I've been putting that off just to sit on my floor in my room, where I usually take off my shoes, reading fic there for minutes or even hours before I finally go shower. Like I can't wait even another 20 minutes, I have to get that hit of dopamine right then. And I don't know if I've had more than one good nights sleep in a row for ages, I keep staying up late reading, and I don't know how to stop.

I've isolated myself from my friends to the point I don't know how to talk to them anymore. I feel if I try to talk about this, it'll sound like whining. And it's not like they can fix it. They've all got their own lives and busy schedules, they might not have time to cater to my problems. Plus, of course, I feel ashamed and embarrassed about it all.

So, instead, I keep going in circles in my own head, getting more and more depressed about the situation, and less and less convinced it can change. Fuck, I need more sleep.

At least cats are still cute, and soft, and do not judge. Unless it's mealtime and you haven't fed them, of course.