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darkwoods-darkdreams · 5 years ago

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Imagine you live on the edge of town (II)

“Hello!” Nyssa chimed from the front entrance. She closed the door behind her before joining you in the kitchen. She was so cheery despite it being so late. Upon seeing you, she stopped in her tracks. “Are you alright? You look like you haven’t slept.”

You waved off her concern as you transferred a large bowl from the shelf to the table. You had left the mixture of flour and water to ferment. It always smelled a little sour, as it should, but this time it was overwhelming. Your stomach was in knots just from being close to it. Your apron was still sitting differently on you. You were lucky enough that no one had noticed. You tried to angle yourself away from Nyssa. You had seen the looks she had been giving you lately. She knew that something was going on, but hadn’t asked outright.

“Do you need any-“

You couldn’t take it. You turned and vomited into the waste pail hooked on the wall. For a moment, you remained there, leaning over the bucket and trying to breathe through the nausea. You experimentally moved your tongue. You wanted to wash the acidic taste out, but you still felt ill.

Nyssa was by your side in an instant. She grabbed your arm in case you collapsed. “You can’t work like this. You need to see a physiker.”

You swallowed. You couldn’t allow for that to happen. If this was what you thought it was, if you were… You couldn’t let anyone attend to you. No one could know. If they did, you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. You glared at the bottom of the pail. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. It was just the first time you had been caught. “I’m fine.”

“You aren’t,” Nyssa insisted.

“The nearest physiker is in the next town over.” You shakily inhaled. Your eyes closed as you attempted to focus on anything but the nausea. “It’s not like I can walk there this late.”

Her grip on your arm loosened for a moment. Then, it returned to its full strength. “Then you should see my granny. She’ll know what to do.”

You managed to lift your head and look at her warily. You wiped your mouth on your sleeve. Nyssa’s grandmother had a reputation. The children of Fyerdin called her Granny Waxwood or the Waxwood Witch. She lived in a house on the outskirts of town. She was called the Waxwood Witch because she was obsessed with the healing properties of candles and their wax. She would leave candles burning at all hours. She would use the wax for everything. She would bathe in the melted wax and even use it as a perfume, coating layer upon layer onto her skin to the point that her skin looked like the bark of a tree. When she thought no one was looking, she would eat chunks of wax from a small pot she always-

You turned and vomited into the bucket once more. You sighed, knowing that you shouldn’t have thought too deeply about it. You doubted that you’d survive the trip unscathed. You’d probably end up with a set of candles shoved into your arms.

“Promise me that you’ll go,” Nyssa whispered. “I’ll take care of things here.”

You looked to her again. The concern on her face was undeniable. Your expression softened. “…Fine.”

“Good!” She clapped her hands. “Apron off. Out you go.”

You begrudgingly allowed her to take your apron and shoo you out of your own kitchen. You wouldn’t admit it, but the fresh air brought relief. It was a nice change compared to the yeast and booze. Still, that didn’t mean your journey was going to be a pleasant one.

Nyssa’s grandmother lived on the other side of a river. Crossing it was the only bridge in Fyerdin. Technically it existed as a symbol of the town’s limits, but that had been decreed when the town was only made up of twenty-five people.

You approached the bridge. Seeing it always reminded you of the stories your father had told you of trolls and goblins and other monsters. You wished that he had stayed home to tell you more stories rather than fight and die for some distant king.

You kept to the right side of the bridge. You glanced down at the water rushing beneath. The river was wide due to the snow still melting in the north. You raised your head again. Merchants and other travelers used these roads. You didn’t want to get hit by a cart or robbed by thieves.

The house was easy to find. All of the windowsills were filled with candles. The flames danced against the glass. Even the edges of the door were illuminated, as if all of the light was trapped inside and eager to burst free. As you drew closer, you could see Nyssa’s grandmother puttering about. Your brow furrowed as you wondered what she was doing. After watching for a bit longer, you realized she was rearranging the candles in her home. Your pace slowed as you considered the idea that maybe she wasn’t the best person to ask for advice. A pack of wolves howling in the distance forced your hand. You kept moving.

You hesitated when you reached the door. There were countless handprints along the wood. All of them were from frail, thin hands covered in wax. Your attention lowered to the doorknob. It was covered in wax, too. You decided to knock on the doorframe instead. “Hello?”

The old woman stopped moving. For a moment, you almost thought that all of the flames had gone still. Silence. Then, shuffled footsteps coming toward the door. “Who is it?”

“_____,” you replied. “I’m a friend of Nyssa’s. I was wondering if I could-“

The door swung open, revealing the Waxwood Witch in all of her glory. Her nightgown was stained with multiple layers. Her skin was coated in different colours and scents. Her feet were covered in soot. She stared up at you with wide eyes. When she tilted her head, her hair barely moved. There was too much wax coating her scalp.

You tried your best to take a subtle step back. The smell was making you dizzy. “I-I’m sorry if I woke you. Nyssa-“

“You want candles?”

“No, I’m looking for some help.”

“Help from candles.”

Your mouth opened, but you said nothing. You refocused. “No, not from candles. From you.”

She ushered you in. Against your better judgment, you obliged. You lifted your skirts to make sure that they didn’t catch flame. There were so many candles and so much wax covering the floor that it was hard to walk around. Narrow paths zigzagged through the house. You followed her into another room. There were two wooden chairs. One was completely clean. You guessed that it was where Nyssa sat when she visited. You sat down.

The woman sat down across from you. She looked you over. She seemed to be a bit more coherent now that she was back inside.

You waited, anxious. You didn’t know how useful she would be regarding your predicament. You weren’t even sure if she would keep this a secret from Nyssa. At the very least, the Waxwood Witch wouldn’t be able to tell anyone else. Whenever she came into town for supplies, she was avoided at all cost. She got most things for free because the townsfolk were afraid of her. Well, most of the townsfolk. The candlemaker was more than happy to see her.

You leaned forward. “What should I call you?”

“Granny Waxwood.”

You hesitated. “I mean your name.”

“Granny Waxwood.”

“I…I wouldn’t want to insult you.”

“Insult? I like it.”

You stared at her. This was going nowhere.

Her head tilted once more. “Boy or girl?”

Your body went cold. She couldn’t possibly be insinuating- “I’m a girl.”

“I know you’re girl. I mean little one.”

“L…” Your throat tightened. You couldn’t repeat it. “I-I’m- How-“

“Can tell.” She gestured to your abdomen. “I see?”

You didn’t want to, but she was already up before you could refuse. She placed her hand below your navel. Your face burned. The resistance against her hand was obvious. Still not noticeable at first glance, but enough to be felt, and it was growing bigger.

She shuffled away. “Very tiny little one.”

You sniffled. You had hoped that you were wrong when it first crossed your mind. Now, it felt like the weight of your reality was crashing down on top of you. “…What can I- What am I supposed to do?”

“No drink. Careful. Take rest.”

You didn’t know what to say. You had hoped that she would have a more short-term solution. You had heard people whispering about it. Certain herbs that would stop things before they progressed. Then again, you knew that there was a reason those things were whispered.

“River flowers.”

You looked to her once more.

“Crush up. Put in water. Drop of blood. Will glow.”

You hesitated. You hadn’t seen flowers on the way to her house.

“Married?”

You shook your head. You knew it would be a problem as time passed. Soon enough, you wouldn’t be able to hide the pregnancy. Knowing that you weren’t married, the townsfolk would disapprove. You would be stared at. Gossiped about. They would smile to your face but shake their heads when you weren’t looking. And how were you supposed to raise a child? You owned a tavern. You couldn’t have them crying in another room when the patrons were too rowdy. You couldn’t close down. The werewolf was someone in the town. What if he tried to get involved? Your hands shook as you tried to think of a more positive outcome, but you only came up with more worries.

You stood up. You needed to leave. You needed to think of something. “Thank you. Good night.”

You hurried out before she could call after you.

You huffed in annoyance. You had walked alongside the riverbank as it twisted and curved until you were exhausted. The moon was hanging high in the darkness. You stared up at it, basking in the glow. Maybe Nyssa’s grandmother was wrong. Maybe the flowers were from somewhere far away. Your shoulders fell. They probably didn’t even exist in the first place.

The sight of something dark made you go still. It was faint, but you could still see it. Blood. You looked upstream, farther ahead on your path. There was a curve in the river. On the outer side was a dark figure. It was crouched by the edge of the water. Its pink tongue dipped into the river to pull up mouthfuls. Its maw was shining with a dark fluid. The river water was slowly washing it away as the beast drank.

You froze. It was the werewolf. You needed to leave. You watched the beast. If he heard or saw you, you were going to run and hide as fast as you could.

The wind shifted. You shivered as the cold blew over your back. The iciness only settled deeper into your chest when you saw the grass rustle in a slow path towards him.

The tongue disappeared. Ears swiveled. His head lifted as he sniffed the air. Then, he looked right at you.

“_____?”

You flinched. The voice had come from somewhere else. You turned in its direction.

Nyssa was standing a few feet away. Her hands were clasped together.

You glanced over your shoulder. The river was empty. You swallowed. For a moment, you wondered if you had really seen the beast or if you were just consumed by worry. You refocused on Nyssa. “What are you doing out here?”

“Looking for you!” She hurried closer. “You were gone for ages. I thought that something had happened, so I left the bar.”

Your priorities shifted. “You didn’t close down? What if something happens?”

She crossed her arms. “You’re the one in trouble, not-!”

A howl put a stop to your argument. It was close. Far too close. And it was alone. You knew what it was.

Nyssa grabbed your hand. “We need to go back. It’s too dangerous out here. We’ll sort everything out then.”

You allowed her to pull you back into town. Even as the urge to glance over your shoulder grew stronger and the weight of a distant gaze grew heavier, you kept your gaze on her.

The chill of night was being kept at bay by the flame before you. The tavern had been opened for a few hours already. You could hear people singing and talking and laughing. You were sure that every seat was full. It certainly sounded like it. With so many people drinking, you were hidden away in the kitchens making their food. You didn’t mind it in the slightest. You hadn’t been able to find the river flowers. There was no need. You hadn’t bled since the spring festival. The swell continued to grow. You couldn’t deny it any longer, as much as you wanted to. You were thankful that you always wore an apron. At least it made things a bit more ambiguous. But that wouldn’t last forever. You had seen some of the older women give you looks when you were running errands that morning. It wouldn’t be long until speculation became fact.

Your gaze fell. Your hand slipped between the white fabric and your dress. Fingertips ghosted over the curve. Against your better judgment, you gently pressed your palm against it. There was only slight resistance. You mostly felt your own flesh. You frowned. Soon enough, your womb would be full to the brim and it would be firm to the touch. You wouldn’t be able to ignore it.

“_____!”

Your hand immediately withdrew. You turned from the stove.

Nyssa stood in the doorway, panting. “Could you help me for a bit? It’s a madhouse out there.”

“Give me a moment to finish these and I’ll be right out.”

She sighed. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”

You got back to what you were doing, hurrying this time. When everything was plated, you carried the food out yourself. Sliced and buttered bread for the regulars. Meat and potatoes for those with more of an appetite. Your final stop was at a table in the back corner. A few of the younger men were there, laughing. Kelv and Henris were in attendance. They usually stopped by whenever Kelv’s father had given him a bit of money to spend. It was clear that they were all drunk. Even the merchant you had danced with at the festival, Arthur, was slurring his words.

“You’re heaven-sent.” Tomas hunched over his plate the moment you set it down. “What do you put in this?”

You grinned, placing your hands on your hips. “If I told you that, I’d be out of a job.”

“I wish I could eat your cooking every day,” Arthur drawled. “I almost wish I didn’t have to leave at first light tomorrow. Could you make me something for the road?”

“I have some extra pastries that-“ You laughed as all four of them cheered. “I suppose I should bring out one for each of you?”

They nodded.

“Do any of you need another drink?”

Tomas sniffled. “She’s heaven-sent.”

“Nyssa just came by, so we’re all set,” Henris replied.

“Perfect. I’ll be right back.” You disappeared into the kitchen, returning with four more plates. “Can I get you boys anything else?”

“Your hand,” Kelv answered with a hiccup. “Not for me, though.” He gestured to Henris. “Please just get married already. I’m tired of hearing him whine about you.”

Henris’ expression faltered. He immediately sobered. His back straightened. He stared down at his dessert and didn’t say a word.

“The miller’s son and the best baker east of the Hymnals.” Arthur waved his hand like he was directing a music troupe. “The perfect match.”

You were about to go along with their game, but you noticed Henris’ brow twitch. His hand were clenched beneath the table. You relented. “Well, I’ll let Nyssa know that you’ve all had enough to drink. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

You continued down the line of booths. Nyssa flitted up and down the bar to refill mugs. She smiled when your fleeting gazes met. More ale and beer was poured. More barrels were opened.

The second-to-last booth housed some of the heaviest drinkers in Fyerdin. You smiled, though you made sure to keep your distance. Richard was the only one still awake, but his tendency to grope any woman that wasn’t his wife grew even stronger when he was drunk. “Do you need another drink?”

He stared up at you blankly. Then, his attention lowered.

You did your best to mask your disgust. You didn’t appreciate him ogling you on a normal night, but this was even worse.

He didn’t look up. “How about a sip from those tits of yours?”

You scowled. He hadn’t made that sort of comment before. Usually he just asked you to sit in his lap while you poured him another drink. You put your mask back on. Your laughter was a nervous lilt to it. “You and I both know that I don’t keep that in stock.” With that, you promptly walked past him. The booth nearest to the door looked empty. You hoped that it was. You had had enough of drunk men for the night.

Dark clothing came into view as you approached the table. Broad shoulders. Rough hands. It was the hair that gave him away. Black with wisps of silver, like stars in a midnight sky. Nikolas.

Your eyes narrowed. You said nothing. He had never stepped foot into your tavern before, so you weren’t sure why he was starting now. You had invited him countless times when you were still naïve and wanted to be kind to Ilya’s best friend. He always refused and walked off. Ilya tried to comfort you with the knowledge that he was quite nervous around people, but now you knew that he was just the type that didn’t know how to act around others.

Your annoyance grew worse as he didn’t even look at you. He was just staring down at his drink. You didn’t want to get him another one. Knowing him, he’d probably refuse.

Finally, you chose to speak up. “Did you come here to lick your wounds?”

Nikolas’ eyes lifted. He stared back at you.

“What got away from you this time? A deer?”

He leaned back against his seat. “No.”

You exhaled through your nose. The tension hang in the air. You looked to his mug. “Do you want another?”

“I’ll get it later.”

You rolled your eyes. “If you’re that attached to Nyssa, then bother her when she isn’t working.” You then headed farther back into the tavern.

At least, you would have, if Richard’s arm hadn’t shot out to stop you. He had gotten up from his seat and nearly collapsed onto you. One arm was around your waist, pulling your stomach flush against his. His other hand cupped your breast through your dress.

The tray you were folding clattered to the floor. One of the mugs broke with the impact. You tried to shove him away from you, but he was too persistent. “Let go of me!” you ordered.

“Whose brat is it?” He asked. His breath stank of ale.

You went to push him again. Another pair of hands grabbed Richard from behind. In the next instant, he was thrown to the floor. The room went quiet. Henris was standing beside you, red in the face from booze and rage. He turned to you. “Are you alright?”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

His gaze lingered on you, as if he wanted to say something else. He refocused on the drunk. “I think he’s had enough fun for the night.” He then grabbed Richard by the front of his shirt and hauled him up to his feet. Richard was nearly dragged out, his legs wobbling beneath him.

For a moment, you stood there. Your breathing had quickened despite it being such a brief struggle. Your heart was still pounding in your chest. Everyone had turned to look when Richard hit the floor. You hoped that no one had heard anything else. You glanced to Nikolas. He had been the closest. He wasn’t looking at you. He was taking another sip from his mug.

You took a shaky breath and disappeared into the kitchens once more.

Hours later, you closed the tavern for the night. The moment the doors were locked, your body wilted. Your hands slipped behind your back to arch it. Everything felt sore. You didn’t bother cleaning up. You would worry about it tomorrow. After what had happened, you just wanted to sleep and forget.

You trudged up the stairs. You were panting softly by the time you reached the top. Your gaze lowered to your abdomen. It still had so much growing to do. You didn’t know how you would manage. You swallowed. You supposed that you’d find out eventually.

Your bed was a welcome sight. You changed into a nightgown quickly. It sank beneath your hands and knees as you climbed inside. You lowered your head onto the pillow and shut your eyes.

You stirred as a distant noise woke you. You turned to look at the window. The sky was just beginning to change colour. The rooster hadn’t called out to start the day. You got up, mind still foggy. Your hands moved with practiced ease, even though you were still half asleep. You reached for the latch, only to feel that it wasn’t in place. You rubbed your eyes before taking a better look at it. You didn’t remember leaving it open. You gently pushed the panes apart. At first glance, there didn’t seem to be any damage. Your brow furrowed. You peered out the window. Your room was on the second floor. No one could reach the window unless they had a ladder There was no sign of anything like that in the soil. You straightened. You closed the window and locked it.

It wasn’t until you stepped away that you felt something strange. The fabric of your nightgown was sticking to your body. It didn’t make sense. You weren’t sweating. Your hair was completely dry. You grabbed the fabric and pulled it from your skin. The sight of a dark stain made you freeze. Not breathing, you lifted it higher. You whimpered, tears forming in your eyes as the shape came into view. Five marks were the darkest. Fingers from a hand larger than any man’s. At the ends were smaller, triangular stains. The tips of claws. The palm was faint. It had picked up the blood that had dripped from the fingers.

You let go. Your gaze followed the stain. It settled over your stomach once more. Dread washed over you. He had broken in while you were sleeping. He had stood behind you and placed his hand on the growing swell.

You wrenched the nightgown from your body and tossed it into the hamper. You grabbed a dress and began to put it on. You would worry about the stain later. You were far more concerned with how he had gotten in. Maybe there was evidence on one of the doors, or he had used a ladder to get to your room. You hurried down the stairs. The front door was too risky. He would have been seen by someone. The back entrance was much more likely.

When you turned to walk down the hallway leading to the back door, you stopped dead in your tracks. The door was open. Cautiously, you approached it. It was ajar. You couldn’t tell if it had been pulled close to shut by the wind or if the werewolf had moved it on his way out. You leaned down to examine the door more closely. The lock wasn’t broken, but it was covered in scratches. The frame was in the same state. Had he forced it open with his-

A figure moved to stand behind the door. You jumped to your feet with a gasp.

Kelv opened the door. “Did you just wake up?”

You stared at him. What was he doing at your back door? Why hadn’t he knocked on the front or shouted for you? You took a step away from him, your hand over your chest as you tried to calm your heart. “A few minutes ago. Why?”

He hesitated, as if it wasn’t something you should know. “Something happened last night.”

Your hand fell to your side. You steeled yourself. “What happened? Tell me.”

“Jonathan found a body in his fields.”

Your throat tightened. You had a bad feeling about this. “Whose body?”

“Richard’s.”

A second passed. Two. Three. The blood on your clothes. Was it from-

You strode past Kelv. You headed straight toward Jonathan’s property.

“_____, wait!”

“I need to see this for myself.”

He caught up, walking beside you. “You’re not wearing any shoes.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Is something going on? You’ve been acting strange lately.”

You didn’t reply. You just kept walking. Finding the scene was easy enough. Most of the townfolk were already gathered around. Women were clustered behind the fence, hands covering their mouths and tears in their eyes. Children leaned this way and that to get a closer look or played amongst themselves out of boredom. Men were staggered throughout the field, all facing one particular spot. Jonathan was talking to the mayor.

“_____!” Kelv called after you once more.

You didn’t listen. You stepped onto the field, ignoring the feeling of dewy grass and mud between your toes. Your attention shifted to someone standing behind Jonathan and the mayor. Henris. He was farther away than the others. His arms were crossed. He was staring at the ground. You faltered. He had been the one to pull Richard away from you and drag him out of the tavern. It was almost right after his friends had let slip that he had feelings for you. You swallowed. Was this his doing?

You stopped when the body came into view. Your lips pressed together. The smell of blood was so strong that you could taste it. You tried to breathe through the nausea as you looked over corpse. Richard’s body had been torn apart. His organs had spilled from gaping wounds in his abdomen, staining his skin and his clothes and the ground beneath him.

Nikolas was kneeling beside the body. He hadn’t looked up when you approached. His attention was focused on the wounds.

“What do you think?” The mayor moved to stand next to him.

“Too rabid to be a man. Too smart to be an animal.”

“A werewolf?” Jonathan asked. “Like the one that killed my cows and sheep?”

“It’s the same one. They’re solitary creatures. They don’t hunt in packs like wolves.”

“Were the sheep not enough? Has it moved onto humans now?”

“It wouldn’t kill a human if there was a better meal around. This was personal.”

You glanced to Henris. He had moved further away.

Suddenly, he was eclipsed by Nikolas’ shoulder. He was standing now, over a head taller than you were. His gaze was focused solely on you. It only lasted for a moment. Then, he turned away as if you weren’t even there. “The tracks lead into the forest. I won’t be able to trace it back to a source.”

“So you can’t figure out who it is,” you spoke up.

Several pairs of eyes flickered to you, including Nikolas’.

The mayor was the one to speak. “I trust that you’ll be able to sort this out, Nikolas.”

“There are wards I can use. Certain materials that can drive it away. But there’s another problem.”

You tensed. You had a feeling you knew where this was going.

“What is it?” the mayor asked.

“It’s likely that the werewolf is someone in Fyerdin.”

Silence fell over the field. When Nikolas looked to the forest, Henris was gone.

“It would be wise to start a curfew,” Nikolas continued. “You’ll have to get volunteers to stand guard at night.”

The mayor nodded. “I’ll ask around today. I hope that you’ll join them.”

“I will.”

With the decision made, the crowd began to disperse. You walked back to the tavern alone. For once, you were actually relieved by Nikolas’ presence. At the same time, you were worried that someone else would die. The werewolf had only chased off Ilya. If your suspicions were correct and the beast had killed Richard for touching you, he was becoming more territorial. You refused to think of it as him protecting you.

You slowed as you entered the garden behind the tavern. You grew some of your own supplies and bought everything else. Usually you only worried about the things that were too expensive to buy on its own. You looked over the mud and the glistening plants. Some of the stems were broken. There were footprints leading to the back door. You frowned. You brought out a rake and upturned what soil you could. It would look suspicious if you only worried about the pawprints. You wiped your brow when you were finished. You had never thought that you’d be hiding evidence of such a creature. Then again, you hadn’t even believed in such monsters a few moons ago.

You washed your feet off before heading back inside. You glanced to the stairs. You wondered if it would be better to burn the nightgown or wash it.

A knock at the door put a stop to those thoughts. You looked over your shoulder. The sound had come from the back door. You approached warily. The werewolf wouldn’t show up in the middle of the day. Someone would see him. You wondered if it was Henris, or Kelv, or-

Opening the door revealed none of the men you expected. You were instead met with the sight of dark leather. Your gaze lifted. Dark hair. Light eyes.

Nikolas.

#werewolf route #fpreg #live on the edge of town #series

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shadowdianne · 7 years ago

Note

Okay, so I have a fluffy prompt (pun intended): Somehow Regina gets turned into a fluffy, fiesty little black kitten, and Emma is the one to care for her.

It feels like magic, is that you? Xd Because ifit is I can feel called out :P If it’s not… well, some time ago I wrote thislittle thing -that I didn’t complete because… well, I tend to leave stuffhalted due to prompts. I would want to finish it tho’ and it portrays Regina asa cat. Sort of-

However, this doesn’t take place on that worldso thank you for the prompt and I hope you like it 😉

Emma bit down on her bottom lip as she watchedat the kitten in front of her, its eyes seeming almost to keep on winking ather. The furry black ball, however, seemed anything but festive and the blondesighed deeply while trying to hide her amusement before crouching in front ofit, hands dangling from her knees where she rested her wrists.

“So… how long did Rumple say it was going totake?” Her question, despite the way her eyes kept trained into the black kitten,was directed towards Snow and David. The couple had been standing at the otherside of the sheriff’s office, close enough to touch each other as Snow kept onfiddling with her wedding ring in a way that made her strikingly similar to herdaughter and her own fiddling.

One that she had been doing at least untilrecently, ring now missing from her hands.

“A few days perhaps. Or maybe not… he wasn’tsure.” David answered before glancing quickly at his wife, a nod confirming herreply as a small sigh that echoed louder than usual as Emma narrowed her eyes,watching at the fur-ball in front of her.

The kitten was adorable; that was out of thequestion. It was the intelligence on its pupils and the way they almost glowedpurple in rage every time Emma tried her best not to laugh that it becameobvious who was at the other side of the transforming spell.

“He told us that she is still there.” Davidlicked his lips out of nervousness as Emma extended her right hand, palmupwards, towards the kitten, her fingers almost gracing the small nose of theanimal before it hissed, nibbling her skin in a way that could only be awarning. “But the spell…”

“She is going to be so angry at us.” Snow’sinterruption made Emma look up, one hand still extended, the other flat at herknee now in an attempt to keep her balanced in front of the kitten. “She saidthat she didn’t want any interruptions on her vault but…”

“I’m sure she will understand it was a mistake.”David placed his left hand on Snow’s forearm, a gentle gesture Emma glanced atit before returning her eyes to the cat who was now looking at her parents in away that if it had been Regina’s it could only have been described as a scoff. “Youonly dropped a bottle…

Well, now Emma understood better why the kittenhad refused to be close to Snow as soon as the trio had entered into thestation, convoluted explanation already falling out of her father’s lips. Thiswas going to be interesting.

“Couldn’t Gold…” She began, pushing herself outof her crouched position, the kitten’s eyes following her every movement. “un-magicher or something?”

Snow shook her head and dragged an even loudersigh than before.

“He told us he can’t, magic being unstableagain.”

Emma tilted her head and fought the need toroll her eyes; of course. That was the reason why Regina had go to the vaultafter all; to try to find a solution for the bursts of magic that had beenhappening. Focusing instead on the little animal and feigning a cough in orderto mask her need to grin, she tilted her head towards it before turning back toher parents.

“So… you are saying me that we need to waituntil Regina is Regina again?”

The cat mewled.

“Only for a few days.” David quipped. “And so,we thought that you could be the one in charge to take care of her while she is…”

“Transformed.” Snow finished with a quick smilethat didn’t quite reach the easy mood she was trying to infuse her words with. “Thehouse might be empty without… and so we thought…”

Emma didn’t even waist her time pointing at hermother how she not so subtly had tried not to mention Hook’s name in front ofher. Not that she cared about the pirate anymore, not like she had once upon a timeconvinced herself she did.

The cat seemed as displeased as she feltbecause its whole posture seemed to change, bristling for a second beforepositioning herself between Emma and Snow in a way that could have beeninterpreted as Regina glaring at the other brunette. Of course, in cat form,the glare didn’t hold quite the same punch.

It wasn’t, Emma reasoned, like she would havesaid otherwise if she had been with her parents at Gold’s; both Regina and herhad made abundantly clear that they trusted each other and, if she was beinghonest, if the one transformed in an animal would have been her she would havefelt far safer with Regina. Nodding and hoping that the arrangement was whatthe former queen truly wanted Emma decided to settle the discussion; the cat…or Regina, was going to stay with her.

“Only the best sardines for you, am I right?”She muttered after Snow and David had done their farewells; Snow stillmuttering how she hadn’t wanted to break the bottle that had been filled withthe potion that had caused the whole problem to begin with. Emma suspected thatit was going to pass a really long time before the woman was going to beallowed into Regina’s vault.

“You smell like Regina.”

Emma narrowed her eyes at Ruby’s pun, the lankybrunette letting out a wolfish grin before coming closer to the blonde andpicking a small black hair out of Emma’s jacket in a flair that made the blondesuddenly very conscious of the way the werewolf seemed to be laughing at someinner joke she didn’t feel like understanding.

“Snow told you?”

Ruby nodded dramatically before pushing herelbows forward on the dinner’s counter. She had returned from her adventures withDorothy a month ago but Granny had lasted only a second before placing her backat the other side of the Formica table; notepad in hand. The werewolf however,hadn’t seem to mind and so she was back to be a waitress. Until either Dorothyor herself decided to leave, that’s it. A threat that turned more and morevague as weeks passed.

“She came after dropping by at the station.” Shruggingand mechanically preparing Emma’s usual, Ruby hummed absentmindedly beforeplacing the blonde’s coffee to go in front of her. “I asked and she told me.”

Emma bit back a sigh; many things could be saidabout her mother. Keeping a secret wasn’t one of those. Raising her left hand andfiddling with her pendant, she rose the cup to her lips and winced at the heatbefore muttering something that could be either a hum or a swear.

A moment Ruby only allowed her to bask on for atotal of a second before she re-started her interrogation; eyes twinkling.

“So, how is her majesty?”

Emma narrowed her eyes for a moment, staring atRuby and the way she kept on looking at her, glancing cheekily from behind thecounter. It had been years since someone had actually called Regina that and,for almost a moment, she considered starting that old diatribe with Ruby. Amoment that was quickly lost as Ruby growled and muttered an “I’m sorry” thatmatched with her eyes as they glowed yellow. Gulping down a second sip of hercoffee before replying to the question, Emma thought on the kitten she hadfound hovering her pillow that very morning, eyes firmly closed and not anounce of will to move out of what Emma considered to be HER place.

“It’s…. interesting.” She finally replied, elicitinga snort from Ruby. “Being a cat suits her.”

“I wouldn’t have said that Regina was the kindof person that spit fur balls.”

Emma threw a warning glance to her friend; lookthat was quickly dismissed by a smirking Ruby.

“You know what I meant.”

Rolling her eyes Emma kept on answering,thinking on how excited Henry had looked for a moment only to stare agape atwhat was his mother, the question of how Emma had decided to buy a cat dying onhis lips.

“She was comfortable with Henry.” She said,blowing onto the coffee. “I was worried that she might have felt like hidingaway but she didn’t. Problem is that she hovers the sheets.”

This time a loud snort was heard through thedinner, one that wasn’t stopped by Emma’s warning glare nor the muttered “Ruby”the werewolf was quick to shut with a small giggle.

“So…” The brunette said after she threw a quicklook to Granny, pleading look that was met with a nod from the old woman. “Youshared your bed with her?”

“It’s not like I have another.” Emma mumbled,blushing. That had been a complicated moment but after Hook’s leave the househad slowly transformed into a place only to be in the barest minimum and ithadn’t been like the room they could have used for guests had ever been filledin so apart from Henry’s room -which the ca… Regina had almost entered in beforewrinkling its nose in something that seemed Regina’s sour face before askingHenry why he hadn’t aired out his room- only the master bedroom was properlyfurnished. It had been the easiest choice for the first night after all.

Now, as Ruby bit down another fit of gigglesEmma wondered if it had.

Chuckling, Ruby started to move away, Leroymoving towards the two of them.

“I don’t know Emma, perhaps you should justkiss her already and see if that works out.”

And, on that final note, the werewolf left Emmato her devices, a snort following her back as she did so.

Beinghonest with herself Emma had thought about what Ruby had said more than a fewtimes throughout the day. However, after talking with Rumplestiskin a few timesas well to the Fairies and only seeing that yes, bursts of magic would keep onhappening from time to time until the residual power subsided, she had triedhard not to stop every few seconds to consider why the werewolf had told hersuch thing.

Finding thekitten, which she truly couldn’t bring herself to think as it as Regina, in themiddle of creating something that was already a mess with the many books Emmahad picked over from Regina’s vault after their magic lessons in an open disarraythat spoke almost nothing of the former queen’s usual cleanliness, however,made Emma forget for a moment about any words regarding a kiss.

(All thebooks were open on transformation spells, as she would later realize.)

Until shestarted to grumble at the cat, that is, and her tired-addled mind decided thatcould confide on it for Ruby’s words.

Suddenlythe constant proud hiss that had come from the kitten ever since Emma had startedto put the books away stopped altogether.

“… Regina?”

(Sheobviously ended up kissing the brunette. Of course she did; she had been inlove with the former queen for a lot longer she felt herself ready to admitafter all. And then she later had a really long conversation that had a fewtears on it. She also had to go back to Granny the morning after and face Rubywho, this time, simply smirked at her and muttered a quick “You smell likeRegina.” again before giving her two coffees. Emma found herself too happy forto fully register it. That, however, is another story)

#swan queen #prompt #super-nerdy-chick

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hyperallergic · 8 years ago

Photo

Days

Days,

The first thing that I thought of,

And how they go.

Ever changing,

Sometimes fast, 

Sometimes slow, 

No surprise there, 

That you know.

See my pictures,

Born without words,

If you let them,

They’ll steal your name.

Like the lamplight,

Or the gaslight,

Question for you.

Are you sane?

Now the sudden realization,

That it’s always been that way.

Ain’t it strange?

Early springtime,

Heals our senseless,

Broken ways.

Throw open windows,

Bask in sunlight,

Forget pain.

The makeshift writing table,

Faulty lamps and all,

The dying flowers

Her favorite vase

A friendly thank you call,

The weary worried wordsmith wrote,

Or did he just recall?

To end his poem,

might really mean,

To never start at all.

Slow down pictures

Or they control you

That’s my color.

Why’s it subdued?

Let it shimmer

Hope it shows you.

Here’s a nuanced

Type of world -view,

Not polemic

Callous fake news.

Cold hard words that

Won’t console you.

Stop the lights!

Don’t let them scold you.

Bare foot bus stop,

Feel the cold ground,

With my toes out,

Oh it’s so grand.

There’s that brake sound

And they’re home now.

Gentle, sweet folk,

Young and bold are,

Make their world one,

Goodness goes far.

I Think of Your Place

I think of your place as go,

Trudging under Bel Air Road,

Through the tunnel echoes went,

Coughing, shouting, backwards and

To a pathway towards the trees,

A place primordial memories.

Two paths diverge the old poem goes,

I take the one from stream and road

I think of your place as I go.

And how the light came flooding in

Your Dublin window,

Back garden

You pruned and cut it,

Tamed at last,

Once a place wild parties past.

My feet are slipping in the mud

As I walk among deciduous wood

Strategically placing clumsy shoes

On bits of roots and rocks beneath

My slippy, sloppy, awkward feet.

Out of breath I pause and see,

Bright sunlight streaming through the trees,

I think of your place as I go.

Those potted house –plants,

Heaven knows,

Where once the ashtrays overflowed

Stale old beer, red wine and cans,

Red- hot ash burnt in the chair,

Now there’s shiny polished silverware.

And on your couch we’d often sit

Listen, reading, laugh and kid

Your music moves me, it always did

But I can’t listen now it seems

So I walk in silence amongst the leaves.

Bridie McGuire

Bridie McGuire as once she was called,

Sat in a green chair by the tiled fire wall,

Boxes of Bensons shiny and gold,

Hid in the cabinet of deep hardwood brown,

Nutty as her ancestor in Sandyford town.

Burning his house because of fairies I’m told,

Hauling sacks of potatoes on his back up hell hill,

Black Bart had the strength of ten men but no will.

Selling his last cow to go on the piss,

Leaving two acres on Ticknock’s terrace.

But Bridie was quiet and gentle and kind,

Much of those ways seemed far out of place,

In house full of clutter and growling dogs face.

Her bedroom was Mary and Jesus’s heart,

In darkness he glowed, orange, red, musty frame,

Stuffed snakes on the bed only mocking his name.

Then there’s that room where we’re told not to go,

Full of antiques, brass, silver and gold.

To children a treasure to rummage through slow,

Then put back in boxes so no one would know.

Out in the back garden God was not far,

It said so on granite that hung on the yard,

Something bout sun and his love and his mirth,

There’s less sun in Ireland then anywhere on earth.

But berries they sprouted all summer they growed.

On Granny’s crab tree for apple tart gold.

And bitterest gooseberries, rubarbs foul stew,

Blackberries, red currents Strawberries too.

Behind the back wall,

The knackers camped out.

Walking the dogs,

We sang and we shout,

To Sony Walkman,

Beat it and Billie Jean

Mongrels sniffing and pissing

Against white washed tiraleen

Why do these memories come at five in the morn?

It’s too cold for painting so I lie on my phone.

Later an image of Granny I’m sure,

But now time for coffee and breakfast with Len.

The longest night of the winter, in the depths of its days,

Brightened by thinking of Bridie’s kind ways.

My Father’s Work Shed

Shelves, dust and cobwebs

On old magazines,

Flowers sprouting patterns,

Opaque, yellow screens.

Paint hardened brushes caked in shellac,

These are the memories of my father’s work shed.

A place of curiosity for a young child,

Familiar, yet completely unknown,

I would go there alone,

Climbing wide wooden rafters,

Searching that place,

Angle grinders and sanders,

The tools of his trade,

Never clean or bright,

With the strong citrus smell of Fast Orange,

For removing stubborn oil stains from his hands,

Or gelatinous green Swarfeega smelling as toxic as the filth it took off.

Working hard on his dreams,

Lorries, Rally Cars and anything with wheels.

Up the back an old Deutz digger that never starts,

We beg him everyday, start the Deutz! start the Deutz!

To no end.

Until a thunderous rumble, like the wall falling down in the back yard,

Announces it’s engine running and we race up and ride with him.

The simple pleasures of young children,

Immune from the toils of his world,

We dig only for fun.

In the rally car,

Aged two,

Frightened by the sound,

Or a roaring mini cooper engine,

He torments me,

I scream,

Don’t rev though!

Don’t rev!

But he does.

I embrace him,

He shakes me from his leg,

Too busy, too anxious for childish things.

I consol myself by laughing at the STP sticker on the lid of the dustbin,

Mr. Bellyman I call it, pealed and covered in sticky foodwaste.

Uncovering layer on top of layer,

Replaced every year with the same label.

As a child his passion for work an obsession

To understand obsession

You have to get your own

And then labor at it

Every day

Forgetting everything else that matters in life,

Even the people who love you.

But who am I to say?

To distinguish,

What should matter to a man I love regardless.

I have my obsessions.

What will my children write about me?

My Mothers Decorations

My Mothers decorations,

Of use to me now.

Couches, rugs

Patterned, floral and cream.

Reminding of cushion -shaped candies

And suites

The streets of her youth,

From Camden to Green.

Afraid of the city I stayed close behind,

The dirt of the footpaths,

The soles of my shoes.

Ah yes,

Once the subject of youthful disdain.

Pretty lozenges, leaves,

Naphthol red, bluish green,

Decorated the room,

While I drank in the rain.

Beaten down mountains,

Bonk, Nugget and Rush,

Amber cigarette glows,

Cupped, still and hush.

Now sit on that couch middle –aged,

And reflect.

Comfort was earned,

Patterns pilfered ,

Arabesque.

You see, sewn in the weave of these curtains fine cloth.

Memories meaning is made,

In the things she left behind.

Bart O’Reilly

Biography 2017

I am an Irish artist based in Baltimore for the past 13 years. I make interdisciplinary work that includes painting, drawing, poetry and video.

#submission

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snowbellewells · 7 years ago

Text

“Always Running”

Here’s the second “Once Upon a Time” story I ever wrote. Once again, this is general cast of characters; mostly focusing on Ruby and a bit of her friendship with Snow. It’s been pretty fun really digging back into my earliest OuaT fic writings lately. Whoever started the whole #ouat fandom crescendo idea off - I’m really digging it! :). Hope you all are having fun reading! Tomorrow will be the first official CS ff I ever wrote, set on the way to Neverland…

Some of this obviously might not quite fit in with canon, but I still think it deals with some realistic and interesting feelings and motives for Ruby/Red’s character. I’d say it fits in somewhere between “Children of the Moon” and “The Outsider” during season two, but has some definite AU elements as well.

“Always Running”

By: snowbellewells (TutorGirlml on ff.net)

Run, run, run!... Faster…please…If I can just get as far away from here as possible… Her feet pound on the hard soil, branches whip through her long, dark hair and claw at her face as she flies in fear from the temptation to destroy. She is panting, her heart racing, senses fully aware of the stench of terror and blood on the stormy night wind. Only moments ago, everything had been perfect – blissfully so – she and Peter alone together under a gorgeous, full moon, making plans for the rest of their lives together, once she got him through this night. Now, Red finds herself running like a startled rabbit or a leaf before a maelstrom. Still, no matter how quickly she flees, it will never be swift enough to leave behind what she has done.

She is the wolf! How did she not know?! So many things make sense now – now that it is too late. It is suddenly clear why she has always been able to separate and follow certain scents, the way she hears things no one else can, why it has never frightened her to wander into the woods, even when the other children won’t. Peter often says…

Peter! His name: the name she has called on since they were six years old and catching frogs in the creek or fetching kindling for his father’s forge; suddenly, it stabs a knife to the very core of her heart. Vines and needled brush rip at her bare hands and catch at her skirt and cloak, her breath grows ragged – a sharp, aching pain settling under her ribs – but Red continues to race further into the black of night and the forest’s depths. Images of his adoring gaze, his messy, tufted, black hair standing up in cowlicks he could never tame, his strong hands and warm smile, all flash through her mind in dizzying succession, battering her with the fleeting idyll their growing up together and brief young love had been. Peter has always been with her, for as long as she can remember. What will she do now that he is gone? How can she live with herself? It’s all her fault. She is the wolf! The man she loves is dead, and she killed him!

Red wonders if she will ever stop running now. With what she has done, she will never belong anywhere, never be able to rest. She cannot return to her sleepy little village, where her neighbors are still hunting the wolf, where she has lived a lie with her granny, where she played and snuck kisses and dreamed dreams with Peter and will now see his absence everywhere.

The past hour still replays in vicious detail, looping through her mind. Peter’s trusting face resurfaces continually. He let her chain him to a tree, thinking that she could keep him from turning into the dreaded monster. Instead, she sentenced him to death and led him like a lamb to the slaughter. It is too much to be forced to relive: hearing him beg for recognition, and then the animal growl in her other form’s throat, her reasoning mind not housed in the savage, primal body that stalked toward the boy she loves without care for his pleas. She ripped him apart, and knows she will never have peace from the lurid, unsettling memories.

Eventually even supernatural endurance runs out, and Red falls to the wet, mossy ground, panting, curling into a ball and feeling tears wet her cheeks, neck, and chest as they pour silent and unchecked from her eyes. If she were in her lupine form, she would be howling to the remorseless moon, cursed not by her werewolf other half, but by the knowledge of it which has come too late. The moonlight bathes her pale skin, giving it an otherworldly glow, beautiful even in her sorrow. Anyone who could see her would wish to hold her, to comfort her, but the only arms she longs for are gone now, never to return…

~0~ ~0~ ~0~ ~0~ ~0~ ~0~

Sometime later, in Storybrooke, Maine…

Each morning when Ruby Lucas wakes in her little apartment above Granny’s diner, she stares out the window peacefully for just a moment, letting herself bask happily in the dawn of a new day’s sun, smiling at its warmth on her face, stretching her arms above her head, working the kinks from her back and relishing the few blissful seconds of still-sleepy haze before it all returns to her. She does not get long until she remembers that she is also Red Riding Hood – and a werewolf – and though she lives in a town full of real-life fairy tale characters, True Love’s Kiss, and magical adventure, her handsome prince will never ride up to find her on his gleaming white horse; she lost her chance for a happily ever after long ago.

Once that all floods back into her memory, there is nothing for Ruby to do but turn from the morning light at the window and dress for the day before heading down to the diner to work. Wearing red, as she never fails to do, Ruby sighs, not sure if she means it as a warning sign or some sort of penitent self-reprisal. She knows this day too will be the same as the day before and the endless procession of days to come. She was once so blissfully naïve – still a little girl really, in her former existence – and unaware of the beast which had been lurking within all the time. Now that Emma has broken the curse, Ruby knows that people look at her as some sort of confusing curiosity. Those who knew her in their real home, as Red, cannot understand where the brazen, flirtatious, outrageously dressed siren of Storybrooke comes from, but Ruby doesn’t have the heart to explain. She isn’t so sure it can be explained, even if she were to try. That carefree, innocent young girl in love is gone; she isn’t that sweet youth roaming the fields and meadows with her childhood best friend and sweetheart anymore. She can never be that person again, and it feels to her that outwardly she shouldn’t pretend. The difference needs to be clear, so that some other poor victim doesn’t get too close.

Thank goodness for Granny – and even more for Snow! Now that she knows Mary Margaret again for her long-lost friend, she is grateful for the other woman’s constancy and acceptance. Snow did not abandon her on that horrible night Peter died, nor has she anytime since. Snow had gotten her moving again, arm around her quaking shoulders in the darks woods so long ago, before the mob could catch her. The two of them had found a cabin far out on its own, just as they had talked about, where both of them could hide away. Sometimes, she still has to get away – to escape, to run – when she is afraid of herself and what she might do, as well as what she has already done. Those are the times when she heads for the woods on the edge of town, intending to shift and then run until she is so exhausted she couldn’t hurt the tiniest kitten. Only then does she return, often to Mary Margaret’s apartment where she falls into an overstuffed chair next to her old friend, accepts the hot cocoa offered her, and marvels at the fact that Mary Margaret, her friend Snow White, doesn’t flinch at all despite what she knows, but instead picks bits of leaves and twigs out of her hair and listens to her countless fears and worries of what could happen if she ever slips again. This comfort and companionship reminds her that they were happy once before as well, in their little cabin in the wild, until Charming, the Evil Queen, King George, and then the curse, brought the rest of the world right onto their doorstep.

Ruby tries to push it all from her mind as she reaches her post behind the counter of the diner, ready for Leroy wanting his sausage and hash browns, Archie hoping for some French toast before he sees any patients for the day, and Emma coming in to pick up doughnuts for herself and David at the station. Ruby squares her shoulders, ties on her miniscule apron, and aims to start fresh on this new day. Granny passes by on her way to start a fresh pot of coffee brewing, and pats her kindly on the shoulder, as if knowing the thoughts that are circling in her granddaughter’s head. The little smile the older woman graces her with seems to say, “Keep your chin up.”

Also trying not to watch the clock creep from one endless minute to the next, Ruby refills several earlier guests’ mugs and glances out the window at the main street. Just then, the glint of early morning sunlight on the metallic paint of an old pick-up truck which has just parked outside catches her eye. Knowing pretty much every person in town – and what they drive – the unfamiliar vehicle arrests her attention.

That intrigue only grows when a tall, dark-headed stranger wearing deep-tinted aviator sunglasses, a beat-up denim jacket, and work boots gets out and heads up the walk, through their door, and right to the counter where she stands waiting. Ruby knows that she has never seen him before, but his mischievous, crooked smile envelopes her in his friendly mirth as if they are old friends. Something familiar twinkles in his eyes and makes her stomach clench strangely, heart lurching into her throat as he takes off the shades and tucks the earpiece into his breast pocket. It’s a feeling she has almost forgotten – that she has spent ages trying to forget – telling herself she will never be able to experience it again. And yet, she can’t help smiling back welcomingly, suddenly hoping that he won’t walk away.

Granted, there aren’t usually newcomers to Storybrooke, but Emma came, and that has more than turned out alright. Ruby finds that at this moment, she doesn’t even care where he is from, as long as he stays, talks to her, keeps smiling at her the way he is right now. “Welcome to Granny’s Diner,” she greets brightly. “I’m Ruby. What can we get for you this morning?”

“Pete,” he tells her, reaching out to shake hands and kindly pretending not to notice the sharp intake of breath she draws in surprise. “I hear this is the place to eat, and it’s also where one figures out who’s who and what’s going on in this town.” He winks at her slyly as he speaks, and Ruby’s poor dusty, disused heart flutters despite her.

“You heard right,” she manages, flushing prettily as she nods to him, and batting her eyelashes without even realizing it. She doesn’t want to go against her own rules which she has spent so long telling herself are for the best, but in the wake of this stranger’s charm and inexplicable familiarity, she’s helpless. “This is the place.”

“What do you recommend?” he tosses back playfully, and she blinks rapidly, stunned, as that stabbing pain in her heart, the one she has been shrinking from ever since that horrible night so long ago – the night the wolf emerged and Peter was lost – returns.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, backing away from him, not meeting his eyes any longer and looking to the door into the back of the diner. “I – I can’t…I’m sorry.” Before he can protest or say anything more, she turns tail and flees for the kitchen.

Slipping through the door and then leaning back against it to rest her beating heart, she tries to collect herself. Her pulse is racing, and she forces herself to take several deep breaths. When she finally feels some semblance of calm, she turns to peek around the swinging door back out the way she has come. Granny is helping the newcomer now, but he sees Ruby over Granny’s shoulder and holds her eyes. There is something so playful in his gaze when he smirks at her, not letting her get away with hiding from him. It is warm, comforting, and almost as though she remembers the touch of that gaze from long ago. He smiles – a dare meant specifically for her. If she didn’t know better, Ruby would think he knew everything: all her past, who she really is, and that none of it scared him at all. It should make her want to run, but for some reason – it gives her hope.

~0~ ~0~ ~0~ ~0~ ~0~

The next night finds her running again, but it is different this time. The light autumn breeze envelopes her like cool silk, ghosting over her skin pleasantly. Ruby smiles, feeling powerful and in control, and allowing herself to enjoy being one with the night. She had learned to control the wolf once upon a time long ago; she knows now that she can allow it to have a part is who she is without letting it tearing her in two. The curse and this strange new land made her doubt her ability to be both safely at first, but both sides of her do still exist, and she must somehow embrace them both.

She careens through the trees and the open clearings, with neither fatigue nor pain to slow her down, and she doesn’t stop until reaching the stream by the Troll Bridge. For the first time in what she knows has been an age, she allows herself to feel that she may not always be running alone in the night. Tipping back her head, Ruby howls with joy instead of pain at that round, white orb in the sky. Somewhere still under this moon, there may be another who can run beside her. She may always be running, but she doesn’t have to be running away, running from… Maybe there will at last be something, or someone, she can run to.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @flslp87 @captain-swan-coffee @branlovesouat @ilovemesomekillianjones @spartanguard @drowned-dreamer @midnightswans @singingisfun @ps1473-4 @jackieorioncat @blackwidownat2814 @jennjenn615 @lessawildmoon

#ouat fandom crescendo #ouat oneshot ff #ruby lucas #red snow friendship #ouat s2 canon divergent fic

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