#i tried wood whittling a while ago and it went okay but this is. a different beast entirely

[the-holy-ghosted]

What the fucks a guy gotta do to get a decent coffin around here. I mean really

[fictionwordcounts]

Home [Anakin x Reader]

Word Count: 2000+

Summary: You're on the desolate planet of Dagobah, and things are a far less than exciting. However, someone crashing close to your home changes everything.

Requested on Wattpad.com at StarkWars084

You were whittling away at a stubborn piece of wood when you saw a ship of some sort fall from the sky not far away. You jumped up from the small chair you had made and examined the smoke trail in awe. Nothing exciting ever happened on this disgusting swamp planet and you absolutely had to go to the crash sight.

Smiling to yourself, you climbed down your tree house and headed off in the direction of the crashed, mysterious object. Wading through the thick mud was easy and you started walking a ways off, but stopped suddenly. You reached toward your back only to grasp empty air-- you'd left your weapon at home. You were furious with yourself for forgetting such an important tool. The planet you were on was nowhere shy of dangerous creatures. Looking over at a large stick on the ground, you decided it would have to do. You grasped it tightly and continued on until you found a broken ship submerged in quick sand. If anyone was alive in there, they certainly weren't now. It was a shame too. You were hoping to find someone (You didn't care who) to make life more interesting. You would have settled for anything in fact.

The sand prevented you from investigating closer, but it was just as amazing from where you were. Sure you had seen ships before, but that was a long time ago, before you came here. The ship was swallowed up quickly by the hungry sand and you strained to see the last bit of the tail disappear. You were about to leave when you noticed footprints leading off from where the plain had been. A sound from behind you made you jump, and you spun around with your makeshift weapon in hand. A man with shoulder-length dark hair and clothes caked in sand stood there. His eyes were kind and calm despite the large stick only inches from his face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," he stated. Even if it wasn't his intention, he had scared you a great deal, and you found yourself unable to lower the stick. He slowly raised his hands and started pushing the weapon down, and you let him since you couldn't do it yourself.

"Who are you?" You asked him once you had found your voice.

"It's alright, I'm Anakin Skywalker. I'm a Jedi, and I can help you off this planet," he answered. "I could take you as far as Coruscant, if you like."

You bit your tongue and changed your mind. I'm not okay with anything! you decided, I wanted anything but a Jedi. The Jedi were the people you had tried to escape in coming here. You had thought you wanted to be one at one time, but they had rejected you when you had failed their ridiculous trials. Now there was one here, though you had chosen to live on one of the most remote planets you could find. You were angry with him though you knew it was not him alone that had denied you the position.

"Well, I'm very glad you've found a way to get home," you said, trying to maintain a steady voice. "You can do so alone. I wish you luck." With that, you spun around and headed back to the home you had made. Sloshing footsteps and swinging branches told you that he was stumbling right behind.

"Hold on!" He called after you. You were nearly running, and you would've kept going, but this was the only social interaction you would get for who knew how long. You rolled your eyes and slowed so he could catch up. "It's dangerous out here alone," he warned.

You slowly turned around and rolled your eyes. "Is it?" you scoffed and took in a deep breath while you tried to get your thoughts together. "Listen, I do appreciate the offer, but I have no interest in heading back to anywhere the Jedi Council is."

"What do you mean back?" he questioned. "You mean you've been there before?"

You glared at him. "Do the Jedi now find things easy to forget?" you felt yourself shaking and tried desperately to stand completely still. You're not mad at him, you told yourself. You knew you shouldn't be mad at all, but it grew more difficult the more he spoke.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about," Anakin apologized. "But at least let me take you to a safer, more populated planet." You almost laughed now.

Gesturing to land around, you responded, "Even if I wanted to leave, how would we?" Anakin looked around.

"I'd find a way," He insisted. You knew there was really nothing he could do, but you liked his determination.

Still, you weren't sold on the idea of returning. "Well," you started hesitantly. "If you're going to find a way back, you'll need a place to stay." You gestured for him to follow you. He was surprisingly good at navigating through the mud. He knew exactly where to step and where not to. You guessed it was the Force showing him the way. It had for you, too, before you memorized the land. When you got to the lake that was not far from your tree house, you made Anakin scrub off all the sand off his arms and neck.

When you made it back to your home you showed Anakin the way up the tree. "You built this?" He asked you once he was at the top.

You nodded proudly. "It took me a while, but it finally came together." You ran your hand across the railing you had put up. You were rather proud of your work and had a right to be. It was sturdy and homely which was perfect for where you lived. "You could probably stay just outside my kitchen for now. Tomorrow I'll have to make a proper bed for you."

Anakin nodded to show he understood then looked questioningly at you. "If I'm going to stay here, I need to know your name."

You had completely forgotten to introduce yourself! You scolded yourself inwardly. "Y/N," you told him.

He smiled "Thank you for offering your home to me, Y/N" You knew he was just being polite. He wouldn't have the comfort of a bed like the one you had made, and you couldn't make one now. You didn't have the items you would need, and it was getting too dark to gather any.

"I recommend you don't leave the house until dawn," you suggested. "The creatures here love the dark."

"I wont," he assured you. Even though he was a Jedi, you knew you couldn't leave him to figure that out on his own.

You would help him the best you could. You didn't hate him. In fact, you found it hard to dislike him. But it was impossible to ignore his title: Jedi. Just thinking the name made you shudder.  You wished him a good night, and Anakin took his robe off and lay down on one of your pillows. He pulled the robe over himself to stay warm and you went to your moss bed. It was actually a nice, comfortable bed that took you a while to complete. You looked over at Anakin who was still awake, staring up at the sky, and your stomach twisted. He wanted to go home, but you couldn't help him do that. The best you could do was make sure he didn't freeze, starve, or get killed by ravenous animals, so that's what you would do. You would keep him alive until he could get back home.

________________________________________________________________________________

You woke up earlier than usual and dressed quickly. You decided to go hunting in hopes of finding some meat to balance out the root stew you would make. As you slipped the cotton shirt over your head, you realized that you didn't have any extra clothes for Anakin to change into, and his clothes were still covered in mud that had dried over. Surely, it wasn't a comfortable way to live. You walked over to Anakin who was fidgeting and stirring in his sleep. You would have to make him a change of clothes as soon as possible.

You grabbed your spear and knife and climbed down the tree easily. You wanted to do this quickly so you could start working on the other projects Anakin's arrival had made for you. You waited at some rocks near the lake with your knife in hand. Nudj, you knew, were lizard-like creatures that stayed around this area. You had only killed a few before, but they weren't bad. When a brave nudj climbed the rocks you quickly threw your knife and pierced it's skin. It thrashed for a second before falling still. You knew the alarm it let out would warn the others and keep you from getting anymore from there. You retrieved the knife and nudj and headed to a different patch of rocks. You repeated this pattern four more times until you had three of the lizards to take back. You jogged back to the tree and climbed up. Anakin was awake.

"Good morning," you called to him. His face was pale and there were beads of sweat on his forehead. "Are you okay?"

He nodded. "Yes, I'm fine." You looked him over worriedly. Treating disease was not something you could cram into today. Deciding to leave him be, you started preparing a stew from roots herbs and the nudj you caught earlier. Anakin came up to you and watched for a little bit.

You turned to him while the stew cooked. "Have you figured out how you'll be getting back?" you questioned.

He shook his head. "No, I haven't, but I'll find a way," he answered confidently. Surely he knew he wouldn't be able to. The only thing that flew on the planet were the bogwings, and you didn't want to mess with them.

"I'll have to make you a change of clothes," you told him. "I'll do that after we eat." You turned back to the food and stirred it.

"Thank you," Anakin said. You pointed to a small pot you had sitting by.

"If you're going to stay here though," you announced. "You'll have to help and boil some of that water."

He smiled and took the full pot to a small fire you had going.

After you and Anakin had finished eating, you walked over to a bin where you kept thread and fabric. You hadn't expected to use it really so you were happy you found a use for it. You sent Anakin to wash the dishes, but it didn't keep him busy for long. He came to where you were working.

"Tell me about the time you were with the Jedi council," he requested.

You stiffened. Of course, he would be curious, but you didn't want to talk about it. You just wanted him to have a magical solution to leave and do so. You hesitated, trying to play out the conversation in your head.

"When I was younger," you started. "All I wanted to be was a Jedi. I looked up to them and my parents did too." A lump formed in your throat. "They noticed me, finally, and I trained for a long time until I became a Padawan. I wasn't long after that my parents were killed. I couldn't preform as well as they wanted me to. I could only think about them, hoping they would come back. It devastated me, and at times, I even felt resentment--hatred. You know that's not acceptable for Jedi." You inhaled deeply and wiped a tear from your cheek with your fingertips. "They expelled me, and I left. I was angry with the council." You gritted your teeth. "I was angry with Master Yoda."

Anakin looked puzzled. "Master Yoda is very wise," he defended. "I'm sure he had a good reason."

You wiped your face and looked at him reasonably. "Master Yoda has it all wrong," you argued. "There has never once been a Jedi who has kept to the code completely. Our emotions make us human, and those that embrace that are the ones he wants to get rid of. He can't turn us into his mindless, emotionless robots to fight his battles for him."

Anakin was silent. The whole time you were talking your hands were working on the outfit for him.

"But never mind," you attempted a smile. "I finished your outfit." You turned around while Anakin switched his clothes. When he was finished you turned back to see your work. You laughed out loud. The clothes looked absolutely ridiculous. They were baggy and blended into each other making it look like one piece.

"Well, it's a start," he teased, smiling. "At least now I'm not covered in sand from head to toe."

You made a note to yourself to practice your seamstress skills later.

You had just finished the bed for Anakin when the sun sank behind the trees. He slept on it well the first night, but he grew restless from nightmares that not even the most comfortable of beds could fix. You often had to sit by his bed with a cold cloth to calm him. He told you they were of his mother. He had to watch her die over and over again every night and it made him miserable. You did the best you could, but that wasn't much. There were nights when he would wake up suddenly, and you would have to speak quietly and soothingly to him until he could fall asleep again. At first it bothered you, but it troubled you more now.

Anakin had stayed with you for two weeks before a ship landed right next to the lake where you were gathering water one day. You dropped the bucket and ran to the ship. The door opened and a light-haired, bearded man emerged confidently. His eyes were tired but that didn't change how he acted.

"Hello there!" he called to you. "Allow me to introduce myself: I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi. Could you give me a hand with something?" Stunned you nodded and beckoned him forward. "I'm sorry about landing here without permission. I didn't think this planet was populated. I'll leave soon, but I seem to have lost something and I need help finding it," he explained.

"What did you loose?" you asked him, though you could already guess. Obi-Wan looked at you warily.

"His name is Anakin Skywalker."

You froze. When Anakin arrived, the thought that he might have someone looking for him hadn't even occurred to you. He was back at the tree house preparing food for the both of you. You weren't sure if you should get him or not. As if he heard his name called Anakin came running up from behind you.

Obi-Wan perked up. "Anakin!" He called cheerfully. "I'm glad you're alive, Anakin. You had us all worried." Despite the fact that this man had brought Anakin a way home, he didn't look all that happy.

"You shouldn't have come for me, Master." Anakin said. "You could've saved supplies and time going on without me."

"Anakin don't talk like that," Obi-Wan commanded. "You are my friend, and I will not leave you like that."

Obi-Wan looked at you. "I thank you for any help you have given my young apprentice. You will be paid in whatever currency you find acceptable." He turned back to Anakin. "Let's go, Anakin. Master Yoda will be happy to know you're alright."

Your heart sank. Anakin had found a way to leave after all. This is what you wanted. You reminded yourself. Once he's gone, life will be normal again. Boring and normal. You didn't want him to go now, but what could you do? It was Anakin's decision, and he was already following his master. You stood there waiting for the ship to take off, but it never did. In fact the door opened once again and both of them walked out.

"Is everything okay?" You questioned with a small glimmer of hope that the ship might not start. Anakin was looking much happier now and Obi-Wan more upset.

"It appears," Obi-Wan spoke first. "That Anakin will be staying with you," he explained.

You looked at Anakin who was next to you now.

"Are you serious?" you asked quietly, though your heart was beating rapidly.

He looked up at Obi-Wan. "Thank you for your training, Master," he said respectfully. Obi-Wan nodded blankly.

"I don't know what I'll tell the council," he said almost talking to himself.

Anakin smiled. "I'm sure you'll think of something," he assured. Obi-Wan looked up and smiled.

"Yes, well, I'll still have to pay you, Y/N," he said. "I'll go and get whatever supplies you'll need." He looked at Anakin again and laughed. "And good heavens hopefully some proper clothes." You both laughed merrily. You felt wonderful and couldn't stop smiling.

Obi-Wan left and Anakin hugged you tightly.

"You're really staying," you whispered.

He chuckled. "Yes, I am." He pulled away and looked into your eyes. "You were right, Y/N. I shouldn't try to push any emotions aside anymore." He rested his hand on your cheek. "I love you, Y/N." He grabbed your hand. "Let's go home."

[seiya234]

The man on the porch was whittling; he wasn’t entirely sure what this was going to be yet, but he was getting a duck call feeling from the wood. It would be a good gift for Lily since she had gotten into bird watching recently and-

There was a disturbance in the air.

There was a disturbance in the air, and the man gently laid down wood and knife in time to see another man appear out of the mists, walking determinedly until he came to a standstill in front of the porch.

They stared at each other for a long moment, then the man on the porch finally said, “There are rules against visits like these.”

The other man, dressed in a bespoke suit, shrugged. “To people like....like us, the rules don’t matter.”

The man on the porch-let’s call him the Old Man, for brevity’s sake, though he is wearing the face he was born with- nodded. “Perhaps.” The Old Man examined the man in the suit for a second longer, then sighed. 

“Well, you’re here now. Do you want anything to drink?”

“Any loose souls?-“ At the look on the Old Man’s face, the man in the suit-call him Alcor call him the Dreambender but perhaps in this context call him the Young One- held up his hands. “Kidding. I’ll take a Sprite.”

There was a minute or two of rustling as things got settled-the porch swing lengthening to accommodate two, a Sprite appearing from the ether, the delicate dance of one demon encroaching upon another’s territory- before the two finally settled. The Old Man turned back to his whittling, while the Young One looked awkwardly around.

(henry knew dipper; it would take only ninety seconds for him to get awkward and sweaty and-)

“This isn’t the Shack,” the Young One said indignantly.

“It’s not,” the Old Man agreed.

“What... what happened to the Shack?” the Young Man asked, with a quiver in his voice. The Old Man for a second thought uncharitably about what on earth the Young Man expected; wasn’t the whole point of this, frankly very dangerous, exercise to see how the other demon lived?

(but this was dipper and that hurt, that loneliness in his voice was something that henry himself felt every day so)

“It’s still in Soos’s family. I think they run it as some combination general store and supernatural research library now.”

The Young Man took a slurp of his Sprite, and the Old Man tried not to wince at the noise. “So what’s this place supposed to be then?”

The Old Man felt a smile creep on his face, even after all this time. 

“It’s the Hut.”

(perhaps if they got their bearings straight, henry would take dipper inside, show him on a tour. start with the stan-o-war ii, dry docked on land after stan’s accident, and how it formed the heart of the hut. the modern kitchen he insisted on and the less modern woodstove that was mabel’s desire. mismatched wood colors through the house from all the leftovers uncle dan got from the mill and the floor mosaics that mabel herself inlaid over the course of several years. the triplets’ rooms, rooms he had grown himself, from one nursery to three separate rooms, powers he still didn’t understand flowing out of him, willing wood to grow and shape to cover and protect the ones he loved and-)

The Young Man winced. “The.... Hut.”

The Old Man’s blood chilled, and he saw the Young Man shiver. “Yes, the Hut. It was your sister’s idea.”

Mentioning Her quickly quieted the other demon, just like the Old Man intended, and if his stomach felt queasy from playing such a dirty trick, well.

They sat in silence for another few minutes, and just when the Old Man was about to politely ask his guest to leave, the Young Man said, “You... you know, the Shack has legs now.”

“Like Baba Yaga’s hut in fairy tales?”

The Young Man grinned. “Yup. Tried to tell them once that that was a little on the nose, but then the Shack got mad at me and hid from me for several months after that.” 

“Huh.” 

(the hut had never gained that kind of life, he had brought it entirely into the mindscape after willow’s great-granddaughter had died, and all her cousins were already settled and he had felt his family spreading ever farther, growing ever larger, and it was wonderful and beautiful but he needed his ground, his earth, their home...the hut was his. it would always remain his.)

The Young Man finished his soda, and made to eat his can when-

“Is that Gompers?”

“Yup.”

“Like, actually Gompers? Flesh and blood Gompers and not like, one of your Nightmares?”

The Old Man nodded. “Not sure how he gets in here.”

The Young Man snorted. “Gompers does what Gompers wants.” Then he waved his hand, and was immediately discomfited when one did not appear at his hand.

“You have to ask,” the Old Man chided slightly, before creating another Sprite for his fellow demon.

They drank their drinks.

They watched Gompers eat the Sprite can, stare off into an unknown dimension, and blip away from the lawn.

They took another drink.

“So what actually brings you here?” the Old Man finally asked. “And please, no malarkey about doing it because you could, or something like that-”

“-that is part of it-”

“-but not all of it.” The Old Man sat back in his rocker, and waited.

(he could outwait dipper. he had always been able to outwait dipper.)

The Young Man rolled his second Sprite can between his hands.

“You know there’s universes? Where Mabel got turned instead of us? Or Stan?”

The Old Man nodded. “Of course there are. Just like there are ones where Pacifica got turned, or Soos, or Waddles or.... well. That’s the point of the multiverse isn’t it?  Infinite possibilities. Such as-” He waved a hand to indicate the both of them sitting there. 

The other demon snorted. “Truth.” Then he became solemn again.

“I met a demon Mabel once. Forgot about her for awhile but then I ran into a gift she had left me and it got me thinking.”

There was an appreciative silence for a second as Gompers blipped back into the Old Man’s Mindscape with a six pack of beer for the Old Man, before the other one went on.  

“She had changed so much...and I... I don’t feel like I have. I’m old, Henry, so fucking old. And yet I feel like I haven’t learned anything.”

The Young Man stopped but the other demon could fill in the blanks. 

“You worry that you’re still thirteen, deep down inside.”

The Young Man gave him such a dirty look (so like acacia) that for a second the Old Man almost laughed but then he caught himself. Then the Young Man sighed.

“Yeah, that’s... that’s about it.” 

The Old Man sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy to say or hear.

“I’m afraid...  You’re right. You always will be. There will forever be a part of you who died when you were thirteen. Your power will forever grow because part of you is frozen in that part of life where all you were doing was growing. A part of you will always be petulant, temperamental, stuck on your sister and your loved ones at thirteen-”

The Young One, who had been increasingly gritting his teeth, finally interrupted. 

“And the poìn̶t of ̷t̡hi̢s i͜s̵??”

“You didn’t let me finish. Look, think about Gompers-”

“Oh cool, now you’re comparing me to the goat, fucking fantastic.” 

The Old Man took a deep breath. This was a Young One in front of him after all. 

“Gompers is still the same. He never seems to age, he still enjoys hanging out in my yard... but he’s different as well. He’s learned new things-”

“-like the beer trick-”

“-and by extension teleportation. In my dimension at least there’s a whole scholarly literature dedicated to him by now. They call him ‘The Wandering Goat,’ and there’s a whole society dedicated to spotting him in the wild.”

The Old Man unclenched his shoulders, leaned back into his chair. 

“So yes, a part of you is forever thirteen. But there’s also so much more to you than that, that is constantly changing and growing. And that’s a wonderful thing. Focus on that instead.” 

The Young One was quiet for a long minute. The Old Man took another sip of his beer, satisfied, glad he could reach out to his fellow demon

(his brother his brother his brother)

and help in some way.

“Wonderful?”

Maybe not.

“W͝o̜̰n͈̳ḍ̣̻e̴̜̺̤r̗̜͔̪̼̬͍f̙͍̩̮̺͝ù̘̭͍ḷ͙͎̜͇̱̮?̤͉̼̟̜̳”

“Dipper-”

“How the f̸̶̧̧͜u̶̧c̷̷͟͠k̶̛ is this supposed to be ẃon̡d͢e͡r̶̶͠f͟u̶͡l̡?”

Okay. The Old Man could have worded that better. 

“Okay, maybe not wonderful but-”

The Young One threw his soda out into the yard, and Gompers, after shooting him a dirty look, wandered over to go eat the can. 

“So there’s no hope for me?”

“I didn’t say that-”

“I just have to, have to, have to accept this?!”

“Please don’t put words in my mouth.” 

The Young One whirled on the Old Man.

“And don’t tell me how to feel!”

“I wasn’t.”

“I came here because I thought you would understand-”

“You came here because you wanted a concrete answer and now you’re upset that you didn’t get one.”

The Young One got up. Darkness and golden lines flooded his being, eyes began to open up where eyes did not belong, and from his back unfurled two terrible wings of ebon night.

“Y͠ou̢ da͟r̶e-”

In response, the Old Man grabbed the Young One by the scruff of his neck, and tossed him off of his porch. 

The Young One went ass over teakettle, rolling in a few somersaults before coming to a halt in front of the totem pole. He quickly stood up, snarling, not even bothering to dust himself off. 

Before the Young One could speak, the Old Man said calmly, “I am sorry what I. said upset you, but that doesn’t excuse rude behavior. If you want to prove to me you are your actual age, please act like it.” 

The Young One looked at him for a second, ichor spilling from his eyes and mouth, before saying, “You’re not him.”

“No. I am a version of him but I am not your Henry, no.”

“Good. Then-” the Young One lifted a hand, claws lengthening- “I don’t h͘ave t̵o̸ ͞fe̸e͞l͢ ̧ba͢d ab͏o͢ut̨ ̷t͝his͞.”

“Are... are you serious? Is this really the course of action you’re choosing to ta-”

In response The Young One turned around and toppled over an apple tree and that was enough.

The Young One watched as the Old Man stood up. A second ago he was wearing an old Oregon State sweatshirt, and oil stained jeans with work boots. Now however...

Now he was all in black, from the pressed slacks, to his long coat, even his button up shirt....the only two things that stood out were the stark white of his preacher’s collar peaking out from his chest and his feet, now pale and bare. 

There were no wings, no oddly colored sclera, not even the expected antlers- nothing to outwardly suggest that the Old Man was anything but a normal man.

But that was because he didn’t need it. 

The Old Man took one step off the porch. His bare foot touched the ground and the Young Man instantly fell over onto his face.

Another step and the Young One felt his heart (his heart?!) stutter in his chest and he knew had he been mortal, it would have simply stopped beating, severing soul from body. The Young One pushed himself up and

Another step sent his arms out from under him and back face down in the dirt, while some invisible force

(it wasn’t raw power it was the dread you heard when the front door opened and you could smell alcohol and you knew Dad was going to come in your room any second with an excuse ready to go and you just wanted to sleep but there! the door cracked-)

pressed down on him. 

Another step and the Young One felt the power begin to drain from him, flowing from his veins into the thirsty earth below him, feeding the grass and the trees, the worms and the nightmares, wrapping tendrils around the bones of all those who died before in the great circle of life.

Yet another step, and the Young One felt... he felt...

(lowering henry’s casket into the ground with the kids, lowering mabel’s casket into the ground with the kids, then willow’s then hank’s then it was acacia and he was alone he was all alone he was all alone he was all alone h̶e ̀w̛a̷s ̸a҉l͘l a͡l͏o͞ne͘ ͘HE̛ ̨WA͜S͏ AL̵L͘ ĄL̨ON͢E ͡-)

He felt tears pooling around his face. And a cold hand on his shoulder.

The Young One looked up, and saw into the face of Death. 

(the man in black, he who walks behind, the kindly one, judgement, sedna, the demon with no real name because he didn’t need one, he was elemental he was relentless, he was unceasing, he was cold and he was death-)

Then the hand was grabbing his own hand, was pulling him up and it was just 

(henry)

the Old Man again, gently brushing the Young One off.

“I am sorry for losing my temper with you. I know better than that,” the Old Man said as he led the Young Man back to the porch. 

An olive branch. “Well, I did provoke you,” the Young One responded.

“I probably could have worded my advice better,” the Old Man said, handing the other demon a Sprite. 

“And I could have taken my head out of my ass for a minute and actually listened to you.” The Young One proffered his can towards the Old Man. “Truce?”

The Old Man smiled. “Truce.”

They stood in awkward silence for a second before the Old Man asked, “Would you like to come inside? You can’t stay here for very long, we know that but... I could perhaps maybe make some time.”

The Young One smiled.

“I would love that.”

[jacksonxschuester]

I Owe You a Painting || Jacksher

Date: September 20th, 2020 Who: Jackson and Asher @asherkarofsky Description: Jackson delivers the painting he did for Asher, as a thank you for the easel Asher made for Jackson, which was a thank you for... you get the point. Jackson then helps Asher make his suite feel a little more like home Note: Not finished, but it’s cute and I want it on the dash. 

Jackson had actually finished the painting a few days ago, but he'd gotten ambitious and decided to try oil paints for this piece, and he'd wanted to give it lots of time to dry before delivering it. Taking inspiration from some Bob Ross episodes, he'd created a sweeping prairie landscape with a duck pond and a farm house. There were a few trees and bushes and flowers, but plenty of open blue sky and a worn, homely feel to the house. He'd painted it on a 18" x 24" canvas and had signed his name in the bottom corner. Overall, he was pretty proud of how it turned out, but he was still a little nervous about Asher's reaction to it as he stood outside the Dom's door and knocked. He hoped it would be well recieved.

Everyone had told him he would settle in and get more things and that the giant suite wouldn't feel so giant anymore. That had not happened yet. Mostly he ate in the cafeteria and spent any time out of classes in bed sleeping. Today he'd decided to do some whittling in his suite since the workshop didn't have the light he needed. There were small curls of wood on the kitchen bar where he was working. He'd just put the small creature on the bar top to look at when there was a knock on the door. He opened it wondering who would be coming to see him. He was happy to see that it was Jackson. He just didn't know what to say. "Hi." He even waved before feeling awkward and letting his hand drop. "Oh... oh come in."

Jackson forced a smile onto his face when he saw Asher. "Hi." He greeted, and stepped in when he was invited. He stood awkwardly for a moment, and then remembered the reason for his visit. "I um... I finished it." He said, turning the painting around in his hands for Asher to see. "It's my first attempt with oil paintings, so it's not perfect, but I hope you like it and even if you don't it's okay because I can always try to do a better one..." He rambled.

Asher hadn't expected to get the painting yet. Surely Jackson had so much other more important things than him, but here it was right in front of him. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but the painting was perfect. "It... it's perfect. It's exactly like the place I dream of having some day. Like that's exactly it." He reached out for the painting but hesitated. "Can I... Is it okay to hold it?"

Jackson's expression shifted into a softer, more genuine smile as Asher took in the painting. He was relieved that the Dom seemed to like it. "Yeah, it's totally dry, you can hold it." He assured. "You really do like it?" He asked, seeking confirmation and reassurance.

"Like it? No. I love it." He carefully took the painting in his hands walking closer to the large living room window to see it in the light. "How did you know this was exactly what I saw in my head? I have this dream... kind of dumb I know, but I'd love to own a place like this someday. A place to call my own, you know?"

"I didn't know." Jackson shrugged. "I just ran with the idea you gave me and this is what came out. It does look like a nice place to live though. Peaceful..." His smile turned sad as he realized he'd never even given any thought to the type of house he'd like to have someday. Not since Steven had passed, anyway. "I hope you get to have a place like this in the future, Sir."

"Yeah peaceful." He turned to the other man. "I hope so. Gotta be careful with dreams though." He hated that he couldn't just be one of those hopeful, optimistic people. He blames his parents for ruining that for him. "Will you help me figure out the best place to hang it." He looked around at the suite. It was very.... white. The painting would start to make this place feel a little like home.

Jackson nodded, "Of course I'll help." He said, glossing right over the bit about being careful with dreams. He'd given up having any sort of dream himself. He didn't want to bring Asher down by talking about that. "What about that wall there?" He pointed to one of the walls in the living room. It was opposite the couch, so that you could see it if you were sitting there, and the shape and size of the canvas was very appropriate to the size of wall it was

He nodded. He realized instantly that if he was on the couch he'd be able to see it and also it there it would be visible as soon as he walked in the door. "Here hold it. I'll get my tools." He went to the kitchen bar, but stopped and turned back to look at Jackson. "Thank you. Thank you for this." He grabbed his tools and walked back over. Gesturing around the suite, he laughed. "As you can see I'm not so good at, decorating. Personalizing." That was the better word. He didn't need 'decorating' but he did sort of crave personalization in his life.

Jackson waited patiently while Asher grabbed his tools, and upon observation he found that Asher's statement was accurate. There weren't a lot of personal touches around the place, except for the pile of wood shavings and some sort of carving on the counter. Jackson assumed that's what he'd been working on when he arrived, but now that he knew the wood shavings were there he was itching to sweep them up and put them out of sight. "I could help you with that, if you like?" He offered suddenly, unsure of exactly way. Maybe he just needed to feel like he was useful, needed by someone.

Ash was pulling out his small hammer and some finishing nails that should do the job to hold up the painting when Jackson spoke again. "Hmm? Oh.. oh really? You'd do that?" He looked around again. "Don't even know where to start." He shrugged and kept his gaze down on the hammer in his hands that he was spinning around. "Used to have a little picture of me an' Silas and Dave as kids, but I lost it." It had been the only thing he'd had to remind him of his family. And losing it was the very last time he ever cried.

Jackson nodded. "Yeah, I don't mind." He said. "Is there a way to find a copy of that picture, maybe? Would Silas or Dave have a copy?" He asked, already planning on asking Silas for any photos of Asher as a kid to frame. "We could also paint the walls to whatever colours you like, and add things related to stuff you like." He motioned over to the carving on the counter. "Do you do a lot of that sort of thing? You could display your work on your bookshelves and such.

"Don't know. Maybe Dave. Si kind of left in a hurry. Don't think our folks let him bring much when he came here." He frowned. "They won't mind me paintin'?" He been worried about the holes he was about to put in the wall and already had a plan on how he'd repair those when the time came. He laughed and smiled at Jackson. "Don't if they're as good as all that, but might be nice to look at 'em." He looked over at the creature on the bar. He found a lot of happiness in making them even as silly as they were.

Jackson made a note to check with Dave, also. Just in case. "They don't mind paint and things like hanging pictures or hooks or decor, they just don't want anyone doing extensive damage that'll cost a lot to repair or render the suite unusable for any period of time." He informed, remembering one incident when he was a teenager that his father got very heated about. "One time a student knocked out a couple of walls to combine all the bedrooms together. My father was not pleased. That was way before I came here, though." Curious, Jackson made his way over to the counter. "Give yourself a little credit, not everyone can carve things out of wood like this. I'm sure they're..." He trailed off when he saw what the little creature was. A tiny bird sat on the countertop near the pile of shavings, and Jackson felt his heart jump into his throat. "... great." He finished his sentence, carefully picking up the carving and examining it closer. The word pajarito played over and over in his head in Mateo's voice, 'little bird' it meant. The tears were stinging at his eyes despite his valiant effort to make them stop.

Asher's eyes went wide. Knocking down the walls was a huge undertaking and could actually be downright dangerous. Generally with a large building like this the load bearing walls were all around the outside, but still. "I don't even use the space I have. Can't imagine needing more. "They aren't too hard. Learned when I was a boy. They do..." He noticed that Jackson had stopped talking and that he had tears in his eyes. "Sugar, are you okay?" He dipped his head to get in between the other man and the small wooden bird taking shape out of the wood.

Jackson took in a shuddering breath and tried very hard to steady his emotions. "Fine. I'm fine." He insisted, despite it not being true in the slightest. "It's nothing. It's a stupid thing, actually." He rambled. "Little bird is the nickname Sir Mateo gave me, that's all." He said, knowing Asher would want an explanation, but Jackson felt really stupid for such a small thing affecting him this much. Sometimes it hit him like a sack of bricks, the magnitude of losing yet another Dom, and in those moments Jackson found it really hard to breathe.

Asher didn't hesitate for a moment. He snatched the bird off the counter and shoved it in his pocket. "It's not stupid." He obviously had no idea of this reaction when he decided to carve a bird, but he hated that it had caused him to remember this pain. "I'm sorry."

Jackson shook his head. "It is stupid. And it's not your fault." He insisted, and then his hands where against his arms, fingernails digging into his skin. He hated how fragile  he was. He took a few steps away and took a breath, "I'm sorry..."

Asher didn't want to argue but he didn't think it was stupid at all. He'd never been in love before and he couldn't image having it and losing it. That whole 'better to have and lost' seemed like bullshit to him. He stayed quiet for a while and then spoke in a quiet voice. "Wanna get this painting up and then help me pick out my next carving should be?"

Jackson could feel his skin start to break under his fingernails, and the sharp pain brought him a brief moment of respite from the mental pain. He heard Asher speak and for a moment, he wasn't sure what the Dom had said. He turned, wiping at his eyes. "Maybe I should just go?" He asked, not wanting to further bring Asher's mood down.

Ash saw the way Jackson's body was stiff Nd he was scratching roughly at his arm. It must have hurt the way he was pressing in. "I really like having you here, but don't wanna make you stay if you're feelin' uncomfortable." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Can I walk you home? Make sure you're safe."

Safe. The word rung hollow in Jackson's ears. Sure, he might be away from any immediate harm, but safe? Could he really count himself as safe until he was claimed? Mateo had promised him safety... he had promised to do whatever it took to include Jackson in his family, but when the time came it turned out there was a line he wouldn't even consider crossing. Jackson realized it had been a minute or two since Asher had spoken, and he still hadn't replied. "Um... I... I'll stay if you want. You needed help, right? I can help. I can be useful." The words were mostly spilling from his mouth as they came into his head, no filter in between to remind him what was socially appropriate and what was not.

Ash wished he was his brother in this moment. Silas would have the words to comfort Jackson. But he just waited. "You've been so damn helpful to me Jackson. I gotta tell you, don't really got friends." He shrugged. "You're probably not supposed to decide this one sided, but you're my best friend Jackson. Don't know what I woulda done here without you. So yeah, if you want to stay, I could use your help." He didn't know if that meant Jackson was useful, but it damn well did mean he was needed. Asher really needed him.

Jackson felt himself tear up again. Asher considered him his best friend? It felt good, but it also made him feel a little guilty. Should he be putting more into this friendship than he has been? Asher really must not have had many friends if he considered Jackson to be the best one... He wiped at his eyes again and just nodded. "Okay... I'll stay." He said softly. "Tell me what you need me to do, Sir."

Ash smiled. He felt like he'd maybe unwittingly manipulated Jackson to stay, but it was hard to muster any guilt over that. For whatever reason, he just felt like his friend belonged right there for the time being. The suite felt like something more than a place to rest from time to time when he was there. "Let me just tap a nail in here." He did just that and then hung the painting up before looking over at Jackson. "So is it straight?"

Jackson just watched as Asher hammered in the nail and hung the painting. He let out what could only be described as a half chuckle/half sniffle. "It's about as straight as I am." He informed, which was to say, not at all. "Needs to go a little to the left."

Ash let out a snort. The years away from his parents and their church as well as the same years spent working side by side with all sorts of people had freed him from most of his prejudices. The ones that remained only seemed to direct inside toward himself. He liked that the chuckle sounded even if there was a bit of a sniffle with it. It hinted at what a joyful sound he would make if he was truly happy. He tilted it to the left. "How's that?"

Jackson gave a thumb's up as he used the other hand to wipe his eyes. "Much better." He said. "Probably as good as you'll get it without using a level, anyway." He added.

"I'll probably order a better hanger. 'Fraid the nail will damage it long run. I'll get some wire and do it up right. Then I'll use a level." He stepped back and stood next to Jackson. "Ain't that beautiful. Best thing I've ever owned." He looked over to his friend. "So I got a bunch of these little wooden critters. But some's better than others. Help me pick some for the shelves?" He raised a questioning eyebrow. "Then I got some of that casserole you made me. We could share some if you want. Maybe watch somethin' on the tv?"

It warmed Jackson's heart that Asher loved the painting enough to think about things like whether or not the method of hanging would damage it. He had to admit, he liked the way it looked in this room. It was just a touch homier now, and soon Jackson hoped to make this place feel like a home to Asher. He got the sense that Asher didn't feel at home here yet, and that made him sad. "Sure, let's look at them." He said, "That all sounds good, Sir." He offered a smile. It was small, only lasting a second or two, but it was genuine.

"Hang on. Be right back." He had realized at the last moment that his room was in no state for Jackson to see it. Usually he was quite neat. After all it was easy to be neat when you didn't have a lot of things. But that morning he had been in a hurry to get to class and he knew for a fact there was a pair of underwear right there in the middle of the floor. He scooped them up and tossed them in the hamper on his way to grab his duffel bag. The little wooden figures rattled around inside. Once back he sat on the couch and unzipped the bag. And started to pull the little creatures and set them out one next to the other. "I know they're kinda silly."

Jackson sat on the couch while he waited, trying to calm his mind and heart. His fingernails naturally found their way to his skin again, using the sharp little pains as a distraction tool until he felt less like bursting into tears at any moment and more focused on his actual surroundings. When Asher returned, he tugged a sleeve over his arm to hide a particularly bad spot. As the little wooden figures made their appearance, Jackson's eyes widened. "They're not silly at all, Sir." he assured, "They're amazing..." He reached out for one, gently lifting it to get a closer look. "Is this... Vulpix? Like from Pokemon?" He asked.

Asher wasn't the type to blush and he didn't quite blush now, but he looked a lot more like an a shy boy then he ever did. "Oh... umm, yeah. Used to love Pokemon when I was little." He still loved it clearly, but it felt safer to couch it in terms of a childhood thing. "The folks decided Pokemon were demons and wouldn't let us watch." He shrugged. "Guess just feels good to defy 'em."

Jackson smiled, picturing a young Asher and Silas sneaking over to a friend's house to watch Pokemon after school. "I used to love Pokemon too. Still do, sorta. Guess I'm not as into it as I once was, though." He admitted. "These are really cute though." He said, looking over the rest of the figures. "I think you should display them all, honestly."

"I should give the Pokemon one's to Si. He loves all that stuff." He picked up the bundled up little koala bear and handed it to Jackson. "Okay. I'll put 'em on the shelf. Better than bangin' around in my bag huh? But umm... would you take this one?" It was like how he felt Jackson should be... bundled up and protected.

Jackson carefully took the little bear, smiling at it. "Are you sure?" He asked, already kind of in love with the little figurine. He wasn't particularly attached to bears or anything, but he adored the way this one was all cozied up, and the fact that Asher had made it made it all the more special.

"Positive. It'll make me happy and proud knowin' you got him." He smiled and nodded. "So which do you think you'd like doin' more..." He had taken some time to research OCD and there was this thing he read about how control over tasks was super important. "figuring out how they should look on the shelf or heatin' up the food? Or we could to 'em both together."

Jackson nodded. "I'll keep him safe, Sir. I promise." He said, and then at being given the option, Jackson blinked. He wasn't used to that. Normally, Doms would just give him an order and he'd happily follow it, feeling happy to at least be useful. "Um.. I could put these up on the shelf, Sir." He said, knowing he'd get an immense amount of satisfaction from deciding how to arrange them in the most aesthetically pleasing way.

"Cool." He chuckled. "Was hoping you'd say that. Don't know where to start with that kinda thing." He figured that because the food was prepared by Jackson, he would feel comfortable eating it. He went to the kitchen and started to pull out the food and then suddenly had a thought. He left the food in the fridge and pulled out a bottle of cleaner and gave the counters and microwave a good once over, even though they were already clean to his eyes. He scooped the wood shavings and put them in the garbage before finally starting to reheat the casserole. He would occasionally look out over the kitchen bar to where Jackson was working. The suite felt like so much more than just a place in that moment.

Jackson immediately set to work, teaking hte figures and spacing them out along the shelves. He decided it would be best to have them throughout the whole room, it would help unify it a little, as well as give the whole room a personal touch rather than just one section. He kept like figures together, like the ones wrapped up in little wooden blankets like his koala were together. And the pokemon ones, while he was sure some were destined to go to Silas, he put on display for now as well. Sea creatures had their own shelf while terrestial creatures were on another. He couldn't resist, however, putting an owl next to a little wolf. He debated whether he should ask Asher for the little bird, and put it with them so they could all at least be together in one form, but somehow it felt wrong. He had taken notice of how Asher had cleaned his kitchen and microwave before starting, and he felt a flutter of fond appreciation grow in his chest for the man. He was taking a lot of extra steps, clearly for Jackson's benefit, and it made him feel really welcomed and important. He hadn't felt like that in a while.

He hadn't once eaten at the actual table, choosing instead the bar on the occasions when Jackson has brought him one of his always delicious meals. It feels appropriate to have his first meal in the place with Jackson. Once the casserole was hot enough he looked for something to go with it. The cupboards were pretty much bare, but he did find some bottled waters. He went through the cleaning process for the table and then set out two plates, the casserole with a serving spoon, and the bottled waters before making his way over to the living room. "Wow." He looked around and it honestly seemed like a different place. "Looks like someone actually lives here."(edited)

Jackson had just taken a step back to examine his work, and like always, he was finding tiny little flaws and details and was now making micro-adjustments to the configuration of a few of the figures when Asher came back into the room. Despite it not being perfect yet, the fact that Asher seemed to like what was going on so far made Jackson relax just a tiny bit. Maybe he didn't need to adjust everything to perfection today. He did finish with the figures he was working with though, before he stepped back. His eyes caught the little wolf with the little owl again, and he had to force himself to turn away. When was it going to stop hurting so much, he wondered? Every little thing seemed to remind him of what he'd lost, and distractions only lasted a few moments before he was reminded yet again. "You like it?" He asked Asher, not fishing for compliments, but rather fishing for another distraction. Anything, really, to keep his mind from spiralling any further.

"I really do. Feels like a home." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Never really looked at my stuff all at once. They're not too bad huh?" The little critters had been his secret friends, but he'd never really 'looked' at them. "Thanks. Wouldn'tna done it myself." He rubbed his neck again. "Got food ready. Wanna eat."

Jackson nodded in agreement. "They're amazing, Sir." He assured. They really brighten up the place." He stated, and as he looked over at the table he was endeared by how Asher had even set the table and everything. "Yeah, let's eat." He agreed, making his way over to the table to sit.

Asher hurried over to pull out a chair for his guest. He suddenly felt like this place was more than just four walls. It was his home. A home that Jackson had helped him build. It all started with that painting. As he pulled out his own chair and sat he looked over at the painting and smiled. "This is the first time I had someone over for dinner." He didn't mean just here at Lima. He'd lived a solitary life since leaving home. Sure he'd go to a bar with co-workers or grab some food off the roach coach with them, but sharing a meal in his own home? This was a first. And he liked it. "So... umm.... how's classes going?" Alright so he needed to work on his small talk.

Jackson sat down and offered an awkward smile in thanks for Asher pulling the chair out for him. The switch picked up his fork and began to slowly separate the components of his food. It wasn't something he did all the time, but it was a habit that carried over from his childhood. If he wasn't feeling particularly hungry, he would take his time sorting his food, and eat by making sure he had a little bit of everything in each bite. It took way longer, but often his mind was so engaged in it he'd be able to get a good portion of it down before he had to stop. "Classes are... well, I don't think I'm failing, at the very least." He finished, realizing he was behind on at least two assignments already and there was some reading he had to do for a different class.

Ash watched as Jackson picked apart the casserole organizing all of the ingredients. He knew it wasn't because the food was bad. One, because it was delicious and more importantly because he made it. If Asher had made it he'd be worried. He figured it was something else... probably still feeling the pain about this guy he'd broken up with. He at casserole while listening. "I was never very good in school and it's been years now. Just weird getting used to homework. Homework! I'm too old for homework." He exaggerated hoping he could maybe bring a smile to his friend's face.

[dexter-wells-beiste]

I Owe You a Painting || Jacksher

Who - @jacksonxschuester and @asherkarofsky Where - Asher’s suite When - A quite weeknight What - Jackson delivers the painting he promised to paint for Asher. He helps make the empty suite into more of a home. 

Jackson had actually finished the painting a few days ago, but he'd gotten ambitious and decided to try oil paints for this piece, and he'd wanted to give it lots of time to dry before delivering it. Taking inspiration from some Bob Ross episodes, he'd created a sweeping prairie landscape with a duck pond and a farm house. There were a few trees and bushes and flowers, but plenty of open blue sky and a worn, homely feel to the house. He'd painted it on a 18" x 24" canvas and had signed his name in the bottom corner. Overall, he was pretty proud of how it turned out, but he was still a little nervous about Asher's reaction to it as he stood outside the Dom's door and knocked. He hoped it would be well received.

Everyone had told him he would settle in and get more things and that the giant suite wouldn't feel so giant anymore. That had not happened yet. Mostly he ate in the cafeteria and spent any time out of classes in bed sleeping. Today he'd decided to do some whittling in his suite since the workshop didn't have the light he needed. There were small curls of wood on the kitchen bar where he was working. He'd just put the small creature on the bar top to look at when there was a knock on the door. He opened it wondering who would be coming to see him. He was happy to see that it was Jackson. He just didn't know what to say. "Hi." He even waved before feeling awkward and letting his hand drop. "Oh... oh come in."

Jackson forced a smile onto his face when he saw Asher. "Hi." He greeted, and stepped in when he was invited. He stood awkwardly for a moment, and then remembered the reason for his visit. "I um... I finished it." He said, turning the painting around in his hands for Asher to see. "It's my first attempt with oil paintings, so it's not perfect, but I hope you like it and even if you don't it's okay because I can always try to do a better one..." He rambled.

Asher hadn't expected to get the painting yet. Surely Jackson had so much other more important things than him, but here it was right in front of him. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but the painting was perfect. "It... it's perfect. It's exactly like the place I dream of having some day. Like that's exactly it." He reached out for the painting but hesitated. "Can I... Is it okay to hold it?"

Jackson's expression shifted into a softer, more genuine smile as Asher took in the painting. He was relieved that the Dom seemed to like it. "Yeah, it's totally dry, you can hold it." He assured. "You really do like it?" He asked, seeking confirmation and reassurance.

"Like it? No. I love it." He carefully took the painting in his hands walking closer to the large living room window to see it in the light. "How did you know this was exactly what I saw in my head? I have this dream... kind of dumb I know, but I'd love to own a place like this someday. A place to call my own, you know?"

"I didn't know." Jackson shrugged. "I just ran with the idea you gave me and this is what came out. It does look like a nice place to live though. Peaceful..." His smile turned sad as he realized he'd never even given any thought to the type of house he'd like to have someday. Not since Steven had passed, anyway. "I hope you get to have a place like this in the future, Sir."

"Yeah peaceful." He turned to the other man. "I hope so. Gotta be careful with dreams though." He hated that he couldn't just be one of those hopeful, optimistic people. He blames his parents for ruining that for him. "Will you help me figure out the best place to hang it." He looked around at the suite. It was very.... white. The painting would start to make this place feel a little like home.

Jackson nodded, "Of course I'll help." He said, glossing right over the bit about being careful with dreams. He'd given up having any sort of dream himself. He didn't want to bring Asher down by talking about that. "What about that wall there?" He pointed to one of the walls in the living room. It was opposite the couch, so that you could see it if you were sitting there, and the shape and size of the canvas was very appropriate to the size of wall it was

He nodded. He realized instantly that if he was on the couch he'd be able to see it and also it there it would be visible as soon as he walked in the door. "Here hold it. I'll get my tools." He went to the kitchen bar, but stopped and turned back to look at Jackson. "Thank you. Thank you for this." He grabbed his tools and walked back over. Gesturing around the suite, he laughed. "As you can see I'm not so good at, decorating. Personalizing." That was the better word. He didn't need 'decorating' but he did sort of crave personalization in his life.

Jackson waited patiently while Asher grabbed his tools, and upon observation he found that Asher's statement was accurate. There weren't a lot of personal touches around the place, except for the pile of wood shavings and some sort of carving on the counter. Jackson assumed that's what he'd been working on when he arrived, but now that he knew the wood shavings were there he was itching to sweep them up and put them out of sight. "I could help you with that, if you like?" He offered suddenly, unsure of exactly way. Maybe he just needed to feel like he was useful, needed by someone.

Ash was pulling out his small hammer and some finishing nails that should do the job to hold up the painting when Jackson spoke again. "Hmm? Oh.. oh really? You'd do that?" He looked around again. "Don't even know where to start." He shrugged and kept his gaze down on the hammer in his hands that he was spinning around. "Used to have a little picture of me an' Silas and Dave as kids, but I lost it." It had been the only thing he'd had to remind him of his family. And losing it was the very last time he ever cried.

Jackson nodded. "Yeah, I don't mind." He said. "Is there a way to find a copy of that picture, maybe? Would Silas or Dave have a copy?" He asked, already planning on asking Silas for any photos of Asher as a kid to frame. "We could also paint the walls to whatever colours you like, and add things related to stuff you like." He motioned over to the carving on the counter. "Do you do a lot of that sort of thing? You could display your work on your bookshelves and such.

"Don't know. Maybe Dave. Si kind of left in a hurry. Don't think our folks let him bring much when he came here." He frowned. "They won't mind me paintin'?" He been worried about the holes he was about to put in the wall and already had a plan on how he'd repair those when the time came. He laughed and smiled at Jackson. "Don't if they're as good as all that, but might be nice to look at 'em." He looked over at the creature on the bar. He found a lot of happiness in making them even as silly as they were.

Jackson made a note to check with Dave, also. Just in case. "They don't mind paint and things like hanging pictures or hooks or decor, they just don't want anyone doing extensive damage that'll cost a lot to repair or render the suite unusable for any period of time." He informed, remembering one incident when he was a teenager that his father got very heated about. "One time a student knocked out a couple of walls to combine all the bedrooms together. My father was not pleased. That was way before I came here, though." Curious, Jackson made his way over to the counter. "Give yourself a little credit, not everyone can carve things out of wood like this. I'm sure they're..." He trailed off when he saw what the little creature was. A tiny bird sat on the countertop near the pile of shavings, and Jackson felt his heart jump into his throat. "... great." He finished his sentence, carefully picking up the carving and examining it closer. The word pajarito played over and over in his head in Mateo's voice, 'little bird' it meant. The tears were stinging at his eyes despite his valiant effort to make them stop.

Asher's eyes went wide. Knocking down the walls was a huge undertaking and could actually be downright dangerous. Generally with a large building like this the load bearing walls were all around the outside, but still. "I don't even use the space I have. Can't imagine needing more. "They aren't too hard. Learned when I was a boy. They do..." He noticed that Jackson had stopped talking and that he had tears in his eyes. "Sugar, are you okay?" He dipped his head to get in between the other man and the small wooden bird taking shape out of the wood.

Jackson took in a shuddering breath and tried very hard to steady his emotions. "Fine. I'm fine." He insisted, despite it not being true in the slightest. "It's nothing. It's a stupid thing, actually." He rambled. "Little bird is the nickname Sir Mateo gave me, that's all." He said, knowing Asher would want an explanation, but Jackson felt really stupid for such a small thing affecting him this much. Sometimes it hit him like a sack of bricks, the magnitude of losing yet another Dom, and in those moments Jackson found it really hard to breathe.

Asher didn't hesitate for a moment. He snatched the bird off the counter and shoved it in his pocket. "It's not stupid." He obviously had no idea of this reaction when he decided to carve a bird, but he hated that it had caused him to remember this pain. "I'm sorry."

Jackson shook his head. "It is stupid. And it's not your fault." He insisted, and then his hands where against his arms, fingernails digging into his skin. He hated how fragile  he was. He took a few steps away and took a breath, "I'm sorry..."

Asher didn't want to argue but he didn't think it was stupid at all. He'd never been in love before and he couldn't image having it and losing it. That whole 'better to have and lost' seemed like bullshit to him. He stayed quiet for a while and then spoke in a quiet voice. "Wanna get this painting up and then help me pick out my next carving should be?"

Jackson could feel his skin start to break under his fingernails, and the sharp pain brought him a brief moment of respite from the mental pain. He heard Asher speak and for a moment, he wasn't sure what the Dom had said. He turned, wiping at his eyes. "Maybe I should just go?" He asked, not wanting to further bring Asher's mood down.

Ash saw the way Jackson's body was stiff Nd he was scratching roughly at his arm. It must have hurt the way he was pressing in. "I really like having you here, but don't wanna make you stay if you're feelin' uncomfortable." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Can I walk you home? Make sure you're safe."

Safe. The word rung hollow in Jackson's ears. Sure, he might be away from any immediate harm, but safe? Could he really count himself as safe until he was claimed? Mateo had promised him safety... he had promised to do whatever it took to include Jackson in his family, but when the time came it turned out there was a line he wouldn't even consider crossing. Jackson realized it had been a minute or two since Asher had spoken, and he still hadn't replied. "Um... I... I'll stay if you want. You needed help, right? I can help. I can be useful." The words were mostly spilling from his mouth as they came into his head, no filter in between to remind him what was socially appropriate and what was not.

Ash wished he was his brother in this moment. Silas would have the words to comfort Jackson. But he just waited. "You've been so damn helpful to me Jackson. I gotta tell you, don't really got friends." He shrugged. "You're probably not supposed to decide this one sided, but you're my best friend Jackson. Don't know what I woulda done here without you. So yeah, if you want to stay, I could use your help." He didn't know if that meant Jackson was useful, but it damn well did mean he was needed. Asher really needed him.

Jackson felt himself tear up again. Asher considered him his best friend? It felt good, but it also made him feel a little guilty. Should he be putting more into this friendship than he has been? Asher really must not have had many friends if he considered Jackson to be the best one... He wiped at his eyes again and just nodded. "Okay... I'll stay." He said softly. "Tell me what you need me to do, Sir."

Ash smiled. He felt like he'd maybe unwittingly manipulated Jackson to stay, but it was hard to muster any guilt over that. For whatever reason, he just felt like his friend belonged right there for the time being. The suite felt like something more than a place to rest from time to time when he was there. "Let me just tap a nail in here." He did just that and then hung the painting up before looking over at Jackson. "So is it straight?"

Jackson just watched as Asher hammered in the nail and hung the painting. He let out what could only be described as a half chuckle/half sniffle. "It's about as straight as I am." He informed, which was to say, not at all. "Needs to go a little to the left."

Ash let out a snort. The years away from his parents and their church as well as the same years spent working side by side with all sorts of people had freed him from most of his prejudices. The ones that remained only seemed to direct inside toward himself. He liked that the chuckle sounded even if there was a bit of a sniffle with it. It hinted at what a joyful sound he would make if he was truly happy. He tilted it to the left. "How's that?"

Jackson gave a thumb's up as he used the other hand to wipe his eyes. "Much better." He said. "Probably as good as you'll get it without using a level, anyway." He added.

"I'll probably order a better hanger. 'Fraid the nail will damage it long run. I'll get some wire and do it up right. Then I'll use a level." He stepped back and stood next to Jackson. "Ain't that beautiful. Best thing I've ever owned." He looked over to his friend. "So I got a bunch of these little wooden critters. But some's better than others. Help me pick some for the shelves?" He raised a questioning eyebrow. "Then I got some of that casserole you made me. We could share some if you want. Maybe watch somethin' on the tv?"

It warmed Jackson's heart that Asher loved the painting enough to think about things like whether or not the method of hanging would damage it. He had to admit, he liked the way it looked in this room. It was just a touch homier now, and soon Jackson hoped to make this place feel like a home to Asher. He got the sense that Asher didn't feel at home here yet, and that made him sad. "Sure, let's look at them." He said, "That all sounds good, Sir." He offered a smile. It was small, only lasting a second or two, but it was genuine.

"Hang on. Be right back." He had realized at the last moment that his room was in no state for Jackson to see it. Usually he was quite neat. After all it was easy to be neat when you didn't have a lot of things. But that morning he had been in a hurry to get to class and he knew for a fact there was a pair of underwear right there in the middle of the floor. He scooped them up and tossed them in the hamper on his way to grab his duffel bag. The little wooden figures rattled around inside. Once back he sat on the couch and unzipped the bag. And started to pull the little creatures and set them out one next to the other. "I know they're kinda silly."

Jackson sat on the couch while he waited, trying to calm his mind and heart. His fingernails naturally found their way to his skin again, using the sharp little pains as a distraction tool until he felt less like bursting into tears at any moment and more focused on his actual surroundings. When Asher returned, he tugged a sleeve over his arm to hide a particularly bad spot. As the little wooden figures made their appearance, Jackson's eyes widened. "They're not silly at all, Sir." he assured, "They're amazing..." He reached out for one, gently lifting it to get a closer look. "Is this... Vulpix? Like from Pokemon?" He asked.

Asher wasn't the type to blush and he didn't quite blush now, but he looked a lot more like an a shy boy then he ever did. "Oh... umm, yeah. Used to love Pokemon when I was little." He still loved it clearly, but it felt safer to couch it in terms of a childhood thing. "The folks decided Pokemon were demons and wouldn't let us watch." He shrugged. "Guess just feels good to defy 'em."

Jackson smiled, picturing a young Asher and Silas sneaking over to a friend's house to watch Pokemon after school. "I used to love Pokemon too. Still do, sorta. Guess I'm not as into it as I once was, though." He admitted. "These are really cute though." He said, looking over the rest of the figures. "I think you should display them all, honestly."

"I should give the Pokemon one's to Si. He loves all that stuff." He picked up the bundled up little koala bear and handed it to Jackson. "Okay. I'll put 'em on the shelf. Better than bangin' around in my bag huh? But umm... would you take this one?" It was like how he felt Jackson should be... bundled up and protected.

Jackson carefully took the little bear, smiling at it. "Are you sure?" He asked, already kind of in love with the little figurine. He wasn't particularly attached to bears or anything, but he adored the way this one was all cozied up, and the fact that Asher had made it made it all the more special.

"Positive. It'll make me happy and proud knowin' you got him." He smiled and nodded. "So which do you think you'd like doin' more..." He had taken some time to research OCD and there was this thing he read about how control over tasks was super important. "figuring out how they should look on the shelf or heatin' up the food? Or we could to 'em both together."

Jackson nodded. "I'll keep him safe, Sir. I promise." He said, and then at being given the option, Jackson blinked. He wasn't used to that. Normally, Doms would just give him an order and he'd happily follow it, feeling happy to at least be useful. "Um.. I could put these up on the shelf, Sir." He said, knowing he'd get an immense amount of satisfaction from deciding how to arrange them in the most aesthetically pleasing way.

"Cool." He chuckled. "Was hoping you'd say that. Don't know where to start with that kinda thing." He figured that because the food was prepared by Jackson, he would feel comfortable eating it. He went to the kitchen and started to pull out the food and then suddenly had a thought. He left the food in the fridge and pulled out a bottle of cleaner and gave the counters and microwave a good once over, even though they were already clean to his eyes. He scooped the wood shavings and put them in the garbage before finally starting to reheat the casserole. He would occasionally look out over the kitchen bar to where Jackson was working. The suite felt like so much more than just a place in that moment.

Jackson immediately set to work, teaking hte figures and spacing them out along the shelves. He decided it would be best to have them throughout the whole room, it would help unify it a little, as well as give the whole room a personal touch rather than just one section. He kept like figures together, like the ones wrapped up in little wooden blankets like his koala were together. And the pokemon ones, while he was sure some were destined to go to Silas, he put on display for now as well. Sea creatures had their own shelf while terrestial creatures were on another. He couldn't resist, however, putting an owl next to a little wolf. He debated whether he should ask Asher for the little bird, and put it with them so they could all at least be together in one form, but somehow it felt wrong. He had taken notice of how Asher had cleaned his kitchen and microwave before starting, and he felt a flutter of fond appreciation grow in his chest for the man. He was taking a lot of extra steps, clearly for Jackson's benefit, and it made him feel really welcomed and important. He hadn't felt like that in a while.

He hadn't once eaten at the actual table, choosing instead the bar on the occasions when Jackson has brought him one of his always delicious meals. It feels appropriate to have his first meal in the place with Jackson. Once the casserole was hot enough he looked for something to go with it. The cupboards were pretty much bare, but he did find some bottled waters. He went through the cleaning process for the table and then set out two plates, the casserole with a serving spoon, and the bottled waters before making his way over to the living room. "Wow." He looked around and it honestly seemed like a different place. "Looks like someone actually lives here."

Jackson had just taken a step back to examine his work, and like always, he was finding tiny little flaws and details and was now making micro-adjustments to the configuration of a few of the figures when Asher came back into the room. Despite it not being perfect yet, the fact that Asher seemed to like what was going on so far made Jackson relax just a tiny bit. Maybe he didn't need to adjust everything to perfection today. He did finish with the figures he was working with though, before he stepped back. His eyes caught the little wolf with the little owl again, and he had to force himself to turn away. When was it going to stop hurting so much, he wondered? Every little thing seemed to remind him of what he'd lost, and distractions only lasted a few moments before he was reminded yet again. "You like it?" He asked Asher, not fishing for compliments, but rather fishing for another distraction. Anything, really, to keep his mind from spiralling any further.

"I really do. Feels like a home." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Never really looked at my stuff all at once. They're not too bad huh?" The little critters had been his secret friends, but he'd never really 'looked' at them. "Thanks. Wouldn'tna done it myself." He rubbed his neck again. "Got food ready. Wanna eat."

Jackson nodded in agreement. "They're amazing, Sir." He assured. They really brighten up the place." He stated, and as he looked over at the table he was endeared by how Asher had even set the table and everything. "Yeah, let's eat." He agreed, making his way over to the table to sit.

Asher hurried over to pull out a chair for his guest. He suddenly felt like this place was more than just four walls. It was his home. A home that Jackson had helped him build. It all started with that painting. As he pulled out his own chair and sat he looked over at the painting and smiled. "This is the first time I had someone over for dinner." He didn't mean just here at Lima. He'd lived a solitary life since leaving home. Sure he'd go to a bar with co-workers or grab some food off the roach coach with them, but sharing a meal in his own home? This was a first. And he liked it. "So... umm.... how's classes going?" Alright so he needed to work on his small talk.

Jackson sat down and offered an awkward smile in thanks for Asher pulling the chair out for him. The switch picked up his fork and began to slowly separate the components of his food. It wasn't something he did all the time, but it was a habit that carried over from his childhood. If he wasn't feeling particularly hungry, he would take his time sorting his food, and eat by making sure he had a little bit of everything in each bite. It took way longer, but often his mind was so engaged in it he'd be able to get a good portion of it down before he had to stop. "Classes are... well, I don't think I'm failing, at the very least." He finished, realizing he was behind on at least two assignments already and there was some reading he had to do for a different class.

Ash watched as Jackson picked apart the casserole organizing all of the ingredients. He knew it wasn't because the food was bad. One, because it was delicious and more importantly because he made it. If Asher had made it he'd be worried. He figured it was something else... probably still feeling the pain about this guy he'd broken up with. He at casserole while listening. "I was never very good in school and it's been years now. Just weird getting used to homework. Homework! I'm too old for homework." He exaggerated hoping he could maybe bring a smile to his friend's face.

[bee-kathony]

Tales From Fraser’s Ridge | Part 37 “Sticks and Stones”

a/n: it’s been awhile since I did one of these! it’s a sweet moment I thought of between Jamie, Jem and Germain, I hope you enjoy! Thanks as always to @julesbeauchamp for the lovely moodboard! 

Missing Moments  

July 1779

Ever since Brianna and Roger’s return nearly a month ago, Mandy and Jem had been glued to Jamie’s side. They told him of their adventures they got up to in their time — of things he didn’t quite understand, but listened intently nonetheless.

Before they had left through the stones, almost three years ago now, Jem and Germain had followed each other everywhere. Nothing had changed and the two young lads were thick as thieves. They reminded Jamie of him and Ian at that age — getting into all kinds of mischief.

One afternoon, while Claire was working in her garden, Jamie took Jem and Germain up to the creek. It was a hot day and the two boys were bouncing around the cabin walls, just waiting for something to do.

“Mandy was upset that she couldna come,” Jem said, reaching down to pick up a small thin branch. They were half way to the creek, and Jamie was leading the way.

“Aye, she was,” Jamie agreed. “Yer grandma Claire will let her play in her garden though, she’ll be fine, I reckon. Sometimes ye need to do things just wi’ the lads,” he grinned down at them.

“When we get there, can we swim?” Germain asked. He was twelve years old now, and growing quickly. Even though he wasn’t technically Jamie’s own blood, the boy was likely to grow another foot or two, catching up to Jamie’s height.

“Aye,” Jamie nodded. “Tis a good day for it.”

The three of them trudged through the woods, every now and then pausing so one of the boys could pick up a fallen branch. By the time they reached the creek, they’d picked up several sizable branches, simply waving them back and forth.

“Will the two of ye tell me why ye’ve collected so many wee twigs?” Jamie asked, laughing as he looked between the two.

“We need the right branch to sword fight, Grandda,” Jem said plainly and brandished his “sword”, nearly poking Jamie in the chest.

“Ah,” Jamie said. Looking around, he spotted a decent sized branch, one as long as his arm and wielded it. “I dinna suppose ye lads would like a duel?”

Germain and Jem both faced Jamie, holding up their “swords”, grinning from ear to ear.

“I lived in Paris for a time wi’ yer Grandma, and duelin’ wasna allowed,” Jamie said and instantly regretted it — memories of his duel with Black Jack came to the surface, and the painful reminder of what happened next.

“But you dueled anyway?” Germian asked and tried to take a swing at Jamie who crashed his branch against the boys’.

“Aye, and I got sent to the Bastille!” Jamie said and lunged, knocking Germain’s branch out of his hand. “Pick it up again, lad.”

“Have you ever won a duel?” Jem asked, slashing his stick against Jamie’s.

“Many of them,” Jamie grinned proudly. “But I’m left handed ye ken,” Jamie waved his left arm, holding the stick. “And so I’ve learned to fight wi’ both arms, but I prefer the left.”

Jamie struck out with the stick, hitting first Jem’s then Germain’s. They “dueled”, spinning in circles until finally Jamie fell back on a log and both boys attacked. He was whacked on the legs and pronounced dead.

“I surrender!” Jamie shouted, throwing up both hands.

“Ye canna surrender if yer dead, Grandda,” Jem said matter of factly and then laughed.

Jamie sat up, wiping off leaves from his arms and then rose to stand.

“Have ye boys ever skipped stones?” He asked them.

“No, what is it?” Germain asked.

Jamie found the stone he was looking for, not too big and oval, smooth — perfect for skipping across the water.

“Tis a bit tricky, and works best on still waters, but ye’ll see a ripple,” he said to the boys and walked over to the edge of the water. In one sharp movement, he flicked his wrist and sent the stone flying over the water, making dents on the surface.

“Wow!” The boys said in unison.

“Ye want to try?” Jamie asked them and both boys nodded enthusiastically. “Och, we need to get the right kind of stone. One that’s smooth and flat.”

“Like this?” Jem asked, holding up a stone.

“That’ll do,” Jamie nodded.

Once Germain found a stone that was suitable, Jamie knelt down in between them, showing them how to skip the stone. He did the motion of flicking his wrist over and over again, explaining how it was important to have the right angle to make it ripple across the water.

“Go on and give it a try,” Jamie told them.

Germain went first, and the stone simply drifted down to the bottom of the creek. Jamie put his hand on the boys shoulder, squeezing it firmly. “Ah, dinna fash lad. It took me weeks of practice when I was yer age.”

“My turn,” Jem said, and doing as Jamie had told, flicked his wrist and surprisingly the stone bounced once before sinking below. “I did it!”

“Aye!” Jamie shouted, smiling as he patted him on the back. “Tis a start to be sure. All it take is repeating what I taught ye over and over again, and in no time ye’ll both be able to skip stones.”

“Can me and Germain stay here and practice a little longer?” Jem begged, tugging on Jamie’s arm.

“Aye, but I’m stayin’ too,” Jamie rubbed his hand over Jem’s head. “I dinna want to leave ye boys out here alone. No’ wi’ the wild beasts that have been runnin’ around lately. Keep practicing, I’ll go and find me a nice tree to sit by.”

“Okay,” Jem said before racing off with Germain in search of more stones.

Chuckling to himself, Jamie picked up a small stick by his feet and made his way over to a nearby tree that would give him clear vision of the young boys. It wasn’t that they weren’t capable of taking care of themselves to be left alone — God knows that Jamie got up to all kinds of things on his own at their age. But, it was dangerous out here, and Jamie didn’t want to risk anything.

Pulling out his knife, Jamie began to whittle the end of the stick he hand in his hands. He wasn’t trying to make anything, mostly just sharpening the end of the wood.

The boys shrieked and hollered from across the creek, now taking turns to jump across from one side to the other.

A rustle of leaves came from behind Jamie, and he turned to see Claire walking towards him, a wrapped up lump in her hands.

“I thought you boys might get hungry,” she said and dropped the lump onto his lap. Claire took a seat beside him, crossing her feet at the ankles.

“Thank ye, Sassenach,” Jamie said and kissed her. “I would have come in just now, but the lads wanted to stay a wee bit longer.”

“It’s alright,” she said and took his hand in hers. “I wanted to see you anyways.”

“Cause tis been so long,” Jamie smiled and kissed her again. “How is wee Mandy? No’ too upset she couldna come along?”

“No, she was fine once I let her practically roll around in the dirty,” Claire laughed. Jamie reached up to touch her cheek, wiping off a bit of dirt. “Guess I was rolling around in it too.”

“Would ye be up for rollin’ around wi’ me later?” Jamie’s brows rose in question and that earned him a smirk from Claire.

“Surely not in the dirt,” she chuckled.

“Dirt, leaves, grass, anywhere I can have ye, Sassenach,” Jamie said softly.

Jem and Germain had spotted their grandmother and came running over, now soaked from the knee down after jumping in the water.

“You can’t keep clean can you?” Claire observed, reaching up to wipe at Jem’s shirt.

“Just a bit of muckin’ around, aye lads?” Jamie stood up and helped Claire to her feet. “We should get back before the sun sets.”

“I’ll race you!” Germain said to Jem and broke out into a run.

Jamie laced his fingers through Claire’s and together they made their way back to the ridge, watching as two of their grandchildren raced ahead.

“Is that what you were like as a boy?” Claire asked him.

“Aye, somethin’ like that,” Jamie smirked. “Twas how me and my brother played as lads. And later how me and Ian got on.”

“I suppose Jem and Germain behave more like brothers,” Claire remarked.

“Just like Ian and I,” Jamie said and Claire’s grip tightened on his arm. “I forget sometimes, ye ken.”

“I know,” Claire said and they stopped on the edge of the house, the boys having gone inside already. “It’s so nice to have Jenny here with us, but that means that she’s not there, not with Ian.”

Jamie’s head fell against Claire’s and he wrapped his arms around her waist. “The bond ye share wi’ yer brother will never leave ye, just as sure I am about the moon stayin’ high in the sky.”

“Of course,” Claire affirmed him. “And you’ll always have those memories, of your brother Willie and of Ian, no one can take those away.”

“Just like no one can take ye away from me, my own,” Jamie pulled her close, his hand resting on her cheek. “Come inside wi’ me. To where our family waits.”

[queen-scribbles]

On All Counts

For  @pillarspromptsweekly fill 53: Anniversary. This is... not as happy an anniversary as I was hoping for, but  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

When Tavi didn’t show up for breakfast, Aloth knew exactly where to find her. He also knew to bring something for her to drink and that he would probably want to keep his distance when he found her. Today was not going to be a good day.

He was right on all counts. Despite the early hour, Tavi was already on the training grounds, beating the stuffing--literally--out of a very battered practice dummy. She’d clearly been at it for a while, too. Long enough for her hair--and a line down the back of her shirt--to be damp with sweat.

Aloth watched her for a moment, forearms braced against the railing, and then without preamble., “Perhaps it’s time you took a break.”

One of Tavi’s shoulders flinched, ever so slightly, but she didn’t turn around.  “Nah, I’m fine.”

“Tavi. You and I both know, today of all days, that’s not true,” he said, gentle but frank.

She stopped, hands hanging limp at her sides. After a pair of heartbeats, she sighed heavily and dropped the wooden practice blades at the dummy’s base.  “You win, Aloth.”

If he’d needed any more proof she was definitely not alright, there it was. Aloth knew better than to draw attention to that, and so instead wordlessly held out the waterskin he’d brought as she turned around.

“Thanks,” Tavi nodded breathlessly, crossing the space between them to take it. She leaned against the railing a foot or two downwind from him(Which, much as he loved her, Aloth appreciated) and took a long drink. And then another. She wiped her mouth with the heel of her hand, and then raked her fingers through her hair.

“So,” Aloth began, after a long moment of silently watching her rub the faint scars on her palms, “now that the fighting your memories portion of the morning is behind you, how do you want to spend the rest of the day?”

She shot him a weak but grateful smile and used the tail of her shirt to wipe sweat off her forehead. “Not alone, that’s for fuckin’ sure. Maybe once I’m... not a mess, we can sit in the same room and do our own thing? I know you have a couple new spellbooks you wanted to go through, and I...” She sighed and looked down at her hands. “I need to carve something. Maybe another duck...”

“Tavi...”

Tavi shook her head. “I’ll be fine, city slicker. Thirty years have done a little to dull it. But it still hurts, an’ today I’m gonna let it.”

“Understandable,” he nodded. “I don’t mind, Tavi.” He stepped closer and rested one hand on her shoulder, feeling the lingering warmth of her exertion through her shirt. “Whatever I can do to help.”

She smiled with at least some of her usual mischief. “Aw, thanks, Corfiser. I should hug you for that.”

Aloth gave her a flat look. “Please don’t. Or, perhaps, save that for later.”

Tavi’s smile widened and she ran her fingers through her hair again, dramatically flicking off the sweat. “After I don’t smell like a long day’s work in the hot sun, y’mean? I think I can hold off that long.” She took another swig from the waterskin, mood sobering as she pushed away from the railing. “Seriously, though, Aloth, thank you.”

He nodded as he followed her back toward Brighthollow. “Of course.”

-o-

She hadn’t expected the bath to feel so good. She’d only been out there for an hour tops; it hadn’t been anywhere near the usual workout. It had been more emotion-driven than her usual regimen, though, which was a good way to burn through energy fast. Tavi sighed as she climbed out of the cooling water and reached for a towel. Time heals all wounds the saying went, but this one was proving stubborn. 

Tavi dressed, eschewing boots, and tried very hard not to let her thoughts drift a certain direction--Wonder if Mom would still have the flower shop--without much success. Grabbing a small block of wood and her favorite whittling knife, Tavi headed for Brighthollow’s library--formerly Kana’s room--figuring it was the most likely place to find Aloth and that he’d be waiting for her with his nose in a book.

She was right on all counts. Aloth was there, spellbooks for perusal stacked on the table next to him, reading what looked like a book on either Ixamitl or Readceras. “Sorry for for takin’ so long. It felt really blazin’ good.”

Aloth chuckled as he nudged a chair out for her. “I imagine so. You gave that training dummy quite a beating.”

Tavi barked a sharp laugh and dropped into the offered chair. “One of the healthier ways I’ve dealt with this anniversary, trust me. The first couple I got fuckin’ smashed the night before, hopin’ I’d stay passed out or at least drunk a good part of the day. And there was one I started a bar fight.... Three decades has given me plenty of time to develop better copin’ methods.” 

“I’ll say,” Aloth murmured, watching her turn the block of wood in her hands.  “What are you planning to make?”

Tavi stared at the block of wood rather than look him in the eye. “A duck, I told you that.”

He hesitated in the middle of opening one spellbook. “Are you sure that’s wise?” he asked, obviously choosing his words with care. “Given that you didn’t want to spend the day alone specifically so you don’t dwell too much.”

Now she looked at him. “I don’t recall specifyin’ the blazin’ reason, city slicker.”

“Do you really think I don’t know you at least that well, Tavi?” Aloth pointed out. “Also, you mentioned that as a reason last year. I figured it would similarly apply.”

“And you remembered?” Her knife slipped from its first cut, narrowly missing a fingertip. Shit, that would’ve been bad...

“That surprises you?” he returned.

“Considerin’ everything that’s happened--Thaos an’ Stalwart an’ the Eyeless an’ all--I figured it got forgotten for something more important.”

Aloth smiled slightly, smoothing the pages of his spellbook. “That assumes any of those things were or are more important.”

Tavi’s face warmed and she set down the block of wood for a second, leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re too sweet sometimes, Corfiser,” she said frankly as she picked the wood back up. “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Alright, if you’re sure. I’m here if you need me.” He turned his attention to his book, only to glance back up a moment later. “And, since you’re going to risk dwelling on them anyway, if you want to talk...”

She nodded, shifting her grip on the knife handle. “I’ll let you know.”

-o-

She made it an hour in, the duck’s head and bill roughly taking shape, before something made her flinch badly enough her knife skidded off the curve she was working and gouged her finger.

“Fuck,” she hissed sharply, before sucking on the wounded digit to slow the bleeding.

“Here, let me,’ Aloth said, pushing aside his book and reaching for her hand.

“It’s not bad,” Tavi muttered. She wiped the finger against her shirt before acquiescing. “I’m more mad at myself for gettin’ distracted than anything.”

“Distracted?” The cut really didn’t look bad; a small knick just below her knuckle that was already starting to bleed again. He was just used to Tavi being more careful and couldn’t help being concerned.

She flinched and wrinkled her nose as he rubbed away the blood. “I... started thinkin’ about my brother.”

“Ah.” To be expected. It was inevitable, really, in his opinion, with the anniversary that she marked today. He was only surprised she hadn’t been thinking about them again. (Maybe she had been.) They were both quiet while Tavi clumsily cut off a piece of her shirt to wrap around her finger and handed it to him. We do have an infirmary. “You didn’t need to-”

“I know,” Tavi interrupted, spreading her hand to make bandaging easier. “Force of habit.”

-o-

She watched him wrap the strip of fabric around her finger, far more dexterously than she would have managed, even using both hands. He tied the ends off with an almost impossibly small knot and let go of her hand. Tavi instead clasped his, running her thumb over his knuckles. 

“I ever tell you how much I like your hands, city slicker?” It was true, but in the moment it was more a desperate attempt to distract herself from her memories.

From the look in his eye, Aloth knew it, too. But he humored her, because of course he did. “You may have mentioned something to that effect before, yes.”

Casius grinning triumphantly, glasses slightly crooked, as he finally mastered a spell. “Well, it’s still true.”

Aloth smiled and gently squeezed her fingers, careful of the injured one. “And I still appreciate it.”

Malachi throwing his head back in a laugh, warm and self-deprecating, as he flubbed the words to the song he’d been singing. Tavi bit her lip. “Good. That’s... good.”

“If I may,” Aloth began, still slightly hesitant to pry even after her many, many reassurances she never minded(not for him), “this year seems worse than last.”

She winced. Trust him to pick up on that. Pure wonder in Khellin’s eyes as he cradled a tiny kitten in his hands, the creature barely old enough to be held by kith. “They never got to fuckin’ grow up, Aloth.” She ran her free hand through her hair in a fierce, jerky motion. “The twins would’ve finally hit adulthood a couple months ago, and Khel.... Khel was just a fuckin’ kid. What kind of copperfucker-” She cut herself off with a shake of her head. Opening up to Aloth was one thing, and she was happy to do that. Unloading on him was completely different, and she wasn’t going to do that. Not about this. “Every year is the same old Hard but getting better and it just... hit me again this time how young they all were. Even my parents, they were... gods, they were barely my age now when they had me, so...” The words trailed off, their implication clear.

As if sensing how close she was to floundering, Aloth squeezed her hand again. “I know it’s hard,” he said softly, then paused. “If it would help... I believe I owe you a hug from earlier?”

Tavi laughed shakily. “Right on all counts. It is, you do, and it would.”

The two of them stood as one, releasing their clasped hands so Aloth could wrap his arms around her shoulders, and Tavi hers around his waist. She leaned into the hug, appreciating how close he held her, his hand rubbing her back.

Tavi’s gaze landed on the wooden block, Casius’ voice floating out of the past. “You haven’t called me duckling in forever, Tav.”

That’s because you’re dead, she retorted silently, even knowing the memory it came from. All of you, and I’ll never get you back. She turned and buried her face in the side of Aloth’s neck, her grip instinctively tightening. “I’m really glad I have you today,” she mumbled, the words muffled even further by his shirt. She leaned back far enough to meet his eye. “I mean, I”m always glad I have you, city slicker, I just... it’s extra nice on days like this.”

Aloth kissed her forehead. “I knew what you meant, Tavi.”

“Good.” She leaned into the hug for one last squeeze, then stepped back and picked up the half-carved duck. She was pretty sure she could finish it now. The ghosts were still there, probably always would be, but she wasn’t facing them alone. She snuck a glance at Aloth, his lips moving silently as he resumed reading the spellbook, and smiled to herself. Hard as it was, today would be a good day.

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

i was trying to come up with something fun and fluffy for either these two or Ederity, I swear.  But none of the ideas I got cooperated in the fleshing out stage. And then this struck, and it was more cooperative, so... hurt/comfort Taviloth it is, i guess. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Oh, and now that I’ve got them roughly nailed down, at the time of the fire...

Tavi’s parents were early-mid 80s

Tavi was 28

Casuis and Malachi were 19

Khellin was 13

SUFFER WITH ME

do you see why i decided to not kill khel?i’m not that mean

Also now I wanna have him show up at Caed Nua post-Deadfire so Tavi gets him back in canon but we’ll see

[redditnosleep]

My Son Brought Something Home From The Woods

by stickinthewoods38

My husband and I always wanted our son to be adventurous. We wanted to watch him grow up asking questions about everything, seeking out answers, and looking for adventure. It seems like whenever parents have a deep desire for how they want their children to be, their children instinctively know and go the complete opposite direction.

As Sam grew up, he became very introverted and would actively ask when it was time for bed. He loved to sleep, and our doctor gave a lot of explanations. All the illnesses had been checked and crossed out before he said "I think he just likes to get away from reality. He likes his dreams more than he enjoys life." This was at the age of eight.

This actually depressed us as parents. What could be so wrong, so uninteresting about his life that he would come home and just sleep?

The doctor recommended that we plan family activities that were geared towards him as a way to engage him in life. "Give him something to be excited about after school."

So, for our very first trip, we decided we would go on a hike. The mountains were about an hour away, and we considered this a mild introduction to our new family habit. When we told Sam where we were going, he was ecstatic. We knew then that hiking had been the right activity.

On Saturday, we threw together some backpacks, lunch, water, and even a magnifying glass so Sam could inspect everything closely. He was so excited the entire way there. We were all thrilled.

When we parked at the trailhead, Sam leapt out of the car and almost ran up the trail without us. I had to call him back so we could keep an eye on him.

The hike was short, maybe half a mile, but Sam tried to run it like a marathon. We kept calling for him to come back and check out this bird, or this butterfly, or the log that looked like a grandpa's face. He would come and look to humor us, but then run ahead.

Eventually, we gave up trying to point things out and let him just run through the woods. We were pleased that he had taken so well to the trip. For once, Charlie and I felt like we knew what we were doing as parents. Anyone who's a parent knows how that feels.

We got to the end of the trail and ate our lunch. We were at a ledge along the mountain that was more like a hill. The sun was high overhead and we could see over the trees for miles. Sam quickly downed his lunch and we let him run off into the trees.

"Not too far," I warned him. He obeyed, and we could always see him. From the rock where we sat, I watched Sam while Charlie went to the bathroom. I watched Sam pick up sticks, swing them at bushes and tree trunks until the stick broke, then pick up another one. He picked one up that was too short to be swung, but he smiled wide at it and ran around with it in front of him, using both hands.

Finally, he ran over to me and said "Mom! Feel this stick! It feels so cool!"

"Oh yeah?" I grinned, taking the stick from him. It was in the shape of a Y, and when I grabbed one of the sides of the Y, it was perfectly smooth. It looked like someone had taken a knife and whittled a bigger branch down into this smooth, sling-shot shaped stick. The two sides of the Y were curved, almost like bicycle handlebars.

"That's very smooth!" I said to encourage him. He looked at me funny, then ran back into the woods to keep playing.

We packed up lunch, stuffed everything back in the backpacks, and announced that we were ready to hike back. Sam came back without a fuss, and we began walking down the trail.

Instead of running ahead, Sam lagged behind, still clutching the Y stick. He held it in front of him with both hands as before, and was swinging it around slowly, as if it were a magnifying glass and he were searching for something.

"Come on, Sam," Charlie encouraged gently when he stood in one place for too long. We both had to stop because he had fallen so far behind. He was pointing his stick into the trees, arms outstretched. He kept looking from the stick to the trees, as if trying to line something up.

We both waited patiently for a few seconds, but the heat was getting to us and we were ready for an air-conditioned car.

"Sam, honey, let's go," I called.

"Okay," he called back, but didn't move.

Charlie sighed and walked back to him. He put his hands on both of Sam's shoulders and guided him down the trail. The whole time, Sam kept both hands firmly on the stick and tried his best to point it back towards the trees where he'd been looking. He didn't point it towards where he had been standing, I noticed later, but at a spot past the trail and into the trees. Always at one position.

Charlie finally got him to where I was, and we kept walking. Sam eventually stopped pointing his stick, and instead kept it down in front of him, both hands still being used to hold either side of the Y.

We drove home, pleased that Sam was taking home a souvenir. Our day trip had worked. He was getting involved with life. We were one step closer to our adventurous son.

Over the next couple of days, lots of things started happening. They all seemed disjointed and not connected in the moment. Later, memory would connect them for me.

Sam went back to his sleeping routine. He would come home from school, go into his room, and play for a bit by himself while dinner was being made. I got him to work on homework, then served dinner when Charlie got home. After that, he went straight to bed by his own choice.

This wasn't abnormal for him, so I wasn't any more concerned than usual.

A few nights after we got home, I noticed that Sam's bedroom light was on even though he'd gone to bed hours ago. His door was closed, so I went to go and turn off his light for him. I figured he might have left it on when he fell asleep or something.

The second I opened the door, Sam leapt off the floor and jumped into bed, like he knew he was in trouble. It was only 7 in the evening, I wasn't about to yell at him for not going to bed when he said he was.

His rapid jump into bed had me worried though.

"Sam? What's up?"

"Nothing," he said in that kiddush tone that screams I didn't do anything!

I looked around the room and saw what I always saw: his toys were out and lined up in some game he must've been playing. Nothing was out of place or irregular.

"You jumped up as soon as I came in, anything wrong?"

"No."

"Okay," I said slowly, unsure of what else to say.

He looked at me with untold terror in his eyes.

"Are you sure nothing is wrong?" I pressed. "I can hang out with you for a bit, if you want."

He stared right through me, his eyes wide. It took him a few seconds to reply.

"No, mother, I'm going to bed now. C-can you turn out the light?"

I blinked. He's never called me "mother" in his life. I should have pushed myself in and sat on his bed and talked until he admitted what was wrong. But I didn't. Charlie called my name, and it distracted me. I wished him a good night, turned off the light, and shut the door.

Talking later on with Charlie about it, Charlie thought that maybe he had somehow discovered masturbation, even at his young age. "When you rub around on the floor the right way, it just happens," Charlie told me. Apparently, that was how he had discovered it.

So, I chalked the situation up to that.

Sam also kept carrying that Y stick around everywhere. He always kept it within reach. During dinner, he kept it on the table. When I told him that sticks don't belong on the dining room table, he kept it on his chair next to him. He took it to bed and kept it next to his head. He even took it to school.

I tried fighting him on it once, but he claimed he was taking it to show and tell. I was about to insist that he leave it home, but he looked like he might cry if I came down firm. So, I let him on the condition that if his teacher mentioned it to me that I'd make him leave it home. He agreed.

One day, Charlie was taking out the garbage and the bag caught on the door jam. The contents of the bag spilled all over the floor, and he quietly cursed and went to get another bag. That was when he found about 20 of Sam's toys in the trash. They varied from stuffed animals to action figures.

Confused, Charlie asked me if I had thrown them away, or was punishing Sam for something. I told him no, and was equally puzzled.

Sam, for some unknown reason, had been throwing his own toys away.

Together, after dinner, we sat down with Sam at the table to ask about the toys. We saw it as a cry for help.

"They were selected," he said in response. "They weren't doing a good enough job, so they were fired. Their time was up."

Charlie told Sam that we don't throw toys away because they cost money and we don't waste things. Sam nodded, but I saw his hands clutch the sides of the Y stick tightly under the table. He was stressing. Something was going on.

We ended the conversation on a light note, and Sam understood why we were upset. He promised not to throw away any more toys, then ran off to bed.

I just remember thinking how strange the sentence was "their time was up." That was an adult's line: not something you hear from kids.

Sam's school sent an email to all the parents, about two weeks after our hiking trip. The principal pleaded with parents to not let their children come to school if their child was sick, as there was a very serious flu going around the school. He even admitted that five teachers and thirty students had been sick over the last week alone.

I showed it to Charlie, but he didn't find it as weird as I did.

"Hand sanitizer breeds super bugs," he shrugged. "Just tell Sam to wash his hands more often."

The final straw for me came a few nights later. It was a Wednesday night when I woke up for no reason. Charlie was snoring next to me, but in a lull between snores, I heard a whisper. Fear seized my throat, and I lifted my head off the pillow slowly to peer at the bedroom door. Someone moved in the dark, stumbling along. Someone small and short. Sam.

Irritated, I got up and walked to the door. I saw Sam skip away, as if he were crossing a field of spiders and was desperate not to get any on his shoes.

"Sam," I whispered, walking out after him. I turned the corner into the family room, but he wasn't there. I heard bare feet race across the kitchen floor, and that made me angry. The little shit was hiding from me.

I walked through the family room, and noticed that the clock on the wall was way louder than usual. Or maybe I was hypersensitive because I was exhausted. When I entered the kitchen, Sam was facing me. He stood next to the fridge, and the small LED's on it lit up his expression. He was terrified, and his little Y stick was pointed right at me.

"Sam," I hissed in annoyance. "It's late. Go back to bed."

"I... need water," he said, still looking at me with wide eyes. It was an obvious lie, but one not abnormal for kids caught up past their bedtime.

"Okay, then get some water," I sighed.

"Can you get it?" He asked, still clutching the stick and pointing it my way.

He must've seen my "mom" look, because he reemphasized. "Please."

I walked forward, and that's when I noticed that he pointed the stick around me. He was pointing at something behind me. I whirled around really fast and stared into the... empty darkness of the family room.

The clock was still noticeably loud. It sounded like a person saying the actual words.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

I looked around the room for a full thirty seconds. Nothing moved.

"What are you doing up, Sam?" I asked, turning back to face him. He looked at me with real, true terror in his eyes. The stick was shaking in his hand.

"Sam," I hissed, snapping a little bit.

"It's not time yet," he stuttered, barely glancing at me. His gaze was transfixed beyond me. "I'm not ready yet."

For half a second, I wondered if he was pretending to sleep walk. Then I wondered if he actually was sleep walking. Then my tiredness washed over me and I got irritable again.

"It's time for bed," I insisted, walking towards him. Still, he kept his eyes behind me, and the stick pointed into the family room.

"Okay, okay," he said, defeated as I approached. He took slow, unwilling steps towards the family room. I stood behind him, watching to make sure he went to bed. I saw his head look back and forth, scanning the room as he entered. He was looking for something. He looked back at me with uncertainty.

Suddenly, he screamed.

"MOM! WATCH OUT!"

I instinctively whirled around, hands up and ready to attack whatever was there.

Nothing. Nothing but darkness and the far kitchen wall.

I ground my teeth and glared down at him. He was still shaking, pointing his stick into the empty kitchen. I was beyond annoyed now. This stick had been out of control for weeks.

"I think you need a break from this," I said, snatching the stick from his hand.

"No! NO!" He screeched. Sam practically leapt at me, but I jumped out of the way. This was the only way, I assured myself. This stick wasn't healthy after all.

"Don't! DON'T!" He cried and yelled, following me through the family room and into the hall. All the attention that he'd pointed into the kitchen was now directed at me.

He tried to jump and grab at the stick, but I held it above my head. I felt like a teenage older sibling, teasing my younger brother. But this was necessary.

I regretted waking Charlie up, but I pushed my way into my room, tossed the stick onto the floor, and turned back to get Sam out.

"Give it to me, give it to me, GIVE IT TO ME!" He demanded without taking a breath. I pushed him out and shut the bedroom door. I flipped the lock on the handle and sighed.

"Wuz goin on?" Charlie mumbled.

"I took the stick away. He was playing with it all night," I sighed, coming back to bed. Sam was pounding on the door. I convinced Charlie that we should ignore him, let him tire himself out, and tomorrow we would lecture him. He verbally agreed, though I could sense that he didn't agree inside.

It took an hour, but Sam gave up, and we went to sleep.

The next morning, my throat felt like I had swallowed sandpaper. The flu. Of course. My stomach rumbled and rousted me out of bed. I found myself starting to run to the master bathroom after my stomach turned nauseous. I puked up spaghetti from dinner the night before.

Stumbling out of the bathroom, I had to move aside for Charlie, who couldn't make it to the toilet and threw up into the sink.

"Not you too," I sighed sympathetically.

"I haven't been this sick since I was a kid," he moaned, rinsing his mouth out.

I rubbed my eyes, still tired from Sam's ordeal last night, and got in the shower with the lights off, hoping it would help my light sensitivity.

Charlie decided to call in sick and rest for the day. I got ready for the day so I wouldn't lounge around in my pajamas all day, feeling even more sick. When I was completely ready, I unlocked the bedroom door and stepped out. Sam was nowhere in sight, which meant he had gone back to bed. Good.

"Sam, I hope you're getting ready for school," I said loudly. No reply. I went to his room, and found the door shut as usual. I twisted the handle and pushed, but the door was stuck.

"The hell..." I muttered quietly. Using my shoulder, I shoved hard against the door. I heard a clatter, then the door opened. As I entered, I saw three things right away.

One, a chair had been placed under the door handle, preventing it from opening easily. Two, the window was wide open, with the screen missing. And three, Sam wasn't in his room.

We called the police immediately after searching the house from top to bottom. If we hadn't called them, I have no idea where we would have started. Should we have driven around, looking for him? Called his friend's houses to see if they knew where he was?

The police were helpful, and I spent a miserable half-day sitting by the phone, puking my guts out and worrying about Sam. The police were out driving around, searching for Sam with his picture taped to their dashboards.

Charlie was dead asleep when I wandered into the bedroom, debating lying down. But I couldn't sleep while Sam was missing. The sickness would let me, of course, but the guilt of falling asleep while this was going on was too much.

I saw the stick, which had landed partially under the bed when I threw it last night.

All this because of a stick?

Maybe the doctor was wrong. Maybe he did have something wrong with him, but it was mental. Psychological. Maybe instead of a doctor, we should take him to a psychologist.

In an attempt to stay awake, I decided to search the house for the fifteenth time. This time, I carried the stick with me.

"Sam," I said, loud enough to be heard while I walked through the family room, kitchen, and to the stairs. Maybe he was hiding in the storage room downstairs. Maybe behind a few boxes.

"Sam!" I said again. "I have your stick! I'm sorry I took it! Please come out, mommy is really worried! You aren't in trouble!"

I descended the stairs, and halfway down, I thought I heard him reply. It was faint, far away. The words were impossible to make out.

"Sam!" I cried desperately, spinning around on the stairs to try and figure out if he was upstairs or downstairs.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a leg dart around the corner at the bottom of the stairs, towards the storage room.

My hunch was correct.

I sped down the stairs and turned the corner. The door was closed. I tried to twist the handle, but he had locked it.

"Sam, honey, open the door please," I pleaded while reaching for the key at the top of the door frame. When he didn't unlock the door, I stuck the key in and twisted. The door popped open to reveal our pitch black storage room.

The room was in the middle of the house and had no windows. It contained our water heater and the control system for the heat and AC. The room was so large, though, that Charlie had built shelves for us to keep our seasonal decorations, our camping supplies, and extra food and water.

"Sam," I said more quietly, feeling uneasy. Something about the room was getting to me.

"How does the clock tick, mother?" Sam said from somewhere in the room.

I froze. The word mother made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Something's not right. Something's not right.

"S-Sam, c-come on out now," I stuttered. Light spilled in from the doorway, but it didn't illuminate enough of the room for me to search. I slowly stepped toward the center of the room where a string hung down from a single bulb in the ceiling.

With one hand, I kept ahold of the stick. With the other, I reached out to search for the string. I couldn't see it, but I knew it was there somewhere.

Suddenly, the door slammed shut, and at that exact instant, my hand brushed against hair. Long, greasy hair at my shoulder height. Sam wasn't that tall. The hair was tangled, and long.

I yelped and jumped back, startled by the door and the hair simultaneously.

Sam giggled.

"Do you know how the clock ticks?"

It came from my left, along the wall. The hair had been to my right.

What else was in here with us?

I was paralyzed. I couldn't see a damn thing. My phone was upstairs, so I couldn't use that as a flashlight. The ceiling light was somewhere in front of me, and the door was somewhere behind me.

Every time I started to reach out, I remembered touching the greasy hair, and recoiled.

"CHARLIE!" I called upward, hoping he could hear me. Hoping he was awake.

"Tick tock, tick tock," Sam said again. My brain instantly remembered the sound the clock had made the night before. It was the same voice. Faintly a voice, and faintly background noise at the same time.

"Sam," my voice hoarsely whispered. I had to throw up again. I swallowed bile and felt one more time for the string. It brushed my hand, and I jumped back before realizing that I was feeling string, not greasy hair.

Resolutely, I launched my hand out and grabbed at the string. It swung into my hand, and I yanked on it, hard.

The single bulb buzzed to life, and something moved to my right. I screamed at the top of my lungs when I saw white and black. It's taken me a long time to place the shape, but now I'm certain. A deer's skull partially covered by stringy hair darted away from the light, circling behind me.

In absolute terror, I squeezed my eyes shut and didn't dare open them. In the battle for fight or flight, I turned into the ostrich: burying my head and hoping it didn't see me.

I started sobbing, and wanted to run for the door, but I was too scared to open my eyes.

"Mommy?" Sam called from my left.

I didn't respond, I was sobbing too hard.

"Mommy, help, I'm stuck."

Very, very slowly, I moved one finger and looked to the side. Sam was huddled up on the top shelf. I couldn't see his face, but I saw jeans and his favorite shirt.

"C-come down and let's go," I whispered.

"I can't, it's going to get me," Sam whimpered.

I tried hard not to sob again.

"Come and get me, please," he begged.

I fought through the terror and stepped toward the shelf, still covering my face and using a small gap in my fingers to navigate. When I reached the shelf, I closed my eyes and held my arms up.

"Climb into my arms, Sam. I'll get you down and we'll go get your dad," my voice broke at the end.

"I'm stuck. My shirt is caught," he cried.

"Okay, okay," I said, trying to be brave for him. "Guide my hand to where it is and I'll get you loose."

He paused. "It's... at the back of the shelf. You can't reach."

I bit my lip to stop its trembling. With both eyes still closed, I placed my hands on the top shelf, and my foot on the bottom shelf. The stick was placed on the shelf so I could use both my hands. I hoisted myself up so I could reach, and balanced precariously.

"Where is it, honey?" I asked, refusing to open my eyes.

"Reach here," he said, and I could feel him rotate so I could reach over him.

I did, and my hand ran straight into a mess of tangled, greasy hair. My eyes opened in shock. It stared back at me for only a millisecond. In that millisecond, it spoke. Not with words. But in my head.

Do you know how the clock ticks? It is fed by death.

The shelf under my feet collapsed, and as I fell, my hands pulled the shelf until it toppled over, coming down on top of me.

I woke up in the hospital, much to Charlie and Sam's relief. It was a tumult of information and questions. They asked why I was down there, and instead of sounding insane, I said that I'd been searching for Sam again just in case.

Sam had been found walking on the road in the general direction of the hiking spot. He wasn't very far, thankfully, and was unharmed. When Charlie practically yelled, asking why the hell he had left in the middle of the night alone, Sam said he needed to find another stick to stop the monsters.

The police were, of course, recommending that he talk to a psychologist. They'd overheard the conversation.

Charlie didn't wake up until the police were at our door with Sam in hand. That was about an hour after the shelf had collapsed on me. Sam and Charlie had gone looking for me in the house, and found me under the collapsed shelving. The police had been right there, thankfully, and I was rushed off to the hospital.

Some of my ribs were broken and so was my left leg. The shelf that had collapsed on me had held our camping tent, the fake Christmas tree, and a few other half-empty boxes. I was lucky that it wasn't the food storage shelving.

The door was locked when they got to it, and the key wasn't in the lock, so they had to break it down. The second Sam saw the scene, he apparently stood over me in a protective stance, looking all around. Charlie left to get the police before they left upstairs.

A couple of days after I got released from the hospital, and after Charlie had recovered from a flu that knocked him off his feet, I got to talk to Sam.

I asked him outright what had been going on. It took a few minutes of him denying that anything was wrong.

"I saw the... monster," I admitted, which a parent really shouldn't do to their child.

"You did?" He asked incredulously. I nodded.

"You and dad never saw them before. When did you see them?"

"Them?" I asked nervously.

Sam told me what had been happening for the last few weeks.

He had stumbled upon the stick by literally tripping over it. It had "spoken to him" and he took it to play with it. Whenever he had the stick, he could "see the monsters."

"They were scary, but they stayed away when I pointed the stick at them," he said.

A few of them had followed us home, walking alongside us on the trail. They came into the house at night and snuck around. They came into Sam's room, our room, everywhere.

"They told me that someone had to die. They told me that you had to die."

So, he offered the monsters toy sacrifices to satiate their hunger. But, they were unsatisfied.

"Whenever I didn't have the stick, I could feel them try to grab me. But they stayed away whenever I had the stick. They kept telling me that your time was up."

"Whose time?"

"Yours, mommy."

They sat with him at night and changed "tick tock" at him. They tried to convince him to put the stick down. They offered him candy that the "big, blurry man" pulled out of thin air. At school, they followed him and said they would hurt people until he put away the stick. Five teachers and thirty students got the flu while they threatened that.

He held on to the stick as often as he could and patrolled the house at night to keep them out of my room.

That was until I took the stick.

Apparently, he had grabbed the stick from a skeleton in the woods. It looked like an animal's skeleton. He had seen another one just like it when he got the first one, so he was going to go back and get the second one so the monsters would "stop smiling."

One had followed him on the streets, he said.

But now, they were all gone. And after looking through the mess of the collapsed shelving, so was the stick.

Sam told his psychologist about our conversation. His psychologist told me very angrily that I should not have admitted anything like that because it fed into his delusions. He was being looked at for possible schizophrenia. I'm thinking I should be tested too.

How else do I explain everything that happened?

One detail stands out that I can't explain. I had unlocked the door to the storage room and left the key in the handle.

So why was the key found dangling from the light bulb string?

[imagining-imagines]

Home [Anakin x Reader]

Requested on Wattpad by preciousfreeman321

Word count: 2000+

Warnings: The reader kills a lizard?

You were whittling away at a stubborn piece of wood when you saw a ship of some sort fall from the sky not far away. You jumped up from the small chair you had made and examined the smoke trail in awe. Nothing exciting ever happened on this disgusting swamp planet and you absolutely had to go to the crash sight.

Smiling to yourself, you climbed down your tree house and headed off in the direction of the crashed, mysterious object. Wading through the thick mud was easy and you started walking a ways off, but stopped suddenly. You reached toward your back only to grasp empty air-- you'd left your weapon at home. You were furious with yourself for forgetting such an important tool. The planet you were on was nowhere shy of dangerous creatures. Looking over at a large stick on the ground, you decided it would have to do. You grasped it tightly and continued on until you found a broken ship submerged in quick sand. If anyone was alive in there, they certainly weren't now. It was a shame too. You were hoping to find someone (You didn't care who) to make life more interesting. You would have settled for anything in fact.

The sand prevented you from investigating closer, but it was just as amazing from where you were. Sure you had seen ships before, but that was a long time ago, before you came here. The ship was swallowed up quickly by the hungry sand and you strained to see the last bit of the tail disappear. You were about to leave when you noticed footprints leading off from where the plain had been. A sound from behind you made you jump, and you spun around with your makeshift weapon in hand. A man with shoulder-length dark hair and clothes caked in sand stood there. His eyes were kind and calm despite the large stick only inches from his face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," he stated. Even if it wasn't his intention, he had scared you a great deal, and you found yourself unable to lower the stick. He slowly raised his hands and started pushing the weapon down, and you let him since you couldn't do it yourself.

"Who are you?" You asked him once you had found your voice.

"It's alright, I'm Anakin Skywalker. I'm a Jedi, and I can help you off this planet," he answered. "I could take you as far as Coruscant, if you like."

You bit your tongue and changed your mind. I'm not okay with anything! you decided, I wanted anything but a Jedi. The Jedi were the people you had tried to escape in coming here. You had thought you wanted to be one at one time, but they had rejected you when you had failed their ridiculous trials. Now there was one here, though you had chosen to live on one of the most remote planets you could find. You were angry with him though you knew it was not him alone that had denied you the position.

"Well, I'm very glad you've found a way to get home," you said, trying to maintain a steady voice. "You can do so alone. I wish you luck." With that, you spun around and headed back to the home you had made. Sloshing footsteps and swinging branches told you that he was stumbling right behind.

"Hold on!" He called after you. You were nearly running, and you would've kept going, but this was the only social interaction you would get for who knew how long. You rolled your eyes and slowed so he could catch up. "It's dangerous out here alone," he warned.

You slowly turned around and rolled your eyes. "Is it?" you scoffed and took in a deep breath while you tried to get your thoughts together. "Listen, I do appreciate the offer, but I have no interest in heading back to anywhere the Jedi Council is."

"What do you mean back?" he questioned. "You mean you've been there before?"

You glared at him. "Do the Jedi now find things easy to forget?" you felt yourself shaking and tried desperately to stand completely still. You're not mad at him, you told yourself. You knew you shouldn't be mad at all, but it grew more difficult the more he spoke.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about," Anakin apologized. "But at least let me take you to a safer, more populated planet." You almost laughed now.

Gesturing to land around, you responded, "Even if I wanted to leave, how would we?" Anakin looked around.

"I'd find a way," He insisted. You knew there was really nothing he could do, but you liked his determination.

Still, you weren't sold on the idea of returning. "Well," you started hesitantly. "If you're going to find a way back, you'll need a place to stay." You gestured for him to follow you. He was surprisingly good at navigating through the mud. He knew exactly where to step and where not to. You guessed it was the Force showing him the way. It had for you, too, before you memorized the land. When you got to the lake that was not far from your tree house, you made Anakin scrub off all the sand off his arms and neck.

When you made it back to your home you showed Anakin the way up the tree. "You built this?" He asked you once he was at the top.

You nodded proudly. "It took me a while, but it finally came together." You ran your hand across the railing you had put up. You were rather proud of your work and had a right to be. It was sturdy and homely which was perfect for where you lived. "You could probably stay just outside my kitchen for now. Tomorrow I'll have to make a proper bed for you."

Anakin nodded to show he understood then looked questioningly at you. "If I'm going to stay here, I need to know your name."

You had completely forgotten to introduce yourself! You scolded yourself inwardly. "Y/N," you told him.

He smiled "Thank you for offering your home to me, Y/N" You knew he was just being polite. He wouldn't have the comfort of a bed like the one you had made, and you couldn't make one now. You didn't have the items you would need, and it was getting too dark to gather any.

"I recommend you don't leave the house until dawn," you suggested. "The creatures here love the dark."

"I wont," he assured you. Even though he was a Jedi, you knew you couldn't leave him to figure that out on his own.

You would help him the best you could. You didn't hate him. In fact, you found it hard to dislike him. But it was impossible to ignore his title: Jedi. Just thinking the name made you shudder.  You wished him a good night, and Anakin took his robe off and lay down on one of your pillows. He pulled the robe over himself to stay warm and you went to your moss bed. It was actually a nice, comfortable bed that took you a while to complete. You looked over at Anakin who was still awake, staring up at the sky, and your stomach twisted. He wanted to go home, but you couldn't help him do that. The best you could do was make sure he didn't freeze, starve, or get killed by ravenous animals, so that's what you would do. You would keep him alive until he could get back home.

________________________________________________________________

You woke up earlier than usual and dressed quickly. You decided to go hunting in hopes of finding some meat to balance out the root stew you would make. As you slipped the cotton shirt over your head, you realized that you didn't have any extra clothes for Anakin to change into, and his clothes were still covered in mud that had dried over. Surely, it wasn't a comfortable way to live. You walked over to Anakin who was fidgeting and stirring in his sleep. You would have to make him a change of clothes as soon as possible.

You grabbed your spear and knife and climbed down the tree easily. You wanted to do this quickly so you could start working on the other projects Anakin's arrival had made for you. You waited at some rocks near the lake with your knife in hand. Nudj, you knew, were lizard-like creatures that stayed around this area. You had only killed a few before, but they weren't bad. When a brave nudj climbed the rocks you quickly threw your knife and pierced it's skin. It thrashed for a second before falling still. You knew the alarm it let out would warn the others and keep you from getting anymore from there. You retrieved the knife and nudj and headed to a different patch of rocks. You repeated this pattern four more times until you had three of the lizards to take back. You jogged back to the tree and climbed up. Anakin was awake.

"Good morning," you called to him. His face was pale and there were beads of sweat on his forehead. "Are you okay?"

He nodded. "Yes, I'm fine." You looked him over worriedly. Treating disease was not something you could cram into today. Deciding to leave him be, you started preparing a stew from roots herbs and the nudj you caught earlier. Anakin came up to you and watched for a little bit.

You turned to him while the stew cooked. "Have you figured out how you'll be getting back?" you questioned.

He shook his head. "No, I haven't, but I'll find a way," he answered confidently. Surely he knew he wouldn't be able to. The only thing that flew on the planet were the bogwings, and you didn't want to mess with them.

"I'll have to make you a change of clothes," you told him. "I'll do that after we eat." You turned back to the food and stirred it.

"Thank you," Anakin said. You pointed to a small pot you had sitting by.

"If you're going to stay here though," you announced. "You'll have to help and boil some of that water."

He smiled and took the full pot to a small fire you had going.

After you and Anakin had finished eating, you walked over to a bin where you kept thread and fabric. You hadn't expected to use it really so you were happy you found a use for it. You sent Anakin to wash the dishes, but it didn't keep him busy for long. He came to where you were working.

"Tell me about the time you were with the Jedi council," he requested.

You stiffened. Of course, he would be curious, but you didn't want to talk about it. You just wanted him to have a magical solution to leave and do so. You hesitated, trying to play out the conversation in your head.

"When I was younger," you started. "All I wanted to be was a Jedi. I looked up to them and my parents did too." A lump formed in your throat. "They noticed me, finally, and I trained for a long time until I became a Padawan. I wasn't long after that my parents were killed. I couldn't preform as well as they wanted me to. I could only think about them, hoping they would come back. It devastated me, and at times, I even felt resentment--hatred. You know that's not acceptable for Jedi." You inhaled deeply and wiped a tear from your cheek with your fingertips. "They expelled me, and I left. I was angry with the council." You gritted your teeth. "I was angry with Master Yoda."

Anakin looked puzzled. "Master Yoda is very wise," he defended. "I'm sure he had a good reason."

You wiped your face and looked at him reasonably. "Master Yoda has it all wrong," you argued. "There has never once been a Jedi who has kept to the code completely. Our emotions make us human, and those that embrace that are the ones he wants to get rid of. He can't turn us into his mindless, emotionless robots to fight his battles for him."

Anakin was silent. The whole time you were talking your hands were working on the outfit for him.

"But never mind," you attempted a smile. "I finished your outfit." You turned around while Anakin switched his clothes. When he was finished you turned back to see your work. You laughed out loud. The clothes looked absolutely ridiculous. They were baggy and blended into each other making it look like one piece.

"Well, it's a start," he teased, smiling. "At least now I'm not covered in sand from head to toe."

You made a note to yourself to practice your seamstress skills later.

You had just finished the bed for Anakin when the sun sank behind the trees. He slept on it well the first night, but he grew restless from nightmares that not even the most comfortable of beds could fix. You often had to sit by his bed with a cold cloth to calm him. He told you they were of his mother. He had to watch her die over and over again every night and it made him miserable. You did the best you could, but that wasn't much. There were nights when he would wake up suddenly, and you would have to speak quietly and soothingly to him until he could fall asleep again. At first it bothered you, but it troubled you more now.

Anakin had stayed with you for two weeks before a ship landed right next to the lake where you were gathering water one day. You dropped the bucket and ran to the ship. The door opened and a light-haired, bearded man emerged confidently. His eyes were tired but that didn't change how he acted.

"Hello there!" he called to you. "Allow me to introduce myself: I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi. Could you give me a hand with something?" Stunned you nodded and beckoned him forward. "I'm sorry about landing here without permission. I didn't think this planet was populated. I'll leave soon, but I seem to have lost something and I need help finding it," he explained.

"What did you loose?" you asked him, though you could already guess. Obi-Wan looked at you warily.

"His name is Anakin Skywalker."

You froze. When Anakin arrived, the thought that he might have someone looking for him hadn't even occurred to you. He was back at the tree house preparing food for the both of you. You weren't sure if you should get him or not. As if he heard his name called Anakin came running up from behind you.

Obi-Wan perked up. "Anakin!" He called cheerfully. "I'm glad you're alive, Anakin. You had us all worried." Despite the fact that this man had brought Anakin a way home, he didn't look all that happy.

"You shouldn't have come for me, Master." Anakin said. "You could've saved supplies and time going on without me."

"Anakin don't talk like that," Obi-Wan commanded. "You are my friend, and I will not leave you like that."

Obi-Wan looked at you. "I thank you for any help you have given my young apprentice. You will be paid in whatever currency you find acceptable." He turned back to Anakin. "Let's go, Anakin. Master Yoda will be happy to know you're alright."

Your heart sank. Anakin had found a way to leave after all. This is what you wanted. You reminded yourself. Once he's gone, life will be normal again. Boring and normal. You didn't want him to go now, but what could you do? It was Anakin's decision, and he was already following his master. You stood there waiting for the ship to take off, but it never did. In fact the door opened once again and both of them walked out.

"Is everything okay?" You questioned with a small glimmer of hope that the ship might not start. Anakin was looking much happier now and Obi-Wan more upset.

"It appears," Obi-Wan spoke first. "That Anakin will be staying with you," he explained.

You looked at Anakin who was next to you now.

"Are you serious?" you asked quietly, though your heart was beating rapidly.

He looked up at Obi-Wan. "Thank you for your training, Master," he said respectfully. Obi-Wan nodded blankly.

"I don't know what I'll tell the council," he said almost talking to himself.

Anakin smiled. "I'm sure you'll think of something," he assured. Obi-Wan looked up and smiled.

"Yes, well, I'll still have to pay you, Y/N," he said. "I'll go and get whatever supplies you'll need." He looked at Anakin again and laughed. "And good heavens hopefully some proper clothes." You both laughed merrily. You felt wonderful and couldn't stop smiling.

Obi-Wan left and Anakin hugged you tightly.

"You're really staying," you whispered.

He chuckled. "Yes, I am." He pulled away and looked into your eyes. "You were right, Y/N. I shouldn't try to push any emotions aside anymore." He rested his hand on your cheek. "I love you, Y/N." He grabbed your hand. "Let's go home."

[lopithecusfanfiction]

A Life So Changed: Chapter Fifty

Author: Lopithecus Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3095 Alternate: AO3, fanfiction.net Author's Note: Guess what? It’s officially been a year since I’ve been writing this. I know, it’s hard to believe, even for me, this day (10/23/17), one year ago (10/23/16), I started posting this story! Also, I can’t believe I’m already on Chapter 50. This is officially the longest fanfiction I have ever written. My last record was 40 chapters with a really old fic in the Supernatural fandom with the pairing of Dean/Castiel (I wrote it back in 2011-2012 so it’s really, badly written. :/ ) Anyway, I know this didn’t come out last week but this time it was on purpose!! I thought it would be fitting to post Chapter 50 on the anniversary day. ^_^ Enjoy!!

Chapter Fifty:

Bruce wakes with small pains in his stomach. He breathes through them as he reaches for the Tylenol and downs two pills. His head feels fine for once, so Bruce decides to make today a win on the feel-good chart. It’s just Braxton hicks cramps, he tells himself as he makes his way downstairs where he is expecting Clark to already be. He texted him last night to come over in the morning.

When Bruce walks into the lounge, Clark is there, sitting on the couch with Damian right next to him. The kid is glaring at the Kryptonian and Clark is looking as if he wants to be anywhere but there.

Damian is clutching his wood carving and by the looks of the thing, it’s almost complete. However, Damian’s hand is covering too much of the item for Bruce to see what exactly he whittled it into. Bruce suspects he will be finding out soon, within the next couple days most likely, once Damian finishes it.

Bruce approaches and clears his throat, Clark standing immediately to face him with a small, “Oh, thank Rao.”

Bruce hides his amused smile by tilting his head down and pursing his lips to get rid of it. When he looks back up at the alpha, Clark is eyeing him expectantly and Damian is still glaring at Clark. “I’m glad you could come. I need to discuss something with you.”

Damian tsks and turns back to the wooden object in his hands, knife going at it viciously. Clark’s eyes return to Bruce’s where they had darted towards Damian. “What is it?”

Bruce shoves his hands in his pants pockets. “I think it’s about time we tell the League you’re the sire to our baby.”

“Oh, yeah, we haven’t done that yet have we?” Clark confirms as he rounds the couch to stand by Bruce. “I almost forgot. Some of them ask about you, you know?”

Bruce huffs. “Let me guess, Diana and Kyle?”

Clark nods. “And J’onn.”

Bruce huffs again, except this time in annoyance. “But not Arthur, huh?”

Clark shrugs. “You know how old fashioned he can be.” Clark gives him a hopeful look. “But maybe he’ll give you some slack once he knows I’m the sire and not some random alpha you met at a charity gala.”

“Doubtful,” Bruce says. “He’ll change from judging me about ‘not knowing’ who the sire is, to judging both of us about the cheating.”

“Let him,” Clark says, sounding agitated.

Damian tsks again and Bruce peers around Clark to look at his youngest son. “Do you have something to say?”

Damian twists his body to face them. “If the fish can’t handle real life, I say to hell with him.”

Clark blinks at the kid and then says to Bruce softly, “That was actually pretty tame for Damian. I was expecting the kid to tell us to kill him or something.”

“Clark,” Bruce warns.

“What? You know it’s true,” Clark states and Bruce sighs.

“He’s been… getting better.”

“And does he still disappear at times?”

Bruce’s brows furrow. “What are you talking about?”

Clark shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“No.” Bruce grabs Clark’s hand. “Explain.”

Clark shrugs, avoiding eye contact. “Just… the last time Damian went off on his own, you didn’t seem too concerned. You just expected him to return home safely at some point.”

Bruce rolls his eyes and places a hand on his stomach, starting to walk away. “This again?”

Clark falls in step with him. “I just don’t agree with that method, that’s all.”

“Damian can handle himself.”

“And Lara when she gets powers, are you going to say the same thing?” Bruce turns to Clark but doesn’t have a chance to say anything before the alpha is continuing. “I want to make sure you won’t be like that with her. That you’ll care about where she is and worry about if she is okay.”

“You think I don’t worry about my kids being okay?” Bruce asks, offended.

“No, that’s not-”

“Of course, I do, Clark,” Bruce interrupts. “But Damian was trained by the League of Assassins since he was practically born. You haven’t had much experience going up against them, but you can trust me when I say they are dangerous and know what they are doing. So, Damian can take care of himself. That doesn’t mean I don’t care or don’t worry about him and how dare you think I don’t.”

Clark stops him from walking by grabbing his shoulder. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Then what did you mean? Because that’s what it sounded like.”

“I just… meant…” Clark scrutinizes him and Bruce is on the verge of telling Clark to leave and to forget the League. “Lara will have powers to be able to take care of herself as well. But it’s not going to be like Damian who had this organization that taught him how to survive and kill. It’s not going to be like Dick and Jason and Tim, who you trained since a young age and can also take care of themselves. Having a baby, Bruce, is way different than taking in a kid that’s already halfway through their childhood already. This baby will be starting fresh, new, blank slate.”

“So, let me get this straight. You don’t want me training our daughter how to fight.” Bruce looks pointedly at Clark, getting angrier. “You don’t want her to be influenced by Batman, is that it? Have Batman corrupt her like he’s corrupted the four boys. Or are you afraid Batman is going to get her killed too?”

“I’m afraid both Batman and Superman will,” Clark butts in. “I don’t want her to fight crime, not unless she wants to and not until she’s old enough. None of this, having her go beat up criminals when she’s eight years old.” Clark grabs both of Bruce’s hands and holds onto them firmly. “Jason died when he was fifteen, Bruce. Fifteen. Dick was even younger than Jason was when you brought him home and he became Robin. I think Tim’s the oldest you’ve done. Damian is ten years old. I don’t want our daughter fighting crime at ten years old and training her might encourage that.”

Bruce purses his lips and thinks, still feeling offended but trying to think rationally as well. “I worry about my children, Clark. I worry every night when they go out on patrol that the same thing that happened to Jason will happen to the rest of them or again to Jason. I might not show it when Damian wanders away, but I do worry about him, all the time.” He narrows his eyes at the alpha. “Don’t claim that I don’t when you know nothing of how I am feeling.”

They stare at each other for a while longer before Clark finally surrenders, looking away. “Fine.”

“I’m not going to neglect Lara, Clark. I promise,” Bruce reassures, forcing himself to calm down.

Clark nods. “I didn’t think you would,” he mumbles. “I didn’t mean to imply that.”

Bruce sighs. “Well it sounded like that.” Bruce crosses his arms. “She’s not going to become another Robin or Supergirl. Not until she’s old enough to decide on her own.”

Clark nods again. “That’s all I want and that’s all I meant. I’m sorry that the way I explained it made it sound as if you’re a terrible father. You’re not.” Clark looks at him again.

Bruce rubs his face, tiring of this conversation. He still feels slightly offended, even with Clark’s apology. Bruce knows he’s not the greatest parent. He knows he can be neglectful sometimes or seem as if he doesn’t care. But he tries his best and it’s hurtful that Clark can’t see that. Bruce sighs again, rubbing his face harder. “Are we going to have a League meeting?”

“Yeah,” Clark says lowly. Then he says louder, “When do you want it?”

“Now would be good if everyone is available. I’d rather just get it over with.” Clark agrees and then uses the com-link in his ear to tell everyone to gather on the Watchtower. When the Kryptonian is done with that, they both head to the cave and then beam up to the Watchtower, Clark having changed into his Superman uniform. Bruce is still casually dressed, black blazer over a white button up and black slacks on. They were all bought from the paternity section, the days of Bruce being able to fit in his regular clothes long gone.

When the two get to the conference room, Bruce is surprised to see everyone already there, even Wally who is looking wary and uncomfortable. Relieved that everyone could make it in the first place, Bruce goes and takes his seat. Clark stands by his own seat but doesn’t sit, allowing the others to know that he will be talking. Clark bows his head, takes a deep breath to collect himself, and then raises his head. “I have something to tell you all. Something… I haven’t been honest with you with,” he begins, starting out strong. “As you all know, Bruce is pregnant.”

“How is that going?” Diana asks, directing her question to Bruce.

Bruce thinks about all the complications that he’s had and about the pain he had earlier. “It’s going well.”

“Good. May the god Bes watch over you,” Diana responds

Bruce mutters a small thank you before Clark continues. “When Bruce first became pregnant, he had told you all that he didn’t know who the sire was.” Clark swallows. “That was a lie. He does know who the sire is and I, too, know who it is because… I am the sire.” The room falls silent. “He and I had slept together during one of his heats and he got pregnant. Yes, I was with Lois at the time,” Arthur scowls, huffing, “Yes, I know how much I hurt her.” Clark says that last part pointedly at Arthur, shutting the Atlantean up. “I cheated on my mate, I know that, and I tried to make it work with her after, tried to make her forgive me. But she couldn’t and I don’t blame her for that. I don’t think I will ever be able to forgive myself for hurting her like that.” Clark looks down at Bruce, smiling fondly. “But with Lois not forgiving me and forcing me to move on, my eyes were finally opened to how I really feel. I learned that I love Bruce and I love this baby. I want to be his mate… when he finally lets me,” chuckles go around the room, “and I want to raise this baby with him. I want to be a family with him.”

Bruce, feeling his cheeks heat up, stands. “I kept who the real sire was from all of you because I wanted to protect Clark. I didn’t want any of you to judge him, Superman, because he cheated on his mate. Because he did something that no one would think Superman would do. But just because he’s Superman doesn’t mean he’s perfect. He makes mistakes, he disappoints people, he hurts people.”

“I’m sorry that we kept this from all of you,” Clark continues. “And I’m sorry I continued to keep it from all of you while I was working beside you all.”

“It felt more right to make an announcement instead of some offhand comment,” Bruce says.

Everyone except Wally are looking at them, gears turning in their heads. Arthur’s eyes are narrowed on the two while Diana looks on thoughtfully. Kyle is the first to say anything, jumping out of his seat and rounding the table to hug Clark. “Congratulations Clark!” When the young Green Lantern pulls away, he pats Clark’s back. “That’s amazing that you’re going to have a baby and with Batman of all people.”

Clark chuckles shyly. “Yeah.”

“Congratulations to you both,” Diana speaks next, smiling. “Do you know the gender of the baby yet?”

Bruce gestures for Clark to answer. “We’re having a girl and her name’s going to be Lara, after my birth mother.”

Diana’s smile grows. “A fitting name.”

“Thank you,” Clark says, cheeks turning red.

“And what of Lois?” Arthur interrupts, the mood in the room immediately dropping. “Do you not care of her anymore?”

“Of course, I do,” Clark answers.

Arthur stands, taking a defensive stance. Clark’s eyes narrow. “Then why cheat on her? You should have treated her as if she was your queen.”

“I’m not going to divulge when and why I slept with Bruce, Arthur,” Clark growls. “It’s none of your business.”

Kyle’s eyes dart to Wally and Bruce knows then that Wally must have told Kyle long ago about finding Bruce in the middle of his heat. Wally doesn’t make any eye contact, eyes downcast towards the table.

“You hurt your mate, someone you claim to have loved and wanted to spend the rest of your life with,” Arthur continues. The scent of aggressive alphas begins filling the room. Diana stands next, hand placed on her lasso. Bruce rolls his eyes, sensing a feeling of déjà vu and wishing this wouldn’t happen again.

“I did love her, still do.” Clark’s hands ball up into fists. “But I love Bruce more.”

“Because he is now carrying your child?” Arthur steps away from the table and stalks his way to Clark, getting close to the Kryptonian.

“No,” Clark growls, baring his teeth.

“If you love him then you should have never cheated on, hurt, the one you professed to loving the most, your mate.” Arthur gets right in Clark’s face. “You should have been a better mate, a better alpha.”

Clark lunges for Arthur but Arthur, being an Atlantean, can bear the strength and deal it right back. The two begin to wrestle each other, fists flying, teeth bared and biting, and growls loud in the room. Bruce steps to intervene but a hand on his shoulder stops him. He turns to see Kyle shaking his head at him in warning, and then the beta pulls Bruce safely out of the way when the two fighting bodies come rolling towards them. “Jeez, it’s getting dangerous in here,” Kyle announces to the room and that’s when Diana decides to step in.

She uses her lasso around Clark and gestures J’onn to grab a hold of Arthur. The two of them pull the two fighting alphas away from one another, Clark and Arthur spitting and growling at each other viciously. Clark’s eyes start to glow red and Diana, her own alpha fighting instincts kicking in, pulls him with the lasso until the Kryptonian topples over. “Don’t even try Kal-El.” She gets in between the two aggressive alphas. “Now surrender.” When neither do, she says more sternly, “Both of you, now!”

At the same time, Clark and Arthur look away from each other and to the left, surrendering but not submitting. J’onn finally let’s go of Arthur and Diana undoes her lasso from Clark who then stands up. “I refuse to keep my opinions to myself,” Arthur retorts.

“Opinion?” Clark says angrily. “That’s not an opinion. It’s an insult.”

“You are the insult, Kal-El, to all Atlanteans. No Atlantean would dream of even cheating on their mate.”

“Well I’m not from Atlantis so you can take your ‘opinion’ and shove it up your-”

“Enough!” Two hands slam against the table and all eyes turn to Wally who has stood up. “Diana told you two to stop, so stop.” The young omega looks angry now. His eyes travel around the room, gazing at everyone. “None of you get it anyway,” he says more quietly, turning and leaving the room.

“Wally!” Kyle calls after him, following him out to no doubt try and placate the omega.

Arthur glares at Clark one last time before rolling his shoulders and beginning to leave as well. When he walks pasts Bruce, he spits, “Congratulations on the bastard child.”

Bruce growls but does nothing else, letting the angry alpha leave. Clark’s eyes follow the Atlantean but Diana’s hand on his shoulder stops him from following. “Don’t listen to him Kal-El. You know his views and how Atlantis works.”

“Yeah, well, he needs to start remembering that not everyone is Atlantean. Hell, I’m not even human,” Clark says, clearly agitated.

“And neither am I and neither is he.” Diana smiles warmly at the Kryptonian. “I am happy for you and Bruce, Kal-El.”

Clark smiles back at her, weak but genuine. “Thank you, Diana. You are a true friend.”

She, too, then leaves, leaving Bruce, Clark, and J’onn. “Diana is right,” J’onn starts. “You two will make good parents. I can sense the love you feel for your daughter is immense. Congratulations.”

When Clark smiles at the Martian, it’s softer, the alpha starting to relax some. “Thank you J’onn.”

With a nod, the Martian leaves the room as well. Bruce reaches out for Clark. “Like Diana said, don’t listen to Arthur. His ‘opinions’ don’t matter.”

“I know, it’s just-” Clark doesn’t get a chance to finish before the alarms in the Watchtower start going off, indicating trouble down on Earth. Clark picks him up and flies him to the monitor womb where everyone is convening. “Luthor,” Clark says as he sets Bruce down and watches the monitor.

“And others,” Diana adds, pointing. There on the screen, other villains are gathering with Luthor. “It looks like we all will be needed.”

“Right,” Kyle says, powering up his ring to make a green glow around him. “Let’s go.”

Clark quickly kisses Bruce on the cheek before speeding off to be transported down to Earth. Bruce watches the others go as well but stops Wally by the shoulder. “Wally.” The speedster turns to him. Even with the mask on, Bruce can tell just how tired the omega is. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to go down there?”

“Of course, it is.” Wally shrugs Bruce’s hand off. “I’ll be fine.” He then speeds away before Bruce can say anything else.

Watching the speedster go, a bad feeling begins to form in his chest. Turning back to the monitor and sitting down, heart pounding nervously, he watches as the events unfold. The battle continues for ten, long, minutes before the event to answer Bruce’s concern happens.

Luthor points his gun towards Wally but instead of speeding away, the omega freezes.

Luthor takes the shot.

Bruce’s heart stops and he ceases breathing as he watches as Clark gets in front of Wally, the Kryptonite bullet piercing the Kryptonian’s chest.

A/N: It’s hard finding a god/goddess that watches over pregnancies and not just in childbirth. Bes was the closest thing I could find. If you know of any better, please tell me. Thanks for reading!

[torreygazette]

i must decrease

I have written plenty for the Gazette that is not serious. Sometimes you just need to produce something to meet a deadline, and I can do that if forced (the Gazette is gracious and does not force me).

But there are a handful of pieces that I have written that are deadly serious, and all of those I have not wanted to write. Seriously. I'm a private person and most of my thinking is done in my head, so by the time I am ready to write it down and make it public, I have probably been kicking it around for a year. 

And so when I am convicted about needing to write something, it's seldom "oh, can't wait to share", it's "oh no. I have to write about THAT?" Tonight is no exception. I got home from my drive (the best place to think) and tried to stall this process by cleaning up the kitchen, making tea, etc. CLASSIC! I tweeted a Seinfeld gif! Couldn't find a gif of the prophet Jonah, unfortunately. 

Enough preamble. I lost at least 30, maybe 35 pounds in the last year. I'm not sure exactly how much I weighed when I started. I do know I gained 5 pounds back during my trip to Texas last May, but it was 100% worth it and definitely doesn't have anything to do with the 20+ unique beers I had while there, or the pulled pork on a donut, or... anyway...

There was no particular impetus a year ago, other than the knowledge of my brother's upcoming wedding. I'm shallow enough (just barely) to want to look good in those photos. 

What ended up working for me, after dabbling in all sorts of sporadic diet and exercise plans over the past 10-12 years, was pretty simple: calorie restriction, tons of water, less alcohol, move as much as possible. That's it.  There's more to go, but I know I can stick with this permanently. It's healthy.

Instagram keeps showing me dramatic photos of people who have lost a hundred pounds in a year. I remind myself that those people dedicated real time to training in a gym, they ate special foods, they have different bodies. 

By taking my time, I haven't ended up with a bunch of weird loose skin (it's a thing!) and I haven't changed so much that I no longer feel like "me" to myself. It's still strange, don't get me wrong. I lost two pants sizes, and so now when I see my own pants in the dryer, I think WHAT LOOSE WOMAN LEFT HER PANTS HERE before realizing they are mine, just.... so much smaller. 

Part of what pushed me into getting outside so much was Aaron Everingham's death last year. That hit me far harder than expected. I was stressed at work already, and when that news arrived, I literally broke out in a rash all over. I realized if I did not make permanent changes to process my stress, things were going to get worse - never mind my physical state, my mental state! And so I went outside and FOUGHT for the fresh air and the sunshine, trying to counteract the side effects of the steroids I was on for a few weeks. It stuck. I still miss Aaron. I would give anything to be able to pick up the phone and ask his advice on life. But I'm realizing maybe the best thing I can do at this time is take care of myself, so I can be here for others. 

Going slowly at this has also enabled me to process how I feel about myself. When I first got started, my crazy doctor sort of eyeballed me and asked if I was dropping a veil and allowing people to look behind the curtain. I guess.... sort of? 

I don't like being looked at. I have been roughly the same shape and size since puberty, meaning EXTREMELY SHELTERED and INCREDIBLY INTROVERTED me, since the age of 14, has been receiving all kinds of male attention and feeling TERRIBLE about it, because I thought I was doing something wrong. Obviously, at a certain point, I realized I wasn't, but most generic male attention still skeeves me out or pisses me off. When you are looked at with lust, there is no room for consideration of whether you're funny, smart, or a good cook. (Notice how I put those things there? THOSE are the things I consider my selling points.)

This kind of attention also follows you no matter WHAT shape you're in.

And then there's the kind that I get now that I didn't 35 pounds ago, which... guess what... I also don't like. All of this has contributed somewhat to my current (somewhat instinctual) hibernation. Since I'm not planning on showing it off, there isn't any particular motivation to get myself into AMAZING shape.

I lost 20 pounds 3 years ago because I was heartbroken and depressed and completely lost interest in eating. If you know me, you know I love cooking and eating good food, and I believe it's a tremendously important part of our lives. But there were MONTHS in 2014 where I just didn't care. And so I lost 20 pounds in the worst possible way. I guess I got enough calories from beer and bourbon to survive. As soon as I started eating again, the weight came back. I didn't hate myself, didn't hate the way I looked (more than any average woman does when she looks in the mirror and jiggles what can be jiggled). Everyone has days where they think they look great and days where they don't like what they see.

I think about that Radiohead line a lot, "I want a perfect body/I want a perfect soul" - well aware that my body will never be perfect until it is resurrected. I can get right down to whatever the government says I'm supposed to weigh (spoiler alert: probably never going to happen) but I will still have the stretch marks I've had for 15 years, the wrinkles I've had for the past few, the gray hairs that are lurking under the henna, the man-sized hands and feet. And I'm fine with it - it takes the pressure off. I have been technically overweight my entire life, so taking a while longer to whittle down isn't going to hurt. I have a mom bod, and I'm fine with it. Take a good look, gents: this is probably exactly what I will look like after prospectively giving birth to your children. Now stop looking. Thank you. 

My fingers changed sizes. I switched the ring I wear every day from my right hand to my left because that's where it fits now.

I had to buy new clothes. There's a surprising market for plus-sized clothes, and so I have managed to sell enough of my old things to be able to afford new (second-hand) clothes.

I'm still wearing the same belt. At my heaviest, last winter, I was on the last notch of 5. I've cut 3 new holes since then, and will soon cut a fourth. I had a flu virus partway through Lent, which is also a very efficacious diet tool if you're looking for tips.

I haven't joined a gym yet because I do not want to pay money to have to share equipment and space while being forced to speak to people. If the weather is okay, I head to the nature preserves and hike or walk until it gets dark or until I see a snake or think I hear bears. If there are projects to be done (stacking wood, raking the lawn, lugging rocks) I do those instead. If I am really feeling bad about myself, I do an arm workout from Youtube, and then I just end up wishing I had raked the lawn.