#this one came in late because holidays and general home happenstances

[bitternace]

how about ... 14! and either xion or namine ... or both even

you find shelter somewhere in me, i find real comfort in you

[ID: a digital drawing of xion and naminé from kingdom hearts. the background is mostly transparent, with a purple splatter with straight edges and three white lines on the lower half, which they seem to be sitting on.

they are beside each other in mirrored poses, inner legs slightly behind the other. naminé's eyes are closed and her shoulders are tense. xion's mouth is slightly open and her only visible eye stares down at the middle, where their hands are intertwined. /End ID.]

[ittybittywordsmith]

all truths that are kept silent become poisonous

A brief history of the romance between Rebecca Webber and Gilbert Prewett, 1982-1988

November 12th, 1982

The first time Gilbert Prewett knew himself to be a coward was on the day that he decided not to tell his fiancée that he was a wizard.

He'd had every intention of doing so, in all fairness. The past two years had been tricky, dating Rebecca Webber and deciding he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Becca was a no-maj – but she had hair the very same color as burning coals and her eyes were the same hazel as tree moss and her smile was brighter than the sun. Gil loved her with all his heart, and when he asked her to marry him, Becca had only teased about how long it had taken him to ask. Gil had been thrilled – but he hadn't yet told her all of his secrets. He would, though. He didn't want anything to come between himself and his future wife, so he made plans to take Becca out to a picnic, and not only tell her about magic, but show her what it could do.

Gil laid out a picnic blanket on a grassy hill beneath the bare skeleton of an old oak tree that had long since lost its leaves to the winter chill. It didn't look like much, but he rather hoped the tree would be the catalyst for a nifty bit of magic he would perform later. He wanted to coax the tree into new growth, to shade them under a canopy of green leaves. Of course, the leaves would wither and die as soon as he ceased the spell, without magic to sustain them – but in the moment, at least, it would be a beautiful demonstration of what magic was capable of.

“Well, this seems like an odd place for a picnic.” 

Gil heard the smile in her voice before he saw it, and turned around to answer it with one of his own. “It serves its purpose, trust me,” he said with a laugh. Becca approached with a playfully skeptical look in her eye as she took in their surroundings. For a moment, Gil feared she would call off the whole thing and he'd have to come up with some kind of alternative plan, but eventually she shrugged. “Then, in that case, I look forward to being impressed,” she replied, greeting him with a warm kiss. Gil returned it enthusiastically, and thought reassuringly to himself, as she took a seat and began to divvy the food in the basket he had brought, that she would be impressed, one way or another.

They had spent almost an hour eating and chatting about other things before Gil found the courage to get to the reason they had come here. “Becca, sweetheart,” he started, as nonchalant as he could be while he nervously fingered the wand hidden in his coat pocket. “I was wondering . . . what do you think about magic?”

Becca blinked, and looked at him with a mixture of surprise and confusion. “Magic?” she echoed, like she didn't understand the word. “Like . . . pull a rabbit out of a hat, pick a card magician kind of magic, or like . . . sacrificing bunnies in a graveyard under a full moon, cackling over a bubbling cauldron witchy sort of magic?”

Gil frowned. He was sure she had meant it as a joke, but he didn't really like the dichotomy she had laid out. “Uh . . . well, neither, but closer to the second, I guess.”

Becca looked at him strangely, like she hadn’t expected a serious answer. “I . . . I don't know. I mean, I guess I never really thought about it,” she said as she laid back on the blanket, propping herself up on her elbows. She looked out at the view the hill provided. “It seems kind of silly, I suppose. Like those warty witches on Halloween decorations. Or from the Wizard of Oz.” She gave a laugh at the thought. “God, could you imagine? ‘I'll get you my pretty, eh he he he!’” Becca gave her best wicked witch cackle impression and wiggled her fingers towards her fiancé in an imitation of claws.

They both laughed, and Gil felt a bubble of confidence within him as he wrapped his fingers around his wand. “What, you don't think it might be cool if magic was real?” he asked teasingly, feeling like he already knew the answer.

He didn't already know the answer.

“Oh god no, that would be terrible,” Becca replied lightly, still laughing. 

The bubble of confidence inside Gil popped, and suddenly things didn't seem so funny anymore. “W-what?”

Becca didn't seem to notice the way he deflated. “It would be awful if magic were real, don't you think?” she said, like she was talking about a topping she didn't want on her pizza. “Like . . . make-believe is all well and good, but there's a reason the witches are always evil, you know? It's just – it's just unnatural. People are already terrible enough without magical powers – imagine how much worse it would be with them. And when something went wrong, I'd always wonder whether it was a hex or a curse or something. It'd drive me mad.” She shook her head as she thought about it. “No, I'll take my fantasy and my reality separately, thank you.”

Gil could feel a spot in his chest freezing over. He let go of the wand in his pocket and withdrew his hand, feeling suddenly ill. Becca looked at him with concern. “Are you alright, sweetheart?” Gil nodded. “Just – just a stomach ache, that's all.”

“Oh. We can leave, if you'd like? It's getting a little chilly anyways. Unless you still had something you wanted to show me.” She said the last bit with a teasing sort of expectation, like she was still waiting to be impressed, but Gil just shook his head and made up an excuse. He said weakly, “No, dear, I just . . . like the view from up here, that was all.” 

He should have told her, Gilbert knew. He felt the burden of his own cowardice even as they packed up the picnic and left for home. She might have understood, if he had told her then. At the very least, Becca deserved to know what kind of person she was marrying – but deep in his gut, Gil knew he wouldn't say anything. He loved Becca, and the idea of scaring her away – well, he just couldn't do it. So he didn't. And didn't, and didn't, for a very long time.

December 21st, 1985

The second time Gilbert Prewett knew himself to be a coward was on the day that his daughter first showed signs of having magic. 

He and Becca hadn't really been planning on children, at least not so soon after their marriage, but still they had been delighted when they found out Becca was pregnant. They wound up with a little girl – she had hair the very same color as phoenix fire and her eyes were the same blue as forget me not flowers and her smile rivaled even her mother’s. They named her Sawyer, after Gil’s favorite (no-maj) novel, and because Becca swore up and down that she could tell from the womb that their daughter was going to be a little troublemaker.

Gil wasn't sure he believed that – even early on, Sawyer had been an extremely easy baby, hardly prone to crying at all and quick to laugh. For a while, they were all very happy, father and mother and baby, all well-loved under the same roof, and entirely ignorant to the delicate foundation of their lives.

That foundation cracked a little after Sawyer’s first birthday.

Gil had always known there had been a chance that his daughter would inherit his magic – but he hadn't used magic at all since he'd gotten married, and wasn’t there also the chance that Sawyer would take after her mother? Gil choose to believe that the latter had come true, as if wanting it bad enough would make it a reality. Because if magic never manifested itself in his daughter, he would never have to tell Becca about the entire world he was hiding from her. They could have the simple, happy future he wanted for his family.

But of course, it didn't work like that. The Prewett line had been producing exceptional witches and wizards for generations, and Sawyer had magic flowing through her blood.

The first time her magic showed itself was just before Sawyer’s second Christmas. Gil and Becca sat on the floor that evening, their excited baby waddling back and forth between them as they called to her, and they laughed and caught her in their arms when she approached. The Prewett house was bedecked in holiday decorations, and the lights of the Christmas tree glowed merrily behind them. Gil had just stuck a large gift bow on his nose, and Sawyer squealed with delighted laughter as he blew raspberries onto her stomach. His fingers found her sides, and he tickled her mercilessly as her squeals grew louder, and – and then the lights flickered.

No, not flickered, not quite. The lights grew brighter, the louder the little girl laughed – all of the lights, from the lamps plugged into the wall to the colorful bulbs on the tree to the overhead lights in the ceiling. Everything grew painfully bright – and when Gil noticed, he ceased his tickling at once. The lights went out altogether as Sawyer’s laughter abated.

Becca looked around in the dark, confused. She didn't recognize the show of magic for what it was, not like her husband did. “Maybe it's just an outage from the weather,” she said uncertainly – and indeed, it was raining outside, although nowhere near hard enough to knock out the power. “Perhaps we should check the breaker or something?”

Gil didn't get the chance to answer one way or another. Sawyer gave a sudden, sharp sneeze, and all of the lights flickered back on.

His heart sank into his stomach. The first anomaly might have been some freak happenstance. Unlikely, but a man could hope. This, though . . . this couldn't be dismissed as easily.

Becca was still frowning, looking around as if something might explain their sudden electrical issues. “That was . . . weird,” she said, and Gil tried not to let his nerves show on his face. Becca shook her head uneasily and reached for her baby, calling for her to come to momma. Sawyer pushed herself clumsily to her feet and went to toddle towards her, but only made it a step or two before she fell, smacking her chin smartly on the floor. Gil knew what was going to happen seconds before it came to pass, and snatched Sawyer back into his arms.

Too late. The baby scrunched up her face and wailed, and the lights on the Christmas tree all exploded at once.

Gil shielded Sawyer from the shards with his body. The shards weren't exceedingly dangerous, really, but they certainly were sharp enough to cut. And indeed, when Gil looked up, he saw that one had managed to catch Becca on the side of the cheek before she covered her face, drawing a line of blood. But Becca paid it no mind. She only stared at her husband, and her baby in his arms. “W-what –”

Sawyer had calmed down quickly, with Gil bouncing her absentmindedly on his knee, but for all that she was calm, Gil felt panicked. Hastily, he blurted out the first excuse he could think of. “Faulty bulbs,” he said, trying not to sound as frantic as he felt. “Manufacturer’s error, must be. Those bastards, selling their products without notifying us of a risk like this. Don't worry, dear, I'll call first thing on Monday and give them a piece of my mind, and then I'll get some better lights. It'll all be okay.”

He had gotten up as he rambled, and put Sawyer down in her playpen, before going to help his wife to her feet. He wet his thumb and brushed away the blood beading on her cheek – it really was only a tiny cut – and then pressed a sweet kiss to her lips. “Why don't you go to bed, love? It's been a long day. I'll clean up here and bring you a cup of tea.”

Becca still looked dazed and confused, but she nodded after a moment. What else could she do? What other explanation could there be, besides that she was overly tired and imagining things? She pulled her robe tighter around her and walked toward the bedroom, only hesitating for a moment in the doorway to look back at her husband. Gil only gave his best encouraging smile and shooed her on, and when she was finally gone, he sighed and lifted Sawyer out of her playpen. She didn't seem to notice anything was wrong – she only beamed at him and reached for his glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. Her father pressed a kiss to her cheek and carried her with him as he went to go make a cup of tea, trying hard to ignore his own sense of foreboding.

He could have told her then, Gilbert knew. Becca would have been angry, but she might have tried to understand, at least for the sake of their daughter. But at this point he was too far into the lie to backtrack now, weighed down by his own shame and cowardice as he was. As a general rule, Gil had never been good at facing conflict – and the thought of Becca’s fury and sense of betrayal was too grand a conflict for him to even dare to approach. So he didn't. And didn't, and didn't, for a very long time.

July 8th, 1988

The third time Gilbert knew himself to be a coward was on the day that Becca finally found out.

Nearly three years, he made excuses. Nearly three years, he explained away the odd things that his daughter could do. Nearly three years, he dismissed the things that Becca insisted she saw as imagination, or exhaustion, or a trick of the light. Gil managed to put it off so long, he almost convinced himself that it was a sustainable way of life. That all he had to do was keep deflecting until Sawyer was at an age where she begin to control herself and understand – no magic around momma. He almost believed it could work. Almost.

And then he came home one night to Becca at the table in tears, and dozens of brochures for hospitals and laboratories spread out before her.

Gilbert froze in the doorway, staring at the scene in front of him, and for the first time he had a trickle of fear that wasn't for himself. He nearly dashed up the stairs to check Sawyer’s room, to assure himself that his daughter, sweet and innocent and full of laughter, was still safe and sound in her room, but he forced himself to stay rooted where he was. Becca would never hurt Sawyer, never, and would never take her away from her home – but then again, that she could just sit here and browse through lists of doctors and scientists like they were takeout menus made Gilbert question everything he thought he knew. “Becca, sweetheart,” he said cautiously, taking a few steps forward. “What are you doing?”

Becca looked up at him with eyes that had gone red from crying, and shook her head helplessly. “Something’s wrong, Gil,” she whispered, her voice sounding hoarse. “She can do things. Impossible things. I know – I know you think I'm crazy, and – and it sounds crazy, but I swear I'm not.” She shook her head frantically and glanced up the stairs to where Sawyer’s bedroom was, and Gil realized with a sickening jolt – there was some part of her that was afraid of their daughter. The fear crept into her voice as she went on. “I went into her room today and she was floating her toys. Floating them above her head. That's not – I don't know how she's doing it, but it's not right.”

Not right. Gil could only stare. He couldn't understand the fear Becca had of their daughter. Sawyer was pure sweetness, and her magic had never manifested itself violently. But magic – the realization of the supposed impossible – had always wrought fear when viewed without context, and Becca didn't have context. Gil had never given it to her. And now, they were here. Gil felt a renewed sense of shame, and took another step forward. “Becca . . .” he said gently.

But she wasn't listening to him. She had gone back to shifting through pamphlets. “But maybe it's not too late,” she whispered, sounding vaguely hysteric. “Maybe we can fix it. There are people – doctors – who say they work on – on things like this -”

“Becca . . .” Gil tried again, pleading this time, but again she ignored him.

“They could run tests,” she said, brushing tears from her eyes as she studied a particular brochure. “And then – and then when they figure out what's wrong with her, maybe they can fix it, and she can grow up like a normal –”

“Becca, there is nothing wrong with her,” Gil said loudly, his tone harsher than he meant. He winced at it, and Becca turned to stare at him. He hesitated a moment longer before he managed to force the words out. “This – this is normal . . . for people like us.” Blankness. There was no sign of comprehension in his wife’s face. Reluctantly, Gil reached for the wand he always kept in his work bag. Becca only looked more confused when she saw it, but he gave it a flick and all of the papers and brochures on the table gathered themselves into a neat pile. Becca was out of her seat so fast, she knocked the chair over, and backed away from him until she hit a wall.

“It's okay,” he said, trying to sound soothing but mostly coming off as desperate. “I’m a wizard, Becca, and Sawyer is a witch. She can't help it, she inherited it from me. There are lots of witches and wizards in the world. It's normal for the young ones to come into their magic like this.” Becca stared at him for a long time. Gil kept very still, like one does for around skittish animals, and waited for her reaction. Eventually, she took a few steps towards him, an unknowable look in her eye. Gil watched her hopefully, and when she raised her hand, he thought it might have been to lovingly caress his face.

She slapped him.

“You knew,” she accused venomously. “You knew and you just let me think I was losing my mind. You lying, vile son of a bitch–” Gil cringed at her words, and tried to take her in his arms, but she only pummeled her fists against his chest until she broke down into sobs and sagged against him. Even then, she still hurled accusations at him through her tears. “How could you? My baby – what is she because of you?”

Gil choked back tears of his own and tried to stroke his wife’s hair. “Shhh. It’s not the end of the world, you’ll see,” he tried to assure her, although he wasn’t even sure Becca could hear him over the sound of her own crying. “She’ll grow up with other kids like her, and make friends and go to school. It’ll still be normal. Everything will be fine, I promise.” He wanted so badly for that to be true. Becca’s sobbing had tapered off at his point, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Come to bed, love, it’s late. Everything will be better in the morning, and I’ll answer all of your questions then, okay?”

With what sounded like an indignant sniffle, Becca pushed away from him and stalked into the bedroom. Gil followed – but only after he had taken the pile of pamphlets and thrown them into the garbage.

As it turned out, everything was not better in the morning. Gilbert Prewett woke a little past the break of dawn when he reached out an arm and realized his wife’s warmth was missing. He sat up immediately and found the note left on Becca’s pillow. He stared at it a long time after he read it, trying to register the meaning. Then a flash of panic surged through him, and Gil launched himself out of bed, running down the hall. He stopped short in a bedroom door, and reassured himself with the sight of phoenix red hair splayed out over a pillow, and a thumb curled gently into a sucking mouth.

Gil leaned against the doorframe and slid slowly to the floor, feeling overwhelmed with his conflicting relief and dismay at finding his daughter, safe asleep. Relief, because at least he still Sawyer, despite it all. Dismay, because – Becca was gone. She had abandoned her daughter.

How was he ever going to explain that?

Simple. He wouldn’t. Gilbert Prewett was still, despite it all, a coward at heart, and the idea of having to tell Sawyer that her mother had left because of what – who – they were – he couldn’t face it. So when Sawyer found him still sitting there in the morning, he made up a silly reason about watching for monsters under her bed. And when she asked where her momma had gone, he only said that she had gone away. And when she asked – and asked and asked and asked, for weeks before she finally gave up – when she would be back, he only said “Not today.” and didn’t tell her why. And didn’t, and didn’t, for a very long time.