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fatestemptress · 5 years

Text

Overwhelming Alternatives - Part 1 of 3

Summary: Jensen Ackles loves women. The way they smell. The way they taste. The way their hips sway when they walk away from him, looking back with that knowing look in their eyes. Hell, he can’t even look at one of his best friends, Y/N, without picturing her naked.

So can someone please explain to him why he’s fantasizing about his co-worker Jared Padalecki?

Created for @spnkinkbingo

Square Filled: Sexuality Crisis

Warnings: Smut. Lots and lots of smut. Masturbation. Porn watching. MMF. 18+ only!

Pairings: Jensen Ackles x Jared Padalecki; Eventually Jensen x Y/N X Jared

Word Count On this Chapter: 5,300 or so

A/N: Hiiiiii! Its been sooo long and I have missed so many wonderful fics out there. I am dying to catch up! I’ve had this fic sitting in my drafts and it’s finally ready to post. This will eventually be a threesome, so if that’s not your thing please be forewarned. The other two chapters of this will fill some of my other kink bingo squares.

Please note, this is unbeta’d. Any and all grammatical errors are mine. (And I’m sure there are PLENTY. :))

"Fuck Jen! Hold still would ya'?!"

"I'm trying but your big sausage fingers keep pinching me!"

Jensen Ackles could practically hear the smirk coming from behind him as his co-star and best friend Jared Padalecki rubbed at the fake blood caught under the collar of his shirt behind his neck.

And he desperately hoped one of his favorite people in the world couldn't feel the shudder of his body as his fingers dipped into the sensitive top part of his spine. The tingles quickly spread out into the wide set of his shoulders and down into his fingertips making them itch with the need to reach behind him and grab Jared by the hip and bring his full body against his back.

FUCK.

He needed to stop this nonsense. He wasn't gay. He didn't like guys. In fact, he LOVED women. The way they smelled. They way they tasted. They way they whined into his ear when he was balls deep with their ankles around his neck.

Annnnnnnd he needed to stop that freight train of thought as his already half hard dick started filling out into a full blown, humiliating, hard on, in front of the remaining crew on set.

"Allright, allright Jay. The rest'll come out when I get in the shower back in my trailer. I just didn't want it dripping down my back."

And damned if that didn't just bring unwanted (cause they were UNWANTED...right?) images of something alot more pleasant and alot more white dripping down his back........

Jared let out a high pitched laugh as he playfully massaged his fingers into Jensen's neck, "Wasn't it nice and warm though, Jen?"

With a deep clearing of his throat, side eye and a conspicuous adjustment of his jeans, Jensen reached for his jacket and slung it on, "I won't even dignify that with an answer. So uh, I'll see you in a little while? We still on for Madden?"

Jared flipped his hair out of his eyes as he also reached for his coat, seemingly oblivious to his friends discomfort,"Yeah, sure thing. Gotta shower and then I'll meet you at your trailer in about an hour."

With a quick fist pound and a wave to the few people on set, Jensen and Jared parted ways as they made their way to their respective trailers. It had been a long day with an early 4:00 AM call but production issues had them calling it quits at 5:00 PM.

But despite the hectic schedule, two and a half seasons into the show "Supernatural", Jensen was still pumped to come to work everyday. It definitely helped that everyone on set truly did get along and it was a blessing that he and his co-star had gotten so close, so fast.

What didn't help was the increasing drive to see Jared's cock that had somehow, someway meandered into his every waking moment. A drive that he had never, not once, had from another man. And he had been hit on pretty frequently over his career being an actor and having, what he'd been told, were the sweetest dick-sucking lips some of them had ever seen.

But regardless of all that, the only thing he had wanted to eat was a nice, wet pussy. He loved that shit. Savored it. And never, not once, had he ever tried to replace it with a dick.

Until Jared.

Jensen sighed in frustration as he dressed in a pair of black sweats, sans underwear, and a white t-shirt, after his long, hot shower, where he had deliberately denied himself even a quick, rub and tug.

He wasn't gay dammit. And he wasn't going to start giving into these dark emotions that had been slowly increasing over the past two and half years.

Fucking Jared.

And his big shoulders.

And solid abs.

And his goofy hair.

And his fucking dimples.

And those ridiculous yellow-green eyes.....

.....that practically sparkled at him whenever he laughed at some sarcastic comment Jensen threw his way.

Fuck but he needed to get laid.

And fast.

It had been three long months since he last sunk his dick into a warm willing body and that had been from a one night stand at a random bar in Downtown Vancouver. Despite the success of the show, they were still relatively unknown enough that it was easy to go out without getting bombarded by fans. But both of them were still careful with who they took home.

Crazy sometimes wore a pretty face and a hot body.

Just as Jensen had settled into his deep, fluffy couch with the remote in his hand, his phone rang and a sweet smile and sexy eyes looked up at him from the picture on his cell.

With a smile of his own, Jensen picked up the phone, "Hey Gorgeous. Whats doin'?"

"Hey, Ackles," Y/N chirped into his ear, "What's cookin'?"

Y/N Y/L/N was the Production Coordinator on the show and sometimes Jensen thought her job was the hardest of them all, practically running the ship behind the scenes, managing all the Production Assistants and dealing with all the whining that comes with it. Even though they had a good crew, people were still human and lord knows they needed someone to bitch to when they felt they weren't being appreciated. But Y/N handled it all with grace and a firm hand. She was respected by everyone on set and, if Jensen was being honest with himself, everyone, male and females included, were already half in love with her.

Jensen was lucky to call her one of his closest friends......and if he sometimes pictured her naked, well, it was only natural. She was beautiful, intelligent and sarcastic as hell and he was by no means a saint.

"Waitin' on Jared to finish conditioning his hair. He's gonna come over and get his ass kicked in Madden."

Y/N let out a husky laugh in his ear and Jensen shifted as his dick twitched at the sexy sound. Maybe he should have considered underwear.

"So another two hours then?" She deadpanned.

"Nah. I think deep conditioning was yesterday. He should be here soon."

"Ha! Okay," Y/N let out a slight sigh in his ear and it sounded almost melancholy.

"Hey, whats wrong? You okay?"

"Yeah....I mean....yeah I'm fine. It's just....I broke up with Chad."

Jensen's ears perked up at the name of Y/N's, now, ex-boyfriend, "Wow, I'm, uh, really sorry to hear that, Honey."

Y/N let out a snort, "No, you're fucking not. I know you hated him. You made it pretty clear every time you saw him."

With a chuckle, Jensen shrugged, "You're right. I did fucking hate him. He didn't deserve you. He was a jerk who was starting to become a possessive asshole. And his name was Chad. It's almost a pre-requisite that douche bags are named Chad. But, uh, why did you finally see the light?"

There was silence on the other end for a a bit before she answered, "He, um, tried to tell me that I was getting too close to you and Jared and that I needed to stop being friends with you outside of work. So I told him to fuck off and take a hike."

Jensen let out a snort of his own, "That's my girl," At the continued silence, he cleared his throat slightly, "Are you okay? I mean, listen, even though I hated the guy, I'm not the one who's gotta be with him. You know I'll support you no matter what and I don't want to be the reason you're not with someone that you maybe....love-"

"Yeah, no. There wasn't any love there," She quickly interrupted before heaving another sigh, "I was just....I dunno...lonely I guess? The hours we work are brutal and he was, you know, around. Whatever, what's done is done and honestly no ones gonna tell me I cant hang with my two favorite pain in the asses."

Jensen didn't acknowledge the thrill that ran through him at her words. He was just gonna ignore the hum of content that made him smile. She was his friend, (hot, sexy, beautiful friend), "Do you wanna come over and hang with us? Take your mind off of things?"

"Thanks. I may take you up on that later on tonight. I'll text you."

"I still got a bottle of Stoli Razz here from last time if you're interested in getting obliterated."

"Ahhh, Ackles. You always know just what I need. Talk soon."

With a smile and a goodbye, Jensen ended the call. Since he'd started talking to Y/N on a more personal level about a year ago, she had been with Jerk-off-Chad. And despite his sexual attraction to her, he'd always kept her in his off limits category. Even without her having a boyfriend, he didn't want to jeopardize what they had. He respected her way too much for that.

So then why did he have a sudden vision of her on her back while he licked between her legs?

Fuuuuck he realllly needed to get laid.

First Jared and now Y/N.

Both people he loved and cared for deeply as friends. And his perverted mind was making them into sexual conquests.

Maybe a quick rub and tug was just what the doctor ordered.

With a quick glance at the time, Jensen realized he still had a good twenty minutes before he could expect Jared to knock on his trailer door. Plenty of time to relieve some of the ache his too full balls were giving him.

He quickly pulled his lap top over from its resting place on the side table next to his couch and brought up one of his favorite porn sites. (Yes, he had favorites and if you asked him he'd tell you he had his go-to videos categorized and in corresponding folders. Fuck anyone's opinion. He was twenty-eight, almost twenty-nine with no steady girlfriend. His hand rarely left his dick when he was alone.)

In a rush, he picked a random video that looked good and pressed play before placing it back on the side table with the screen facing him. A deep moan drifted from the speakers as he saw a girl kneeling in front of a huge dick before she swallowed it down in one gulp, lovingly rubbing the balls underneath. Another loud moan drifted from the speakers.

Shit. Way too loud. No need to have one of the crew walk by his trailer and have a story to tell the others tomorrow morning.

Quickly, Jensen reached over for his ear buds and plugged them in before setting his phone to vibrate and placing it next to him so he could feel it. Jared would text before he came over. He always did.

Reaching down, Jensen wrapped a hand over the slowly rising bulge in his sweatpants and bit his lip. He caressed the head through his pants and was glad the pants were black. Wet spots on the crotch of grey pants were never a good look.

And the close ups of the chick's wet pussy and spit slicked swollen mouth were making his cock start doing a steady drip-drip.

He pulled his shirt up over the flat panes of his stomach before squeezing his cock and adjusting it so it lay underneath the band of his pants, the swollen head peaking out of the top as he brought his thumb around the wetness, coating it before letting out a moan of his own. He liked to tease himself. Draw it out a little bit before the end result.

"Fuck baby," Big-dick guy said on a gasp from his place on a brown couch, "Suck it. Yeah...just like that."

The blue eyed blond on her knees let out a whine before releasing the cock with a pop, "So big," She said as she rapidly stroked him from root to tip, "I don't think I can suck this all by myself."

"Mmmm," Big-dick hummed with a dirty grin, "Lucky for us we got some help."

Well,shit. He had picked a threesome video without even knowing it. Two chicks sucking on one dick? Every. Guys. Fantasy. Bring it on.

The camera panned back into the guys lap as the blonde licked up the side of his cock and a shaggy dark haired head bent down and took the guys balls into his mouth.

Well that was a shorter hair-cut than he was expecting on a chick....

The blonde reached down and grabbed the head of hair and brought the lips of the other person to hers, tongues dangling in the air, "Hey baby..." She said on a breath, before bringing the tip of the big dick to her partners mouth and tapping it against the pursed lips surrounded by a five o'clock shadow-

Wait.

What?

Five O'clock shadow?

And to his surprise and wide eyed gaze, he watched as the dude on screen sucked down the cock in front of him with a deep growl, his shaggy hair being moved out of the way by the blonde as she waited her turn.

And instead of his dick deflating into nothing, he let out a noise he would later deny to himself as he ripped his cock out of his sweats and started rapidly stroking his dick as the guy on screen let out slutty noises and tongued down the other dudes dick before sloppily kissing the blonde with the cock in between their lips.

"Fuck, I love this dick," The guy gasped, "Want it all the time."

The blonde giggled and the camera panned to where she was running her finger around his puckered hole, "You want it here baby?"

And as the guy on his knees let out a groan, threw his head back and made his dark hair flutter around his face, Jensen let out the slightest of squeaks as he pulled roughly on his rock hard cock and he felt the pull in his balls become an onslaught of come,"Fuuuuuuuck!"

Sticky white liquid shot out of his cock and onto his stomach as he quickly realized that the reason he came so hard and so long was cause the guy on the screen was a look alike of the guy currently standing with his mouth open at his doorway.

"Jared!"

Shit.

With another squeak, Jensen slammed the laptop shut, ripped his ear buds out and quickly stuffed himself back into his sweatpants before standing up on shaky legs.

Jared blinked at him wide eyed and pink cheeked as he closed his mouth and swallowed hard, closing the trailer door softly behind him, "Uhhhh, Dude, you ever, uh, consider locking your door, if you're gonna jerk the chicken?"

"Dude, you ever consider fucking calling first before you just come over? Or maybe knocking on the fucking door?"

"I DID knock on the fucking door but you obviously had your dirty movie on too loud. AND I TEXTED before I came, like I always do!"

Jensen gave him an incredulous look, "No. You didn't," He shot out as he grabbed up his phone from the couch, "I would have felt the.....oh," Jensen gave him a sheepish glance, "Looks like I put it on silent not vibrate."

Jared's lips twitched into what could have been a smile, "Uh huh," Jared casually pushed passed Jensen's stiff form and plopped himself on the abandoned couch. He spread his arms across the back of it as he glanced up at Jensen through his lashes, "Sooooo, if I hadn't gotten here when I did, would that have been the, uh, next thing you would have pulled out?"

Jensen's eyebrows drew together in confusion, as his humiliation continued to burn through him, "Pulled what out?"

Jared bit his bottom lip, obviously trying not to laugh out loud, "Never mind. Man, its fine. Stop looking at me like you wanna crawl into a hole. We ALL fucking do it. Hell, I jerked off twice in the shower before coming here."

Ignoring the pull of desire in his belly at Jared's words, Jensen groaned out loud and threw himself down onto the other end of the couch and rubbed his hands over his face, "So fucking embarrassing," He muttered into his fingers, refusing to look over at Jared.

A small squeaking sound, slid through the air and sounds of heavy breathing filled the awkward space.

"Yeah baby, just like that. Fuck me with your fingers."

Jensen's head shot up as Jared let out a deep belly laugh and stared at Jensen's re-opened laptop at the kneeling guy on the screen getting his pink hole finger fucked by the blonde chick next to him as he sucked and licked the cock in front of him.

"DUUUUUDE, this is some kinky shit."

"What the fu-? Jay! Why would you turn that back on?!" Jensen threw himself over Jared's lap, ignoring the loud laughter falling out Jared's mouth and frantically pressed buttons until it stopped playing and slammed the laptop shut once again. He whipped his head to the side and glared at the wide grin inches from his face, "You're an asshole, you know that?"

Jared winked at Jensen as he shifted his hips underneath him, poking Jensen in the stomach with something, "You're taking this way too seriously, Man."

Jensen looked down into the small space between him and Jay before slowly leaning back into his own spot on the couch. He couldn't have felt what he thought he did....did he?

With a clearing of his throat, he swallowed and sat back as he ran his hands through his hair, "This is fucking embarrassing!" He repeated.

Shrugging, Jared leaned his head into the back of the couch and rolled his head so it was next to Jensen's, "Soooooo, does this mean....I mean...are you...gay?"

Jensen's eyes widened in alarm as his heart started pounding frantically, "NO! I'm not fucking gay, Jay! Did you not see the chick in the movie? I didn't realize until it was too late that the guy was going to be...involved like that."

Jared sent a sympathetic look at Jensen's panicked gaze, "You know Jen, it's okay if you are. I'm not judging. Like, at all-"

"Jesus, Jared! I'm telling you I'm not-"

"-cause I've swung both ways before soooo.."

"-gay.....what?"

Jensen blinked stupidly at Jared's soft smile and felt like he might pass out from sheer terror mixed with immediate curiosity.

Jared sat up and placed his elbows on his knees before lacing his fingers together, "I'm...I mean I guess...you could call me...bisexual," He shrugged before running his fingers through his hair and Jensen could see a slight tremble despite Jared's calm tone.

"Have you...um...had...you know.."

Another dazzling smile was sent Jensen's way, "Have I ever fucked a guy before?" At Jensen's nod, Jared shrugged, "Yep. Both catcher and pitcher."

"Jesus."

"What? You know if you cant talk about gay sex, you shouldn't be doing gay sex." He said with a mock serious look.

"Yeah, yeah. Well, I'm not. Doing it. I mean. With guys. And lately, not with girls either," Jensen ran a hand against the back of his neck, "Maybe that's the problem. I'm backed up to the point where my brain is floating in sperm and stupidity."

Jared laughed again before placing a hand against the back of Jensen's neck and squeezing it, "Jen, again, not judging. But, uh, coming that hard? Usually signifies that shit is turning you on. And then some."

Jensen gaped at Jared, "How fucking long were you standing there?"

"Long enough to wonder if you were gonna provide a cigarette after the show."

"Dude."

With another squeeze to his neck, Jared smirked, "What can I say, it was seriously hot."

Jensen's poor heart started pounding at an even faster clip, "You...you thought that was hot?"

Jared's smirk dropped and a look that Jensen had never seen before took it's place, "Come on, Man. Have you seen yourself in the mirror? Can you really blame me for thinking that way about you?"

Jensen swallowed. Hard. "What....what way?"

Jared licked his bottom lip and bit it, "How curious are you about this? I don't want to go down a road with you and you wake up the next morning and decide you cant work with me or you don't want to be friends. I value our friendship, Man. Truly. It would kill me not to-."

"Yeah," Jensen interrupted with a soft smile, "It would kill me too."

With a smile of his own, Jared let go of Jensen's neck and sat back, "Sooo, you wanna finish watching the movie?"

Was it possible for stomachs to dip right outta your body? Cause that's what was happening to Jensen's.

"I-uh, I mean, if you, uh, wanna, I mean..."

Taking pity on Jensen's stuttering, Jared reached under the side table and pulled out the bottle of Glenfiddich whiskey he knew was stored there, "Drink first?"

"Fuck yeah."

:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~~:~:~

The first two shots burned on the way down. By the time they were both nursing the third drink, Jensen was feeling the edges of his anxiety start to float away and Jared was sitting closer to him on the couch.

They talked a little more about Jared and his previous male conquests. ("They were pretty. And hot. I have a hard time saying no to pretty and hot.")

And they spoke of how he may not advertise his sexuality but he wasn't ashamed of it either. ("Pussy and dick both make me come. Soooo, why not?")

By the time they reached the point where Jensen felt brave enough to let Jay turn on the laptop, he was sporting some chub thinking of his best friend in these compromising positions.

And if Jay's gaze was any indication, it was very noticeable.

Fucking sweatpants.

Clearing his throat, Jared pressed play and placed it on the couch in between them.

"Suck that cock. Fuck yeah. So fucking hot." The blonde said as she continued to finger fuck the dark haired guys ass before quickly adding a second finger. The blonde slapped one of the guys ass cheeks with her free hand before using the same hand to separate them, "Look how pretty. Can't wait for you to take that monster up in here. Gonna make you eat my pussy while you take it."

Jensen's head was swimming as a deep pulse of lust shot into his stomach and straight to his dick. His mind was quickly replacing the images on screen with him being the one sitting on the couch, running his hand through Jared's hair as he sucked his cock with major enthusiasm.

Fuck, could he really be this hard, this fast?

Sending a surreptitious glance toward Jared, Jensen took another sip of his drink and adjusted himself on the couch, trying to sit in such a way that his wood wasn't so obvious.

He was terribly unsuccessful.

Especially considering he had looked into Jared's lap and saw a massive boner laying against the side of his leg, plainly visible in the track pants he was wearing.

This time, Jensen had to bite his lip to keep in the moan that threatened to fly out of his throat.

"You, uh, you okay?"

Jensen's head shot up at Jared's deep baritone and he swallowed at the look of lust making Jared's eyes darken, "I, uh, maybe this wasn't such a good idea..." He said as he placed his drink on the table next to him.

Jared looked down at the tent in Jensen's sweats, before raising an eyebrow, "You sure about that, Jen?"

At that moment, the dark haired guy on screen let out a loud moan and both of their heads swiveled back to the screen just in time to see him take Big-Dicks cock in his ass. He swiveled his hip and pushed against Big-Dick before licking up the blondes thigh in front of him, plunging his tongue in her pussy.

"Fuck...." Jared let out before he reached down and squeezed his dick through his pants, "That's fucking hot."

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Watching Jared touch himself through his pants was gonna make Jensen blow his wad straight across the room. The throbbing in his sweats was becoming unbearable and mixed with the whiskey in his system, he was ready to say fuck it and whip his dick out.

"Deeper.." The guy on screen begged in between long licks to the blondes pussy, "Deeper, Man. Yeah, just like that."

Big-Dick obliged and he adjusted himself to give the guy long, hard, deep strokes as his partner let out a groan and lay his head on the blondes thigh; his hard cock swinging between his legs with the pounding he was happily taking.

"You like that baby?" The blonde cooed as she ran her fingers through his hair, "Feels good right?"

"Oh my God," Jensen couldn't help but let out softly as he felt his dick dribble out pre-cum into his pants.

Jared looked up into Jensen's face and shuddered out a breath, "Dude, I'm so fucking horny right now that if I don't take out my dick, its gonna explode in my pants."

Jensen shut his eyes at the shot of want that streaked down his spine, "Shit, Jay. You're gonna kill me."

"Is that a yes?"

What to do? Lord knew he was so far gone the room was spinning. Though the whiskey could've had a hand in that as well.

Instead of answering, Jensen reached into his pants and pulled out his throbbing cock and immediately started stroking it from root to tip. He was so worked up, his hips involuntarily canted into his grip and he let out a groan and dropped his head onto the back of the sofa letting it loll to the side, facing Jared.

Jensen watched as Jared's eyes widened at the sight in front of him and he started letting out gasping breaths before reaching into his underwear, pulling out his cock (Big-fucking-cock. Want-it-in-his-mouth-cock) as he pulled down his pants with the other hand. Jay's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he leaned back against the sofa, inches away from Jensen's gasping mouth.

"Fuck..." Jensen whispered as he felt Jared's rapid breaths against his lips. Immediately, he licked his lower lip trying in vain to catch the taste of his best friend and swallow it down. He opened his eyes into slits and peered right into yellow-green orbs as he let out a low moan when his cock jerked in his hand.

He was so fucking close....

Jared let out a deep groan in tandem with Jensen, his mouth hanging slightly open as his hand reached down and played with his sack, "Jen....God...the things I wanna do to you..."

Those thick lips were so close to his own, he could practically feel them opening up and taking everything he had to give. He licked his lips, hoping his tongue would graze against Jared's but instead he felt an answering lick against the tip of his tongue as Jared tentatively rubbed it against his.

"Again...." Jensen groaned, "Please....again."

A sound of complete surrender left Jared's throat as he closed the small distance between their mouths and immediately wrapped his tongue around Jensen's before sucking Jensen's bottom lip into his mouth.

A bomb went through Jensen's torso and immediately erupted out of his dick as he came so hard his eyes crossed and he moaned long and loud into Jared's mouth causing the other man to moan in return. Come arched through the air and landed right on his t-shirt as he closed his mouth over Jared's and kissed him with deep strokes of his tongue.

"Oh God, oh FUCK!"

The loud scream from the laptop caused both men to separate and look down in time to see the dark haired guy on screen on his back getting plowed by Big-Dick as the blonde sucked down his cock.

"I'm gonna come!" He yelled into the air, "I'm gonna come."

As the blonde lifted her face out of the way, he shot up and onto his chest with loud grunts as the guy who had been fucking him pulled out and helped the blonde lap up the come on his chest.

A low groan came from Jared, "Ugggghhh, Jen. Shiiiiit."

Jensen looked to the side just in time to see Jared rip up his T-shirt just as his red tipped dick erupted onto his now exposed stomach.

It was by far one of the hottest fucking things he had ever seen in his life.

As both men leaned back letting out low gasps, Jensen waited for the awkwardness to settle in. But nothing happened. He blinked up at the ceiling of the trailer and tried to trudge up something of the fear that he felt earlier but instead he just felt....content.

"You okay, Jen?"

Jensen turned his head to meet Jared's slightly panicked eyes.

Jared gulped as Jensen didn't immediately answer, "I mean...are we okay?"

Taking in that strong jawline and those beautiful eyes, Jensen smiled, "Yeah. Yeah, Jay. We're good."

Letting out a sigh of relief, Jared closed the laptop between them and placed it on the table before closing the small distance between their bodies. As Jensen felt the heat radiating off of Jared's body bleed into own, he let his eyes slide down to the curve of Jared's lips and couldn't help but bring his mouth to his and press a soft kiss against them. He felt Jared smile before the taller man deepened the kiss and slid one of those massive hands of his across Jensen's t-shirt covered stomach. With a groan into Jensen's mouth. he squeezed at the side of Jensen's waist before meandering his fingers up his chest towards his neck before suddenly stopping and looking down at his hand.

"What's wrong?" Jensen on a breath.

Biting his lip, Jared brought up his shiny fingers, "Dude, you either have a talent for shooting long distance or you really were backed up,"

Jensen's eyes widened, "Is that my-"

"Come? Yep," Jared opened his mouth and inserted his fingers before sucking them deep and releasing them with a pop and a smirk, "Still warm too."

Another dip in his belly as Jensen tried to decide how he felt about watching his best friend lick his come off his fingers. When said friend, winked at him and bit his bottom lip, Jensen decided he was abso-fucking-lutley okay with it, "Fuck. You're gonna kill me."

Jared hummed deep in his throat and leaned his head in to kiss Jensen again when a loud knock sounded at the door.

"Yo! Open up the door! You two fools better not have drank all the alcohol."

Shit! Y/N!

With panicky eyes and fumbling hands righting clothes, Jensen cleared his throat and quickly made it to the door after looking back to make sure Jared was decent.

"Hey!" Y/N said with a bright smile when the door opened, "Sorry I took so long. Crisis with Christy happened. Again!" Y/N said referring to one of the PA's on staff as she made her way around Jensen and to his small kitchenette, "But I brought pizza!" She lifted the box in her hands before placing it on the table, "Hope you guys are hungry."

Jared and Jensen shared a heavy look before Jared answered, "Yeah, I'd say we worked up a pretty decent appetite today."

Y/N looked around the trailer and took a deep breath, swinging around making the short skirt she had on flounce in the air, "It smells like bad decisions in here, Ackles. You really need to clean up after you bang random chick number sixty-nine."

Jared let out a high pitched laugh as Jensen pursed his lips at his friend, "I did not bang any..chick in here. Thank you very much."

Y/N shrugged off her jacket and placed it on the back of a chair before plopping down next to Jared on the couch, "Then you need to figure out which sock is lying around and still hiding the evidence of your last....activities."

"Y/N!"

"Just sayin'."

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Tagging some peeps that may be interested. Let me know if its not your thing and you’d rather not be tagged.

@thoughtslikeaminefield @maddiepants @coffee-obsessed-writer @pisces-cutie @idreamofplaid @tumbler-tidbits @glassjacket @boondoctorwho @spnkinkbingo

#j2 #j squared #jensen x jared #jensen x y/n #jensen x y/n x jared #supernatural #supernaturalsmut #spinkinkbingo #pining #mutual pining #sexuality crisis

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lady-of-lies · 5 years

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The birthday

A/N: ok, so this is a fic I found in my draft from like two years ago so it is a really bad one but I thought, why not?

y/n = your name

y/b/d = your birthday

y/h/t = your hometown

n/n = Nick name

If I missed anything plz tell me!

Prompt: none!

Word count: 3083 (What the heck happened)

Warnings: fluff

Tom hiddleston x teen!reade

This was it. I was going to be in the new Avengers movie. And on top of that I was going to work with my idol, Tom Hiddleston. Now you may wonder how a teenage girl from y/h/t ended up here, and the answer is really simple. my mum have a relative living in New York and I live with her for the time being until I am old enough to get something of my own. The reason I was here in San diego was because of comic con, I had finally managed to get tickets and were, of course, a bit overly excited.

Somehow I had managed to get lost on my way to a panel and ended up in a completely different building. Don't ask me how. In that building they held some sort of audition, long story short I got dragged in on it and ended up with the role as the Cheshire cat, an orphan with abilities similar to the fairy tale character that ends up in Loki’s care.

Today was my first day on a movie set ever and to say I was nervous was an understatement.

I had brought my headphones and my favourite book for entertainment between takes and if necessary, also to calm me down. I was met by the director at the entrance and he introduced me to a nice looking woman called Daisy that were going to act as my guide for today so I would get the ropes and learn my way around the, very big set.

She first showed me to my trailer I was going to stay in and then continued with all the different stages and trailers I would need to know my way to. At the end she led me back to my trailer and gave me my manuscript for the movie. I hadn't really thought about how big of a movie this was and especially now when I saw that my role was quite important and also pretty demanding. My first scene wasn't until until tomorrow so I settled in in my new portable home for the time being.

In the morning after I was even more nervous, if that was even possible. It was time for my first appearence and I was seated in the makeup trailer getting ready when a tall figure entered. A tall figure I would recognize everywhere. Tom Hiddleston. He sat down in the stool next to mine and eyed me for a second before speaking. His voice were soft and cautious, as if not to scare me.

“ Hello darling, I haven't seen you before, are you new here? “

“ Yeah, I am. I arrived here yesterday, My name is y/n, and I already know who you are. “ I said with a smile “ sorry that sounded creepy “

I said shyly looking down. he reached out his hand and shook mine, he introduced himself in a very formal manner, his British accent coming out in a very thick layer.

“ No, it's okay, when you have this job it kind of comes with it to be noticed “ he sent me a reassuring smile

“ I'm sorry but how old are you? You just seem so young “

“ I'm y/a “

“ y/a really? and who are you playing? “

“ I'm playing Hannah the Cheshire cat “

“ Ahh, ofcourse, you are the mystery actor we were expecting today “

“ mystery? you mean they didn't tell you anything about me? “

“ Not a thing “

That must be why the audition was held so late. Or they didn’t tell anyone who the actor would be because the audition was held so late. Right when I was going to ask something else Daisy reappeared at the door and dragged me away to costume. This woman wasn’t much for words and even if she was gentle or late was not frequently used in her vocabulary.

********

I had now been here for almost six months and started to feel at home, I had gotten to know all the actors involved, Chris H and Tom the most, and were currently sitting beside main stage and reading a book I had gotten as a birthday gift. Yepp today, y/b was my birthday. One of the few things I didn't tell anyone here. Birthdays had never been a big deal to me, why start now? I was so far away in my thoughts that I didn't hear Tom appear until he waved his hand in front of my face.

“ Hey n/n, you still with me? “

n/n was the nickname everyone called me, and I have to admit I liked it. It made me feel like I was a part of the family, that I was a part of something. A bit cryptic I answered him back that I was in fact, still here, I had just zoned out a bit. Thinking. He looked at me with apologetic eyes. Whatever he wanted to say must be sensitive, I thought.

“ Speaking of thinking me and the others have done some thinking and… We have come to the conclusion that we have celebrated nearly everyone's birthday except yours. Now, you don't have to tell me if you don’t want to but…”

I didn’t let him finish and cut him of mid-sentence.

“ It’s okay, I just didn't think it was that big of a deal I mean I am just me after all “

for a moment my smile faltered but I quickly covered it up. Tom looked a bit upset when the words left my mouth. I don’t know why, why would someone as special as him care about me?

“ Not that big of a deal!!! Now you listen to me y/f/n to celebrate your birthday is a very big of a deal especially when you are young. And on set birthdays are special because it brings the family together and we celebrates everyones birthdays, even Downey lets us celebrate his!”

By now Tom was really upset and it was all my fault. I felt more guilty than ever before. Maybe I should have told him sooner, or at least not made him feel like this, but now it was definitely too late and that is also what I told him.looking down.

“ Y/N. Y/N, look at me “

he gently shook my shoulders and lifted my shin up so my teary eyes met his kind, blue orbs.

“ I didn't mean to make you upset “

“ you didn't make me upset “

“ Are you sure? I’m sorry I- “

“ Don't apologize. What exactly did you mean by to late? “

I looked down in my book sheepishly as I told him that my birthday was today. He looked surprised then a emotion I couldn’t read flashed through his eyes. He excused himself before leaving in a hurry, it wasn't until later in the afternoon I heard from Tom again, not in person though, just a simple text.

Hey n/n

get to the city hotel at 7pm

tonight bring a sleeping bag a pillow and your

pj:s the receptionist shows the way

/Tom

Now what in holy hell did that man have in mind now.

*********

As I entered the city hotel with my bag the receptionist looked up. it was a young woman looking not so much older then myself. She asked for my name and a look of recognition came onto her face. She walked up to me from behind the counter with a key card and a kind looking smile. She told me to follow her as she started her way to the elevator, holding the door for me. We went all the way up to the top floor and I followed her to the end of the corridor until we stopped in front of a door with the word Penthouse on it. Surely I am not staying here, right?

The young lady gave me the key and sent me a smile before walking back to the elevator.

It couldn't hurt to check it out right? I mean it wasn't my fault if the receptionist gave me the wrong room. As I opened the door and entered the light flickered on and my on set family all jumped out from their hiding places. Everyone was there. Tom and Tom, Sebastian, Mark, Mackie, scarlett, Benedict, Robert and all of the Chrises. I could already see how this would end up in some sort of chrisis. When they all screamed surprise at the top of their lungs I was crying of happiness already. Tom came up to me and gave me a hug.

“ No, No, No you were not supposed to cry “

“ Sorry, it's just that no one has ever done something like this to me before”

“ Well you deserve it kiddo” Robert said as he came up to the two of us. That made me laugh as I dried my eyes.

“ Do you ever stop acting like Tony? “ that's when Mackie walked up and gave me a hug.

“ You know he doesn't act he is Tony stark for real” That just made everyone laugh. “ Well what do you want to do first? there is movies, presents, games and cake.”

“ Games?, do you guys have a wii here?”

“ of course we do” Benedict said and pointed me to a box beside the big screen TV.

When I searched through the box without finding the one I was looking for I was just about to give up when I reached the bottom. There it was, The best game ever, Just dance. I asked everyone in an expectant manner if it was ok if we played it. The only response I got was that since it was my birthday, we could do whatever I desired. I cheerfully put in the game in the player took the remote and faced the others.

“ Okay we need to clear the space in front of the TV “

just as I finished my sentence everybody helped pushing the furniture to the walls. The space that were left were huge, it was almost as big as a regular apartment living room without any furniture. when I started the game Tom (Holland) spoke up.

“ Hey since you are the birthday girl here you should play the first round to open it all up “

“ Sure “

was all I said before turning to the TV to select a song. I choose the hardest level that were available which just happened to be OMG by coach Celine . (Watch this to understand what i mean)

“ You sure you should take the hardest level kid? why not start with something easier? “

Robert asked. And that's when it hit me. I haven't told them I have danced since the age of 7 or the fact that I have played this a million times before. I only turned my head in the direction of the sofas and smiled wickedly at them all. I turned around slow enough to see the questioning looks everyone had on and it was hilarious to say the least. I took my pose and danced my heart out just to show of a little bit and as usual I reach the platinum score.

When the song ended and I turned around to face the others the looks of pure surprise on their faces made me smile even bigger. Tom (Hiddleston) rose to his feet and walked up to me with a serious face.

“ Why didn't you tell me you could dance like that”

“ Nobody asked me “ I said with a playful look in my eyes. we played for hours, until I were the last one standing and Chris H declared it was time for cake. The cake they had bought were beautiful. And it was my favourite kind. Marzipan. On top it was two candles shaped as y/a and around on the sides they had gotten the person who made it write the text from the ring of power from Lord of the rings and The hobbit.

“ Okay who knows about my obsession for The hobbit? “

everyone gave me that “really” look.

“ come on n/n that's all you could talk about when you saw that Benedict were in the cast “ Tom (Hiddleston) Answered.

When the cake were eaten and the wishes were wished we placed the living room furniture back to normal and spread out our sleeping bags. There was enough room for all of us in the penthouse and we had all chosen one to sleep in later but we ended up having a Hobbit marathon and everyone fell asleep close to the end of the second movie. It was understandable though, almost everyone had worked since early in the morning and the clock was way past midnight.

I suspected it was pretty close to 3 in the morning before the last movie in the trilogy ended. After turning the TV and DVD of I started sneaking out of Toms arms. I had ended up sharing sofa with the one and only god of mischief himself and curled myself up against his chest. When I got out of the living room I could relax. Nobody had caught me. I didn't feel sleepy yet so I walked out on the balcony and looked at the city lights, It is beautiful this high up. I was so caught up in my thoughts again to notice that Tom (Hiddleston) was stepping out through the door too.

“ Why are you standing out here alone? “

I twirled around in surprise but calmed down when I saw that it was just Tom. The tall man had become a little of a father figure to me the more I got to know him, but I would never tell him that. I didn't feel like explaining why I didn't really like my birthday so I came up with the quickest lie I could muster, Which was that I needed some fresh air. Very original.

On my 5th birthday my dad had told my mum he was leaving her. And after that nothing were the same again. After my dad left, money was tight, She had gotten fired from her job and we lost our house. The flat we got was not in a child proof miljoe and so my mum took the last of her savings to send me to her relative here in New york. I haven't heard from her or my dad since. I had quite often wondered how it was to have a real father. I had Anna, mums relative on some level, and she was my mom now, she had custody of me, but I knew that she didn't really want me living there for much longer.

“ You don't have to tell me n/n, but I know you and something is wrong. I have seen how you've been acting today and something is troubling you, care to tell me what? “

Tom came to a stop beside me leaning against the railing.

“ it's stupid “ I said, wanting a father was just a stupid wish and he would surely laugh at me.

“ If its makes you upset it is not stupid “ he answered.

After a lot of thought I decided to tell him the whole story. The whole time I talked he just stood there listening and when I finished he just hugged me and told me that it wasn’t stupid at all, and asked me why I didn’t tell him sooner. that's when I just said it. Maybe it would destroy our friendship, or whatever you could call this relationship, but then fine. I told him that I was scare of what he would think since he was like a father to me, and I didn’t want to lose him too. He cut me of before I could finish.

“ How about we say I am your father then?”

It took a while before my brain could process what he had just said.

“ You mean like you acting like my father?”

his answer really surprised me but made me the happiest I had been in a long time.

“ No, I mean like me being your father, you can come live with me after the filming, I know you don’t really have a home here in America, or anywhere, based on what you’ve told me. And if you like it, maybe we could even make it official”

By now I was crying rivers but I didn't care because somebody wanted me. Somebody in this evil world actually wanted me for being ME. I couldn’t believe it and I was sure it was either a terrible joke or a very vivid dream, but I didn’t care.

“ you would do that for me? “

“ A thousand times over because you are like a daughter to me so why not do it real ? “

A year later....

Tom were true to his word that night on my y/a birthday and he actually adopted me. I even changed my last name to Hiddleston just to make it feel real. And as I suspected Anna hadn't put up much of a fight when I talked to her about it. She was actually happy for me and since she saw how much it meant to me she signed the documents without any resistance. For the first time in my life I felt at home and safe. I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't met Tom, my father.

We were currently standing on the set of my new job. After the Avengers I had told him that I didn't think acting was the right thing for me and brought up a long lost dream of mine. Being in the dance crew to the Just dance yearly update. I was in full makeup and costume, I actually looked ridiculous covered in the white body paint. I was waiting for my song ‘Thumbs’ with sabrina carpenter to come on, I had practiced for this moment for months, and I can honestly say it was the second best three minutes of my life. After my filming was done I met up with my father for movie night. One of many to come.

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babybluebanshee · 5 years

Text

Seared with Scars - Chapter 6 (Mystery Nerds AU)

Hey, kids. Did ya miss me?

Trigger warnings for this chapter include: Smoking, PTSD, descriptions of graphic injuries, descriptions of miscarriage, and panic attacks.

I am so sorry this took so long to get out. That’s all on me. I hope the wait was worth it, and that you guys actually still care enough about to read.

Previous chapter

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“I survived, but it’s not a happy ending.”

- Tim O’Brien, “The Things They Carried”

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The guts of the gun sparked again, and a low rumbling of thunder shuddered in the night. Fiddleford wanted to blame it for his shaking hands, but he had always been a terrible liar, even to himself.

He set down his screwdriver with a quiet sigh, and chanced a glance up at the clock. 1:37 am. He had no idea why he didn’t feel more tired. Helen had long since downed the rest of her beer and gone back into the living room, swaying slightly. He heard the couch squeak loudly as she plopped down on it. Soon, Fiddleford heard her snoring softly.

She had not spoken a word to him in the time it took her to leave the room and fall asleep. Hadn’t even looked him in the eye.

After the sort of day she’d had, he understood. Pity played in his chest. She was a decent women. She didn’t deserve to be dragged into the waking nightmare that was Stanford Pines’ so-called research. It was clearly taking its toll on her now. He wished that he could comfort her, in spite of her current feelings towards him.

He’d been wracking his mind the entire time he worked, trying to find something, anything stashed away in there that would assuage her fears about Dr. Matthews. To ease her mind that her friend and colleague wasn’t the one who’d broken into her home and terrorized her. That he wasn’t mixed up in anything unsavory.

And sure, he knew that, even if Dr. Matthews was part of his flock, there was nothing to fear, but Helen didn’t. If he was being perfectly honest, he could see how the whole thing seemed rather off-putting. All the secrecy and hush-hush stuff might seem practically cultish to an outside observer, but now that Fiddleford had found out about the defect in the gun, it was easy to understand why he’d decided that the Society needed to work in secret. Memories that the gun tried to suppress could be called forth with any sort of trigger - a smell, a sound, even an errant thought about some seemingly innocent thing could force the unwanted memories to come rushing back.

And that was the last thing Fiddleford wanted. If he wanted to carry on his work, he needed to fix that when this was all said and done. It was all too important not to.

The front door opened, and he heard the merry jingling of dog tags as Ripley trotted in, right past the kitchen archway, and into the living room. Another jangling of the tags and a satisfied huff led him to believe Ripley had jumped on the couch to join Helen. The thought made Fiddleford smile. At least Helen could get some comfort from someone.

He was pulled out of himself when he heard the front door shut. Stan was still outside, had been since their argument. That had been over an hour ago.

Fiddleford sighed again, trying not to let that awful faded scar he’d seen dance too vividly across his mind. He reminded himself that, although the other man’s hardships were indeed tragic, that didn’t change the fact Stan was a brute - swearing at him and threatening him and tossing him about like an old ragdoll. Fiddleford’s shoulder ached a bit from the way Stan had wrenched it, dragging him downstairs, throwing him at the foot of that...that...monstrosity in the basement.

Stan Pines didn’t deserve Fiddleford’s sympathy, and he was not going to get it.

Fiddleford shivered again as the draft from the previously open door finally hit him. It had already been so cold out, and the storm wasn’t making things any better. It was probably freezing now.

If Stan had been on his own for ten years, he was certainly used to cold nights, possibly even colder than this. But just because you were used to something didn’t make it pleasant to endure.

His wrist throbbed again. No. Stan was choosing to stay outside, like a huffy child. He could freeze for all Fiddleford cared.

He lifted his screwdriver, intent on losing himself in his work once more. Stan Pines was not going to distract him anymore.

A gust of wind rattled the windows.

Gosh darnit.

Fiddleford set the screwdriver aside and got up from the table, trying his hardest not to scrape the chair against the wood floor too loudly and wake Helen. He even tiptoed past the opening into the main room, just to be safe. Aside from Ripley waking up momentarily to offer him a bleary glance, he managed to make it to the front door without any problems.

A frigid blast of icy air bombarded him as soon as he opened the door a crack. He thought about turning tail and running back in, but something stopped him. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to get anything done until he made some kind of amends with Stan. Apologize for his insensitivity, for all that Stan had been through, whatever. Just so long as Stan knew that Fiddleford wanted to make things right.

Bracing himself, he rounded the door, and was immediately greeted by the stink of cigarette smoke...

“I can’t sleep,” the man said, his cigarette burning down between his fingers. He barely seemed to notice as it was reduced to ashes. “It’s all I see anymore. You have to help me.”

Fiddleford shook his head. As welcome as memories sometimes were, now was not the time for them. He had to focus on what he came out here to do.

Leaning against the wall, partially illuminated by the weak porch light, was Stan. A cigarette was between his fingers, a trail of smoke drifting lazily from the tip. Stan himself was sopping wet, his red jacket plastered to his skin. His brown hair hung limply around his face. Stan barely seemed phased though. Instead, his surprisingly intense gaze was focused solely on Fiddleford.

Fiddleford tried his best not to shrink away. He’d come out here with a purpose, and he reminded himself that, no matter how intimidating this man was, he was still just a man, and one who’d been through quite a lot. The least Fiddleford could do was give him the dignity of not acting afraid of him.

After a moment or two of realizing Fiddleford was not going anywhere, Stan slowly blinked, then turned his gaze back out to the black forest just beyond the house. Fiddleford couldn’t imagine what was out there that he’d want to see, but if Stan was anything like his brother, he was sure that there was something, some mystery he wanted to solve or creature he wanted to study.

Fiddleford gulped silently, and took a step closer to Stan. After another moment of stamping down his anxiety, he said, “Hi there.”

Stan didn’t reply.

“I bet it’s cold in that wet jacket,” Fiddleford said softly, grateful that the rain had let up enough so his words weren’t swallowed up entirely.

Not that it mattered, since Stan didn’t reply. He merely brought the cigarette to his lips and took a deep drag.

Fiddleford pressed onward. “I was thinking about making a cup of tea,” he said. “Did you maybe want to come in and have some? It’d warm you up.”

The cigarette was brought away, and Stan held in the smoke.

“Maybe you and I could talk. Because I really think we need to.”

Stan tapped the ash at the end of the cigarette, and it floated down to the porch like gray flakes of snow.

“I…” Fiddelford faltered for a moment. Why wouldn’t Stan say something? Anything? How angry could he possibly be? “I just wanted to say I’m sorry about what I said. It wasn’t my intention to upset you. You were right - I didn’t know you existed until now. But if I did...if I’d known the sorts of awful things you’ve had to endure, I never would have said what I did.”

Stan released the smoke through his nose as he flicked his steely gaze back at Fiddleford, making him look positively dragon-like. It was almost fearsome enough for Fiddleford to forget his soft nature and go back in the house to hide. Almost. But then he caught a glimpse of Stan’s eyes in the pale yellow porch light.

There was no anger left in them. No malice. Not even any frustration. Stan simply looked tired.

Fiddleford felt as if he’d swallowed a rock. Taking another step forward, he hesitantly reached out his hand, and placed it on the cold, wet fleece of Stan’s jacket, and said, “I think you might benefit from having someone to talk to. You’ve obviously been holding a lot in.”

Although it might sound boastful, Fiddleford was very good at getting people to open up to him. He’d always been small and non-threatening, patient and understanding; the kind of person that made people feel comfortable about dropping their defenses. It’s why the Society had been so successful. He didn’t need to seek out new members; they came to him, desperate for his support and kindness to soothe their frenzied minds.

He offered Stan his sincerest smile as he waited for him to reply.

After a beat of silence, Stan sighed and shook his head “You ain’t interested in helping me,” he said, tone flat. “You just don’t wanna feel guilty.”

Fiddleford yanked his hand away from Stan’s jacket as if it were an open flame. “I...I beg your pardon?” he said. It was all he could think to say.

“I think you heard me pretty clearly,” Stan replied, bringing the cigarette back to his lips.

Fiddleford felt heat bubble up behind his cheeks, his mind groping for some kind of response. He found nothing. Finally, a little more sharply than he intended, he blurted out, “And I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. This mess we’re all in is hardly my fault. It wasn’t my idea to poke around with the dangerous things in this town. I didn’t want to come back to this house and relive this nightmare. And I certainly didn’t decide to build that thing down in the basement!”

“But you did help.”

Fiddleford closed his mouth so quickly his teeth audibly clacked together. As he turned away from Stan’s gaze, his mind belched forth an image, an image of Stanford excitedly explaining his plans for the portal to him. A warmth, a feeling of giddy anticipation, blossomed in Fiddleford’s chest, spreading out and into his fingers and toes. He’d shared his former partner’s enthusiasm. They’d been ecstatic to start such a monumental feat together, to reach new heights of achievement and understanding. He’d wanted to make the portal as much as Stanford had.

But that was before the incident. Before whatever happened that drove Fiddleford away. The memory was still hidden away, beneath layers of fog and protection, and he knew it was better off that way. He gave his head a shake and said firmly, “I didn’t know what we were doing. I didn’t know where that awful gateway would lead. And once I did, that was it. I walked out and didn’t look back.”

“But you stayed in Gravity Falls.”

Fiddleford whipped his head around to face Stan again. The other man looked completely unfazed, like he’d made a casual remark about the rotten weather.

Stan continued, “You had a wife and kid waiting for you back in California. A pet project that Ford said you were pretty interested in. Hell, the reason he never tried to help you till now is because that’s what he assumed you did.” Stan flicked the stub of his cigarette away. Fiddleford heard it hiss softly as it landed in the wet darkness beyond the porch. And then that intense gaze was on him again as Stan asked, “You had a life ready to be lived. So why did you stay here?”

Fiddleford quickly stammered out, “Well...I...because I wanted to help people. Help them deal with the supernatural things…”

“This town is almost 150 years old, Fidds,” Stan said. “And the weird stuff has been here since before the town was even an idea. There wouldn’t be a Gravity Falls if the folks here couldn’t deal with all the weird shit in those woods. You’re gonna have to come up with a better excuse than that.”

“It’s not an excuse!” Fiddleford spat back. The ferocity in his words shocked him, and he took a moment to close his eyes and inhale deeply, trying to calm himself down. When he felt the flush of his cheeks subside a bit, he added, fighting to keep his tone even, “The people in this town rely on me.”

“Yeah, but why?” Stan asked. “You didn’t owe these people anything. I know for a fact that none of them ever had the guts to come out here. You guys weren’t exactly town celebrities. You could have gone home, lived your life, and left my brother to whatever was waiting for him beyond that portal. But you’re still here. So, I’m gonna ask you again: with a family waiting for you, and a town that didn’t need you to martyr yourself for them, why the hell did you stay?”

Fiddleford wanted to respond. He wanted to brush Stan off, tell him he was crazy, that he didn’t know what he was talking about. He wanted to find some clever thing to say to finally get this man - this violent brute who’d slung him around like a ragdoll and called him names - to stop asking him these questions.

Because he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to find an answer for them that didn’t prove Stan right.

So he stayed silent.

Stan watched him for another moment, before he turned his gaze back out to the inky black forest, and said, “The portal may have been Ford’s idea, but you had a hand in it. And deep down, you know he’d never have been able to build it without you. That’s why you stayed, even after it scared you so bad you left. That’s why you started this whole Blind Eye thing. Because you felt like you had to make up for it. You screwed up, and you didn’t want to live with that. So you tried to fix it.”

“And what makes you so sure about that,” Fiddleford asked wearily. He found he no longer had it in him to argue.

“Because I’ve been watching Ford do the same thing since we found you,” Stan replied.

Fiddelford thought of Stanford, eyes brimming with tears a few hours ago. He sighed softly.

“It sucks doing something out of guilt,” Stan said. He sounded less like he was talking to Fiddleford now, and more like he was just thinking out loud. “No matter how much you do, no matter what ends up happening, you never feel like you’ve done enough. You just keep beating yourself up and beating yourself up until one day, it just kind of dawns on you that you haven’t really fixed anything. Nothing’s better, nothing’s changed. You just feel that much shittier about yourself.”

Off in the distance, in the dark, an owl hooted. It was such a lonely sound.

“Look,” Stan continued, “in a way, I do get where you’re coming from. There are days when I’d give anything to never remember some of the things I’ve been through. You weren’t wrong when you said there are some things that no one should ever have to endure.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Fiddleford watched Stan reach up and gently run his fingers down the length of his arm. Now, more than ever, he regretted his words about “everyday” trauma. There was nothing commonplace about the pale scar under that sodden fabric. And the fact that he’d tried to turn something like this into something inspirational? It turned his stomach more than the thought of the scar ever could.

Stan spoke up again, jarring Fiddleford from his thoughts. “But as much as the memory hurts, it’s still there. It’s as much a part of me as the scars it left behind. All I can do now is make my choices with what I know. And I chose to try and keep living.”

He turned back to Fiddleford, gaze beseeching. “You’ve got a choice now too. You can keep hiding, keep forgetting, and one day, maybe, it’ll all finally be gone. But I can’t guarantee that you’ll be the same man as when you started.”

The owl in the forest called out again.

“Or,” Stan added, “you can face those scars, and finally start doing some real good.”

Fiddleford maintained his gaze at the other man, this man who’d proven he was more than just brute strength and cheap insults. This man, who, for all his bluster, was surprisingly wise, even though it hurt Fiddleford deeply to think about all that happened to him to obviously make him that way.

Maybe Stan was right.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of dirt crunching under tires. He lifted his head and saw a pair of headlines slicing through the pitch blackness. In the distance, the owl hooted indignantly and fluttered away, a speck against the night sky. As the car came closer to the house, Fiddleford realized that it was a blue Buick. Helen’s blue Buick. The one Stanford had taken off in.

Beside him, Stan muttered, “Oh my god,” and before Fiddleford could even offer a reply, the other man was across the porch and down the stairs, loping like an excited dog to meet the car. He even raised up his arms and started waving the vehicle down, a relieved smile splitting his face. It was actually rather sweet.

The car stopped a few hundred feet from the house, and the driver killed the engine. The headlights went out, and Fiddleford could finally see the silhouette of someone behind the steering wheel.

But as he looked, he realized something wasn’t right.

The figure didn’t look like Stanford at all. It was much shorter, even sitting down. The driver’s face had a bushy mustache. Fiddleford couldn’t make out the mop of messy brown hair, but there was the outline of a slight belly.

Whoever was driving was not Stanford Pines.

Stan hadn’t seemed to notice yet, and ran up to the passenger side door. “Get out of that damn car, Sixer,” he cried, clearly with laughter in his voice. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, you stupid nerd.” He rounded the car as the driver’s side opened, but stopped short when he saw a five-fingered hand reach up and grasp the window, in order to pull the driver the rest of the way out.

His face fell completely when Dr. Ed Matthews emerged from the car, wearing a bright red, hooded robe. His face was grave.

Stan quickly backed away as if he were facing a loaded gun, but Dr. Matthews didn’t seem to notice. His iron gaze settled on Fiddleford. “I thought I might find you here,” he said.

Dr. Matthews finally seemed to realize that his cigarette was going to waste. He tossed it on the floor and crushed it under his foot. “Please,” he said again, sounding ready to break, “please, Mr. McGucket, you have to help me. I can’t take it anymore.”

“You are in the Society,” Fiddleford said as the memory faded. “Stan was right.”

“And if I’m right, that means you sold us out,” Stan said, the bubbling anger apparent in his voice. He took a threatening step towards Matthews, looking ready to throttle him. “You were the one who broke into Helen’s house. You were the one who attacked us.”

Matthews didn’t even look in Stan’s direction, but a flash of irritation flashed across his face, like the other man was an annoying fly buzzing in his ear. “No,” he replied plainly. “I wasn’t the one who broke into Helen’s house.” He turned his attention back to Fiddleford. “I promise I’ll explain everything, but you have to come back to the sanctum.”

“He’s not going anywhere with you,” Stan growled. His fists were balled up by his sides, ready to fly.

Matthews ignored him and continued to plead with Fiddleford. “Please, sir. Ivan is out of control. You have no idea the kinds of things he’s been doing in your absence. You’re the only one who can talk some sense into him.”

Fiddleford arched an eyebrow. Ivan? Out of control? It seemed impossible. If there was one person that Fiddleford trusted to keep the Society alive while he was gone, it was Ivan. He may have been young, but he was mature, intelligent, and could read people like they were open books. He was dedicated, perhaps a little too overbearing in regards to Fiddleford’s health, but he meant well.

Stealing another glance at Stan, seeing the murder in his eyes, knowing it came from a place of righteous fury at being assaulted and manhandled and victimized by the group the old man before them belonged to, Fiddleford realized that tonight had proven to be a night dedicated to showing him he didn’t know anyone as well as he thought he did.

“Look, Doc,” Stan barked. “Whoever this Ivan character is, he can figure out his own shit. Fidds isn’t going back to Jonestown with you. And if you don’t start running as fast as you can back the way you came, you won’t be making it back either. So get the hell out of here.”

Matthews finally turned his gaze on Stan, and said, “Do you really want me to leave, Stanley? Even if I’m the only person who can help you rescue your brother.”

Stan’s face fell in shock, like he’d been struck by lightning.

“He’s in poor shape,” Matthews added. “Ivan has not been kind to the man he believes responsible for our group’s troubles. Your brother doesn’t have much time left, and we have no time to argue about it.”

Before Stan could even open his mouth to speak, Fiddleford heard the front door slam open, and Helen’s voice call out, “Ford?”

Matthews’s eyes went as round as dinner plates, and slowly moved towards the sound of the voice. Fiddleford looked over his shoulder and saw Helen standing there, framed in the weak porch light, wearing a wrinkled white t-shirt, her hair hanging wildly around her face. Her glasses were slightly crooked on her face, her dark green eyes wide behind them. She looked like a madwoman who’d just stumbled her way down from the attic. Her gaze jumped between each man on the lawn in front of her, all standing stock still, watching her watching them. It was like a macabre stage production.

Finally, in a low voice, Helen said, “Ed...what the fuck is going on?”

Fiddleford couldn’t exactly explain why, but when he saw a glimpse of Stan and Dr. Matthews’s faces, he knew that facing Helen and trying to explain all this to her was going to be more painful that anything he’d ever done.

------

Glass Shard Beach had never been so cold. It leached through his clothes, his skin, and settled into his bones, making him shiver and quake like a newborn deer. He tried to wrap his arms around himself, to stave off the chill as best he could, but his limbs felt rubbery, and wouldn’t obey his commands. All he could do was lie prone on the sand, as hard and frigid on his back as a slab of marble, and stare up at the steely gray sky. A harsh wind blew across his face, sharp enough to cut. It was going to storm.

A pale yellow light entered Ford’s vision, and suddenly, a slit pupil was staring back at him. Fear pulsed through him as Bill materialized completely before him, his unwavering gaze boring into him like a drill to the forehead. He wanted to run, but whatever was keeping his arms plastered to the sand was doing the same to his legs. He could only lie there, limp and useless.

“Geez, Sixer,” Bill finally said, his body flickering in time with his nasally voice. “I’ve seen you look pretty bad before - and I mean, like, really, really bad. But this? This is almost depressing.”

One of Bill’s black stick arms came to the spot his chin would be if he had one, his single eye furrowing in thought.

After a moment, his face brightened and he snapped his fingers. “Oh, wait!” he said. “Did I say ‘depressing’? I meant ‘absolutely hilarious’!” Bill let loose a peal of mocking laughter, his floating body turning lazily in the chilly breeze of the beach. “I gotta hand it to you, Sixer, you fail abysmally at a lot of stuff, but making me laugh at your ineptitude sure ain’t one of ‘em!”

Bill righted himself, and leaned down so he was right in Ford’s face. “I mean, look at you,” he said. “You tried to make up with that dumb hayseed after he saw me in an indecent moment - super rude, might I point out, guy needs a talking-to about knocking first - and look where that got you! All alone, on some bald weirdo’s basement floor, selling out your friends and brother as soon as things get a little too hard for you. This is almost funnier than you thinking dismantling that portal is gonna stop me! Which, let’s be real here, was already pretty darn funny.”

Shame boiled behind Ford’s cheeks. “I-I will stop you…” he ground out.

“Hey, it talks,” Bill said. “And is completely delusional, apparently.” He chuckled again. “Look, Fordsey, I’ve got a life outside of you. And one bad break-up isn’t gonna stop what I’ve got in store for your world. You don’t make plans as big as mine without having a few safety nets. Now, to me, you’re nothing more than a dancing monkey, here to amuse me when I take a break for some time punch.”

Suddenly, Bill shot out a hand and grab Ford’s index finger, yanking it back violently. Ford let out a strangled cry of pain.

“And speaking of amusement,” Bill said, voice suddenly low and dangerous. “I think that Ivan guy had the right idea. Breaking fingers sounds like a riot. Maybe I’ll give it a whirl. It’ll almost be as fun as that time I flung you down the stairs!”

Ford felt like weeping.

“Now, let’s see, where to start. Hmm...eeny...meany...miney...yooooou…”

Someone was shaking him, and Ford opened his eyes with a shout. He inhaled heavily, gathering up as much air as he could in his burning lungs. He felt as if he’d been holding his breath for years. His hands shook under the ropes binding him to the chair.

As Ford’s vision cleared, it dawned on him that he was still in the dark room in the inner sanctum of the Society of the Blind Eye. He was slightly unsettled that the sight filled him with a strange sort of relief.

“Are you alright?” a voice said. Ford looked up, and realized that a robed figure was watching him from the shadows. In their hands, they held a tin bowl full of water. When the figure realized Ford was looking intently at the bowl, they said, “I thought you might need some water. I came in and you were talking in your sleep. So I woke you up.”

Ford recognized the gentle voice of the follower from before. The one who’d so gently inspected his injuries and tried to comfort him. The one who’d convinced him to give in to Ivan’s demands to save himself. Ford’s fists balled, his hands still shaking, but now in anger instead of fear.

The figure took a step towards him, and Ford snapped, “Don’t come anywhere near me.” As if suddenly glued to the spot, the figure stopped moving. Ford could feel them watching him from under their hood. “You’re crazy if you think I’ll take anything you give me,” he continued. He was acutely aware of how his voice cracked ever so slightly, indicative of the strain his mind was under, but he didn’t care. “You probably planned that little stunt earlier from the beginning. Bait me with some kindness so I’d roll over and do whatever you wanted. I’m on to your game, so you can just get the hell away from me.” His voice broke miserably, and he screwed his eyes shut against the shame that shot through him, his breath coming out in ragged heaves.

He heard footsteps approaching him and was suddenly aware of a human presence very close to him. He opened his eyes again. The figure set the bowl gently on the ground, and let out a quiet sigh. “What happened with Ivan was never my intention,” they said. “I truly did want to help you. I don’t like seeing people in pain. It’s just my nature.”

“You’re a liar,” Ford spat back, but he felt his anger petering out quickly. He was just so tired. The chill that he thought was just a product of his dreams suddenly squeezed him like an icy fist, sending a powerful shiver down his spine.

The figure sighed again, then reached up and grasped their hood. Before Ford could ask what they were doing, the hood was tossed back, and a young black man, roughly his own age, was staring back at him. His features were careworn, and he looked about as tired as Ford felt. “My name is Darryl,” he said. “I’m a paramedic.”

Ford gaped for a moment before he breathed, “Wh-why would you...”

“I thought actually seeing a person under here - a real, living person - would maybe make you feel a little safer. I know you’ve got no reason to trust me, but I swear, I wasn’t playing earlier. It’s literally my job to fix up injuries like that one.” He gestured broadly to Ford’s head. The wound near the base of his neck took that moment to throb dully.

“I really did want to help,” Darryl added. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a dented tin cup. “And now, I’m trying to again.” He dipped the cup in the bowl at his feet, filling it with water, and held it out to Ford. “Do you want a drink or not? It’s whatever you want to do.”

Ford looked at the cup, then back up at Darryl, trying to read his face, see anything that might indicate subterfuge. But he saw nothing. The bright brown eyes looking back at him, holding his gaze with a strange, soft command, reminded him of Stan. Limply, he nodded. A brief flicker of relief crossed Darryl’s face as he moved closer and put the cup to Ford’s lips.

Ford hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until the water was snaking its way down his throat. It was lukewarm and had a bit of a metal tang to it, probably from the town’s old pipes, but it tasted amazing to him. Darryl took it away far too soon.

“Sorry,” the other man said, setting the cup aside again, “but I don’t want you to get sick. I’ll give you some more in a minute.” He reached down to his belt, and pulled loose a threadbare blanket. “I know it’s not much, but I figure anything is better than nothing in this damp little space.”

He laid the blanket out across Ford’s chest, tucking it in a bit at the arms. Despite how worn it looked, the blanket did help, and the aching chill that had settled in Ford’s body began to lessen.

“Now, let’s try to get that horror show on the back of your head fixed up,” Darryl muttered, more to himself than to Ford. Reaching into the pocket of his robe, he pulled out a handkerchief. As he stooped down to pick up the bowl, Ford saw a glint of gold on his left hand in the dim light. Looking harder, he realized it was a simple golden wedding band. It made sense, honestly. Darryl wasn’t much older than him, and Ford was an outlier when it came to relationships. Of course most men his age were settling down, marrying and having children. But it raised a question in Ford’s mind, one he couldn’t help but vocalize.

“Why is a young married paramedic in a memory-wiping cult?”

Darryl froze. A flash of panic flickered across his face, as he muttered, “I wanted to forget. Same as everyone else.”

“But I want to know what,” Ford asked. “I know this entire group thinks I’m some kind of dangerous madman, but I’m not. I tried to tell Ivan before, I go looking for the unexplained so I can explain it. You can protect yourself if you know what you’re up against. And if you told me what made you...join, maybe I can help you understand it.”

Finally, Darryl turned to face him. Ford had expected him to be angry, or at least defensive, but instead, his face was drawn and sad. The bright brown eyes now looked a thousand miles away. In a quiet voice, Darryl said, “Only demons I’m running from are my own, Dr. Pines.”

Despite himself, Ford quirked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“The Society only has a few rules. The people who want their memories erased have to be willing. We don’t tell anyone who isn’t a member about it. And, most importantly, the only memories we erase are paranormal ones. That was something McGucket was always very firm about.”

“But Ivan told me that the memory gun can get rid of anything.”

“It can, but McGucket never wanted to use it for what he called the “everyday” stuff. He always said those are the sorts of things humans were meant to handle. It was the most important rule. But Ivan hasn’t been following the rules for a good, long while now.”

“He’s been erasing other memories now?”

“Exactly.”

“Why didn’t Fiddleford do anything about it?”

“He didn’t know. Ivan realized that the more McGucket used the gun on himself, the more it rattled his brain. There’d be days when McGucket would wander around, looking like he didn’t know where he was. We’ve found him outside more than once, curled up next to the garbage cans because he was trying to figure out how to get home from here.”

Ford thought of Fiddleford in that alleyway, looking so thin and haggard and, most of all, lost.

“Ivan’s been taking full advantage of it,” Darryl continued. “McGucket can’t argue about ethics when he doesn’t even realize that Ivan is working against him, so Ivan has been offering to erase any bad memories, in exchange for loyalty.”

“But why? What does he gain from it?”

“I don’t know, entirely. Maybe it’s a power thing. Maybe he just liked to be in control of people It sounds crazy, but from the looks of things, I think he’s amassing an army.”

“For what?”

“Like I said, I don’t know entirely. But whatever it is, he’s obviously not gonna let a little thing like humanity get in his way.”

Darryl dunked the handkerchief in the bowl of water, scrunching it up in his fist to squeeze out the excess water. As he began moving behind the chair, Ford said, “You didn’t answer my question. How’d you get mixed up in all this?”

Darryl hesitated a moment, then walked briefly back into Ford’s line of vision, reaching a hand down into his robes. Ford heard a clinking of metal as the other man pulled forth a simple metal chain from around his neck. Attached to the end were two dented dog tags. “Private Little, of the 113th Infantry Brigade,” Darryl said simply. “One tour in South Vietnam, 1969 to 1970.”

Sympathy settled in Ford’s stomach like a heavy stone. “Oh…” he mumbled.

“Not to offend or anything, but I’m guessing you didn’t serve.” Darryl gave him a wry look as he ducked back out of sight, behind Ford.

Ford felt the soft, cool handkerchief being gently pressed into his neck. He tensed only for a moment, expecting pain, and was amazed when none came. He felt himself relax. “No,” he replied. “My dad did, but that’s about as close as my brothers and I got. College kept me out of the draft. My older brother had asthma, so he was exempt. And I’m not sure how Stanley managed to avoid it, but I’m sure it had something to do with fleeing to another country.”

Darryl chuckled a bit at that, and said, “Wish I’d had the brains to do that. Would have saved me a whole mess of trouble.”

“What happened?”

The handkerchief stilled for just a moment. Finally, Darryl said, “We got ambushed. It happened so fast that sometimes I have a hard time believing it happened at all. But my dreams always remind me. They just mowed us down. Ten seconds, tops, and it was over. I took a bullet right to the knee cap. Dropped where I stood. My buddy, Hank...he took one to the gut. He must have hung on for half an hour…”

Darryl trailed off, and Ford didn’t urge him to continue. Oddly enough, he thought of his father. He knew Dad had served, but beyond the basic facts, he never told Ford or his brothers about his tour of duty. It wasn’t until Ford was at least eleven that he accidentally stumbled across the Purple Heart his father had been awarded, stuffed away in a box in the hall closet.

He thought of when Shermie came back from the recruiting office, and how Dad’s shoulders seemed to slump when his older brother informed everyone that he was medically unfit for military service. It was the first time Ford ever remembered his father being excited about something.

He wondered what memories his father would want pulled from his head, if he was given the choice.

“And that’s why you came to Ivan,” he said softly.

“Yeah,” Darryl responded quietly. “For a while, I managed to live with the memories. Believe it or not, the job helps. I see a lot of blood and death, but at least now I can do something about it, ya know? It’s not like with Hank. It...it kinda helps me cope. Does that make sense?”

Ford thought of the portal back home, how he sequestered himself for hours with it, this living testament to his failure, how accomplished he felt when he managed to make any kind of headway with it. He nodded and said, “It makes perfect sense to me.”

“Loud noises are the things that tend to upset me now,” Darryl continued. “Cars backfiring, slamming doors, that kind of thing. Had to stop going out on the Fourth of July. But those are things you can live with. After my daughter was born…that’s when the dreams started. Vivid shit, almost perfect recreations of that day in the jungle.”

Darryl squeezed more water from the handkerchief, and added, “By the time Ivan found me, I was desperate. I felt like I had no other choice. I couldn’t sleep. It was affecting my job, which used to be one of the only things that kept me grounded. And at home...I knew seeing me this way was hard for my family. Even if I hadn’t done it for myself, I would have done it for them in a heartbeat.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Darryl dabbed tenderly at the base of Ford’s neck, then gave a small grunt of satisfaction before he ducked back into Ford’s field of vision. His face was unreadable.

“I’m sorry, Darryl,” Ford said. “I’m sorry you ever had to feel like this cult was your only option.”

Darryl gave him a sad smile, and said, “Thanks, man.”

Another question suddenly dawned on Ford. “Wait,” he said. “If the reason you joined the Society was to erase those memories, then how do you still remember them enough to tell me?”

“Because there’s something wrong with the memory gun,” Darryl said gravely. “McGucket thought it would be a permanent process, but other members have started remembering whatever it was they erased. And that scares them more than you ever could.”

“That’s why Ivan wants Fiddleford back so badly.”

“Exactly. He’s getting desperate. The only thing he’s got to ensure people’s loyalty is that memory gun, and if it doesn’t work, then the others have no reason to stick with him. To fix it, he needs McGucket.”

This was so much worse than Ford ever thought. His original idea was that Ivan wanted Fiddleford back simply because he was their leader. But all Ivan was interested in was Fiddleford’s engineering skills. Fiddeford wouldn’t just be worse off if he was dragged back to this hellhole. His very life could be in danger, once Ivan had gotten what he needed from him.

“We have to stop him,” Ford said firmly.

“I know,” Darryl said. “If he’d go after two people who mean absolutely nothing to him, think of what he’d do to McGucket.”

Ford’s stomach dropped to his shoes. “What are you talking about?”

“I wasn’t being arbitrary when I said that Ivan would go after Helen and your brother. I know he will because he already has. When Helen and Stan went back to her house, someone was waiting for them. A Society member, trying to find Fidds.”

“What?! Who?”

“I don’t know. They managed to fight whoever it was off. As if anyone needed another reason to be afraid of Helen Bergstrum when she’s mad, now she’s slashing faces with car keys.” Darryl shook his head a bit. “But Stan got a pretty nasty blow to the head. They called me in to patch him up. That’s when I realized what Ivan had done.”

“Was he alright?”

“Yeah, I stitched him up. He was a little dizzy, but no worse for wear. But it made me realize that Ivan has gone too far.” He cast his gaze back up at Ford, the brightness in his eyes verging on fiery passion. “I don’t really understand why you do what you do, Dr. Pines. It even kinda scares me a little. But you never intentionally hurt innocent people. Dr. Bergstrum is a good person, and she doesn’t deserve to be terrorized in her own home. And your brother? Anyone who’s willing to throw down just to protect his friend is cool in my book.”

Darryl looked down into the bowl of water he still held in his hand. Ford wondered what he saw staring back at him.

“So,” Ford said, “what are you proposing?”

Darryl looked up, directly into Ford’s eyes. “I’m gonna finish patching you up, Dr. Pines, and then I’m getting you out of here.”

-----

Helen drummed her fingers against the sticky kitchen table. Across from her, doing everything he could to avoid looking her directly in the eye, was Ed Matthews. Her friend, her colleague. A man she’d worked with for almost seven years, who gently teased her about her interest in the paranormal. Who’d been there when life was almost too much for her.

The man who helped a memory-wiping cult break into her home and violently attack her.

Stan and Fiddleford sat in chairs between them, on the side of the table. Their eyes bounced between Helen and Ed, as if they were watching a pair of bombs, primed and ready to explode.

Helen didn’t blame them. That wasn’t very far off from how she felt.

“Helen, I know you’re angry, and I don’t blame you. You have every right to be.” Ed’s eyes were tired as he lifted them up gingerly to meet Helen’s glare. “But I promise you, I’m done lying. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Helen narrowed her eyes, fighting hard to keep her voice level and her fists from swinging in rage. “I’m counting on it, Ed,” she muttered. “I figure any explanation you give me has gotta be a pip.”

Ed ducked his head, away from her withering stare, ashamed. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get out even a syllable, Helen cut him off and said, “You lied to me.” She was ashamed how her voice wavered ever so slightly. “You lied about Fiddleford, about that girl, about the old man...how? How could you do this?”

“I didn’t want to,” Ed said miserably, putting his head in his hands. “But you have no idea the kind of power the Society has. The kind of power Ivan has. And what could have happened to me if I didn’t play his game.”

Helen stole a glance at Fiddleford, whose brow was furrowed heavily, lost in thought. He was obviously trying hard to remember anything to do with this Ivan character, to see if there was any validity to Ed’s claims.

Until then, there was no way they could trust Ed.

“Helen, you of all people understand who absolutely insane this town is,” Ed said emphatically. “I know going to the Society was wrong, but it wasn’t until I actually saw for myself what drives people to it that I finally understood.”

“What exactly did you see?” Stan asked carefully.

Ed sighed, and replied, “My house isn’t that far beyond the lake. My wife loved the sounds of it at night.” He paused for a moment, his eyes suddenly very, very far away, but he quickly shook his head and continued on, “But then she started saying she...heard things out there. Low, rumbling noises. Almost like growls. I dismissed it as a dream, but she insisted there was something out there until the day she died. One night, not too long after her funeral, I couldn’t sleep, so I went down to the dock. That’s when I finally figured out what she was talking about.”

Helen, Stan, and Fiddleford all leaned in, like scouts hearing a spooky campfire story.

“Poking above the water, staring right at me, was a pair of glowing yellow eyes.”

“So there really was something out in the lake,” Helen breathed. “That girl really did see something.”

“Yes,” Ed said sadly. “As soon as I heard her talking about seeing something in the lake, I knew exactly what she was talking about. So Ivan went looking for them.”

Fiddleford’s eyes went wide with horror. “You wiped their memories without their consent?!”

Ed flinched, like a chastened child. “I didn’t,” he said. “Ivan did.”

“And you just let your band of hooded freaks target a scared teenage girl?” Stan said, the contempt in his voice barely masked.

“You make it sound like I personally put the gun to her forehead,” Ed retorted. “I would never have told Ivan about her, about any of my patients, but I didn’t have to. Gossip travels fast in this town, and it wasn’t long before Ivan found out and went after the girl and her friends. I knew it wasn’t right, but it’s like I said, I was too much of a coward to admit that what Ivan was doing was wrong. He has the entire Society convinced that the townsfolk are better off living in ignorance, even if we have to show them that by force.”

“How could he do this?” Fiddleford suddenly cried out. Helen, Stan, and Ed all whipped their heads around to look at him. He was angrier than Helen had ever seen him, and didn’t seem to notice at all that everyone’s attention was no on him. He raked a hand through his hair, grabbing up a clump of it halfway through and squeezing, as he continued to babble. “I thought Ivan understood why I was doing this more than anyone. I...he...he upheld the Society’s rules more than anyone. I just...I don’t understand where this all came from. It doesn’t seem like him at all.”

After a moment, Ed said, “Tell me something, sir. Do you remember the last conversation you had with Ivan before all this insanity began?”

Fiddleford gave him a confused look, and said, “Of course I do! I...we...oh, my god…”

Slowly, realization dawned on Fiddleford’s face.

“You don’t, do you?” Ed asked.

Fiddleford squeeze his hair tighter in his hand. “I...all I really remember is that Ivan was upset. He was yelling about something. But after that…” Fiddleford’s hand fell from his hair. He looked so very small as he muttered, “After that it’s all a blank.”

Suddenly, something clicked in Helen’s mind. “You must have caught him wiping the memories of that old man!”

Stan hummed thoughtfully, then said, “It adds up. It explains why you were in such piss-poor shape when Ford and I found you. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours since Ivan shot you. And you’ve been surrounded by reminders of your past all day, so you’ve been recovering faster.”

“But...why?” Fiddleford asked helplessly. “Why would Ivan want to go behind my back?”

“For the obvious reason,” Helen said. “Because he’s doing something he didn’t want you to know about. He knew you’d never approve of whatever it is he’s doing, and he was right. So he wiped your memories.”

“And that’s how the Pines brothers found you,” Ed added. “You must have wandered out of the sanctum again.”

Helen quirked up her eyebrow, confused. Sanctums? If this cult of Fiddleford’s wasn’t actually pretty frightening, she’d laugh at how pretentious they were.

Her confusion must have been pretty clear, because Fiddleford said, “Sometimes, after using the gun, I’d be a bit, well, mixed up. I’d wander outside and sit in the alley, though not always intentionally. It helped me think, get my thoughts in order. And that’s where I must have gone after Ivan wiped my mind.”

Fiddleford plopped heavily into his seat, obviously overwhelmed by all that he’d just discovered. Helen didn’t blame him. She felt a bit like doing that herself. But she needed more answers. Turning back to Ed, she said, “But how did they get into my house? You were the only person who saw us today, who knew we were with Fiddleford. And I got some pretty good cuts in on whoever it was. Since you don’t have any cuts on your face, it couldn’t have been you.”

Ed sighed again, and reached into his robe sleeve. Helen, Stan, and Fiddleford all tensed immediately, ready to jump at whatever Ed had hidden inside.

But all he pulled out was a shiny, silver house key. An exact copy of the one Helen had used to unlock her front door, and then slash at an intruder less than ten minutes later.

Helen felt like she was going to be sick. She cast her glance back up at Ed, searching for answers. He wouldn’t meet her gaze. Yes, she was definitely going to be sick.

“You…” was all she managed to mumble before she had to stop. If she kept talking, she wouldn’t be able to hold down whatever was threatening to come up.

“I don’t know who attacked you, Helen, but this is how they got in,” Ed said. “I made a copy back around Christmas, when you and the kids went to Salem to visit your parents. You asked me to house sit for you.”

The world tilted around her. She shakily stood from her chair, her legs wobbling dangerously. Stan and Fiddleford both looked ready to jump from their chairs at the next move she made.

She was going to be sick or she was going to faint. She couldn’t tell which anymore.

Ed was still talking. “I had been meaning to make one for a while before then. Ever since what happened with the baby-”

Something snapped inside her.

She couldn’t hear Ed anymore. Her heart had launched itself directly into her ears, and all she could hear was it hammering away, feeling like it was ready to burst. Somewhere far away, a tinny noise that she vaguely registered as Stan’s voice asked, “What baby?”

That was it.

Lurching like she was possessed, Helen flung herself at the sink, and with a painful spasm, vomited. There wasn’t much to bring up. The only thing she’d had in her stomach for the last few hours was a can of beer. Stomach acid followed shortly after, leaving a burning trail up her esophagus.

She felt a touch ghost across her back, and heard the distant voices of Stan and Fiddleford, talking to her, trying to get her to say something, anything, to indicate what was wrong. She couldn’t answer them. She had no air to answer them with. Their voices became even more muffled as she concentrated on her heavy breathing.

She tried to force down the pain that blossoms in his abdomen and lower back. She knew there was nothing there that could be causing it. She knew that the warm sensation of blood trickling down her leg wasn’t really there. And she knew Daisy’s panicked voice, stammering into the phone that her mother needed help, was just a phantom in her mind, played on a loop by her sadistic, traitorous brain.

She knew all this, and it didn’t help a damn bit.

Suddenly, she felt two calloused hand prying her grip from the sink, and gently guiding her away. They didn’t let go until she was sitting again, probably back at the kitchen table, and even then, the presence behind her didn’t fade. It stayed at her back like a supportive column. Another set of hands, these softer, gentler, grabbed up hers and held them. She heard a kind voice, with a soft hint of an accent speaking to her, piercing through the memories and the droning. It took her a moment to realize it was Fiddleford, and that the sturdy presence behind her was Stan.

Fiddleford was saying something, and slowly, the cacophony in her brain faded, abd she could make out words. “...just gonna slow your breathing down a bit, that’s right. In and out. In and out. Come on, Helen, you can do it. In...”

Slowly, laboriously, she followed his instruction. She took a shaky breath in.

“And out.”

She obeyed.

“Atta girl,” he said encouragingly, giving her hands a tight squeeze.

Helen’s cheeks burned with shame. Daisy had been right. She was a mess.

She cast a sidelong glance over at Ed, who looked positively mortified, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open, looking like he desperately wanted to say something. Helen wished he wouldn’t. He’d already said quite enough.

But he finally spoke anyway. “Helen, I’m so sorry,” he said. “I...I didn’t mean to, it just slipped out. I had no idea...I didn’t know that this was still so…”

“Doc, cool it for a minute,” Stan said sternly. “Let her breathe.”

“How’re you feeling?” Fiddleford asked her, his grip still tight and reassuring.

Like shit. Like I want to crawl into a hole and never come out. Like a hysterical, useless load. Like you guys are never going to look at me the same way ever again, her thoughts screamed.

“I’m fine,” she said instead, disgusted by how small her voice was. “I...I guess I’m not as okay with this as I thought.”

“Do you need anything?” Fiddleford asked. “Some water?”

“No, really, I’m okay,” she said. To prove it, she pulled her hands free of Fiddleford’s, even though the loss of the comforting warmth made her ache inside. She ignored it.

“Do you maybe wanna...I dunno, talk?” she heard Stan ask from behind her. She could almost picture his face, drawn tight with worry and care. He’d been shooting Ford that look all day, just waiting for the minute when his brother fell apart. And the fact that he might be looking at her that way made her almost feel sick enough to vomit again.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said sharply. “It was just a miscarriage. They happen to millions of women every single day.”

“Oh, Helen…” FIddleford put a hand to his heart, looking ready to cry. The shame that had pooled in her cheeks spread, prickling along her skin like poisoned barbs. She ducked her head down, hiding her face behind a curtain of hair.

“It was two years ago, Fiddleford,” she muttered. “Don’t go all weepy on me. I’ve had time to come to grips with it. Obviously not as good a grip as I thought, but it hasn’t bothered me for a long time.”

“But what about…” Fiddleford began.

She cut him off, standing so abruptly that her chair nearly slammed right into Stan’s gut. “That was just a freak thing. I’m stressed and I’m tired and all I want to do is go bash this Ivan bastard’s face in and get Ford home.” She pushed past Fiddleford, still looking dewy-eyed, and headed out of the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “I also need some air. Come get me when you guys have a plan put together.”

She could feel their eyes on her back, even as she left their line of sight and headed towards the front door. She had to get out, and practically sprinted to close the distance between herself and the door. She flung it open and, as soon as she was out in the cold, wet night, she inhaled as deeply as she could, then shut the door behind her.

She stood there for a few minutes, just inhaling and exhaling, trying to force her mind to calm. It wasn’t working. She needed something to take the edge off.

Her gaze drifted, and in the dim porch light, she saw a pack of cigarettes and a lighter on the railing.

They were probably Stan’s. She’d thought the smell of smoke on his jacket was stronger than usual.

Helen hadn’t smoked in almost twenty years, not since before she’d gotten married, and with all the new literature constantly coming out about the hazards of cigarettes, she’d felt it hypocritical to ever start up again. But now, she didn’t care. She needed one like she needed oxygen.

She snatched up the pack and pulled one out. The lighter was flimsy and cheap, and took a few clicked to finally hold a flame, but eventually she got it. As she took a few puffs, she heard the door open behind her. She hadn’t smoked enough of the cigarette to turn around and face whoever it was.

“I told you I don’t wanna talk about it,” she said. She didn’t care which one of them it was, or what they had to say. She was not going to just sit there and listen to them talk about how sorry they were and ask why she’d never told them and all that other shit she’d been hearing from anyone who ever found out.

All except Richard. After he found out and dealt with it for a few months, all he said was goodbye.

“I didn’t say anything,” Stan said behind her. “I mostly came out here to try and save my cigarettes. I already smoked a couple after my little spat with McGucket, and I figured if you found them, that’d be the end of them.”

Helen didn’t reply. She just exhaled and let her muscles relax.

They stood for a moment in silence. Stan didn’t make a move toward her or speak. Helen barely even heard him breathe. Then finally, he said, “I wish you could have told me when you were ready.”

That was one she’d never heard before. She glanced at him over her shoulder. He was looking out into the woods, his face somber.

“Even if you’d never told me,” Stan continued, “at least then it would have been on your terms. It might have been an accident, but Doc Matthews had no right to bring it up like that. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Helen turned around the rest of the way to face him. “If I had my way, no one would ever know,” she said. “It’s not exactly something I like to advertise.”

“That’s understandable,” Stan said. “It obviously still really bothers you.”

“There’s more to it than that,” Helen said, leaning back against the wall, tapping the ash from the tip of the cigarette. “People look at me differently when they know. Suddenly, I’m not a doctor or a woman who’s raising three kids by herself because her husband is a jack-off. I’m the woman who had a miscarriage, and I’m someone to be pitied. And being pitied is a fucking nightmare.”

“I get that,” Stan said. “But I’m not gonna stand here and pretend like what just happened didn’t scare the shit out of me. It’s not that I think you’re someone to be pitied. It’s that I’m worried about you, and wish you trusted me to support you in this. People like me and Fidds and Ford? We get what it’s like to live through something no one else can understand.”

Helen sighed, and said, “Stan, there are thousands of people who understand what I went through. Last time I checked the statistics, 10-20% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage. What happened to me was practically commonplace. It’s nothing compared to what you and your brother and Fiddleford have been through.” She felt a lump rising in her throat. “So...why does it still bother me?”

She saw Stan inch closer to her. Her voice was getting tighter, tears burning at the back of her throat. She didn’t want to cry. She was too exhausted to cry. She was too exhausted not to cry. “I’ve gone to the support groups,” she muttered thickly. “I’ve read the books. I’ve even done a little of the therapy. But every morning I wake up and it’s still there. It’s not always like this, but it’s there. And if I can let something like this rattle me so much, for so long? Then when good am I to you? What good am I to anyone?”

Stan was flush against her side right now. Without even thinking about it, she let her head fall, until it landed on his broad shoulder. His jacket was damp and soaked her hair a bit. She didn’t care. The tears that trailed down her nose were going to make it even wetter anyway.

“Helen,” Stan said softly, “it doesn’t matter what happened to make you feel like this. It might not be a homelessness or cults or weird demons, but that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that it was horrible, and it happened to you. That’s all the reason you need to still be affected by it. There aren’t any rules that tell you when you’re supposed to be okay with something.”

She didn’t answer him, she just took another drag of the cigarette, her hand trembling as she brought it to her lips.

After another beat of silence, Stan said, “That bastard walked out right after it happened, huh?”

She nodded as blew out the smoke. “A couple of months, give or take. He said he couldn’t deal with it. Couldn’t deal with me. Later, I realized he’d probably been looking for an out, and the baby was his excuse.”

“Piece of shit,” Stan muttered.

“I was gonna have a girl,” she muttered. “I wanted to name her Christina.”

She felt Stan move his arm down, and cup her hand in his. It was warm. She tossed the half-finished cigarette over the railing and into the bushes.

“You could have at least had the decency to finish it,” Stan grumbled, but she could hear the smile in his voice.

“Don’t you know those things give you cancer?” she replied. “You should be thanking me.”

“You wanna head back in, maybe lay down?” Stan offered. “We’re trying to put together a bit of strategy. Ed’s offering to take us to bust out Ford, and we need to hurry.” She heard the worry creeping into his voice, despite his efforts to keep things casually for her sake. “Apparently, he’s not in great shape.”

“I’m coming with you,” Helen said firmly. There was no two ways about it.

“You sure?” Stan asked. She could see the doubt in his eyes, and she wanted to smack it out of him.

“Never been more sure,” she replied. “I feel like a pretty good catharsis for me right now would be to beat in the face of the fuckwad who caused me all this misery. And since Richard moved to California, that only leaves this Ivan bastard.”

Stan smirked a little, and said, “Alright then. I’m not gonna stop you. You can even take my bat. It’ll give me an excuse to brush off my knuckle dusters. And give your house keys a rest.” He punctuated that last comment with a playful check of her shoulder. She couldn’t suppress the smile.

She couldn’t help it. She leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek. “You’re a good person, Stanley Pines.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he said. He began leading her back into the house. He didn’t let go of her hand. “Now let’s go knock around some cultists.”

Helen pushed down the gnawing in the pit of her stomach, nodded, and followed him in.

-----

Rfc fmsp md rpsrf hq ajmqc yr filb

Ufcpe msp jcpmcq ugjj kyic rfcgp dglyj qrykb

Zsr umkcmlc ‘q rpsqr fyq zccl kgqjygb

Ugjj rfcw dglb msr gl rgkc ufm fyq zccl njywcb?

#gravity falls #fanfic #mystery nerds au #seared with scars #ford pines #stan pines #fiddleford mcgucket #helen bergstrum #blind ivan #society of the blind eye #tw panic attack #tw miscarriage #tw ptsd #tw discussions of war #tw graphic injuries

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fanaste · 7 years

Text

New Years? I’ll Parse.

December 31st 2014 – 11:57pm (three minutes to midnight)

They were fighting. He got that. They’d had a fight, he got that too. But Jesus fucking Christ they’d had lots of fights before. He was familiar with the silent treatment okay? He was. But it’d been weeks. Weeks that had morphed into months and now he’s sitting here staring at his God damn phone at a number he hasn’t seen flash up on his screen since last December.

And maybe because of that someone could say they had officially parted on bad terms but if you’d asked Kent, if you ask him now even he’d tell you they weren’t the worst terms they’d ever parted on. At least Jack was still breathing when Kent left him.

Someone pushes the door to the smoking area open and Kent hears the tantalising notes of the Beyonce song that always makes him think of fucking. It’s about drinking and fucking and she’s on the beach writhing around and if Kent were into women he’d be into that. As it happens he’s not into women. He’s into emotionally unavailable French Canadians with an ego the size of his home country.

“You can’t…you don’t come to my fucking school unannounced-“

“Because you shut me out!”

“And corner me in my room.”

“I’m trying to help-“

“And expect me to do whatever you want-“

He was just trying to help. Kent promised Jack he’d come back for him. Maybe not out loud, not with words Jack could take and keep inside him for cold nights when Jack thought he’d left all possibility of Hockey behind in a sick puddle on the bathroom floor. Jack had to know he hadn’t stayed away because he wanted to. His parents must have told them he’d tried to visit but that Alicia had told him not to come.

“Don’t come Kent. He need to rest. He needs to know there’s life outside of Hockey.”

And like an idiot. Like a newly drafted NHL player idiot he listened.

But he never forgot. How could he?

Jack was the love of his life.

In the background Beyonce sings about being in love. Kent’s in love all right and he’s shit faced. And this song reminds him of frat house hallways and hands groping desperately at a body he hadn’t touched in too long but that felt familiar as his own.

“Fuck Jack! What do you want me to say? That I miss you? I miss you, ok? I miss you.”

He was just trying to fucking help! But Jack was too stubborn, to determined to try and fail on his own and face his father’s rejection like some martyr. And Kent knew he’d hate it, he’d hate it and he’d love it because deep down he wanted it because he felt like he deserved it.

“You always say that.”

In the spaces between his hammering heart beats Kent felt the edges of his longing turn to anger. Why was Jack being like this? Why was he throwing Kent’s help away? Why was he trying to throw Kent away? And on the wave of those questions came more questions like, why hadn’t Jack tried to call? Kent found his fucking body didn’t he remember that? Hadn’t anyone told him? Didn’t he care?!

“You know what Zimmermann? You think you’re too fucked up to care about? That you’re not good enough? Everyone already knows what you are but it’s people like me who still car!”

“Shut up.”

Jack didn’t want his help then fucking fine.

“You’re scared everyone else is going to find out you’re worthless right? Oh don’t worry! Just give it a few seasons Jack trust me!”

“G-get out of my room.”

Heaving in the silence Kent swallowed around the jagged parts of his heart and in the hardest voice he could muster said,

“Fine. Shut me out. Again.”

Truthfully Kent expected to ride out the next few days of the silent treatment, give Jack a chance to calm down, to realise that his pride wasn’t going to get him anywhere fast. Magnanimously Kent gave him a week to sort his shit out before texting,

‘I’m sorry about last weekend. Please consider my offer’.

But all he got was more silence. Silence in January, silence in February and come draft day there was more of the same except this silence was worse because it was screamed all over the sports networks and blogs.

Zimmermann signs with Providence Falconers

Kent skated so hard that day he puked.

Now Kent stands in the smoking area of a club on the strip with too much coke in the air and too much liquor in his body and he’s staring down at his phone and cursing Jack Zimmermann’s name. Sagging against the dirty brick wall he takes a deep breath and with every cell in his body and all the power in his mind he makes a wish. He makes several wishes, actually.

I wish I was happy.

I wish I was stronger.

I wish I didn’t know how to love.

I wish I’d never fallen in love with Jack Zimmermann.

I wish I’d never met Jack Zimmermann.

Something in him shifts anxiously after that last one and his eyes snap open. No. He doesn’t wish that. He doesn’t. He can’t because…because he doesn’t know who he is if a part of him doesn’t love a man he can’t have.

He pulls up Jack’s number again. Sooner or later he’ll see Jack. They’ll face off on the ice and even though they’ll be playing against one another he’ll remember what it was like to play in the Q. He’ll remember that when they played together nothing could beat them. When they hit the ice Kent will look at Jack and Jack will smile and he will know that whatever happened last year doesn’t matter.

Maybe Jack will love him again.

He brings the phone to his ear and listen to the ring.

“You’ve reached the T-Mobile voicemail service for ‘Jack Zimmermann’,” Kent’s heart clenches at the sound of his voice. “This person is unavailable to take your call. Please leave a message after the tone.”

Kent hangs up.

In the background the music stops and a voice, muffled by the thick walls of the exterior, announces. “It’s almost midnight! Countdown with me!”

Ten

Kent brings the phone to his ear again.

Nine

It rings.

Eight

Seven

“You’ve reached the t-mobile voicemail service for ‘Jack Zimmermann’,”

Six

“this person is unavailable to take your call,”

Five

“Please leave a message after the tone.”

Four

Three

Two

One

“Hey it’s- it’s me. Happy New Year.”

December 31st 2015 – 10:55pm

Kent Zips up his pants, fishes his cell out and leans against the stall door. The music is muted in the bathroom but he can’t tell if it’s because it’s any quieter in here or if it’s just the ringing in his ears. Occasionally the hiss of urine hitting porcelain reminds him where he is but soon his focus on the little glowing screen drowns even that out. The little glowing screen all lit up with the sky blues of twitter.

That Bittle kid is tweeting up a storm. He’s back in Samwell for the new year and there’s pictures of him leaning heavily into bodies twice as tall and twice as wide as himself. Not that it’s hard when then guy’s the size of a thimble.

@omgcheckplease @clarissaexplainsitall showin’ bros how it’s done.

Kent’s signal is shitty in here and it takes his phone an agonisingly long time to pull up the picture of Lardo grinning as Holsom and Ranster(???) bow before her. She has a heeled foot on Holsom’s shoulder and her shutter shades, that can hide a look of determination so scary Kent knew he was done for the moment he accepted the pong ball, do nothing to obscure the triumph she exudes.

@omgcheckplease reigning 2016 champion @clarissaexplainsitall

Kent closes the photo and scrolls up and down looking for a tweet, any tweet, that’ll clue him in to what’s going on in Samwell…or more importantly what’s going on with a certain dark haired, blue eyed Canadian.

Kent’s not a fan of Eric’s, not in the least, but he’s become an avid checker of his feed ever since a picture of Jack turned up over the fourth of July weekend. A picture of him looking comfortable in a kitchen straight out of a Southern Homes Style magazine.

They haven’t spoken since the game. They didn’t even speak at the game just exchanged passive aggressive jibes through reporters who resurrected all their old clips from the Q helping Kent to relieve the now excruciating memories of good times playing with a guy Kent thought to call his soul mate.

At the end of the game Kent tried to get hold of Jack but he was long gone. At least Kent got the game winning goal. If there was ever a better fuck you to someone it was a game loss for Jack.

Finally when his finger hurts from swiping and his eyes g smudgy Kent locks his phone and slips it back in his pocket.

A second later a smack on the door makes him jump so hard he nearly topples into the toilet.

“Hey open the fuck up!” A familiar voice bellows.

“We know you’re in there Parson! There’s a shot here with your name on it!”

Kent takes a deep breath and tries to pull himself together. When he opens the door he covers any sign of heartache with a glower at two of his team mates. “What the fuck were you doing in there?” Cray peers curiously past him.

“Making sure they’ve got the right number for your mom on the wall.” Kent retorts summoning the cocky half smile he wears in all he posters and cards he scrawls his signature over after games. All it takes is this quirk and Kent’s untouchable again. The boys follow him across to the sink. There’s no soap and all the taps do is dribble water when he turns them. He can’t believe they charge fifty bucks for tickets to this event and can’t even spring for decent plumbing. If he was a better team captain he’d have sanitiser with him.

Jeff guffaws and Cray flips him off. “Quit hiding like a bitch in here and come join the party. The company got hotter.”

“How,” Kent scoffs, “I was in here.”

Cray gives him a sarcastic little smile, “You think you’re the hottest member of this team huh?”

Jeff ushers them both out of the men’s room.

“I am the hottest member!” Kent shouts over yet another terrible remix of a song he likes.

Cray mimes that he can’t hear him.

Kent rolls his eyes and pushes through the sweaty corridor of bodies that strain their necks to see the three figures heading up to the coveted VIP area. Kent wipes sweat from his brow that he’s not convinced is his with a grimace. He doesn’t want to be here and he’s not drunk enough yet to forget that he hates New Years. It’s the same shit every year. A different party, a different city but it’s always the same vibe. He’s always with people he likes, he always drinks too much and then makes the same promise.

He’s going to live life like he never met Jack Zimmermann.

He’s not drunk enough yet though but luckily for him (or at least as promised by Cray) there are six women dressed in flirty little skirts and tops waiting for them on the leather seats specifically designed to make you feel like you can drink (and snort) as much as you like and it’ll all slide down you and not stain just like the liquor you’ll spill on their wipe clean couches.

Kent takes a deep breath and reinforces the face that makes it look like he’s into this. “Where are the shots?”

Jeff gives him an indecipherable look and situates himself on the bench furthest from the girls. Cray rolls his eyes as if to say ‘whipped’.

One of the girls leaps up, prompted by her friends, and crosses the small space towards him. She’s wearing heels, not that Kent’s looking at her feet, but her tottering is unmistakeable and more prominent still because she’s obviously drunk. “I’m Amber.” She says when they’re within shouting distance.

Kent smiles like his posters. “Hi Amber.”

One hand rises to tuck her hair behind her ear and she smiles coyly down at her chest. It’s dusted with glitter Kent can see it shimmering in the strobes. “You like to party?” she asks withdrawing a little white baggy from her sparkly cleavage. When she looks up Kent thinks her eyes flash black. Kent wonders if this is a sign that he should give up now and just let someone drag him into oblivion the quick way. His eyes snag on the baggy full of shit that gets guys benched Amber shakes in her long fingertips.

He thinks about it. It’s a party. There’s only the team up here. The team and six women who won’t keep quiet about partying with the hottest members of the Las Vegas Aces. Who will regale their friends with very detailed stories, from what they wore to what they took. Time feels suspended as he tries to make his decision but his brain is foggy enough that he quickly bores of his pros and cons list and where he falls on the turns has him nodding faintly.

He’s nowhere near the ice now. “Yeah.” He breathes, “I like to party.”

Amber’s grin is a mirror of his own as she pops open the bag and sprinkles a line across the rise of her left breast. Kent feels like a rapper when he snorts it from her skin and accepts the chaser shot Cray hands him.

He feels like a NHL player.

He feels like the Kent Parson they write about on the blogs.

In the background someone mutters, “Just like Zimmermann.”

December 31st 2015 – 11:30pm

Kent doesn’t know who dragged who but he’s not moving anymore. He’s pressed up against a toilet stall door and whoever it was that was giving him eyes from across the room is now giving him eyes from the floor as they kneel ready to make good on a threat delivered between the dancefloor and the sticky club hall.

I’ll show you a good time.

This isn’t Kent’s first rodeo, he’s made toilet stall fucks into an art form and so he bites down on his lips to smother the embarrassingly loud moan of relief when the guys plump lips wrap around his dick and a hot wet tongue circles the head.

Kent puts out a hand to brace himself on the stall wall behind his kneeled companion. His hips jolt as he shifts and the guy pulls back with a protesting, “Dude.”

“Sorry.” Kent mutters and means it. The guy gives him a sceptical look and Kent would reassure him that he isn’t into forcing strangers to deep throat him if he could find any of the words needed to articulate that and sound genuine. Instead he prompt’s the guy with a “So?” desperate to drown out the droning remix of a Solvig song with the sound of this guy sucking his dick.

Mercifully the guy takes a breath and takes Kent into his mouth again. He knows what he’s doing and when Kent feels the guys other hand cup his balls he thinks that perhaps this could be over before midnight, just in time for Kent to stumble out and say Happy New Year as if he thinks this year is going to be any different from the last. Or the one before that, or any of the ones before his best friend tried to kill himself and cast Kent out of his new post suicide life.

Kent blinks slowly and slower still until a particularly lascivious lap of his friends tongue pushes him far from the bathroom at Midas and back to somewhere they’re not playing terrible remixes of songs he likes. Somewhere the music is something with a bit more twang and completely ill fitting to the Canadian mansion he’s in.

The mouth on his there isn’t hurried or impersonal. It’s slow and loving and a little shy because he’s just seventeen and both of them pretend to know what they’re doing with girls but with each other there’s nothing but honesty, and so when Jack takes him into his mouth it’s with an uncertainty that makes Kent both impatient and fond. Kent reaches out to caress Jack’s cheek, to tell him he feels so good, that his mouth is amazing and that he’s about to come. It’s crude and scripted but he hopes that between the stock phrases they’ve picked up from all those pornos that Jack hears what Kent is really saying.

You’re perfect. I can’t believe you’re doing this for me. I love you.

They never said they loved each other but you didn’t get chemistry on the ice like theirs without heart.

A tug on his dick pulls him from the tentative ministrations of the past and plants him back in the toilet stall of the club he wished he’d never fucking suggested for the night. His hand hovers in mid air paused on it’s way to the strangers face. The guy gives it a sideways look but doesn’t say anything. Instead he pushes his face down and down and down until his nose brushes the hairs at Kent’s groin.

Kent moans.

“You like that?” The guy pants his lips spit slick and eyes glassy from too much fairy dust.

All he can do is nod because his throat is throbbing so hard he feels like he can’t breathe.

“Fuck yeah you do.” The guy smirks moving his tight grip up and down Kent’s flesh. Kent’s belly quivers and his balls tighten between his legs.

Kent can’t remember the guy’s name and it doesn’t matter. It won’t matter when he’s come, it won’t matter when they leave the stall and go back outside to toast another year of fucking around and being fucking miserable and wishing he’d never met Jack fucking Zimmermann and then taking it back because he daren’t risk the wish coming true. Because what excuse would he have for burying his misery in every body he meets at a club three sheets to the wind if he can’t blame it on Jack?

What would he do with all the mental space freed up by getting over Jack?

The hand stops moving and clamps around the base of his dick. Kent mewls belatedly realising he was close, so close.

“Not yet.” The voice below him growls.

Fuck you yes yet Kent scowls removing the guys hand.

The guy smirks at him and mutters something that doesn’t sound English. Kent’s belly clenches and his dick pulses. When he looks down again all he can see is dark hair.

“Can- uh, can you speak French?” he asks brokenly.

“Huh?” the guy frowns up at him shattering the bubble.

“Nothing – nothing forget it.”

The guy gives him another wary look like he’s deciding this is more hassle than it’s worth and Kent wouldn’t blame him but he could kill him if he stops now because he’s so, so close.

In the background the music the cuts off. A second later the chant starts.

Ten

Nine

Eight

Seven

Kent’s once again enveloped in the wet heat of the strangers mouth.

Six

Five

Four

Three

His belly tightens and his leg shakes.

Two

One

In a rush his body tightens and the black behind his lids turns white as the cum painting his partners face.

The guy turns to spit what load he caught in his mouth, down the toilet.

Happy New Year.

December 31st 2016 – 3:00pm

“Last year Hudson said you all went to a club.” Lewsey says scooping up his Taco but leaving half the filling behind on the Styrofoam plate.

“Uh huh.” Kent answers taking care to keep his own Taco filling in the damn Taco because he’s not an animal and this is not his only meal of the day so he’s not going to act like it is…well not in front of the rookies who are acting every bit like the children they are when Lewis pouts and misses the hint to quit while he’s ahead. “And?” Kent asks after he’s finally swallowed.

“I’m just sayin’ a house party…it’s a little…” he gropes around for the right word and Kent hopes to god it’s the right word because he’s in a pissy mood. Killing himself in the gym was not the good mood shortcut he’d hoped it be and despite Cray engaging him in a squat competition (and losing sorely which always makes Kent’s gloating a little sweeter) the endorphin’s washed away with the soapy run off down the drain.

He’s tried to solve the problem with food but that’s not working either.

“High school?” Cray finishes because he loves watching a car crash.

Kent shoots Cray a dirty look that he brushes off with an obtuse smile. Kent takes a delaying bite and when he’s finished he gives Lewsey the kind of look you reserve for the child that’s been winding you up all day. It’s a look he inherited from his mum and makes him look just like her. “We all went to a club and it was hella expensive and wasn’t that much fun. Jeff’s got a huge fucking house, the booze is free and the music’ll be better.” He takes a breather and sips his soda, “But by all means go to a club and stand outside in line all night. You won’t be missed.”

Lewsey gapes and Taco filling falls from his mouth. He struggles to catch it back, “Erm.” He chews quickly, “No it’s-“ he looks at Cray for help but Cray’s too busy trying to smother his laughter. “It’s fine.”

“Is it?” Kent asks tartly. “You don’t have to come.”

Lewsey once again looks to Cray for help which is stupid because the guy lives for awkward moments like these. Everyone thinks Cray’s a nice guy because he doesn’t verbally give the rookies shit, but none of them have wisened up to the traps he silently lays.

“No, no! I want to.” Lewsey insists.

“It’s not mandatory.” Cray says with artful nonchalance.

Kent looks down at the table for a knife but all he sees is a straw. If he gets an eye it’ll shut Cray up but he’ll only get one shot and he can’t vouch for his accuracy. Which is ironic considering what he does for a living.

“It isn’t?” Lewsey doesn’t sound sure.

Before he answers Kent finishes his Taco. He takes his sweet time with it and Cray doesn’t fill the gap of silence which leaves their rookie to glance between them anxiously while nibbling on his own food.

By the time Kent’s done Lewsey’s practically purple.

“Look,” Kent begins, wiping his greasy fingers on a napkin. “Come, don’t come, I don’t give a shit.” He screws up his tissue and punctuates his words by throwing it onto Lewsey’s plate.

“No, no! I wan-wanna come.” Lewsey stutters.

Kent shrugs and gathers up the their debris. “Whatever man. Be there or not it’s your night.” And with that he takes off for the trash can at the back of the restaurant.

While Kent’s in the bathroom Lewsey looks helplessly at Cray who shrugs like he doesn’t know what’s up with their captain but looks like he knows exactly what’s up with their captain.

“Did I- did I really offend Parser or something?” Lewsey asks slowly.

Cray makes to shrug again but he likes Lewsey the best out of all the rookies. Lewsey reminds him of his sister (the only family member he can stand), he even kind of looks like her…or the male version of her at least which is more than he does because he got their dad’s looks which includes their dads unfortunate nose and tendency to put weight on round the face. Cray takes a deep breath then on an exhale answers, “Parser hates New Years.”

Lewsey takes a moment to digest this. He considers it for a moment after that and then says, “My brother hates New Years too but that’s because he got run over when he was a kid and I’m pretty sure he has PTSD from it. Or at least that’s what my sister thinks. I think he just hates that he never has anyone to kiss at midnight.” He shrugs as though it’s just one of those mysteries he’ll never figure out.

Cray loves this kid.

“Does Kent have PTSD?” he asks.

Cray blinks a little startled. He doesn’t know if Kent has PTSD per say but he knows that when it comes to December thirty first there’s something ugly that unfurls inside Kent. “Nah he just never has anyone to kiss at midnight.” Cray lies easily.

Lewsey rears back like this is the most confusing part of his afternoon so far. Not the being abducted at two thirty to go get Taco’s from a tiny fast food joint right on the lip of the city. Not being told to leave his phone behind on pain of endless drills. Not being told that he can only order an everything Taco or a nothing Taco with extra refried beans. Not being forced to wear shorts even though it’s a little too chilly for that.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Lewsey declares. “He’s Kent Parson! Captain of the Las Vegas Aces.”

Cray’s smile makes his face ache. “And yet,” he tries not to laugh, “he finds himself puckering up into air at midnight.”

Lewsey lowers his voice, “Every year?” he asks disbelievingly.

“Every year.” Cray confirms.

“Is it a suspicion thing? Like Moller and the…” he makes a crude motion with his hand.

“No. Not many people know this but,” Cray leans in conspiratorially, “Kent Parson has no game.”

“No!” Lewsey practically gasps. “No way!” he almost sounds scared like if Kent Parson has no game then none of them do.

“Honest to God.” Cray crosses his fingers under the table.

When Kent returns it takes one look at Lewsey’s confounded expression for him to turn a suspicious one on Cray. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him you woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning and not to take your piss poor mood personally.” Cray lies seamlessly.

Kent doesn’t miss a beat, “You told him I got not game didn’t you?”

Cray’s grin is shit eating, “He believed me too. You need to pick up more, it’s getting too easy.”

Kent flips him off. “Crays a liar and a scumbag,” Kent educates Lewsey, “and out of the two of us he’s been celibate the longest.”

“Helps me focus my game.” Cray replies sombrely.

“Right…” Lewsey’s eyes dart between them both.

“Let’s blow this joint.” Kent pauses, “If you’re not familiar with the term Cray it’s when-“

“Fuck you man.” Cray shoves his shoulder and they burst out into the white sun of the parking lot.

Cray cries shotgun and runs for the car like a child. Kent walks slower because his hamstrings are fucking killing him and Lewsey hovers in the gap between them like an excited child but one that doesn’t want to lose sight of his parents. When he reaches out for the backdoor handle Kent frowns.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting in the car.” Lewsey rolls his eyes.

“Rookies walk home.” Kent deadpans.

Lewsey laughs haltingly, “Har har.” He tries the handle again but Kent won’t unlock the car. “Seriously?” Lewsey squeaks. “How am I supposed to get back?”

Kent shrugs.

“Come on man.” He whines tugging on the handle.

Kent motions for him to back away from the car and Lewsey retreats a step. “Next time,” Kent advises opening the drivers side and getting in, “don’t be so ready to believe Cray’s lies.” He slams the door down and a second later the window rolls down. “See you at Jeff’s later.” Kent salutes him then starts the car.

Lewsey makes an aborted sound of protest but Kent’s car peels out of the lot and he doesn’t even break when he meets the road.

Lewsey stares after them long after they’re gone. And even longer after that when he realises he doesn’t have his phone.

December 31st 2016 – 6:02pm

“You’re wearing that?” Kent leans forward to squint at the screen even though he can see Katie perfectly.

His sister gives an impatient little snort, “The hanger makes it look shorter.” She says to reassure him.

Not reassured in the least Kent remarks, “I think the dress makes the dress look short.”

Kate’s withering look is just as effective on screen as it is in person, “I don’t tell you how to dress.” She retorts.

“I don’t wear tiny dresses.” He argues.

“Only because you don’t have the legs for it!”

There’s a pause and then both Parson siblings dissolve into laughter. Kent clutches his heart dramatically and in between guffaws pouts, “Wow babe. Ouch.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Katie sighs giving a rueful little smile.

“You already had this talk with mom eh?”

“I already had this talk with mom.” She nods.

Kent sits back feeling like an asshole. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine but it’s not like I can help being hot.” She smirks.

Kent rolls his eyes but says, “Well it is to be expected of the sister of Kent Parson.”

Katie looks confused, “Is this Kent Parson massive nerd and consistent loser of hungry hippos, pool, connect four, fuzboll and basically every other game that isn’t on the ice?”

“No it’d be the other Kent. The one who’s good at everything.” He says sardonically.

Katie shrugs clueless. “Never met the guy.”

“Christ put mom back on.” He groans.

Katie’s eyes bug out of her head and Kent’s about to tell her to calm down when she sputters “Is that Cray?!”

Kent does a double take over his shoulder when he sees what Cray’s wearing…or not wearing. He thinks this is bad enough but Cray’s wearing the boxers with beavers all over them, a nod to a very lewd joke he will definitely not share with his sister. From the screen there’s a wolf whistle and said sister sings, “Hey hot stuff! Where’d you get that body?”

Kent slams the laptop screen down. “I was on skype to my little sister!”

“Yeah,” Cray laughs, “And she can chirp with the best of them.”

Kent will not tell Katie that in case she feels entitled to gloat. “What the fuck are you doing in your underwear in my room?”

“I thought you liked that kind of thing.” Cray scoffs.

Kent feels his heart leap into the back of his throat. “Why the fuck would you think that?” He chokes out venomously.

Cray rears back, “I was joking Christ. Fragile masculinity much?”

Kent could howl if he were capable of finding anything to do with his panic funny. He hasn’t been able to relax since Zimmermann and his stupid blonde boyfriend came out on centre ice after the cup win this summer. He knows it’s ironic to feel even more trapped now when Zimm’s no doubt did it to unchain not only himself but many others living closeted life in the world of professional sports. Kent doesn’t know if Zimmermann forgot what that sort of scrutiny would do to everyone in his life or if he just didn’t care but on the cusp of the big reveal came a litany of blog posts that spent way too much time looking for clues about his orientation in his past and unearthed some rumours about he and Kent that sat way too close for comfort.

Kent hasn’t said a thing about them but he’s been approached several times and even now, all these months later, he still has to watch what he says when Jack’s name comes up.

It also means he’s had to act like the big ol’ straight bro in the locker room just to convince the other guys that the rumours are just that, rumours for teenage girls who romanticise gay relationships between hot guys.

Honestly it’s more exhausting than the regular old pretending he was doing before.

“You’re still half naked in my room.” Kent blinks at Cray.

“I was looking for a spare towel. I gotta shower.”

He couldn’t come in looking for a towel before he took his god damn clothes off? Kent girits his teeth. “What’s wrong with your shower?”

“The waters still not back on. Jesus Christ Parson what crawled up your butt and died? I shower here all the time.”

Cray’s right. Parson lets him shower here all the time, he’s even peed while Cray’s been in the shower so it’s not like he hasn’t seen Cray’s bubble butt before. But (butt!) it’s different now because before Kent was straight and now he’s…well he’s never been straight but the guys didn’t know that, and the ones who did suspect were such a minority as to be easy to ignore or convince otherwise.

Fucking Zimmermann.

“So can I use your shower?”

Kent deflates and hopes his expression is less anxiety and more apology for snapping ‘irrationally’, “Yeah. Towels are in the airing cupboard it’s the door beside my bedroom door.”

“Ahh,” Cray hums, “So that’s what that room is.”

Kent almost doesn’t dare ask but he’s desperate for the distraction, “What did you think it was?”

“Your red room.” Cray snickers.

December 31st 2016 – 9:30pm

Swoops opens the door in a glittery green shirt that makes Kent question his whole existence. “Parse, glad you could make it.” Swoops exchanges a handshake and when both men pull each other in for a back slap Swoops speaks against his ear, “mention the shirt and I’ll pee in your beers.”

When Kent pulls back he’s smirking.

“Kent.” Swoops warns.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“You two spend too much time together.” Swoops’ girlfriend sashays down the hall. She looks stunning in a velvet grey dress that hugs her hips in a way that means Swoops is gonna be cleaning up everybody’s drool all night. Jasmine hip checks Swops out of the way and embraces Kent. “Glad you could make it.” She presses a kiss to his cheek.

Kent’s missed Jasmine and Swoops over Christmas while they went to Spain to visit Jas’ parents and he opens his mouth to tell them so when Hudson interrupts from over his shoulder.

“You almost sound like you mean it.” He guffaws shouldering his way past Kent through the front door. Neither Swoops not Kent miss the stiffening of Jasmines spine or the tightening of her smile.

There’s a history there. A history Swoops will never talk about because he’s been advised not to jeopardies team dynamics. It’s a history he won’t tell Kent in case Kent feels obligated to do something. It’s a history that makes Jasmine suddenly look self-conscious in her outfit.

Kent pulls away and he watches as Swoops and Hudson exchange a perfunctory handshake and back slap. Hudson turns and does the same with Kent. It’s full of just as much feeling as Swoops’. “Glad you could make it Parser. Missing the club?” Hudson’s eyes glint with innuendo.

Kent tries to head his flush off before it reaches his face. “Only thing I’m missing is a beer.”

“Bar’s where you left it.” Swoops waves them in.

December 31st 2016 – 10:30pm

“You should have seen this guy! He looked like fucking Puff daddy snorting coke off that chicks tit.” Hudson claps Kent on the back so hard he sloshes beer on Swoops’ carpet.

“Shit.”

Swoops leaps up with him, “I got it Parse.” He puts out a hand to stop Kent from rising from the couch to do it himself but Kent’s sick of hearing Hudson tell a story that makes him sound like a grade A douchebag. Kent’s a dick he doesn’t exactly work to prove otherwise but the coke thing was exceptionally douchey and he’s only ever done it once. But once is all it takes and now it’s Hudson’s favourite story to tell.

He wasn’t even there until after Kent had done it but nobody ever seems to fact check him. Hudson’s a good story teller and even Kent finds himself believing his version of events because it makes him sound less like a fratty white boy and more like the pimp people expect a professional athlete to be.

“Parse I got it.” Swoops assures him a second time for show when Kent is on his feet and following him into the kitchen. Jasmine whirls round wine glass to her lips looking guilty that she’s been caught necking pinot.

“Having a good time baby?” Swoops laughs.

“It’ll be great when I get to bottom of this bottle.” She pours another generous glass and waves the bottle at Kent, “Want one sweetheart?”

Something in Kent will always soften when Jasmine calls him sweetheart. It’s the way she says it with such fondness in her voice. It fools Kent into thinking that Jasmine loves him too. He’s five beers in and it’s easy to say yes to another drink and bask in the warmth of the press of Jasmines lips to his cheek and her hand cupping his jaw. “You okay?”

Kent nods.

“Hudson’s telling the coke story again.” Swoops shuts the fridge.

Jasmine tucks her lips between her teeth in displeasure. “What so he thinks you’re like him now?” her voice is sharper than the knife on the cheese board.

“He’ll get bored in a second when he realises all the women here have heard the story.” Kent waves it off.

“Which one?” Jasmine can’t fight snorting.

“All of them.” Jeff says meaningfully.

There’s that history again. Kent’s got enough beer in him to give him amnesia and ask about these other stories but there’s a crash from the study that sends Swoops flying with the names of someone’s kids on his lips.

Jasmine swipes a bit of cheese and holds it out to Kent, “Soak some of that up yeah?” She gestures to the bottle in Kent’s hand. Kent waves off her concern because he’s very determined to get wasted before twelve and he’s only got – he checks his watch- ninety minutes left. He chugs the rest of the beer and steals Jasmine’s glass.

“One day,” she sighs, “you’re going to have to get over him.”

“Who?”

Jasmine gives him a look.

“Who says?” he gasps wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Your sanity?” Kent reaches for the wine but Jasmine pushes it out of his reach. “Come on Kent.”

“Don’t tell me how to live my life.” He scowls childishly.

Jasmine gives him a long look but when he doesn’t rush to apologise she leaves the kitchen. Kent snags the wine bottle and takes a swig trying to fill the space that Jasmine’s disappointment hollows out of him. When it doesn’t work he goes out to freeze in the garden.

December 31st 2016 – 11:25pm

Kent’s butt has gone numb but he’s still staring at the god damn app.

He wants to say he’s happy for them. He wants to get behind them like everyone else and say words like ‘good for them’ and ‘that’s real progress they’re pioneering’ and ‘we should all representation’ and other sentences with buzz words like that but he just…can’t. Kent can’t support them not because he’s a raging homophobe but because he’s broken hearted and bitter.

Silence he could take. Being frozen out he could take. But seeing them like that? On the ice in front of thousands of fans and cameras that broadcast to millions more all over the country, all over the world, kissing? Kissing like they were in love? Kissing like they’d waited their lifetimes to do it?

Kissing like they were fucking happy.

There was nothing but white noise in his head when he saw it on Cray’s phone but after they’d gotten outside, after Carly couldn’t be heard giving his opinion like anyone gave a shit, his brain filled up with the kind of howling Kent was terrified people could hear.

That was supposed to be us!

His brain still screams it sometimes. It screams it when his eyes snag on a picture of Jack beaming at the camera holding a fucking pie that isn’t on any diet plan Kent’s ever prescribed to. He screams it when he sees a picture of them kissing on instagram or twitter. He yowls it when he sees the picture of Jack passed out in bed, covers hiked up to his waist and hair all sleep mussed.

Roadies are tough even on the veterans the caption reads.

It’s supposed to be cute but it makes Kent want to hurl. Kent only met that bitty kid once but he’s pretty sure that whatever he has with Jack can in no way compare to what he and Kent had.

They were masters on the ice. The bloody champions of the no look one shot goal for fucks sake! Everything they were on the ice they were a million times more off of it and each side fed into the other making them real contenders. Kent and Jack were supposed to go in the draft together. They were supposed to graduate to pro from their farm teams and get the A’s and then captaincy. Kent was supposed to spend his days doing the two things he enjoyed most. Playing hockey and loving Jack.

Sure Kent still gets to play hockey but he has to watch someone else love Jack and Jack love someone else.

Meanwhile Kent sits here on his ass too afraid to take a chance on someone else because lord knows Jack got all the luck. He gets lucky enough to find a boyfriend at Samwell, a boyfriend who obviously understood the dangers of Jack coming out in the world. Kent wouldn’t be so lucky. Kent would probably tether his line to someone who would sell him down the river, out in him in the tabloids or blackmail him for their silence. Or worse resent him for pulling them back into the closet with him.

Kent pitches the wine bottle into the garden and hears it smash somewhere down the patio. He regrets it immediately.

Gluttonous for punishment Kent opens up Eric’s twitter.

@omgcheckplease start as you mean to go on.

Attached is a picture of a series of pies all laid out neatly and photogenically along a gleaming kitchen counter. A kitchen counter Jack’s pay check paid for no doubt.

The next few tweets are a transcript of conversations they’ve been having with their friends and family during the day. The next few are a saccharine sweet shout out to all the ‘fans’ who have supported them this year since the Falconers cup win and Jack and Eric’s big gay reveal.

Eric doesn’t type big gay reveal, Kent just adds that in because he’s angry and petty and self-destruction has no bite unless he’s adding in his own internalised (and really it has to be internalised because only six people in Kent’s life know he’s gay) homophobia.

The next tweet comes with a picture of a beer pong table set up.

@omgcheckplease @clarissaexplainsitall showin’ bros how it’s done again!

@omgcheckplease reigning 2017 champion @clarissaexplainsitall

Attached is a photo reminiscent of the photo taken last time except there’s only one guy beneath her foot and it’s Jack. His face is all scrunched up and peculiar looking and Kent does a double take when he realises that it’s because he’s laughing so hard.

He sways on the wall and closes his phone.

He doesn’t know who the fuck that guy in the photo is.

Falling off the wall Kent starts the slow stumble back to the house and when he steps through the patio doors the warm air dries his lips and shrinks his bladder threateningly.

He hunts for the bathroom but the downstairs one is occupied and so he crawls, on his hands and knees, up the stairs too drunk to just hold onto the railing. When he summits them he spots two girls leaning against the landing wall each staring at their phones. Both are leggy and blonde and completely Hudson’s type

“They are goals.” The tallest leggiest one gushes. Her gold dress makes her glow.

“Such goals.” Her less leggier but no less blonder friend agrees.

“I know it’s, like, not pc to say but I totally think them making out on centre ice was hot.”

“Oh my god hella hot.”

If you think that’s hot you should have seen him sucking cock Kent thinks to himself and because he finds himself so hilarious he snorts out loud. The girls whirl around eyes saucer wide and full of guilt.

“Sssorry ladies,” he slurs passing them, “Please go back to…whatever the fuck you were doin’.” He sends an approximation of a grin over his shoulder before shutting the bathroom door behind him.

He throws the lid up, pulls his pants down and relieves himself. Outside in the hall he hears the girls say,

“Kent’s hot.”

“Brett says he’s a fucking mess and a coke addict.”

Hudson invited them then.

“Do you think those rumours about him and Jack were true? You know the-“ she pauses and Kent wonders if she’s miming sniffing coke or a handjob.

“Regardless I’d still fuck him.”

After a beat the other girl says, “Yeah me too.”

December 31st 2016 – 11:48pm

“Kent? Kent? Open the door. I know you’re in there.” The handle twists but Kent made sure to lock it so all it does is rattle against the frame. “Fucks sake. You better not be passed out in your own puke.”

Kent grunts. Not his style.

There’s a muffled “Thank god.” Outside the door followed by a click of the lock and finally the door opening. Swoops appears with a glass bottle in his hand and the first thing Kent slurs is,

“That better be vodka.”

“Ha ha.” Jeff says humourlessly. “No. You’ve had enough fucking liquor you can drink this.” He hands him the bottle and a slice of bread, “And eat this. Why are you in my bath tub?”

Kent ignores the water but does take the bread. Crumbs fall onto his chest. “It looked comfortable.”

Jeff heaves a weary sigh, “And is it?”

Kent shakes his head and more crumbs tumble down. It’s very uncomfortable but Kent was sad anyway and so he decided what was a little more discomfort in the grand scheme of things? “I should have come.” Jeff gives him a look. “I’m ruining the…the…good times.”

“Hudson’s hitting on Maya. You’re missing a hell of a crash and burn but other than that,” Jeff pushes the water at him again, “you’re not preventing anything.”

Kent doesn’t believe him for a second. He’s always fucking up and getting too drunk and then too mopey and Swoops, no Jeff, he’s Jeff when it’s just them together, is always there to look after him. To drag him from one drink too many, helping to smooth over fights that Kent swears to god he didn’t start. Jeff’s like his guardian angel…or his carer.

“You shouldn’t have to look after me.”

Unexpectedly Jeff snaps, “Then stop needing it.” Taken aback Kent blinks up at him. “Is this about Zimmermann?”

Kent sinks down in the tub, “No.” he mumbles into his chest.

“And last year wasn’t about him either?”

“No.”

“You’re the worlds worst liar I swear to fucking god.” Jeff mutters, “I don’t know how nobody has figured you out.”

“I’m Captain,” Kent pouts petulant, “you’re not supposed to give your captain shit.”

Jeff gives him a dry look, “Pretty sure the captains not supposed to get wasted and curl up to die in my bath tub, and yet.”

Kent flips him off.

“Real captainly.”

Kent swigs water and hopes Jeff is affected by the defiance in the violent gulping.

“It could be you, you know.” Jeff says softly after a minute. “You could come out.”

Kent almost spits his water out. “I’m not like Jack.” He says when he’s done.

“You’re not?” Jeff looks genuinely puzzled.

Kent might find it fond if he knew how to process that expression and all it really meant. “I’m not…” he combs his soupy brain for the word, “beloved.”

“Beloved?” Jeff blinks at him in disbelief.

“Beloved.” Kent scowls at him. It’s less effective every time he does it.

“How in the fuck is Zimmermann beloved? You think just cos his dad was a hockey star and his boyfriend started a black market jam trade that that makes him beloved?” Jeff snorts as if to say give me strength “It’s his boyfriend doing the baking not him. Jack Zimmermann is no more or less ‘beloved’ than you.”

“I can’t come out.”

“Can’t or don’t want to?” Jeff replies swiftly.

Kent bristles, “Don’t want to.” Kent snaps.

At length Jeff decides, “I think that’s bullshit.”

“Don’t fucking assume you know anything about what I want.” Kent snaps viciously…or vicious for a guy drunk in a bath tub with crumbs all over his shirt.

“God forbid I do that Kent huh? God forbid I try to help you off this self-destructive fucking rollercoaster you are determined to be strapped into.”

“I never asked you to help me!”

“That’s what friends do!”

“I don’t need you as my friend!” he shouts.

“Of course you fucking do!” Jeff shouts back. “Without me you’d be dead, or worse, slandered in all the papers for all the fucking bathroom blowjobs.”

Kent scoffs bitterly, “I never took you for a homophobe.”

Jeff sneers at him, “I’m not a fucking homophobe you asshole I’m trying to look out for you. You don’t want to be out then stop fucking around with randoms who would sell you down the river if they ever found out who you are. You don’t want the wider world knowing things about you you’d rather keep secret then maybe you should stop taking strangers into back rooms and working your way through Nevada one grindr user at a time and focus on getting over Jack fucking Zimmermann.”

By the time he’s done Jeff’s chest is heaving and the air’s turned thick and heavy with all the words he’s just said. Kent can’t say anything for the giant lump in his throat and it takes him several tries before he feels like he can swallow it enough to make sound around it. “Why couldn’t it be me?”

Jeff sinks down, turns and leans his back against the tub. “You and Jack?”

“We used to date.” Kent whispers like he’s just admitted something huge. Like Jeff doesn’t already know that the tear in Kent’s heart is shaped like Zimmermann’s knife. “He thinks I forgot him and then when I went to talk to him at Samwell he just-“ Kent takes a shuddering breath, “he didn’t want to know. He told me to get out.”

Jeff takes a breath, “That was a long time ago.”

“He gets everything.” Kent croaks miserably. “The legendary parents, the money and the privilege. He got the fresh start and every hockey team vying to be his first pick even after he left them hanging. Then he gets the A and the perfect fucking boyfriend and now,” Kent’s head lolls against the tub, “now he gets a team who supports who he really is.”

Kent makes Jeff wait for the kicker.

“And he did it all without me.”

And there it is.

“We’d be there for you.”

Kent snorts, it’s a nice thought but it’s hardly true. “You think Hudson and Macksey are gonna be there for me? You think the GM’s are gonna be there for me? You know what they’ll fucking say. They’ll watch the ticket sales go down and the fights on the ice get worse and they’ll think maybe it’s best if I get scratched for a few games. Then it’s me handing over my C and sending me down to ‘train’ kids at the farm and then come trade day,” he makes a whistle bomb sound, “they’ll sell me to the only bidder.”

“They can’t kick you off the team for being gay Kent.”

“They can make it hard to stay on it.” He snaps, “God Jeff I love you but you’re fucking naïve.”

Jeff makes an angry impatient noise in the back of his throat, “You think you’re the only one who has a secret on this team? Do you think you’re the only player on this roster who has things they think they need to hide for fear of being benched or sent down to the farm? Jesus Christ Kent you’re the fucking captain. You could help these peoples!”

“I don’t owe anybody anything.”

“Then you’re just like Zimmermann, or worse because he just did that.”

“For himself.” Kent refuses to believe that Jack did that for anybody but himself. He won’t have thought about the wider world. Jack’s only ever crippled under the public pressure, he’s never risen to meet it or change it.

Jeff makes that sound again, “For himself or not he’s not opened a door that the leagues been trying to hold closed for decades. Whether he continues with this or not it’s out there now and pretty soon other players are going to gently nudge their way out and declare themselves too. You could be one of them.”

Kent’s silence is considering. “But I’d be alone.” He says quietly.

“You wouldn’t be alone.”

“You think I could find someone to kiss live on air after a game?”

Jeff rolls his eyes, “Now you’re just being facetious. I’m saying that if you came out you’d have people in your corner. Your family for one and me and Jasmine and loads of other guys on the team.”

Kent makes a sound, “You sure of that?”

“I am. If this bullshit,” he waves over his shoulder to Kent wasted in the bath, “is about more than your heartbreak with Zimmermann just know that you don’t have to be afraid of walking out there alone if you want to be honest with the world about this part of you. But if this is only about Jack then I have some friendly advice for you.”

Jeff pauses so Kent has to ask ,”And that is?”

“Get some therapy and get over him.”

“I thought the best way to get over someone was to get under someone else.”

Jeff thinks he hears a smile in Kent’s voice. He answers with his own, “The rate you’re going through them don’t you think if that were true it would have happened by now?”

“You can’t slut shame me.” He grumbles sinking down into the tub. His sneakers squeak on the porcelain.

Finally Jeff turns hooking his muscled forearms over the lip of the tub and staring down into Kent’s tear streaked face. Gently he wipes one away from his cheek. “Kent. I love you okay? I can’t watch you do this anymore. You’re too fucking talented and amazing to be sitting in my tub thirty seconds from midnight drunk crying over a boy who doesn’t love you.”

Kent sucks in a breath.

“Yes you idiot I love you.” Jeff rests his cheek on the tub and regards Kent with a fond smile. “And so does Jasmine.”

“It’s not exactly the kind of love that has us making out on centre ice is it?”

Jeff shrugs, “You never know”

Kent’s belly does something clenchy that he’ll only start to understand when he’s hungover, “but if you want it to be you’ll have to start picking up the tab at meals. You can even start at brunch tomorrow.”

Kent burps. “Oh God.” He scrambles to get up.

Jeff fights to lean back before Kent’s flailing limbs can smack him in the face. “Jesus okay? We can ease into it you can get the coffees.”

“Nope!” Kent falls half out of the bath in his haste to get away.

“Christ Kent you’ll never get that-“

Kent pushes violently past him and falls face first into the toilet. Then vomits.

“-kiss now.”

“Urgh.” Kent gasps into the bowl.

Jeff leans over and presses his hand to the space between Kent’s shoulder blades and slowly rubs up and down in what he hopes is a soothing manner. Kent opens his mouth to thank him then vomits again.

“Happy New Year Kent.”

Kent flips him off.

“No really. It’s midnight.” He slides his phone under Kent’s face. “See?”

On the screen 00:00 flashes up. “Fuck.” He sighs. “Happy New year man.”

Jeff’s hand returns a steady slow comforting stroke along his spine. “Happy New Year bro.”

Staring at the rancid water at the bottom of the toilet bowl Kent doesn’t know how happy the new years going to be but when he wakes in the morning to find two Advil’s and a water with a note propped against it that reads;

Hi sweetheart. Breakfast’s on you yeah?

He begins to reconsider.

#omgcp #kent parson #jeff troy #swoops #parser #check please #omgcheckplease #my fics #happy new years guys #parse positive

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dropthegraceart · 7 years

Note

Your headcanons are amazing! Are there any headcanons for Stella and/or parents AU?

Oh gosh. Parents AU incoming! (under read-more)

Before Stella is born…

These two are hot messes, still questioning themselves and whether or not this is a huge mistake.

Yang spends many lunch dates voicing her fears to Weiss and Blake, who reassure her that being responsible for the survival of a tiny person’s life is far less terror-inducing than she’s making it out to be, which would be a lot more convincing if Weiss’ twins weren’t currently dunking her hair in earl grey tea and Blake’s newborn son wasn’t wailing like a firetruck.

Weiss actually makes a good point about not worrying about everything that could go wrong, but instead focusing on everything that will go right.

Blake just gives her the Blake Stare™ and asks Yang if she loves Mercury.

“Well, duh…”

“And he loves you?”

“I mean, he’s not exactly shouting it from the rooftops, but yeah, he does…”

“Then quit worrying your big, blonde brain over it. I’ve done a lot of worrying and running away from my problems in my life, but eventually I learned that sometimes the answer really can be that simple. If you two love each other, then this baby is gonna be loved, too. “

Eventually, the fear and dread wears off and subtle excitement takes over as they get used to the idea and the news comes that it’s gonna be a girl.

The hardest part for Yang is taking a leave of absence from being a huntress, but she fills her time with decorating the baby’s room and spending time with her dad who is just so gosh darn excited about becoming a grandpa.

Mercury has a stash of books written for mothers-to-be and parenting in general hidden in their house. He never enters a situation where he has no knowledge beforehand, not in combat, not in reconnaissance, and sure as hell not in childbirth.

“You’re gonna breastfeed her, right?”

“I had planned on it…why?”

“Good, it’s better for her. It provides natural antibodies and is usually more easily digested than formula, too, so she won’t get constipated. I don’t wanna deal with baby farts that could peel wallpaper. Also, we should really look more into this whole epidural thing. I know you’re hard as nails and lived through a dismemberment and all, but I think you’re gonna want one and there could be serious side effects if we’re not careful, you know.”

“…..”

“What.”

The name Stella stems off from one of my earliest headcanons (Long story short, Mercury started calling Yang Sunshine when they first met just to piss her off, so she called him Moonbeam to return the favor. The nicknames kinda stuck and became their cheesy-we’re-never-speaking-this-in-public-ever petnames). Seemed fitting for Yang to pick out a name that means “star”. *shrugs*

Mercury eventually takes to calling her “my little star” even when she’s grown and Stella hates it…

Mercury originally thought the idea of talking to a baby bump was so idiotic until Yang wore him down one day and he gave in, leaning down and awkwardly saying hi to Stella, immediately regretting it and feeling foolish until HOLY SHIT SHE KICKED YANG DID YOU FEEL THAT OMG SHE KNOWS MY VOICE I’M AWESOME. Now, Yang has a hard time getting him to shut up. It annoys her to no end b/c Mercury will now have direct “conversations” with Stella and ignore Yang half of the time.

During the actual delivery…

Ruby is the only person in the room holding Yang’s hand (but definitely not her metal one because the real one is doing enough damage). Mercury is too busy having a panic attack down the hall and Tai is busy calming him down. Qrow is late, but he brought top shelf whiskey to share with Yang as soon as the tiny human pops out.

Ruby comes out of the room with tears streaming down her cheeks and Mercury instantly fears the worst because This is karma for all those years of being an absolutely shitty human being, she’s dead, Stella, Yang, both of them, it’s all my fault, I deserve this. Then Ruby breaks out into a grin and bear hugs him “She’s BEAUTIFUL!” Pushes him into the room and closes the door to let him have a moment with his new family (also guarding the entry because Taiyang is just dying to meet Stella).

lsdkfasdnhjkh Yang’s just laying there motionless with her eyes closed and a bundle of fuzzy blankets in her arms and Mercury seriously thinks she might be dead until he sees the blankets move around, a tiny hand breaking free, and Yang just smiles without even opening her eyes. “We’re not having another. I’d rather lose all of my limbs than go through that again.”

Mercury cries. I’m not sorry, he does. One tear per eye kinda thing, but it’s enough for Yang to hold over his head for the rest of their lives.

They get probably a solid five minutes together before Taiyang practically busts the door down, followed by an exasperated Rubes.

Tai: “Where is she, where’s my beautiful girl?!”

Yang: “I’m right here, dad…”

Tai: “Not you, the baby! Where’s my Stella? I need to see my perfect baby angel!”

Ruby: “Hey, how come you just assumed he was talking about you when he said his beautiful girl?”

Qrow tries to play it cool, walking in slowly and poking fun at Taiyang and Ruby for crying. “I’ve been through all of this before. One baby is no different then the other, no offense Firecracker and Kiddo.”

His attitude quickly changes when Ruby forces Stella on him and Holy Gods above it’s just like when the girls were born all over again, how can something be so tiny and helpless, why do I want to give it all the kisses and oh man Tin-Legs is giving me that damn smirk, act natural, show no weakness…

“She’s pretty cute…I guess. No thanks to you, punk…”

Weiss couldn’t be at the actual delivery due to a very important Schnee Co. meeting, but she sends literal cart-fulls of flower bouquets and a card promising to make it over to Vale by the end of the week. Jury’s still out on whether or not she’s bringing along her twins (or the Ice Queen’s “popsicles” as Mercury has lovingly dubbed them…) along for the ride.

Blake leaves her litter of munchkins back at home to come visit. Stella takes an instant liking to her and falls asleep on her chest to the sound of Blake quietly purring, like how she would with her own children.

And I know there’s tons more, but I’ve had this draft sitting here just wasting away for months now and it’s time I got it out there to you trashy shippers

#firing main heacanons #rwby #yang xiao long #mercury black #gauntlets and greaves #kickboxing #disabler #parents au #stella xiao long #klsdkf;lasjd I love this family

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imperialdramons · 8 years

Text

Things I personally can’t stand in fics and writing in general. LONG rant, so stick with me people. This is a long overdue list that’s been in my drafts for ages.) VERY SUBJECTIVE in case that wasn’t obvious from the first sentence lmao. 1) Characters shipping the otp mentioned. I already like said OTP otherwise I wouldn’t be reading this fic. You don’t have to sell me on the concept of these characters dating, again, it’s why I’m reading the fic. You also don’t have to make characters ship them because, again, that’s what you have friends for- you talk to each other about what you like about the ship rather than sit by as a bystander while two other people go on talking about why they like said ship without allowing you to contribute a word. This is what we have social media for- conversation and opinions.

I really despise when everyone in a fic suddenly decides “these characters ought to date yes they’re soul mates” almost as if they’re part of a hive-mind when this is the most unrealistic thing to expect when you put two characters in a room full of different people. Trust me, most people would be very uninterested in other people’s love life. The most you would get would be a few close friends making gags (but again- you don’t have to sell ME on the concept of the characters dating. I fail to see both the charm and the point of this) If you’re going for realism, this isn’t where you’ll find it. If you’re going for a joke, I fail to see the humor in it. If you’re planning to make me resent a otp I normally would love by literally forcing me to read opinions of people I don’t even know- you brought your A-game pumpkin, and you succeeded. I often get the impression characters that ship the fic’s otp are trying to either parody what I feel about the characters, or tell me how to feel about the characters, and neither of these leave a good impression. Is the point of this stunt to make the characters feel awkward? There’s many different scenarios you could put them into that could make them feel equally as awkward and give more rewarding results- especially since the fics i’ve read including this have had the characters react very little to others “shipping” them- it kind of just goes on in the background (why? if there is no point to it, why include it? again, it feels like you’re trying to sell me something i’ve already bought). Is it written so often bc there’s some satisfying factor in knowing everyone agrees with you both inside and outside the fic? Oh. I think we’ve reached the reason this is so popular in fics. Score 1+ for the hive mind!

2) Convenient stupidity. When a character acts in a way to either mislead or derail the plot from its actual purpose without getting punished for their stupidity or given a chance to redeem themselves. It’s such a time-waster, and often causes the plot to regress and for the characters to go through the same motions again. It’s not a deal-breaker, but it’s a real joykill to have to read about the characters trying to fix a problem that could easily have been avoided had the character just not acted stupid when it seemed convenient to drag things out further.

3) PLEASE DO NOT COPY SITCOM JOKES FROM SHOWS LIKE SEINFELD AND THE BIG BANG THEORY I WILL LITERALLY FLIP MY LID. It doesn’t take a trained eye to notice when a joke doesn’t fit the phrasing of a character. Some lines from popular sitcoms work with every character because they’re so generic, but sometimes the lines sound absolutely out of character when they come from a character who feels like they’re being held at gunpoint just to hammer in a joke or two. I have seen characters butchered momentarily just to hammer in a few jokes that immediately lose their humor, mainly because the jokes are not funny if I can tell someone is forcing the words into the character’s mouth. It doesn’t sound like anything they’d actually say, but something someone else wants them to say. It isn’t a deal-breaker, but it really takes me out of the fic. There was one fic that actually had me dig through my bad 90′s sitcom archive to find 3 shows with the exact same joke as said fic. Do you know how disturbing it is to read a fic and suddenly see Jerry Seinfeld’s face pop up in your mind like a jump scare? It’s terrifying.

4) I can’t stand when a fic has all the depression tags, all the dark and tragic story tropes, but let’s throw in a joke in every third paragraph despite talking about a dark subject- let’s even ruin the most serious moments with a joke because hey jokes are supposed to break tension right. Let’s not care if it looks out of place or forced, we have to have a joke dammnit. Yes, humor is often used to lighten up the mood when things get too serious- but you actually have to allow your audience to have a pause for things to remain serious for a while before you can make a joke. A lot of the joke relies on the element of surprise (timing), and the delivery. If you don’t allow us to breathe in and grow accustomed to the serious and dark tone, you won’t be able to make us laugh when you genuinely write something funny. It’s just harder to get into it when there’s so many jokes. Instead of being a dark fic with some nicely paced jokes, it turns into an internal conflict of whether or not you label the fic as a dark humor satire or dark themed fic with a lot of comedy in it that just doesn’t pace well. Very few people can get away with this without making the humor seem completely out of place (but I have actually seen it done), and it takes a huge amount of skill to actually make dark humor work- because when dark humor doesn’t work, it just sounds offensive or insulting. (Dark Humor is often offensive, but what’s offensive has to either have some truth to it, or genuinely be funny to work as dark humor.) Meanwhile, when regular humor doesn’t work, we often either don’t notice the joke, or just shrug at it “yeah it was bad but i’ve read worse” and keep reading. I have seen so many fics write dark themes wrong by making light of a very dark situation and that is all fine and good if you’re writing a comedy that is mocking tragic and dark tropes in the form of a satire. However, this doesn’t work if you want said fic to be “inspirational” or “educational” (or even SERIOUS) about mental illness or disorders. It really just confuses the reader as to what your actual goal is with the fic if you’re both trying to mock the problem, and educate people about the problem. This just goes out to the smartasses that dismiss criticism bc “I has the depression so you are wrong and your opinion is stupid bc you dont have the depression so anything you say is wrong 8D” Please gently fuck off.

5) This might be an unpopular opinion, but I personally rank a fic’s appeal by how well they conduct a premise. You might also say I rank fics by how badly they mess up an easy premise/moral they have to work with and make a simple topic seem very absurd. I don’t care if the premise is simple- if they wrote it well, they deserve props for it. If they wrote a difficult premise and the fic kind of fell apart, I can still give them some props because I can tell there was effort put into trying to make something work. However, when a fic takes an easy premise and completely butchers it, ohhhh boy. It almost becomes something akin to reading my immortal- for shits and giggles- a beautiful trainwreck. However, here’s a fun fact; I don’t hate my immortal, or hellstorm evangelion, and wouldn’t class them as “the worst fics in harry potter and evangelion”. Why? Because they started off with an absurd premise. As soon as I read an absurd premise, I know the fic is going to be absurd. The fic delivers what it promises, and I genuinely can’t flaw it for that. Of course the fics are bad, OOC on top of crazy ideas, but it didn’t really market itself differently or as anything but OOC and crazy- and this is why I also don’t take them seriously- because in a way- they don’t take themselves seriously.

What I do take seriously however are fics that try their hardest to make a point and then fail miserably because they didn’t bother to do even the smallest amount of research- and I really do mean the most minuscule amount of research. I read a fic where a bruise lasted for 2 months. A bruise. Lasted 2 months. If a bruise is big and dark enough after 2 weeks you shouldn’t see a doctor, you should see an exorcist- because that thing needs to be sent to the shadow realm and fast. 2 months? A simple google search would have solved this. I actually didn’t know how long a bruise lasted for, but I took one look at that and shook my head, thinking “No. I really don’t think this is accurate.” but I actually decided to go look it up because “I might be wrong”. I might be nitpicking, but when your fic is trying to go for realism it doesn’t really help that you have these small bits of misinformation that could easily be corrected... One or two won’t kill the mood if the fic is good enough, but if the fic focuses on a subject that involves, oh, I don’t know, doctors/medicine (which i might add- i know near to nothing about) and relies on misinformation that even I can spot?... Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to just skim some reliable sources for relevant information about what you’re writing about. Small aside- I get bothered when people put the word “literally” in front of things they mean to say are “figurative”. I can actually gloss over this most times (i do it too sometimes almost unknowingly), but when someone writes “Literally kicked the door down-” and in the very next sentence, say the door “swung open”- No. That is inaccurate. You can’t just shove “literally” in front of things and not expect it to change meaning. That is literally illiteracy.

6) Nicknames. I really cringe at “Darling” or “Cutie” in fics. Yes, people do this in real life and I’m guilty of it too- but have you ever been that one friend in a friendship circle where you don’t exactly feel as if you belong there and then you’re hearing 2 people call each other "darling” over and over again? Doesn’t that feel even the least bit uncomfortable? I often get that impression when I read fics of two characters going back and forth like this- i feel like the awkward third wheel that’s imposing on their fun. I can handle some pet names, but when they constantly say “darling” and “sweetie” over and over again, I can’t help but to feel as if the characters are losing some of their character in the dialogue (it is actually very corny). Most fics of non-canon ships are already putting characters into situations that are hard to swallow- but nicknames like “darling”? That’s probably an aspect of fics i’ll never be able to handle. I can’t say why I feel this way other than the fact it always feels forced and shoehorned in (unless the character themselves have also used this word multiple times) There are of course the exceptions. The exceptions are the characters who you can actually see say this kind of thing. Ringabel from Bravely Default is an easy example, or say, Cat Noir from Miraculous- but the phrases fit because they align with their character, and aren’t just put there to “be cute” but to be “accurate” to the portrayal. That doesn’t mean “if you dont use pet names for these characters, you’re misrepresenting them”- it just means that these specific characters seem like they might engage in petnames, whereas someone as... hm... let’s say Jotaro from jjba probably wouldn’t do it in a serious manner, and neither would Cyrus from Platinum. Some characters fit the bill and others don’t, and I know this is highly subjective, but to make things simple; the goofy characters are always the ones who I can see use such language seriously or unironically without it feeling out of place.

THERE’S MORE, But I’m tired and this rant has been long long long and I want to go eat eat eat. Maybe later i’ll add a few more in a brief because this kind of went on for a lil too long than necessary.

#tami txt #saltmine #im mocking concepts and ideas chill #people who like these things are not wrong in the slightest #we just have different tastes #that being said- i hate these concepts #also i have better taste #i am the superior race #im joking #ITS JOKE

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rainbow-roxie · 7 years

Text

How I met the Kelpie (New Draft)

Prologue

It was the Summer of 1987.

I’d moved to Scotland in the spring. I had been staying with my Grandparents all spring and summer while my folks were finalizing their divorce and settling the custody issue. I didn’t really like my mother; “Useless. Just like your Father. Rockwell; You’re useless!” she’d tell me when she was pissed. And it hurt, I didn’t deserve that. But she wasn’t totally wrong there: Dad was a good for nothing drunk, he could never hold a job for more than a year and it was always up to Ma to keep the rent and feed us and hey: I’m pretty laid back but at least I had that part time job with Vinny for a while. So I knew who was gonna win that fight after all was said and done; but Dad had friends in high places so it was kind of challenging to get as far as she had. I’m staying out of it I’d decided Ma ain’t bad. She’s just at the end of her rope. It’ll be okay regardless. I figured once the divorce was done and she had some time to herself she’d be the kind woman who seemed to bail when I was eight and hired the evil twin harshing my mellow. I remember she was my hero when I was little; when the other boys were making fun of my braces. But then mom and dad started fighting after Dad was laid off at the factory. Then it’s nothin’ but downhill, rock-bottom blues for poor ol’ Rocky.

Anyway, I hadn’t seen Gram and Gramps since I was eleven so it was kinda nerve wracking when I arrived. They had moved to Scotland and were my only other living relatives besides uncle Barry, and he was staying with his Girlfriend so just my Gram and Gramps. My Grandparents lived in a two story Bermingham style house with all these rad old things like a Grandfather clock (I had made a Joke that got Gramps to shoot milk out his nose, he was always cool like that) and this huge front deck. We lived in a small town, like an old village or something, and there was a real big wooded area nearby the farmhouses right outside town. But Gram insisted I keep on my studies. I was finishing my Senior year in my Grandma’s home school class. Forget that noise, man. I wanted to have some fun.

So one day I asked if I could just wait until summer’s end to hit the books. That was very the same week I met her; The girl of my dreams. But I also learned a terrifying secret about the lake there. This is that Story. I’ll start from that week, it was Sunday August 9. The last month of summer.

Day 1

I had gotten up like any other morning at the crack of dawn. I was used to it though, no prob. I finished my eggs and sausage, guzzled my OJ and turned to Gram. “So, for the rest of Summer I’m free? Like go into town and hang with the guys free?” I asked. She just smiled. “Yup. So long as you promise to apply yourself next month. You want to graduate on time right?” I was headed out the door already so I just said “Yeah, sure. I’m gonna be at Hamish’s for a few days okay?” She waved her hand in a dismissive ‘okay’ and I left.

I was 17. I was old enough to take care of myself in this small town, which was good because I was full of youth and wanderlust and an adventurous spirit. I walked into town and met my pal Hamish “Heeeeey man how’re yeh doin’?” His accent wasn’t too heavy but he was indeed a local Scottish boy. He’d grown up here his whole life. “Dude, did you get her to come?” I asked him eagerly, “Seriously man, I made it clear as day that she HAD to be there!” I was talking about his younger sister Elinore. She was this foxy Scottish redhead that I just… I couldn’t get the nerve to tell her how I felt. Hamish was cool about it though; I was glad to have a man on the inside and he was glad to help.

“Calm down there Rock,” Hamish said with a chuckle, “she’ll be there. Liam, Paul and Alice; and Heather’ll be too. Yeh got your Gran’s okay right?” I groaned, “She doesn’t need to know, right? It’s just a little campout in the woods what harm could it be?” Hamish frowned, “Yeh know the stories Rock…” I groaned even louder and rolled my eyes.

The stories he meant were about this ghost thing. People had a superstition about the Kelpie, a creature that lurked in the creeks and ponds and ate weary woodsmen at night. But those were just old legends.

“People get lost in the woods all the time. Doesn’t make it supernatural.” I said flippantly “And when was the last time you heard about a missing hunter, huh? Never. So shut up and let’s get our supplies.” Hamish shrugged and relented. He didn’t believe the stories any more than I did. But the old folks around here were paranoid of a stalker or maniac in the woods and I didn’t wanna get them worried. Gram said that the guy who sold them their house went missing out in the woods and before that it had happened to another couple camping and then 3 hunters before that. But that was 15 years ago and people go out there all the time these days.

We spent the day buying camping stuff with the money mom gave me for the time I’m out here as well as his allowance. We took our knapsacks and met the rest of the gang at the old well in the middle of town. I told them the plan; 3 days of camping in the woods down by this lake I’d seen a couple weeks back. Paul, Alice, and Heather chickened out almost right out the gate and Liam was a little older so he had work the next day. But Elinore said she’d come as long as I didn’t try and prank her.

“I’d never do that.” I reassured her. “You do that sort o’ thin’ all the time Rockwell.” retorted Elinore. “Yeah, but I’d never do anything to scare YOU, Elli.” I replied, giving her a smooth wink that made her blush. She was just so cute! I couldn’t take it sometimes. Elinore was 15 going on 16 in a month and Hamish was like me at 17. Hamish was actually a month or 3 older than me but he was the only one who ever noted it. We were the Three B’s; Brawn, Brains and Beauty. I was Brains and he was Brawn; guess who the Beauty was? The plan Hamish and me concocted was that I confess my feelings to Elinore under the light of the moon. I’d tell her; “Hey, Elinore; I dig you baby. Will you be my girl?” and with the chirping insects and starlit sky and the moon hanging there like a gift from the Gods of love…

There was gonna be a full moon that night and Hamish promised he’d keep me from bailing on the plan. Truth be told I wasn’t as confident as I seemed around Elinore. I actually constantly doubted myself at almost every turn. Luckily I had some good friends that motivated me whenever I lost face to keep trying my hardest and they were the friends I was with that fateful night.

We made our way to the woods at early dusk. Elinore was nervous and Hamish said he was feeling kind of creeped out too. But I took Elinore��s hand and reassured her that nothing bad would happen. ‘The plan is going PERFECTLY!’ I thought to myself as I daydreamed all about all the romantic moves I was going to pull and grinned to myself.

We built a fire and started roasting marshmallows: All according to the plan. But then disaster!

Soon the moon came out and Elinore started feeling really scared. She started jumping at every little sound and complained how eerie the full moon was in the mist. It got so bad that she demanded Hamish take her home. Which he did.

He left saying he’d come right back. He was having fun. It was weird; I thought Elinore would be thrilled at the fairy tale setting with me and that Hamish would have a boring time while I wooed his sister. But it was Hamish who ended up liking the trip. So I said I’d wait and started sulking. “Stupid… Dumb… Lake… Woods… Like, this is romantic; isn’t it? A Lake lit by moonlight under the stars by a campfire? I thought she’d love it! I guess she’s just a timid girl at heart…” I grumbled to myself for a long time. After a while I thought I heard something. “Wait… Singing? No… more like crying…”

I stood up and followed the sound. I came to another clearing by the lake and that’s where I saw her: It was this girl, about my age, facing the water in a filthy gown and weeds in her hair. She was sitting on the root of a tree, shivering and crying. It looked like she was trying to sing herself to sleep. The song was in Gaelic or something. ‘She sounds so… lonely.’

“Hey!” I said, raising my voice a little in concern, “Hey, you okay? Are you alright?” The girl turned around to see me. She looked shocked at first but she saw my face and just started weeping quietly. “Hey, are you hurt? How long have you been out here?” I asked as I put my hand on her shoulder. She was freezing and wet, “Jeeze!” I said, recoiling at her chill skin, “You’re frigid! Hey, I’ve got a fire burning by the other shore, you should come with me and sit by it.”

She paused and looked at me again. She had tears in her eyes and looked like she’d been through a rough time. But there was another thing, ‘She’s…she’s so…beautiful.’ She opened her mouth and said something in that Scottish language. “Whoa whoa, hey, I don’t speak…” I paused and ran my fingers through my hair, “I speak English. Can-you-speak-en-glish?” She blinked a few times in wonder. “English?” she whispered, “You… You are from England?”

I sighed in relief. The girl didn’t even have an accent, which was weird, but at least she knew my language. “No, I’m from Chicago.” I said snarkily, “We speak English in America too, y’know.” I gave her a wink and she smiled a little bit. I was flirting, I admit. But she seemed so scared. I had to try and make her feel safe. “C’mon, let’s go sit by my fire.” I said, “You’re freezing.” I took off my jacket and draped it around her shoulders. I then led her down the shoreline to our campsite. It was then that I’d heard Hamish calling my name and asking where I was. “Hey Hamish!” I shouted, waving my hand, “Over here!”

I walked her over to the fire and we sat down. She rested her head on my shoulder immediately and took my left arm in hers like a lover. Then she seemed to just fall asleep in front of the fire. Just like that. Arm in Arm with her head on my shoulder.

‘I…She’s…This… Ooh Boy…’ My heart just kind of… Well, it melted. “Um… Hey Rock… who is this?” I snapped my head up, almost forgetting Hamish was there. “I dunno man,” I answered sheepishly, “she was sitting at the lake edge over there crying herself to sleep. I think she got lost and fell in or something. She was freezing and wet.” He looked her over for a second. “I’ve never met her.” he said, almost growling in a weird and sudden annoyance, “She isn’t from town.” She then stirred and opened her eyes. “I live… nearby.” she mumbled, stretching, “I was so sad, I thought no one would ever find me. Who are you?”

She turned to look at me again. Her big green eyes were glistening in the moonlight. She had this dark auburn hair, pale skin and a petite figure. I took a deep breath. ‘You gotta stay cool man, just stay cool man’.

“My name is Rocky,” I said, repressing a nervous stutter, “I’m staying with my Grandparents for a while. This is Hamish.” I gestured to my confused and annoyed friend, “He’s, like, my pal.” She tilted her head and barely glanced at him out the corner of her eye before she returned her attention to me. “Are you a Nobleman?” she asked innocently. I paused awkwardly and bit my lip. “W-what?” I stuttered. She giggled. “Do you hail from a well known family?” she asked again. I looked at Hamish, who was feeling more and more like a third wheel. “Nah,” I said, gently moving her hand from my arm, which she immediately replaced before snuggling her chest closer into me, “I’m nobody. I’m not even sure if I have any... Nobility?” I was uncomfortably at a loss for words. I was good at playing the cool guy but this was so unexpected. She talked like a princess or damsel in distress. She smiled very warmly at me and my heart skipped a beat. “Then you are a scandalous rogue? Or a pauper? Perhaps you are more simply modest and more noble than you let on...” She buried her face into my shoulder, giggling like a giddy little girl.

“Hey, how about you tell me why you’re out here? What happened?” I asked, desperate for a change of pace. She stopped giggling and looked sad again. “I was left out here a long time ago.” she sighed, “Eventually, I helped to build a house with a man. He left me behind too, like my first love who never came. I have some friends. They are kind. But they never stay here too long. There are things that frighten them in this wood and they hide. So now I live here all alone. My home is nearby, so I am free to roam this part of the wood and never be lost. But it is so, so very lonely…” She started to tremble, tears in her eyes.

“Wait, yeh just said yeh were scared no one’d find yeh. Then yeh said yeh have a lotta mates. An’ what do yeh mean yeh live nearby? Nuthin’ yeh say makes a lick o’ sense. Who even are yeh?” Hamish was skeptical now and I could feel he was angry with me. I could see that he was getting pissed at how I looked at the girl. This trip was supposed to be about asking Elinore to be my girl.

The mysterious girl just looked confused. “…who am I?” she asked, “I am me.” Hamish’s nostrils flared. “Don’t gimme that rubbish!” she shouted, causing the girl to flinch, “Yer NAME Girl. What’s yer NAME?” She looked at him with an insulted scowl, “I just told you;” she cried defiantly, “I have been here for a very long time! If I have ever had a name I do not remember it anymore!” Then she started crying again. “Hey man!” I barked, shocked that Hamish could be so cruel, “That was harsh, Hame!” Hamish shot a look at me that made me surprisingly terrified and enraged as he ranted, “And YOU! What about Elinore, eh? Yeh said yeh wanted to be with her right? Now yeh can’t take yer eyes off this lil’ tart?”

“TART?!” she shrieked at him, standing in outrage, “That means whore if I am not misunderstanding you?!” This was all wrong. At the time I had no idea what was so unsettling, the out of place fear and fury, but Hamish turned toward her with a grin full of malice, “Well if the boot fits, yeh slag.” The girl stamped and howled. She seemed like she was trying to restrain her emotions. “I would have you know,” she hissed in a low voice, “that the every man I have tried to love has been a scoundrel and every one left me behind! Tart?! I was never the faithless one! I was always loyal in my heart!” Her face twisted and contorted in many pained emotions before she burst into tears sobbing in her gibberish-sounding foreign words. “Dude!” I shout, trying to get a grip on things, “What’s goin’ on? What’s she saying?”

“She’s cryin’ “oh poor me oh poor” me like a melodramatic lil’ attention whore!” Hamish bellowed, “I’ve had enough Rock! Yeh wanna entertain this little tramp go right ahead. But I’ll have nothin’ to do with yeh anymore! Elinore’ll be heartbroken; She actually LOVED you, arsehole!” He raged off in the direction of town. “Wait!” I cried suddenly. She loved me? Elinore LOVED me? “Hamish! No man, please don’t freak out! It isn’t like that at all, pal!”

I get up and take a quick jog forward, bounding a few steps from the lake. I looked back in time to see the girl look at me again, tears of anguish in her eyes and she darted off back down the shoreline. “I KNEW IT! No one can love me! I was a fool to leave my home!” I turned ran a few yards back in her direction, I couldn’t let her just run into the woods like that but at the same time, I didn’t really know what to do at all. I quickly lost sight of her and turned to chase after Hamish after all.

I figured she was going home so I caught up with Hamish at the edge of town. We argued a while before we made it to his house. Elinore heard us both out but she still couldn’t accept I was just being nice to the girl. Hamish and Elinore said they’d never speak to me again. That night I cried myself to sleep. I woke up later and sat on the deck. As I looked out at the woods I thought about that poor girl. So sad and alone.

I could actually empathize. I knew what it was like to be an outcast. No one cared about the real me. When they got to know me well enough they bailed. The only friend I’d ever had was Hamish until this fiasco… ‘I hope she’s okay.’ I thought, ‘I’ll go again tomorrow and see if I can find her.’

As I stood and turned to go inside and sleep some more, I thought I heard a horse galloping in the distance.

Day 2

I went back the next day in the afternoon. Our campfire had been doused, so I assumed she might have gone back after what happened and looked for me. I scoured the woods for a while until I found a cabin on the other side of the lake from our campsite. It was old and run-down. It had moss growing on the outside and old semi-rotted furniture inside.

‘She lives here?’ I thought to myself sadly, ‘That poor girl… no wonder she’s so miserable.’

I decided to stay there until she got back. Eventually I fell asleep in the chair and drifted into a dream.

It was a nightmare. I felt like I was drowning. I could see other guys in the water. Some women too. They were being pulled down by the reeds in the lake-bed. I turned left and right and I felt like something was swimming with us.

The others were screaming, drowning and terrified of something. But as I drifted into the murky bottom I saw her. The girl from the other night swam up to me and started pulling on my arms. “Rockwell of Chicago!” she cried in a strange disembodied voice, “Please do not drown! I am sorry! I am so very, very sorry! I never meant any of this! Please!” I took her by the elbow and fought the reeds back. She seemed so relieved. Like it was a true miracle that I would fight for her. As we rushed to the surface together, another tangled lake-vine ripped up from the depths and wrapped itself around her; pulling her back into the nightmare. She started drowning now. Just like the men around us. As I turned to dive deeper and retrieve her, to go back for her: I woke with a start.

“YEEEAAAEEEHH!!!” I fell from the chair with a crash. There was a screech of fear outside. “Who is in there?!” demanded a very startled little voice. I looked up and saw the door of the cabin opening slowly. It was the girl from my dream all wet again and this time she was naked. There were less weeds in her hair so I assumed she was trying to bathe outside and I immediately covered my eyes.

“Oh jeeze!” I stammered, “Oh jeeze; I’m so sorry! I didn’t know when you’d be back so I just came in and waited! I’m-” I was cut off by arms thrown around me and heavy sobbing. “You came back!” she cheered loudly, catching me off my guard and my heart in my throat from a fluttery feeling inside, “You came back for me! Oh joyous day!”

I opened my eyes and saw her naked body pressed against me. She was crying so hard but she was smiling so brightly. I looked out the window and saw it was already dark. Then the mystery hermit-girl recomposed. “I thought you would be gone forever!” she cried, tearing up with joy, “I… I went to your fire and saw you were already gone. I splashed water on the fire and looked for you forever! When I arrived at the edge of your town you were already turning in to sleep for the night and I…” she paused and became very solemn, “I was too afraid to approach you… I thought for sure you would hate me…”

Then she went totally silent, saddened by her own words.

“I am so very sorry.” she said after a moment, “The woman you loved… She does not love you anymore, does she? I ruined true love.” she began to cry, “I am so sorry…” I waved my hands wildy. “No!” I said, smiling as broadly as I could, “No! No, no. It wasn’t your fault. Hamish and Elinore are just really old fashioned and have a lot of personal pride, is all!” I explained, “It isn’t your fault that they won’t forgive me. Not at all. It was just a big stupid mess of unfortunate events and to be honest it was my fault. I was staring a lot in an almost swoony way. It gave Hamish the wrong idea…”

I blinked hard and realized she was still naked. I shut my eyes tightly. “Y-y-you should get some clothes on!” I stammered, “like, you’re….You’re EXTREMELY naked right now…” I heard her gasp and she said something in her language that sounded apologetic. I think she was also cursing. I tried my best to hide the crotch of my pants as she shuffled around in front of me. “Is this better?” she asked. I opened my eyes and saw her wearing that ratty old gown again. “Is…” I hesitated, “Is that all you’ve got to wear?”

She slowly drew her eyes sheepishly to the ground. “I…I am all alone out here. I do not have many things that were left for me…” Then I realized what she’d said last night. “Wait… Did you have a boyfriend with you? I mean, at first?” I asked. She just looked away. “No…” she mumbled in a shaky voice, “I cannot remember where I lived before here. I had a lover once, I think. A strong man who would come here and lay with me. It was he built this house, I believe…” She trailed off, moving her hand in front of her as if she was touching a man’s face in her reminiscing. “But one night he betrayed my love; and I lost him forever.”

I became very angry. “Wait,” I said coldly, “So this big burly woodsman guy came out here to meet you and he just fucked you? And then he left you here at a private little house just so he could get some whenever he wanted like a free hooker?!” I stood and started pacing back and forth. Of course I was justifiably angry, this was a very disgusting situation. But I was also just putting together a story based on assumptions. I was heated. “So he does that and then he just up and left one day after breaking your heart? How long ago even was this?! You’re, like, sixteen! Was this guy just Scottish Grizzly Adams, the Master Pedophile?!” I flew into a frothing rant. I was livid. I had been screwed over by ‘friends’, cheated on, neglected and abused; but this was a whole other level of screwed up to me.

“Who does that? Who even DOES that?! ARGH that grinds my gears, man! Jesus CHRIST! I can’t even believe that!!!” In my frenzy I knocked over an old clay pot and it shattered. The sound made the girl jump a little. I calmed down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…” she just took my hand and smiled, pulling me closer before wrapping herself around my arm again like last night. “What’s your name?” I asked. She just looked at me sadly and shook her head. “That’s right. You’ve lived here so long you can’t even remember.” I paused, “Well, I’ll give you a name, okay?”

Her eyes lit up and she nodded feverishly. “Oh, Noble Rocky, I would be delighted to accept a name from you!” she was wiggling and squirming with excitement and I grinned. “I really ain’t any kinda nobleman sweetheart,” I added with charm in my voice, “I’m just a guy who knows what it’s like to be…” I stopped grinning and looked deeply into her emerald eyes. She was so beautiful and alone. “Alienated.” I finished. Then I looked away before continuing, “My whole name is Rockwell Theodor Chance. I only ever had two real friends and now I don’t have any at all.” I felt her hand slide up my arm and touch my shoulder. Cold and clammy. Wet skin. She had gotten dressed so fast she forgot to dry off. “Well, Rockwell of Chicago,” she whispered, “You have a strong heart and that is enough for even a Savage to be a Nobleman.”

I looked at her. She was very pretty but she was very…odd. Her innocent attitude and thesaurus way of talking to me was kind of charming, though. I thought for a minute. “Well, believe it or not; I used to be a real big geek in school…” I confessed, “Hame and Elli don’t even know it, but I read a lot of fairy tales and epics from the old days and way back then I used to read this awesome story about a Hero. King Arthur and His Knights of the Round Table.”

She lit up like a neon sign and started jumping up and down excitedly. “A King?” she squealed, “A King and heroic knights? Was there a princess? Was there a war? Oh, do please tell me this story!” I smiled at her, she was incredible. “Alright. I’ll tell you what I can remember.”

She sat down on the floor next to me and I told her the story of Arthur Pendragon pulling the sword from a Stone and Anvil and she was so in awe by my way of talking. I told her about the knights and Merlin, their brotherhood and fellowship. We both noted how much we’d have liked that in lonely times. It was a bonding moment. The story of the Questing Beast scared her a little and the fight between Arthur and the Saxons made her cheer for their victory. The wedding between the fair maiden Guinevere and King Arthur was by far her favorite part and then Lancelot’s Affair, the eventual destruction of Camelot and the Death of Arthur in his fight with his great enemy Mordred had the girl nearly in tears. I decided to go back and touch on the heroic feats of Galahad, Lancelot and Gawain to cheer her up and especially the bravery of Gawain made her cheer again.

“This is a wonderful story!” she said, laughing a laugh that made me feel warm and tingly inside. “Well, I always thought about it being too sad to be ‘wonderful’, I mean; it is a tragedy.” I laughed. She frowned at me. “But,” I quickly added, “I always liked crazy love stories like that. Shakespeare. Homer. Wagner…” I paused to smile at her, “Sometimes Tragedy is a good story. Sometimes the saddest things are the most beautiful. They remind us how precious things like laughter and love truly are...”

Our eyes met and we stayed that way for maybe as long as 5 minutes. I think she knew what I was saying even if back then I didn’t exactly know myself. “Anyway,” I finally said, “The Lady of the Lake. Her name was actually Viviane.” I thought a second, “...So I was thinking, since we met here at this Lake I’ll call you Viv or Vivian?” I looked at her while smiling but I stopped when I saw her lonely expression. “I do not want to be the lady in the lake.” she mumbled, “This lake is a horrible thing. It is why I am always sad. No one comes here because of the Kelpie…”

She looked at me awkwardly. “Can…” she said in a nervous voice, “Can I be Guinevere instead?” I looked at her. She was always so sad and alone. I couldn’t take it anymore. I wrapped her up in my arms and said “Okay. Then your name is ‘Gwen’ from now on. The Fairest Maiden in the Land; I’ll call you my Little Gwen.” She let out the most adorable little squeak and nuzzled into me.

After a few hours longer I told Gwen that I had to go back to my Gram’s house or she’d be worried. “Will you ever come back for me, Rockwell?” she said, pleading in her eyes and whimpering voice. I had to beat back tears at that. “I’ll come visit every day after chores.” I said, “I swear on my Mother’s life.” That made her jump for joy and laugh.

She seemed legitimately happy for the first time. As I walked home through the woods I thought about her more and more. Eventually in my daydream I reached the door of my Grandparent’s home and looked back at the treeline of the wood and saw something that gave me a shock; It looked like there was a big, dark, equine creature standing there among the trees. It seemed to be watching me. I rubbed my tired eyes to get a better look; but there was no creature, just a weirdly shaped fallen tree.

I decided I was seeing things and went to bed.

Day 3

That Tuesday I got up just before sunrise and started my chores.

When Gramps came out to till the fields he was surprised to see me up so early and working so hard. Gram came out at a quarter to 10 and insisted I come inside and eat some breakfast. I finished up a little before 2pm and went into town to MacMillan’s Sewn Goods. The town looked kind of like an Amish village except these folks haven’t outright refused the modern world. This humble and kind little backwoods community was so far out in the boonies that it took a few hours to get to the nearest city. Because of this and the hassle it would be to go that far every day they had resources like their water well and agriculture here on site as well as a mechanic, a blacksmith and a tailor all local in case they ever needed anything fixed. Their people were surprisingly friendly with outsiders, as isolated as they were, and their small businesses were incredible. The local tailor, for example, worked cheap and made high quality clothes. But the part that made me so nervous is how Mister MacMillan would react to me as a customer today.

He was Hamish and Elinore’s father. Mister MacMillan himself just said that we were all being dramatic teenagers, thankfully, and that he wasn’t involved. I asked him for a few dresses, a coat and sets of pants and blouses. He said he could only sell me 1 dress, as it was all he had ready that day, but he did ask why I was spending so much on women’s clothing.

“They’re, ah…” I stuttered, trying to think of a white lie, “They’re for my cousin back home. She’s always wanted a European dress and I know they ain’t so fancy but she’ll appreciate it just the same; especially being handmade.” Mister MacMillan accepted my answer with no real fuss and handed me my bags. “Hey, Mister MacMillan…” I said suddenly as I recalled something, “Are there Elk out here?” MacMillan looked puzzled. “Not that I’ve seen for a few years now, Lad…” he said, scratching his red-gray beard, “Though Flann, the town drunk, thinks he saw one the other day and was boasting how he’d mount it’s head on his hearth. So I suppose they may be back now, eh?”

I sighed, “Yeah, they are. I saw a big deer in the treeline last night and the other day I thought I heard it running around the field or something. Thanks Mister MacMillan.” He nodded and I picked up my new gifts for Gwen. ‘Gwen’s gonna love these,’ I thought, ‘I can’t wait to give them to her. Now she can change out of that filthy-’

“OOF!” I wasn’t looking where I was going and bumped into Hamish. There was a cold quiet minute as he glared at me and I watched him pleadingly. I felt truly awful about what happened and I had been so torn up about losing my only friends in the world. Finally he cleared his throat and I prepared for the worst.

“…What do yeh want then, Rock?” he growled, icy blue eyes and nostrils flaring, “Why yeh comin’round? I told yeh. Yeh broke Elinore’s heart. Yer not welcome.” Hamish gave me a threatening look and postured subtly. I stood up straight and put on my bravest face. I didn’t want to make him any madder but I also wasn’t going to let myself be pushed around based on a misunderstanding.

“I was just buying some clothes from your old man.” I said, keeping my voice calm and confident dispite my growing anxiety. Then I had a thought and relaxed a little. “Hey man,” I said, trying to convey my remorse, “can we just talk about this? We were friends, right? I don’t want to lose...”

Hamish just chuckled a little. “We HAVE talked about it, Laddie.” he shot back, “We talked’bout how much yeh really liked Elinore an’ how much yeh wish yeh could pluck up the nerve to tell her. An’ I was so happy that my sister had a good bloke vyin’ for her. A great guy. But the minute yeh feel a lil’ discouraged this little harlot comes from the trees an’ you listen to the wrong head.” I grit my teeth, “That isn’t what happened at all, Hame. I swear it’s not like that.” Hamish snorted, “She was all over yeh, Rock!” I blinked back my tears, “She was tired and cold and scared, Hamish! How can you be so cruel, man!” Hamish leaned forward and I inched back a little bit. “She’s a wee trickster lil’ slag an’ a bloody bitch an’ yer no better, Rockwell Chance.”

So I was getting very angry now. I kind of knew where he was coming from but I couldn’t just sit there and let him slander me and Gwen so thoughtlessly. “Dude, you have NO IDEA what she’s even been through.” I said, keeping my eyes boring their own way into his and a firm voice, “You have no fucking idea.” Hamish’s breathing got heavy. Tesosterone was rising and I swear I saw steam escape his orifices. “And neither do you Rockwell!” He snarled.

And then I snapped.

I’d never thrown a punch in my life but I dropped my bags and brought my fist to his chin with a hard connection. He hit the ground and I put my foot on his chest so I could get this monkey off my back and say my peace. “I know EXACTLY what she’s going through! YOU wouldn’t, course’ not because you have like fifteen buddies and your awesome sister! Me? I grew up an only child and the son of a Drunk and Workaholic. I was beat up in grade school and alienated in high school. I accidentally got me and my only friend fired from a burger flipping part time paycheck and he never spoke to me again. All based on a misunderstanding and an accident; sound familiar? No?! How about my own fucking mom hates me and my dad is stuck in a bottle so far I swear his blood is almost a hundred percent rum and gin now! So here I am, left on my Grandma’s doorstep as a factory-reject in a foreign country and my only two friends in the world won’t let me tell my side of the story. I am alone in this world.” I took a breath and the dam behind my eyes broke. “But her?” I whimpered, “That girl two nights ago? At least I have Gram and Gramps when I’m here and I even have Mom part-time when I go back, much as she hates my guts and that’s even IF I go back… But she has no one. Gwen has NO ONE! She was abandoned in the GODDAMN FOREST-”

“ROCKWELL! Hamish! That’s ENOUGH, you two!!!” Mister and Mrs. MacMillan came rushing out of the shop with Elinore hot on their tails and broke up the fight. “Elinore has plenty of dudes who’d give anything to be her man, Hame; and I’m still one of them despite your heartlessness!!!” I spat at my former friend, “One real friend is is worth more than twenty fake ones, man! I’ll pick that poor, lonely little soul like me over you two spoiled assholes any day!!!” Then I picked up my sack and walked back to Gram’s.

I stole a couple of blankets and a good pillow from the cupboard and food from the pantry then I left for Gwen’s shack. All the while I ranted at no one in particular about how a real friend would give me the benefit of the doubt and a good person would be kind to those in need and I made my way to the other side of the lake in no time, it seemed like.

I knocked on her door but she was out somewhere. “She’s probably foraging for food like an animal…” I mumbled, trying to hold in my tears again, “She’ll be so happy when she sees what I have here.” I then let myself in and unloaded the Clothes on the bed before using the bag as a table spread. I arranged the food all neat and in an arrangement like Ma would at family reunions before they all got old and croaked or left us all behind.

That was the worst thing. My whole family that mattered was my Mom’s side and she was an only child. My father’s side were all lowlives and scum. My father was ironically the black sheep because he (and to a lesser degree my Uncle Barry) was a better man than the rest of his kin. Barry himself had been in trouble with the law countless times and even ran with a dangerous street gang as a youth. He wasn’t a bad man but he was dangerous and disowned by my father for my mother’s sake. My mother hated him and as much as she loved my father on his good days she still couldn’t tolerate hm on his bad days after that. My dad wasn’t abusive so much as he was a lazy and thoughtless prick. Because of his inattentiveness my mother became really bitter really quickly during my early adolescence and with puberty, she became a very harsh and callous person… And now you can see why they have to get a divorce. My father comes from a family of crooks and addicts and Ma was never ready for it.

I made up Gwen’s bed all nicely and placed her new dress and clothes on it. I had waited for a few hours afterward and then got worried and decided to go out and look for her. While I was out and about, I saw these bell-wire things. They were the kind that a certain someone uses to let themselves know where an prey was nearby. I was careful to avoid ringing them. The person I mentioned is Drunken Flann and he was a real douchebag. I heard some real bad rumors about him. The few times I had seen him around town he reminded me of my father and my uncle in many ways. But he didn’t seem to have any of the redeeming qualities Barry and Dad had. No. Flann was a very bad and at times dangerous man.

It started to get dark so I made my way to my former campsite hoping to find her there. There were these weird prints pushed in the mud like ‘U’ shaped marks kinda like footprints. But they didn’t belong to any animal I know so I assumed Flann was using a new crazy trick for hunting.

“That guy…” I muttered in disgust, “He’s gone way past idiocy. All drunks are the same; useless wastes of flesh and oxygen.” My fire-pit was made back up so I figured I should get back to the hut before Drunk Flagon Flann came back. I knocked on the door when I got back and again there was no answer so I let myself in and lit a candle I had smuggled from Gram’s.

“Rockwell? Is… is that you?” I jumped out of my chair and ran to the door when I heard her voice. I swung it open and a little shriek came out of little Gwen. “AH!” she said breathily, “Oh, oh Rockwell, it IS you!” She seemed startled but relieved. “Hey, what’s with the jumpy jitters Gwen?” I asked, smirking at her. She grinned, loving her new name and my flirting. “There has been a frightening man in the wood lately. I was worried he had broken in. I saw the light and...” She then stopped talking. Gwen was looking at the table and the makeshift tablecloth. She now saw all the food I’d laid out and she walked in, awestruck.

“You…Is this..Your doing Rockwell?” I chuckled, “Yeah, and that’s not all; Look.” I moved to one side. She saw her bedspread and the clothes I’d bought her. “Oh… Oh ROCKWELL!” She rushed over to the bed and hesitantly reached for the dress. “Are…are these…?” she stared lovingly at my gifts as I stood there grinning. The expressions she was having. Gratitude. Joy. Excitement. Enthusiasm. I could see every emotion just processing in her green eyes and fair cheeks. ‘Am…” I thought to myself as my body got warmer, ‘What is going on with me? She’s…I dunno she’s just so-’

“THANK YOU!” She cried, crashing my train of thought. Gwen then spun around and her eyes were streaming with tears and happiness. “You are so very wonderful Rockwell! I…” she struggled with her words, she was so joyous, “I cannot find words to described…. Oh Rockwell!” Gwen lunged forward and held me tightly in her arms, “Thank you! Thank you so very very much!”

‘What’s this feeling?’ I kept thinking, ‘I feel really… She’s so…’ My head was spinning. It was a very nice feeling but a very overwhelming and confusing one. “Gwen,” I said, “You should get ready for dinner. I brought you some of these cool little donuts my Gram makes; you’ll love them.” She sniffled and nodded feverishly and I turned away while she changed. “Where were you today?” I asked, “I was worried. You were like, gone. Just gone. All day.” I heard her rustling the garments behind me as she answered.

“Well, I am not here during the day. I… Go somewhere nearby and wait for you” she paused and I heard her grunt as she slipped into something, “And then this evening then I went to the fire pit and retrieved your Coat there were bells everywhere. They did not seem like good bells and then that fearsome man arrived and-” Then I spoke up, interrupting her, “I KNEW he was using my firepit! He’s hunting this big deer that’s been hanging around the woods.”

I rolled my eyes, “He’s got some nutty ways to track and trap and I think he just comes up with random thoughts when drinking and thinks they’re ideas. He’s a drunk idiot and a lunatic. You need to stay as far away as you can from hi-”

She then interjected on my dialogue by taking my hand and turning me around. Gwen was wearing the dress and some socks. Her sun hat rested on her still leaf-ridden hair and she was holding my jacket. “Here it is, Sir Rockwell of Chicago.” I took my jacket and placed in on my chair. Then I turned back to her and tenderly put my hand on her cheek. It was still cold from the outside air. “One of these days I’ll help you get those reeds out of your hair, okay?” I muttered just loud enough that she could hear me. Then I realized something. “Why don’t you ever come into the town?” I asked, “Like, I’m sure you could find some way to-”

She took my hand off of her cheek and turned away, then she said in a quiet, fearful voice: “I cannot.” I stepped even closer, “Why not?” I asked, “I mean… There’s no reason not to, right?” Gwen was very still. “I cannot ever leave here, Rockwell. This is my home. I may hate it but it is the only place I can live. Be it in misery or happiness…” She started to tremble. She was terrified of something.

“Gwen, what’s going on?” I demanded, “Why have you stayed out here for this long? There’s people who would help you out here, Gwen. C'mon, Gwen. My Little Gwen.” I held her in my arms from behind, draping my arms like the jacket I’d lent her 2 nights ago, “Come back with me, Gwen?” I said almost like I was begging, “I..You’re NOT happy here. You deserve to be happy and I…I can’t…” I started crying now, “I c-can’t stand this. You’re s-so wonderful and a-amazing… and… incredible… Why can’t you just live in a w-warm house with a…a fireplace and a real bedroom and be warm a-and happy?” I started crying so hard. “What happened that made you have this shitty life?” I finished.

I felt Gwen’s hands on mine and she turned within my arms. Her eyes were big and glimmering with a sadness. “Do… Do you love me, Rockwell Theodor Chance?” I slowly stopped crying and looked at her carefully. ‘Love?’ I asked myself, wondering, ‘But I only just met…her’.

“…How…” I began, nearly stammering, “How would I know if I’m in love?” Gwen smiled sadly and touched my face with her cold hands. “You did not run from me?” she smiled a very peculiar smile, faint but very much there on her lips as if playing some game with me, “But… I am a stranger and you did not run from such a question? You did not lose your composure. You did not avoid the question. Do you?” her eyes flashed a strange and ominous emotion, “Do you love your Little Gwen, Rockwell Chance of Chicago?”

It dawned on me right then what I felt; but I was still full of too much pride and insecurity so instead of answering I asked a question of my own:

“Can… Can I come and see you tomorrow night?” I stammered, “I’ll know the answer to that question then. I promise you I’ll come back and tell you then.”

Something flashed again in her eyes. Something like very sad and worried. Something like dread. But she took a deep breath and just grinned that strange foreboding grin again. “I will wait for you Rockwell.” she whispered almost mystically, “I will be here tomorrow at sunset. I swear.”

She took her hands off of my face and held the door for me. As I moved to leave, I looked at her once more. “I’ll come back for you.” I said with conviction, “Every night. Unless I’m dead; I’ll always come back and see you.” Then I walked home in silence.

I was thinking about her words. “Do I love her?” I muttered aloud, “Can I love a girl I’ve known for only three days?” I heard a gunshot a ways to my right, the western part of the forest. “If you touch her, Flann; I swear you won’t live to regret it. You drunken piece of shit.” As I muttered those words, I felt that the maybe trees agreed with me.

Day 4

I woke up kinda late that Wednesday.

I already had gotten home fairly late and Gram yelled at me for the missing sheets. She only eased off my back when I told her they were for a homeless girl. She also asked that I give her the time I’d be home every night from now on. When I said that I might not know exactly when each night she threatened me with a curfew. That morning I woke up and I did my chores and finished in the late afternoon. Then when I walked into town I had to bear Flann’s ranting about a ‘monster deer’ in the forest that ate his ear. Everyone thought he just hurt himself with one of his ridiculous traps so we all dismissed it. But then I was approached by Hamish and Elinore. They wanted to talk it out.

“Look, I may have been a wee bit rude to the lass and I’m properly sorry. I know I treated yeh unfairly too, Rock. For that I am certainly more sorry than I ever been.” I stared in disbelief. “Wait, what?” I asked. Elinore chimed in just then “I should’ve told you how I felt for meself Rocky. It was me own fault an’ not yours. Not one bit. I…” her face flushed deep crimson and she turned away, “I was just worried you’da tollme t’pissoff. If I’d known that night you were… That you wanted to…” she looked back at me with tears running down her face, “I din’t know. When Hamish told me, I din’t know what to think. Then there’s that vagabond girl-”

“Gwen.” I interjected. Hamish and Elinore looked at me in confusion. Elinore started to speak, “Who is…? Who is-”

“The Girl’s name is Gwen.” I hissed. I was unquestionably about to lose my cool. “She’s had it really rough. She was left in that rundown piece of shit shack by a man who only came by to use her for Sex.” I was less than tact but I was in a frenzy. “You two… I thought you were better than to leave me in that freaking forest on a night like that!” I thrust a finger into Hamish’s chest, “And YOU Hame! She was crying! You were so sure she was playing a victim that you never considered she WAS one!!!” I took a breath and let Hamish speak. “You… You’ve been seeing her?” he asked.

My eyes nearly bulged and I raised my voice. “YES Hamish!” I shouted, “I’ve been sneaking into the woods with a drunk-ass lunatic and a booby-trapped lake!” I looked from one of them to the other and scoffed, “Do you guys even know what’s going on out there? Gwen is terrified! Flann is hunting the boogeyman and she’s too scared to even come into town for help-”

We were stopped by a loud slurring voice. “What’s thisshh then? What’re ya ssshhayin’ bout meh behind mah bloody back boy?” Flann had overeard me and he smelled like a saloon. He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and spat when he talked. “Ya don’t believe meh? I’m tellin’ ya, it was ssshhome kinna devil stag tryna eat meh guts! Ya goin’ out there too, right? Ya ssshawrr it then?”

His blue eyes were crazed and his left ear was nothing but a poorly dressed wound. “I didn’t see anything last night.” I said, disgusted, “Nothing except a bunch of stupid half-assed deathtraps and a bush littered in booze bottles.” He punched me in the stomach and sneered over my doubled-over form.

“I KNOW what I sawrr boyo… Ya’d be better off comin’ clean…” He pulled out his hunting knife and put it to the back of my neck and I froze in fear. But my rage and disgust quickly melted that fear away and replaced it with machismo. “And I know what a drunk looks like! You’re even worse than my dad! At least he never picked on people smaller than he was, you pussy!”

Flann was really mad now. He raised his knife high to stab me literally in the back; but he was stopped short by the strong grip of Hamish’s hand on his wrist. “Yeh let my Mate alone, Flann; or yeh’ll have me to deal with.” Hamish took Flann’s hand and twisted the knife out of his grip. Then he tossed the knife and pushed him down quite easily. Like I said; Hamish MacMillan was strong like a juggernaut.

“Why don’t ya go run to yer daddy Hamey… Let the men handle this….” Flann stood and postured, “Ya caught me off guard, Laddie… Won’t happen twice, like. Run to Dah like always, why doncha?” Flann taunted. He was Hamish’s uncle on his mom’s side but also disowned by their Clan. He was nothing more than a drunk now and Mister MacMillan and Flann had exchanged hands more than once in awhile since I’d come and though Hamish was a big kid; he was still a lot younger and more innocent than a drunk madman like Flagon Flann.

“Elinore’s already dunnit, Uncle. Run’d off to fetch Dah, like yeh wanted. Why don’t yeh just sit tight an’ wait fer him? Or maybe yeh’d rather stumble back off to yer Kelpie?” I gawked at Hamish, dumbfounded. ‘He… He has my back?’ I marveled, eyes flooding again, ‘But I just…’

Elinore came running back shouting to Hamish that their father was close behind her. “Dah’s on his way now Flann. Yeh might wanna make yerself scarce.” Elinore stopped and smirked as she panted and I could see Mister MacMillan closing distance from the bakery in town. Hamish stepped to one side and curtsied toward Flann’s Jeep. “Yer chariot awaits, LADDIE.”

Flann just stomped off to his wreck of a vehicle. “Maybe I WILL bag me a Kelpie!” Flann shot back, “Then we’ll see who’s laughin’, won’t we?” He peeled out like a bat out of hell and Elinore dropped to her knees next to me. “You okay Rocky?” Elinore said when she offered her hand to help me up. She was concerned about me. After all I’d just said.

“You… You guys had my back? I’d brought it on myself, man. Just before that I’d ripped into you guys all pissed off and stuff…” Hamish spoke up first. “We been just an arse as much as yeh have yourself; Brother, an’ if you’re in love with this…” he stopped and shifted uncomfortably, “Gwen, issit?” I nodded, head spinning, “Well,” he continued, “We’d be poor mates to hate yeh for it.”

I stood slowly and looked at them. I began panicking a little. “No!” I cried, shaking my head, “I never said I loved anyone-”

“You din’t hafta, Rocky.” Elinore said sadly, “We can see it in your face.” They looked at me apologetically. Elinore was trying her best to look happy and Hamish was, was... ‘They…’ I stared at them for a long minute and couldn’t imagine that kind of actual friendship that stood in front of me, ‘Why are they…’ Hamish and Elinore were trying not to cry. This all was too easy. They seemed sincere but it didn’t seem honest, if that made sense. “Guys... what aren’t you telling me right now?” I demanded, partly dreading what they’d say. Hamish handed me a letter. “It’s from your mum Rock…” Elinore said with a sniffle. I read the note.

It said that Ma had won custody of me due to Dad... dying in a Drunk-Driving accident! Mom signed legal custody over to Gram and Gramps until further notice! What?! This was signed a week ago!!!

‘Dad’s dead and Mom’s leaving me behind?!’ I was horrified. I was distraught. I was heartbroken and for the first time in my life I let my emotions flow freely, careless of my image or pride.

“W-WHY didn’t Gram tell me?!” I demanded. Hamish and Elinore looked at each other. Words escaped them. “I…” I choked, “Dad’s… Then wh-why would she just abandon me at a time like this?! Why didn’t Gram tell me any of this?!”

“Maybe she couldn’t find the words…” Elinore responded, “Maybe she wanted a day or two to prepare you? Or herself?” I threw my head back and glared at the sky, “No! No that’s bullshit!!!” Hamish rushed over and pulled me in for a Hug. “NO!!!” I was bawling and Elinore broke into tears and joined her brother cradling me. I broke down and cried for a long time. I couldn’t believe it. I was stuck out here. My mother just threw me away like yesterday’s garbage. Why did she even contest Dad for me then? Waste all of our time like that? And Dad… ‘Dad…’ the grief hurt so badly. Worse than anything, ‘No Dad… You stupid Drunk! WHY couldn’t you just shape up you useless piece of-’

“AAAARRRRRAAAGH!” I hit the bucket in the well with my closed fist. My knuckles stung a little bit from it. It was early evening and the sun was getting low in the sky. I was still so angry. I was so lost. I was scared and I was so so sad.

I was hurting inside in every worst way. “WHY?!” I sobbed into Elinore’s shirt, “What did I ever do?!” Elinore ran her fingers through my hair and cooed. Hamish sat on my other side and patted my back, unable to say anything, “Why doesn’t she love me anymore?!” I was a complete wreck. I didn’t know anything anymore. “And what do I have now huh?! What’s left for me?! I should just kill myself and get it-”

Elinore pushed my head back and slaped me. “You’ll do nuthin’ like that, Rocky! Not a damn thin’ like that!!!” She buried her face into my shirt and bawled now, “You have us, now! We weren’t proper mates to you but we’ll be now! I swear, Rocky!!!”

Hamish couldn’t comfort me and his father needed help at the shop so he left Elinore and me alone. Things were very quiet now. Elinore didn’t know what to say anymore. “Damn it! DAMN IT!!!” Elinore was still in my arms and curling her fingers into my shirt. Then she finally spoke: “Her name is Gwen?” I stopped my fit, silent now so suddenly. I had forgotten the sad girl in the forest by the lake. The tiny decrepit cabin she slept in barely more than a run-down storehouse. My Little Gwen.

“She sounds…” Elinore sat up and straightened her clothes. “...There’s nothing going on with us, Elli.” I reassured, “She’s just my friend.” Elinore smiled sadly and shook her head. “Really? Cos I was thinkin’ you must really like her to buy all those clothes…” I didn’t respond to that. “Rocky…” Elinore continued, “You really used a lot o’ your budget there…” I turned and looked at Elinore. She was looking at me with a serious expression.

“I… Told her the story of King Arthur, Elli. She wanted me to call her Gwen.” I tried not to crumble again, “She can’t even remember her own name anymore, Elli. She’s lived out there for so long it’s hard enough just to stay human, it seems…” I stand up and Elinore came along with me as I walked back over to the well. “Elli…” I continued, “She’s gotta gather her own food. She goes on long walks during the day and swims in that lake every night. Gwen’s always so cold and…”

I took a shallow breath, “She still seems so… Cultured, y’know? How can anyone be so lady-like in such a terrible position? It’s weird. Unbelievable. But she’s always crying, Elli… She’s always…” I stopped there. Elinore took my hand and whispered, “You’re IN LOVE with her, Rocky.” I looked at her and she smiled at me. “H-HOW can I even know that yet?” I choked out, “I’ve only known her for a short time!” I ran a hand through my dark brown hair, “This is crazy!!!”

Elinore looked at the sky, now that sunset-orange color, “Life is crazy, Rocky. Your Mum was your hero when you were a wee babe and your dad was a good man once.” se paused, trying to be delicate but also trying to make a point, “Now she leaves you in another country, outta sight and outta mind. And he’s dead from his alcohol abuse.” She pulls me in for a hug as I start to break down, “And it’s alright to be sad ‘bout all that. It’s alright. But right as all that happens you meet this darling lil’ damsel in distress. You don’t get this attached or defensive o’ people. Not c’ept for me, I noticed. But not like you do her...” she looked at now me with heartbroken eyes, “And she’s awaitin’ a white knight on a starlit steed t’rescue her from her fears and her sadness… And right now you need her as much as she needs you.”

I let myself accept it then. ‘I…Yeah. That’s it. We need each other. Especially now.’

“You’re an outcast, Rocky. I can’t know what that feels like and I can’t console you as I’d like to. But you found a light innis dark, mucky place you’re in. Go and rest in the light. I’ll tell your Gram you’re at our place. Go and cry and mourn and bond.” she smiled brightly now. I saw genuine happiness for me in her eyes, “You’ve done so much for her and I’m sure she’d do as much for you. Go to her Rocky.”

Elinore MacMillan, everybody. I thanked her a million times for being such a beautiful person.

I had to take a minute but when I was ready I just ran. I ran as fast as my legs could take me back to the lake. I made it to the firepit in what felt like moments and there she was, wading in the water of the lake. She was naked again but I was driven. ‘Wait, why do I feel so…’ I seemed to stumble in my own mind for moment, ‘This is different…’

“GWEN!” I shouted, ‘Gwen I’m here!” Gwen whirled around and she seemed terrified. Almost of me. “ROCKWELL?!” she screamed. But why was she screaming? “What are you doing here?” I bounded over to the lakeside and started ripping off my shoes, putting them on the shore. “Gwen!” I shouted, excited but also growing more anxious. Not in a good way. “I LOVE You!” I confessed, “I really do! I LOVE YOU, Gwen!” I went to step into the water but she ran forward and pushed me into the mud behind me.

“Gwen…?” I grunted, hurt by her actions in my heart more than my body, “What’s going on-”

“Rockwell, you have to run! He is here! The hunter is-“

Just then I tried to stand and my leg was caught up in a rope. It wrapped around my foot as it yanked me into the tree above the edge of the clearing. “ROCKWELL!!!” Gwen cried now in concern. My head was hanging only about foot and a half off the ground and Gwen ran up to me, cold, wet, naked and plants in her dark hair trying to get me loose. She was frantic and terrified. ‘Why does this feel dark?’ I wondered, ‘Everything feels so dark?’

“I will get you down from there, my love…” she said as she pulled at me to lower me, “But then you must flee. Fly from me and this place and never, ever come back!” I was confused and shaken. “What is it Gwen?!” I asked, “What’s going on?!”

A tall figure emerged from the clearing wearing a severed, mutilated elk head as it’s own. “YOU KILLED THEM ALL, YOU FIEND! THEY WERE MY ONLY FRIENDS!” Gwen was yelling in pure rage and hatred at the beast-man and it actually scared me quite a bit. “Flann!” I shouted, trying to ignore Gwen’s strangely malicious aura, “You boozed-up maniac! She’s just a girl! A girl, Flann! WHY can’t you leave her alone!”

Flann laughed menacingly. “I dinnnn’t even know I wasssshhhh huntin’ her, L-lad!” he announced drunker than I’d ever seen, “She’s quite t-th-the… Pffffft… Sheessh a… witch.” Gwen swept over and untied my foot with shocking efficiency and I fell to the ground. I grabbed a big stick from the pit and stepped in front of Gwen. “Don’t you come any closer!” I cursed, shielding my Gwen from Flann, “I’ll fucking thrash you man! Leave her alone!” Gwen was pleading with me and tugging on my sleeve rather forcefully, “Rockwell!” she yelled, “You need to leave! Flee here right now! Run away!”

I looked at her astonished. “No, Gwen!” I protested, “Never! I’m here. I’m here and I won’t ever leave you behind! Not me! I’m sticking around like no one ever did for you! I love you!” I turned to hold her behind me and she turned it away. “Rockwell… Please… PLEASE! I don’t want you to hate me!!!” I marveled at the thickness the air seemed to have with the raging adrenaline. ‘The fear is getting to her, she’s losing it, WE are losing it, why do I feel so dizzy?’

“YOU MONSTER!” I screamed full bar at the madman. ‘Madness? Why does everything feel so… spinny?’ He stood there motionless, puzzled and amazed at me. Then he threw his head back and laughed like a psychopath. Flann took his flask and had a long drink from it. “You’re all the same!” I taunted, “ALL of you! You down your stupid-juice and lose anything human about yourself! You just remind me why my father’s dead and my mother abandoned me! I hate them and I hate you!” Flann screamed a taunt of his own back at us, “Yer the idiot, Laddie!! Ya call me a monster? Look at yer lal- yer little tart there, boy; she is the Monster.”

I looked at Gwen standing there crying, urging me to forsake her. “Ssshhhe’s ttthhhe Ka-Ke-Kelpie, Rrrrrickwall; Yer girlie’s the Devillll.” I ran forward at him. I’d completely snapped.

‘KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL

Wait, what?!’

But just then I’m thrown across the clearing from behind.

I look to see what’s going on and soon my face would contort in horror.

“I…Never wanted you to see this…” Gwen said. Her voice was changing, “My greatest wish was that I would never be this again Rockwell… I am sorry. I am so very, very sorry, my Love. You must flee for your life now. I shall always Love you, my nobleman from the land of Chicago…” She threw her head back and her body bent in an unnatural angle. Then she lurched forward. A deep wrathful voice boomed from her now frightening face; contorted and stretched like a ghoul or a goblin.

“A Curse of Sorrow I beheld! A monster’s skin should be my shell!

As a prison’s darkest cell would form the bowels of hell!

And as my body twists to this I wish to find my lover’s kiss!

For if never I found in this, the drowning roiling swell…

I eat the flesh of man and lust for that which turns to ash and dust and I drag thy soul into my murky depths… For in the foulest hellish crust, below the surface, in my trust; I drag you now into this prison and press you to my breast….”

Her words rhymed in an uncomfortable lack of rhythm that was agony to the ears. It was like a spell song cast devoid of harmony. It was like the chaotic ramblings of a madwoman’s brain as her body contorted and bent in inhuman ways. Her skin became disgusting shades of purple, blue-green and green, the colors of a corpse’s decaying body and rot. Her hair merged with the grass, weeds and leaves in the waters now rsing to meet her. When it was all done she stood before us on stumpy, forked feet like taloned hooves that-

‘Oh Dear God; The prints around my campfire!’

Her bones were pressing against her flesh like she was starved. Her eyes bulged and now glossed over in a pale green. The green of swamp algae or sickness. Her hair was whipping around like wild flailing marsh vines on the back of her neck. She was an unholy Equine-monster. Like a disease ridden swamp-thing with a bony form and a thin whip-like tail of twisted flesh and swamp-weed. She was littered with rotted lake plants and sickly skin.

Flann then produced his rifle and fired into her flank. The hole stayed gaping for only a moment before it was repaired with the water of the lake, now roiling in blighted fury. The hunter rushed the Kelpie with his knife drawn. The creature grew now to twice the size of a mere and half the raw muscle of a bull elephant. Flann was poised to strike but then the beast let loose with a shrilly bellow of evil anti-song, causing Flann and myself to scream in unrestrained horror and agony. It gripped him by the shoulder with it’s disgusting, broken teeth and dragged him into the water; which rose to consume him and shelter the creature in it’s meal. The Monster pulled the hunter into the depths of the lake and feasted for minutes. I was paralyzed and mortified. My horror only outweighed by a single question in my mind:

‘Gwen…Gwen what are you? What are you… My… My Little Gwen…’

The screaming could be heard clearly, despite the carnage being submerged. Then unexpectedly, Flann’s chewed corpse came bursting from the abyss and landed only feet from my still stunned body. I struggled and rose to my feet just as the Kelpie waded it’s way to the shoreline. “G-Gwen?” I whimpered, “Gwen is…Is that you? My Little Gwen?” I reached forward slowly as the creature inched ever closer. Only feet from my trembling body it stood. I swallowed hard and asked again, “Gwen? It’s me… It’s Rockwell… Rocky. You know me. You do…Right?”

Just then the creature wailed like a thousand dying animals and reared back, fangs bared. I screamed and ran as fast as I could for the edge of the forest. As salvation drew near I could hear it. “ROCKWELL! ROCKWELL IS THAT YOU, MY LOVE?!” I heard the beast screaming in a demonic voice both alien and familiar to me. A distorted, twisted variant of my Gwen’s own sweet voice. I turn and look back as I burst from the forest’s edge and trip, falling to the ground. I lay on the moist, dew-covered soil and saw a creature emerge from the forest. It was…

It was the Kelpie. But it wasn’t exactly the monster that had attacked me. A disembodied Gwen spoke to me from the mere, now a silhouette of wispy, scattering mist. From the air I could sense that the mist was it’s tears. Don’t ask how, but I could FEEL it crying. The ghostly horse stared into me, heartbroken.

“Rockwell… Do you love me? Do you?” I remained silent, tears of fear and maddening dread welling in my eyes. “Rockwell? Do you see me, Rockwell of Chicago? My Nobleman…” I choked out, “What, what are you?!?!” I could feel pain in my heart and in the beast’s own innermost thoughts.

Then the air became dry and callous.

“Run away, Rockwell Theodor Chance. Run away from me and never return. If you do; I will kill you like every other man to betray me.” I couldn’t handle it all, it was so much. It was too much. I couldn’t even begin to process it. So I ran straight back to Elinore and Hamish and the ghost-mere walked in silent sorrow and tears back the the lake she hates, the lake of horrors, to rejuvenate.

But I’d see her again; because this isn’t the end of my story.

Remember?

I said that first week I discovered her;

The girl of my Dreams.

Day 5

I’d run to Hamish’s house and found solace in Elinore’s arms.

I cried there, head in her lap as she sat there pleading me to tell her what happened. Eventually I had gotten so tired that I muttered “She’s a monster…” before passing out completely. I’d woken up in her bed. She sat in a nearby chair fast asleep. Elinore had tucked me in and watched over me. Hamish and Elinore and I talked about it. I told them that Gwen murdered Flann in cold blood. I couldn’t tell them about the Kelpie because they’d never believe it. The local police were called out and investigated the lake.

They found Gwen’s empty cabin, stating it had not been used in at least some decades. They didn’t find Drunk Flagon Flann or anybody. When asked about the clothes in the ratty cabin they answered “There was nothing. Some old rotted furniture and broken pots, but that’s it.”

They saw my ragged expression and Gram told them I was mourning and I was lashing out. I refused to go back with Gram and Gramps after that. Mister MacMillan said he would take me in until I could think clearly again. That kind man. But I hit the bottle hard. I had gotten into their scotch cabinet and smuggled a large bottle into the guest room where I would be staying. Elinore found me there and freaked out.

“ROCKY?! What’re you doin’?!” She knocked the bottle out of my hand. It was already more than half empty. “Look, I dunno what she did to you, Rocky; but this is insane! Look at you! You need to getta grip!” She sat down on the floor by me and put her arms around me. “Please? I can’t help you if I dunno what it is you need help for…” I pulled her in and kissed her drunkenly, she pulled away, “STOP IT, Rocky! You’re not yourself! You don’t love me, Rocky. You love GWEN!”

I broke down and cried again. “She’s… She’s a monster Elli… She doesn’t even exist in the daylight… I loved a ghost…” I was drunk. Drunk and heartbroken. I don’t remember the rest of the day. I was wasted. But Elinore eventually told me what she remembered after that.

So lemme just fill that void for day five with what Elinore said to me:

Elinore, Day 5

I couldn’t take seeing you like that, Rocky.

I decided to go into the wood that night myself. I walked all the way out to that bloody lake and found that damned cabin. That’s where I saw her. Gwen was sitting stark naked on the bed over your jacket. She clutched it in her hands like it was her most precious treasure and it was frightening. You still haven’t gotten it back yet. It’s probably still there. Anyway, I stepped up over to her real easy, like. “Hullo?” I called, “Um… Gwen, was it?” Her eyes snapped up at me so startled. She spoke in an older local dialect. I didn’t really know it myself.

“I know you can speak English, Lassie. I’m here on behalf of Rocky.” Her face slowly twisted in pain and she sobbed even harder, turning away and shoving her face into your coat like a spoiled brat. Well, I actually suppose it was more of grief but at the time I felt like all I could do was hate the poor lass.

I walked up to her and put my arms around my middle. “What happened here last night, Gwen? Rocky is… He’s not well at all, Gwen. He’s drinkin’ now.” Gwen’s face looked even more upset, if it could that is, and she started rambling in the Old Gaelic I mentioned and I could make out some of it.

“What do you mean he 'saw your real face’?” She looked at me and her eyes narrowed in an evil suspicion. “Who are you, My Lady?” I paused. “I’m Elinore.” I said nervously, “Elinore MacMillan.” Then she flew into a wild tantrum and pushed me down. She started smacking me all over like a raging child and we had it out for a bit. “I HATE YOU!” she screamed when I finally pinned her down, “I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!”

I held her down like that for a moment and saw a crazed look in her eye. I had a thought flash by that I’d never have thought on my own. It scared the daylight out of me.

‘Cut her eyes out, Elli. She doesn’t deserve Rocky’s love. Kill her. Gut her. Disembowel her. Mutilate her corpse.’

“What?!” I stood and fell back before scrabbling backward toward the door. Gwen’s tone suddenly shifted again back to innocent. “……It is the lake.” she said softly, trying not to cry, “I am so very, very sorry, Elinore MacMillan. I did not mean it. I did not want to harm you…” she then whimpered and wept, “I have cursed this place. In my grief I... The Kelpie owns me now. The Kelpie is always watching me…”

She led me out to the lake shore and we knelt by the water. I reached for the surface and she smacked my hand fearfully. “Do not touch it!” she squealed, “The lake claims all it touches!” She explained that the lake was cursed. Once, long ago, she’d been asked to meet a man here at the lake. He’d arrived at midnight, on a full moon. Though she loved him dearly, his news was less than pleasing; The man said he was promised to another maiden, one with riches and beauty beyond his dreams. That hurt her deeply and she lashed out. “But you said that you would marry me! You said you loved ME!” He merely laughed and told her that none could love a Stableman’s daughter with nothing to offer. She attacked him and he beat her, raped her, beat her even more and then he left her to die. She lay there, broken body and broken heart and somehow even though she was dead, she sang a sad song. She sang off key. She made it up as she sang. Used and abused by the man she loved…

She cursed at the moon. She berated the the trees. She insulted the lake and the earth… Then she waded into the waters and called to the God of her village, “I do not wish to be a Stableman’s Daughter, you bastard of the sun! I do not ever want to return to that wretched life! WHY did you abandon me?! I prayed to your shrine every night for my true love and you sent me a faithless scoundrel! A monster! Why must I suffer?! I have been faithful to you and he! I hate you! Curse on you, oh faithless Horned God! May you rot in your damned wood!!!”

Just then, the moon grew dark and the water churned, it swallowed her and she was trapped in it. She can’t leave the lake. If she walks too far she becomes the mist of tears, mourning her love and life for eternity. Her name was erased from time and if the mist wanders too far from the lake she’ll be too. In her shame and spite she changed her body into monster mere. A succubus among horses. But when travelers eventually made their way to the lake she sought their love to save her broken heart. She held on to the last shred of herself with no past or memory she became 2 things.

No man would stay long. No matter her fair skin or lush hair they were merely wanderers, adventurers, bards and Nobles. But one eve a Hunter found the mere, not the maiden. He followed it to the lake and she became the woman before his eyes. He called her “Kelpie”. He named her a fairy sprite and she was in love. They built a cabin and he would come every full moon to love her. He had given her hope. But she could bear no child and he grew older. In his 46th year he returned to her in sorrow.

“I am to be married. I cannot return here again, my Kelpie. I am sorry.” She flew into a jealous rage and became the mare. “YOU WILL NEVER LEAVE ME FOR ANOTHER! YOU SWORE!” She screamed. “YOU SWORE YOU’D RETURN EVERY FULL MOON! I WILL KEEP YOU FOREVER!!!” She dragged him, screaming and wailing in his terror, to the lake bottom. She tried to hold him lovingly in her arms for the night, as he had promised, and in her madness she drowned him. The lake had become both her prison and her tormentor that night. She split from the Kelpie into that lake and it gained a will of it’s own.

Men came to find the hunter, they found the cabin and the Maiden. “I am Kelpie, what is it you seek?” The men told her they sought the hunter and she led them astray. They searched the lake-shore. Of Seven men one fell into the lake and was pulled to it’s bottom. Another tried to save him and suffered the same. One stayed at the cabin, assuming he’d return… She took him to the depths. As one by one they were taken, her equine form became more and more tainted with blight.

She began to speak in horrid rhyme like the song she sang in her last breaths while she drowned the men. She started feasting on travelers, enticing them in and dragging them into the water to eat, like a crocodile. She had gone mad. But the girl was still there even as the Kelpie fell into a ghost story. “Beware the Kelpie” They would say, “She looks like a deviled mere, and will take you to a watery grave.”

Her madness was far beyond her control. THIS was what made me begin to believe her Rocky; She said a kind old man came searching for night-crawlers. He had only bucket and a smile. She found him and brought him into her cabin. No matter how she tried, she could not seduce him. He spoke of this lovely couple; Theodor and Nancy Cash. Your Grandparents. His friends.

She heard of them in his fondness and saw his kind soul. The girl grew stronger in his kindess and as he rose to leave, she begged the kind man to stay. She wanted that kindness. She felt hope again for the first time in hundreds of years. The girl had never felt the sincerity of genuine kindness before, only seduction and appeasement. He said he had to leave, but he’d send people to take her from the lake and give her a home. She flew into a fearful panic and the Kelpie returned to kill the man.

Horrified at what she’d done, the girl buried him in respect and realized she could walk as the girl, but must relinquish her body to the Kelpie often or be trapped again. She heard people search for him in the distance the next night. Her mind had a voice, the Kelpie trying to reclaim control.

“Find them. Kill them. Feast of them. Why should others be happy when you are not?”

The lake had power now. It was all of her spite and rage and fear and envy and lust. The girl isolated herself for fifteen years, praying that her past slaughters would keep others away for fear of the Kelpie. Then, a Full Moon came. Like the ones that held so much heartache for her. That night she cried in her loneliness. She sang to herself a sweet song. A harmonious song. She wanted that companion, that kindness from before, but was afraid of what she may do for the Lake. The Voice. The Kelpie.

The only friends she dared make were the deer in the wood. She even hid them best she could from the hunters in season…

But then from the dark of the wood; a young Nobleman feared for her well-being. You were handsome and kind, you gave her your coat and brought her to our fire. She feared she had driven you away, hoped against better judgement that it wasn’t true. And you returned two more nights. You spoke for hours that night she was given a new name; Little Gwen, the Fairest in the Land. You didn’t just talk about knights and wizards that night. You talked about other things too.

“Y'know, when I was a little kid… I kinda wanted to be the hero in those stories.” You told her, I guess. She’d replied, “A hero Rockwell? Like Lancelot?” in a calm admiration. Then you told her about yer favorite story, “Well… more like Odysseus. He was missing for twenty years. For ten of those years he fought to escape a prison and against monsters and warriors; and he sailed the ocean. He was trying to get back to his Wife Penelope and his Son Telemachus.” That made her perk up. “OH!” she exclaimed, “What a wonderful man! This is the man you want to be? A man who would always return, no matter how long it would take?” But you got so nervous. “I wanted to be a man who stands by his word,” you explained, “And would fight tooth and nail for what he loves… But I was a little kid, and fairy tales are just stories…”

You talked about right and wrong, good and evil, what makes a man a man. She spoke of her favorite memory, a song sang to a maiden by a bard in her first few years here. She watched from the trees and was envious of their love. “Was he proposing to her?” You asked. “Yes, he asked her to be his wife.” she replied. “That is sooo cool!” you exclaimed. You were really keen on that part, “Oh my GOD, man! Proposing in song? Oh man... If I ever fall in love I’m gonna sing something to her. Maybe something by Def Leppard or maybe Tom Petty or Whitesnake!” You were so energetic. “…there is a deaf leopard? And…it sings with white snakes?” She had said, baffled by your words.

And boy were you shocked to hear that. “Wait…You don’t know rock n’ roll?!” You asked. Then you made her a promise. “OH MY GOD! I have to show you sometime! I’ll bring my cassette player one of these nights; You’ll LOVE it!” She was undeniably in love and said she still had the urges to harm you the whole time. Even after you told her a story of a Round Table and a Hero King. Even after you named her. Even after you bonded over your former dreams and over music…

Even after you swore you’d always come back. She felt she wanted to harm you.

When she said that I confessed that I couldn’t believe she was a monster, but my Dah had sent someone to come get me from the wood. He arrived and saw Gwen. He demanded she come back with us, suspecting this girl may have seen who killed Flann. Knowing that the police would want to question her.

I asked that we pretend she was never here, but his wife was my aunt and wanted justice for Flann so he pushed it. Most of the clan never wanted anything to do with him but some still thought blood was thicker than water…

Gwen’s face fell cold and emotionless. She transformed into a hellish monster, a ghoulish beast, and she dragged him beneath the lake and devoured him. I was petrified with terror…then she changed back. She stood on the water in the middle of the lake like Jesus himself! “Run, I will let you leave this time.” She told me, “But if you or anyone, even my Noble Rockwell, return: I shall devour them all before they can scream.” I sprinted home as fast as I could and told Father what happened in my panic as dawn broke.

Day 6

I awoke with a mind-numbing headache to Elinore charging in through the front door right before Dawn. She started frantically telling her father about her and Hamish’s Uncle Gavin was killed by the Kelpie. This prompted a meeting between all the older adults in town. Most people in this town were superstitious as hell and now I could see why. As I watched this angry mob form in town square Hamish and Elinore came over and sat down next to me and we had our own conversation.

Elinore felt guilty.

She had been a fearful wreck when she spoke to her father that morning and now that she had calmed down she told me about what happened. Gwen’s origins, her life, the victims, the madness in the lake… And the only light in her dark life.

"Me?!” I said, bewildered. Elinore peered into the well next to us, saddened. “Yeah, YOU Rocky…She’s not Evil. She’s lonely and scared and maybe a wee bit mad… But she’s lost, alone, cold and she hungers for a friend. For a COMPANION…” She trailed off. Hamish spoke up then, “Rock, when I met her I could feel it too. I was angry at yeh for payin’ attention to her. An’…An’ I had thought to lash out at yeh both in rage. Somethin’s awful in that lake…” I looked at them, eyes wide and astonished. I stood up suddenly, unusually stoic, “You…You’re asking me to see her again, aren’t you?” They both shot a sharp look at me Elinore slapped me in the face “Of COURSE not! She’ll kill you! She’ll drag you to the bottom of the lake and eat you up!” She put her face in my chest and started crying, “You can’t go back there Rocky! WHY would you say somethin’ like that?!”

“Yeh really are somethin’ Rock,” Hamish shouted, “Even after all yeh saw an’ all yeh know, even after hearing how tempted she is to hurt yeh, to kill yeh: Yeh wanna go back there?!” I couldn’t say anything. “No, that’s not what I was saying… I just-”

Elinore looked up at me from my tear-soaked shirt, “What on EARTH coulda made you think I wanted you to go back to her?! I was warnin’ you, Rocky! Tellin’ you she’s beyond help! She has a blood-lust! She cannah leave the lake. That lake…it changes people in the mind…”

Then it hit me: I really am in love with her. Even after seeing what she is. But why? Just then Grandma Nancy walked up. “Rockwell Theodor Chance! Just WHAT have you done boy?!” I looked at her. She was worried and angry. “Do you know how worried we’ve been?! All these stories of a lake monster, you were sneaking out to see this…this…THING?! I wouldn’t have believed it if the Barley Brothers hadn’t have heard Elinore’s screaming in the woods and only ONE of them came back! They SAW it! the Kelpie! The Devil Horse of the Lake!!!”

She took me by the wrist. “You’re coming home; You’re grounded Rocky.” Just then I found my courage. “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME DAD WAS DEAD?!” Gram stopped. “I…” My eyes flashed with vigor, “NO! NO Excuses! Dad died months ago and Ma signed custody over to YOU two? HOW can she just abandon me?! WHY wasn’t I told about this?!” Gram smacked me. “Your mother is dealing with guilt and anger herself Rocky. She needs time to-”

I wrench my arm free from her grasp and continue, ignoring the pain in my face. “And Gwen. Don’t you EVER call her a 'Thing’ again. She’s kind and thoughtful and polite and sweet and the most beautiful person I’ve ever met in my whole life!” Hamish, Elinore, Gram, Gramps and the rest of the village stared at me in shock, “I don’t CARE if she’s the Devil! I don’t care if she’s a ghost or demon or boogeyman or fairy or freaking horse-monster! Because…because she isn’t really any of those…She’s…”

I start crying but I hold my ground, “She’s a scared, lonely, angry, heartbroken and forsaken young Woman. She’s a damsel in distress waiting for her Noble Prince to come rescue her from her suffering! I PROMISED I’d come back to her. As long as I breathe, no matter how long it takes. Twenty Years, Ten Years. I’LL CROSS AN OCEAN OF MONSTERS FOR HER! I love her Gram. I LOVE My Little Gwen!”

I broke down in tears. Elinore and Hamish were brought to tears too. The rest of town however…

They locked me in a cellar.

They’d decided that I had been bewitched by the Kelpie. That I was a danger to myself and others until Gwen was killed. A Villager, Shane Barley, said he saw the creature use the lake water and weeds to heal from his shotgun wound. They decided they could lure it far enough away from the lake and burn it to death. I beat on the cellar door until sundown. Elinore came to see me. We spoke through the door.

“…Rocky…Tomorrow night they’re gonna go and burn the Kelpie…” her voice was shaking and I could feel her tremble. “Elinore, you gotta let me out, they’re making a mistake! You SAW her! She’s not a monster! She’s just scared…” Elinore was silent only for a minute. “Rocky… What makes you think she can be saved?” I hit the door with my fist, “WHAT MAKES YOU THINK SHE CAN’T BE?!” She peered through a crack in the door. “She is mad, Rocky. She may not be evil but her madness will…” She choked on the words. “SHE’LL STILL KILL YOU, ROCKY! EVEN THOUGH SHE LOVES YOU SHE’LL KILL YOU! What if she did bewitch you?! What if she’s seduced you like she said she’s done?!”

I could hear her crying and I could see her tears through the door. “Why… Why her?” She sniffled silently. We sat there for what seemed like forever. “Elli…” I said, “Do you remember when I first got here?” Elinore wiped a tear from her eye and said “Aye… Me Dah’s prized hog got loose and we all searched for it. You were flirting like the wily charmer you are…”

She giggled a little through her worried, trembling voice. “Do you remember that wild dog?” I asked, “The Saint Bernard? The one that chased you through the woods by Potter’s dairy farm?” She sighed, “I thought the hog might’ve wandered that far east… Only a mile or two. You Lads told me he’d never’ve gotten that far. That I was bein’ silly and in this grove near the Potter’s… a rabid dog chased me about… I was so scared.” I looked at her through the crack in the door.

“I followed you out there Elli. You were ready to give up. You were gonna live in that stupid tree you’d climbed forever. You saw me at the bottom of the hill screaming and waving my arms and the mangy mutt came after me. But you got so scared for me that you jumped down and got a big stick. You beat that stupid mutt to death.” I peered at her, “Fear is kinda like alcohol. A little isn’t unhealthy and can even make things fun. Like ghost stories. But too much and you turn into something else. I never guessed why you went against every urge to let me die there but now I do; You wanted to keep me safe. You cared about me. All my stupid, cheesy pickup lines and you saw deep inside to that geeky little wannabe I really am. You saw me risk it for you because you saw my heart, and how I cared about you. I was risking my neck to save yours, and you were such a bitch to me. You saw my… Nobility.”

I stopped there. Dead quiet. “I love you Rocky.” she blurted out suddenly. I sighed. “Elli, that’s not the point here. You fought that mad fear of death to save me, because you saw I cared and out of all the people in her life; Gwen has only ever seen me care about her. I know I can save her, because… Because fear is strong. It’s insane. It makes good men do terrible things…

But Love cuts through fear like a sickle through the wheat. She won’t kill me because she loves me. She’ll fight that lake with all the goodness and love in her whole heart and soul. She’ll win. And I’ll help her. I won’t let her do this alone. I need to be her hero as much as I need her to be mine. I’ve always been alone too. You guys? You and Hamish and Gwen are all I care about and Gwen needs me.

You don’t NEED me. You WANT me. In another life, another time, I think we would have made some pretty good looking kids, Elli.” I paused when I heard her whimpering cry. But I pressed on, “She needs me. Elli: You have to let me out of here.” Elinore stared through that crack at me for a while. She didn’t say anything for a long time. She stood up and dusted her apron off.

“You need to get some rest Rocky. It’ll all be over tomorrow. Then you can get on with your life.” She left. I knew I’d broken her heart. I knew that my only hope now to get out, to get to Gwen, to stop the town, was walking away right now.

I had a restless sleep that night.

They all think I’m cursed. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if I stay locked up for ten years, I’ll come back to you Gwen. I’ll come for you. No matter what happens I’m coming. I won’t let anyone hurt you anymore, My Little Gwen.

I fell asleep that morning. I dreamed of drowning, that I was drowning in the lake trying to pull Gwen out. I dreamed that the Kelpie was dragging her into the reeds, and I wouldn’t let her go. I dreamed that because I wouldn’t forsake her again, we drowned together in the cold and the dark.

Day 7

I awoke gasping for air.

Saturday. Day 7 in this maelstrom of madness, terror, blood and sadness. But I dug deep and found my resolve. Gwen. I have to get out of here before… I looked out the window of the cellar. It was pitch black. It was already so late. I scrambled around the old wine cellar and found an old wine bottle corkscrew.

“Ungh! OOF!” I started jabbing it into the space between cellar doors. I needed to lift the beam or break it and make my escape. “C'MON! C'MON, DAMMIT! WORK!” just then I hear a shriek “Rocky, stop it!” It was Elinore. “Yeh daftie! There’s a lock on the outside gimme a second…” It was Hamish too. I heard a latch unhook and clicking.

Then the door swung wide open; Gwen and Hamish stood right there. Hamish had something in his hand “The hell is going…” I demanded; and then my heart dropped. Gwen?! She’s not… they didn’t…” Hamish pulled me out with one hand, handing the sack to Elinore. “No, they ain’t. But they’re close. Liam’s dead and your Grandpa Theo is hurt.” I looked at them. “Is he gonna be okay?!” Hamish nodded, “Yeh. Mum pulled him back in time to stop the bleedin’. It’s a bloody clusterfuck out there, Rock.” I eyed them both with new hope, “What are you guys doing here?”

Elinore looked away. Upset and frustrated. “I’m not doin’ it for her, Rocky… But you’d never forgive me if I didn’t try…” I stared at them. “Gwen’s terrified Rock.” Hamish said, “I couldn’t take it. She kept screaming for you. Like, she knew you wouldn’t come but she was too scared to admit it… She’s tearin’ the wood apart running away and fighting back…” Elinore pulled an old stringed instrument out of the sack.

“Okay, they say that Music can soothe a savage beast. Pan did it,” Elinore stated, “so did the Pied Piper, all kinds of stories have a musicians calming a monster, with a lute or something…” She paused,” And o’course there’s… true love.” She handed the lute to me, “If you think you can stop her with your heart and soul… Maybe this can help you do it?” I reached for the lute, but pulled away.

“Shit.” I cursed, “I can’t play… I was in my 4th grade choir but that’s all vocal…” Hamish grabbed the lute. “Then it’s a good thing I learned the strings when I was laid up with a broken leg.” he said triumphantly, “Let’s go, Rock.” I took them both in my arms. “You guys… I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

Elinore pushed me back and said. “Enough blubberin’ Rockwell, we gotta monster to tame…” We ran from that cellar to the woods. There was crashing and screaming. I saw people running here and there freaking out. “They got to the Lake and started to lose it.” Hamish blurted as we ran, “Three or four got sucked in immediately. Dah held his cool and got it to chase him into the wood. Everyone else ran after or wandered of into the forest in a frenzy.”

I saw charred bushes. “They lost their torches? What are they planning now?” Elinore shouted back “They nearly caught the woods on fire, me and Hamey had to douse the flames! If your wonderin’ about a plan though: I really don’t believe they have one right now…”

Just then she appeared.

Gwen.

No, wait; the Kelpie.

She stood only a few yards away. Mister MacMillan leaped out into the path and waved his torch at her. “Kids ya gotta run! It’s all gone ta hell! All we can do is try and escape-” The Kelpie reared up and knocked him down. I grabbed the torch and the lute. “GWEN!” I screamed, “Gwen I’m back! I’m here Gwen, listen to me!!!” She snapped at me, gnashing teeth and glowing pale eyes.

“The one who’s love I could not keep?! The one who sees me in his sleep! All you know shall end this night in blood and vore and baneful fright!” I ran toward the lake, screaming to Elinore and Hamish to get their dad away. I knew what I needed to do, but I was terrified that I would die.

‘Run! Run and save yourself! Use the men as a decoy!’

The Kelpie thoughts raced through my head. ‘I must be getting close to the lake…’ I was determined, ‘I know I can save her.’ The night I named her. There was no fear or hate or envy in those eyes that night. There was just laughter and love and life…

‘I know we can do this.’

I reached the lake-shore, caught between the beast and her lair. She burst from the brush and stood there, malice and menace, bane and blood-lust. She inched forward little by little. I ran to my old fire-pit and threw the lute in. then I set in on fire with the torch. “GWEN!” I shouted, “You’re freezing! Come sit by the fire with me Gwen! Let’s get you warmed up.” The beast hesitated. For a second I thought I could see her eyes; Gwen’s eyes instead of the Kelpie’s.

“Blood and Flesh and Guts and Bone… Tonight you die a man aloooone…”

I took a hard step forward, “I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO YOU, KELPIE! I want Gwen!” The beast stumbled again, “LET ME TALK TO GWEN! I WANT MY LITTLE GWEN! My beautiful Moonlit Maiden!” Lightning flashed in the sky behind me. The monster stamped and howled in fury.

“You are a FOOL Rockwell of Chicago!” it shrieked, “We are one and the same!” I screamed back, eyes wide, teeth bared, nostrils flaring, face wrinkled into a rage:

“YOU ARE A LIAR!

My Gwen is the most innocent and wonderful woman I’ve ever known! She’s afraid of you, of her other half, of all that pain and hate and spite she’s ever felt! You let me talk to her! NOW!!!” The creature lunged. It Rushed me from the front with a madness and hunger. I wanted to run, to scream, to fight it, to kill it… I braced my foot against the earth behind me and grabbed the beast by it’s snout. “LET ME SEE GWEN!” I screamed into it’s mouth, “I WANT GWEN! ONLY GWEN! I won’t leave without her!!! Give her to me now!”

The creature’s face started to burn at my touch it staggered backward.

“What is this?! A pain of form?! Lover’s kiss?!

NO! NO MORE!!!” The creature raged, “NO ONE LOVES ME! NO ONE! HOW DARE YOU LIE TO MY OWN FACE!!!” It was breaking its song. Gwen was fighting it. I threw a stone at the Kelpie. “I LOVE HER!” I declared, “I want to be with her forever! I’ll never forsake my Gwen! You think you know her. You don’t. You only know her agony. That’s all you are is her pain and her bad memories. But SHE is more than that! She’s the most incredible creature in all of the world. No Fairy or Angel or Unicorn could ever match her. She’s my Little Gwen.” I walked forward and continued.

“I don’t care what you do. Bite me, slash me, rip me apart. Kill me! Burn me! Eat my heart! Drown me! Shred me! smother my soul; But I won’t stop until she’s whole!”

The creature began howling and rambling in that old Gaelic Speech. “Ha!!! You thought you were the only one out here who could make up shitty stupid rhymes? That’s not even the best part.” I knelt on one knee, just beneath the creatures dripping maw. I started to sing:

“I can’t stop the feeling…I’ve been this way before. But, with you I’ve found the key to open any door. I can feel my love for you growing stronger day by daaaay… And I can’t wait too see you again; So I can hold you in my Aaaaarms!” the creature’s roar hurt my ears, “What sorcery is this?!”

“IT’S SINGING WHITE SNAKES!!!

Is this love that I’m feeling! Is this the love that I’ve been searching for!

Is this love! Or am I dreaming! This must be love 'cause it’s really got a hold on-”

The Kelpie bucked and raged, “HOLD ON, GWEN!!!” I ran forward and grabbed the beast by the face, the monster thrashed and crashed and I closed my eyes kissed her forehead, “Hold on to me, Gwen!!! Hold on!!!” I continued the song as loud as I could, all my passion. I wasn’t a rock star but I gave it all I had. I cradled the Kelpie’s head as I rang my pipes loud as I could until I was thrown on my back a few meters away.

I looked up and saw it was curled up on the ground. A Horrible, emaciated mess of ghoulish equine horror; Broken and weeping. “Why? Why do you hurt me so… Why do you wish me dead?!” I answered the Kelpie; “Because you’re hurting my Gwen and all I want in the world is for her to laugh and prance and live and feel the warmth of the sun. The…” I paused, horrified, “The sun?” I noticed that the sky was growing brighter now. The sun was rising. I looked at the monster, it’s flesh slowly melted away, bit by bit and inch by inch the monster dissolved and there in the light of the dawn stood a beautiful living mere shimmering with a magical light of it’s own.

“Rockwell Chance… My Rockwell… My beautiful, wonderful Hero…” She was steaming, smoking. The sun was burning her. “Gwen?! Gwen you’re burning!!!” I stood fast and the mere simply nodded, “Well, okay but you’ll be okay?” the mere tilted her head, “Gwen?! Gwen! What can I do to save you?! Gwen let me help you!” The mare smiled sadly and walked toward the fire next to me. She stood facing me as the men and women of the town came into view.

“You already have, my love. You took all my sadness, pain, hate and fear away Rockwell… In that moment, when you serenaded me with your song of love, your White Snake’s song let me see deep inside you. Your soul and your heart… And I realized my God had answered my Prayer all those years ago… Those centuries ago.” The mere looked so sad, “I should have been patient. Truly. You were always on your way to me.”

The Creature then- Gwen stepped into the fire and was caught ablaze. “GWEN!!!” I screamed, horrified, reaching into the flames for her but being pulled backward by Hamish’s powerful arms. “ROCK! GET BACK!!!” I was in a new frenzy. I was fighting so hard to get to her, “NO!!! GWEN!!! PLEASE! Don’t leave me, Gwen! I need you… I want you…” The mere became a young lady. She became my Gwen. The paleness and cold and filth of a vagrant were burned away and left only her true, majestic self standing there. “I’ll always be yours Rockwell. Only yours and always here for you…” The flames scattered, and she disappeared…

Epilogue

The following week I called my mother and convinced her to take custody back from my grandparents. She needed me and we needed each other. I also resolved to return to my schooling with a more serious attention. I even went to college and became a writer. I wrote ghost stories and romantic tragedies. When I had finally gotten over mourning Gwen’s death I had told my mother what I always needed to.

“Ma. Thank you. Thank you for sending me to Scotland. I never considered what you may have been feeling when Dad died, but I learned that summer what it’s like to lose that special someone… I Love you Ma. I don’t forgive you: I thank you.” She cried for almost an hour and gave me hers and Dad’s rings. As much as I thought she hated him, she never could.

She could finally move on now herself. But then soon after Ma had been murdered by my Uncle Barry. He blamed her for my father’s death. He hit the bottle hard and drove himself mad. He went to prison and I never got to say goodbye to Ma. I visited him for years and he always asked me the same question.

“Why don’t you hate me? What I did… How could I have done it?” I looked him in the eye when I told him. I’d seen more horror than he could ever imagine. All in one week.

“Uncle Barry; Fear, Grief, Rage and Jealousy makes men into monsters and women into devils. You were drinking and grieving. I love you though, you’re the only blood I got left, Barry. And I’d be a shitty Nephew if I hated you for being in agony… As long as we see the monsters we become, we can keep them away from those we love. Sometimes we see em’ too late. You’re getting yours both from being in here and living with what you did. You regret it. We get desperate and reckless and throw our lives away and we end up punishing ourselves in the process of doing a deed we need punishment for… It’s fucked up. Life isn’t fair, all we can do is live and learn. I forgive you.”

He found God in Prison. Life in prison with no chance for parole. He even became a preacher in the prison and preached unconditional love and acceptance. The good word of Jesus Christ. I never thought my forgiveness would drive a man to God. I don’t know if there even is a God…

I just knew an Angel.

I worked long nights at the College, teaching night courses of Literature like William Shakespeare and Homer and I didn’t sleep at night. I slept during the day and Dreamed of Gwen and the Lake. Not nightmares like back then, nice pleasant dreams. Where I could see her. Always the same. She’d run through the trees like a classical impish spirit, “Chase me Rockwell! Come and catch me! Come get me!” I suppose that’s why I never married.

I was chasing ghosts.

In August of 1997, ten years later, I inherited my Grandparent’s farm after they passed. I decided to move back there. I took early retirement and lived in Gram’s old place. Elinore had married Paul and had three kids. Hamish and Alice married, but they only lasted a few months before a divorce. Hamish took over his dad’s Tailoring Shop when the old man got senile. He was adorable as a crazy old coot. It made me miss the old days. “Things sure have gotten weird…” I said with a sigh.

Elinore chuckled, “You’re tellin’ me! You talk an’ act like you’re the damn Buddha or some shite!” I smiled, “No buddha. Nothing special. Just Rockwell Chance, published author and University Professor.” I sighed, “But things… They are changed forever.” Elinore looked at me, Puzzled. “What do you mean Rocky?” I answered, “Well, I guess I mean they’re… Normal. Domestic. I mean look at you; You got Two little girls and a Baby boy! Geeze, life get’s mundane as you get older eh?” I laughed dryly. “My only memories here were adventures and horrors. And now this… wonderful, beautiful sight I never thought would look so...”

Elinore handed the baby to Paul and called the twins over, “We had our share of adventures, aye. Straight outta Stephen King, to be sure. But it’s never a dull week…” She pointed at me and whistled to her children, “Gwendoline! Vivian! This is your Uncle Rocky!” The two redheaded girls jumped up and down when they got in front of me. “Uncle Rocky?! Ye have the same name as baby Rocky!” They both threw their arms around me and laughed, “Welcome Home Uncle Rocky!!!”

I looked at Elinore, astonished. “Gwen..doline? Vivian? Rocky?” Elinore smiled “You’ve never been far from our minds Rocky. Neither of you.” I breathed a moment. “Gwen…”

The little spitfire in my arms looked up at me, “Whatissit, Uncle Rocky?” I smiled. “You guys wanna play a game?” I asked, “It’s called TICKLE MONSTER!!!” The children laughed and we all had a good time. That night I went to Elinore’s for Dinner with her and Hamish. After dinner Elinore gave me the key to Gram’s old Place and I went and got unpacked.

That’s when I saw it. ‘My Jacket? What?’ I thought, astonished, ‘But, I had never gone back for it after I gave Gwen her dress and hat…’

But it was sitting on Gramps’ old rocking chair. I looked out at the woods and my heart raced. I finished packing and went out to the forest with a lantern and my jacket. I made my way to the old fire pit.

It was a Full Moon out.

I couldn’t find anything.

I walked up to the lake and cautiously touched the water… Nothing. No evil thoughts no voice. Just calm, still water… I walked around to the east, to the tree I first saw her at. Nothing. No girl. No ghost. No monster. No horse. I made my way to the old Cabin. I walked in and looked around. I found a carving on the table:

“To My Noble Rockwell. I am always none but yours; your Little Gwen.”

I sat in my old chair and cried for almost an hour. I sat there remembering her. It was only seven days. Seven days of my life and she had embedded herself into my very soul. I wept and then began to dose…

“Who is in there…?”

I almost had a heart attack when I heard it.

I fell off of my chair and hit my head hard on the edge of the bedframe. “YOW OW OW!!!” I looked up and standing in the doorway was enough to scatter my heart into a million tiny pieces of sunshine. “…You came back for me.” She smiled coyly. I leaped to my feet and wrapped my arms around her. “Is… Is it really…?” She smiled lovingly. “I told you I would always be here.” she whispered in my ear, “I waited for you forever… I was afraid you would never find me.” She giggled and winked. “Did you not get the messages I sent to you?” she asked.

I was confused. “M-messages?!” I stammered. She laughed. “You dreamed of me every day, did you not?” she said with an impish grin. My mouth dropped open. “That really WAS you?!” She nodded. “During the day I become the lake.” she explained, “When the sun rises, I scatter to the wind and settle at the bottom of lake-bed. While in that lake in the sun, I could speak through dreams.” I began to sob, “You mean all those years ago you-” I choked, “I thought you died, Gwen!”

She threw her head back and laughed gleefully. “You silly! I am already half-life! I cannot exactly die twice, can I? You silly man.” She kissed me on the cheek and twirled around to the door on her heel.“Wait, where are you going?” I asked, still reeling in shock.“The fire, Rockwell. You are freezing.” she piped. I put my jacket back on and followed her to a Celtic looking shrine she had built with a pyre out front. My eyes were so full of tears.

“My God had punished me for my insolence but he never forsook me. I waited hundreds of years for my answered prayer… For him to send me a True Love…” She turned back to me, “In my grudge and grief I created a monster of myself. The Kelpie. It broke me in two. I was shattered and fighting against myself. My heart against my hurt…” She put her hands on my cheeks. They were so warm and tender now. The sun began to rise.

“Rockwell… Will you return every Full Moon? Will you come and see me under the moonlight? Will you come back for me?” I took a trembling breath and answered.

“No.” I answered.

She smiled at that and I continued, “I’ll come back tomorrow night with my CD Player and show you rock n’ roll. Then the next night I’ll come and fill that old bookshelf with Camelot stories, the Iliad and Odyssey, Beowulf, Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, Midsummer Night’s Dream, Macbeth, Julius Caesar, Troilus and Cressida and Hamlet too. The Poetic Edda as well. I’ll bring you all those books that I wanted to show you so you can read them. Then the next night I’ll bring my own novels and stories that I wrote myself and read them to you too.

And THEN I’ll find even more excuses and keep coming back each and every night until we grow old together.” She was a grown adult lady. She had shimmering emerald eyes and long, luscious auburn hair. Her rosy skin shone in the dawn’s light and her smile was oh so enchanting. She wore the dress and hat and ribbons I had brought her those ten years ago…

She had grown with me.

That petite teenage-looking girl I met ten years ago as a 17 year old boy had become a woman as I’d become a man. My Little Gwen was a true Lady now. The Fairest in the United Kingdom.

“I’ll come and spend whole weekends- No, wait; whole weeks out here with you. I’ll read to the lake in the morning, sleep all afternoon and kiss you in the moonlight.” I drew her close, “I’ll be here with you until the day I die. If you go first I’ll come and read to the lake in your memory. I’ll love you until the stars fade and the sun burns the earth to cinders. Until the moon collides with the rings of Saturn and until all of time stops. I’ll never leave you behind. I’ll always be here; My Lady Gwen, the Fairest.” She smiled as we embraced and kissed our first kiss as the sun rose… She then drifted into the lake as Fairy Dust.

“And I’ll always be here to greet you, my Noble Rockwell of Chicago…”

So I ran back to my Gram’s old house and sang with the risen dawn. Elinore wouldn’t believe it… Maybe she could come with me to say hello, in time? Maybe the Twins would someday meet their Namesake? Maybe I could even find a Celtic Priest of sorts and Elinore’s family could witness a wedding? Perhaps I kept her secret very close to my heart, letting not even Elinore, Hamish, or anyone know she was here? Or maybe we never grew old and lived eternal in the magic of that Blessed Lake?

Whatever happened next is my destined life and I think this is as good a place as any to end a Fairy Tale. Just know that I came back every night and we lived happily ever after.

That’s how I met the Kelpie.

My Fairest Lady Gwen; the Woman of My Dreams.

FIN

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