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plaidbooks · 3 years

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Cabin Life - Whittling Roses

A/N: Hello, I have lost complete control of myself and just keep writing this AU. I blame @berniesilvas, but I also love her and this AU so much. For now, this was all the concrete ideas I had--everything else is vague ideas that I don’t have a fic plotted for yet. I hope you all enjoy!

Tags: just fluff, the briefest mention of smut (only one line), and a little bit of a make-out session

Words: 1857

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @ben-c-group-therapy @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @glimmerglittergirl @reading--mermaid @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31

As predicted, the snowstorm blocked off contact between you and Sonny for most of the winter months. As soon as the snow started to melt, it would snow again, causing a bigger buildup. He texted you when he could—when the cells had connection—but otherwise, he was confined to his cabin, as you were to yours.

He never once stopped thinking about you, especially when he was huddled in a pile of your blankets, the fireplace happily crackling in front of him. He remembered the night he made love to you right there on the floor, and he wished he could do it again, in his bed this time. Even the thought of your body in his embrace, your warmth and scent surrounding him, was enough to make his body flush with desire.

To help take his mind off you…well, to help control his thoughts—there was no “not thinking” about you—he took a block of wood inside, his whittling blade in hand. When he looked at that block of unimpressive, plain wood, he could clearly see what he wanted to make. But even with his skill, it was a complicated task. At least he had months to work on it.

He spent most of his time whittling. He only took a break to cook, eat, maybe watch tv if he could get a signal in the blizzard. He also brought in a separate piece of wood, to practice different techniques on; he wanted his gift to you to be perfect, to show his love for you.

Sonny let his mind wander as he whittled—as long as he paid attention to the details. His mind irrevocably went back to you every time. He wanted to ask how you felt about kids; though you had mentioned wanting them before, he wanted to see if that was still true.

Eventually, his mind wandered to him marrying you. He wanted to propose, with rings and everything, have both your families there. Maybe he could build an archway to go in that meadow or something, cover it with flowers. He was already building a bridge to go across that creek by his place. An archway shouldn’t be too hard.

Then he smiled as a thought struck him; what if he whittled the wedding rings? He’d have to get better, perfect his craft before he even attempted at something so important. He’d have to talk to you about that, too, make sure you were okay with it. He had enough money to buy a traditional ring, if that’s what you wanted.

***********************

About a month into his project, he finished the first of what he hoped would be a dozen roses. He gazed intently at the bud, the petals. Then, his eyes travelled down the stem to the leaf, the veins carved into it. Was it the best rose ever made? Absolutely not. But it was a rose, and it would be perfect for you.

It had taken him much longer than he had anticipated to make one rose. He had stopped frequently to practice petals and veins, though, which had taken up time. Still, he was afraid he wouldn’t finish them quick enough; he had never spent a winter in the cabin, and he didn’t know how long the storms lasted (he had to make a call to the Willis’s for how to cover his gardens). So, while he felt jubilation at finishing one rose, he didn’t celebrate, instead getting right back to it.

The second rose only took him two weeks, and the third, a week. Now that the stems were done, he was getting faster at doing the petals and leaves. He still took his time, made sure he didn’t mess them up, but he was improving. Some of them, he left as bulbs, the petals just opening, while others were in full bloom. He debated painting them, but he wanted to make his own dyes, and he had no idea how to do that. Plus, he kind of liked the light, wooden color.

Once he finished, he fought the urge to continue working on them. He did go back and fix up some details in the first flower that he learned to deal with by the tenth. Now came the question of what to put them in. Does he get a fancy ribbon and tie the stems together for a bouquet? Or should he whittle a vase for them? It’s not like they needed water.

Outside, the blizzard raged on. So, Sonny figured he could make a vase, and if he didn’t like it, he could toss it in the fireplace. Taking yet another block of wood, he got to work. This project, he had a little less of a vision than before. He thought about it as he pulled the roses together, measuring how big of an opening he needed on top.

Slowly, a shape began to form in his mind’s eye, and he started cutting. He wanted a long, skinny neck on top, and a wider base. He wouldn’t have to hollow the inside, only the top part enough to hold the roses. Still, he was doing it by hand, and it took him another month to have just the basic shape done. But he wanted to add details.

Taking his smallest whittling tool, he went to work on the design. Maybe it was corny, but Sonny was a corny guy. He carved apples and his best attempt at lavender flowers, the two things that drew you both together. And in the middle, he carved out a heart, both of your initials inside. He smiled when he was done, knowing that you’d love it regardless; it came from him.

He collected all the wooden roses and rearranged them in the vase until they were how he wanted them. He smiled proudly at the sight, and he wished the snow would stop so he could give them to you now.

**********************

He only had to wait another two weeks before the snow finally let up enough for him to visit you. The sky was a bright blue, the sun making the fallen snow blinding. Sonny texted you that he was coming over, asking if you wanted to go with him to the local shops to restock on some food. You agreed, and he was instantly on his ATV, the roses zipped up protectively in his jacket.

Sonny parked, then came up to your front door, vase in hand. He knocked and then was suddenly worried that you’d hate the roses, that you’d think him childish. You had given him blankets, something useful, while all he made was wooden flowers—

You opened the door, smiling brightly when you saw Sonny standing there. You had missed him deeply, and you were happy to see his hair and beard longer. Then your eyes flicked down to the wooden vase clutched in his hand.

“What’s this?” you asked, voice hushed in awe at the bouquet.

He swallowed hard. “I, uh, I made ya these fer ya…. I thought, ya know, that I should get ya flowers. But they always wilt and die, so I thought if I made them outta wood, then….”

“You—you made these?” Your eyes tore from the roses to lock to his blues.

He slowly extended his arm, holding the vase out to you, and you took it, marveling at the details in the leaves and petals, then the vase itself. You chuckled as you recognized the apples and lavender, and you had to blink away tears when you saw the heart.

“Sonny, I love them. Thank you so much,” you breathed, smiling up at him.

He grinned nervously, shifting from foot to foot. “Ya do? I was afraid that they weren’t useful—”

“Of course, they’re useful,” you replied, and he tilted his head, brow furrowed. “They show me how much you love me, even when you’re not here to tell me yourself.”

The brightness of his smile could match that of the sun. “Plus, they’ll never die, like my love for you.”

“You sap,” you said, giggling. With your free hand, you grabbed his jacket and pulled him to you for a sweet kiss. His nose and lips were chilled from the wind outside, but you didn’t care. Besides, his lips warmed quickly enough against yours.

“Come on; let’s head to the market so I can get ya home ‘fore the snow starts back up,” Sonny muttered against your lips.

You snuck another kiss. “Why bring me home? Why not just take me to your place? I know we could keep each other warm”

He let out a low growl, kissing you deeper, his tongue in your mouth. Your bodies were magnetic, drawing each other closer. It was a struggle to pull away long enough to place the roses on a table before you were back, body melding to his, hand going to his hair. He pushed you against the doorjamb, hands exploring under the hem of your jacket.

Your father cleared his throat from inside the house, and Sonny sprung off you as if you had shocked him. “S—sorry, sir—” he stammered, face turning a bright red.

Your father crossed his arms, giving him a hard look. “Just close the door; you’re letting the heat out.”

You gave Sonny a sheepish grin as he came inside, closing the door behind him. You told him you needed to pack some things, and you took the vase, heading for your room, leaving Sonny and your father alone.

The latter studied Sonny intently, gazing at him from over his spectacles, and Sonny tried not to fidget under his scrutiny.

“I intend to marry your daughter,” he blurted out. He winced internally; why the fuck did he say that?! But now that it was out there, he was prepared to defend it to the death. He kept his face a mask of stone, not letting your father see his fear.

He continued staring at Sonny, weighing his words. “Does she know that?”

“She does; I told her last time she was over. From the moment I saw her, I knew that I wanted nothin’ more than to marry her.”

He nodded lightly; just a jut of his chin. “Have you proposed? Do you have a ring?”

“It’s only been a few months; I wanted to wait a lil, make sure it’s what she wants, too,” Sonny explained.

“Just don’t wait too long; I don’t want you leading her on or hurting her.”

Sonny’s eyes widened in offense. “I would never—”

You came back right then, a duffle bag in your hand, and glancing nervously between the two men. “Whatcha talkin’ about?” you asked uncertainly.

“Nothing dear. Have fun and stay safe,” your father said, and he came over, kissing your cheek, then headed to a different room.

You cocked an eyebrow at Sonny, but he just shook his head, moving to hold the door open for you. Confused at the tension, you went out into the crisp, winter air, taking a deep breath. You were sure Sonny would tell you the whole story later.

#sonny carisi x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #fanfic #my writing

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creampuffqueen · 5 years

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Worlds of Fire and Darkness | Chapter Nine (Rygan)

Read this on AO3! (Here) Comments and asks are always appreciated <3

Rygan, along with the rest of the Adarlanian Court, finally arrive in Orynth. Rygan sees Sam again after a year apart, and holy gods-

I was not a violent person, that I freely admit. But after an untold amount of time traveling with my family, even I found myself wishing I could abandon them all to the wolves.

We'd been making the trek north, from Rifthold to Orynth, four about two and a half weeks. Me, my sisters, and of course, my honorary sisters. The three Blackbeak Crochan-Havilliard girls, princesses of two mighty kingdoms. They squabbled so much I was sure I would be deaf by the time I made it back to Anielle. Of course, that wouldn't be too bad. If Amelie could do it, so could I.

I was sitting in a carriage, simply watching the sun make it's descent over the top of the Oakwald Forest. We'd been in the deep woods for so many days I'd lost track. The carriage bumped steadily along the thin path that wove through the trees, splattering mud behind us. Glancing to my right, my older sister Amelie was dozing. Across from me, Giselle was staring out the window as well. And to her own right side sat Aris, the Crown Princess of Adarlan. The dark-haired girl was reading a book, not paying us any attention at all, which I was grateful for. One could only spend so much time around any of Manon and Dorian's daughters before they snapped. And when it came to the witches, I was on my last nerve.

A thunderous boom sounded above us, and I flinched so hard I bumped Amelie, who only shifted slightly in her sleep. The source of the booming was one of the main reasons I was damn near going feral. Those wyverns. After I'd screamed like a newborn when Nysa's wyvern, Lynnith, had crept up on me, the sisters had been using the entire journey to torment me with their beasts. Aris had opted to ride in a carriage this morning instead of on her wyvern, leaving the thing to fly on it's own. Which was why, I supposed, it was so bad at disguising its wingbeats.

The wyvern-rider in question turned the page of her book with a small sigh, and reached up to adjust her glasses. Why she even bothered with the contraption was beyond me. When she could shift her eyes to be better, or simply let someone heal the damage of reading in dim lighting for years. But no, the princess was stubborn.

I leaned back in my seat, trying to find a position that was more comfortable. At this rate, the little muscle mass I had built up over the years would start to atrophy from so little use. I knew I was being unrealistic, but it still felt like it. The journey was longer when we traveled to the Southern Continent. I was just bored out of my mind. I wondered if riding one of the wyverns would have been more interesting, but quickly decided I valued my life more.

The horses continued to plod on, the sound of their hooves squelching into the mud reaching inside the carriage. I should have brought a book, like Aris did. For some reason it had escaped my mind, and now here I was, with nothing to do but watch the sun set. I rested my head on my hands, not looking forward to the night. We'd stayed at inns and the like along the way, but we'd been so deep in the woods that we hadn't passed a town for about four days. It was too dangerous to travel at night, so we camped. If I had to spend one more night on the cramped floor of a carriage or on the rain-soaked ground I would scream.

The wheels of the carriage rolled over some rocks, jostling everyone inside and sending me bumping into my sister again. More wingbeats sounded overhead.

The sun had nearly gone down, and I wondered why we hadn't stopped yet. We wouldn't want to pitch a tent or start a fire in the dark, surely? Amelie was awake now, though she rested her head on my shoulder, her eyes still glazed with sleep. Aris was looking quite put out at the loss of light, and finally had to put her book away. With the darkness pressing in, the carriage began to feel smaller and tighter, and I couldn't help but start feeling slightly claustrophobic.

"What are we going to eat?" Giselle grumbled, finally breaking the silence.

"Maybe we're almost at an inn?" Aris suggested, though uncertainty flashed in her gold eyes. Maybe we'd run out of food. Maybe wherever we were was too dangerous to stop for even a minute-

The wet splashes of horse hooves suddenly turned into the clattering of cobblestones, the transition jostling me so suddenly I knocked against the side of the cart. I hissed and clutched my head, already feeling a small bump forming. Before I could even say a word Amelie grabbed my hands and pulled them away, before pressing her own hands against my head. The familiar warm tingle of healing magic soothed the small hurt, reducing the swelling without any drama. My sister pulled away and offered a close-lipped smile.

Thank you I signed quickly, hoping my sister could see the hand motions in the little light that was left. When Amelie and I were little we'd devised a secret language of hand motions to communicate, when I was too little to speak. When Giselle came along we'd taught her. Our parents still hadn't figured it out, which was now more of an inside joke, even if it was a bit of an inconvenience.

Outside the horses clopped merrily along, perhaps happy to finally be out of the mud and dirt. The trees thinned slightly, and I could see the upcoming town a bit in the moonlight. We were still on the outskirts, but we were rapidly approaching some cottages. Giselle had her face pressed to the window, like a dog, and her eyes were wide as she took in the town like she'd never seen one before.

We passed the small houses and crossed a bridge over a small creek. With the smoothness of the roads, the wheels clattered less, and bumped the carriage less as well. It was nice to not be thrown around like a ragdoll, after several weeks of doing just that.

This town was quite large, I noticed as we traversed its neatly paved streets. Most small towns had dirt roads lined with dusty cottages, everything surrounded by the forest. But wherever we were, it was nice. I was admiring the smooth roads and the nice houses when Giselle whooped happily and pointed excitedly out the window.

"We're here!" She cheered, practically jumping out of her seat. Sure enough, on the horizon stood the massive white palace of Orynth. The city was so large we hadn't seen it before now, and it was so dark I didn't recognize the landmarks. We had never made it to the city when it was dark outside before, which was fairly odd. But all those thoughts were swept under the rug of my mind as I watched the gleaming marble pillars and terraces grow closer with each passing step of the horses.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the wyverns flying high and blotting out the stars with their massive wings. There was no more tree cover for them to be inconspicuous, so they must have decided to flaunt it. The smallest wyvern with sparkling wings flew ahead, a loud cry echoing across the plains the city was sitting on. The horses spooked slightly outside and broke into a gallop, and Giselle cheered at the commotion.

We raced across the cobblestone streets of Orynth, with my younger sister grinning like a madman, and Aris looking like she was trying very hard to not get sick. How she could fly a wyvern at lightning speeds but still got motion sickness was also beyond me. In fact, the Crown Princess of Adarlan was completely beyond me, and I never knew what to do with her. Amelie must have sensed her distress, because she took her friend's hand and let the glow of healing magic fill the carriage, soothing Aris's stomach and reducing the green on her face.

The castle was a beacon, shining so brightly in the light of the moon and stars it was a bit hard to look at. Maybe prolonged exposure to the castle at night would make one go blind, and then I'd be just like Aris.

The horses finally slowed, after their dash through the city, and stopped right outside the palace gates. The booming of wings got louder as the wyverns landed next to the horses, which I thought was slightly cruel. After all, the scaly beasts ate horses, and had just spurred them into racing across half the city. But then again, it was witches I was thinking about, and that's a witch thing to do if there ever was one.

The driver got out and opened the door with a small bow, more for the princess than for us. Aris stepped gracefully out of the carriage, light from the moon reflecting off the shining rims of her glasses. I let Amelie and Giselle out, and then hopped out myself. Gods, it felt good to be on the ground again, able to stretch my legs. The driver pulled out all the luggage and deposited it with the guards. Then the man nodded, spurred the horses, and disappeared into the night.

A few servants arrived to take in luggage, along with the arrival of my parents' carriage, and that from Briarcliff. Off to the side, the wyvern-riders were dismounting. My mother came to my side and smiled, radiant as always. Tegan, the Crown Princess of Briarcliff, made her way over to the group with her nearly identical looking mother.

"Welcome to Orynth, Your Majesties." A small woman with brown hair greeted us, and led everyone inside.

Even though I was in Terrasen fairly often, I had only been to Orynth a few times. Terrasen trips were usually for the purposes of healing and helping those who needed it, alongside my mother and sister. But Orynth... I had only ever been to the capital city for the Peace Ball.

"Right this way, I'll show you all to your rooms." The woman purred. "You can bathe and change, and then join everyone in the drawing room if you wish. Dinner was only just finished, they'll likely be there socializing for an hour or two yet."

As excited as I was to be in Orynth, in the palace, there were certain parts I could do without. I wasn't sure if I had the energy to talk for hours, but I supposed it would be rude to not show up. When the young woman showed me my room, I headed straight for the bath. I decided to have it cold, for if it was warm I would either fall asleep or stay until I was so shriveled I would float out the window at the slightest breeze. I was half-tempted to do just that, if only to avoid others until I could stand people again.

I scrubbed quickly, days worth of grime coming off like a second skin. When I stepped out the bath water was noticeably darker than when I'd gotten in. As gross as it was, there was something satisfying to see that much dirt come off. I dried my hair as fast as I could, though with its wavy texture it tended to hold water in like a sponge. By the time I was dry, the case I'd brought with me had been placed neatly at the foot of my bed.

Even though I knew I was expected downstairs, I couldn't help but take time to admire my suite. Every time I came the rooms seemed grander. Plush cream carpet covered the floor of the bedroom, soft enough that my bare feet sunk into it. The bed was finely made, the Stag of Terrasen carved into the headboard. The duvet cover was obviously filled with down, and was, of course, Terrasen green. The sheets were the same cream as the carpet and made of silk. There was a chest of drawers made from the same wood as the bed, and a green plush chair was in the corner. Sheer white curtains trimmed with gold covered the windows, though still let in some moonlight. There was a small desk and another chair, and a soft rope hung next to it, connected to the bell that rang for room service. All in all, the room was gorgeous.

I wondered if I would be scolded by my parents if I took dinner in my room. No, they wouldn't scold me; Giselle would. I decided not to risk the wrath of a young lady who could chop you to pieces with a sword and heal you, only to chop you up again. I finished dressing and made my way to the drawing room.

I got lost rather fast, and I would have been embarrassed if I hadn't reminded myself that the palace was nearly three times the size of the Anielle Keep, and the royal children probably got lost in it as well. I found the room eventually, and cracked the door open slightly to survey the people for just a moment.

All the Lords and Ladies of Terrasen were there. Queen Aelin sat in a plush armchair with her husband, the King, perched on the arm. I spotted Lyria quickly as well, chattering animatedly with one of the Lochan boys. Even after years and years, I could still hardly tell one from the other. Aspen was talking politely with some Lord or other, and Evalin sat with her hands in her lap and her knees crossed as she spoke. The twins, Aerith and Thallan, appeared to be busy antagonizing Marion, the only Lochan child I could successfully recognize. The little girl was having none of it, though, and I hoped the twins knew what they'd gotten themselves into. Marion was well known, even in Anielle.

I relaxed a tiny bit when I spotted my parents, and Uncle Dorian and Aunt Manon, talking with Aelin. Kerrigan was sitting by her mother, Manon, and looking bored. I opened the door a bit more and slipped in quietly. My mother caught my eye and smiled, but said nothing to me and continued her own conversation. She knew when I needed support and when I needed to be left to my own devices, and in this instance I needed both.

I wanted to hide in the shadows already, and nobody had even spoken to me yet. The long weeks of travelling had frazzled me a bit, and I was worn out. I wished we'd gotten there later, so everyone would be in bed and I wouldn't have to talk until the morning. Against all these powerful people I felt out of place, with my suit jacket a bit loose in the shoulders and my hair wild and frizzy. We hadn't had time to let in the seams before the trip, and I blamed the humidity for my hair. But even so, I felt like I didn't belong.

I was content to stand in the corner all night, it didn't bother me, truly. But very few things ever went my way. After being undisturbed for about fifteen minutes, Nysa had breezed through the drawing room doors in a teal gown the color of the ocean, her white hair in an intricate updo that made me pity her maid. The witch made heads turn and nostrils flare, and she delighted in it. Nysa did love attention.

However, her own attention was fixed on someone else. Nysa Blackbeak Crochan-Havilliard, Crown Princess of the Witch Kingdom, made her way over to a dark haired boy about her age, and kissed him soundly.

The tension in the room spiked for a moment before suddenly relaxing, and Nysa pulled away from Caeda Lochan. Last year, when the Peace Ball was held in the Wastes, something had sparked between the two, and now they subjected everyone to their public displays of affection. Honestly, Caeda was over there more than I was, and he lived about twice the distance.

"I didn't think you'd be here today." Caeda said, happy surprise written all over his face. "I was expecting tomorrow at the earliest."

"I do enjoy keeping you on your toes." Nysa purred. Around everyone else Nysa was a cold-hearted beast, but with Caeda she may as well have been a puppy. I doubted that anyone had missed the hands they kept clasped together, like they were afraid someone would separate them again after being apart for so long.

The two lovebirds soon disappeared, and I decided I did not need to know where to. It was bad enough seeing them near making out in the drawing room, and I really didn't need to see anything more tonight. I was tired. I wanted to sleep. My own sisters arrived, along with Aris and all the Briarcliff royals who soon made themselves at home, but even they couldn't keep me engaged for long. I was so tired.

"You look a little lonely. Mind if I join you?" The voice that sounded to my left was fairly deep, enough so that I assumed it was some old Lord. But when I looked up-

"Sam?" I asked incredulously. I hadn't seen the prince since last year, when he was still a gangly eighteen year old boy. In the year since I'd seen him, he'd grown into himself so much more, with broad shoulders and a face that had finally lost all it's baby roundness. His silver hair was combed neatly back, and his Ashryver eyes sparkled in the light of the chandeliers. He'd gotten taller, if that was possible.

"That's me," He said, a small chuckle lacing his voice. When had it gotten so deep? Standing before me was not the boy I'd grown up with, the one who snuck with me and Sabron into my mother's work space in the Northern Torre just to watch her make tonics and write notes on patients. Instead, standing before me was a warrior, worthy of the legends he was descended from. I realized I was standing next to a male, not a boy, not anymore.

My stomach felt all twisted up in knots the longer I looked. Sam had grown up since I'd seen him, and I had done no such thing. It was honestly embarrassing, and made me feel more out of place than before.

But then he cracked that small grin of his, the one I'd come to call 'The Sam Smile' over the years, and suddenly all my worries melted away. Sam hadn't changed, I could tell. Even with a stronger body and a deeper voice, he was still Sam.

"How are you? How are things down in Anielle?" Sam asked with genuine sincerity, not like the small talk most people were being subjected to. Sam always was genuine and sincere.

"I've been well," I said, a small grin bubbling up from my exhaustion. "And so has Anielle. The Torre is expanding, and we've been training more healers and physicians."

"That's wonderful." Sam said. I decided I liked his new voice, with the deep tone running through it. "Are you training any of these new healers?"

"No, I'm only training physicians. No magic, you know?" I shrugged. I'd given up on being jealous of my sisters' healing powers years ago. Sometimes it made me glad to have no magic, to know I'd become one of the best physicians at the Northern Torre through hard work, with no extra boost from magical powers. But when it came up in conversations like this, sometimes an inkling of that jealousy returned.

"Magic isn't everything, I'll have you know. Good hard work can beat magic any day." His blue eyes were encouraging, and almost daring me to prove him wrong. Looking at those eyes, a tiny thrill ran through my blood.

"Says the magic wielder." I shot back jokingly. Sam grinned and laughed softly. Even his laugh sounded different now, though it wasn't really a complaint. I noticed I was warming to this newer Sam more and more with each passing word.

"Yes, but I have less magic than my sister Lyria, you know."

"Can you beat her in a fight?" At the question, Sam's face flushed slightly, and I laughed, a good, hard laugh.

"No, but we're talking about healing, not fighting." His flustered face I committed to memory, with his cheeks red and his eyes nervous.

"Whatever. Thanks for the support. That was what that was supposed to be, right?" His face flushed again, and I grinned.

"Yes, that was support. But I think you've got enough of that, with your sisters and parents. So I'll say goodnight, since you look like you're going to pass out at any moment. It's good to see you again, Rygan. And... we can talk more in the morning if you want." Before I could say anything more, he slipped into the crowds of rich folk and their brethren, leaving me staring after him.

A nudge snapped me out of my stupor, and I glanced over to see Amelie, a huge smirk on her face. Someone has starry eyes for the prince, it seems. She signed. I blinked for a moment, trying to process the hand motions, but when I did, I gasped.

No I don't! I gestured. My sister's grin grew wider and more mischievous.

I didn't say it was you, but if that's how you feel-

I'm going to bed! Goodnight, you trickster witch. True to my word, I said my farewells to my parents and copious amounts of aunts and uncles, and made my way upstairs to my room.

Hours later, I tossed and turned on my bed, kicking the silken sheets around and shoving the pillows. I was exhausted, I felt it in my bones and in my head. But I couldn't sleep. Amelie's words, or signs, I supposed, floated 'round and 'round in my head. I wasn't starry-eyed for Sam, was I? I traced through the conversation again. He looked different, that was for sure, but was I mooning over his appearance?

I groaned into my pillow, begging the gods for even a wink of sleep. I could think on this in the morning-

The morning. Sam said we could talk in the morning, if I wanted. I didn't miss the flutter in my chest at the thought of the words.

Oh no.

How does one tell a prince you think you might be a little in love with him?

#throne of glass #a court of thorns and roses #tog #acotar #rowaelin #lysaedion #elorcan #manorian #chaorene #generation 2 #tog gen 2 #legacies #children #deaf #lgbtq

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tuck-everlasting-shitposts · 6 years

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[eyooo its the fic abt the ask I sent! i didn’t even proofread this and I wrote it all in one sitting so, uh… enjoy!]

Tick. Tick. Tick. The hands on his pocket-watch moved so slowly that Miles began to question whether or not the April breeze had frozen them. He pressed his back against the whitewashed schoolhouse, humming the tune from his mother’s music box. Perhaps, he thought, nervous habits could be inherited. He checked his watch again, positive that the lessons were running late. Surely it was at least ten past three- he had already waited an eternity. Reading the hands, he groaned. 2:57. He closed his eyes, praying to hear Rose’s voice as she dismissed her students. He had to laugh a bit to himself- he never thought anyone could be more excited for class to end on a Friday afternoon than a student, but here he was.

The liberating handbell was music to his ears. Miles watched as students of varying ages flooded past. Young girls giggled when they saw him, whispering and cooing about “Miss Rose and her beau.” They had come to recognize the ritual he and Rose had accidentally created. Each afternoon, Miles would wait for the lessons to end. He would perform any repairs that the schoolhouse needed. Then, he would offer to walk Rose home, often carrying mountains of books. Sometimes, to the young girls’ amusement, all that he held was Rose’s hand.

After the last of the students trickled out of the doors, Miles entered the schoolhouse with a grin, waving away a cloud of chalk dust. He figured that stampede of children must have caused Rose to not notice his entrance as he watched her erase the chalkboard. He felt a smile grow as he watched her, marveling at how angelic she looked in the afternoon glow. Those bouncing, honey brown curls, cinnamon-colored freckles, her adora- He shook his head in attempt to clear it. He prided himself on being what seemed to be, at times, the sole rational person in his family. Lovesickness was completely foreign to him-but not exactly unpleasant. His smile returned as Rose turned to greet him, a bit startled.

“Well, if it isn’t my personal carpenter?”

“And painter, and pack mule, and, as I see your students call me, your ‘beau,’” he teased back, leaning on her desk. Rose rolled her eyes, responding to his last statement with only a coy smile.

“Unfortunately for you, I saw a miracle today. Not a single student broke anything- even though Ronald Carson actually came to school for once!” Miles laughed and took her hand in his.

“Miracle indeed. But if I don’t have any repairs to make, that just means that I have more free time- thatsomeone could spend with me.” Rose laughed- and what a beautiful laugh! -before nodding in approval.

“And do you have any ideas how to spend all this time we have?”

Miles brought her to the open doors. “Well, it sure is a nice day out. I’d know, I waited out here for a century. How about a walk through Treegap Wood?” Before she could reply, he began to lead her outside, stopping just long enough to let her lock up the schoolhouse.

•••

Miles felt a warmth in his chest as he watched Rose look upon the wood with adoration. Little did he know, he had the same expression as he looked at her.

“I’ve lived in Treegap my whole life and I never knew how gorgeous it is here. It’s like in a fairytale, Miles!” she breathed, hardly more than a whisper. He knew these woods like the back of his hand- which she was now dragging him around by. He waited for her to stop and study yet another flowering vine. He wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her into a spin. She erupted into laughter, crying out “Miles Joseph Tuck!” He laughed with her, heart swelling with affection. The laughter came to an abrupt halt as a tree root caused the couple to tumble onto the forest floor.

Miles, returning to his typical self, began to fret and check to see if Rose had been injured. The only thing that had taken any damage was her immaculate bun, allowing more of her curls to frame her now flushed face. Relieved, Miles felt himself sinking back into warm, sappy feeling that was enveloping him before the tree root’s interruption. He mentally gave thanks that Rose was the only one seeing him in this state, then sat up, leaning his back on the tree trunk. Rose sat up, too, but then leaned against Miles, resting her head on is shoulder. His heart skipped a beat, her intoxicating warmth and floral scent chipping at his high boundaries. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her even closer. The fact that their parents would be far from happy if they caught them like this could be ignored for now. Rose melted against him as she admired the wood’s beauty. With each shared heartbeat, the thought of how much he wished he could stay in this moment for eternity echoed in Miles’s mind. For a brief while, he was at peace.

•••

Jesse swung himself to another branch, searching for the perfect view. He settled himself on this branch and scoped out the forest. The scene was beyond familiar to him. He skimmed it, recognizing each sycamore like an old friend. Something broke the perfect stillness, drawing his eyes to the foot of a nearby tree. At first, he brushed it off as being two random lovebirds. Then, the realization hit him. Smiling devilishly, he made his way to a lower branch and hopped out of the tree. What kind of a brother would he be if he let this go on unsupervised?

•••

Miles lightly caressed Rose’s porcelain cheek, her soft curls tickling his fingers. His other hand was intertwined with hers. His eyes studied every inch of her delicate face as if this were the last time he would get to bask in her beauty. Adoration washed over him, and he tentatively leaned in, seeking to bridge the gap between their lips for the first time. Just as their lips were about to meet, they were interrupted by a youthful voice.

“Tsk, tsk. Shoulda known that we couldn’t have left you without a chaperone, Miles. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna steal your girl- but I can’t help it if she changes her mind."

Miles stood, furious. Rose stood up behind him, face glowing as red as an ember.

"Jesse, I swear, if she wasn’t here, I’d kill you for this.”

“Heeey now, no way to talk in front of a lady!” Jesse shifted his attention to Rose. “Sorry about my brother. Jesse Tuck, how do!” Before Jesse could extend his hand, miles turned to Rose apologetically.

“No, I’m sorry about him. Guess you’d have to have the misfortune of meeting him sooner or later.”

“Hey, I’m a blessing! You must be Miss Rose. Lemme tell ya, you’re all he talks about lately. Even when he’s asleep! This one ti-” Miles clamped his hand over his brother’s mouth.

“Shut up, Jesse,” he said through clenched teeth. Jesse raised his hands in surrender.

“Look, I see that I cant leave you lovebirds alone, so how about I stay, I dunno, 50 feet away and keep an eye on you? Or I could always tell Ma about all this and let her handle it…”

Miles stared his brother down, already planning revenge.

“100 feet.”

“75. That, or hearin’ about this from Ma from eternity.”

Miles sighed defeatedly.

“Fine, but I’m holding you to this.”

The brothers shook hands, and Jesse parted. Miles turned to Rose to begin damage control. He apologized furiously, not noticing Rose’s bubbling laughter.

“Miles, really, it’s fine. It’s… sweet. I have to say, you must have a very lively family.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” he replied, his voice losing some of its gruffness. She scanned their surroundings, then pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. The two continued on their walk, albeit with Miles looking over his shoulder often. He began telling Rose stories of Jesse’s most interesting- and embarrassing- moments. As time went on, Miles relaxed, almost forgetting his brother’s interruption. The two rested by a creek, watching the golden sunlight seep into the water. They sat down together, exchanging soft smiles. Miles inched towards Rose, moving to wrap his arm around her when-

“HEY! I SEE YOU TWO!”

Miles jumped, then whipped around, searching for his brother.

“Jesse. Tuck. If you don’t-”

“Up here!”

Miles looked up to see his brother grinning back at him from a high tree branch.

“I TOLD YOU SEVENTY-FIVE FEET AWAY!” Miles bellowed.

“Never said what direction!”

Miles, livid, ran to the tree that Jesse was perched in, prepared to climb up it himself.

“Hey, I’m getting down, I’m getting down! We need to get home for dinner, anyway.”

Miles, exhausted, turned to Rose, who was beaming. She found these squabbles endearing, an interesting change from the collected, rational Miles she mostly saw. He shrugged, then asked, “Well, it is getting late. Care to join us for dinner?”

Rose took his hand.

“I’d love to.” Jesse landed beside them, and inerjected “Heyyy, keep room for Je-” He relented once he saw Miles’s icy glare. “…y'know, I guess I can trust ya, actually!”

Miles gave a slight smile, but his tone remained serious.

“Enough to stay far away the whole walk home?"

"Deal.” Jesse waved goodbye and hurried home. To him, Ma’s cooking trumped everything else.

Miles squeezed Rose’s hand. “You do realize that if we marry, you’ll have to deal with him for the rest of your life, too?”

She wrapped her arms around him, smiling into his shoulder.

“You’ve survived it so far, so can I. Unless you to kill each other, it’s free entertainment for me.”

Miles chuckled, pulling her closer. In that moment, he knew that she was the woman he could spend forever with.

Hell. Yes.

#tuck everlasting #submission

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stretchjournalemerson · 5 years

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Turkey Run Inn

By Audrey Iocca -

Before my parents divorced, there was a place we used to go as a family once a year, every year: Turkey Run State Park. It is a small forest preserve about two and a half hours from where we lived in Illinois. It has a few good hiking trails, an adorable inn, two horses, and a river. This random state park on the edge of Indiana was a place of tradition for us, one of very few places our family had. My grandma was taken to this place as a child; camping, hiking, and playing in the river were cheap ways to entertain farm kids. And when she was old enough to need a cheap way to entertain her farm kids, she took my mom and uncle there. And then, as the cycle goes, my mom took my sister and me.

But it never felt cheap. It never felt like we were doing this to save a little bit of cash. It felt like an adventure.

Looking back, everything in my childhood was like an adventure. When I was young, I grew up on a lot of land, like my mom and grandma before me; 11 acres of grass and a pond was my backyard between the ages of 0 and 10. My sister, Isabel, and I would saddle up on our John Deere battery-powered mini truck and ride out as far as it would take us, or until my parents yelled that they couldn’t see us anymore. We would ride it down to the dock on the pond, lay on our stomachs, and look down at the blue-green fish swimming around, sometimes even dragging our fingers through the murky water that often needed cleaning. When the pond got particularly green, my dad would haul out the little faded blue, tin rowboat. Occasionally, he would take us on the pond, fashioning us with bright orange life vests before he began to tell us the wonders of the world beneath the moss. It was in this rowboat that I first learned about tadpoles and schools of fish, all while my dad sprinkled pond moss remover into the water.

Once a summer my parents would take us across the land bridge to the other side of the pond where the blackberry bushes were hidden. It was something that became tradition over the years: going across the bridge, picking the blackberries, putting them in little baskets. There was nothing better than tilting my head back in anticipation as my mom picked one off the top of the bush before dropping it into my awaiting mouth; it was a blackberry paradise. We felt like Mary and Laura in Little House in the Big Woods, the girls we heard about every night from our mom’s lips before bed.

I never realized then that this was a love project of sorts, our upbringing. I imagine my mom and dad planning this life for us, my mom making the apparitions of her nostalgia come to life through this house that was as close to the farm as she could get. And yet, there is a point where nostalgia is not enough; the gaps in life experience begin to fall in on themselves and suddenly, they need to be filled.

At one point, my mom stopped being at the house with us all the time. My mom no longer chased us through the peony and rose gardens on September afternoons; she watched us become a two-man band from the screened in porch as she scribbled away in her college-ruled notebooks. My mom going back to school was something I didn’t understand when it was happening, and so my memories of this time are very fuzzy: I see the textbooks on her bedside table, I smell more of my dad’s cooking in the kitchen, I hear my parents voices gradually rise each time they fight, I feel the rough fabric of her black robe and play with the tassel on the fancy flat hat. I don’t think my mom regrets being a stay at home mom, but I do think she would have done things differently. She wouldn’t have had her first kid at 22. She wouldn’t have gotten married twice. She would’ve had more of her own life. And I don’t blame her for that. I think she wanted to get far away from that place; she needed to see what else was out there.

***

When I was ten, my parents separated. And when I say separated, I really mean separated. My mom moved Isabel and me to Skokie, Illinois--a Chicago suburb over 200 miles from my hometown where my dad stayed. He got a job as an account tech with the state, sold the house and the land, and opted for an apartment closer to the mall. Just like that, our blackberry paradise was gone.

Our new claim to a half acre hardly felt like an upgrade, but my mom insisted we were on to bigger and better things. She worked part time at the park district as a receptionist for a year before being able to put her MBA to use at the local mall. It was about a ten minute drive from our house. In fact, nothing was more than ten minutes away: the grocery store, my middle school, the bank, the mall, the orthodontist, my friend’s houses. It was like a third grader’s drawing of their street in art class, everything in that town was packed together like the charcoals they would have used to color the picture in with. While there were trees and some parks sprinkled in throughout, Skokie was overwhelmingly gray.

Martin F. Peccia Park was the greenest place I could escape to with my friends. It was a half block of grass complete with an unnecessary amount of “no dogs allowed” signs. Laying in the grass with the sun beating down on my forehead, I am taken out of my city for a moment: the birds chirping, the grass prickleing my bare legs, the breeze blowing through my hair. But with that breeze brings the smell of car exhaust and I am brought right back to reality. The park is surrounded by I-94. Commuters whizz past, their horns overpowering the birds and everything else. The highway is visible from the park: only a chain link fence protected us from the insanity of commuter life, a life my mom would join in a few short years. For some reason she wanted this, wanted to prove to everyone that she could make it here, to this polluted daydream.

At this point, my uncle and grandma had moved away from Springfield as well, both settling in Chicago suburbs a little further out from the city. I guess the consensus among the family was that there was more opportunity in Chicagoland: there were better schools, better jobs, better everything, apparently. As a pre-teen, I didn’t really understand the difference between all those “betters.” School was still school, no matter where I was. But now I think I see what they meant.

At Fairview South Middle School, I was in a class of 80 and at least half were not white, if not more. My class at Farmingdale Elementary school was over 100, and I can remember one asian girl and one black boy. I remember one year, the Skokie school district had so much extra funding that we each got five dollar gift cards to Barnes & Noble in the mail. There was a class at Fairview that taught me Latin roots weekly and incorporated the works of Shakespeare and Homer. I was able to test out of Algebra 1 before high school, along with about two-thirds of my class. Spanish was a requirement for seventh and eighth grade. These were all things that I would not have experienced in Springfield, and my mom was well aware of that because she had stayed there her whole life, without being exposed to any of it.

I think, in the end, whether all this was really better or not, it was a better life in my mom’s eyes. Exposure, education, diversity, wealth. I think they were all things my mom had always wanted for herself, things she never got growing up on a farm in the middle of conservative Illinois.

***

One of my best friends at the time was a girl named Julia who spoke Polish at home and English at school. We would sometimes brave a walk home from school together, usually only on sunny days where it meant enough reward for the hassle. To get home, we had to cross the bridge that took us directly over I-94. I was in Dorothy’s tornado on that bridge, desperately clicking my heels three times waiting for it to carry me home. In a whirlwind of fast cars and heavy backpacks, we finally made our way to the other side.

When we didn’t walk home, we always took the bus. There were five of us in the same grade that always took over the back of the bus. I remember one day I was sitting next to Julia while she stared out of the window when suddenly she started slapping my leg excitedly and yelled: “There’s a deer!” Everyone’s heads snapped to look out the window like it was an exotic zoo animal. But it was just a deer. I saw them every day in my backyard where I grew up, and I could not understand their fascination.

***

When we lived in Skokie, we still went to Turkey Run. It wasn’t every year, but we went. It became the place we would beg to stop at on any road trip that went relatively close. It became the place I wanted to bring friends on long weekends. It became the place I thought I was going to get married. It became the place I knew I would take my children one day.

I want to share the journey there with them, the way I know I’m almost there when the curved road turns straight. After what feels like all day, we finally pass the many canoe and kayak rental shacks, the curved road ends, and there is a brown sign with bright yellow generic font reading “Turkey Run State Park.” I want to share with them what is beyond that sign: the magic of the covered bridge and the punch bowl, the family singing “grandma got run over by a turkey” while hiking Trail 3, the feeling of feet sinking into thick mud and reluctantly rinsing it off in the creek, the beauty of wild animals and how even just their sounds would stop me in my tracks.

***

In 2014, my mom moved us again. By then, my dad had bought a house in Springfield, and we had been driving four hours every other weekend to see him for four years. The driving continued as we started new schools in Naperville, IL. Naperville is complicated for me. It was a happy medium of my two very different worlds. It’s a city of nearly 150,000 with many dog-friendly parks, forest preserves, bike trails, ponds, and geese. It also had a real downtown that contained not one, but two Starbucks and had blocks filled with designer stores like Lululemon, Pandora, and Anthropologie. Once I had my license, it was easy to be more concerned with getting a frappuccino after school than riding my bike through the park. I could also now drive myself to either of two train stations that after seven dollars and 50 minutes had me in the heart of the third largest city in the country.

The high school I attended is ranked in the top 20 in the state of Illinois, having some of the best administrators, teachers, and fine arts directors available. It was a rich area equating to ample funding for the district to be able to provide these things to us. I was lucky to live here. Not just lucky--privileged.

This high school allowed me to fill in my own gaps of knowledge. After taking a history class that taught me the beginnings of all the world's religions, I met a girl that actually practiced Buddhism. And a girl who practiced Hinduism. And another girl who spoke Tamil. A boy who spoke fluent Chinese. I was a tutor for a group of English Language Learning who came specifically here from all over the world. I attended the first ever Women's March in Chicago and reported on the March for Our Lives for my school newspaper. By senior year, I had so much in my college portfolio from leadership positions, to volunteer work, to experiences with diversity that I got into Emerson College in Boston and one of the only undergraduate publishing programs in the country.

I don’t say all of this to brag. I say it because it’s amazing to me how different my life would have been if my mom had not made the choices she did, moving us across the state, leaving behind everything she had ever known.

***

The last time I was at Turkey Run, I was learning how to drive. I like to say I first learned to drive on our bright orange lawn tractor, sitting on my dad’s lap at age ten, barely in control of the steering wheel as my dad’s rough and calloused hands engulfed mine, making sure we didn’t crash. We moved before I got to try using the gas pedal. Eventually, I got my permit and had to figure out how to drive a real car with no one's hands to hold the steering wheel but my own.

We were driving back from visiting my uncle in Viginia when we decided to stop at Turkey Run. He had bought a farm out there--one with a house my grandma moved into shortly after its purchase. We figured the park was kind of on the way back, it would break up our 16 hour drive and let us see a place we hadn’t been in years.

After pulling through the gates, my mom and I switched seats, and I could go wherever I wanted within the park grounds. I remember it was bright out and unusually warm for the season, the sun making me sweat through the windshield. Slowly, I pushed on the gas, and we creeped along the dusty road. There was a fork, left bringing us to the inn, and right bringing us to the horse barn. Without much thought I turned right. We quickly passed the horses, all of us rubbernecking to stare at their sleek brown coats shimmering in the afternoon sun. I had never been past this barn though, and so my curiosity took me to where the road soon turned into uneven dirt, right as the shade from the trees swallowed us into their secret wonderland. After driving through the trees for a while, we reached a loop, my mom explaining to me that this is where the campgrounds used to be. This is where she and her brother, her mom and her dad, would set up tents and look up at the stars. I felt a pang deep in my stomach as I gazed out at the dirt patches in the grass and rotted wooden poles that marked each site. We had always stayed at the inn.

***

When I’m missing my childhood blackberry bushes and large expanse of grass, when I’m regretting the money and time I spent at Starbucks, when I’m sometimes wishing that I had never been brought to the city, I imagine my mom riding in the back of her parents car without a seatbelt on, looking out the window as the curved road turns straight. After passing the gates and reaching the fork in the road, I see her watching the lights of the inn fade away as they drive down to the campground.

It is then I remember all my mom has ever been trying to do is give us a life she never had, a life she dreamed of. And I thank her for it.

Acknowledgements

I would like to first thank Professor Kovaleski Byrnes for giving me this call to write. I’m not sure I ever would have attempted memoir if not for this assignment, and I am so grateful that she presented me with the task. I would next like to thank Kayla and Diti for being amazing peer reviewers and encouraging me throughout the whole revision process; your comments and support was more helpful than you know. I would lastly like to thank my mother. She is an incredibly strong woman who would do anything for her children, and I can’t thank her enough for all she has done for me.

#family #moving #childhood #turkey run #audrey iocca #stretch2019

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