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rainbowfic2015-12-17 10:00 pm
rootsofthestories) wrote in rainbowfic2015-12-17 10:00 pm
Under The Bed Black, Spring Green
Name: Sebastian
Title: the past, present and future
Story: Despite The Abundance
Colors: Under The Bed Black: 19. Hiding under the covers
Spring Green: 17. I am the one who will remember everything
Supplies/Styles: Graffiti (Twelve Days Of Christmas: Day 4
Word Count: ~ 1,300
Rating: R
Warnings: Physically and emotionally abusive families, child prostitution, a much older man taking advantage of a fifteen year old, brief mention of suicidal thoughts,
Notes: Happy holidays! :D No really, I swear I am going to write happy tings with this crew one day, I'm jut not doing that right now.
Christmas in the apartment was a strange thing. It was calm and quiet, twinkling lights and a small tree but nothing more than that. There were a few presents beneath it, most of them for him rather than Nathan, as the other man had more extra income than he did, and he was allowed to pick candy canes off the tree whenever he wanted to.
He did that a lot. It was, in all honesty, one of his favorite things about the holiday and celebrating it out on his own.
It's a quiet Christmas but it feels steady, solid in it's peaceful way and he reveled in that.
~
His family always celebrated but not with trees and presents. It was solem and quiet, a time for reflection, for remembering and things like that. It was the time ot be grateful for what you had and pray that you were lucky enough to keep having those good thing. He knew how things worked this time of year with his mother treating him well, letting him sneak food, giving him cookies. They didn't have many festivities on the holiday but it didn't matter, the food alone was enough.
He would try to be good for his parents too, extra good as he never seemed to try hard enough through the rest of the year, and would do everything his parents told him to.
Everything.
Of course it didn't work out well, it never did. He knew it wouldn't but he always thought that maybe that year would be different, maybe he could be good enough and show his father he honestly was a good boy, rather than trying to scam and trick him.
But his father was never inclined to believe him. He's put him outside, take away the warmth and Timothy would be left shivering int he Michigan cold. He remembers the shed in the winter, curling up in the darkness and doing what he could to keep warm. His hands would shake and he would be hungry and he wished for something, anything to come and take him somewhere else.
Of course, he knew that was a bad thing. That was what bad boys thought, wanting to be away from their family. His family loved him and only did this because he didn't behave, didn't love them as much as he should have. He should be better, more of what they wanted and less of what he was.
Sometimes while he was in the shed, he'd dream.
He imagined people coming to take him away, of prices and princesses coming to claim him as their sibling, putting a crown on his head and pulling him away to a magical place where it was always summer and no one was ever cold or hungry or tired.
He'd fall asleep with those thoughts in his head and wake up to someone banging on the shed door, telling him to come inside.
It's not quite what he was hoping for but he was always grateful to be let back in.
~
When he stopped being a little kid, he realized there were other places to go when he was banished to the outdoors in the winter. He'd steal some cash, leave and bus down to Detroit. The bus itself was warm and if he played his cards right, he could get a nice place to stay for the night.
Of course he had to be careful. Can't let people catch you when you're thirteen and hungry and willing to do a lot of things to get inside.
Sometimes he thought about shelters, about staying in Detroit or trying to be transient. He knew it wasn’t going to work though, knew he was too young to try. He was thirteen but he looks at least three ears younger and while it worked out his advantage sometimes, he knew it could be a detriment to staying out on the streets.
But for a night or two, he could do it. He's stay out, hang int he alleys spending his time with hungry looking boys who probably had worse times of it than him.
He never stayed for too long though, he was young and something about him always struck someone as worth picking up at some point or another.
And he'd get in cars, and go with strangers, fuck them and take the money they were willing to shove at him. Sometimes he'd get warm places to stay, sometimes he could get enough money to camp out at a diner for the rest of the night and drink a fuck ton of coffee and eat some pie to keep himself from starving.
Either way, he won. Christmas was good and he could get the strength to go home again when the sun rose.
~
Mr. Quincy never made him go outside unless he wanted to. He would wrap his arms around Timothy, mutter things into his ear, move his hands against the piano, teaching him with patience and what Timothy has once thought to be love.
He never realized there was anything wrong with the man, not for a long time. Not until he started talking to Nathan about him. He always thought that Mr. Quincy was the light in his childhood, the saving grace that kept him from just giving in and killing himself.
Nathan said that wasn't true, Nathan said that Mr Quincy was a bad man and that Timothy was fifteen and desperate for anyone to be kind to him and that he had been taken advantage of.
But when he looks back on it, remembering warm fires, cocoa and strong hands holding him, Timothy fails to see why it was a bad thing.
Yeah, Mr. Quincy was an older man, in his fifties and living by himself, but he never hurt him, never made him feel bad about himself or the things he did.
He touched him but not in the rough ways that the people in Detroit would. He was gentle, kind and always willing to let him mess up or get tired or shut down.
He even get him gifts on Christmas, something that didn't happen much until that point. One year it was a scarf and gloves that he told him he needed to use when he was out in the cold. A year later it was books.
He tears up when he thinks of the man now, remembering how, as he got older, Mr Quincy never seemed as interested in him. How, when he went to college, the man said he could always come back but he lacked sincerity in his voice or truth in his eyes.
He stopped being good enough for even him.
~
Nathan always said he deserved better, that the horrors he faced were so far from what he should have had in his life. Timothy would watch as Nathan told him this, keeping his eyes on the man's mouth and never daring to meet his eyes.
He doesn't agree or disagree, choosing silence and hoping it works in his favor. Nathan always said he wouldn't hurt him but it's hard to believe when most people in your life did anything but and the one person you thought wasn't was actually just as bad as the rest of them.
But instead of getting mad, of lashing out and striking him, Nathan sat on the couch, extending one arm so he could press up against him, eyes on their little tree.
"I like this," Timothy mutters softly, eyes falling shut as he spoke.
"Me too," Nathan said, his hand resting against Timothy's arm. "Definitely the best Christmas I've had in a while."
"Best Christmas," he echoed. "Best, best Christmas."
Title: the past, present and future
Story: Despite The Abundance
Colors: Under The Bed Black: 19. Hiding under the covers
Spring Green: 17. I am the one who will remember everything
Supplies/Styles: Graffiti (Twelve Days Of Christmas: Day 4
Word Count: ~ 1,300
Rating: R
Warnings: Physically and emotionally abusive families, child prostitution, a much older man taking advantage of a fifteen year old, brief mention of suicidal thoughts,
Notes: Happy holidays! :D No really, I swear I am going to write happy tings with this crew one day, I'm jut not doing that right now.
Christmas in the apartment was a strange thing. It was calm and quiet, twinkling lights and a small tree but nothing more than that. There were a few presents beneath it, most of them for him rather than Nathan, as the other man had more extra income than he did, and he was allowed to pick candy canes off the tree whenever he wanted to.
He did that a lot. It was, in all honesty, one of his favorite things about the holiday and celebrating it out on his own.
It's a quiet Christmas but it feels steady, solid in it's peaceful way and he reveled in that.
~
His family always celebrated but not with trees and presents. It was solem and quiet, a time for reflection, for remembering and things like that. It was the time ot be grateful for what you had and pray that you were lucky enough to keep having those good thing. He knew how things worked this time of year with his mother treating him well, letting him sneak food, giving him cookies. They didn't have many festivities on the holiday but it didn't matter, the food alone was enough.
He would try to be good for his parents too, extra good as he never seemed to try hard enough through the rest of the year, and would do everything his parents told him to.
Everything.
Of course it didn't work out well, it never did. He knew it wouldn't but he always thought that maybe that year would be different, maybe he could be good enough and show his father he honestly was a good boy, rather than trying to scam and trick him.
But his father was never inclined to believe him. He's put him outside, take away the warmth and Timothy would be left shivering int he Michigan cold. He remembers the shed in the winter, curling up in the darkness and doing what he could to keep warm. His hands would shake and he would be hungry and he wished for something, anything to come and take him somewhere else.
Of course, he knew that was a bad thing. That was what bad boys thought, wanting to be away from their family. His family loved him and only did this because he didn't behave, didn't love them as much as he should have. He should be better, more of what they wanted and less of what he was.
Sometimes while he was in the shed, he'd dream.
He imagined people coming to take him away, of prices and princesses coming to claim him as their sibling, putting a crown on his head and pulling him away to a magical place where it was always summer and no one was ever cold or hungry or tired.
He'd fall asleep with those thoughts in his head and wake up to someone banging on the shed door, telling him to come inside.
It's not quite what he was hoping for but he was always grateful to be let back in.
~
When he stopped being a little kid, he realized there were other places to go when he was banished to the outdoors in the winter. He'd steal some cash, leave and bus down to Detroit. The bus itself was warm and if he played his cards right, he could get a nice place to stay for the night.
Of course he had to be careful. Can't let people catch you when you're thirteen and hungry and willing to do a lot of things to get inside.
Sometimes he thought about shelters, about staying in Detroit or trying to be transient. He knew it wasn’t going to work though, knew he was too young to try. He was thirteen but he looks at least three ears younger and while it worked out his advantage sometimes, he knew it could be a detriment to staying out on the streets.
But for a night or two, he could do it. He's stay out, hang int he alleys spending his time with hungry looking boys who probably had worse times of it than him.
He never stayed for too long though, he was young and something about him always struck someone as worth picking up at some point or another.
And he'd get in cars, and go with strangers, fuck them and take the money they were willing to shove at him. Sometimes he'd get warm places to stay, sometimes he could get enough money to camp out at a diner for the rest of the night and drink a fuck ton of coffee and eat some pie to keep himself from starving.
Either way, he won. Christmas was good and he could get the strength to go home again when the sun rose.
~
Mr. Quincy never made him go outside unless he wanted to. He would wrap his arms around Timothy, mutter things into his ear, move his hands against the piano, teaching him with patience and what Timothy has once thought to be love.
He never realized there was anything wrong with the man, not for a long time. Not until he started talking to Nathan about him. He always thought that Mr. Quincy was the light in his childhood, the saving grace that kept him from just giving in and killing himself.
Nathan said that wasn't true, Nathan said that Mr Quincy was a bad man and that Timothy was fifteen and desperate for anyone to be kind to him and that he had been taken advantage of.
But when he looks back on it, remembering warm fires, cocoa and strong hands holding him, Timothy fails to see why it was a bad thing.
Yeah, Mr. Quincy was an older man, in his fifties and living by himself, but he never hurt him, never made him feel bad about himself or the things he did.
He touched him but not in the rough ways that the people in Detroit would. He was gentle, kind and always willing to let him mess up or get tired or shut down.
He even get him gifts on Christmas, something that didn't happen much until that point. One year it was a scarf and gloves that he told him he needed to use when he was out in the cold. A year later it was books.
He tears up when he thinks of the man now, remembering how, as he got older, Mr Quincy never seemed as interested in him. How, when he went to college, the man said he could always come back but he lacked sincerity in his voice or truth in his eyes.
He stopped being good enough for even him.
~
Nathan always said he deserved better, that the horrors he faced were so far from what he should have had in his life. Timothy would watch as Nathan told him this, keeping his eyes on the man's mouth and never daring to meet his eyes.
He doesn't agree or disagree, choosing silence and hoping it works in his favor. Nathan always said he wouldn't hurt him but it's hard to believe when most people in your life did anything but and the one person you thought wasn't was actually just as bad as the rest of them.
But instead of getting mad, of lashing out and striking him, Nathan sat on the couch, extending one arm so he could press up against him, eyes on their little tree.
"I like this," Timothy mutters softly, eyes falling shut as he spoke.
"Me too," Nathan said, his hand resting against Timothy's arm. "Definitely the best Christmas I've had in a while."
"Best Christmas," he echoed. "Best, best Christmas."
no subject
Yeah, he has good things ahead of him and is leaving all that horrible behind. Nathan is a good guy (to Timothy at least) and they definitely get to be happy together.