The Autumn Child (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sharpeningthebones) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2013-09-06 03:48 pm
sharpeningthebones) wrote in rainbowfic2013-09-06 03:48 pm
Entry tags:
Spilt Ink
Name: Mallory
Story: No Child Is Spared
Colors: Spilt Ink: 17. I am with you, from your first word, to your last. I am with you, from your cracked ribs, to the corners of your smile.
Supplies: None
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Physical and (hinted) sexual abuse by a parent, also, implied brother/sister incest as a result of severely screwed up households.
Word count; 895
Notes: Paired with the song Dark Days from the Hunger Games soundtrack. I kind of put that song on repeat, had this prompt in mind and just wrote. Also, I do so love second person more than I should.
Also! Ned a color tag for spilled ink!
Summary: Wendy and Peter, before they get together with Dave and the bakery crew.
You breathe through the pain, in and out and in and out. You know it will be over soon. You know that if you can survive this, it’s going to be okay again. You know that if you survive this, everything will be better.
And it stops, it does, because it always does. Your father gets up, gets off of you, and you’re left alone. Curled in a ball and crying, but you’re alone, which is the best gift anyone could give you.
It hurts too much to not cry right now, it hurts too much to pretend that it doesn't, but you’ll get to that point again soon. You’ll feel better, and then you can pretend again. That’s the wonderful part about pretending, you can always do it; it will always be right there, waiting for you to start again.
And he comes, just as he always comes, wrapping around you, stroking your hair. He tells you he loves you, tells you you’re perfect, and because it’s not your father, you can believe him. Peter wouldn't lie to you, not about this. You believe him, because you have to believe in something and he’s the closest thing to a miracle you have.
He pets you, holds you and tells you it’s all right. You close your eyes; you let the belief wash over you. You let comfort and soft words and his hands on your skin, so gentle, so kind, lull you into a state of relaxation.
~
When you run -- actually run, not pretend to run -- you run fast. Peter grabs your hand one night, pulls you out of bed and says you’re leaving. It’s a soft proclamation but it’s one you know needs to happen. So you get to your feet, collect whatever seems useful into a bag, and run as fast as you can.
And for a while it’s good or at least as good as it was back home. You get by on petty thievery and luck. You get by because some god took pity on you. And you survive like that for a while, on scraps and hopes and dreams of one day getting a house with a fence and a cat. It’s good enough for now, good enough to dream, to hope and pray for something better; but things are always changing.
You get caught, both of you; you get pulled away from each other. You cry and scream and throw yourself into the walls, forgetting what it was like to be a good girl, to be a girl that behaves. You beg and plead and shout until your voice is raw. You never used to be this way at home, never used to throw tantrums, but no one ever separated you at home.
For the first time, you wonder if you should have stayed.
You hold your heart close; you pray at night when you’re away from him, pray to be together again, because you don’t know how long you’ll survive without him in your life. He keeps you good, keeps you pure and safe and sane. You’re not meant to be alone. Or rather, you’re not meant to be without him.
~
It’s years before you see him; and when they tell you he’s coming for you, you wonder if it’s a lie, a joke that someone is playing on you because they're just that cruel. You wonder if miracles happen, you wonder if wishes come true.
And then you find that they do, because he’s standing there, waiting for you with tired but excited eyes. You throw yourself at him, clinging hard and not letting go. Both of you stand there, holding to each other for dear life and muttering into each other’s ear.
It takes someone else calling your attention for either of you to actually move, and even then, you’re glued to each other, stuck together as if when you separate the world falls apart.
~
You’re six, you’re crying and alone and hungry and tired. Your father is prodding at you with a cigarette, trying to get you to move, but you refuse. You’re too tired and too hungry to remember how legs work. You cry out in pain as the end of the cigarette touches your skin, but you can’t move, and that’s the worst part There’s nothing you can do.
You wake, jerking to the side, and wipe away tears and sweat that you didn't realize you’d been shedding. Your apartment is hot due to open windows. It’s the middle of summer and you can’t afford electricity this month, so you just go with candles and sunlight.
Peter is next to you, looking scared and concerned. He wipes a stray tear off your cheek and you curl up, nesting next to him. You don’t want to be anywhere else and you don't want to dream and you don’t want to think of life before this sad little apartment that’s the best thing you two have ever had.
He curls around you, holding on tightly and pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. He promises that everything is going to be all right, that it’s going to be fine, and because you don’t know what else to do, you believe him. He’s never lied to you about anything like this before, and he wouldn't start now.
Story: No Child Is Spared
Colors: Spilt Ink: 17. I am with you, from your first word, to your last. I am with you, from your cracked ribs, to the corners of your smile.
Supplies: None
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Physical and (hinted) sexual abuse by a parent, also, implied brother/sister incest as a result of severely screwed up households.
Word count; 895
Notes: Paired with the song Dark Days from the Hunger Games soundtrack. I kind of put that song on repeat, had this prompt in mind and just wrote. Also, I do so love second person more than I should.
Also! Ned a color tag for spilled ink!
Summary: Wendy and Peter, before they get together with Dave and the bakery crew.
You breathe through the pain, in and out and in and out. You know it will be over soon. You know that if you can survive this, it’s going to be okay again. You know that if you survive this, everything will be better.
And it stops, it does, because it always does. Your father gets up, gets off of you, and you’re left alone. Curled in a ball and crying, but you’re alone, which is the best gift anyone could give you.
It hurts too much to not cry right now, it hurts too much to pretend that it doesn't, but you’ll get to that point again soon. You’ll feel better, and then you can pretend again. That’s the wonderful part about pretending, you can always do it; it will always be right there, waiting for you to start again.
And he comes, just as he always comes, wrapping around you, stroking your hair. He tells you he loves you, tells you you’re perfect, and because it’s not your father, you can believe him. Peter wouldn't lie to you, not about this. You believe him, because you have to believe in something and he’s the closest thing to a miracle you have.
He pets you, holds you and tells you it’s all right. You close your eyes; you let the belief wash over you. You let comfort and soft words and his hands on your skin, so gentle, so kind, lull you into a state of relaxation.
~
When you run -- actually run, not pretend to run -- you run fast. Peter grabs your hand one night, pulls you out of bed and says you’re leaving. It’s a soft proclamation but it’s one you know needs to happen. So you get to your feet, collect whatever seems useful into a bag, and run as fast as you can.
And for a while it’s good or at least as good as it was back home. You get by on petty thievery and luck. You get by because some god took pity on you. And you survive like that for a while, on scraps and hopes and dreams of one day getting a house with a fence and a cat. It’s good enough for now, good enough to dream, to hope and pray for something better; but things are always changing.
You get caught, both of you; you get pulled away from each other. You cry and scream and throw yourself into the walls, forgetting what it was like to be a good girl, to be a girl that behaves. You beg and plead and shout until your voice is raw. You never used to be this way at home, never used to throw tantrums, but no one ever separated you at home.
For the first time, you wonder if you should have stayed.
You hold your heart close; you pray at night when you’re away from him, pray to be together again, because you don’t know how long you’ll survive without him in your life. He keeps you good, keeps you pure and safe and sane. You’re not meant to be alone. Or rather, you’re not meant to be without him.
~
It’s years before you see him; and when they tell you he’s coming for you, you wonder if it’s a lie, a joke that someone is playing on you because they're just that cruel. You wonder if miracles happen, you wonder if wishes come true.
And then you find that they do, because he’s standing there, waiting for you with tired but excited eyes. You throw yourself at him, clinging hard and not letting go. Both of you stand there, holding to each other for dear life and muttering into each other’s ear.
It takes someone else calling your attention for either of you to actually move, and even then, you’re glued to each other, stuck together as if when you separate the world falls apart.
~
You’re six, you’re crying and alone and hungry and tired. Your father is prodding at you with a cigarette, trying to get you to move, but you refuse. You’re too tired and too hungry to remember how legs work. You cry out in pain as the end of the cigarette touches your skin, but you can’t move, and that’s the worst part There’s nothing you can do.
You wake, jerking to the side, and wipe away tears and sweat that you didn't realize you’d been shedding. Your apartment is hot due to open windows. It’s the middle of summer and you can’t afford electricity this month, so you just go with candles and sunlight.
Peter is next to you, looking scared and concerned. He wipes a stray tear off your cheek and you curl up, nesting next to him. You don’t want to be anywhere else and you don't want to dream and you don’t want to think of life before this sad little apartment that’s the best thing you two have ever had.
He curls around you, holding on tightly and pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. He promises that everything is going to be all right, that it’s going to be fine, and because you don’t know what else to do, you believe him. He’s never lied to you about anything like this before, and he wouldn't start now.