A/N: I don’t know where this came from. I literally wrote it in 20 minutes after a stressful shift at work. For those of you who don’t know, War Of Hearts would have been the third story in my figure skater series titled Worth The Fall. The first being my Rowaelin story We Are Young followed my Nessian fic Whatever It Takes. Will I continue this? I don’t know. I guess I’ll wait and see the response to this little snippet. So please let me know what you think. Also, this is the first thing I’ve written in eight months and I didn’t edit it. You’ve been warned.
I also really need to re-read WAY and WIT because I’m sure I’ve gotten some of my own facts wrong oops.
My Writing Masterlist
Worth The Fall Masterlist
War of Hearts Pinterest
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Feyre Archeron never wanted to be a figure skater.
She could remember when she was younger, the tender age of seven with four years of skating lessons already under her belt. It was at such an age when Feyre decided she didn’t want to skate. She didn’t hate the sport by any means. She simply didn’t like it.
She wasn’t like Nesta, who displayed drive and passion for the sport from the moment her blade hit the ice. She wasn’t like Elain, who followed after Nesta with a blooming smile.
Feyre did not want to skate. She felt no connection with the silver blades on her feet. She didn’t want to wear the dresses or tights. She found the stadium too cold, the ice too wet whenever she tripped on her toe picks.
I know it’s been a while. I know I’m not active on here anymore. But this website has played such a big role in developing my passion for writing, reading, editing and stories in general. I’ve asked a lot from you guys over the years, especially when it comes to supporting me and my stories, only to disappear. And for that, I’m sorry.
But, I have one more favour to ask of you.
I’m trying to building my writing profile. I’m trying to make my love for stories into something more. I want to share my art with the world and help others make their words a reality.
I’m made a fivver account. If you guys could please share and follow, that would mean the world to me.
Again, you guys have done so much. This one last favour is truly much appreciated. I love you all.
Christmas is a time for giving. A time for love. And what better way to spread some of the love than by spending time with 12 of your favourite ships within the TOG/ACOTAR fandom?
If you love holiday stories, movies, TV specials, and music. If you love sitting in front of the fire with a cup of hot cocoa. If you love watching the snow fall as you hang Christmas lights. But most importantly, if you ship anyone from Rowaelin to Mor and Vivianes sister, then you’ll love All Is Well.
Collaborated with 11 amazingly talented fic writers within the TOG/ACOTAR fandom, get ready to have your heart - and toes - warmed everyday from the 13th of December to the 24th. Join us and feel the love.
My therapist says I need to go back to things that bring me joy, says I need to find happiest in life again. During one specific session, I was asked to name a time when I was truly at peace, a time I felt moments of pure joy outside of my partner and friends. The first thing that came to mind was a time years ago, when I would post stories here, on this website, for you all to see.
This surprised me honestly, because if you knew me personally (*cough* hi @ilikebigbooks-and-icannotlie *cough*) you would know the amount of stress and pressure I put myself under when it came to writing We Are Young, Whatever It Takes, etc, etc, etc. But despite all the negative emotions, the moments that always stand out to me is sitting on my laptop after I clicked post, watching all the love and adoration pure in from each and every one of you.
I say this monthly but, I really do want to get back into writing. Thanks to my therapist and business major partner, I’ve been dipping my toes into editing for others as a side job. But I want to make my way back to writing my own stories and sharing them with even the smallest corner of the world. This story, Hoax, I wrote actually one year ago, when I first started therapy and after a hard heartbreak. It helped me feel like myself again and lifted me out of the darkness.
I hope, for even the smallest number of you, it does the same. I hope you can feel the same magic that I felt when I wrote it. Take this as a thank you for, years ago, bringing me such joy and happiness.
Until next time…
Cas.
——————–
The air was midsummer sweet.
It was an Indian summer of blue sky dreams and late evening tears, with the weather shifting moods in the blink of an eye. Grey clouds would eclipse the setting sun with their mighty fists, soaking up the colour of the earth like ink drenching a cotton ball.
And with the continuous alternating weather came the busty smell of sunblock and wet grass. Summer scents combined with the salty air and pungent fish that cling to Jake’s senses from the moment he started his journey along the coastal towns.
His mountain travels started just mere days ago. The task of hiking the grand peak was something he was finally going to cross off his bucket list. Dipping into his savings and requesting a week or two off work was a small price to pay when it came to the tranquility and beauty laid bare before him.
Born and raised on the outskirts of the city, there hadn’t been much nature for him to appreciate and admire growing up. But from the moment Jake entered the first small, close-knit fishing town, all he could seem to do was appreciate and stare in outright awe.
The land laid undisturbed all around; the mountains, the trees, the ocean, they had all planted their roots, dug in their heels, and refused to surrender. Cities had been conquered, the vast expansion of country fields and towering summits were placed in chains, forced to give themselves to man. But here, on the coast of fishing villages, it seems as if Land and Man came to an agreement, a compromise, an understanding, to live in peace as one.
Roads of all kinds swerved, twisted, curled up and down along the coast, between the trees. Houses of unnaturally charming bright blues, yellows, oranges, and greens sat gracefully against the mountain rocks, climbing up the forest-speckled cliffs. Homes and buildings of sea-weathered colour rested on the broken shoreline. Boats bobbed in the water, their docks reaching out towards the horizon like fingers longing to reach and touch a disappearing lover.
In the coastal towns, driving along the sunset stained ocean, Jake swore he would never see true beauty again.
My therapist says I need to go back to things that bring me joy, says I need to find happiest in life again. During one specific session, I was asked to name a time when I was truly at peace, a time I felt moments of pure joy outside of my partner and friends. The first thing that came to mind was a time years ago, when I would post stories here, on this website, for you all to see.
This surprised me honestly, because if you knew me personally (*cough* hi @ilikebigbooks-and-icannotlie *cough*) you would know the amount of stress and pressure I put myself under when it came to writing We Are Young, Whatever It Takes, etc, etc, etc. But despite all the negative emotions, the moments that always stand out to me is sitting on my laptop after I clicked post, watching all the love and adoration pure in from each and every one of you.
I say this monthly but, I really do want to get back into writing. Thanks to my therapist and business major partner, I’ve been dipping my toes into editing for others as a side job. But I want to make my way back to writing my own stories and sharing them with even the smallest corner of the world. This story, Hoax, I wrote actually one year ago, when I first started therapy and after a hard heartbreak. It helped me feel like myself again and lifted me out of the darkness.
I hope, for even the smallest number of you, it does the same. I hope you can feel the same magic that I felt when I wrote it. Take this as a thank you for, years ago, bringing me such joy and happiness.
Until next time…
Cas.
——————–
The air was midsummer sweet.
It was an Indian summer of blue sky dreams and late evening tears, with the weather shifting moods in the blink of an eye. Grey clouds would eclipse the setting sun with their mighty fists, soaking up the colour of the earth like ink drenching a cotton ball.
And with the continuous alternating weather came the busty smell of sunblock and wet grass. Summer scents combined with the salty air and pungent fish that cling to Jake’s senses from the moment he started his journey along the coastal towns.
His mountain travels started just mere days ago. The task of hiking the grand peak was something he was finally going to cross off his bucket list. Dipping into his savings and requesting a week or two off work was a small price to pay when it came to the tranquility and beauty laid bare before him.
Born and raised on the outskirts of the city, there hadn’t been much nature for him to appreciate and admire growing up. But from the moment Jake entered the first small, close-knit fishing town, all he could seem to do was appreciate and stare in outright awe.
The land laid undisturbed all around; the mountains, the trees, the ocean, they had all planted their roots, dug in their heels, and refused to surrender. Cities had been conquered, the vast expansion of country fields and towering summits were placed in chains, forced to give themselves to man. But here, on the coast of fishing villages, it seems as if Land and Man came to an agreement, a compromise, an understanding, to live in peace as one.
Roads of all kinds swerved, twisted, curled up and down along the coast, between the trees. Houses of unnaturally charming bright blues, yellows, oranges, and greens sat gracefully against the mountain rocks, climbing up the forest-speckled cliffs. Homes and buildings of sea-weathered colour rested on the broken shoreline. Boats bobbed in the water, their docks reaching out towards the horizon like fingers longing to reach and touch a disappearing lover.
In the coastal towns, driving along the sunset stained ocean, Jake swore he would never see true beauty again.
My therapist says I need to go back to things that bring me joy, says I need to find happiest in life again. During one specific session, I was asked to name a time when I was truly at peace, a time I felt moments of pure joy outside of my partner and friends. The first thing that came to mind was a time years ago, when I would post stories here, on this website, for you all to see.
This surprised me honestly, because if you knew me personally (*cough* hi @ilikebigbooks-and-icannotlie *cough*) you would know the amount of stress and pressure I put myself under when it came to writing We Are Young, Whatever It Takes, etc, etc, etc. But despite all the negative emotions, the moments that always stand out to me is sitting on my laptop after I clicked post, watching all the love and adoration pure in from each and every one of you.
I say this monthly but, I really do want to get back into writing. Thanks to my therapist and business major partner, I’ve been dipping my toes into editing for others as a side job. But I want to make my way back to writing my own stories and sharing them with even the smallest corner of the world. This story, Hoax, I wrote actually one year ago, when I first started therapy and after a hard heartbreak. It helped me feel like myself again and lifted me out of the darkness.
I hope, for even the smallest number of you, it does the same. I hope you can feel the same magic that I felt when I wrote it. Take this as a thank you for, years ago, bringing me such joy and happiness.
Until next time…
Cas.
——————–
The air was midsummer sweet.
It was an Indian summer of blue sky dreams and late evening tears, with the weather shifting moods in the blink of an eye. Grey clouds would eclipse the setting sun with their mighty fists, soaking up the colour of the earth like ink drenching a cotton ball.
And with the continuous alternating weather came the busty smell of sunblock and wet grass. Summer scents combined with the salty air and pungent fish that cling to Jake’s senses from the moment he started his journey along the coastal towns.
His mountain travels started just mere days ago. The task of hiking the grand peak was something he was finally going to cross off his bucket list. Dipping into his savings and requesting a week or two off work was a small price to pay when it came to the tranquility and beauty laid bare before him.
Born and raised on the outskirts of the city, there hadn’t been much nature for him to appreciate and admire growing up. But from the moment Jake entered the first small, close-knit fishing town, all he could seem to do was appreciate and stare in outright awe.
The land laid undisturbed all around; the mountains, the trees, the ocean, they had all planted their roots, dug in their heels, and refused to surrender. Cities had been conquered, the vast expansion of country fields and towering summits were placed in chains, forced to give themselves to man. But here, on the coast of fishing villages, it seems as if Land and Man came to an agreement, a compromise, an understanding, to live in peace as one.
Roads of all kinds swerved, twisted, curled up and down along the coast, between the trees. Houses of unnaturally charming bright blues, yellows, oranges, and greens sat gracefully against the mountain rocks, climbing up the forest-speckled cliffs. Homes and buildings of sea-weathered colour rested on the broken shoreline. Boats bobbed in the water, their docks reaching out towards the horizon like fingers longing to reach and touch a disappearing lover.
In the coastal towns, driving along the sunset stained ocean, Jake swore he would never see true beauty again.
My therapist says I need to go back to things that bring me joy, says I need to find happiest in life again. During one specific session, I was asked to name a time when I was truly at peace, a time I felt moments of pure joy outside of my partner and friends. The first thing that came to mind was a time years ago, when I would post stories here, on this website, for you all to see.
This surprised me honestly, because if you knew me personally (*cough* hi @ilikebigbooks-and-icannotlie *cough*) you would know the amount of stress and pressure I put myself under when it came to writing We Are Young, Whatever It Takes, etc, etc, etc. But despite all the negative emotions, the moments that always stand out to me is sitting on my laptop after I clicked post, watching all the love and adoration pure in from each and every one of you.
I say this monthly but, I really do want to get back into writing. Thanks to my therapist and business major partner, I’ve been dipping my toes into editing for others as a side job. But I want to make my way back to writing my own stories and sharing them with even the smallest corner of the world. This story, Hoax, I wrote actually one year ago, when I first started therapy and after a hard heartbreak. It helped me feel like myself again and lifted me out of the darkness.
I hope, for even the smallest number of you, it does the same. I hope you can feel the same magic that I felt when I wrote it. Take this as a thank you for, years ago, bringing me such joy and happiness.
Until next time...
Cas.
--------------------
The air was midsummer sweet.
It was an Indian summer of blue sky dreams and late evening tears, with the weather shifting moods in the blink of an eye. Grey clouds would eclipse the setting sun with their mighty fists, soaking up the colour of the earth like ink drenching a cotton ball.
And with the continuous alternating weather came the busty smell of sunblock and wet grass. Summer scents combined with the salty air and pungent fish that cling to Jake’s senses from the moment he started his journey along the coastal towns.
His mountain travels started just mere days ago. The task of hiking the grand peak was something he was finally going to cross off his bucket list. Dipping into his savings and requesting a week or two off work was a small price to pay when it came to the tranquility and beauty laid bare before him.
Born and raised on the outskirts of the city, there hadn't been much nature for him to appreciate and admire growing up. But from the moment Jake entered the first small, close-knit fishing town, all he could seem to do was appreciate and stare in outright awe.
The land laid undisturbed all around; the mountains, the trees, the ocean, they had all planted their roots, dug in their heels, and refused to surrender. Cities had been conquered, the vast expansion of country fields and towering summits were placed in chains, forced to give themselves to man. But here, on the coast of fishing villages, it seems as if Land and Man came to an agreement, a compromise, an understanding, to live in peace as one.
Roads of all kinds swerved, twisted, curled up and down along the coast, between the trees. Houses of unnaturally charming bright blues, yellows, oranges, and greens sat gracefully against the mountain rocks, climbing up the forest-speckled cliffs. Homes and buildings of sea-weathered colour rested on the broken shoreline. Boats bobbed in the water, their docks reaching out towards the horizon like fingers longing to reach and touch a disappearing lover.
In the coastal towns, driving along the sunset stained ocean, Jake swore he would never see true beauty again.
Even now, when the sky wept tears of sorrow, its beauty never vanished.
The weather came on suddenly, as he passed the welcoming sign for Higdon's Harbour. The roads became slick, a ghostly fog settled in, and the colours were muted a few shades darker by the clouds above. Rivers trickled down the mountain side, disappearing into shallow ditches. Waves started to leap and jump to catch the increasing wind. All while the sky cried on and on.
Jake drove on through the town. Classic rock thumped softly in the background and raindrops tapped on the roof of the car. He had planned not to stop for the night until the next town over. He had driven through several rain storms since the start of his trip, and this was nothing.
But the cracks in the sky's broken heart continued to grow with exceptional pain. Tears of despair quickly turned to tears of anger. The beating on the car became more aggressive as the wind wailed daunting threats and the ocean frantically waved its arms.
It became too much, too quick. Jake was used to driving through bad weather, but not seaside storms. Not gusting winds and sideways rain. Plus, he decided, he was already making good time. So when the flashing green neon sign reading Beaumont Motel came into view, he didn’t hesitate to pull off the road, into the parking lot, and turn off his car.
A bell jingled above as Jake pushed open the door. He stepped into the warmth of the lobby, drenched through his clothes and soaking the carpet under his feet.
“Turned nasty out there real quick, didn’t it?”
Jake threw off his hood, shaking out his damp, blonde hair as he caught sight of an older woman with long grey hair smiling at him from behind a wooden desk.
She pulled her beige cardigan closer around her, brown eyes crinkling in the corners. “Looking for a room, hun?”
“If you happen to have one available,” Jake replied, walking towards the desk and setting down his backpack. Judging by the lack of cars in the parking lot, he was more than confident there were plenty of empty rooms. Still, he glanced at the woman’s name tag and flashed her a smile. “Vera.”
“Oh, hun,” Vera chuckled. Her fingers tapped away on the computer that looked too new to be in the small, tacky, lobby with flower-patterned wallpaper. A lobby that was decorated with simply a small sitting area off to the side, a dusty fireplace warming the room, a dark wooden desk, rouge carpet, and outdated lighting fixtures. “I think I have one or two available. For how long will we be seeing your handsome face around?”
“Only a night,” Jake said. “I’m just passing through.”
“Storm pushed you off the road, huh?” Vera turned around and grabbed a key off one of the hooks on the wall. “It should only last the night. Nightly storms are common for us during this time of year. Here you go, hun.”
“Thank you!” Jake took the key before picking up his bag once more, throwing it over his shoulder.
“If you’re looking to warm up a bit, Kay & Elle, the pub next door, is open for a few more hours,” Vera informed him, fixing her wool cardigan on her shoulders. “A lot of the locals inhabit the place, but we’re friendly folks here. I’m sure they’ll keep you entertained for a bit.”
“Thank you for the suggestion!” Jake pulled his hood back over his head. “Have a good night, Vera.”
She waved him off with a dazzling smile. “Enjoy your short time at Higdon’s Harbour.”
Rain beat down around Jake as the lobby door closed behind him. The sticky air promised an onslaught of thunder and lightning, but it had yet to develop. With a glance at the metal key in his hand, Jake made out a marked 9 engraved at the top. His toes were cold as he quickly made it to the door and inserted the key before pushing the door open and stepping into the musty smelling room.
It was just as drab as the lobby. The double-bed was dressed in off-white coverings. Cream walls, dark carpet, and tacky seaside pictures. Along with two side tables by the bed, a small TV on top of a mini fridge, and a bathroom door on the far wall.
It wasn’t the nicest looking room he’d ever stayed in, but he would also be lying if he said he hadn’t stayed in worse before.
With a tired and uncomfortable sigh, Jake tossed his bag onto the bed, peeled off his wet coat, and padded off into the bathroom.
He never really thought of going to the pub Vera had mentioned. His only plans that evening consisted of taking a scalding shower before crawling into bed. Maybe watching some TV or reading the book at the bottom of his bag to spice up the night.
Yet, once the two former items on his agenda were checked off, an uneasiness fell over him. Neither the TV nor his book could hold his attention. The bedsheets itched his legs. His heart thumped in his chest, just fast enough to be noticeable. He couldn’t sit still.
Lightning flashed outside and Jake’s head whipped in the direction of the window. The pub came into view; the two porch lights twinkled in the dark and laughter sounded in time to the pounding storm. It shimmered in the lightning’s afterglow, the rain creating a silver mist of magic around the stone building.
Jake tossed off the sheets and threw on some clothes and his damp jacket. The pull in the pit of his stomach pushed him towards the front door without Jake even really realizing what he was doing. But he chalked it up to boredom and the anxiety of being knocked off his schedule.
He left the warmth of his room behind, almost crashing into a figure as he gently closed his door. An apology was on the tip of his tip tongue when a feeling of nausea washed over him. He felt dizzy, stomach turning. But it was gone between one blink and the next, along with the person. Jake got a glimpse of red hair out of the corner of his eye followed by bells and laughter as the door to room 8 snapped closed.
The thunderous weather started to overload Jake's senses and the urge to get to the pub was greater. With his head down, the figure fading from his memory, Jake made his way across the parking lot.
A drink or two would kill some time, he thought to himself. At least it would help settle the uneasiness and put him to sleep.
The mist around the pub seemed to glow as Jake drew closer, but he was too busy keeping the rain out of his eyes to pay much mind to it. Warmth shot up his arm as he pushed the door open, a jingle filling the room.
The smell of liquor and smoke tainted with the slight scent of sweat greeted Jake as he stepped over the threshold of Kay & Elle. The low rumble of a banjo filled the space, bouncing off the wooden rafters, mixing with the low mumbles and chuckles of the clusters of people scattered around the room. It wasn’t a full house, but crowded enough given the storm outside.
With his footsteps sounding off the wood floors, Jake made his way to the dark-oak bar. He received a few stares and nods of acknowledgment as he walked by men and women alike, sitting at tables and standing by pool tables. As he walked past, he took in the stone walls, the empty stage in the back, the shimmering yellow lights, and the photos of fishermen, smiling ladies, and vast landscapes littered throughout the walls.
He took off his jacket, his heart having settled from the moment he entered the pub. Jake wasn’t a man who believed in faith, but in his bones, deep in his marrow, he knew this was where he was meant to be, for whatever reason.
“Well ain’t you a fresh face,” the elder man behind the bar remarked as Jake sat in one of the barstools, just a few seats down from a hunched over figure nursing a glass of whiskey.
Jake placed his wet jaket on the chair beside him as he chuckled. “Hard to be a stranger in this town.”
“Small-town life, my boy. Everyone knows everyone.” The man threw a towel over his shoulder, his dark hair pulled back in a low pony-tail, causing the wrinkles on his slim, tan face to be on full display. His green eyes sparkled in welcome and his smile pulled at the faded scar on his left cheek. “Passing through?”
The dim lights jumped and danced off the many bottles lining the wall behind the bar. A muted glow hugged the bar, the music changing to the beat of a fiddle.
“I am, but the storm took me off the road for the night,” Jake explained.
“You staying at the Beaumont?”
Jake nodded. “The woman, Vera, recommended I stop by for a drink.”
The words tasted bitter, full of half-truths and false tales. But Jake wasn’t sure why, just as he wasn’t sure how to explain his need to be sitting in the pub at that particular moment.
“That woman,” the elder man chuckled with a shake of his head. “She sends more business this way than any billboard ad ever could. Well, have a drink while you’re here…"
“Jake.”
The music skipped a beat as the fiddle played a harsh note. The air turned bitter and cold. Jake’s limbs urged him to run, screamed that he made a mistake, scolded him for giving his name so willingly. But it was a reflex; the word leaving his lips before he understood what was happening. An impulse came over him, the same one that pulled him to obey the man's demand and order a drink.
No one seemed to notice the odd behaviour, aside from the hunched over figure a few seats down. His depthless brown eyes flashed to Jake, grey hair falling across his pale, sweaty forehead. There was a look of pain and madness in those eyes. Jake opened his mouth to say something when a draft of beer appeared in front of him. And suddenly he couldn’t remember why his limbs felt tense or why there was a cold sweat on the back on his neck.
“Nice to meet ya, Jake,” the bartender smiled with a gleam in his bottle-green eyes. “Name’s Murphy.”
“Likewise,” Jake raised his drink before bringing the glass to his lips, downing half of it in a few gulps.
The hunched man tipped back the last of his whiskey, slamming the glass hard on the bartop.
“Murphy,” he spoke in a husky voice, like the sound of asphalt and gravel.
A flash of irritation, with just a hint of sadness, came over Murphy's face. He didn’t say a word as he quickly prepared another glass, sliding it gently in front of the stranger.
“Take it easy, Harold. That’s your third now.”
Harold grunted, shooting back half the glass without a word.
Murphy sighed, every other emotion but worry washing from his face for the smallest moment, before he turned back to Jake with a smile on his lips.
“So, where were you headed before the rain knocked you off track?”
After another smaller sip of beer, Jake explained his mountain travel plans and his desire to reach the great peak that waited for him at the end.
“Good on ya. Do it all now while you’re still young and can move about,” Murphy said with a chuckle. “This a solo trip? Or are you with someone special? Perhaps they’re waiting for you back in your room?”
“No,” Jake chuckled, ignoring the grunt of clear annoyance from the man a few seats down from him. “Just me.”
A glimmer appeared in the old man's eye. “So no one speical then? No sweetheart waiting for ya?”
Glass rattled as Harold slammed his empty drink back down on the bar.
Jake cast a sideways glance at the stranger. Restlessness rushed through him as he slowly sat up straighter. Tension gripped his limbs as Harold turned to look at him. Those unnaturally dark eyes shined with intensity. They held so much knowledge, so much pain, so much fury that Jake couldn’t look away.
“Don’t waste your time with such things, boy,” Harold grumbled, voice rough and firm. His brows were pulled together so tight they were touching, as the bar cast his face in shadows of back and grey. “Love is pointless.”
He said the word love with such hatred, Jake felt as if the stone structure surrounding them would cave in and collapse.
Murphy, for his part, looked just as on edge. It was a fact that did little to calm Jake's sudden nervousness.
“Harold,” he sighed. “Let’s take a moment-”
“There is one thing that is certain when it comes to love,” Harold continued, eyes gazing unblinkingly at Jake. “It is nothing but pain. Love is made up of pain and heartbreak and bitter ends. It is a useless and pointless part of the whole damn human existence.”
A hush fell over the bar, as if even the other guests could sense the mood Harold had brought about. The upbeat tone of the fiddle suddenly switched to a soulless wail. . A shiver ran up Jake’s spine and he begged his body to turn away, to dismiss the man and be done with it. But he couldn’t. His unmerciful gaze pulled him in and suddenly Jake was drowning in the scent of liquor and smoke and dead leaves and depthless seas.
“You fight so hard." Harold gripped his glass, and a crack started to appear. “You fight with all you have and give yourself completely and it's no good. It doesn’t matter. Nothing you do is good enough. Love is about fighting a losing battle and in the end, only one person suffers the consequences. And it's usually the one who fought the hardest.”
“Harold.”
Murphy’s voice was firm, loud, booming over the music as Jake jumped back in his seat. He didn’t realize how intently he’d been listening to Harold. How he was hanging on to every word like it was air. Or how, while talking to the terrifying man, for the first time since entering the town, Higdon’s Harbour glowed with colour.
An angry, remorseless, pulsating red colour.
Harold held Jake's gaze for a moment longer, intense eyes cast in complete shadow, before turning back to the bar.
“Thanks for the advice,” Jake found himself saying, voice shaking more than he'd like to admit. He didn’t mean to speak, the words simply rushed out of him with an aftertaste of smoke.
Clearing his throat, Jake downed the last of his beer before pushing the glass towards Murphy for a refill.
A hush fell around them for just a few moments, the tension already starting to subside. Jake felt his shoulders drop as he slowly sipped his beer and Murphy slid Harold a glass of water. After some small talk with the old bartender, Jake felt himself able to breathe once more. His body started to relax, the fog lifting from his head. He was breaking the surface and forgetting all about the darkness of the ocean and the murdered limbs of the trees on the forest floor.
While on his third drink, Murphy started to get busy with the other parties of the bar. Tables started to ask for refills, and drenched couples walked through the door, the wind roaring behind them. He drifted more and more between the bar and the tables. And it was about that time that Jake decided he would soon be calling it a night.
“You shouldn’t have stopped, boy.”
Ice crawled up Jake’s spine at the sound of that sandpaper voice. Murphy was off to some seemingly remote corner of the bar. Jake couldn’t help but notice that every new body who walked in stayed far away from the bar, from him, and from Harold.
Jake gripped the tall draft in his hand, foam and condensation running through his numb fingers.
He turned to face Harold, those black soulless eyes dragging him into the abyss. He was in a freefall, too much rushed through him all at once. A thumping started at his left temple and his heart dropped to his stomach as he fell and fell and fell from the bowels of the sky through the open arms of the corpse-like trees.
“You shouldn’t have stopped,” Harold spat, teeth clenched and head hung low. “You should get out of this cursed town before they get you too. They know you’re here. They knew you’d be here before you knew you’d be here. They got to the rest of this damned town. They got her. Get out before they get you too, boy.”
Fear rooted Jake in place. Fear for what, he couldn’t tell. But in the back of his mind, in the depth of his soul, he knew Harold was right. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have stopped. Yet, the thought of leaving caused his heart to clench and spots to form behind his eyes. Without his control, he found his lips forming the words -
“Who are they?”
The lights flickered with the time of the thunder clashing outside. The fiddle faded out and the haunting strings of a violin floated through the room, accompanied by a soulful woman's wail.
He knew he shouldn’t have asked. He shouldn’t provoke this man. He should just pay his tab, get up, and leave. But it was unexplainable, much like the whole night had been. He simply couldn’t help himself.
Harold completely turned to Jake. The harsh lines on his face caught the glow of the dim lights. His eyes burned with unattainable wisdom and passion. Jake's heart started to race, limbs locking into place as he noticed the music slowed. Along with, somehow, every other body and soul in the bar. A haze filled the room, a mist blurring and engulfing everything that was not Jake and was not Harold. Even the storm seemed to hush, with only the woman's cry continuing on.
“Let me tell you a story, son.” Harold’s voice turned mystical, the words floating in the air between the two. “Cause I’ve lost my friends, my family, this whole damn town, and yet no one will believe me. They think I’m a nut-case, a man full of grief. But I ain’t, you hear? And maybe you’ll believe me. Maybe you won’t. But they took my wife-”
“Your wife is missing?”
Jake’s pulse jumped as Harold leaned in close, his blood-shot eyes burning crimson red. “For years now. Cause they took her.”
“They?” Jake repeated, feeling physically ill.
Harold nodded. “The fairies.”
He should have laughed. He should have backed off. His mind should have been yelling at him that the man was senile, crazy, insane. He should have bid him goodbye, called over Murphy, and been done with this place, this man. This man who was staring at him with all the earnestness in the world.
Fairies.
The word danced around in his head, bells and whistles suddenly joining in with the escalating violin. Suddenly, the whole town made all the sense in the world and yet, none at all.
“Fairies?” Jake spoke slow and steady. “They’re just folklore. A myth.”
Even as he said it, the words turned to dust on his tongue. He wanted to wash the taste out with his beer, but found he genuinely couldn’t move.
“The Harbour Fairies,” Harold whispered. “Nasty creatures. And if you believe they’re just a myth, you’re as foolish as the rest of them. If you believe there isn’t more to this world, that we’re the only beings here, you’re blin. These aren’t just some little buggers who pick your berries and sprinkle dust. They are savage, mischievous demons.”
Jake started to shake his head, mostly to clear the fog that had started to form. “I don’t-”
“We here grew up wearing our clothes inside out and carrying bread in our pockets to stop the little people from leading us astray,” Harold spoke with more urgency than Jake had heard all night, “But little good it did. Everyone was blinded by what was right in front of them. These creatures play tricks. Oh, they love tricks. And not the fun kind. No, the kind that leads you over a cliff or dead at the bottom of the sea. They are unpredictable forces of nature who lead you in the woods, and suddenly you're never heard of again.”
“And they got your wife.”
“They stole her,” Harold spat the words into the air. His gaze flicked towards the red-head who walked past them, beer in hand, before he spoke again. “They took her from me. Everyone here believes she ran away, but I know. I caught them you see, I saw it with my own two eyes. One day she was in the garden, the next…”
… she walked into the woods, never to be seen again. Jake knew because he saw it himself. He watched it play out in Harold’s aged eyes. And suddenly he was inserted into a story that was not his. He didn’t feel right; too tight in his skin, eyes unable to properly focus on the greys, blacks, and whites of the world. But he still watched.
A grass-stained seven year old boy cradled the arm of a pretty girl with messy blonde hair. They sat in a treehouse, feet dangling over the edge, kicking at the clouds. The girl had tear-tracks running down her cheeks and dead flowers stuck in her hair. She was biting her lip, nodding as the boy spoke.
“I told you not to make your papa mad,” he whispered sternly.
“I didn’t mean to,” her lips trembled, gaze moving to anything but the boy before her. “It wasn’t my fault.”
The boy shook his head as he ran his hand over the forming bruise. “You gotta be more careful Cathy. What if something were to happen to ya?”
“Then let's get out of this town, Harry,” a seventeen-year old girl twirled in the headlights of an old pick-up truck. The waves crashed against the shore in the distance, the sun tenderly kissing the horizon goodbye. The girl’s blonde, messy braids whipped around her shoulder, dress bunched at her ankles. She stood before a brown haired boy, grass-stains on his jeans, leaning against the red truck. “Let’s pack up and leave after graduation next week.”
“And go where, Cathy?” The boy shook his head. “I have a job lined up on the boat and you have-”
“Nothing! I have nothing!” She threw her hands in the air. “I ain’t got nothing lined up. Just my next shift at the diner. I want to go to school, you know I do. But papa-”
“Don’t worry about your father,” the boy grabbed at the girls skirts, pulling her so close their hips touched. “I told you, I’ll protect you from your papa.”
The girl bit her lips, forest green eyes glancing over the boy's shoulder. Her face was tender but the look of caution never left. As if she wanted to believe the boy holding her but her heart refused to pay heed. “Promise?”
“I do.”
Applause thundered across the crowd, the waves beating against the rocky cliffs. The man lifted the woman's veil, tucking a piece of messy blonde hair behind her ear before gripping the back of her neck. He leaned in and placed a kiss on his lips. Whistles and wails filled the air, a screaming violin starting to play as the newly-weds walked down the aisle.
She held on her husband’s arm like a life-line, biting her lip as her father clapped the bride-groom on the shoulder. Her eyes darted around the crowd, the same look of caution from five years ago still masked her face.
It was a look that never left her face, a look that was forever present in the back on her eyes. It was the only thought Jake found he was able to form; the look of a woman who was scared. The look of a woman who was holding a secret.
And maybe she was, for that look stayed with her for all the years to come, Jake noticed. He watched Harold's and Catherine’s life play out before him, just as Harold described. The twenty plus years together. The moments of tender love, the moments of bitter fights. The squealing laughter and howling sobs. The funerals and the weddings, The slamming bottles and doors leading to nights together and alone. It wasn’t the best marriage, but what marriage is, Harold said.
They never had kids, their life centred around just the two of them, their fading love and the growing tension. Every second leading up to that moment, in a garden of muted yellows, reds, and oranges.
Flowers in her messy hair, a near fifty year old Catherine knelt before a bed of dirt. Sunglasses covered her eyes, dirt stained her knees, finger nails, and cheeks. She was silent as she worked.
A door slammed in the distance. “Catherine!”
The tension became electricity in the air. Catherine’s head snapped up as footsteps made their way to the backyard.
Jake noticed it at the exact moment she did. The wind switched directions, bells jingled off the tree tops, mystical laughter floated out from the forest on the other side of the garden.
Catherine turned slowly. The flower fell out of her hair. She tossed the sunglasses onto the ground and her bruised, deep green eyes glowed against the muted world. She walked towards the tree line, footfalls light. Laughter bubbled past her own lips and, between one step and the next, she was gone.
“... the forest swallowed her up and I knew they got to her.”
Jack was back in the bar. Everything rested as it had, and he himself wasn’t even sure if what he had just witnessed was real. Surely not, but the description and details felt real, tangible. As if, for a moment, he truly stood in Harold's memories.
“The forest was the only way out,” Harold’s eyes were wide, urgent, and the brightest things in the whole bar. “It was either through the house or the forest. And she’d been acting out for years. Always in the garden, out on her own. They got her, it's the only answer. But,” a pause, eyes shifting. “I know where she is.”
Jake swallowed, throat dry as sandpaper. “You do?”
“An island just a few miles out in sea. A rocky cliff, that's where they stay,” Harold nodded, talking more to himself than Jake. “She's there, with them. I’m taking my boat out tomorrow morning. I’m going to get her and-”
“Harold.”
Murphy’s voice was enough to make Jake jump back. He never noticed how close he had been leaning towards the old man. Just as he never realized how tightly he was holding his warm, untouched third glass of beer. He pulled his hand back, wiping it on his jeans as the pulsing in his left temple grew stronger.
As he looked around the pub, Jake took in all the faces looking his way. Eyes bounced between him and Harold, whispers and murmurs accompanying the flute and violin pair. It was only when Murphy loudly, purposely, cleared his throat that the inhabitants of the bar started to look as if they weren’t listening.
“Harold,” Murphy spoke softly, placing a hand on Harold’s tense shoulder. “I think it's time to head home, friend.”
There was a fight in Harold’s eyes, Jake could see it. That bloodshot, haunting, soulless gaze held a fire and life to them, ignited by the hatred for creatures that couldn’t exist. But the moment Murphy spoke, the moment Harold looked around the pub and saw all the eyes on him, the fire vashined. It was as quick as releasing a breath, there one minute and gone the next.
Harold held Jake’s gaze. There was still so much left unsaid, unanswered, and Jake found he didn’t want him to go. His mind and soul craved to know more about fairies and their secret world.
A laughter echoed off the rafters, and Jake realized for the first time that night how terrified and exposed he truly was.
“Tomorrow morning,” Harold grunted as he stood, the invitation loud and clear. Jake didn’t understand why Harold was inviting him along but it somehow made all the sense in the world.
With no other parting words, with not so much as a glance at any other living soul in the pub, Harold walked out. Back hunched as he disappeared over the threshold, rain and wind howling as they swallowed him whole.
A hush carried on throughout the pub for a few heartbeats. Until the flute faded back into the plucking of a guitar. Someone cheered, laughter followed, and soon the lively atmosphere of the bar was back once more. As if the haunted man with an implausible story wasn’t present a few moments before.
“Is it true?” Jake found himself asking, tongue sliding across his chapped lips. He turned in his chair, facing Murphy, who now stood behind the bar. He hoped his shaking hand wasn't noticeable as he raised his beer to his lips. “About those… about the fairies.”
The word tasted like strawberries and metal on his lips.
Murphy glanced up for the glass he was cleaning, scar strained across his cheek as he pursed his lips. “They’re urban folktales. Myths passed down through all the generations of the Harbour.”
“And his wife?”
Murphy paused. He let out a sign, placed the glass under the bar before turning to Jake. Worry and concern shinned in his eyes.
“She left him,” he explained softly, mindful of the ears around. “Packed up and left, just like that.”
“Just like that?” Jake raised an eyebrow at Murphy’s hesitation.
“There were… rumours about cheating and drunken fights but…” Murphy took a breath, crossing his arms on the bartop as he leaned in close. “Look, Harry's a good guy, difficult but good. Our families know each other well. And Cathy… well she had a hard life with her father. She wasn’t all there before she left and Harold took it hard. He still won't get help and has himself convinced the Harbour Fairies are behind it. Says he’s seen things with his own eyes that explains it.”
Jake swallowed, leg bouncing restlessly. “He’s going out tomorrow morning-”
“Yeah,” Murphy nodded solemnly. “We’ve tried to stop him, talk sense. But he won’t listen. And he’s at the age and point now where we've given up - what can ya do.”
A lot. Jake glanced around the pub, taking in the numerous people laughing, chatting, drinking. He didn’t know these people, he shouldn’t judge, but they could be doing something to help that man. He may be talking crazy but… was he?
The more Jake studied the bar, the more it felt like a fog was lifting. The pieces were falling into place. The math was suddenly starting to make sense. And Jake refused to acknowledge the answers that were before him.
“Where is she then?” Jake asked, breathing through his nose to calm his racing heart. “His wife. Catherine.”
“No one knows,” Murphy admitted. “She got out of this town, that's for sure. And no one has heard from her since.”
“No one checks in?” Jake couldn’t hide the disbelief from his voice. “No one’s tried to find out where she is or what happened.”
Murphy watched Jake for an uncomfortable moment. His eyes looked him over, mouth twisting as if to say something. But then his lips shut, he blinked, and he shrugged before pointing to the still full glass in front of Jake. “You want another?”
Jake's breath caught in his throat. Claws bit into his spine. His skin felt too tight as a breeze brushed the back of his neck, red flashing in his vision. The room was too small and too big all at once. He didn’t know why he was feeling such a way or what had brought it on. But his gut knew it was because of this town.
And he knew he wanted to get out.
The door to the pub shut as a couple walked out, but the noise still rattled against Jake’s bones as he shook his head.
“No,” he stood up, hand shaking as he pulled out some bills and tossed them on the bar. “I think I’ll call it a night actually.”
Murphy picked up the money, either not noticing the odd behaviour or choosing to ignore it as he smiled. “Well, Mr. Jake, I hope you enjoy the rest of your short stay. Maybe someday we’ll get to see you passing through the Harbour again.”
“Who knows,” Jake gave a nervous chuckle, “It seems anything is possible.”
He left the pub in shambles. The smell of ashes and fowl fish followed Jake as he made his way to the door. Tables were knocked off centre, chairs were tipped over. The banjo played too loud and slightly off key. Men and women alike stumbled over one another, drinks spilled onto the floor. Even Murphy’s slicked back pony was a mess, falling into his dark, sweat covered face.
The illusion was breaking, the corners being pulled back to show something ugly and monstrous. Something those who inhabited Higdon’s Harbour refused to acknowledge.
Jake stepped over the threshold, blood pounding through his veins. He welcomed the rain beating down on his face, the wind biting through his damp jacket and nipping at his icy skin. The door to Kay & Elle closed with a thunderous bang. The banjo and hysterical laughter was replaced by sorrowful wind and wailing rain.
He stood there for a moment, face turned towards the sky as he tried to will air into his lungs.
He needed to get out of this town.
Whatever force pulled Jake towards the pub earlier was controlled by a demon. He didn’t know what purpose it served him, to hear about Harold and the fairies… fairies that shouldn’t, didn’t, couldn’t exist…
Someone squealed and giggled across the parking lot. With a jump, heart in his throat, Jake started to make his way back to the safety of his room.
And he was almost there, just a mere few steps away, when his body suddenly felt as if it were stretched too thin. Nausea overcame him and his head spun. The rain pierced his skin like devilish needles and the wind sang a woman's lullaby in his ear. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears, thunder crashing as someone bumped into his shoulder.
It was an innocent tap, the woman clearly too captivated by the lady on her arm to notice him. But it did all the damage in the world.
“Oh!” She gasped, the sound like a thousand bells. She grabbed his arm, full-lips pulled back in an apologetic smile as all the air vanished from Jake's chest. “I’m sorry.”
He couldn't breath, the pulsing in his left temple was suddenly magnified by ten. The warmth of her hand on his arm spread through his whole body. He no longer felt the wind and rain beating against him, he was too allured by her auburn curls, high-cheekbones, and hazel eyes that glistened like moss coated in morning dew.
She was the most hauntingly beautiful creature he had ever beheld. And every part of his being begged him to run.
“Are you okay, Jake?” Her partner spoke up. They were holding one another so close, arms locked tight, it was as if they were one. Gravity pulled them together; where one moved the other followed. A simple stranger such as himself could not doubt their adoration and love.
Jake ripped his gaze away from the red-headed woman and looked at her partner. He took in her slim face, the dirty dress, and messy blonde hair pinned back with a flower.
It was then that Jake noticed that both women were completely dry.
It was then that Jake realized they knew his name.
It was then that his eyes met the blonde’s green ones, and he saw it all.
“I told you not to make your papa mad,” a seven year old boy with grass stains on his knees told the six year old girl with a bruised arm.
“I didn’t mean to,” she trembled, and Jake realized she wasn’t avoiding the boys gaze. She was looking at someone else. She was looking at the young auburn haired creature standing a few feet away, invisible to the boy and eyes tense with worry. “It wasn't my fault.”
Be more careful, the boy told her at the exact moment the creature met the girl's gaze and said, I know. I’ll protect you.
“I told you,” said a seventeen year old boy as he gripped a sixteenth year old's skirts. “I’ll protect you from your papa.”
You know he can’t, Cathy, The auburn creature said, standing over the boy's shoulder as she held the girl’s green-eyed gaze. I’ll protect you from them both.
The blonde trembled. “Promise?”
With all the power of the forest and the sea. I promise.
She was there, always there. She did all she could to keep her promise. But it seemed even she was limited in her abilities.
Jake watched Harold and Catherine's life play out once more. As the twenty plus years faded together, the moments of tender love vanished. The fights were more frequent, more aggressive than Harold let on. He stumbled home in the dark more than once, eyes bloodshot and words slurred. There were many years of fights and screams. Fists were thrown and bones were broken. And the red-head was there through it all, helping as best as she could. She cared for Cathy, tried to protect her, but it wasn’t enough.
Run away with me, Cathy. It's the only way.
And run she did.
It wasn’t a laugh that called Catherine to the forest that day in the garden as Harold’s raging voice bellowed off the walls of the house. No, it was not a laugh at all, but her name, spoken in bells and chimes, love and warmth.
Catherine stepped over the threshold of the forest, laughter on her lips, as she jumped into the arms of the beautiful red-headed fairy.
She didn’t leave, wasn’t taken. She willingly left her delusional old life for one of magic and wonder and respect.
Jake stumbled back a step, shaking off the hand of the creature before him. His head was spinning, his stomach turned and his vision blurred as he truly saw the two ladies before him. As he noticed the glow around them, the electricity that danced in their wake.
This town, these people… how could anyone let a woman suffer as Catherine did and not do anything? How could they not see what was right in front of them?
And these creatures, the fairies, Harold painted them as the demons and yet, this fairy was Catherine’s saving grace, her lover, her protector...
They shared a look, the two lovers, before turning back to him. They didn’t say another word as the fairy smiled at Jake, white teeth flashing, and blew him a kiss. They turned to leave, Catherine giving him a wink over her shoulder, before disappearing into their hotel room. Right next door to his.
Jake stumbled as fast as he could to his room, slamming the door behind him as he tried to catch his breath and will his mind to understand what the hell was going on.
It took him a few moments to realize, for the first time all night, he was completely dry.
----------
Light had yet to transform the morning sky when Jake sped out of the Beaumont Motel parking lot. The rain had stopped and the winds were whisked away. Grey clouds lingered in the sky, suffocating the rising sun on the horizon.
What was once a piece of art to Jake was now the ugliest thing he had ever seen.
The mountain reached its claws to the sky, holding all the trees and buildings in the palm of its hand. The roads swerved in and out of its fingers, weather-worn homes running up the forest-speckled hills, trying to escape. The ocean leaped for joy as it played with the rocky cliffs, trying to capture and destroy anything it could reach. The boats bobbed in the water, begging to be let free, while the docks pointed their fingers to the open sea, luring in any desperate and lonely souls to the corrupt town.
The ocean was painted an angry blue against the grey light. The white-capped waves pounded against anything in their way. What Jake once thought was a place of harmony, he realized now, was an illusion.
The image had been shattered, broken beyond repair.
The land had won after all, he realized now. It had conquered Higdon’s Harbour and all within it. There was no agreement, no compromise to live in peace. For nothing could truly defeat nature.
The land cackled against the last remains of the raging storm winds. For it knew the game it was playing; it knew who truly ruled the town. And it was not man.
Jake made it out before the first kitchen light flickered on. Before the inhabitants of Higdon’s Harbour woke and started about their delusional lives. His heart pounded in his chest the whole way, hands shaking as they gripped his steering wheel. Even when he passed the city line, his body refused to relax. Not as the sound of chimes echoed on and on and on in his head.
By the time Jake remembered Harold, he was long gone. And he was too far out to turn back. Too far out to hear the news, or see the headline of the Higdon’s Harbour newspaper that morning. And to hear the otherworldly laugh that accompanied it.
Man Crashes Boat Off Rocky Cliffs In Desperate Search Of His Wife.
So I’m trying to get back in writing again, especially now that I have a new - big girl - job and actually have a Monday-Friday schedule (unlike my old waitressing job where I worked random hours).
I have an original short story sitting in my drafts. Would anyone be interested in reading it, and giving me feedback, if I posted it?
Christmas is a time for giving. A time for love. And what better way to spread some of the love than by spending time with 12 of your favourite ships within the TOG/ACOTAR fandom?
If you love holiday stories, movies, TV specials, and music. If you love sitting in front of the fire with a cup of hot cocoa. If you love watching the snow fall as you hang Christmas lights. But most importantly, if you ship anyone from Rowaelin to Mor and Vivianes sister, then you’ll love All Is Well.
Collaborated with 11 amazingly talented fic writers within the TOG/ACOTAR fandom, get ready to have your heart - and toes - warmed everyday from the 13th of December to the 24th. Join us and feel the love.
it’s christmas eve. rowan’s not home. his plane is delayed. his phone is dead, and aelin is trying not to lose her mind. to stop herself from worrying, aelin goes through a photo album she made 5 years ago, that contains pictures of their first christmas together in their new house.
I'm always either used, replaced, or forgotten. I understand that. But what I don't understand is why. I always try my hardest to make people happy, and to mean something to them. But it never works. I'm always worth shit to everyone, everytime.
the fact that my entire life i've used fiction as a form of escapism and now the mundane reality of life is nothing but a disappoint and leaves me feeling chronically unsatisfied and as though something essential is missing from my life and nothing ever lives up to my impossible expectations of romance or life in general
