#artsycan'twrite

[artsysurvivor]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Caitlyn O'Carrick & Halt O'Carrick Characters: Caitlyn O'Carrick, Halt O'Carrick Additional Tags: Emotionally Repressed Halt O'Carrick, Protective Halt O'Carrick, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Caitlyn O'Carrick, Nonbinary Halt O'Carrick, deadnaming, (is it deadnaming if the person hasn't come to terms with it yet?), Misgendering, Gender Dysphoria, Coming Out, Internalized Transphobia, Angst, Tags to be added once other chapter comes out Summary: Chapter 1: Caitlyn comes out to her brother one night. It doesn't go so well. (Based on the first prompt for Ranger Gathering 2026, "Trust").

[artsysurvivor]

🌹👀 (In regards to the one rose = one WIP line post you reblogged!)

Hey :P

"He was tempted to ask what the older man thought he needed help with, exactly, but he knew it was a stupid question. The answer was Everything, despite what he and Pritchard had said."

[artsysurvivor]

Don't Touch Me, I'm Scared

So, I've had this head-canon for awhile now and this prompt reminded me of it.

I find it highly doubtful that after being almost drowned Halt would get on a boat right away to sail to Araluen. No chance, nonzo. But I also think that his instincts would tell him to get to the docks as quickly as he could to get away from the guards and stuff.

So, he doesn't really let himself process what really happened, because 1, it would slow him down, and 2, it's painful emotionally, and frankly he didn't know how to deal with it. (Because he was never taught how to deal with emotions in a healthy manner)

Now, I also head-canon that Pritchard had trained him on the way there, and just generally did dad™️ things, or at least tried to. At that point, Halt was pretty distrustful of basically everybody, so he did what he was used to and shoved all his emotions down.

Until they actually got to the docks.

When they had entered the boarding area, the first thing they smelt* was fish and shrimp. Halt furrowed his brows and set his lips in a fine line. (Why let a little smell get to you? You're so close!) Pritchard asked if he was ok, and he replied by moving through the crowd. Pritchard sighed and tried to catch up to him, noticing that Declan was more visibly nervous than usual.

There were a lot of people hauling around supplies needed for their short and long trips ahead. Children ran, played, and screamed. Halt focused on the path ahead of him, trying to block out the people surrounding him. Before he had gone into the crowd, he got off Declan, leading him around by the reigns. While that drew less attention to him (the thought of being noticed was obviously pretty anxiety-inducing) it also made him feel more sweaty, and worse, more trapped. He grit his teeth and pressed onward, having to tug on Declan's reigns slightly to get him moving.

He finally made it to the boat, handing the captain a pouch of coins. He stared at the boat in front of him. He took in the rocking of the boat, and for the first time in a while he hesitated. He cursed himself and forced his feet to move. This time, Declan didn't, and instead neighed and kicked his feet (you know, the stereotypical freak out for a horse).

Halt paused on the deck and tried to calm him down.

As he did so, he could feel his heart pounding faster,

He smelt the shrimp, now a stronger smell than before.

and faster,

The rocking of the boat beneath his feet.

and faster,

Declan would not calm down for the life of him.

and faster.

The final nail in the coffin, so to speak, was when some of the ocean water splashed over him.

That's when he froze. His chest felt like it was going to burst open, his breathing was labored and he swore his lungs were closing up. The noise around him became blurred, as did his sight. His mind swam with disjointed memories from his past, and he was lightheaded.

Something—someone touched his hand, springing his body into motion again. He ran back to the woods.

Pritchard watches him run off, then grabbed Declan. He asked the captain for the refund, giving him a few of his own coins.

He had to do a double take when he saw him, deep in the woods, sitting next to a tree with his knees drawn up with his arms wrapped around them, his cloak almost completely sealing him from view. Pritchard got off his horse, Quinn, and knelt down beside him, hesitating. As much as he wanted to comfort him, he had no clue how to.

Hell, he didn't even know what exactly happened. Halt had gone far ahead, and he lost him among the crowd when he finally managed to get over to the ship that was heading towards Araluen, the boy's chest had already began to heave more frequently, and he seemed to become slightly more clumsy. Then, some water splashed on him, and he stopped moving, his hands resting on his chest and throat, and slightly hunched over. And, Pritchard didn't know if it was on purpose or not, but he had been staring at him. He pushed past the captain and tried to talk to him, but he didn't seem to register what was being said. He reached out his hand, making it brush against Halt's.

Panic lined his facial features, even more so than before, and he screamed something around the lines of "Don't touch me!" before bolting off.

The sun had been setting way too fast for his liking as he was trying to find him.

Quinn reacted before he did, sniffing the top of Halt's messy hair.

Halt looked up at them at the sensation, red surrounding his deep brown eyes, the source of the tear stains on his cheeks. He looked so small against the world, and Pritchard was reminded of how young he really was.

A broken voice came out of his mouth as he tried to speak. Pritchard knelt down beside him, looking up at the sky as to not stress him further. Halt swallowed and tried again, to avail. He squeezed the fabric of his pants tighter in frustration.

"It's alright, Halt. Unless you need something," Pritchard said, turning to face him. "Do you?"

Halt bit his lip and looked away.

"Listen, you're not bothering me if you do. I want to help you, I really do," Pritchard said. "So... do you need something?"

Halt shook his head.

"Are you sure? You've said this before, and-" he gestured vaguely. "It didn't turn out so well."

Halt thought for a moment, squinting his eyes. His brain was still foggy; it was hard to think straight. He nodded.

"Alright. I'll be setting up camp, so if you come up with anything, you can..." He felt pressure and warmth around his waist, the force of those things knocking him back. He had to catch his breath before putting his hand on the back of Halt's head, combing through his hair with his fingers, his other hand a securing weight among the boy's back.

After a couple of minutes, Halt pulled away slightly, taking a deep breath and swallowing.

"The boats," Halt said, his voice cracking. His eyes filled with exasperation among the already present fear. "Ferris, the guards..."

"We'll worry about all that once you've rested. For now, though, I promise you that everything will be ok."

Halt raised his eyebrow. "Promise." he said sarcastically.

"Promise."

"Over optimistic."

"What, do you doubt my skills?"

"Sometimes," Halt teased, pointing at him. "You're old with creaky joints."

Halt yawned as Pritchard stared at him. The old man sighed good-naturely. "What am I going to do with you?"

[artsysurvivor]

Just some head-canons and a mini story about a variation of the trans!Halt AU. (Day 27, Struggle)

TW for transphobia, implied abuse, and gender dysphoria.

Ferris, until around 9 years old, was accepting of Halt, but he was also annoyed because he kept stealing his clothes. Their parents however did not accept this and taught them that the feelings of Halt being a boy were invalid, and to not be tempted by the Devil.

So for many years, Halt shoved down his feelings about being the future Queen. (Whenever it was said, there was a nagging doubt in the back of his mind, shushed over and over again).

When he got older, and started experiencing puberty, the thoughts became louder. As his breasts started to develop, he had to wear a corset. He hated it, because it emphasized his hips, and cupped his breasts. The corsets had one positive though - they stopped them from jiggling, which felt immensely dysphoric.

This is also part of the reason why he refused a servant's help beyond tying the corset, and when in his pajamas, he would wear bandages around his chest.

Another point of dysphoria for him was his hair. He had been feeling more dysphoric than normal for around a month. One day, during the evening after his lessons were done with access to scissors, he cut his hair. It had reached to about his hips, but was now the length of Ferris's hair. (While the decision was impulsive, right before cutting it shorter, he had a nagging thought that it would land him in less trouble if he cut it to Ferris's length).

While that may have been true, it sure didn't feel like it.

After a late night of consequence, when he was sure his parents wouldn't see him, he grabbed a cloak and ran outside. His mind was so full, yet so empty at the same time. He was looking for any sort of release, a break from... well, everything.

For years, there was an abandoned cottage in the woods, spider webs forming on the corners, vines beginning to wind up the sides. If he was alert, he would've noticed that those things were gone, the dust on the windows had parted into the wind.

He did notice, after trying the knob, that the door was locked.

A sharp, frustrated sigh escaped his lips, a slight growl along with it. He turned around, only to be met with a shadowy figure that looked down upon him.

"What are you doing here?" came the deep yet wispy voice.

Halt straightened his back and looked up at the man, keeping his face impassive. "Who's asking?"

"The owner of the cabin," they said.

Halt squinted, recalling the improvements he had saw on the way here. He cursed himself for not being able to connect the dots. "I was exploring the woods," he glanced to where the stranger's saxe knife. "I mean you no harm."

The stranger smirked underneath his cowl as if to say, you wouldn't be able to anyway.

They looked up and studied the sky for a moment. "This isn't a good time to be exploring now is it? There's a lot of criminal activity around at this time."

"I'm aware."

"So...? What is your business, then?"

Halt scoffed. "I could ask you the same thing. Why aren't you in the cabin?"

They studied eachother for a moment. Then, the figure clicked their tongue.

"If I tell you my reasoning, would you tell me yours?"

"No."

"Well, I guess that solves that. But you really should be at home, kid."

Home. His stomach twisted at the thought, his throat turning dry.

The figure tilted their head. "Where are you from?"

Halt put his mouth into a fine line. There was a surprising amount of gentleness from that voice, but he couldn't tell why it turned to that all of a sudden. "I'm not comfortable with sharing that."

The stranger nodded. "Fair enough. Are you comfortable with telling me your name?"

"..."

"No? Well, you can call me Pritchard," Pritchard pulled down his hood, showing his light grey hair and discolored blue eyes. "If you want, I can bring you something to eat."

Halt grunted. "Alright. What is it you want?"

Pritchard looked at him questioningly. Halt stared at him in reply.

"I want to help you—honestly," he said after Halt narrowed his eyes. He sighed. "Well, what do you want, kid?"

If he saw what Pritchard saw, he would see a blank expression, and empty, deep brown eyes. On the inside, however, it was anything but, with many different scenarios running through his head. The thought of home made him feel nauseous; the thought of having to stay here, with a stranger, made him anxious; the thought of himself, what he was, made him confused; the thought of Caitlyn, the thought of Ferris...

The thought of his father.

"Actually, I think..." His voice lowered, making Pritchard lean in a little to hear him. "I think some food would be nice, please, sir."

Oddly, Pritchard seemed relieved.

[artsysurvivor]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I made a thing for todayyyy :)

Summary: Halt and Pauline go on a date. This leads to them talking about the big news from Clonmel, and Pauline connecting the dots.

[artsysurvivor]

(Spoilers for Book 8)

One night, Caitlyn comes into Halt's room because of a nightmare, only to realize that he's gone, and will never come back.

As she gets older and sicker, and her mother kicks the bucket to visit her father, she always goes back to that room. That room where, when everything seemed lost or too scary, she found comfort and guidance. Now, even when everything is still in place, untouched (she fought to keep it that way) it felt empty and made her heart heavy.

Shortly after she gave birth to Sean, she passed away as she held the boy in her arms. The grave was next to Halt's empty one, with numerous people from the kingdom coming to mourn her death at the funeral.

One night, as Sean is sleeping in his crib, the door to Halt's room is creaked open, bringing light onto the dusty bed and cobwebbed walls. Ferris steps into the room, a pack of servants behind him. It was about time that it be cleaned out. (Though, he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel a sense of dread and guilt).

As the pack started their work, something caught his eye. He stared at it for a moment across the room, then hesitantly went towards it. A stuffed animal he had made, with help from a seamstress, for his brother when they were very young (oh, how times were different back then) laid underneath the bed. It was torn, the stuffing coming out of its head, one of its bunny ears drooping lower than the other, and one button eye clinging by a thread, yet as he held it in his hand, the soft fabric and the memories flooded his senses….

Years later, Halt comes back to Clonmel on behalf of stopping The Outsiders. If he had decided to stay in the castle to sleep, he would've found a locked door to a familiar, dusty room, where everything was the same as he had left it.