| He hates being touched. But he couldn't leave you broken.
The air in the loop was always thick with the scent of damp earth, sea salt, and something else. something ancient and sweet, like preserved flowers. you had grown to love it. it was the smell of safety, of home. but it was also the smell of enoch.
He was a storm in a bottle, all sharp angles and simmering resentment. most of the other children gave him a safe distance,which was exactly what he wanted. he would spend hours in his workshop, a dim, cluttered room off the main hall surrounded by jars of his homemade "hearts" and the lifeless clay bodies he so masterfully animated. he was a grim puppeteer and he preferred his silent, obedient company to the unpredictable warmth of the living.
You knew his aversion to touch was legendary. a simple brush of a sleeve would make him recoil as if burned. horace once tried to clap him on the shoulder and was met with a glare so cold it could have frozen the sun. enoch built walls around himself and they were made of barbed wire and snarling warnings.
So, you never pushed. you just…existed near him. uou would sit on the floor of his workshop, back against the wall far from his workbench, and read. you never asked him what he was doing, though sometimes he would offer a gruff explanation anyway. you would bring him a piece of cake millard had swiped from the kitchen, leaving it on a crate without a word. he would always eat it later, though he would never say thank you.
It was on a tuesday, the sky a flat, weeping grey, that everything shifted. you had been helping Miss peregrine catalog some old photographs in the library, a task requiring you to stand on a rickety stool to reach the highest shelf. one moment you were stretching, fingers brushing the spine of a leather bound album, and the next, the world tilted violently. the stool wobbled, your ankle twisted, and you crashed to the floor in a flurry of dusty books and a sharp, searing pain that shot up your leg.
You didn't cry out. a choked gasp was all you managed. the world swam in a haze of grey and brown. you heard the heavy thud of books hitting the floorboards and then, the sound of quick, determined footsteps.
"Idiot," a familiar rough voice muttered.
You blinked your eyes into focus. enoch was standing over you, his brow furrowed in a scowl so deep it looked permanently etched onto his face. but there was something else in his eyes, a flicker of something that wasn't annoyance. it looked an awful lot like panic.
"What did you do?" he demanded gesturing vaguely at your leg, which was twisted at an unnatural angle.
"Fell" you gritted out sweat beading on your forehead. "It hurts."
"No kidding." He knelt down, his movements stiff and awkward as if his joints didn't quite bend that way. he hovered his hands over your injury, a look of profound disgust on his face, as if touching you would be a fate worse than death. "don't move. you will make it worse."
You wanted to laugh at the irony. "kinda hard not to."
He let out a frustrated sigh, the sound of a man defeated by an impossible task. he looked at your leg, then at his hands, then back at your leg. he was at war with himself. the enoch who hated all contact was fighting the enoch who, for reasons you couldn't fathom, couldn't just leave you there writhing on the floor.
"Just… just do it" you whispered your voice tight with pain. "It's okay."
His jaw tightened. he looked like he was about to be sick. then, with the slowness of a man approaching a wild animal, he reached out. his fingers, cool and surprisingly gentle, ghosted over your calf before finally making contact.
You flinched, not from pain, but from the sheer shock of it. Enoch O’Connor was touching you. his touch was hesitant, experimental, nothing like the firm, confident way he handled his clay figures. it was feather-light, full of a reluctance that was almost touching.
"Does it hurt here?" he asked his voice a low rumble, his eyes fixed on your leg refusing to meet yours.
You just shook your head unable to speak. his hands were careful as they prodded, searching for the break. he wasn't being cruel. he was being… meticulous. he was assessing the damage with the same focus he applied to his art. When he found the fracture, you couldn't stop the sharp cry that escaped your lips.
He pulled back instantly, his hands hovering in the air again. "Sorry" he mumbled, the word sounding foreign and clumsy in his mouth.
"It's okay" you breathed, tears finally leaking from the corners of your eyes "Just… surprised me."
he stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. then, with a resigned sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world, he made a decision. "I can't fix this" he said, his voice back to its usual gruffness. "but I can make sure you don't jostle it while we get the Peregrine."
Before you could ask what he meant, he was scooping you up. one arm slid behind your back, the other hooked carefully under your legs, avoiding the injured one. it was the most intimate you had ever been with another person. his entire body was rigid, a board of pure tension. you could feel the frantic thrum of his heart against your side, a wild drumbeat of anxiety. he held you as if you were a bomb, ready to detonate.
He carried you through the halls, his face a mask of stoic endurance. you rested your head against his chest, the rough wool of his sweater scratching your cheek. he smelled of clay and something else, something uniquely him. it was the first time you had ever been this close, and you realized his aversion wasn't about malice. it was about fear. A deep seated terror of connection, of vulnerability.
He set you down gently on a chaise lounge in the parlor, his hands retreating from you the second you were stable. he took three large steps back, as if to put a safe distance between himself and the moment of weakness.
Miss Peregrine bustled in moments later clucking her tongue at the sight of your leg. as she tended to you, you glanced over at enoch. he was standing in the doorway, watching, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. his scowl was back in place, but it wasn't directed at you. it was directed inward.
Later that evening, your leg set and propped up on pillows, you heard a soft knock at your door. it was him. He stood in the doorway, not coming in, holding a small, crudely fashioned clay bird.
"Thought you might be bored" he said not looking at you, but at a spot on the wall just over your shoulder.
He held it out and for a second, you thought he was going to ask you to come and get it. but then, he seemed to steel himself and he took the few steps into the room to place it on your nightstand. As he leaned over his fingers brushed against yours.
You both froze.
His touch was no longer hesitant. it was just…there. a brief warm point of contact. he didn't snatch his hand away. he just let it linger for a second, a silent acknowledgment.
"It's… a crow" he said, his voice quiet.
"It's beautiful" you replied, and you meant it.
He straightened up and backed away, a flicker of his old self returning. "don't get used to it" he warned, but there was no heat in his words.
He turned and left, closing the door softly behind him. You looked at the clay bird on your nightstand, then at your hand where his fingers had touched yours. the skin still tingled. Enoch O’Connor hated to be touched, hated the world of warmth and feeling. but for you, he had crossed his own battlefield. and you knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your bones, that you were the only person whose touch he would ever allow to break through his walls.
man this was like...real fun lol. ive never drawn ricky before like legitimately, and also if you haven't clicked the fic link, ive never wrote a detective story before. because yeah, basically after jacob left ricky locked tf in lmao. which honestly, is kind of sad to think about; only in the universe in which he thinks jacob had probably died does he lock in...and it's all for jacob bro im crine. he didn't even want you ricky move on bro 😭😭🙏 /j
mainly, im putting this all here because i feel like there will be some questions regarding some of the elements i put into the fic. know that they all have reasons (i may not know detective work very well, but that doesnt mean i haven't done research) and i will gladly answer them if you want to ask me here!!
Warnings: A little swearing, small specks of angst, kinda manipulative Alma? if you squint, mainly a lot of confusion and tactics, flasbacks and mention of violence, kinda mean Alma for a second! 18+!
Chapter Summary: Sometimes, to get away with things Miss Peregrine must lie. If it protects her children, it must be done. Yet marriages aren't in the cards for ymbrynes.. until now when a contract must be negotiated for her and Ophelia.
Pairings: Alma Peregrine x OC!
Word Count: 2.6K
AN: It's been SO long since I wrote a chapter for this story, I apologise but I'm back now! Definitely intend on finishing it so enjoy loves <3
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The silence that followed suit was almost deafening if it could speak. Ophelia felt like she could cut it with a knife and her knee's were trembling underneath her.
Still, she stood tall and firm with determination that's what she'd always been trained to do. Ymbrynes, peculiars couldn't, certainly not to the average person who knew nothing of their kind.
"I'm sorry Miss but what did you say?"
Ophelia watched as the officer's eyes widened in shock or confusion, disbelief she wasn't sure. Frankly, she didn't blame him, how she was able to stand on two legs and act completely fine was beyond her.
Instead, the younger woman felt the ymbrynes arm wrap tightly around her waist, stepping closer into her proximity. Ophelia could smell Alma's perfume now, the aroma of her was filling her senses, intoxicating her entirely.
"I'm quite certain you heard what I said, officer," Alma stated curtly.
"I- that's not?" He stumbled over his words, unable to form a full sentence.
"I'm sorry, your incessant babbling is giving me a headache. You stated I'm raising my children alone, I only corrected you. She is my wife."
Ophelia wasn't sure how to process anything that was unraveling before her. When she flew to Cairnholm, nobody mentioned anything about Alma being so forward going.. Hell she could have asked her on a date first, that thought almost made her chuckle.
"That cannot be possible though, she's a female," he seemed to gain some more composure, though his voice still sounded strained.
Ophelia resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his obvious point. She'd never taken too well towards those who judge on genders especially on how to love others. It was the 40's for you, but she didn't care, love shouldn't be judged, hell she was peculiar and could bend darkness, control light and simply never age for crying out loud.
"It's the 40's. I understand your views, but you stated she needed someone to care for the children. She is not alone, I am here," Ophelia chirped in.
The surge of confidence she was hit with was surprising, at first a wave of worry had overcome the younger woman fearing Alma scolding her in due course. However, the squeeze of pressure on her waist allowed her to relax, knowing the older ymbryne was happy with Ophelia's passing comment.
"Is there anything else I can help you with, hm?"
Alma's voice was laced with sweetness, but not the good kind. While the younger ymbryne had only known Miss Peregrine for only a mere couple of days she knew well of that tone. It was overly-sweet, the kind you'd get if someone was on the last edge of sanity, their patience running thin. It was the kind of sugar sweet, that lead you to get stung or poisoned.
The officer tilted his head slightly to the side, almost as though he was analysing Ophelia. She wasn't sure whether to feel intimidated or unnerved but it certainly set her stomach reeling, her anxiety heightened and body on edge. Yet, he didn't say anything his breathe could barely be heard. He just stood still, examining before stepping back.
"No Ma'm's," with that he simply turned and left.
Ophelia watched as Alma's free hand lifted up and shut the door silently, the light leaving allowing both herself and Miss Peregrine to be cast once more into the shadows.
Ophelia let out a breathe that she wasn't aware she was holding and realised the older ymbryne still had her grip on her waist. It was then she realised just what the two of them got themselves into. That and the fact she hadn't consented anything to the older ymbryne.
Her mind was racing, worry and fear settling in instantly. It was like the earth was burning as it spun through the sky and the thoughts of pain and anguish only grew louder in her mind. She looked up towards the older ymbryne and let out a long sigh.
Alma stood poised next to the heavy doorframe, her composure not faulting until the children that had been spying filtered away into different rooms. It was then that Ophelia watched her slump slightly, her usual composed posture changing entirely and her hand came to rest on her temple.
Ophelia wanted to speak but her voice felt like it would shatter every wall around them. Instead she just leant herself against the wall next to the older ymbryne, watching. The silence was becoming unbearable though and someone needed to break, someone had to step forward rather than backwards.
She cleared her throat, stepping forward and rested her thumb in between the crease of the older ymbryne's eyebrows. She applied pressure and gently moved her thumb back and forth, bringing comfort to Alma. The ymbrynes eyes opened slowly, emotion and warmth within them and Ophelia wasn't sure why she'd stepped forward to do that. It felt normal, almost natural like she'd always done it to Miss Peregrine.
"We need to talk," she scarcely whispered to Alma voice uneven and she wasn't sure if she was angry at Miss Peregrine or just confused.
The older ymbryne studied Ophelia for a moment, her eyes narrowed slightly before she closed them. Her hand came into her pocket and she felt a wave of fear hit her for a second. That was until Ophelia observed as Miss Peregrine removed out a simple match and her pipe.
Her delicate fingers moved gracefully, placing the pipe in her mouth with such grace it was mesmerising to see. Ophelia found the older ymbryne captivating, but also startling. She felt if she stepped to close claws would show, shadows would surround her and she'd fall into them.
The pipe was lit and Ophelia stood in silence as the ymbryne inhaled the pipe, before breathing out the smoke in a way that intrigued the younger woman further. The smell of smoke mixed hit her, the smell being of oakwood and tobacco, with hints of lavender scented perfume.
Miss Peregrine snapped her watch out in a rather swift speed causing Ophelia to almost stumble back before letting out a hum. She offered a curt nod towards the younger ymbryne before turning on her heels.
"Follow me, we'll talk within the drawing room," her voice was firm with no place for arguments.
Ophelia allowed her brain to click into action as she swiftly followed Alma into the drawing room, trying not to dawdle or allow her mind to wander. She simply wondered on what exactly they were going to state towards each other.
— Blackpool —
His hands drifted along the side of the board, before reaching up and unclipping a photo. His head tilted to the side examining it with an intensity that could on be described as possessive, a mad man in addiction.
Barron scanned over the board, filled with arrows pointing towards different locations as he let out a heavy sigh. Eyes glancing towards the photo, he glanced at it once more. He was making it his goal, life passion.
Finding Ophelia, the loop, all of it was his goal. Nothing mattered, nobody else, no thought no noise, no single utter thought or emotion. Just the set focus on Miss Peregrine's loop. Especially Ophelia.
He found her a dainty little thing. How could such a dainty, sweet thing like herself be capable of so much? Barron's mind often drifted through so many thoughts, so many things danced through it. He'd had his mindset on the younger ymbryne for sometime.
The break in of Miss Nightjar's loop. He was so close, it was at the tip of his fingertips, the shadows were bending for him. The world was falling into place, apart and breaking all so he could find her. Yet, she'd managed to escape.
Ophelia had slipped through his fingertips so fast, he only blinked to see it all happen. Barron only remembered seeing red, flashes of blood curling red, the shadows closing once more. He never got outsmarted, certainly not from an innocent thing like her.
He had spent so long examining her. To Barron it was funny she had no knowledge of how powerful she was, of where in fact she came from. It took him months, in fact years to understand where she came from, her origins, her peculiarities.
Yet those stupid ymbrynes kept the little one locked in a cage, a cage of protection they'd assume. More like a cage of locked secrets, trying to keep her locked in away from everyone and everything, including herself. Ophelia could indulge in so much more, be the key to understanding their kind and her own so much more.
He just had to locate her again, he was certain and determined in himself that she would not in fact slip through his fingers. Ophelia Kestrel wouldn't run this time, she wouldn't fly away, he needed her. Alive and well, but needed her all the same. If she allowed herself to see Barron perhaps would want her to understand that she needed him too.
His hands brushed over the photo, looking down at the younger ymbryne he had clasped in his hands. He stared at the image with a hungry expression, hungry for power, minds and the power the younger women held within her. He needed-
"Mr. Barron?" a voice from behind him, startled Barron.
He turned angrily, facing the other wight with a look of annoyance and anguish painted all over his face. He wanted a simple time to himself, one day would suffice, but instead he was left dealing with bumbling idiots who couldn't think for themselves.
"What is it, I'm busy as you can see," he gritted through his teeth jaw clenched.
"They've found her," he mumbled in a little fear of the older man.
Mr. Barron froze for a moment, allowing himself to think in his emotions and thoughts drift away. His jaw began to unclench and he flexed his fingers back and forth before tilting his head up.
His mouth curled upwards into a deep smile, one that would send little children into fits of fear and anguish. The one that would haunt their dreams, their nightmares becoming reality as his clocks turned fast and furious in his brain.
"Let the games begin," he stated as he walked out the room a feeling of pride succumbing him.
— Miss Peregrine's loop —
Ophelia eyed the paper Alma had placed down in front of her, her face contorted in a picture of confusion.
"So you're saying a contract?" Ophelia eyed the older woman who simply sat on the edge of the chaise lounge.
She seemed a picture of utter certainty, as though everything the older ymbryne did was completely calculated. Ophelia hadn't seen her like this, not entirely. She seemed relaxed before the officer had arrived, now she seemed cold and firm. She wasn't opposed to this, it was just how she seemed to calm it was rather unnerving.
Alma let out a sigh, rubbing her temple once more before glancing over at the younger woman. Both seemed apprehensive, nether were expecting anything like this to approach them. Yet, that's what being peculiar was, they had to expect the unexpected, look for the peculiar amongst themselves.
"It's a contract we'd create together. There's rules of course. For example, no sleeping in the same bed. No dating other people, not that's an issue for us granted our current situation. No.. intimacy, in that regards anyway," Alma explained waving the pipe around in her hand.
Ophelia's eyes widened in realisation as she looked between the paper and Miss Peregrine. It was essentially a business contract, but through marriage the type she'd seen CEO's do in modern times. Sure Ophelia had her times out of the loops, dotting to and from modern times, so she knew exactly what it was.
A sudden surge of anger littered through her blood stream as she came to realising what was happening here. She came to the loop for comfort and to get away from being caged. She couldn't be put back in one.
"This isn't.. a good idea, besides what's the next one going to be Alma? No falling in love?" Ophelia questioned glaring at the older woman.
She only received a deep hum in response as Miss Peregrine placed her now out pipe down in front of her, before standing up. She stood in front of the younger woman, eyeing her down as though she was calculating her next move.
"I'm not saying it's ideal Ophelia, but it's the only option we have. Yes, though that's the concept we have, especially no falling in love, it's not in the cards for us," the older ymbryne explained carefully.
The younger ymbryne however wasn't at all impressed. She knew it wasn't Alma's fault, nether was at fault aside from the officer. He tried to undermine the older woman the only difference was Ophelia got caught in the cross-fire.
That being said, she didn't want a contract, it made her sound like a slut some ridiculous type of business shit that she wasn't into. Frankly she didn't have time, she wasn't supposed to be here and her very presence puts them all in danger, she knew that.
"No, it's wrong. Not us both being women, but I shouldn't be staying here for long periods of time. Besides the laws state," Ophelia began.
"To shitting hell with the laws," Miss Peregrine snapped startling the younger ymbryne.
She'd never heard so much as the word 'damn,' slip past the older woman's lips, so the use of her language caught Ophelia of guard. She watched as she began to pace up and down, partly out of rage and partially because of stress and worry.
"The children will be in danger. We are ymbrynes, we have to protect them above all else. You should know that, especially after what happened in your own loop," she snapped and cut herself off completely then.
Ophelia's throat tightened at the memory and her jaw clenched in retaliation. The pictures of the children laying their lifeless flashed through her mind and her cheeks began to stream of hot tears, burning her inside and out. She hated that she was the one crying when it was her fault they'd been annihilated.
Her eyes opened to see the older ymbryne kneeling down now, facing her directly in the eye. Ophelia felt a surge of anger once more, sickness succumb over her body that Alma could even dare bring up those children.
"Ophelia, I'm sorry. I- that was wrong of me to state, I apologise profoundly for that darling," she stated and Ophelia shook her head not daring to look.
"Look at me please?"
Miss Peregrine lifted her hand up to wipe away the tears from the young ymbrynes cheeks. However, she snatched her hand back as though she'd been burnt the moment Ophelia flinched. Yet, the younger woman turned to face the older woman she looked scared, like a startled deer caught in headlights it almost broke Alma's heart in ways that were unexplained.
"How long for..?" Ophelia's voice was now raspy, filled with emotion that she couldn't comprehend nor control.
"2 months and you can leave, you have my word Ophelia Kestrel," Alma responded gently this time.
Taking thoughts into consideration, she decided she had no choice. The lingering blame from her last loop was still there and she couldn't let another child die in her name. She had to keep her secrets of her peculiarity a mystery and simply stick out the 2 months.
"Where do I sign?"
As Ophelia's hand danced slowly across the page of agreement, she simply had to not fall for the older woman in front of her, which seemed hard at first but now she saw a shell of who she was before. She'd hand printed her own soul away for 2 months. They'd decide on the terms now, the terms of her own cage.
Writing at 4 am and I nearly made a character eat a rock so I should probably go to bed but also just let him eat a rock?? Like if he wants to he can why cant he eat a rock
i found these posts on instagram and i was like "wow these would be super helpful to any in the mphfpc fandom", obviously. but also a majority of my life revolves around mphfpc so maybe im just corrupted.
random fun fact about me: i get all of my fic inspirations/ideas after listening to songs!
- my first fic, "not by any means perfect" (my horace-centric fic), i thought up after listening to "bout it" by jmsn
- my second one, "what's a way to just be competent" (victor/bronwyn comfort/angst), is literally named after lyrics in "imposter syndrome" by sidney gish (though at the time of the fic's release, i said it was from the remix of the song by russlebuck; i hadn't found the orginal song at that time lol)
- my latest one, "can you...?" (alma/enoch mother/son angst) is also named from lyrics in "drag path" by twenty one pilots
- the one im working on now, though i won't give away the name of the fic, i thought of through metric's "help im alive"...take that as you will 👀
ricky isn't a minor anymore. jacob still is. so while we are in the present day scenario of the fic (which takes place in 2021, minus covid this is a no covid world because i can do whatever), there will be no ship aspect. unless there is a moment of reminiscing on what was once there.
what i mean by that is, i totally want to include some flashback/past scenes, in which there will be some implied hollowpunk going on (although it'll mostly be one sided...keyword mostly).
so to answer the question, yeah? there will be. but it won't take place through the actual story that is laid out if that makes sense.
so please don't ship my version of an older ricky with a still 16 year old jacob please. 🙏
