The house between the worlds
And then the house.
The house held memories of a life pruned. The path this house held in his life had been cut away. Pruned to nothing as it no longer fit. It was no longer relevant. He no longer had a wife and children. In a way, it was a relief.
He never cared for them. He'd never, ever, ever admit that out-loud. It's not something people said. They had been given to him because, of all things, a Hercules the Legendary Journeys episode. The one with the baby dragon who'd been caught and made to burn villages as extortion. At least, he thought that was the plot. The episode was only seen once. But the baby dragon caught his writer's fancy. As things did. So, he became the dragon's father. It worked, because his writer wanted it to work. If he fathered a child, then there must be a mother. Thus Braxious and Verra Rose came into his life.
Ah, Verra Rose. Alec reached up to touch one of the many orange roses that grew on the side of the house. He'd planted them for her. She loved orange roses. But he didn't love her. Not like a person loved a lover, the mother of their children. The emotions he felt towards her were just ... friendly. If at all. Not that he'd ever admit that either. There were somethings that shouldn't ever be said.
Saying them gave truth, even if it was a lie.
Their love was just placed upon them. Because that was how the world worked. At least until his writer discovered slash.
He laughed softly. He could remember all sorts of ways the writer tried to have him have sex with other men when they didn't know it was possible to do it as two men. Usually he ended up getting turned into a woman. Gender-flipping at its finest. Naivete. Maybe even the unconscious realities of the writer's gender-queerness.
Once it was realized though... that branch had to be cut off. The heterosexual one. He could no longer go against his character, right? How else could he grow properly?
Sitting down on the stoop he looked out at the large oak tree in across from the house. There he'd buried his family.
Their deaths had been violent.
It had to be. It had to be final. No going back. No retcons. No miraculous back from the dead. That part of his life was over. Done.
He mourned properly and then moved on.
What else could he do?
Which left only the house.
Should he keep it or should he let it go?
He didn't know.
The house held memories of a life pruned. The path this house held in his life had been cut away. Pruned to nothing as it no longer fit. It was no longer relevant. He no longer had a wife and children. In a way, it was a relief.
He never cared for them. He'd never, ever, ever admit that out-loud. It's not something people said. They had been given to him because, of all things, a Hercules the Legendary Journeys episode. The one with the baby dragon who'd been caught and made to burn villages as extortion. At least, he thought that was the plot. The episode was only seen once. But the baby dragon caught his writer's fancy. As things did. So, he became the dragon's father. It worked, because his writer wanted it to work. If he fathered a child, then there must be a mother. Thus Braxious and Verra Rose came into his life.
Ah, Verra Rose. Alec reached up to touch one of the many orange roses that grew on the side of the house. He'd planted them for her. She loved orange roses. But he didn't love her. Not like a person loved a lover, the mother of their children. The emotions he felt towards her were just ... friendly. If at all. Not that he'd ever admit that either. There were somethings that shouldn't ever be said.
Saying them gave truth, even if it was a lie.
Their love was just placed upon them. Because that was how the world worked. At least until his writer discovered slash.
He laughed softly. He could remember all sorts of ways the writer tried to have him have sex with other men when they didn't know it was possible to do it as two men. Usually he ended up getting turned into a woman. Gender-flipping at its finest. Naivete. Maybe even the unconscious realities of the writer's gender-queerness.
Once it was realized though... that branch had to be cut off. The heterosexual one. He could no longer go against his character, right? How else could he grow properly?
Sitting down on the stoop he looked out at the large oak tree in across from the house. There he'd buried his family.
Their deaths had been violent.
It had to be. It had to be final. No going back. No retcons. No miraculous back from the dead. That part of his life was over. Done.
He mourned properly and then moved on.
What else could he do?
Which left only the house.
Should he keep it or should he let it go?
He didn't know.