Practical Magic Fic: The Sun Will Fall, and Rise
I was incredibly excited when I matched on Practical Magic this year, and then struggled a lot to find the point of this story. I knew I wanted to write about sisters and families and magic, because duh, Practical Magic is made up of those things, but I wasn't sure what else would go into the story. It wasn't until I realized I wanted to write about a holiday tradition that was not Christmas that it felt right, and then everything came together nicely. I love this story, and I had a blast writing it.
This was the first fic I wrote to fulfill my assignment, and this is a fandom in which I've written before.
Title: The Sun Will Fall, and Rise
Author: escritoireazul
Characters/Pairings: Kylie Owens, Antonia Owens, Gillian Owens, Sally Owens, Bridget "Jet" Owens, Frances Owens, Gary Hallet
Author's Note: This is a transformative work of fiction set after the movie Practical Magic.
Written for: apatternedfever for Yuletide 2013
Word count: 1500
Rating: All ages
Summary: All through the darkness, and into the light, Kylie holds her family close and keeps watch.
Antonia pokes the tip of one pointy-toed boot into Kylie’s calf, which freaking hurts, damn it, and Kylie turns and scowls. Antonia only grins cheekily in response, her eyes bright behind her sunglasses, strangely tinted by the yellow lenses. They’ve been outside long enough that the cold air has brought color to her cheeks, and she looks like a snow princess.
“I’m bored,” she says for the fifth time in as many minutes, poking -- no, kicking -- Kylie again, then flops back onto the sand, dark hair spread wild around her. “If you’re not ready to set the ward in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to…” She trails off, frowning up at the sky.
Kylie doesn’t look up. There’s something disturbing about the strange wash of pale red that rims the clouds when the sunlight hits them. Even though she knows Antonia doesn’t see it, can’t see it, part of her still doesn’t understand how Antonia can stand to look at the sky.
She takes a deep breath. Why must sisters be so annoying? She wonders if Aunt Gilly ever felt that way about Mom.
“If you don’t stop complaining, I’ll tie rocks to your ankles and throw you into the sea,” Kylie promises, but Antonia just laughs. They both know she doesn’t mean it. Where would she be without her sister by her side?
Antonia does nothing dramatic from her boredom, and Kylie does not throw her into the sea. Instead, Kylie finishes mixing the herbs -- angelica, bergamot, clove -- and spreads them along the stone. On top, it looks plain, gray rock smoothed by sand and saltwater, but if you turn it over, the bottom is a rainbow of color.
Once it is liberally coated, Antonia creates a small hole in the sand under an overhang of a large boulder, and Kylie gently places her stone inside. She focuses her thoughts with ease now, protection, boundaries, safety, and chants the Latin on each breath, Antonia’s voice rising and falling in counterpoint.
They bury the stone and its coating of herbs, and that is one ward refreshed. There are others, but Mom and Aunt Gilly have two, and Aunt Frances and Aunt Jet have two, and Kylie and Antonia have only one more, on the other side of town.
Antonia’s fingers are gritty with sand when she grabs Kylie’s hand, but Kylie doesn’t mind, only squeezes right back.
*
Their Yule log is small, a pine branch that Mom carefully carved flat on the bottom so it will sit upright on the mantle, and drilled three holes for the candles. This year, they are red, green, and white.
Kylie and Aunt Gilly decorate it, twining red and gold ribbon through the greenery, and tucking rosebuds here and there. Aunt Frances dusts it with flour, and Aunt Jet adds cloves, their sweet scent rising up through the smell of pine needles.
This year, Antonia will breathe flame to life as the sun sets, and her fire will burn through the long, dark night.
*
Kylie has her own workshop out back now, near the rose bushes. (They are safe. No man stands like a shadow beneath them.) Gary built it for her when she turned sixteen, and she has filled it with metal and wire and stones. Her small forge is in one corner, a clay oven in the other. Three walls are storage; the fourth has her work bench under a window running nearly the entire length of the building. It looks out over the sea, and sometimes she sits, fingers still on her metals, and stares, breathing in salt and all the wishes people cast out into the water.
Brighid is her Yule deity. Brighid and her flame and her metal work. Brighid who taught the smiths the art of fire tending and the secrets of metal work, the secrets Kylie now pulls forth with heat and pressure and no small dose of magic.
This year, Kylie creates metal masterpieces as her Yule gifts, protection spells saturating each stone she adds to the silver base. On the longest night of the year, she will give them to her family, and each Owens woman will cup one in her hands and feel the warmth of her love.
*
The first year after Maria’s spell was broken, Mom taught Gary about clove-studded apples, and it was kind of gross to see them kiss. Now, years later, Gary’s gone a little gray, though Mom’s hair is still dark as night, and it makes Kylie smile to see them laugh together, and kiss, and flirt, giddy with their love.
A stock pot of wassail simmers on the stove, Aunt Jet and Aunt Gilly tending it together. It fills the house with its scent, the sweetness of cinnamon and warm sugar tempered by the citrus bite of the oranges.
“Wish we could still use the cauldron,” Antonia says as she slips past them, arms full of pine boughs.
Aunt Frances laughs and ruffles her hair, causing Antonia to try to duck out of the way without dropping her load. “Yes, my little witch, but it doesn’t make enough.”
That is the most amazing thing of all -- soon, the house will be full of women and laughter and bright voices singing. Halloween is for the whole town, but Yule is for them, the women who came together to save Aunt Gilly, the women who have moved to town since, the girls all grown. Children who once tormented Kylie and Antonia, Mom and Aunt Gilly, even Aunt Frances and Aunt Jet, now sit side by side with them, drinking their wassail and singing their songs.
It is a strange sort of magic, this friendship, but Kylie is grateful for the way it makes Mom shine.
*
Gary kisses each of them -- cheeks, foreheads, Mom gets a full dip and kiss and laughter -- and heads upstairs with a couple books. They burn the fires for him, too, but Yule, their long solstice watch, that is for them.
There’s a potluck, of course, wassail and sweet breads and savory meat pies and cookies decorated by little hands, icing smeared everywhere and absolutely delicious, spiced cider and ginger tea and everywhere fresh fruits and bowls of nuts. They share stories of years past, crowded together in front of the fireplace, warming chilled fingers and chilled toes, and hopes for the future, and stories that are maybe partly fairy tales but mostly true.
Aunt Gilly sings and dances with the kids, red hair swinging in the firelight, and Mom laughs and claps along. Antonia, never far from the center of attention and flurried activity, joins Aunt Gilly after only a moment, and it’s not too long until she beckons Kylie forward. They spin and dance and sing until they’re breathless from it, young girls and old women and everyone, even Aunt Frances and Aunt Jet, even Mom, holding hands and spinning and tossing their hair and swinging their hips. Their feet pound rhythms into the floorboards, and if Maria’s curse hadn’t been broken before, Kylie thinks it would have been broken on a solstice night, their voices and friendships rising up in warmth and light.
Kylie tips back her head and opens her eyes as she spins, and the lights blur together until the world seems to be exploding in brightness.
*
By midnight, their guests are gone, and the Owens women sprawl around the room, never too far from the fire. Kylie and Antonia share a couch, bodies pressed pleasantly close, Kylie’s hair spilling over Antonia’s arm, Antonia’s heel knocking against Kylie’s calf.
The house smells of pine and bayberry and cinnamon, and the firelight sparks off of the Yule decorations, silver and white and gold.
They have sang and danced and the Yule log burns. Tomorrow, they will sing forth the sun, exchange gifts, and sleep, certain that the day will continue now that they’ve waited out the longest night of the year.
Kylie wears a new bracelet, metal twisted and twined around a garnet that rests at the top of her wrist, and bloodstones circling the rest. It is her work, her gift to herself, but the others are bedecked with her work as well, rubies and diamonds and emeralds, all set in silver and in gold.
“I wish you peace,” Antonia whispers, tugging lightly on Kylie’s hair. Her words are simple, but carry the heat and weight of magic. “Harmony, happiness, and love.”
“To you as well,” Kylie murmurs back, and wraps her sister in a tight hug. She has already worked spells into the metal her family wears, all the spells she knows to protect them and help them prosper, to bring magic into their lives, and joy.
There’s the whir of a blender from the kitchen and Aunt Gilly springs to her feet, sending Mom, whose head had been on her shoulder, sprawling backward.
“Midnight margaritas!” Aunt Gilly cries, hands in the air, and the dance in her hips leads them into the kitchen. Kylie lets the others go, and stays with the fire. She can hear them laughing and talking, and under that, the clink of glass. They will join her in a moment more, bring their drinks and hers, bring their happiness and hers, bring their laughter and love.
Kylie keeps watch, and their fire burns. It will burn through the night. It will burn forever.
This entry was original posted at http://escritoireazul.dreamwidth.org/366804.html with
comments. Reply here or there.
This was the first fic I wrote to fulfill my assignment, and this is a fandom in which I've written before.
Title: The Sun Will Fall, and Rise
Author: escritoireazul
Characters/Pairings: Kylie Owens, Antonia Owens, Gillian Owens, Sally Owens, Bridget "Jet" Owens, Frances Owens, Gary Hallet
Author's Note: This is a transformative work of fiction set after the movie Practical Magic.
Written for: apatternedfever for Yuletide 2013
Word count: 1500
Rating: All ages
Summary: All through the darkness, and into the light, Kylie holds her family close and keeps watch.
Antonia pokes the tip of one pointy-toed boot into Kylie’s calf, which freaking hurts, damn it, and Kylie turns and scowls. Antonia only grins cheekily in response, her eyes bright behind her sunglasses, strangely tinted by the yellow lenses. They’ve been outside long enough that the cold air has brought color to her cheeks, and she looks like a snow princess.
“I’m bored,” she says for the fifth time in as many minutes, poking -- no, kicking -- Kylie again, then flops back onto the sand, dark hair spread wild around her. “If you’re not ready to set the ward in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to…” She trails off, frowning up at the sky.
Kylie doesn’t look up. There’s something disturbing about the strange wash of pale red that rims the clouds when the sunlight hits them. Even though she knows Antonia doesn’t see it, can’t see it, part of her still doesn’t understand how Antonia can stand to look at the sky.
She takes a deep breath. Why must sisters be so annoying? She wonders if Aunt Gilly ever felt that way about Mom.
“If you don’t stop complaining, I’ll tie rocks to your ankles and throw you into the sea,” Kylie promises, but Antonia just laughs. They both know she doesn’t mean it. Where would she be without her sister by her side?
Antonia does nothing dramatic from her boredom, and Kylie does not throw her into the sea. Instead, Kylie finishes mixing the herbs -- angelica, bergamot, clove -- and spreads them along the stone. On top, it looks plain, gray rock smoothed by sand and saltwater, but if you turn it over, the bottom is a rainbow of color.
Once it is liberally coated, Antonia creates a small hole in the sand under an overhang of a large boulder, and Kylie gently places her stone inside. She focuses her thoughts with ease now, protection, boundaries, safety, and chants the Latin on each breath, Antonia’s voice rising and falling in counterpoint.
They bury the stone and its coating of herbs, and that is one ward refreshed. There are others, but Mom and Aunt Gilly have two, and Aunt Frances and Aunt Jet have two, and Kylie and Antonia have only one more, on the other side of town.
Antonia’s fingers are gritty with sand when she grabs Kylie’s hand, but Kylie doesn’t mind, only squeezes right back.
*
Their Yule log is small, a pine branch that Mom carefully carved flat on the bottom so it will sit upright on the mantle, and drilled three holes for the candles. This year, they are red, green, and white.
Kylie and Aunt Gilly decorate it, twining red and gold ribbon through the greenery, and tucking rosebuds here and there. Aunt Frances dusts it with flour, and Aunt Jet adds cloves, their sweet scent rising up through the smell of pine needles.
This year, Antonia will breathe flame to life as the sun sets, and her fire will burn through the long, dark night.
*
Kylie has her own workshop out back now, near the rose bushes. (They are safe. No man stands like a shadow beneath them.) Gary built it for her when she turned sixteen, and she has filled it with metal and wire and stones. Her small forge is in one corner, a clay oven in the other. Three walls are storage; the fourth has her work bench under a window running nearly the entire length of the building. It looks out over the sea, and sometimes she sits, fingers still on her metals, and stares, breathing in salt and all the wishes people cast out into the water.
Brighid is her Yule deity. Brighid and her flame and her metal work. Brighid who taught the smiths the art of fire tending and the secrets of metal work, the secrets Kylie now pulls forth with heat and pressure and no small dose of magic.
This year, Kylie creates metal masterpieces as her Yule gifts, protection spells saturating each stone she adds to the silver base. On the longest night of the year, she will give them to her family, and each Owens woman will cup one in her hands and feel the warmth of her love.
*
The first year after Maria’s spell was broken, Mom taught Gary about clove-studded apples, and it was kind of gross to see them kiss. Now, years later, Gary’s gone a little gray, though Mom’s hair is still dark as night, and it makes Kylie smile to see them laugh together, and kiss, and flirt, giddy with their love.
A stock pot of wassail simmers on the stove, Aunt Jet and Aunt Gilly tending it together. It fills the house with its scent, the sweetness of cinnamon and warm sugar tempered by the citrus bite of the oranges.
“Wish we could still use the cauldron,” Antonia says as she slips past them, arms full of pine boughs.
Aunt Frances laughs and ruffles her hair, causing Antonia to try to duck out of the way without dropping her load. “Yes, my little witch, but it doesn’t make enough.”
That is the most amazing thing of all -- soon, the house will be full of women and laughter and bright voices singing. Halloween is for the whole town, but Yule is for them, the women who came together to save Aunt Gilly, the women who have moved to town since, the girls all grown. Children who once tormented Kylie and Antonia, Mom and Aunt Gilly, even Aunt Frances and Aunt Jet, now sit side by side with them, drinking their wassail and singing their songs.
It is a strange sort of magic, this friendship, but Kylie is grateful for the way it makes Mom shine.
*
Gary kisses each of them -- cheeks, foreheads, Mom gets a full dip and kiss and laughter -- and heads upstairs with a couple books. They burn the fires for him, too, but Yule, their long solstice watch, that is for them.
There’s a potluck, of course, wassail and sweet breads and savory meat pies and cookies decorated by little hands, icing smeared everywhere and absolutely delicious, spiced cider and ginger tea and everywhere fresh fruits and bowls of nuts. They share stories of years past, crowded together in front of the fireplace, warming chilled fingers and chilled toes, and hopes for the future, and stories that are maybe partly fairy tales but mostly true.
Aunt Gilly sings and dances with the kids, red hair swinging in the firelight, and Mom laughs and claps along. Antonia, never far from the center of attention and flurried activity, joins Aunt Gilly after only a moment, and it’s not too long until she beckons Kylie forward. They spin and dance and sing until they’re breathless from it, young girls and old women and everyone, even Aunt Frances and Aunt Jet, even Mom, holding hands and spinning and tossing their hair and swinging their hips. Their feet pound rhythms into the floorboards, and if Maria’s curse hadn’t been broken before, Kylie thinks it would have been broken on a solstice night, their voices and friendships rising up in warmth and light.
Kylie tips back her head and opens her eyes as she spins, and the lights blur together until the world seems to be exploding in brightness.
*
By midnight, their guests are gone, and the Owens women sprawl around the room, never too far from the fire. Kylie and Antonia share a couch, bodies pressed pleasantly close, Kylie’s hair spilling over Antonia’s arm, Antonia’s heel knocking against Kylie’s calf.
The house smells of pine and bayberry and cinnamon, and the firelight sparks off of the Yule decorations, silver and white and gold.
They have sang and danced and the Yule log burns. Tomorrow, they will sing forth the sun, exchange gifts, and sleep, certain that the day will continue now that they’ve waited out the longest night of the year.
Kylie wears a new bracelet, metal twisted and twined around a garnet that rests at the top of her wrist, and bloodstones circling the rest. It is her work, her gift to herself, but the others are bedecked with her work as well, rubies and diamonds and emeralds, all set in silver and in gold.
“I wish you peace,” Antonia whispers, tugging lightly on Kylie’s hair. Her words are simple, but carry the heat and weight of magic. “Harmony, happiness, and love.”
“To you as well,” Kylie murmurs back, and wraps her sister in a tight hug. She has already worked spells into the metal her family wears, all the spells she knows to protect them and help them prosper, to bring magic into their lives, and joy.
There’s the whir of a blender from the kitchen and Aunt Gilly springs to her feet, sending Mom, whose head had been on her shoulder, sprawling backward.
“Midnight margaritas!” Aunt Gilly cries, hands in the air, and the dance in her hips leads them into the kitchen. Kylie lets the others go, and stays with the fire. She can hear them laughing and talking, and under that, the clink of glass. They will join her in a moment more, bring their drinks and hers, bring their happiness and hers, bring their laughter and love.
Kylie keeps watch, and their fire burns. It will burn through the night. It will burn forever.
This entry was original posted at http://escritoireazul.dreamwidth.org/366804.html with
comments. Reply here or there.