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avversiera-writes · 4 years ago

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you never said goodbye (2/2) // tobirama senju x reader

Summary: in which Tobirama never makes it from his last mission.

Part One

///

You wake up at dawn, and find Tobirama’s eyes on you again, vigilant.

This time, you don’t even question him. You press your body against him and you lean forward to kiss him on the lips. He does not stiffen this time, and instead, he pushes against you until you are lying flat on your back. You meet his intense red eyes, and you feel yourself shiver from anticipation.

He places himself in between your legs, and he leans forward, catching your lips passionately.

This is your favorite Tobirama.

You take his hands and place them over your breasts, and he gives them a firm squeeze.

You are desperate to feel him, to have him before he gives it his all to his village, before he goes on this mission. You two are never keen on goodbyes, having the faith that you will make it back home. This is how you tell him goodbye, because you hated the finality of that word. If it was up to him, he would have said goodbye firmly, and that was that. You told him before that you never want to hear it.

He slides in and out of you, making sure to grind against your walls slowly. Your whimpers become moans, and you hear his quiet grunts–he was always so silent when making love. You glimpse his face, and you find him pleased as you moan in pleasure, driving into you relentlessly until you are writhing beneath him and you let go of everything.

You pant as you come down from your high, then Tobirama throws his sleeping clothes at you.

“Let’s eat,” he orders, as if he is already on the field.

You throw him a smile as you quickly get dressed, and then follow him out of your shared bedroom.

You finish early to prepare him his food rations and a light lunch, then you head to the bathroom to prepare his bath. Usually, the servants in the house would help out, but Tobirama is picky and loves his privacy. He does not want anyone wandering into your spaces.

You wait for him to freshen up by lying on the bed and reading a book. A few moments later, he pads into the bedroom to dress.

You set down your book to watch him dress. “I polished your armor and repaired the kinks that were bothering you.”

Tobirama pauses, his hands stopping to reach for the armor in midair. “Thank you,” he utters gravely.

He places his hand on the surface of his armor.

Back then, he wouldn’t have let you touch a thing of his. Now, it’s become a routine of yours whenever he is about to go on a mission. You reckon it’s probably because he feels bad that he had inevitably forced you out of service.

“I’ll help you put it on,” you say, getting out of your bed, still in his clothes.

He watches you, and then averts his eyes when you get closer. “Alright,” he quietly says.

After getting him all geared up, the two of you walk the streets of the village, heading to the gates where he and his team planned to rendezvous. You grab his hand, but he flinches and pulls away.

You scoff. “Tobi, it’s early as hell. No one’s going to see you get mushy with your wife.”

Tobirama sighs and he takes your hand, but he presses closer to you so that it is hidden from view. You roll your eyes, but instead of saying anything else, you decide to bask in the proximity.

His team arrives right on time, and Tobirama has put a chaste distance between you. You chat with his team for a bit, asking Uchiha Kagami about his new wife, teasing Sarutobi Hiruzen and Shimura Danzo, trading gossip with Koharu. Then, when it is time to say goodbye, you watch them walk away.

You and Tobirama did not need to trade words. His eyes linger on your face, then he nods his goodbye. You watch him go with pride swelling in your chest. You understand him and his stoic ways, but that is who he is.

///

As the Nidaime Hokage’s wife, you try your best to help out your husband. In his absences due to long missions, you are the one who facilitates meetings, organizes what needs to get approval, write notes and dates on what Tobirama needs to attend to when he returns, and even arrange piles of contracts and drafts of treaties. You would do it in a way he would do it himself, because you knew that he would be on your case if it isn’t to his liking.

He usually prefers doing everything on his own, but you had vowed to make him a great Hokage, and with every great Hokage there is a wife who is like their backbone in the job. He grudgingly lets you do so, since there is nothing else you can busy yourself with, and although he would not admit it, your support has made a difference and he is coming home earlier and short of total exhaustion.

You meet with the clan heads’ wives, either in your own home or in their households. This is how you siphon information from each clan to get to your husband without prying. You learn of who is born and who is about to get married, who is about to have a new child, or who is about to go into the Academy. You make mental notes about their slips about their husbands, and lend your advice should they ask it of you.

You also attend a few events where you are invited. Normally, you and Tobirama should be the ones attending, but he is never one to go to a social event unless it is directly connected to his work, so you’re the one who handles this part of his job.

You visit a few establishments that are being built, and you meet with the workers and the shinobis. They make a few requests that you will run through with Tobirama later, and wish them luck on their work.

In the evenings, you go to Hashirama and Mito’s household, either to eat dinner or to gossip with Mito. You meet with Tobirama’s toddler grand-niece, Tsunade, who runs around the compound like she rules the world.

You and Mito drink tea and eat the prepared snacks, exchanging quips about your husbands.

“He told me not to mourn him,” you relay what Tobirama said a few nights ago. “He’s so silly sometimes.”

“He just doesn’t want you to be sad,” Mito chuckles.

“I know,” you say. “But like, can’t he say it in another way? It’s like he’s commanding his troops or something. I’m his wife–not a subordinate. That’s why I stopped running missions.”

Mito laughs and she tells you about Hashirama’s gambling and how Tsunade is picking up on his bad habits. You look at her untouched snack and you realize how hungry you are. You ask for her food, even though you normally would not eat other people’s plates. You have been hungry a lot for the past several weeks.

The next day, you are in his office and you stare at the empty desk where the Hokage should be the one occupying. Tobirama’s desk is quickly piling up with documents, and some of it is delegated to the floor.

When you come home, the smell of cooking meat in the streets makes you nauseous, and when you pause to stare longingly at Tobirama’s face on the mountain, you throw up in the nearest trash can, much to your chagrin. You are exhausted like you have been running for miles, but you push through it. You couldn’t keep anything down and whatever food comes your way makes you want to throw up, so you opt for a bland porridge.

///

You snap awake from your sleep, feeling something in your own body break in half. You are not sure what it is, but it does not let you go back to sleep. You end up pacing around in the house like a ghost, and you had started shaking from the feeling.

Something is wrong. You are absolutely sure and the feeling frightens you.

You did not want to wake up a servant so you make yourself tea to calm yourself down, but you give up as you almost scalded yourself from inattentiveness.

You hate being like this.

The nervous energy in your body makes you throw up, and when dawn arrives, you are wary. You try to keep down the food that the servants had given you to munch on, but there is only so much you can tolerate.

A few hours later, Sarutobi Hiruzen arrives, alone and rugged, like he hasn’t slept for days and has just come home.

One look on his face, and you knew what he would say before he even gave voice to it.

You fall to your knees, and Hiruzen comes forward to catch you.

“Where is his body?” You whisper hoarsely.

Hiruzen presses his lips together, his eyes dark. “My lady, I don’t think you should see his body at the moment.”

“Please. He’s my husband,” you croak out. Tears prickle your eyes, and your vision becomes blurred.

You try not to break down crying

“H-how did he die?”

Hiruzen looks stricken. “He…sacrificed himself, made himself a decoy. He fought well.”

“That…self-sacrificing bastard,” you murmur. You knew something like this would happen, that he will put his life on the line for the village and its people, and it is something you love him for, but it still hurts.

“I am sorry, my lady.”

“You’re his successor, yes?” You’ve had these talks for a while, that should this even happen, he is planning to make Hiruzen the Sandaime.

Hiruzen clears his throat, not expecting this question. “Yes.”

Do not mourn me.

“What of the rest of his team?”

“We are alive, thanks to him. We were surrounded by enemy shinobi from Kumo.”

You try to smile but it comes out as a grimace. Such is a life for a shinobi. To die in the battlefield is an honor.

“My lady,” Hiruzen starts, hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“He told me to tell you that he is both thankful and sorry.”

You smile ruefully, despite the grief overtaking your heart.

Do not mourn me, Tobirama had said, but when you were flitting between consciousness and the land of your dreams, he had whispered the most important words that he couldn’t say to you.

You had already known.

END.

#tobirama x reader #tobirama x you #naruto #naruto shippuden #angst #mild n/s/f/w #tobirama senju #my works #my stuff #angelica writes

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gffa · 5 years ago

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@ap-trash-compactor replied:

1/7 I wanna preface this by saying I agree with everything you’re saying here but I think there’s another layer to how Raffa’s story functions both textually and meta-textually, and to what it illustrates about how many people in the Galaxy /might/ perceive the Jedi, which I personally haven’t seen addressed yet. Sorry in advance if this is something you’ve heard/read/discussed ten million times already, but... 2/7 If you took Raffa’s story out of Star Wars and put it into a contemporary drama, changed the word “Jedi” to the word “police,” and made the particulars about a high-speed car chase? I think it would sound pretty believable. And I think this illustrates something Palpatine does through the mechanism of the Clone Wars to make the position of the Jedi especially vulnerable or precarious wrt to public opinion. 3/7 Even if every single Jedi engages w the power and authority of their military or police role only in the best intentioned, most good-faith way imaginable (which the Umbara arc tells us doesn’t always happen), any time you are in a role where you, even have without wanting or intending to, exercise the power of life and death other lives, you will cause pain and be a target for resentment. Someone will lose someone, and be angry. 4/7 No matter how good or how well-intentioned or how compassionate they are, during the Clone Wars the Jedi are forced into the role of a state authority exercising the power of life and death. They are not only a cultural minority during the Clone Wars. They are also a branch of the state, and in that role they sometimes either kill people, or are involved in events where people die and where, no matter their intentions, they are the face of the state and the voice of authority. 5/7 Many of the military and police actions shown in different episodes of this series leave destruction in their wake. The Jedi’s participation is barely by choice and almost never by preference— but if you are one of the Raffas of the galaxy and your parents just died, the distinction probably does not matter much. I think this is a corner Palpatine absolutely wanted to paint the Jedi into, because it absolutely serves his goals. 6/7 There are not many Jedi during the Clone Wars. Certainly there are not many compared to the problems they are trying to fix. I have no doubt Luminara tried her best, wanted a different outcome, and gave Raffa all the comfort she had the time and the opportunity to give... But if you are one of the Raffas of the galaxy and your only direct experience of the Jedi is like the one Raffa describes? You’re probably primed to consume all of Palpatine’s worst lies. 7/7 If you’re Palpatine, making the Jedi rush from violent crisis to violent crisis doesn’t just distract them from the fact that you’re a Sith Lord — it also makes the Jedi into the face of a lot of negative, hurtful interactions with the state, which is going to impact the way people see them.

I think you and I are very much on the same page! I have discussed this before (the public’s turning on the Jedi), but I’m always down for discussing it again! Especially when I love pretty much allllll of this. If you’re Palpatine, making the Jedi rush from violent crisis to violent crisis doesn’t just distract them from the fact that you’re a Sith Lord — it also makes the Jedi into the face of a lot of negative, hurtful interactions with the state, which is going to impact the way people see them. You are spot on with your summation, to the point it’s almost hard for me to respond with anything because I feel like all I can do is bang my fist on the table and go, “Yes! This is what I’ve been talking about!” Though, of course, there is a lot going on here that’s making it complicated. This post that you’re responding to is focused more specifically on the theme of unreliable narrators + the close associations this season has had with Revenge of the Sith (the moments that make us sit up and go, “Oh, that’s foreshadowing for stuff in ROTS!” like Padme’s pregnancy, Anakin’s advice to Rex, etc.), but there’s also what you’re talking about here--that it’s been a long-running theme in the GFFA that public sentiment turned against the Jedi and that the causes of that are fascinating. I said a bunch of times that Rafa’s hurt in this episode is valid, that there’s room for both the Jedi acting with honorable intentions and that people don’t trust them, don’t draw comfort from them, that these things are not mutually exclusive and you’re hitting on exactly why--because they were put into a situation where, if they’re not 100% perfect, then they’re going to fall off the pedestal they’ve been put onto. That any flaw they have will then get magnified a hundred times. Luminara seems to have made a point to go back and try to talk to Rafa, to tell her a phrase that is narratively meaningful within Star Wars on a meta level, like, that says to me that she has really good intentions! But that Rafa doesn’t draw any comfort from it, as a non-Force sensitive and someone who probably is left to the Republic’s shitty welfare services (which isn’t the Jedi’s jurisdiction, they’re not social workers and we can’t expect them to be), doesn’t undercut Luminara’s presumed good intentions, just as Luminara’s presumed good intentions don’t undercut Rafa’s hurt. And that it’s understandable--because, as the Maul arc in season 5 says, the Jedi aren’t doing the things that they used to do, that crime is flourishing because they’re being so busy with this war they’ve been drafted into. Even Star Wars: Propaganda makes it clear that public sentiment turned against the Jedi because of a cultural absence, rather than anything they actively did. This is all by design from Palpatine, that he’s keeping them so busy putting out tire fires on Ryloth (who were being slaughtered by the Separatists), on Mon Calamari (who were being enslaved by the Separatists), on Kiros (who were being kidnapped and taken into the resumed Zygerrian slave empire), that they don’t have time to do the things they used to, like take care of a lot of the criminal elements or the outreach programs that we see hinted at in the supplementary material. The Jedi had to make a choice between fighting in a war where entire worlds were being enslaved, that there were only so many of them and they were dying, that they died in droves on Geonosis in Attack of the Clones and they’re dying every day in the war, that they were literally one out of six billion in the galaxy at their height, and that they had a million expectations placed on them. They have very little political capital/power, yet they’re expected to solve all the problems in ways that will last. They’re expected to police the Underworld, but also not police the Underworld because then they’re restricting people. They’re expected to be social workers. They’re expected to fight and die in a war that the public itself refuses to stand up in. And when they don’t live up to those impossible perfections, they’re torn down. This is not to set aside that of course there are instances of people like Trace and Rafa, where the destruction wreaked by chasing down someone like Ziro is going to sometimes cause people to get hurt and, honestly, I don’t feel like Rafa really blamed Luminara for that, given the acknowledgement of the crowded platform she was trying to avoid. But if she had? That, too, would have been reasonable and understandable! That it doesn’t matter if the Jedi were doing literally everything they could, that doesn’t mean there’s not also room for Rafa’s hurt. And that, even if I think there was absolutely nothing that Luminara could say that would have given Rafa comfort, that doesn’t make Rafa’s hurt/viewpoint any less empathizable. My blog tends to focus on the Jedi side of things because those are the characters I’m interested in, not because they’re the only element that matters. In the meta we’re responding to, a lot of the focus is on Luminara and the Jedi because that’s my jam, that’s the part I thrive on, but we’re definitely in agreement that Rafa’s feelings are not wrong and it’s not hard to see where they come from! I do take issue with the idea of--whether it’s true or not, we can all argue about it all day long, but it doesn’t matter if it’s true or not--that if the Jedi are remote and distant from the galaxy, that that narratively is approved of how they then “kind of brought their downfall (aka, violent genocide) on themselves”. That’s something I’ve seen skirted around in commentary from the creators and I’m wary of it leaking into the narrative in a more substantial way. But that’s an entirely separate issue from the fact that anti-Jedi sentiments exist in the narrative and that they led to the Jedi Purge/Jedi genocide. As part of the propaganda and manipulations Palpatine did, yes, absolutely, that is one of the most fascinating things! And that doesn’t mean that there’s not validity to those feelings, even if they’re rooted in propaganda and manipulation! But that, just as there’s room for Rafa’s hurt despite Luminara’s intentions, there’s room for the Jedi’s good intentions despite the public’s hurt and/or mistrust. My thing is that I tend to look at why the Jedi act the way they do and I usually come away with empathy for how they got into the situations they did. Like, take their alignment with the Republic, which was an organization with corruption down to the roots by the time of the Twilight of the Republic, that that association absolutely led to their downfall/genocide. But what else could they do? Being part of the Republic in that way allowed them to actually help people, to have negotiating power, to form treaties that would be honored even when they were no longer on a given planet. If they weren’t under the jurisdiction of the Senate, they could not have helped as many people as they did, especially because how would they even be able to afford starship fuel or housing costs? Would they charge people for their services? That’s a disaster waiting to happen! There’s room for both “the best option for the Jedi was to be part of the Republic and try to improve the system from the inside, which is what they did” AND “the being part of the Republic is what ultimately fucked them”, those things are both true! but if you are one of the Raffas of the galaxy and your parents just died, the distinction probably does not matter much. I think this is a corner Palpatine absolutely wanted to paint the Jedi into, because it absolutely serves his goals. Spot on! I have fun looking at what Luminara’s intentions likely were and what the context of the structure of the show entails, that Rafa’s character doesn’t have to be a reliable narrator to be valuable (and I say this as someone who actually really loves the unreliable narrators of SW, which honestly is almost literally every single character, very few are ones you can take at face value without seeing the circumstances for yourself), but to Rafa it doesn’t really matter what Luminara did or didn’t say, because that’s not what she was looking for or what she got out of that conversation. I can’t say I would act differently in her position! And that’s exactly what Palpatine did. He pulled the Jedi in so many different directions, made them responsible for things that literally no group could possibly have survived with public sentiment intact, and even if the Jedi had been literally perfect (which they weren’t), it wouldn’t have mattered, given that the entire point of the prequels is that you gotta choose between Shitty Option A and Shitty Option B. It’s the galaxy’s worst ever version of, “Which would you rather?” except its real and you have to play the game, because not playing gets you fucked over even faster, like it did with Mandalore.

#rafa martez #jedi order #meta #tcw spoilers #long post

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khangowrites · 4 years ago

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Is it a Complaint Essay or is the Workplace Unsuitable?

Ah, what am I writing today? Oh, well I suppose it’s almost 12am. Seems like a good a time as any. I wanted to just jot down a few re-occurring experiences I’ve had in the workplace and sometimes in other social spaces, and attempt to analyze them.

CW: mild mentions of abuse and bodily ailments.

A bit of forward: I tend to mask myself heavily whenever I am in any social situation; whether it be at work, at home, with friends or online (although I’m getting better at being myself on Discord at least. I owe a lot to my friends who accept me and whom I care so much about.) What this means is I often plan out what I’m needed to say in advance of a situation. I have an arsenal of about 5 minutes of small talk before I tank and several small greetings/placations I can cycle through on any given day if I’m not overloaded. I also limit my natural inclination to movement.

It’s called unprofessional/unsightly to sit with your legs folded under you, or to sway and shake your arms and legs back and forth in time to music in your head. But it’s okay if you tap your pencil. Everyone does that.

I have to wonder how noticeable my ‘masked’ self is. How real or fake it appears.

There have been a few trends I’ve seen with the way people treat me as an employee in the time I’ve been in the workforce. For clarity, I am a 23 year old 5’1” AFAB person with a face that looks like it stopped aging when I was 12. I’m non-binary, but I’ve seen that many have a hard time using a different pronoun for me because I look ‘so feminine’. I had one old man repeatedly tell me that my body was too pretty and that I shouldn’t hide it and ‘pretend’ to be something else. I was and still am quite unsettled and disgusted by that comment.

I haven’t used my full preferred pronouns at work simply based in fear of being fired or discriminated against further. Same thing at home- I haven’t told all my family out of fear. I may look back on this at some future date where I fully respect myself and I’m confident. I look forward to that day.

Oh, and I’m autistic.

Perhaps it is one of these things or all of them that cause people to treat me certain ways. I’d like to find out.

I worked outdoors at an Orchard for a season. They called me Cinderella because of the way I looked when I cleaned. They gave employees gloves and heaters. Only not me. When I asked, I was given a broken one and told to fix it. A coworker who had intellectual disabilities and poor eyesight was not offered a heater at all. I did not renew for the next season. Kim and I stayed in touch though.

I worked next at a gift shop at a historical site. I loved the history and the old buildings, but the cashier work was admittedly difficult. Most of the employees were kind, retired old ladies who treated me gently, like a child. Sometimes too much like a child. The assistant manager seemed wary of me, and she often avoided me. I don’t know why. I’m not good with eye contact, and I always fear that people will mistake my zoning out as being creepy or disrespectful; maybe it was that. She never brought her kids with her on days I worked.

The head manager was courteous, but always called me Special. We had an older man work in the last 2 years I was there who had a strong inclination to associate with the children at the shop, and in turn, me as well. He would always want a hug or pat me on the back, but ignored the other workers. I told the managers my uncomfortable feelings about him, but it went mostly unnoticed.

When it was found that I was decent with computers, I was tasked with entering jewelry into the system and creating labels with number associations. I enjoyed it, and they promised me a decent raise. My pay was raised a dollar several weeks later, and I found myself being tasked with more and more computer work, to the point of becoming an office manager myself, earning a grand total of 9 dollars an hour while my counterpart who started a year earlier owned a home on the same work.

I left that job after 4 years to be the music director at a local church. I love music and was excited. Maybe too excited. I developed acid re-flux and was hospitalized the week before my start day due to a panic attack. I realize now it was from stress. I also had an ovarian cyst removed a year later- it took up my entire pelvis and its formation was also attributed to stress. I’ve since been diagnosed with generalized anxiety, and I continue to have ever changing digestive issues, muscle problems and panic attacks.

After realizing I was autistic and also non-binary, so much of the stress of life started to make sense. The past few months I have been making life changes, and working towards finding a workplace that is accommodating and safe for me. My stress has lessened.

I worked at the church for 2 years. My last day is actually at the end of this month. As is the trend, I was not treated with respect when it came to my job. My pastor started choosing the hymns over me, and would make comments about me during services. His favorite was to say that my music made him fall asleep, and wait for laughter from the congregation. He had no musical knowledge, and forced me to play every song as fast as I possibly could. He didn’t believe I could do my job. Any attempts at mutual work failed to manifest. I unfortunately was groomed by a member of the hiring committee there as well, a type of abuse I didn’t even realize I had fallen into until several months after it was too late.

I currently work at a high school as a choir accompanist. I use she/they pronouns there, but no one uses they and I’m too worried to be fully they like I am outside of work. I am wary of soiling my relationship with the director further. She’s quite religious in the ‘gays don’t have rights’ way, so I have my fears.

The director is kind, but sees me as this innocent child that happens to have natural piano abilities, and the mutual respect that I’ve come to dream of just isn’t there again.

The director has the key to the doors and lets students in without fail, but conveniently forgets to let me in almost every day. At one time, I was in physical therapy and had a hard time standing and walking for any period of time. I almost went home because she didn’t answer any communication, class started 20 minutes previously, and it was 90 degrees outside and I needed to sit down because my legs were cramping. She plans the music weeks in advance, but doesn’t give them to me until the day the students get it, despite my repeated asking for time to prepare.

One day I was on zoom and she and the student teacher greeted me and then ignored my presence and played the piano herself for class. She struggled with the parts and commented to the choir that, “wow, Ms. Khango is actually pretty dang good at this- that little girl can play!”, but didn’t listen to me when I offered to play. I left the zoom after an hour.

The online students seemed to share my surprise at least, and I am grateful to them. They kept me grounded and reminded me that I matter and should have the same respect as everyone else in the room, zoom or not. They talk to me about not being heard and their chats not being read during class. It bothered me, too. The next week I brought it up to her in the form of making sure the zoom students were heard and she quickly dismissed it, like it was a puff of smoke. The students online now ask me questions directly and I relay them. It’s met with annoyance by the director.

They have voices too.

One of the scariest moments of my life was last week- I wore my ‘disability rights are human rights’ shirt to school. (Okay, maybe not scary to some, but it very much was for me.) After class, one of the students came to me and asked if I could help him find a way for his grandfather to get a seat at the concert, as he was disabled and he didn’t know how to proceed.

It filled me with joy to help him, and it filled me with rage when the teachers asked if his grandpa could just get out of the wheelchair instead.

My overall conclusion to all of these things is that people simply don’t understand, or don’t want to because it makes their lives harder.

Is discrimination and ignorance really easier than respecting people?

I’m not sure if this is all just one big complaint essay. I guess it is. What I needed to do was write it all out. All the things that make me uneasy or feel like lesser of a person. And I wanted to know why.

I note that at every job I am perceived as a child, or as someone naïve. I am not treated the same as another adult employee. I was ostracized for my way of moving and talking. Taken advantage of. My needs were not accommodated.

Even now, I feel guilt for writing this, like I’m just playing the victim for attention or something.

I want to be strong enough to stand up to it and ask to be treated with respect and have it follow through.

I want to unmask myself more and let myself move and talk naturally, and use my real pronouns.

My respect for myself and for others must become a powerful force.

My friends on discord- my real, genuine friends, have become monumental in my life. Most of my life I did not have true friends. Without them and their unconditional love and support, I would not be where I am right now. We are all equals. I want to embody that strong respect and bring it to others.

It’s getting late. 1 a.m. now. Well, I have tomorrow. Plenty of time for Star Trek.

#workplace problems #actuallyautistic #essay #nonbinary #figuring out life

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everydayhybridity · 5 years ago

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Ethnic tensions are coming to the fore, but many minorities find solidarity with activists.

Jessie Lau

November 7, 2019, 4:53 PM

A man waves an Indian flag near Chungking Mansions, a popular haunt among minority South Asians and Africans in Hong Kong, as police keep watch at a crosswalk during a pro-democracy rally in Tsim Sha Tsui district on Oct. 27. Philip Fong/AFP via Getty Images

HONG KONG—For Zab, Hong Kong has always been home. While the 25-year-old has roots in Pakistan, he was born, raised, educated, and now works in the city. This summer, Zab—who gave only his last name out of safety concerns—has been a cautious participant in several Hong Kong protests, standing out as one of the few brown faces among the protesters. After tear gas was fired during one rally, he ran into a police blockade as he attempted to flee. Trapped and struggling to breathe, he was terrified of being interrogated. But the police let him pass—a decision Zab suspects was related to his Pakistani ethnicity. “They probably thought I wasn’t a Hong Kong person,” he said.

This year’s protests are bringing Hong Kong’s ethnic tensions to the fore. After a mob assaulted commuters in Yuen Long train station in July, Nepali men in the neighborhood were abused by locals and accused of attacking civilians. Hong Kong’s railway corporation came under fire for reportedly planning a task force of former Gurkhas to enforce bylaws during the crisis because, in the words of a railway executive, “Nepalese do not understand Cantonese, [and] thus they will be less provoked.” Last month, when an assault on the pro-democracy leader Jimmy Sham left him lying in a pool of his own blood, local media claimed his attackers were South Asian without evidence.

Minority leaders rushed to publicly condemn the violence and support Sham—as well as privately urge community members to lie low in case of retaliations. Most recently, after police doused a mosque using water cannons with blue dye to clear a peaceful protest supporting ethnic minorities, demonstrators helped clean the mess and rallied around the community. In a moving show of solidarity, they organized a Thanksgiving gathering at Chungking Mansions, a local hub for ethnic minority workers and asylum-seekers.

Hong Kong’s identity crisis has been exacerbated in recent years. China’s authoritarian interventions have triggered a localist movement and imagined political community that sees itself as culturally, linguistically, and ideologically separate from mainland China. Since Hong Kong was handed to China by the British in 1997, those who identify as Hong Kongers grew from 35.9 percent to a record 52.9 percent this year, according to statistics from the University of Hong Kong’s Public Opinion Programme. Among locals aged 18 to 29, the percentage jumped from 45.6 percent to 75 percent. The trend holds true for ethnic minority families. Older generations are more conservative and wary of politics, Zab explained. “Our families say we are minorities here and don’t have a say. [But] I consider myself a Hong Konger,” Zab said.

Ethnic minorities such as Zab have historically been either tokenized as a symbol of diversity or demonized as scapegoats for Hong Kong’s social problems. But in the current movement, they have become a powerful marker of inclusion—especially in contrast to an increasingly ethnonationalist China, where minority groups are facing linguistic exclusion and mass detention camps.

In Hong Kong, ethnic minorities are defined by the government as people of non-Chinese ethnicity. Yet only those who do not pass as white or Chinese are considered second-class citizens by mainstream society. In 2016, excluding foreign domestic workers, 263,593 people in Hong Kong—3.6 percent of the population—fell into this group. In contrast to the generally aging population and falling birth rate, between 2006 and 2016, the number of ethnic minorities aged 15 to 24 more than doubled, and those born in Hong Kong increased from 24.5 percent to 30.9 percent.

Hong Kong has always been multicultural—not just English and Chinese but an imperial outpost drawing its population from across the British Empire. The South Asian community can be traced to the 1840s, when it defended Hong Kong as soldiers and worked alongside Eurasians as intermediaries between Chinese and Europeans. More than 1,000 Indian soldiers were killed or injured while protecting Hong Kong in the 1941 Japanese invasion. Star Ferry, Hong Kong’s main passenger ferry service, was founded by an Indian Parsi baker.

The British made heavy use of Gurkha soldiers, who helped suppress the 1900 Boxer Rebellion and established today’s Nepali community. Following World War II, inexpensive laborers from the Philippines and other Southeast Asian countries began migrating to Hong Kong to work as foreign domestic workers, supporting an emerging Chinese middle class. In the 1970s, Vietnamese refugees joined them.

Despite such crucial contributions, ethnic minorities remain systematically marginalized. Entrenched language barriers, racial profiling, and poverty remain barriers to integration. Many have long condemned the government’s failure to teach local languages to non-Chinese speakers. Until 2004, children who lacked Chinese proficiency but could not afford international schools were directed toward government institutions targeting working-class minorities, which came with social stigma. Local media and conservative groups characterized them as criminals during a sweeping anti-refugee campaignblaming asylum-seekers for stretching local resources.

While such students can now apply to other institutions, schools have independent selection criteria and are not required to provide specialized curriculum for language proficiency. A 2016 study found that less than 20 percent of jobs advertised online catered to non-Chinese speakers. Nearly one-fifth of ethnic minorities also live below the poverty line, and the poverty rate rose from 15.8 percent to 19.4 percent between 2011 and 2016.

The protest movement is hardly free of discrimination itself. When the anti-extradition protests first erupted, 29-year-old Yasir Naveed, who proudly identifies as a Hong Konger, was galvanized. Donning a white shirt with the rest of the crowd, he marched in the first rally with his 72-year-old father and 4-year-old nephew—a move to express multigenerational support. “My father is part of the senior citizens who built this city,” said Naveed, who is ethnically Pakistani. “And the future is our nephew.”

Fixing the crisis will be risky—but worthwhile for both sides.

Early on, there were already rumors that ethnic minorities were being hired to attack protesters. One day, Naveed received a message from Han Chinese protesters asking him to check the grammar on an Urdu text. It was an appeal from demonstrators asking ethnic minorities not to “accept bribes” to “beat up” protesters. Naveed was stunned. “I was so offended,” he said. He responded saying the message was grammatically correct but ethically wrong. “Did they think we are sellouts? That we’re so hungry and needy for money that a party can buy us?”

The simultaneous co-option and rejection of minorities also occurred in the 2014 Umbrella Movement and 2012 anti-national education protests. Minorities were celebrated by protesters as proof of local inclusion, but their interests were subsumed during broader political discussions, which were largely publicized and conducted solely through Cantonese, with excursions into Mandarin.

Paul O’Connor of Lingnan University called the treatment of ethnic minorities a missed opportunity. “They hold true opportunity for Hong Kong to redistinguish itself as this ‘one country, two systems’ territory because China doesn’t have the history that Hong Kong has in terms of this multicultural heritage,” O’Connor said. “Instead, their interests are being co-opted by the broader fight about Hong Kong identity and then dropped.”

In fact, Raees Baig, an assistant professor of social work at the Chinese University of Hong Kong, said pro-Beijing parties such as the Democratic Alliance for the Betterment and Progress of Hong Kong have more successfully engaged and advocated for ethnic minorities, through establishing outreach centers and English-language materials about government services.

That has left many community leaders carefully neutral. Adeel Malik, the chairperson of the Muslim Council of Hong Kong, exercised caution at present. He strongly condemned the recent violence by all parties, which he said has caused some to consider leaving Hong Kong. “If any of our community members get involved and anything turns into a riot, sadly it can be easy to stereotype the whole community,” Malik said. Arief Wahyudi, a 49-year-old local of Indonesian descent who has lived in Hong Kong for two decades, echoed his sentiments. “Violence will only fuel violence,” he said. “That’s what we’re very scared of.”

Yet there’s no denying that the current movement has brought solidarity among different Hong Kongers on a previously unseen scale—albeit somewhat accidentally. Unlike other protest movements, it has effectively used creative and grassroots messaging to target a global audience—inadvertently extending accessibility to local non-Chinese speakers, said Puja Kapai of the University of Hong Kong.

Many people have been empowered by expressions of unity and have experienced political awakenings for the first time. Han Chinese locals are also becoming more aware of the ethnic minority communities. A local journalist of Pakistani descent became a protest icon after fiercely cross-examininggovernment officials in fluent Cantonese. Various ethnic minority protesters have also been embraced as Hong Kongers. “There have been blessings in disguise,” Malik said.

Jeffrey Andrews, a local social worker of Indian descent who organized the Thanksgiving gathering at Chungking Mansions, said many of the Han Chinese guests had never mingled with ethnic minorities before. “For the very first time, we’ve taken ownership,” he said. “We’ve taken a crisis and turned it into an opportunity.”

As the protests spiral into their 22nd week, Zab’s family and friends have warned him against becoming more involved in the crisis. But in Zab’s eyes, the movement has already entangled Hong Kong’s ethnic minorities, whether they like it or not. “If we consider ourselves as part of Hong Kong, we should be involved in political affairs,” said Zab, who is thinking of running for district council in the future. “We can’t just stay behind the scenes.”

Jessie Lau is a journalist in Hong Kong.

#Hong Kong #Hong Kong's ethnic minorities #Sociology #Anthropology #ethnicity

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violetsmoak · 5 years ago

Text

Tabula Rasa [7/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20183281/chapters/49466486

Blanket Disclaimer:

Summary: Tim and Jason have known they are soulmates for years, though neither has said anything about it. Tim thinks Jason doesn’t know and is just trying to live with it. Jason thinks Tim knows but doesn’t care, which is fine with him, he thinks the soulmate thing is a crock anyway. But one night, a minor mishap forces them to confront the issue head-on, leading to a series of events no one could have predicted.

Rating: PG-13 (Rating may change later)

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #soulmate aversion #secret identity

First Chapter

Author’s Note(s): In which as time passes, Jay's not having an easy time coping with all this soulmate stuff, and Tim's still trying to figure everything out. And Alfred is his usual awesome self.

________________________________________________________________

“Forget almost being assassinated, how did he not die just from tripping over something in the dark, or eating expired food?” Jason asks as he looks around the disaster zone that is Tim Drake’s apartment. There are takeout containers and empty coffee cups covering every surface, and clothing soiled with dirt and blood and what looks like sewer sludge strewn across the floor. Packaging and bubble wrap twist around the legs of tables and extension cables create startlingly effective tripwire traps. “Can’t you people afford a maid service?”

“Surely even you aren’t so thick that you don’t understand why that would be a bad idea,” Damian points out as he walks in behind him, carrying several large boxes from the local hardware depot. As he deposits them, he surveys the apartment with something more like horror than disgust. “This is the residence of the man my grandfather considers his equal?”

“He’s not usually this bad,” Dick says with a sigh as he closes the door behind him with one hand and deposits his own burden of packages. His eyes rove across the open concept living area with a worried expression. “I was here like three weeks ago and it was spotless. I mean, his room was a disaster zone, but that’s just Tim. Messy genius, you know?”

“If this is how he lives, perhaps the social workers are correct that he needs a more qualified minder.”

Dick ignores that. “I don’t get it. It’s like he just gave up. What the hell happened?”

Jason remains quiet; he has a nasty suspicion he knows exactly what made Tim stop caring.

Whatever, I’m making up for it now, aren’t I? In fucking spades…

He’s been avoiding Tim’s apartment for weeks now, stubbornly squatting in different buildings every night or shelling out for a motel when he wants an actual bed or shower. But the last few days he found several itching bites on his skin, and hell no. He swore when Bruce took him in, he was done with bedbugs and lice and any other critter that can be found in questionably cleaned bedding.

As luck would have it, Dick was on his way over here with Damian to install handicap bars in Tim’s bathroom and check the place over for any other chores or tasks that needed doing.

“I still don’t see the point of that,” Jason says, nodding at the boxes of tools and components. “In what universe do you see B letting Tim leave the manor any time in the next year or so? Even when he gets his memories back.”

“It’s a compliance thing,” Dick informs him. “Now that Tim’s making actual strides in recovery, social services will be coming at some point to check that everything is set up for his rehabilitation if he chooses to come here. If it’s not done, it won’t look good.”

“That chick’s still pushing this?”

“Oh yeah. She keeps coming up with new requirements she insists be filled. Independent psych evaluations, bi-monthly physicals performed by state doctors—she even wants him to attend mandatory rehabilitation at some government facility in Blüdhaven.”

“What? Why there?”

“Aside from the fact Gotham’s mental health infrastructure is riddled with the criminally insane?”

“Fair…”

“Babs looked into her and it looks like Bruce had the right idea. Gillian Sato’s a nobody. Completely average in everything, trying to make a name in her department by going after a big fish. And you know that Bruce has been CPS’ great white whale since he took me in. You too.”

“I remember,” Jason says with a scowl.

It was shortly after he was taken in by Bruce. He had just started as Robin, was beginning to see Bruce and Alfred as family and the manor as home. And then some do-gooder social worker with the ‘best intentions’ and a dislike of Brucie Wayne exploited a technicality that let her remove Jason from the Wayne household. The next weeks and months dragged Jason through such an emotional wringer that his already abundant trust issues increased by orders of magnitude. Even before he and Bruce started to butt heads later, Jason would never truly be at ease in the manor ever again.

Or anywhere, really.

People let you down. People left. People could be taken away from you. These were the facts of life, and Jason vowed never to forget them again.

It’s yet another reason he’s so resistant to the idea of soulmates. Having one just makes it easier to be let down or to have them taken away. Hell, he’s seen that firsthand, hasn’t he? A simple errant bullet and he almost had to watch his die. He can’t even imagine what this whole ordeal would feel like if he was close to Tim.

Lost in his thoughts, it takes him a moment to realize Dick is still talking.

“…her higher-ups barely know anything about her. Most of them are willing to let this thing with Tim go, but she’s the one who keeps pushing it. Poking for loopholes whenever she hits a new roadblock.”

“So have Barbie make her go away,” Jason suggests.

“And give support to the idea Bruce Wayne is above the law because of his money?” Dick challenges. “That would put a lot more attention on the issue than anyone wants. For now, we just play it the legal way. Once Tim’s eighteen, she’ll have lost a major avenue to exploit.”

“Which means you guys have to put up with her trying to wrap you in red tape for the next four months at least.”

“This is ridiculous,” Damian mutters.

“I know.”

“Not that—although yes, this farce of legal compliance is a waste of everyone’s time. But I’m talking about how no one has done anything about Drake’s condition other than wring their hands.”

“Excuse me?!”

“If we’re ever going to go on with our lives, he must be fixed, and faster than some useless stretching is going to do.”

“Kid, how exactly do you think your dad got back to fighting condition after Bane broke his back?” Jason questions. “‘Useless stretching’ was a big part of it.”

“And a hell of a lot of drive,” Dick adds. “Which Tim doesn’t really have enough of right now. I mean, I know he wants to get better, but it’s not the same as if he knew who he was.”

“Exactly. He would already be walking, I’m sure,” Damian nods. “Then you’re in agreement with me.”

“Well, yeah—wait. What am I agreeing with?” Dick asks, suspicious.

“Through my observations of the situation, I have determined that Drake is unlikely to ever regain full functionality or his memory. The easiest way to fix this would be a Lazarus Pit. I happen to know of one in Cuba.”

“Holy no Batman!” Dick cries. “Did you forget what happened when I tried doing that for Bruce?”

“It would be different in this case, since we know for sure that it’s Drake and not a decoy,” Damian argues. “At least, the body bit. And Todd recovered from brain damage thanks to the Pit.” He considers Jason. “Well. More or less. I did not know you before, therefore I have no basis of comparison.”

“And you also missed the murderous rampage that happened afterward,” Jason growls. “Not being able to control yourself sucks. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Even Tim.

Especially not Tim.

“If anyone possesses the ability to fight off the effects of the Lazarus Pit, it’s Drake,” Damian insists. “He does not have the same latent anger or violent tendencies as Todd’s files say he had.”

“Hey, stay the hell out of my business!”

“Tim might not be as violent as Jason is or was—”

“Screw you, Dickhead.”

“—but he definitely has the capacity for anger. And as it is, he suffers from severe depression,” Dick informs them soberly. “To the point where he’s considered suicide at least once in the past.”

Damian and Jason’s eyes snap to his face.

“What?” Jason demands.

“That was not in his file.”

“Because he didn’t want it there,” Dick tells them, weary. “In case someone tried to use it against him.”

“Don’t you think that’s kind of fucking important to people know about?” Jason demands. “Especially if they have to go out in the field with him?”

He’s having a sudden flashback to the night when everything came out into the open, when he swooped in to save Tim from a fall that he should have been able to divert himself.

Shit. What if that wasn’t an accident like I thought?

“We all have things in our history we don’t want in the files,” Dick reminds them, his face becoming hard for a moment as if he’s remembering something. Then he shakes it off. “Tim’s been dealing with it. He’s on medication, he reaches out when it gets bad…but it’s an ongoing process. I don’t need to tell you guys that.”

“If he didn’t want anyone knowing, he’s going to be pissed you tattled.”

“I’m only speaking up so Damian understands what a bad idea it would be to put Tim in a Lazarus Pit. Depression on top of Pit madness? I don’t want to even think about what he might do.”

Not to mention bringing him anywhere near where Ra’s might pop up is asking for trouble, especially since he can’t fight him off right now.

“So, you are insisting on this waiting nonsense,” Damian concludes, looking frustrated.

“It’s all we can do for now, Little D.”

The kid’s expression remains stormy.

⁂

Damian strides into Tim’s bedroom one morning, wearing a determined expression and followed by his gigantic dog, Titus.

Tim feels a little wary, not so much because of the intimidating canine, but because his younger brother rarely comes near him voluntarily.

“I have read in numerous medical journals the benefits of animal companions in increasing the likelihood of recovery from traumatic brain injuries,” he announces. “Since Father is adamant, we are not getting another dog, I have decided to allow you to spend time with Titus while I am engaged in my studies. I am confident it will contribute to improvement in your condition.” He gestures at the dog. “Titus, stay with Drake. I shall collect you later.”

Then he nods to himself, as if concluding business, and leaves the room.

Tim stares after him, utterly bewildered at the turn of events. Titus watches the boy go, whines for a moment, and then looks over his shoulder at Tim, head cocked to one side as if wondering what that was all about.

All he can do is shrug, which he feels ridiculous about a moment later because Titus is a dog and has a limited understanding (even if Damian speaks to him as if he’s a human being). Still, a beat later, the dog wanders over to Tim’s bed, and rests his head upon the mattress, gazing up at Tim with curious eyes, his tail wagging somewhat.

Slowly, Tim reaches out with his right hand and places it on the dog’s head, causing the tail-wagging to speed up, and scratches him behind the ears.

Titus thus becomes a semi-permanent element of Tim’s recovery process. Damian comes by every morning to drop the dog off as if he’s a parent leaving a child at daycare or school and leaves for several hours. Titus then goes to Tim for obligatory head-pats and only lets up when it becomes clear Tim’s energy is flagging. Even then, he doesn’t go anywhere, simply curling up beside Tim’s bed. When Damian returns, he pokes his head in, nods again, and gestures for the dog to depart with him.

The whole situation is bizarre, but Tim thinks it’s the way Damian expresses worry.

Having Titus around has the added benefit of intimidating Gillian Sato whenever she comes for one of her ‘visits’. Jay can’t always make it there before she does, and she somehow manages to insist on meeting with Tim privately to avoid bias (which he doesn’t understand). Those visits when Jay isn’t present are as short as possible to comply with her wishes, but they’re long enough that Tim is always exhausted and confused at their end. With Titus there, he’s at least a bit more comfortable; the dog appears to sense when his anxiety is climbing or when Ms. Sato says something that makes him uncomfortable.

“It’s rather concerning, Timothy,” she tells him in a voice meant to be kind. “Considering all the resources Mr. Wayne has at his disposal, that he insists you recover here. Instead of in a facility specifically created to rehabilitate TBI patients. It’s almost as if he’s trying to keep you here under his watchful eye.” She leans forward, expression worrying. “You want to get better as soon as possible, don’t you?”

Before Tim can try to parse out exactly what she’s asking him (because he knows somehow the words don’t match her intention), Titus hackles raise, and he begins to growl.

Almost that same instant, Alfred will sweep in and declare that Tim is quite tired today, perhaps they can continue this interview some other time?

Tim wonders if he isn’t standing at the door eavesdropping, even though somehow, he can’t reconcile that image in his head.

Depending on the time of day that Ms. Sato arranges her ‘visit’, the family member that sits with him changes. He much prefers when it’s Jay—he’s the only one whose presence helps Tim calm down quickly after such an interview—but he’s learning to appreciate and trust everyone else in his family.

He’s come a long way since waking up in the hospital and seeing nothing but a bunch of strangers.

Bruce continues to make efforts to spend time with Tim when he wakes up in the mornings. In addition to the sudoku and crossword puzzles, which Tim has started trying to do himself in his spare time, Bruce has started playing other games with him. First Go Fish, and later Memory.

They were games suggested by Dr. Thrussell to help with Tim’s mental rehabilitation, but it turns out playing with Bruce is fun. His expression is awfully serious for what Tim knows are simple children’s games, but he always becomes exceedingly pleased when Tim makes a correct guess.

Dick, who Tim has learned from Alfred is a police officer, is not always around due to his work shifts being somewhat irregular, but when he is, he goes out of his way to help Tim with whatever he might need. It’s both touching and overwhelming; Tim likes Dick, but he feels the same amount of mental exhaustion when he leaves as he does when Ms. Sato does.

How does one person have that much energy?

His favorites besides Jay, are Cassandra and Stephanie.

Steph is nice, as well. She’s affectionate with him, has a good sense of humor, and unlike everyone else who seems wary about touching Tim beyond helping him groom himself or for physio, she’s very tactile.

And she smells nice.

He feels a level of comfort with her that is like when he’s with Jay, which he supposes is because they used to date before she and Cass discovered they were soulmates. Perhaps it’s why he doesn’t question her presence in his life the way he still does sometimes with Bruce or Dick or Damian.

And then there’s Cassandra, who’s just…amazing.

Because she’s like him, somehow.

There’s intelligence in her eyes, but she has trouble getting the words out just like he does. When she sees him struggling with his brain to mouth disconnect, she looks empathetic and he knows it’s not pity or guilt.

The latter is a look he’s started to recognize in Jay, and he doesn’t like it.

He wonders if whatever makes him look like that is the reason he doesn’t get along with the rest of the family. He wishes he could ask, though he suspects even if he could, he wouldn’t get a straight answer.

He’s not sure if that’s normal for this family, or if it’s just another attempt to keep from upsetting Tim. Ever since he started to improve, everyone seems to be wanting to keep him occupied and entertained. Sometimes it’s fun—like today, with Steph egging him on while playing Candy Crush—and other times, it’s just…

Exhausting.

His convalescence aside, Tim has noticed there are times when he feels exhausted and strained for reasons other than his injury. He doesn’t know where those feelings come from, just that he dislikes them.

⁂

One evening, a little over three months following the shooting, Jason shuffles into the manor and wonders how this became routine for him.

It should worry him; how easy it’s been to slip back into the habit of being greeted by Alfred. Into toeing off his boots in the entrance closest and loitering in the kitchen to see if there’s anything left over from lunch or dinner.

It’s deceptively simple to fall into the mental trap of calling this place home again, which is why he never lets himself stay longer than a few hours. Even when Alfred keeps offering to make up a guest room or tries to tempt him with homemade scones for breakfast the next morning.

(He can’t go near his old room, the mausoleum to shattered dreams and stolen childhood.)

Jason’s usual arguments against that are quieter right now, his mind on what Damian said the other day: that no one is trying to help Tim.

In the strictest sense, the sentiment is bullshit; everyone in the Family has been bending over backward trying to make his rehabilitation priority, to protect him from two-faced social workers and asshole paparazzi looking for a story. But there’s been no headway on the shooting, and he wonders if anyone else but him is still looking into it.

Which is stupid, because he knows for a fact that Bruce is a dog with a bone and won’t let any case go, let alone one where his kid got hurt.

So why hasn’t he found anything yet?

He knows from experience, both as Robin and Red Hood, that some cases take longer than others. Bruce spent an entire year investigating the Holiday killings before Jason got involved, and during their years together there were several ongoing cases that dragged for weeks and months before a break could be made.

There are some that remain unsolved to this day.

But this is Tim, you’d think he’d be more motivated. Unless…

Unless he has found something and just doesn’t want to share it because he thinks Jason’s going to go on a vengeful, murderous rampage.

He clenches his fists.

It wouldn’t be the first time that Bruce kept something from him or anyone else if he’s on a case he’s decided is his. He even keeps Dick out of the loop on stuff like that, and he’s the golden child.

Jason’s probably just being paranoid.

Except…

Except he learned paranoia from the best, and that paranoia isn’t always just paranoia, and if Bruce thinks he’ll react badly to something, of course he’s going to keep it from him. Which means they’re going to have a problem because this case isn’t going to get solved if they can’t share important information.

Instead of heading toward Tim’s bedroom, Jason changes course and makes a beeline for the Cave entrance in the study.

He reaches the bottom of the staircase just in time to see Nightwing and Robin peel out of the garage on two bikes. A cowl-free Batman is hunched over the computer, looking up something on the main screen, while the ones off to the sideshow various CCTV feeds from the Narrows, Tricorner and Burnley.

He catches flashes of Black Bat and Signal in the latter two, and scowls.

“I should be out there.”

“That’s not your concern right now,” Bruce replies without even turning around. “You should be upstairs with Tim.”

There’s a derisive snort at that, and Jason glances over to see Blondie balanced on her own bike, adjusting her hair beneath her cowl.

“Problem, Bat-chick?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t sound like nothin’.”

“Just seems like certain people are easier to forgive than others.”

“Stephanie,” Bruce warns, still not looking at either of them.

“No, it’s fine,” she replies. “Let’s keep tiptoeing around the giant pink elephant in the room. And by giant pink elephant, I mean crime lord.”

“That what you’re goin’ with?” Jason challenges. “You’ve been stewin’ on that for three months, and you’re gonna give me grief over bullshit that’s over and done with?”

“Clearly it’s not over and done with.”

“If you’ve got a problem with me, strap on the steel tits and own up to what it’s really about.”

“Okay, fine!” Blondie hops off the bike to march forward, stopping a good foot away from him and shoving a finger at him. “You might be his soulmate, but don’t think that gets you off for all the crap you’ve pulled. Especially since you’ve known this whole time.”

“What I know or knew is none of your business. But if you really want to have a competition about who hurt him most, my name ain’t the only one on the list.”

“Are you seriously trying to pull the ‘everyone else did it too so it’s okay’ defense?”

“No, I’m telling you to be careful in that fragile fucking glass house of yours.”

“Speaking of houses, how long are you going to keep playing house with Tim before you break his heart again? Are you going to do it right when he gets his memories back, or wait a few days for him to adjust and then drop him?”

“You think I’d be that big an asshole?”

“I know you’re that big an asshole. And so did Tim,” she shoots back, merciless. “He told me you were dead.”

“I was dead.”

“And then you weren’t. And he still always told that to anyone who asked. He knew whatever this is with you, it was never going to happen, but it also wasn’t going away. So, he was trying to move on. And if he’s smart—which we all know Tim is, memories or not—he’ll stick to that gut feeling. Because the longer he’s involved with you, the more hurt he’s going to be when you inevitably break his heart. If you were any kind of decent, you’d get the hell out of his life before he finishes imprinting on you like a baby chick.”

“That’s enough,” Bruce says, and this time he does turn around. “Stephanie, patrol.”

“I’m going,” she replies. “But not because you told me to.”

She stalks toward her bike, and after a few angry revs of the engine, speeds off out of the cave.

Bruce is still looking in Jason’s direction; he can feel the frown. “Provoking her isn’t helpful to anyone, least of all Tim.”

“What argument were you watching?” Jason shoots back. “If anyone’s provoking anyone else, it’s her. And I’m telling you now, B, if she wants a fight, I’ll give it to her. I’m putting up with enough crap because of this soulmate thing, I didn’t sign on to let Timbo’s pissed off ex-girlfriend take shots at me.”

“The lack of evidence in this case is frustrating everyone.”

Jason gives him a disbelieving look—there’s no way that Bruce can be so emotionally stunted that he can’t figure out what Blondie’s little tiff was all about.

Then again…yes, he is.

Rather than stew over Blondie’s accusations (and the fact that she’s got more of a point than he’d like), Jason decides to focus on what Bruce actually said.

“So you haven’t found anything on your end, either?”

He leans against the giant computer, keeping a conspicuous distance between him and Bruce, and trying not to feel awkward and naked without his helmet on. He doesn’t actually remember the last time he was down here and not in uniform.

“No.”

“Really. Nothing? Not a single goddamn clue? This is all just some random person that decided to take the kid out?”

“It’s not the first time someone has attempted to assassinate Tim.”

“Yeah, but I heard about that, it was all planned for. This wasn’t.”

“Hence the continued investigation.”

“Yeah, well, there’s no way you’ve been on the case this long and haven’t found something.”

Bruce is quiet for a moment and then nods. “Based on the lack of available evidence, whoever did this was a professional. Elite even.”

“No shit. We knew that from Day One.”

“I’ve since narrowed down a list of suspects from around the world, who have the capability of pulling this off.”

“And?”

“And they’re all either accounted for or dead.”

“So why do you look more constipated about this than usual? You’ve had harder cases with less evidence.”

“Almost all of these snipers were trained by David Cain.”

The name makes Jason tense. “He’s dead.”

“Yes. But before he died, he mentioned something to me. That there were others.”

“Others like Cass, you mean.”

“Hn.”

Jason grits his teeth. “So, your theory is some designer assassin Child o’ Cain decided to come to Gotham just to shoot Tim?”

“It’s not a theory. Just a possible connection. There’s too little evidence to support it.”

“Then what the hell are you spending the time on it for?” Jason demands. “If we’re going for wild conspiracy theories, why not an alternate universe or time travel? It’s just as easy to speculate someone came back in time to assassinate Tim or put him out of commission for whatever reason.”

“I won’t discount those theories either,” Bruce allows, because of course. “But in either situation, anyone coming here for Tim specifically would likely be enhanced to survive whatever means brought them here.”

“Or it’s one of us.”

Bruce doesn’t meet his gaze, but there’s a subtle tensing of his shoulder muscles.

“I saw that,” Jason points out quietly. Bruce says nothing. “You think it would be me, don’t you?”

“I never said that.”

“If it were one of us, I’m the best marksman, so if it were anyone of ours to come back and put a bullet in his head, it’d be me.”

Bruce stands then, agitated. “You’re jumping to conclusions and letting your feelings cloud your judgment. This is only one of many theories, not even the one that’s most likely—”

“Except we both know that ain’t the case!” Jason snarls. “You know as well as I do, I’m probably the reason he got shot in the first place!”

“Jason—”

“I did this, B! I was in the middle of a pissing contest with some asshole moving in on my turf and Tim got caught in the crossfire. I might as well have pulled the trigger myself!”

“You did not cause Tim to be shot,” Bruce snaps.

“That’s not what you thought when it happened,” Jason reminds him bitterly.

“And I’ve since revised my opinion. I don’t believe this to be related to the contract that was put out on Red Hood.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a totally glowing recommendation!”

“Whoever is after you obviously isn’t aware of your civilian identity, or they would still be pursuing you,” Bruce replies. “Going underground would only keep you safe for so long, and it’s been months. Whoever is targeting you may have been watching Red Hood, but they weren’t watching you. Therefore, the likelihood of Tim’s shooting having anything to do with your activities is low.”

“Seriously? That’s your explanation?”

“Jason,” Bruce sighs, and he’s pinching the bridge of his nose in a familiar gesture of exhaustion. “I’m trying to tell you I don’t think you’re responsible for this. Why are you fighting me on it?”

“Because nothing is ever that easy with you! And you’re usually the one driving the ‘Jason messes everything up’ bandwagon. Don’t tell me that’s changed all because I happen to be the kid’s soulmate.”

“That has nothing to do with it. I’ve already explained my reasoning, and it’s enough for me at the moment.” He fixes Jason with a calculating look that he doesn’t like. “The question is, why are you so determined to make it your fault?”

Jason opens his mouth to respond, but the words get stuck in his throat as he realizes he has no idea how to answer that.

Bruce continues. “Your behavior is inconsistent.”

“Hell, yes, it’s inconsistent! It’s been months and I still have no fucking idea how I’m supposed to deal with all of this!”

“Perhaps you should take some time,” the older man replies, turning his attention back to the computer. “Away from here.”

Jason narrows his eyes. “Away from Tim, you mean.”

“He’s at the point where he is no longer uncomfortable with the rest of us, and you did make it clear that you only intended to stay by his side until his condition improved. I’m sure with some explanation you could take some time. It might help.”

“You just…that’s not even…”

Jason falters, not sure how to respond, because really, this is his get-out-of-jail-free card. He did say he was only going to stick around until Tim was doing better, and the kid is doing better. He can get back to his search for the dick that got him to go to ground, can get back to living his life the way he wants it and not based around a convalescent’s schedule.

But the idea of it just now, makes him feel queasy, like he’s running a dirty deal.

And on top of that, it bothers him that while Bruce is certain he’s not responsible for Tim’s injury, he still obviously has an issue with the fact they’re soulmates.

It shouldn’t bother him.

It absolutely should not bother him.

And yet.

“You’re a fucking piece of work, you know that?” he snaps, and heads right back up the stairs, mind racing and unable to settle on a single conflicted thought.

Upon reaching the study he finds Alfred on his way in, a tray of tea and sandwiches in hand. The older man takes one look at him and purses his lips, and puts down his burden.

“From your expression, I suspect Master Bruce will be sulking too much the rest of the evening to be interested in dinner.”

“Like I care,” Jason grunts, slamming the false front of the clock entrance closed.

“Were that the case, you would not be damaging the furniture.”

Jason scowls, though it’s somewhat tempered when Alfred offers him the sandwiches he was obviously about to bring down to Bruce.

He takes a petty satisfaction in polishing off every bit of food and tea while Alfred pretends to busy himself with tidying the already pristine study. Although he’s clearly remaining nearby should Jason need him, he doesn’t try to force a conversation.

How does he always know…?

Jason surprises himself when he’s the one to break the silence. “Why the hell does this soulmate shit have to be so complicated? Everyone else just gets it, and I just want to jump out of my fucking skin because it’s making me crazy.”

For once, Alfred doesn’t comment on his language.

“As I understand it, you have never had another person with whom you could confide about this before. You had not manifested your mark when you first came to us, and Master Bruce does tend to avoid matters of the heart and soul except when necessity requires it.”

Jason grumbles, “No kidding.”

It’s not just now, either.

Years back, Bruce got through the sex talk with his usual emotionless, detached aplomb, but didn’t bother with any of the other stuff. Jason would have thought the guy had no heart at all, except he saw how invested he got with the women in his life that mattered.

“And I would imagine discussing it with Mr. Harper and Ms. Anders has not helped, given the substantial difference in circumstances.”

“You got that right…”

“Then perhaps I might offer my own understandings if only to provide another perspective.”

Jason shrugs. “Why not? It’s not like anyone else cares, other than to look like I kicked a puppy whenever I’m in the room with Tim.”

“It has always been my belief that one’s soulmate is the person who will have the most impact on one’s life.”

“So why isn’t mine the Joker?” Jason shoots back spitefully.

“As if that creature ever had a soul,” Alfred scoffs.

“I’m just sayin’, your logic’s flawed.”

“And if you think a homicidal clown gets to claim to be the biggest impact on your life, I wash my hands of you. Do you realize you are scarcely 21 years old? You have an awful lot of life ahead of you to have that one moment, traumatic as it was, to define all of it. Perhaps in those first few months or years following the incident, yes. But you have a future, Master Jason. Soulmates are not just for the moment, but for the breadth of your lifespan. And however much strangeness we see on a regular basis in this world of ours, none of us have the ability to discern the future.”

“Except maybe Duke.”

“Except perhaps Master Duke,” Alfred allows, his mouth twitching somewhat. “But even that only comes in flashes. He cannot know it all. And neither can you.”

“Is that your convoluted way of telling me ‘chin up’?”

“That is my convoluted way of telling you that you are not the only person to find the matter of soulmates difficult to navigate. And no one—not even Master Bruce—is expecting you to figure it all out right away.”

Jason snorts. “You sure about that?”

Alfred simply raises an eyebrow as if insulted by his pearls of wisdom being questioned, and Jason raises his hands in surrender.

Never question Alfred. He knows everything.

Still, he suspects that Bruce will be getting a rather pointed talking-to in the near future. It makes him feel marginally better about the whole thing.

“Now,” the older man continues in a businesslike tone, “Timothy is in the family room this afternoon. However, I would understand if you do not feel up to seeing him today and would be perfectly willing to make an excuse for your absence should you require it.”

Jason almost accepts the out, but then remembers Bruce making a similar suggestion—albeit with more suspect motives—and shakes his head.

“Nah,” he sighs. “Knowing Timbers, he’s been waiting up all day. Least I can do is say 'hi'.”

“Indeed,” Alfred agrees neutrally, but there’s a twinkle in his eye that suggests approval.

As long as no one else decides to ambush me with their emotional crap today, it should be fine, Jason decides, leaving the study and wandering down the hall.

⁂

Tim is sitting in the family room watching Arranged.

He spends most of his time there, either alone or with whatever member of the family is still at home that day. After so long being practically bedridden, he’s desperate to be anywhere that’s not his bedroom.

Alfred wheels him out into the gardens whenever it’s not raining or damp or windy (which, being May, it almost always is), and he’s since enjoyed the sun on his face for the first time that he can remember. He also got to experience his apparent first sunburn, because it seems his skin is notoriously sensitive.

Worth it though, to be outside.

He shifts, sitting up on the couch in front of the large television. He’s surrounded by a staggering number of blankets and pillows; Tim’s not even sure he really needs them to support him anymore—he’s been sitting up on his own for a while—but Alfred insists it’s better safe than sorry.

Titus is lying on his feet, dozing but alert. Tim’s wheelchair stands beside the couch, with Alfred the Cat (Damian seems to not have much imagination when it comes to pet names) curled up on the seat. Occasionally he opens one eye as if to check on Tim, and then returns to sleep.

He’s not a bad recovery-cat, I guess.

On-screen, Cordelia de Vere and Bertram Montmorency get to know one another and discover they actually get along, being of complementary temperaments. They have undeniable chemistry and their dialog is full of witty diatribe and veiled insults that he can’t help enjoying. It’s much more interesting than what Cordelia had with her soulmate, which he agrees with Jay about. Tim’s not sure if it’s a better match than Bertram and Maurice, who the prince continues to see in secret. Meanwhile, Gerald seems to be getting along just fine, joining the army and vowing to build himself up to meet the standards of Cordelia’s parents. He doesn’t actually seem outwardly bothered by her absence, except for several sequences of him writing her love letters.

“Never mind a bullet, this is the kind of crap that gives you brain damage,” a voice informs Tim, amused and somewhat mocking as usual.

Tim’s eyes snap instantly to Jay as he appears in the room, and he feels a smile break out on his face.

“Hi.”

It’s one of the words he’s been working on in therapy and can finally say it without having to mentally or actually hum through a children’s nursery rhyme song. It gives him a thrill of accomplishment, albeit one that pales at the thrill when Jason’s eyes widen in surprise, and then something that Tim imagines might be pride.

“Hi back,” he replies and glances around the room. The car glares up at him like he expects him to question or end his occupation of the space, but Jason simply throws himself down on the nearby easy chair—it’s the only piece of furniture free of pillows and blankets—and squints at the television. “I can’t believe you’re still watching this.”

Tim snorts and shoots Jason a wry look, mentally telegraphing his thoughts. And what are you doing right now?

“Don’t give me that, I’m humoring the invalid.”

“Uh-huh,” Tim grunts.

“That’s a lot of sarcasm for someone who can’t manage actual words yet.”

Tim doesn’t take Jason’s abrasive comments as an insult. Along with Steph, he is the only one that doesn’t try to coddle him. He talks to Tim the same way he talks to everyone else, which, like he’s equal to them even though his brain is making things hard for him right now.

Still, the reminder of his lack of verbosity directly on the heels of his recent accomplishments strikes something in Tim, something like annoyance. Something that suddenly wants to prove a point.

He frowns in effort, trying to line up thoughts and words and the movement of his mouth.

“This is seriously predictable,” Jason complains. “Obviously the writers are trying to set it up that he shows up again and sweeps her off her feet. Then the rich boy goes back to his boyfriend and watching all this is a total waste of time.” Tim doesn’t respond, and Jason glances over at him to gauge his reaction. Only to notice now that Tim is watching him instead of the show, mouth turned downward in a frown. “What?”

Tim’s lips part, then purse, and he makes a kind of humming noise in his throat, closing his eyes in concentration. He takes a deep breath and then utters a sound.

“Ju…jjuh…juh-ay…”

He blinks, somewhat surprised by himself. Jason seems to echo it. “Did you just…?”

Tim’s mouth quirks upward and he feels almost smug. Then, he slowly sounds out the word again. “Ja-ay.”

It’s slow and stilted, and his voice is raspy from disuse, but it’s there, decrying his enforced muteness.

Jay is sitting up ramrod straight now. “Holy shit, you’re trying to talk.”

The naked awe on his soulmate’s face makes him feel warm, and so Tim plods onward, ignoring the way sweat breaks out on the back of his neck or the way he feels a little dizzy.

“Th…than…kyuu…”

Jay’s expression appears to shutter, awe becoming confusion. “Uh…for what?”

“Sa…say…” Tim is panting a bit from the effort now.

“Hey, forget it, don’t push yourself,” Jason implores him, sitting up and making a pacifying gesture. “Three words is enough progress for—”

“Say-ved,” Tim interrupts doggedly. “Safe. Me. Heard…duh…di…Dick…say. You. Say-ved me.”

There.

That was almost two full sentences. He knows they’re crude and basic and maybe not quite what he was trying to say, but he managed to communicate on his own without blinking. It fills him with a buoyant glee, a bubbling temptation to laugh though he knows from experience that doing that would just make his head spin and throb.

He expects Jay to look proud again, happy or relieved—maybe even a sarcastic, teasing quip.

What he doesn’t expect is the wild gleam in Jay’s eye or the way the blood rushes from his cheeks. He looks like someone punched him, and then he’s standing, backing away.

“That…” He swallows. “I’ve got to…”

He doesn’t finish and instead turns and practically bolts from the room, leaving Tim staring after him in shocked dismay, wondering what just happened.

________________________________________________________________

To Be Continued

Poor Timmy. And just when he's starting to show some of his old spunk, too...

Things are heading for their first boiling point. Someone's got to knock some sense into Jay, either literally or metaphorically (who wants to take bets on who it will be?).

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a-very-fond-farewell · 6 years ago

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Bagginshield North & South au 1/4

Ok folks, I thought about how to make a North & South au (based on the BBC miniseries, not the actual book) without looking at any fic on the matter, because I didn’t want to be influenced by their (certainly brilliant) adaptations. So bear with me for the time being.

This is just a list of things that I would like to see in a N&S!au fic... but I have no energy to write that myself.

ATTN!1: I have changed many things, and it came out pretty angsty, with lots of pining and secrets that must be kept at all costs.

ATTN!2: I would have loved to explore the trans!Bilbo trope (either transwoman!Bilbo or transman!Bilbo), but I feel like I’m not the right person to give this idea the justice it deserves. I’m sure someone else could feel empowered in exploring that particular trope on their own, so it would be better for me not to rob them of such an opportunity.

ATTN!3: I’m just a nonbinary bean with terrible grammar and a knack for angst, also English is not my first language. I WILL ADD TO THIS.

Enjoy!

First Part:

In the mining town of Erebor, up north where the weather is crisp and the fog is as blinding as ever, the main source of income comes from the mithril veins hidden deep into the Lonely Mountain. Still fairly unknown to the masses as a viable alternative to steel for industrial products, mithril is considered to be nothing but a lower metal of very little use a part from being modeled as framing works for jewelry coming from the west.

Bilbo Baggins has followed his parents in this particular corner of the world after certain indiscretions had spread in the southern town of Bag End. At his cousin Prim’s wedding in London the previous summer, in fact, Bilbo had found himself rejecting the unwanted advances of a certain gentleman right before being discovered by his mother as the two men were parting ways from a very heated discussion in a secluded room.

In order to not let others know about such circumstances, Belladonna had shared her intention with her sister Mirabella to uproot in the north, at least until the rumors had dissipated. Bungo, as loving and trusting as ever, had simply accepted her decision and disposed for them all to move to Erebor. In doing so, he had consequently left his position as a parish in Bag End, not wavering in his faith, but merely willing to give his family what they needed to be happy.

Bilbo himself is no longer a lad: close to reach his thirties, many have speculated around the truth about his sudden return to his father’s home leaving his studies at Oxford out of the blue. Up until now, Bungo had protected his son by simply stating to the citizens of Bag End how needed Bilbo was, and Belladonna had made sure no mouths could run and shame her son in the meantime. But those days are over now, and their new town might not be as easily outsmarted this time around.

Heavy with sorrow for making his family move, Bilbo has resigned to keeping his life on check from now on, willing to sacrifice his happiness in order to keep his parents safe and healthy. Not being able to walk without a cane after his last days at Oxford, Bilbo finds himself constantly torn between revealing what had happened there and run away from all those eyes watching his every move. Luckily, in Erebor no one expects much of him, and any possible question regarding his lack of employment while he could no more benefit from being the only son of a parish is met with a simple gesture towards his bad leg. People seem complacent enough to overlook his poor excuse of a lie as long as they can speculate over his father’s decision to move up north.

Filled with guilt at the inability to defend his father against the rumors, Bilbo is reassured over and over again by his mother that they had made the right decision. The price for her understanding, however, seems to be an even greater burden for Bilbo: never speak of his true nature ever again, not even to his parents. Not even to himself.

Gandalf Gray, an old friend of Bungo’s, close enough to the family to understand the implications of their sudden uprooting, has decided to take Bilbo under his wing and show him around while his father has a chance to meet the pupils Mr. Gray has gathered for him to talk to. Having traveled all other the world, Mr. Gray is not new to the hardships Bilbo has encountered and his honesty and desire to help comforts Bilbo while he navigates the wastelands of melancholy that moving so far away has ensued.

While visiting one of the many mines belonging to the Durinson household, Bilbo finds himself shocked at the sight of its master beating one of his miners out of the mountain in a fit of rage. Little does he know what perils hide into the tunnels eroding the Lonely Mountain one inch at a time, or what are the dangers that fire and gas can bring to those working in the dark, with only the aid of candles and caged birds to save them from death.

Still, Bilbo tries to reason with said master, not knowing Thorin to be their landlord and one of his father’s pupils on top of that. Only thanks to Mr. Gray Bilbo is spared from Thorin’s anger by introducing him as a dear friend of his, but this doesn’t protect Bilbo from receiving yet another shock as the man simply turns and strides away after the worker he had just beaten up.

Meeting the man in his own home later that very same week, Bilbo is confronted with the absolute necessity from his part to embody a perfect son and the perfect guest, no matter how much he despises sharing a room with their landlord. But given the circumstances, he tries not to think about him too much while Bungo teaches Thorin all about philosophy and literature: he listens to their lessons half expecting to be invited to share his thoughts on his father’s many interpretations of the ancient sources... but eventually feeling much more at ease staying quiet by his armchair while the other two talk.

Judging from Thorin’s curiosity and will to learn, Bilbo convinces himself to have misjudged the man based on what he had seen at the mines, and later on investigates the matter further with his father and with Mr. Gray over a cup of tea. Apparently, after the sudden death of both of his parents when he was just a child, Thorin, his brother Frerin and their older sister Dis had been entrusted to the care of their grandfather, Thror: a man driven mad by his lust for gold to the point he had closed the mines twenty years before just to barricade himself inside the mountain in search of a vein of gold that never existed. Thorin’s little brother Frerin, small enough to wiggle his way in between the wooden bars Thror had used to close the openings, had looked for his grandfather anywhere before the main tunnel had collapsed on both of them one cold night of December.

Horrified by such a discovery, Bilbo has already spent many a day trying to find the courage to apologize to Thorin by the time he meets Bain, Sigrid and Tilda. The boy and his younger sister approaches him one day at the park, reminiscing of the way he had confronted Thorin at the entrance of the mine, where Bain works as well, while their older sister seems a little wary of Bilbo and apologizes to him for disturbing him so suddenly. On the other hand, Bilbo is overjoyed to have been met with such enthusiasm after weeks of isolation from actual social interaction and offers the siblings to walk them home... just as their father Bard comes into the picture, assuring Bilbo his services are not needed.

Intrigued by that little family, Bilbo tries to know more about them by lurking around the wooden houses destined to the miners skirting the suburban area at the bottom of the mountain, determined to pay them a visit with a basket of food to thank the kids for their kindness to him. Here, Bilbo gets to know the families of many of the miners, all relatively close to each other be it for family ties or friendship alone, that -surprisingly enough- seem more than happy to teach him a thing or two on how to survive the likes of Erebor and its masters.

From them comes the realization of how exactly Thror had compromised the economy of the city when he had closed the mines twenty years before. Many of the workers had found themselves jobless that year and, after the main tunnel had been deemed too dangerous to cross, new masters had come to the city and made their way with new holes into the mountain with no regards for safety. So many holes, indeed, that some workers avoided entering the Lonely Mountain for fear it could fall onto itself at any moment.

In all this, Thorin had been only sixteen and had to provide for his family now that his only guardian had perished in the depths of the main tunnel along with his little brother. Dis had been twenty then, and married a man coming from one of the richest families in town, who had provided for her and for their two sons up until his death, fifteen years before. Thorin, who had been fired to leave his studies in order to gain back his family’s honor by working for other masters, at twenty-one had made enough of a name for himself to be able to care for his older sister and nephews once more, as the customs required.

Dis, on the other hand, after losing her parents, grandfather, brother and husband, had accepted to go back home to her younger brother feeling like a caged animal, but not ungrateful enough to disregard the importance of the mines that brought them stability and wealth. Thorin, on the other hand, getting sterner by the year and low in spirits because of his newfound role as the head of their household, had become extremely protective of his family... just as much as Dis herself, the both of them manifesting some of the traits their own grandfather had shown by the time his obsession had piqued.

Even Bard and his kids had been willing to share some information with him by the time Bilbo discovers exactly how far the Durinson’s had prevented the growth of the town by limiting the number of caves under their watch. Bard himself seems set on hating the siblings for life, convinced the mountain could offer work to everybody without restrictions if only the Durinson’s were to let more people inside. He insists that gold lies under that mountain and that not even the Durinson’s should claim that vein for themselves while other masters have promised a job for everyone in town were the Durinson household to perish.

Struck by all those new revelations, one day Bilbo finds himself too overwhelmed to properly welcome Dis Durinson and her sons inside their home while his mother gets dressed upstairs. The woman strikes an imposing figure, just like her brother, dressed in all black with sober, yet quite beautiful blue earrings bringing out the coldness of her light-blue eyes. The oldest of her sons, affectionately called Kili by her, is roughly eighteen or nineteen years old and seems agreeable enough, asking Bilbo what wonders he has seen in London and what the south has to offer: curiosity getting the best of him contrary to his mother’s best judgment. Fili, instead, looks more lost than anything, not young enough to depend on his mother approval, but still not quite old enough to rebel against her composure and regal attitude.

Then, just as his mother welcomes them in her house, Bilbo notices how Belladonna has lost weight and how skirmish she looks. Being so distracted himself by his quest for knowledge in regards of Erebor and its history, Bilbo has completely overlooked him mother’s conditions and guilt overcomes him once more. Knowing that people were still talking about them because of the insinuations about his father’s decision to leave the Church, Bilbo is faced with shame and anxiety just by thinking how hard it must be for his parents to endure all of that pressure from the telltale coming from the upper society in town.

As he looks at Thorin’s sister and her impenetrable mask, he wonders how she must have felt when she had been married off to a rich man in order to save the family from disgrace. Because that is what the Baggins’ and the Durinson’s have been foreclosed to address, even if I’m different ways: disgrace. Profound and nasty disgrace.

Bilbo finds himself jealous of their luck in regaining control over their fate by hard work alone, but doesn’t voice his feelings as the woman and her sons leave. Nor does he want to speak of the matter with Thorin... until he does, while listening to his and Bungo’s usual lesson one day: feeling left out of the conversation, fed up with the way his family walks on eggshells around him, and impossibly frustrated with himself for not being able to seize Thorin’s character in his head, Bilbo accuses the man of being too full of himself to even care about the struggling miners, ready to strike in order to be allowed to look for gold in the mountain.

Immediately regretting what he has just said, already missing the opportunity to listen to Thorin’s deep voice asking intelligent questions, knowing how the man has been desperate to educate himself now that he had the opportunity to do so...Bilbo can only watch as Thorin greets him coldly and leave their house. Possibly to never return.

#bagginshield #the hobbit #n&s!au

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spnjediavenger · 6 years ago

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Chapter 5: Man, Myth, Legend? Girl, Warrior, White Wolf

Disclaimers: I do not own Supernatural, any of its characters, or the lines from the episode I use in this.

Time frame: set mid S5

Warnings: SEASON 5 SPOILERS, MAJOR FEELS

Notes: Big thanks to @sarimaposthumous for proof reading my fic as always!

Not gonna lie, i got UBER emotional writing this XDDD

Please leave a comment and let me know what you think! And much love to those who have liked and/or reposted!!! <3

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

To say that Elliana was overwhelmed would be a drastic understatement. Since her less-than-perfect reunion with Sam and Dean, she and the boys had a mini catch-up session covering the following:

· Sam and Dean ended up on a path before meeting Ellie that led to Lucifer, the freaking devil, being set free from a cage in hell (the boys thought it best to keep Elliana out of that mess until it became necessary)

· Gabriel was trying to get them to play their roles as vessels for Lucifer and the archangel Michael so they could fight

· The boys, along with Bobby, Cas, and two other hunters, Ellen and Jo tried to kill Lucifer but they failed and Ellen and Jo died in the process

o This ended in Lucifer setting the four horsemen free, bringing the coming of the Biblical apocalypse

Along with this information, you could only imagine how the now 14-year old took to fighting one of said horsemen, coming across real-life zombies in Bobby’s hometown, the boys dying, dealing with a false prophet, and meeting the boys’ half-brother only to see him be abducted by angels.

Not well.

Not that she let it show much, but Ellie was definitely freaking out on the inside. If a teenager fighting plain old monsters was normal – this was abnormal for her; like a whole new level.

Given this fact – it was understandable that there hasn’t been a chance to slow down lately; hence the arrival at another motel.

Elysian fields.

It was dark and it was pouring rain like no one’s business, so Sam, Dean, and Elliana (Anaya sticking close by her side) ran into the building, trying and failing to shield themselves from the downpour.

Once inside, the trio took a moment to catch their breath, shake the water from their hair, and froze at the motel’s appearance. Their jaws slightly dropped at the higher-end furniture and décor, not used to places that nice.

“Nice digs for once,” Dean commented, looking around.

Sam could only nod his head in agreement, still a bit stunned from the shower outside.

Sam and Ellie stood together as Dean was checking in. Anaya let out a low growl at Elliana’s side as the hotel worker leaned forward a bit, examining Dean. He pointed out a small cut on Dean’s neck and handed him a tissue; Anaya kept her eyes locked onto the man and stepped a little closer to Ellie.

Ellie took the behavior into consideration and also eyed the man. He noticed this and simply smiled over at her.

“Beautiful dog. Siberian Husky, yes?” he said pleasantly.

Ellie narrowed her eyes a bit and nodded, also finding herself wary.

Dean finished signing paperwork and looked back to the receptionist. “You wouldn’t happen to have a coffee shop, would ya?”

“Buffet,” the man said. “All you can eat.” He leans in a bit an continues, “best pie in the tri-state area.”

Dean adopts a bit of a wonderstruck expression and smiles. “You don’t say.”

The group looks around the corner where the man had pointed and was indeed met with one amazing buffet layout. Ellie grabbed Dean’s arm before he could run in.

“Can I have one of the room keys?” she asked, eyes scoping out the place before resting on the boys again.

“Why don’t you grab something to eat first? You ok?” Sam was quick to jump in with the ‘worried older brother’ face.

“Yeah,” she said. “I just want to relax a bit before digging in,” she said, not wanting to ruin Dean’s eagerness yet.

Sam sighed but Dean handed her the key. “Stay out of trouble, then,” he said, smirking lightly. “We’ll be up soon.”

As Ellie and Anaya passed the front counter, Anaya leaned into Elliana once more and pricked her ears, lowly growling again as she looked to the receptionist.

Soon, they made it to the room and Ellie couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Compared to every place else she had stayed, this was like a 5-star hotel. She closed and locked the door behind her and jumped onto one of the beds, allowing herself to enjoy something for a moment. Anaya jumped up and lied next to her reluctantly, still wary of things.

Curled up next to her dog on a plush bed, it didn’t take long for Elliana to fall asleep.

“Who are you? Are you an angel?”

“I’m more of a…guardian if you will. Technically, sure, I’m an angel; but more of a rogue. Just someone that heard your prayer and came to help. Speaking of which – not to put a damper on the already dampened mood, but I need you to go pack your normal and your hunting things and we need to go because that demon will come back for you.”

“Wait – how did you know I hunt?”

“Guardian,” the figure said, shrugging a bit. “Now, things, go, no pressure but we should kinda hurry.”

“Ok, Ellie, you’re doin’ great, kid. We’re gonna stop here for a bit,” Gabriel says, sitting down on a bench with the girl. “I can’t stick around much longer. I have a lot of things to attend to,” the archangel explained. “There’s a motel not far from here. You go in and tell them your parents dropped you off and told you to check in-“

“Like in Home Alone 2 when Kevin checks into the Plaza Hotel?” Elliana said a bit excitedly, despite the things she just witnessed.

Gabriel chuckled a bit. He knew there was a reason he answered this prayer.

“Exactly,” he said, a small smile on his face. “Avoid the workers as best you can but leave the moment you wake up. Don’t give them a chance to ask questions or see much of your face if you can help it. You’re young and they’ll find out something’s up and probably call the police or social services or something.

“You’re young. You shouldn’t have to live like this but you do. But I’ve watched over you for a couple months and know you can handle it.”

Elliana was scared, of course; but she knew this was coming for a while. And she was determined to make it work.

So the girl nodded her head at the man and he smiled again.

“Now, I won’t be there every second with you, but if you really need me – just pray for me, ok? And take this with you.”

Gabriel handed the girl a small necklace. She took it and laid it over one of her hands and examined it. It had a silver chain with a silver crescent moon, a circular pendent with a white wolf hanging in its center.

“Wolves are strong and tough and smart. Just like you. I believe in you, White Wolf.”

Elliana smiled and looked up at him. “Thank you, Gabriel.”

Elliana was woken by Sam gently shaking her shoulder. She had only been out for maybe an hour while the guys were downstairs and they found her asleep when they came up.

Dean, like Ellie, was in awe of the room but Sam looked as uncertain as Ellie had felt earlier.

“Isn’t this place kind of in the middle of nowhere?” he asked.

“Yeah?” Dean replied, trying not to care.

“So what’s a 4-star hotel doing on a no-star highway?”

“And as much as I hate to admit it too, Sam has a point. And not only that, but Anaya was acting on-edge in the lobby with the receptionist. She’s only ever like that for a reaso-“

Ellie is cut off by the couple in the room next to them being particularly loud with their activities. Dean starts to smirk before Anaya lets out a bark before the wall between the two rooms is pushed in with a bang.

The trio goes to check out the room to find it trashed, and Dean catches a glimpse of an engagement ring on the floor. They all look at each other, eyebrows raised, when Dean suggests they do some digging.

“Ellie, Sammy and I are gonna head downstairs to see what the bellhop creep knows about this. Why don’t you and Anaya sniff around the room a bit then head back to ours? We’ll meet you back up here in a little bit.”

Elliana nodded and they split ways.

She turned back to Anaya and drew two fingers out towards the room; “Search, Anaya,” she commanded lightly before taking a look at things as well.

Upon finding nothing of significance, Ellie and Anaya returned to her and the boys’ room. She waited a little while before texting Sam to see if they found anything. After a few minutes, Ellie started getting suspicious, as the boys usually responded to her almost right away (well, Sam did anyway).

“Come on, Anaya,” Ellie said, opening the door but stopping in her tracks when she was met with the receptionist. “What are you doing here?” Ellie said, a challenging tone in her voice..

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s best if you stay up here.”

“Where are Sam and Dean?” Ellie challenged again. Anaya stalked over to the two, lowering her ears and snarling at the man before her. He looked at her with a certain look in his eyes that made Elliana want to shoot him. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you. She’s fought werewolves and vampires and other monsters like you. She won’t hesitate to fight you too. And neither will I,” Elliana threatened, pulling a knife from her jacket.

The man flicked a wrist and sent Elliana and Anaya flying back a few feet onto the floor and he shut the door, warding the room to keep them inside.

“Hey!” Ellie yelled, running forward to grab the doorknob, pounding on the door when it wouldn’t open. She pulled out her phone and tried texting and calling Sam and Dean but she no longer had service. And unknown to her, the boys were downstairs being used as bargaining chips to a room full of deities.

Ellie rakes her hands through her hair and turns around, only to let out a surprised scream when she sees a figure sitting on the couch across the room. Out of instinct, she throws her knife at it but it’s stopped in the air just inches from the figure’s face.

“Jeez. A ‘nice to see you’ would’ve been better, I think,” a cheeky voice said. Elliana finally focused to find Gabriel closing her knife and tossing it on the ground as he stood up and walked over to her. He smiled and opened his arms expectantly but was instead met with a fist to the cheek.

A shout of pain was let out but not by the archangel.

Gabriel looked down with a raised eyebrow at Ellie, who was bent over, fist pulled into her chest.

“Ok, 1: you know that does pretty much nothing; and 2: what was that for?!” the archangel said, extremely confused at the moment.

“What the hell, Gabriel?!” Ellie yelled, standing up now but still clutching her hand. “Why would you take Sam and Dean and not even say anything to me?! You knew I was with them! You didn’t think it right to even give me an explanation when I left?! I thought they abandoned me, you jerk!! I was hurt!”

Ellie looked angrily at Gabriel, but had tears in her eyes remembering how bad she felt thinking Sam and Dean had left her. Gabriel saw this in her eyes and sighed, feeling a little guilt start welling up in his chest.

“Ok, E – I really am sorry. I was stupid and didn’t think about how taking them would affect you. And I know this isn’t an excuse but I had to figure some things out once they left and I got side tracked from you. Now, I admit I still don’t like those idiots,” this earned a glare from Ellie, prompting Gabriel to hold a finger up for her to be patient. “But, I know they’ve taken good care of you and should have remembered that. Can my ladybird forgive me?” Gabriel took Ellie’s hands and, though he was serious in what he said, gave her his best puppy-dog eyes that would rival Sam’s.

“Come on, kiddo,” Gabriel begged the teenager, who had her back to him.

Elliana had just finished a hunt; it was just a simple salt ‘n burn but one of the victims had ended up in the hospital. Because I was too late, she though sadly. Gabriel had ‘the talk’ with her about how you can’t save or keep everyone completely safe. And she understood that. At least that’s what she said. But the girl still beat herself up over it.

So here was Gabriel, an archangel for Chuck’s sake, begging a teenage hunter to ‘turn that frown upside down’ (yes, he actually said that).

Gabriel sighed and appeared in front of Elliana, taking her hands in his, making her look at him.

“Come on, little wolf. I know you know you can’t blame yourself. And think about it – if you hadn’t been there, that person could have died. But you were. And they didn’t.” Gabriel saw the corners of her lips tug a bit. “So, please don’t be so hard on yourself. For me. Pwease?” he added with a childish voice, pushing his bottom lip out and giving her puppy-dog eyes. Ellie giggled as he did this, making the archangel give a triumphant smile and gave his little wolf a kiss on the head.

Elliana, of course, couldn’t help but smile a bit at that (it was a curse that she almost always gave into that look, and even more of a curse that Gabriel knew it). She sighed a bit, looking over at Anaya, who was wagging her tail enthusiastically at the archangel, and looked back up.

“I guess so,” she said with a small smirk.

Gabriel chuckled a bit and hugged her. “That’s my girl.” He bent down to greet the overly excited dog next to Ellie, turns out she had a soft spot for the archangel too, then stood up to look at Elliana seriously again. “Ok, down to the reason I’m here. You guys have driven into a big trap, as I’m sure you’ve already deduced. Your boys down there? They’re currently in the hands of a bunch of gods who want to use them as game pieces in the Lucifer’s-apocalypse-and-Michael-wants-to-fight-him game. Now, before you freak out,” he continued, raising a finger again when Ellie’s face dropped in shock. “Give me two secs to save their butts and I’ll be back.”

With a snap of his fingers, Gabriel vanished.

Elliana looked over to Anaya, eyes wide and jaw slightly dropped. What the heck is happening? She thought.

Not a minute later, Sam and Dean appeared on the other side of the room, both looking thoroughly confused.

“Ok, what the – holy crap!” Dean said, looking at Sam.

“Guys!” Ellie called, running to hug them both.

They hug her back and Sam looks at Dean. “By the way, next time I say let’s keep driving, uh…let’s keep driving,” he said.

“Ok, yeah. Next time,” Dean snarked.

“Alright, guys, enough,” Elliana huffed, getting their attention. “You can have your dumb brother fight later,” she continued, earning a double bitch face from the Winchesters. “We’re in kind of a big situation right now and we need to figure out what to do next. So what’s our play?”

“Well, there’s gods in the ballroom and a bunch of people in the kitchen freezer,” Sam filled Ellie in.

“Alright so…I-I…I don’t know,” Dean started, wracking his brain for what to take care of first. “I guess we grab those poor saps outta the freezer, bust ‘em out? Gank a few freaks along the way if we’re lucky?”

“And when are you ever lucky?” Gabriel’s voice cut in.

The trio looked over to see him sitting on the couch again, amusement in his eyes.

“Ok, you know what? Bite me,” Dean snapped. “You know, I should’ve known. This had your stink on it all from the jump.”

“Dean-“

“You think I’m behind this? Please. I’m the Costner to your Houston. I’m here to save your ass,” Gabriel defended himself, though keeping his usual humored façade.

The guys looked at him confused.

“You want to pull us out of the fire?” Dean said, still the only one to speak.

“Bingo. Those gods are either gonna dust you or use you as bait. Either way – you’re uber-boned.”

“Wow, ‘cause a couple of months ago, you were telling us that we need to ‘play our roles’. You were uber-boning us.”

“Ohhhh, the end is still nigh,” Gabriel said, tilting his head pointedly. “Michael and Lucifer are still gonna dance the lambada,” he continued, dancing between the brothers a bit. “But not tonight. Not here.”

“And why do you care?”

“I don’t care…but…me and Kali, we uh…had a thing,” Gabriel forced out a bit awkwardly, but composed himself as he continued, “Chick was all hands.”

Sam and Dean threw him a look.

“What can I say? I’m sentimental. And I’m here for this one too,” Gabriel added, pointing over to Elliana.

Now both guys narrowed their eyes in confusion.

“Ellie?” Dean said.

“Elliana, you know Gabriel?” Sam asked, finally speaking.

Ellie’s cheeks burned just the slightest bit from the sudden attention. “He uh…he was the one that saved me from the demon.”

“Him?” Dean said incredulously, pointing at the archangel.

“Yeah, poke fun all you want,” Gabriel said, rolling his eyes. He didn’t expect the Winchesters to credit him with anything of the sort. “If it wasn’t for her, I would’ve let you guys down already.”

Sam, Dean, and even Ellie rolled their eyes at his remark. But they continued talking, trying to form a plan to escape, and to try and free the people stuck in the freezer as well. Gabriel was going to try and break the blood spell on the boys while Sam, Dean, and Ellie would let the guests out. Before they temporarily parted, Gabriel snapped Anaya into the Impala to keep her safe because he said ‘one of the gods downstairs wouldn’t give a passing thought to eat her in front of you’ – that was more than enough of a reason for Ellie.

The group snuck downstairs into the kitchen; Sam began to pick the lock on the freezer while Dean and Elliana tried and failed to stop the men that came in to stop them. So once again, the Winchesters (with Elliana now) found themselves surrounded by the deities.

Soon enough, Gabriel was brought in by Kali.

“Well well well,” she said, looking vaguely betrayed as she stared down at him. “Looks like the trickster has tricked us.”

“Kali…don’t…” Gabriel said, lightly pleading with her.

“You’re mine now.” The goddess of destruction sat herself on Gabriel’s lap. “You have something I want.” She ran her hand down his chest, moving it into his jacket to pull out his angel blade. “An archangel’s blade…from the archangel…Gabriel.”

Elliana’s eyes widened and Dean had to put a hand on her shoulder, silently communicating to her not to do anything drastic just yet.

“Ok! Ok! So I got wings. Like kotex,” Gabriel said in a ‘who cares’ tone. “But it doesn’t make me any less right about Lucifer.”

Kali now stood, looking down at him again.

“He’s lying. He’s a spy.”

“I’m not a spy. I’m a runaway,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m trying to save you. I know my brother, Kali. He should scare the living crap out of you. You can’t beat him. I’ve skipped ahead – seen how this story ends-“

“Your story,” Kali corrects him. “Not ours. Westerners, I swear” she shakes her head. “The sheer arrogance. You think you’re the only ones on earth? You pillage and you butcher in your God’s name. You’re not the only village. And He’s not the only god. And now you think you can just rip the planet apart? You’re wrong,” she continued, voice breaking. “There are billions of us. And we were here first. If anyone gets to end this world…it’s me.” Kali leaned down and caressed Gabriel’s face. “I’m sorry.” She slid the angel blade through Gabriel’s abdomen, causing light to stream from his mouth and eyes.

“Nooo! Gabriel!!” Ellie shouted, jumping up from her chair, only to be pulled back by Sam. “No!” she cried, fighting against the younger Winchester, who only held her tighter. She eventually stopped fighting but stared at Gabriel’s body as tears streamed down her face.

“This is crazy,” one of the room’s occupants commented.

Kali simply stood there, also staring at the dead archangel. “They can die,” she said in finality. “We can kill Lucifer.”

Discussion continued and Dean stood up, bargaining with the deities. Sam bypassed the shock at Dean’s actions to quietly comfort the girl in his arms. Elliana felt like her heart was ripped to shreds; as if that blade went through her heart instead of Gabriel’s. That angel meant the world to her.

Once Dean was able to convince the deities to allow him to set the hotel’s other inhabitants free, he walked over to Sam and Ellie, telling them to follow him. Ellie reluctantly followed the brothers to the kitchen.

As Dean was ushering everyone out of the hotel quickly, a hushed voice called his name from the Impala. He looks over and his eyes go wide as he sees Gabriel ducking in the backseat, motioning for him to get over there.

“Ellie, I really wish you’d wait in the car. I know you want to stay with us, but this is headed in a much different direction than we thought, ok? Lucifer is going to be here. And we don’t want you getting caught in any crossfire,” Sam said, looking desperately into Elliana’s eyes.

“Sam, please,” she whispered, eyes still holding tears from earlier. “I just lost Gabe…I won’t lose you guys too; I can help you.”

“Well good luck with that. Me? I’m blowing Jonestown. Those lemmings in there wanna run off a cliff, that’s their business,” Gabriel said in his conversation with Dean, sold on wanting to leave this whole situation.

“I see right through you, you know that? The smart-ass shell, the whole ‘I could give a crap’ thing? Believe me, it takes on to know one,” Dean said, narrowing his eyes at the archangel.

“That so?” he replied, tilting his head as he nonchalantly pet the dog sitting in the back seat with him.

“Not that I doubt you, because I don’t – but are you sure you can handle this?” Sam asked, searching the girl’s eyes in front of him as he placed his hands on her shoulders.

Ellie sighed and looked down. “No,” she whispered, then looked up at Sam. “But I couldn’t handle that demon either.”

“Yes. And maybe those freaks in there aren’t your blood but they’re your family.”

“They just stabbed me in the friggin’ heart!”

“Maybe. But you still give a crap about them, don’t you?” Dean continued, knowing he was starting to hit close to home.

“Dean.”

“They’re gonna die in there without you.”

“I can’t kill my brother,” Gabriel said, defeated.

“Can’t or won’t?” Dean challenged. Gabriel cast his eyes to the side, remaining silent. “That’s what I thought.” Dean went to open the car door but turned back to the archangel. “Elliana is in there too, ya know. And she’ll die without you too. Me and Sammy may never get it, but the kid loves you. And I can tell you care about her too,” Dean continued, trying one last time.

Gabriel felt a tug at his heart; he had been hoping Dean wouldn’t mention Ellie for this very reason.

At Gabriel’s continued silence, Dean sighed and got out of the car.

Dean rejoined Sam, Ellie and the others in the hotel. Most of the deities fanned out, leaving Kali and Baldur in the ballroom with the trio. Like Sam, Dean had tried to convince Elliana to wait in the car, only to receive a sad chuckle.

“You don’t get it, do you? I’m with you guys. Through everything. I’m in this mess by my own choosing and I’m not letting you do it without me,” she told him, raising an eyebrow with a light smile. Her smile faded soon as she continued, “And I want to do it for Gabe too…”

Dean was about to tell her Gabriel was still alive when the lights began to flicker violently.

“What’s going on?” Baldur said, glancing around the room.

“It’s him,” Sam said, unconsciously pulling Elliana closer.

“How?” Kali asked, not expecting Lucifer until they removed the enochian symbols from Sam’s ribs.

“Does it matter?” Dean spoke up. “Shazzam us outta here, would ya?”

“We can’t,” Baldur said, fear lacing his voice the smallest bit.

“Of course you can’t,” a voice instantly grabbed everyone’s attention. Their heads all snapped up to the figure standing in the open doorway. “You didn’t say ‘mother, may I?’”

Lucifer lightly smirked as he took account of who stood in the room before him, of course stopping on the Winchesters.

“Sam, Dean. Good to see you again. And who’s this with you?” Lucifer asked, tilting his head in curiosity as he looked at Elliana. “New travel buddy? I’m Lucifer - though I’m assuming you already knew that,” he continued, talking directly to her now. “What’s your name?”

“Go to hell,” Ellie said coldly, not showing the slightest bit of intimidation.

“Oh, I just got out of there, sweetheart,” he easily countered.

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” she spat, taking a challenging step forward. Sam and Dean pulled her back, causing Lucifer to smirk.

“I like her,” he said to the boys. “Feisty.”

Kali muttered to Baldur, who had started walking towards Lucifer with a dominant gait. The boys took a few slow steps backwards with Elliana as the deity gave a short, angered monologue to Lucifer, ending with him consequently ripping Baldur’s heart out.

As Lucifer threw his body to the ground, Kali became enraged and threw a fire attack at him. At the growing physical conflict, the boys and Ellie jumped behind one of the overturned tables in the room to duck in cover.

“You guys ok?” Sam asked his brother and Ellie.

“Not really,” Gabriel’s voice replied before either got the chance. All three looked behind Dean to face him – Dean being shocked Gabriel came back and Sam and Ellie shocked that he’s alive. “Better late then never huh?”

“Gabriel?“ Elliana said, tears welling up in her eyes again. “What- you…you were-“

“It’s ok, E. I’m here. Hang tight ok?” Gabriel turns to Dean, handing him a DVD. “Guard this with your life.”

Gabriel went to stand up, but Elliana moved around Dean and quickly grabbed his arm. “Gabe, no. You’re not doing this by yourself,” she said, voice shaking.

The archangel let out a quick sigh; he was hoping to make this a quick exchange to avoid a conversation like this, but of course had no such luck. “This is the only way for you guys to escape. It’ll be ok-“

“No!” Ellie said again in a harsh whisper. “I’m not leaving you here!”

Gabriel fought back the sting in his eyes and he looked over at the brothers. “Please,” he said. “When it’s time, make her leave,” he continued, staring at them determinedly, though his own voice shook a little. “You make her leave.”

They nodded a bit sadly and held a struggling Ellie when she went to grab Gabriel again.

The archangel gently took her face in his hands and planted a kiss on her forehead, making her freeze in her struggles. “I love you, little wolf.”

Gabriel got up and struck a hand out, throwing Lucifer across the room, into the far wall before he could stomp on Kali.

“Luci, I’m home,” Gabriel said as he stepped into view. “Not this time,” he stopped Lucifer’s advance, holding up his angel blade as he helped Kali up. “Guys! Get her out of here,” he called to Sam and Dean over his shoulder.

The boys walked over and did as he said. They and Elliana headed towards the door, Gabriel standing in front of them protectively as he kept a hard stare on Lucifer. As they neared the exit, Ellie stepped out to Gabriel again.

“Gabe, please, please come with us,” she begged quietly.

“Guys,” Gabriel said again, unable to keep his voice from quivering and tears from stinging his eyes.

Sam took Elliana’s arm but she pushed him away, running back for the archangel so Dean moved up, grabbed her, and threw the girl over his shoulder, leading the rest of the group out of the room.

“Gabe, no! Nooo!! Gabriel!!” Ellie screamed hoarsely as she tried to free herself from Dean.

Gabriel closed his eyes and twitched his neck to get his head back in the game and confront his brother. Though he supposed it wouldn’t make too much of a difference. This was a fight he knew he wasn’t going to walk away from.

Sam, Dean, Ellie, and Kali got outside and to the car – the goddess in the front seat with Dean, and Sam in the back with Anaya and Ellie once Dean set her down. The girl made one last, albeit weak attempt to go back to the hotel, but Sam pulled her into his side.

Elliana stared out the Impala’s window for as long as she could, hoping for any sign that things would work out for the better, but was only met with a bright white light flashing from the ballroom windows, forcing a sad cry from Ellie. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth and she squeezed her eyes shut. Dean looked in the rearview mirror at Sam, both boys hurting to see her like this.

“Come here,” Sam whispered, pulling Ellie into his lap, wrapping his arms around her. Soft cries and whimpers escaped Ellie as she clutched onto Sam as if he was her lifeline. Sam quietly shushed Elliana, one hand rubbing calming circles on her back, the other gently cradling her head. He had helped her at least slow her breathing, but tears still flowed from her eyes and a soft cry escaped her lips every now and again.

All the emotions had been eating away at her energy and she started becoming tired. As her eyelids drooped, her head slowly fell against Sam’s shoulder. And everything she had felt before was amplified now, since she knew Gabriel definitely wasn’t coming back this time.

Chapter 5.5 ->

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fandom #supernatural family #spn #spn fanfiction #Sam Winchester #sam winchester x teen oc #dean winchester #dean winchester x teen oc #sam and dean winchester #gabriel #gabriel x teen oc #oc #original character #Winchester brothers #winchesters #winchesters x teen oc

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businesscoachmumbai · 4 years ago

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Integrity of Business

Sir, I am a business man and I am running my business since many years but I am always worried about integrity of my business in short I can say I am facing moral challenges so basically what I want to know is how I can maintain my business and don’t face the moral challenge and not end up doing something which will destroy the trust of people please guide me?

Today, most entrepreneurs understand the importance of integrity in business. After all, words like "legitimacy", "trustworthiness" and "precision” are famous on corporate websites and in all marketing materials. But do you know what business integrity really means? How do you rate your business? And most notably, what can you do to develop it? What Business Integrity Means On a personal level, people of integrity have a strong moral compass.

· They keep their word, take full responsibility for their actions, and stick to their moral codes, even if sometimes that means ending up in awkward situations or having to make difficult decisions. In a trade context, the business dictionary provides the following definitions:

· Strict loyalty to a moral code, reflected in clear honesty and total harmony in what we think, say and do. State of a system in which is performing its intended functions without being degraded or compromised by changes or interruptions in its internal or external environments

· As an entrepreneur, your personal integrity is reflected in the way you do business. Whether you're a service provider or have a handful of staff on board, the moral code you pursue outside of work is the same set of values that you apply (or should apply) to professional relationships.

· Let's say you are working on designing a website for one of your clients. You are committed to delivering a quality project that will be your original idea.

· The client trusts your skill, so even if there's no proper agreement, you don't cut corners as it would be against your work ethic.

· Taking this to a level, integrity also refers to the actions of your business as a whole. If you and your workers show moral conduct in dealing with clients, suppliers and internally with each other, your business will perform better than if it were the other way around.

· The business integrity game comes down to making tough decisions guided by your internal compass. You won't always feel comfortable with the choices you make, but you will know and feel that it is the right thing to do.

· Acting with integrity can be even more difficult under adverse conditions. If your business is in trouble, you will be more willing to keep it afloat by doing things you might not do under "normal circumstances". You can use business practices and strategies that promise short-term gain at the expense of your integrity. Why business reliability matters Now that we recognize what integrity in business is, let's see why it matters and why you should care about running your business under its banner.

· Gives your business a competitive advantage Trust is not easily earned these days as customers are becoming more wary of the companies they choose to interact with. For this reason, large corporations put a lot of effort and resources into proving that they conduct business morally. Most of the time, people only know better. Looking for an alternative to corporate suppliers, many customers turn to small businesses, just like yours, to source products and services.

· That's why it's even more vital that you run your trade with integrity and meet that demand. Companies that live and breathe their values are the ones people are willing to spend their money on. If you offer quality, play fair with your customers, and also offer transparency, people will keep knocking on your door.

· It makes difficult decisions easier imagine a swashbuckling scenario where you get an email from a former employee of your direct competitor. The person claims to have inside information that might potentially damage that company's public image. Would you be willing to play dirty and use this information to your advantage? An entrepreneur with a solid moral code would never consider accepting that offer. Whenever you face a tough business decision and choose to follow your moral compass, it's a positive step. The next time you have to make a similar judgment, it gets a little easier and results in less decision-making effort.

· It costs less in the long run at first, running your business with integrity can seem like an expensive investment. Why refund a dissatisfied customer if it means losing profit? Why accept project feedback if it means corrections that take time from you? Some entrepreneurs are more than willing to violate their moral code to secure immediate profits or delay the consequences. The truth, however, is that lack of integrity can only lead to short-term victories and never lasting successes? Instead, concentrate on building strong associations with your clients based on sincerity and mutual respect. Don't bet on your customers' trust to make a few extra bucks today and lose thousands tomorrow. It just isn't worth it.

· Helps ensure favorable advertising these days, news travels fast and negative stories are the ones that attract the most attention. It doesn't take long for a Tweet or YouTube video to go viral. But it also works in reverse. Treating your customers, staff and contractors with integrity can help you get favorable social media mentions and provide word of mouth advice. It may seem small at first, but a good reputation doesn't build overnight.

· Five dimensions of business integrity As an entrepreneur, you've probably learned to make certain decisions almost automatically, based on a model that has worked well so far. Sometimes, however, you should stop and consider whether or not the decision you are about to make fits your moral compass.

· Business integrity has many faces, so you should be able to recognize them when they come your way. Each represents an occasion to build or damage your resilience.

· Confidence Whether you store sensitive customer data, handle confidential contract information, or promise to provide quality service, build a relationship of mutual trust with your business partners. Consistency Business integrity is not something you can change on a whim. You don't play your morals according to the situation or you decide to put it aside when it's convenient.

There will be times when it is easy and natural to behave with integrity and times when it is more difficult. Consistency means you don't ghost a longtime customer if a more profitable contract comes along. Plus, you don't suddenly start cutting corners and providing shoddy customer work to focus on a better paying job. Property The ability to admit a mistake and face the consequences head on is pure gold in business. It takes courage to say "I was wrong", compensate for the evil and move on without complaining.

CONTACT: 450, Mastermind 1, Royal Palms, Aarey Colony, Goregaon(E), Mumbai, Maharashtra 400065Ph:+91 8097027355, +91 9137256150, +91 9222086563 or visit https://prakashbhosale.com/

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inadarkdarkroom · 7 years ago

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Venka

This isn’t my story, personally, but it’s one that has kicked around my family for so long that it definitely feels like it’s mine. It’s been told and re-told, but I do think that the central details are very solid.

My aunt Sarah is my mom’s youngest sister. She graduated from high school in the early seventies. She’d been dating my uncle Jack for years, and they went away to the same college. He was on a football scholarship and taking the ag track (farms, ugh). My aunt was in college for education, to be an elementary teacher.

Anyway, it was the seventies, but they were from a very small town with ‘Christian’ values, so despite the fact that they’d been dating for years (and would eventually get married), and they were both seniors in college, there was no way they could live together. So my aunt lived in the dorms on campus and my uncle and a bunch of his football buddies got a place off campus. I can only imagine what a hole it was. Six guys in their late teens and early twenties, all football players, none of them has any idea how to even do a load of laundry. I digress. My point here is that it was a piece of crap house because what landlord in their right mind would rent to those guys? So crappy house in a very crappy part of town.

It was a college town, so there were some nice parts. But it was still a not very big town in a very agriculture heavy state. And it was the seventies, so there were still heavy manufacturing jobs. There were also several really big feedlots and beef packing plants (slaughterhouses) that ran twenty-four hours a day. So while there were the educated muckey mucks and the college students, there were also a whole lot of blue collar workers. And a lot of them were migrant workers who went were the jobs were. A lot of them were paid under the table and lived pretty much off the grid. Cash only. Never used their full names, etc.

Because my aunt was going into education, she knew what kind of challenges the school districts had with trying to deal with the kids from some of these families. A lot of the mothers - if there was a mother - didn’t speak english and couldn’t read or write, as far as the district was concerned. So the fathers/husbands/boyfriends worked these incredibly long hours, the women were home alone with these kids, unable to communicate with school administrators, cops or truant officers. Part of my aunt’s coursework for her degree was going into the local district and trying to help these families get services and resources for the kids, stuff like free lunches and pre-natal care if the moms were pregnant, etc. She said every now and thens he’d have a good day and know she really helped a family, but mostly it was just depressing as fuck. The families wanted the resources, but they didn’t want to bring any attention to themselves. The kids would do all the talking and translating for the parents - if the parents showed up at all. It was just a disaster.

So, anyway, back to my uncle, busy being on football scholarship and living the Animal House life. As previously mentioned, they were in a not very nice part of town - a part of town where the neighbors didn’t call the cops to complain about your kegger going strong at four in the morning, because they didn’t call the cops. Ever.

My aunt was over there a lot, and since she wasn’t a big drinker or partier, she probably paid more attention than the others. But she noticed this kid. And it was weird, even by the Animal House standards. Because it was just one kid, this little girl.

My aunt said the kid was probably five or six, so not old, but old enough to be in school. Except that she wasn’t in school because every time my aunt went over there, the kid was sitting on the balcony of this crappy apartment building across the street. The building had a dozen units, all of them accessible from doors that faced my uncle’s house. It was two stories, so from my uncle’s house, you looked across and it was six front doors and plate glass windows, and then the second story was the same thing, a balcony that ran the length of the entire building with six more doors and plate glass windows.

There were a lot of people who lived in those units, so on the weekends, there would be tons of kids of all ages running around, tearing crap up, generally being little jerks, like kids do. They moved into the house in August, so it was blazing hot and the sun didn’t set until almost ten at night, so the kids were always out running around.

But the little girl was never out there on the weekends. So my aunt didn’t know if her family kept her inside when the other kids were around, or maybe she stayed with another relative on the weekends, or what. But any given weekday, that kid would be sitting there all by herself, just staring over at them, even into the evening. My aunt said at first she just thought it was sad that the kid didn’t have anybody really looking after her.

But then it started turning to fall and the day were getting shorter and colder. One night my uncle was walking my aunt out to her car and they’re out there, like making out or something super gross that I don’t want to think about. But my aunt finally remarked on the fact that the little girl wasn’t out there, and that she was glad - because it was chilly. But then a car turned down the street with its brights on and when the headlights hit the balcony of that apartment building, the kid was still there. My aunt said the kid must have been wearing dark clothes because when the headlights passed over her, all they could really see was this very pale little face. And the headlights were so bright that it pretty much washed away all of her features. So she’d been there the entire time my aunt and uncle had been outside. They just hadn’t seen her because it was so dark.

Anyway, I guess that was sort of a turning point for my aunt. By now, she was into her internship with the district and she was doing a lot of outreach. So there was one weekend afternoon when it was still pretty nice weather and there were a bunch of kids across the street, but also some adults as well. So my aunt went over there to talk to them. My uncle went with her, as a precaution. She asked about the little girl, but no one would talk to her. She said even the kids pretended not to be able to understand her. She figured it was probably because my uncle was with her, but they all clammed up and wouldn’t say anything.

Then it was mid-terms and football playoffs and every got super busy. But my aunt said she still saw the little girl. And by now it’s cold. I mean, it wasn’t Minnesota or anything so there weren’t walls of snowdrifts or anything, but it was damn cold. Too cold for some five year old to be hanging around outside for twelve hours a day. And my aunt said it didn’t even really look like she had a coat.

So my aunt decided to stage an intervention - to get the kid a coat at the very least, if not getting her enrolled in school. So she sees the kid, it’s, I don’t know, like a Tuesday morning or something. Sun shining, mailman driving down the street, you know, nothing weird. So she sees the kid, no coat. She heads across the street and the kid is still just sitting there on the balcony waiting. But my aunt has to walk under the balcony to get to the stairs that lead to the second level. And by the time she walks up the stairs, the kid is gone. My aunt didn’t hear any footsteps. She didn’t hear any doors closing. Nothing. The kid is just gone.

My aunt figures it’s the same thing from before, they’re just scared of an outsider. But now she’s more determined than ever because this kid clearly needs some resources. That week it snows, so when the weekend comes, a bunch of the little jackals that live across the street are out there stockpiling snowballs to throw at each other and writing their name in the fresh snow with pee and other gross crap. But my aunt has learned from the last time, so this time she doesn’t take my uncle, but she does take candy. And a bunch of silver dollars.

The older kids avoid her like the plague, but a couple of the little ones come over. So my aunt starts asking about the little girl. The kids are way more interested in the candy and silver dollars than the questions. Most of them won’t say anything. But finally one of them says “Venka”. My aunt thinks maybe it’s the kid’s name. She’s never heard of a name like that, but maybe it’s a nickname or something. So she gives the little kids some candy and money. And when the older kids see what the little ones have, they finally come over. And now my aunt is a little wary because, yeah, they’re just kids. But they’re like fifteen and sixteen year old kids. But they take some candy and a couple silver dollars and they talk to her. Until she asks about “Venka”. Then the older kids completely clam up and they gather up all the little ones and in like thirty seconds, everyone is gone. And my aunt still has no idea who this kid is.

So now she’s given up completely on trying to get anything out of the neighbors directly. She starts asking around at work. But all of the other interns are in exactly the same situation as my aunt. They’re all really young and doing their damndest to keep their heads above water and help with this situation that so much bigger than them, and they barely have any resources to be able to do anything. None of the other interns have ever heard of this kid - my aunt was thinking maybe if she went somewhere on the weekends, then she’d maybe ended up on someone else’s roster or canvassing map or something. But no luck. No one has seen or heard of a kid by that description, and the name Venka doesn’t mean anything to anyone. My aunt even asks the social worker at the school and one of the cops who does outreach and none of them have heard anything either.

So it’s close to finals and my aunt is heading over to my uncle’s place to “study”. Ugh. Anyway, it’s not late, but it’s winter, so it’s hella dark, even at seven in the evening. But she sees the kid. And now it’s absolutely freezing out, and they had an ice storm just the night before and that kid is out there. So my aunt flips out and heads over there, fully intending to get the kid and call the cops, because this isn’t just neglect at this point, it’s abuse. But it’s crazy icy, so when she starts up the stairs to the second floor, she has to be really careful because everything is coated in like an inch of ice.

Anyway, she gets up there and the kid is gone again. And FINALLY my aunt gets freaked out. Because there is NO WAY a kid could have moved that fast on icy concrete. And she knows that none of the doors to any of the apartments were opened. There’s no snow, so it’s not like the kid could have bailed off the balcony and into a snow drift. But my aunt pulls it together and decides to walk the length of the balcony just to make sure the kid isn’t there - even though she can see all of it.

So she gets to the midway point on the balcony, where this kid is always sitting and in the ice there are these - she didn’t know what to call them. They’re not footprints, because they aren’t shaped like feet, not even like little feet. They’re mostly round, but like there’s a wedge out of the front of both of them. And they’re not just on top of the ice, they’re all the way through it, down to bare concrete. Like the kid had been standing there during the ice storm the previous night, and the ice had built up around her feet.

So my aunt freaks out and tears ass off the balcony and down the stairs - and manages to trip and take a spectacular chunk out of her shin, she still has the scar today. Anyway, she makes it across the street and is freaking the hell out. So my uncle and two of his roommates head over to check it out while my aunt stays back at their house, along with the roommates’ girlfriends who are busy patching up my aunt’s leg.

It’s like ten minutes before the guys come back and they say, yeah, they saw the footprints. And none of them can come up with any kind of explanation, but they’re trying to play it off. They work out all these different scenarios that seem plausible, like maybe there had been some empty cups or something sitting there and the kid kicked them off the ledge, and that made the weird footprints. They convinced her that if they went over and looked in the morning they’d probably find some cups on the ground. And then they said that maybe my aunt hadn’t seen the kid at all. At this point they’d ALL seen the kid at least once. She was always over there. But they pointed out that they all got so used to seeing her, that they probably just saw a shadow and took for granted that it was the kid. (Which didn’t make any sense if they really thought the kid had kicked over some cups, but whatever.)

Anyway, they all play it off. My uncle ends up driving my aunt in her car back to the dorm, and has one of his roommates pick him up later. And then finals and they’re all too busy to worry about the kid at all.

But then finals are over, so, of course, my uncle and his roommates throw a giant kegger before everyone heads home for Christmas. It’s the first time my aunt has been back to the house since all of the stuff on the balcony happened. But everything seems fine. It’s a weekend so some of the older kids from the apartment building across the street are loitering around, which means the little girl is nowhere to be seen, which, at this point, is just fine with my aunt

So the party is okay, a little mellower than usual maybe because a lot of people have already left for the holidays. So rather than the full on bacchanalia that usually happens, it’s like twenty people hanging out, drinking. All of my uncle’s roommates are still there, and their girlfriends and a couple of other guys from the football team. And one of the non-roommate players has brought his older sister, who graduates several years earlier. Her name is Marisol and it turns out that she graduated with a degree in my aunt’s major. And it turned out that she had been in the pilot program the year they started the internship program with the school district.

So the night wears on and there’s been another ice storm and the lights flicker out, which apparently isn’t a big deal. I’m not sure if it was the 1970s power grid that was the issue, or just the piece of crap house they were renting. Either way, the power goes out and so these idiots start a fire in the fireplace, which I don’t think they’d ever lit before. I’m not even clear on it being a completely functional fireplace. I’m still surprised no one died from carbon monoxide poisoning.

But yeah, so they’re all fairly trashed at this point, sitting around a roaring fire. And one of the roommates brings up the weird footprints - which no one has talked about in the last week, at least not in front of my aunt. And my uncle swears by it that they didn’t discuss it. But it’s been a week and the guys who went over and looked - my uncle and two of his roommates - finally admit that it was creepy as fuck.

And one of the guys says something like “I know it’s not possible, but it looked like - “ and he just stops.

And the other roommate says, “Yeah, like a ... goat hoof, or a pig hoof.”

And then my uncle finally says, “Yeah, like something was standing there with cloven feet.”

And then I guess one of the logs in the fire popped and everyone jumped and there were a few screams and then they all laughed it off and poured another round. But according to my aunt, the entire energy in the room was still uneasy.

And then the roommate who said it looked like a goat hoof turned to my aunt and said, “What did you say her name was? Velma?”

And my aunt says, “Venka.”

My aunt says you could have heard a pin drop at this point. But again, there’s some nervous laughter, and this time someone finally changes the subject for good. And my aunt decides to get good and drunk. And for another hour or so, there’s nothing more about the weird kid across the street.

At some point, my aunt gets up and goes into the kitchen and she says that Marisol, the teammate’s sister follows her. They’re alone in the kitchen and my aunt’s only just met Marisol, but she says the look on her face is really weird.

So Marisol says, “Did you say her name was Venka?”

And my aunt nods and says, “Something like that. The kids - the regular kids - across the street told me.”

Marisol nods and doesn’t say anything. So my aunt does the dishes or gets out a Jell-o mold or whatever the hell she was doing in the kitchen. But when she turns to leave, Marisol puts a hand on her arm and says, “It wasn’t Venka. It was ‘venga’. It’s slang. It means ‘come here’ in Spanish.”

And that’s when Marisol tells my aunt the story. It was the first year the district and the college tried this internship program and Marisol is stuck literally going door to door, trying to find these families with kids that need to be enrolled. Marisol gets a hell of a lot farther than my aunt ever got because she spoke fluent Spanish. The families still didn’t like her nosing around, but they would at least speak to her.

Marisol says she went to this crappy apartment building, it wasn’t the one across the street from my uncle’s rental, but it wasn’t far. And she sees all of these kids, including this little girl dressed in dark clothes, who appears to be by herself.

So Marisol talked to the more friendly kids and their families and she convinced them that they can qualify for services and going to school is really a good thing to be doing. And as she got up to go, she asked about the little girl she saw outside. And she said there was this old woman, probably a grandmother or great grandmother As soon as Marisol mentioned the girl, the woman crossed herself and shook her head. She tells Marisol in spanish that it isn’t a little girl. It’s a bad spirit and Marisol should forget she ever saw her.

Marisol isn’t easy to spook, and at this point, she’s heard unbelievable amounts of bullshit from families who are trying to stay off the radar with the schools and the cops. She figures maybe the kid is illegal, or maybe she was stolen and sold or given to another family - sadly, it happens. There was nothing particularly strange looking about the girl.

But Marisol said that when she tried to really think back to the girl’s features, nothing came to mind. It was sort of blank. Just a general impression of a girl in dark clothes. Anyway, Marisol wants to help, but she’s not about to set off some feisty grandmother armed with a rosary so she nods and leaves.

But she says starts to listen over the weeks and months. And she hears more and more about this venga girl. Apparently she’s called that because she whispers ‘venga’ and tries to lead people off into the woods. Marisol wasn’t clear on what supposedly happened to anyone who dared to follow her. According to the conversations she overheard, all of the kids knew better than to follow the girl or else they’d be beaten within an inch of their lives by a granny armed with a wooden spoon.

But Marisol said it was weird. And she swore she would catch glimpses of this kid in different places around town. And apparently there was a disturbing amount of animal mutilations, which always seemed weird to me. Given the amount of packing plants around, surely if that was your thing, you could find someone to pay you a reasonable salary to do it. But what do I know?

Anyway, by this time my aunt is super dunk and totally freaked out. So she gets away from Marisol as quickly as she can and informs my uncle that he’s taking her back to the dorm. So they head out to my aunt’s car. And okay, so supposedly there had been another ice storm, but I’m not sure I believe that. I think my uncle may have just been tanked. But a couple of blocks from the apartment, by this wooded area, he manages to slam the wheel into the curb hard enough that it blows out the tire. So it’s the middle of the night and it’s freezing and my uncle is out there with a flare, because apparently he doesn’t have a flashlight, changing a tire.

My aunt is in the car and is totally freaked out. And the flare is red, of course, and there’s all this ice, so there is red light flashing everywhere. But she say she looks over into the woods and that girl is there, like twenty feet from the car. And the flare is bright enough that my aunt can get a really good look at her face, except ... there isn’t one. She said her face was perfectly pale and featureless. My aunt swears it was face shaped, but there were no eyes, no nose, no mouth. Not like a skull. It was just completely smooth.

My aunt is in the car with the heater on and the radio going and she says she can hear this girl whispering ‘venga’ to her. How do you whisper without a mouth? I don’t fucking know and I don’t fucking want to know. The girl is crooking a finger at my aunt. This is the first time my aunt has ever seen the girl’s hands and she say she has these really long fingernails, but they’re cracked and some of them are bleeding, like she’s been trying to claw her way out of something. And her feet aren’t feet, they’re like hooves.

At at this point, my uncle climbs back into the car and my aunt turns to look at him. When she turns back to point out the girl, she’s gone.

They finally get back to the dorm and my aunt sleeps on the couch in the lobby next to my uncle. As soon as the sun is up, they pack up and drive all the way home for the holidays. And when they come back up in the middle of January for their last semester, my aunt categorically refuses to go back over to my uncle’s apartment. She finished her internship and she switched over to student teaching, so no more having to do community outreach. She got to be a teacher’s aid in the local high school.

My uncle swears he never saw the girl again after that. And then when they finished school in May, they moved back to our hometown. To this day, my aunt hates ice storms and she always makes sure the car is packed with flashlights.

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