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lokislastlove · 3 years ago

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Come One, Come All (dark!Loki x reader)

Summary: A girls night out to the fair takes an insidious turn.

Warnings: Noncon/Rape, knife play, oral (m&f), smut, bondage, kidnapping.

This is a dark fic! 18+ ONLY! Explicit Adult content. Please READ THE WARNINGS! Do not continue if these matters upset you!

Authors Note: I wrote another one! No idea where this came from, but it was fun to write. Still working on improving my smut, huge thanks to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor for some tips and editing the shit out of it. 😘 also I know there is a creepy clown in the pic but I feel like I have to say there aren’t any clowns in the fic. I hate clowns.

Chapter 1:

It was the kind of summer night you dream about, warm enough to keep you comfortable in your shorts and peasant top, but with a light breeze that keeps you cool enough to fight the flush of alcohol in your veins. You look forward to these moments when you are able to go out with your girlfriends and let loose, forgetting about all life’s responsibilities, if just for a single night.

“Come on!” Ash calls over her shoulder, her hand tight around your wrist pulling you impatiently.

“Aww but that looks so good” you groan as you press your face longingly against the glass barrier of the hand dipped corn dog cart.

The sweet scent of the frying corn dough wafts tantalizingly through the air making your mouth water. You friends laugh at your theatrics, having just helped you scarf down a large sugary funnel cake and a platter of nachos, the evidence of which still stains the corner of your mouth. Really, it was their fault for getting you tipsy before taking you to the county fair, everything just smelled heavenly and if you could you would try one of everything.

“Just a slushee?!” You beg as Jen steps behind you and pushes you out of the food court, giggling the entire time.

“Come on, fight the drunchies! You promised you would try that new funhouse,” Jen whines, looping her arm through yours, Ash doing the same on the other side.

“Oh yeah,” you grumble.

“Oh stop it” Ash scolds playfully. “Everyone at work keeps talking about it - it’s like a mini escape room! And I’ve always wanted to do one, please.” She rants excitedly before giving you her best puppy dog eyes.

“Ugh that’s cheating. No one can resist those big brown eyes” you pout, but yield as easily as they knew you would.

“I know” Ash smirks, tossing back her long silky black hair over her slender shoulder.

“This is gonna be so much fun, I promise” Jen bumps your hip, giving you a wide encouraging smile.

You manage a strained grin as you let them lead you through the crowd. It’s not that you don’t like funhouses or the idea of doing an escape room, having always loved solving riddles and doing puzzles. It’s just you don’t like clowns, and every funhouse in your experience has at least one.

“Oh damn there’s a line!” Jen moans as you all stop in front of a large structure covered in flashing lights, the ominous ‘Tricksters Trap’ bathing your face in a violent red glow.

Garish contrasting colors somehow both attract your eye and make it hard to look at. Your pupils dilate with the lines of fluorescent bulbs burning into your retinas. The stereotypical circus music blares through the cheap speakers, reminding you of one of those old Jack in the box toys. And of course, without fail, was the obligatory clown statue hanging over the entrance, like some creepy sentinel there to guide you to your inevitable demise.

“Ugh fucking clowns” you grimace as you pass by the entrance, heading toward the end of the line.

“Yeah they definitely nailed the creep factor,” Jen agrees, her eyes shining with nervous excitement.

“I know isn’t it great?!” Ash squeals.

You stand there taking in the horrific detailing painted on the side of the metal structure. You are thankful when Ash explains there is a time limit, only ten minutes to complete the puzzle or else they kick you out and you have to try again. If you figure out the puzzle you get to leave through the mirror maze and you earn the coveted “I tricked the Trickster” sticker.

“Gotta get that sticker, or else that bitch Katie at work will never let me forget that she got one and I didn’t” Ash complains, causing you and Jen to share a look and snicker.

“Hey! Don’t laugh, this is serious! We gotta be smart and figure this out, failure is not an option” she urges dramatically before collapsing into drunken giggles with you and Jen.

“You ladies seem eager to prove yourselves,” slithers a low voice.

Startled you gasp and spin around quickly. The three of you look up at the tall lean figure standing behind you. He wears a perfectly tailored black ensemble, that matches the color of his slicked back hair. His eyes practically glow green against his alabaster complexion. His sharp cheekbones and angular jaw make your breath hitch, causing his thin lips to curve into a sinister smirk. He is stunning.

“Um, yeah. Well this place has the whole town buzzin’. Seems like everyone is talking about it” Jen is the first to speak.

“Ah I see. Wouldn’t want to miss your chance to take a stab at it” the mysterious man surmised, eyes focused on you.

“We got this shit. Right guys?” Ash assures him as she playfully smacks you and Jen.

“Well, I guess we’ll find out. Good luck,” he challenges with a raise of a brow.

You stare after him as he saunters away without another word. His hips and shoulders sway smoothly, his soft footsteps giving him a dangerous almost feline vibe, like he could rival even the most deadly of predators. As he turns to round the corner of the ride he takes one last look over his shoulder at you. Your eyes lock for only a fraction of a second but it’s enough to send a chill down your spine.

“That was weird, right?” You mutter, eyes still transfixed where he disappeared.

“Eh, just another creepy dude. If I had a nickel for every weirdo who tries to chat me up…” Jen jokes.

“You’d have like a whole 50 cents,” sasses Ash.

You are finally broken from your daze when Ash is pushed into you. You laugh and try to brush off the lingering effect of the handsome stranger, shifting your focus back to your friends. The line goes by quicker than expected, with only one group out of the three ahead of you making it out with stickers. The losing groups return to the line from a back door, bickering about where they went wrong.

Finally it is your turn. Ash claps her hands excitedly, dancing up the metal stairs to the costumed man at the entrance. His red and white stripped suit is expertly torn and painted with fake blood to make him look as intimidating as possible. With a tip of his top hat he welcomes the three of you and begins to explain the rules in his well practiced accent.

“Come one come all to the Tricksters Trap, if you’re feeling lost, just go find the map.” He sings with flair and a perfectly timed bow, directing you to the inauspicious black door.

Taking a deep breath you follow your squealing friends into the darkened hallway. Pausing to look back as the door creaks shut, cutting off the jovial sounds of laughter and chatter with a sudden slam. You flinch at the loud noise and turn back to the dim hallway. The short corridor is lined with wall to wall green velvet curtains barely visible with the green rope lights running along the ceiling.

“Guys?” You whisper when you don’t see them next to you, causing your heart rate to quicken

You call for them again, this time louder, your feet unwilling to move from the spot. It has only been thirty seconds and you are already about to call it quits. Get a grip. You take a hesitant step forward.

“You guys?!” You call shakily.

“Hey! Come on we found the map!” Jen pokes her head from around the corner at the end of the hall.

She disappears just as quickly, waving her arm for you to follow. You breathe a sigh of relief and rush after her. You enter a large room filled with all sorts of random objects. It’s as if it is designed to overload your senses. The green from the hall carried on into the room, more velvet green curtains hung on the walls that were not obstructed by shelves of books or other oddities. You saw everything from perfectly aligned glass jars filled with alien looking creatures, grandfather clocks, to treasure chests overflowing with grizzled toys.

Jen and Ash are hunched over a table with a map spread out smoothly. It was easy enough to see it was a map of the room and hallway, with what appeared to be three small rooms hidden along the wall behind the heavy green drapery. You go over and pull back a curtain and find a locked door, the other two also hiding a locked door.

“Ok so it looks like we gotta find a way to open these doors” you offer, your anxiety calming a bit as you focus on the mystery at hand.

“Hey look there is some sort of code over here by the lock on the door.” Ash hollers excitedly.

You each pick a door code and frantically search the room. It doesn’t take long for you to figure out you need to use the books on the large shelf along one wall. The first number tells you the book the second refers to a specific page. You find a slip of paper in the book with a riddle written in a blood red ink.

“I make two people out of one” You read aloud.

“You can hold me in one hand, but I’m used to fill the room” Ash reads hers, her face twisting in concentration.

You both look to Jen, “I have two hands, but I can’t clap.”

“Damn no wonder so many people failed, definitely wish I wasn’t drunk right now” Ash laughs.

“No no we can do this, it’s probably items in the room so let’s just focus. We’ll do one at a time.” You assert, pacing the room and trying to take in all the random objects.

“Two hands…” you mutter as you stop in front of a large grandfather clock. “Clocks have hands!” You yell excitedly and open the narrow door.

The heavy pendulums swing inside and you see a shining silver glint off the rounded golden end. You pull off the small silver key, stuck on by a tiny magnet, and jump in excitement.

“Holy crap! You’re a genius!” Jen exclaims running over to take the key and try it in the door.

The key slides in smoothly and the door opens with a gratifying click.

“Woo! Keep going, you are on a roll!” Ash claps as she cheers you on.

“Ok, ok” you giggle before taking a deep breath. “Two people out of one… maybe a camera? Or wait…” you realize as you stare at Ash currently checking her makeup in an antique mirror hung between two curtains.

“Ash! Try pulling on that mirror!” You yell pointing frantically at the mirror in front of her.

Her brows knit together briefly before understanding, grabbing the frame and tugging gently until it swings open, revealing a key hung on the wall.

“Yes!” You all shriek together.

Suddenly, the lights flicker and a loud maniacal cackle reverberates through the surround sound speaker, turning your elation into yelps of surprise.

“Two minutes left” a familiar polished voice echoes forebodingly throughout the room.

“Shit, that scared the crap out of me” Jen laughs clutching at her chest.

The warning gives you pause, managing to shift the spirit of the whole room. Ash giggles nervously as she watches the lights of the room transition from their previous dim yellow light to a menacing red hue. The mood lighting in addition to the increasing volume of the horror soundtrack playing over the speaker helps to put you back into your initial anxious state.

“Seriously? Is this fucking necessary?” You curse, shaking your head.

“Ok let’s get the last one guys! We can still do this!” Jen yells through the cacophony of sound effects.

“Yeah what can we fit in our hand but somehow also fills the room?” Ash reiterated the final riddle.

“These red lights make it so much harder to see” Jen complains bitterly as she rummages through the items inside a large chest.

“Lights… Jen that’s it! A lightbulb!” A smile breaks out on your face as you figure out the final clue.

“Look up there!” Ash points to a solitary darkened light bulb screwed into the ceiling.

“I got it.” Jen jumps onto the table and reaches up, unscrewing it quickly. “There is a key inside!” She shouts.

She unscrews the bottom of the fake lightbulb and received the key before handing it to Ash. Each of you run over to the corresponding doors and turn the key, squealing in delight when they all slide open.

“Is that it?” Jen asks looking into the cramped dark space behind the door.

It was little more than a closet. Barely enough room for each of you to stand in. You were at a loss. You could have sworn that would be the end.

“Guys there is a lever here on the back wall of mine, how about yours?” Ash’s muffled voice calls from inside her closet.

“Oh yeah mine too!” Jen replies.

“Do you think we have to pull them at the same time? ‘Cus mine did nothing when I tried it” Ash says poking her head out to look at you.

“Thirty seconds!” That haunting voice booms again as a tick clock sounds through the speakers, counting down your final moments.

“Ok let’s try it together!” You nod at both of them, before stepping into the tight dark space.

“THREE! TWO! ONE!” You shout, mirroring your friends calls, pulling down your lever with a snap.

There is a moment of silence as the lights of the room behind you suddenly go dark, the music and sound effects cutting off instantly.

“Did we get it?!” You yell.

You don’t get the chance to hear your friends response as the wood door slams behind you, locking you into the small space.

Tags: @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @caffiend-queen

#dark fic #dark Loki #dark loki x reader #tom hiddleston #come one come all

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myhauntedsalem · 3 years ago

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Camping Cryptids

Summer is the perfect time for people to go hiking and camping. While most out-door adventurers worry about taking safety precautions against the weather, bugs, and wild animals, most do not even think about the possibility of running into something much more mysterious. Yet every year, numerous reports emerge of eerie creatures being sighted among the thick trees in the woods. Below is a list of some of the more popular cryptids that have been sighted throughout the years. Perhaps next time you go into the woods, you will spot one yourself.

The Wood Devils:

Seen around Coos County, New Hampshire since the 1930s, these creatures have been described as looking very Bigfoot-esque. They are typically around 7-9 feet tall wih long, shaggy tan-grey hair. Unlike other Bigfoots, Wood Devils hide behind trees when they see a human coming. If there is no place to hide, the Woods Devil will stand completely still. Throughout the years, many outdoorsmen and campers have heard the screams of these creatures echoing throughout the woods.

The Whirling Whimpus:

Another Bigfoot like creature, the Whirling Whimpus is said to be responsible for the deaths of numerous lumberjacks in the North American Woods. It is said to look like a 7ft tall gorilla, with a fat black body and legs that have hooves, that will hide behind a bend of a trail while a human walks by. As soon as the victim walks closer, the Whirling Whimpus will spin around on one hoof quickly, so as to become almost invisible. While doing this it will make a low humming sound that seems like it is coming from the trees above. When the prey looks up, the Whimpus will attack.

Devil Monkeys:

Devil Monkeys are large baboon-like primates that are being spotted in forested areas of Flagstaff Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, and Colorado, among other places They are described as being 4-5 ft tall, very quick, having sharp pointed faces, long springy legs, and 3 toed razor claw feet. The first sighting took place in 1934 in South Pittsburgh, Tennessee, when reports of a creature that could jump extremely high began to surface. The first official sighting of the Devil Monkey came in 1959 as a couple who was driving through the mountains on their way home in Saltville, Virginia when their car was attacked. The ape-like beast left three scratches on their car. Two days later, two nurses from the Saltville area were driving home when a similar creature ripped the convertible top form their car. Reports continued throughout the years, with many of them involving the Devil Monkeys attacking local animals. One couple in 2006 came home to find a “devil-like” creature attacking their dog.

Flatwoods Monster:

The Flatwoods Monster can be sighted in both Flatwoods and Frametown, West Virginia. The monster is said to be about 10ft tall, and it looks like it is in some sort of space suit or robotic armor. It has a cowl in the shape of an ace of spades, a huge round head, two large eyes that glow green-orange. The Body is a metallic armor structured with thick vertical pipes. The very first report of the Flatwoods Monster came on Sept 12th, 1952 after three boys saw a bright object fall from the sky and land in an acre of land belonging to a local farmer. They ran home, grabbed a small search party, and went to the farm to see what the boys had seen. Upon reaching the site, the group saw a huge ball of fire. They also saw two small lights over to the left of the object. When he put his flashlight on the lights it revealed a creature which hissed and began gliding towards them before changing directions. The day after this incident, a couple driving home had their car come to a sudden stop. A sulfuric odor filled the air. They then saw the Flatwoods Monster standing in front of them.

Lone Pine Mountain Devil:

This creature is a winged carnivore that lives in the West Coast. Some believe it is related to the Jersey Devil. The animal is said to be large, furry, multi-winged, and have razor sharp talons. Its beak also contains rows upon rows of venomous fangs. Sightings began back with the early settlers, including the Forty-niners, who began spreading the tale after numerous coyote and bobcat carcasses were found laying about in the dessert. There were also stories of prospectors found with unrecognizable facial features and torsos eaten clean to the bone. Although sightings were frequent early on, they eventually diminished in the early 1900s. Although sightings were scarce for 100 years, starting in 2003, there has been an increase once again of reported Mountain Devil Sightings.

Nightcrawler:

This cryptid has made two appearances so far. The first one was in Fresno California while the other was in Yosemite National Park. In both instances, it was only caught on video. The creature appears to be only around 4ft high. It is extremely thin with a white humanoid body. However, it does not seem to have any arms, and appears to be wearing a white gown or cloak. According to some Native Americans, Nightcrawlers have existed on Earth for a long time. They are thought to have come from a planet that was mostly swampland.

Jersey Devil:

The Jersey Devil is one of the most talked about creatures in cryptozoology. It is said to terrorize the Pine Barrens of New Jersey. This creature supposedly had huge bat wings, hooves, horns, and a forked tail. Reports of the Jersey Devil include wailing in the forest at night, the slaughter of domestic animals, footprints, and of course, sightings of the Devil himself. One of the most memorable group encounters occurred during January of 1909. During this time, the newspapers published hundreds of accounts on the Jersey Devil. Some of these accounts included the Jersey Devil attacking a trolley and a social club. Although there have not been as dramatic sightings recently, there are still those who claim to have seen the Jersey Devil today. In fact, for many who inhabit the area, it is almost expected that they will have a Jersey Devil sighting during some point in their lifetime.

#Camping Cryptids #cryptid #paranormal #ghost and spirits #ghost and hauntings #haunted salem #myhauntedsalem

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buttterknifeee · 3 years ago

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An Introduction Pt. 2 - Teen Titans x Aquagirl!Reader

I've already finished part 3 and will be posting it soon, meaning that requests for this series is now open!!! Info can be found here and here is Part 1

Summary: You've teamed up with cloak girl, robot man, emo traffic light, and Beast Boy. What could go wrong?

Pairings: none; if you would like to see pairings for this in the future, requests are now open!!! (see info above)

Word count: 1370

A/N: This is my 100th post on Tumblr WOOOOO!!!! Thanks for the support yall :) Once again this is a reader insert of the Teen Titans 2003 show season 5 ep 10 "Go!" (The one where they all meet for the first time!)

You all hid in an alleyway to hide from the aliens, who were on their search for the pink haired girl. You all silently waited for the aliens to finish rummaging through the cars near you.

“So,” Beast Boy whispered. “I didn’t catch all of your names; I’m Beast Boy.” he re-introduced himself again with an endearing tone, opening it up for the rest of you to respond.

“Robin.”

“Raven.”

“I guess I’ll be going by Cyborg.”

“And I guess I’ll be going by uhhh-” You stopped in the middle of your sentence, now realizing that you never thought of your hero name, especially for the fact that you’ve only been a “hero” for the past 3 hours. Lets see, you think. I have water powers sooo water woman? No! Thats stupid. How about Aquaman? No you dingus, Aquaman is already a person and you’re a girl! Wait how about-

“-Aquagirl.” you decide. “Nice to meet you, Beast Boy.” You grinned and shook his hand, while Robin continued to look out for the aliens. They seemed to all be gone as the five of you peeked your head out of the alleyway.

“Alright,” Robin says, stepping out of the alley way. “We need some way to-”

Raven interrupted him. “She’s near.” she blurted, causing the rest of you to stare at her confusingly. “I can sense things,” she says to her defense.

“I’ll see if I can pick up her scent,” Beast Boy says, and you realize why he was called “Beast Boy” at that moment, as he turned into a dog and began to sniff around. You stared wide eyed at the newly transformed dog, before staring even wider eyed and Cyborg’s revealed arm, which was actually a bionic arm. He explained that he's able to hear her with something called a sonic analyzer.

Beast Boy and Cyborg both perked up, saying that they’ve both got the alien girl’s trail from their respective methods. You and the others follow the two boys, leading you to a video store with the entrance blown apart. The five of you find the girl in the middle of the store, chowing down on junk food.

“Uh… Those taste better without the wrapper,” Beast Boy says, announce your entrance. She finishes her handful of sweet treats and prepares to attack us, her hands glowing a familiar green. You gasped in fear.

Robin steps in front of the four of you, trying to stop the girl. “ It's all right. We're friends, remember?”

“Friends? Why? For what reason did you free me?” she spits, her hands glowing even greener.

“Just… Trying to be nice.”

“‘Nice.’ We do not have this word on my planet. Closest is ‘rutha.’ Weak!” she yells. Cyborg steps up this time.

“Well, around here, ‘nice’ means ‘nice.’” He says calmly. “And if you want us to keep being nice, you better tell us why the Lizard King took you prisoner.”

“Not prisoner. I am...prize. The Gordanians deliver me to the Citadel, to live out my days as their servant.”

“And the Citadel are...?” Raven asks raising an eyebrow.

“Not nice.” She says flatly.

“God, that's terrible,” you gasp. “You can’t go with them.”

“And you’re not going with them. Not if I have anything to say about it.” Robin promises.

“Um, don't you mean ‘we’?” Beast Boy corrected him. Before Robin had a chance to reply, the wall next to you exploded, sending the six of you to the floor. You quickly got up as the alien army advanced.

“Seize her!” one of the aliens yelled. You noticed the others around quickly assumed a fighting stance, and you prepared to fight as well.

You ran towards the aliens, raising your arms to burst the pipes below you, sending water straight up from the ground and overwhelming an alien soldier. You punched your arms forward, the water from the pipe shooting back the aliens from the wall they entered from. You jet the water out using your fists, sending aliens crashing into one another.

You continue to fight, making note of the others out of the corner of your eye. Beast Boy is changing into various animals to launch the soldiers through the air, Raven’s using her magic (of some sort) to send a group of aliens through the roof, Robin uses a staff and his fighting skills, and Cyborg uses his brute strength to overcome them. The alien girl uses her green bolts of energy to shoot the aliens away from the rest of you.

You notice Cyborg being carried by Beast Boy in bird form, trying to escape a few of the flying aliens. You concentrated, and a geyser shot out from under the trio of aliens, putting them off balance. Raven takes control of a streetlight and hits them with it, much similar to a game of golf.

You rejoin the others as the army of aliens lay in a pile, defeated.

“I believe the expression is ‘thanks’” The alien girl says, slightly blushing.

“Its what friends do.” You smile, gently taking her hand for reassurance.

“Aw man, my suit!” Cyborg groans. You hadn’t noticed before, but the teen’s sweat suit had been completely torn to pieces, revealing his body to be completely robotic, with colors of blue, gray, and black.

“So? You look way cooler without it.” Beast Boy says, and you nodded your head in agreement. Cyborg looked at you then Beast Boy, raising his eyebrow.

“Yeah. Like I'm taking fashion advice from the guy in the goofy mask and a girl who fights crime in a surfing suit.” He roasts you and Beast Boy’s outfit choices. You make a face at him, taking obvious offense to his statement.

“I would have changed if I didn’t literally wash up from the ocean a few hours ago!” you defended yourself, arms crossed. Beast took his comment way harder than you did.

“Goofy? My mask is cool. Isn't it? Raven?” He looks at Raven, a pleading look in his eyes. Her facial expression remains the same.

“What secret identity? You’re green.” she points out. Beast Boy mumbled, then hesitantly took his mask, revealing bright green hair to match his skin. You laugh as Robin and your new alien friend walks towards the four of you.

“This isn’t over. Now that we’ve interfered…” Robin began, deep in thought.

“Trogaar will strike harder. It's only a matter of-” Alien Girl tries to finish his sentence, but was interrupted by a loud noise. Another hologram appeared over the city, this time with the alien (whom you now identified as Trogaar) fuming with rage.

“Fools! The Earth scum were warned. Your insolence will be punished. Your city shall be destroyed! “ the large alien bellowed. A large gun at the front of the alien ship began to warm up, preparing to release on Jump City.

“Great.” Raven mutters.

Beast Boy is the first to freak out. “So, after trashing a pizza place and a perfectly good video store, now we've managed to make a humongous space gecko mad enough to vaporize our entire town?” He asks rhetorically.

“Go Team.” Cyborg says unenthusiastically. The alien girl turns to Robin bitterly.

“All the fault is yours! I commanded you leave me alone, but you insisted upon the being nice!” She yells.

“My fault?! You blast me, you kiss me, but you never stop to mention that they have a gigantic particle weapon?” he retaliates. A shout match begins between the alien girl, Robin, Cyborg, and Beast Boy, overwhelming and seriously annoying you.

“UGHHHH” you say out loud, ignoring the others. “I should have gone back into the ocean and tried swimming back home, but NOOOO i had to follow that stupid green LIGHT and-”

“QUIETTTT” Raven finally yells, snapping all five out you out of your pity parties and arguments. You all turned to her. She simply waved and said “hi.”

Robin sighed. “Look. It doesn't matter how we got into this mess. We're in it, and we will get out of it, together.”

Murmurs of agreement and nodding came out of the other five of you and Robin started walking away. He turned his head towards us.

“Come on. We got a city to save.”

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years ago

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HASO, “Ash.”

A couple people were showing some interest in other Alien characters aboard the ship, and I thought I would give you all some insight into that. I hope you enjoy, and I hope you all have a great day.

“You have ruined this family.”

“What have you done!”

“The war is the only thing left for you now, so make yourself useful and die.”

Etium slowly lifted his head from the computer where he sat staring blankly at the accounting spreadsheet on the screen. Beside him, the other two Tesraki’s chairs were empty. He sighed, and slowly turned back to the accounting. They had likely finished their half of the books hours ago, leaving him to sit in the darkness alone with his own strange thoughts. His four fingered hands clicked at the keys of the human made keyboard,

He was good at typing, pretty fast for someone who was missing two requisite fingers, but he was nothing in comparison to the others.

He was nothing in comparison to most Tesraki.

Etium was slow when it came to doing the books, repeatedly checking every line and ever string of numbers for any possible mistake that could have been made. The process took him hours longer than it should have, but finally he stood, pushing back his chair and hopping down to the floor. The human ship whirred softly in the distance. It was a comforting sound, but he had always found some measure of comfort in humanity.

Etium had been hit the hardest by the huminization phenomenon. It didn’t surprise him all that much. He had fought side by side with humans since the Drev war, and the changes in him had taken a long time to develop. They ran deep now through his body as sure as his blood. WIth skills honed in human war, and being one of few survivors, he was quick to react to sounds, followed movement more easily, and could read body language better than almost any other alien he knew.

Dr Krill wasn’t even as good as he considered himself.

That’s what war did to a person.

He reached up to his torn ear and shivered at the smell of smoke that seemed to waft up from his fur. He could never get the smell of ash out of his head no matter how hard he tried.

Etium knew there was something wrong with him, but he kept that to himself. The others tended to avoid him, and that was alright. He was friends with the Finnari, and while they were a bit sensitive, he supposed that was ok. He didn’t need anyone asking questions about what he was doing and why he was there.

He ducked through one of the maintenance corridors, and into the hallway behind the rec room.

He could hear humans and Drev talking and laughing on the other side, but when he passed through the next door, he found the hall opened into a large-ish storage room that was lined in boxes and crates. Inside was what remained of the Omen crew. Tesraki, Finnari, Celzex and Yeb. They had a little place here for those aliens who found it difficult to constantly interact with humans.

Yeb was a bit of a special case as she seemed to hop between both without much trouble. She lounged on one of the crates, her tail swishing back and forth against the box below her, bright green fur along her back, waving slightly in the air currents.

Etium leaned against the wall making no noise, and interacting with no one.

He wouldn’t have minded hanging out with humans, and drev, but….. Every time he did he just couldn’t shake the smell of smoke.

Why was he here?

Because he had seen a human boldly risk his life for two wounded alien soldiers.

Etium remembered the red sky above and the ash covered ground beneath. He remembered the wounded Rundi soldier at his side as the creature stalked towards them from the darkness. He remembered the flash of blue, and then an animal howl as the human came charging from nowhere.

When he closed his eyes, he could still hear the blood curdling scream of pain the human had given off as his limbs were ripped from his body.

He shook himself trying to shake the smoke away.

“Clan is more important than anything else.”

Etium lifted his head, arms still crossed over his chest.

“Then mean nothing.” Yeb was saying, “My parents abandoned me in an ice cave when I was just a cub.”

“Not our fault your species is defective.” Lord Avex was saying.

The burg lifted his hands in an attempt to keep the piece, technicolor wings flickering behind him, “Not now, all of you we must remember that as different species we all have different beliefs and needs. He pressed his hands together. The Burg do find clan very important, but it was for our survival for the longest time. There are plenty of other species that don’t need such things, like the Vrul or the Gibb for example, who are solitary creatures.”

The group of three finnari huddled close together and nodded.

They wouldn’t be likely to argue, they hated conflict and tried to keep the peace as much as it was possible.

He glanced over to the side surprised to find Waffles, the dog, lying with her head on her paws, around her neck, the snake creature Jeffery hung like a boa scarf.

He supposed she had any right to be here like the rest of them, she wasn’t human and neither was the snake. Though neither of them were classified as sentient and didn’t have the intelligence to speak. Waffles licked at her paws and Jeffery lifted his head turning to look at the speakers as if he was listening intently.

“This is not about biology, this is about the facts. There is strength in numbers, and numbers can win out over force anyday. Humans are the best example of this and you all know it. They managed to survive on a death world by making packs.”

Lord Avex did have a point, but lord Avex was also known for being an egotistical asshole.

That was sort of the defining feature of Celzex.

The furry little creatures were very proud, and very loyal, so they were both a blessing and an absolute pain to have on your side.

Most of the time they just liked causing problems for the sake of causing problems.

“There is nothing wrong with a solitary existence. My species has been living as single occupants inside a distanced society for a very long time.”

Lord Avex snorted, “Might I also point out that you society is a fascist Authoritarian dictatorship recovering from a pandemic crisis and refuses to join the GA to control their own citizens?”

The hair on the back of her body stood up, “Oh like your planet is any better. Roving warring clans who eat their own children.”

“Please, Peace.” THe burg was saying.

“You have no place in this. The burg have lived under a corrupted monarchy for ages.”

Etium sighed and closed his eyes.

Apparently, he had sighed much louder than he intended, and when he opened his eyes the entire room was looking at him,

“You got something to say.” Avex growled, “Anything to offer from a corporate capitalist hellscape.”

Etium pushed himself off from the wall, “No, I have nothing to say.”

Avex bristled, and when he did he got even fluffier, “I don’t think we are done here. I want to hear what you have to say.”

Etium sighed, knowing that he wasn’t going to get out of this one, “I think that all of our societies suck, they just all do it equally.”

The room bristled, but he kept going. He had stuck his foot in it and now he was going to have to deal. He looked at yeb and Avex, “Both of you are true about the other, same with the burg sorry to say.” He nodded over at the winged creature, “But think about it, all of us suck in some way or another,. My species destroyed our own natural habitats in the name of progress, He looked at the Finnari, No cohesive leadership, and a societal wide inability to make decisions. The Vrul live under a corrupted communist system and the Rundi are all politicians, so guess where that leads us. The Drev are a fractured group of clans bent on killing each other for no other reason than the fact that it is honorable. And don’t even get me started on humans, they are the worst of us all, since they can do everything we can and more.”

He sort of expected the uproar that followed, but kept his head low to avoid having to deal with it. He brushed a hand through his fur, attempting, mostly to brush the ash from it, and despite being able to feel it with his fingertips, he saw none break loose.

The room grew louder and louder until a sharp bark broke the silence.

The room went very quiet very suddenly.

He turned to see waffles had risen up into a sitting position, her hackles raised.

She growled low in her throat , and the entire room calmed down very quickly after that, Jeffery opened his mouth and turned his head like a periscope around the room.

Waffles slid back onto the floor and rested her chin on her paws ears sticking straight up as she sighed.

The room was only slowly able to return to its former discussion, though everyone remained mostly quiet.

Etium slumped back against the wall. He could see the other Tesraki across the room staring at him. He tried to ignore them for the most part, he didn’t really fit in with them to any sort of degree. He didn’t blame them.

He wasn’t particularly good with finances.

He didn’t have to be though, most humans were pretty poort at it too, so any ability whatsoever was considered good. That was another reason why he was here. If he was slow and ok at handling money, then he was going to be fine. If he tried to work anywhere else as a Tesraki….

He'd be fired

Or disowned…

Etium quietly slipped from the room, out and down the hallway. He knew where he was going, and followed his own memory down through the hallways until he came to a door. He knocked once.

“Come in.”

The door slid open and he stepped into a room lit by soft yellow light. Dr Adric was sitting at his desk, skin glowing a pale yellow in the dim lighting. He looked up, and when he smiled his teeth flashed white.

“Etium, it is good to see you. I didn’t expect you till our session tomorrow.”

Etium wandered into the room glancing down at the diagrams on the wall, and the large books on the shelves beside the desk. “Do you want me to leave.”

“No, of course not, take a seat.”

He did and stared up at the ceiling with a sigh.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Etium was quiet for a while, but finally opened his mouth to speak, “I can still smell the ash sometimes, Feel it in my fur when I go to bed. It…. doesn't really bother me most of the time, and I know it’s not real, but it certainly feels that way.”

Dr Adtric leaned on his desk and nodded, “Did you know somatic hallucinations are extremely common In Tesraki.”

He rubbed his fur, “Really?”

“Yes, at least one in twenty report small things. Feelings of items brushing over their fur even when nothing is there. If it starts to bother you, come to me and we will look into helping it. Otherwise just remember the exercises I taught you.”

He shifted in his seat and absently looked at the wall, “So if Somatic hallucinations are common in Tesraki….. Than what about everyone else?”

Dr Adric smiled at him. His expression, both charming and calming at the same time. He had an eir about him that just seemed to make things slow down and relax. It was a nice feeling to have.

“Well both Vrul and Gibb are prone to psychosis with obsessive and grandiosity characteristics. Most Vrul I know could be classified as having some sort of anxiety. Rundi are commonly seen with OCD. Celzex presents with characteristics of Antisocial personality disorder. Finnari can commonly be seen with dependent personality disorders. Both the Drevb and the Starborn, have a high rate of narcissism. In the case of the starborn, they have a 100% rate at this time…. Though to be fair we only have one starborn”

Etium couldn’t help but smile just a little. “Humans have all of those things I guess, since you have a name for all of them.”

“Yes. Though, I would say that I work most closely with Post Traumatic Stress.”

“Like what I have?”

“Similarly yes, though yours presents differently.”

“That’s what the Admiral’s dog is for? He said she was a PTSD dog.”

“That would be correct.”

Etium leaned back in his seat and stared out the window behind Adric. The man said he presented with listlessness, difficulty concentrating, and emotional detachment. He didn’t have flashbacks or stress associated, which is why he couldn't be entirely diagnosed, bu7t the two of them were pretty sure whatever he had was similar. They had thought about depression on one or two occasions, but he didn’t have trouble getting out of bed, or doing things that he enjoyed. He just got listless and distracted a lot.

Adric thought it might be an entirely different issue from what humans could get, but as of yet, there wasn’t enough research to determine that. They were working on it in their own right now, and he had been feeling a little more present, but he still wasn’t really there yet.

He hoped that soon he would be out of the rut he was stuck in.,

“Have you managed to tell the Admiral, like we had been talking about.”

Etium picked at the fur on his arm, “He seems…. Too busy to talk to me and I…. well I don’t know what it would accomplish.”

“I think it would be good for you to talk to someone who experienced the war.”

Etium sighed, “I didn’t really do much in the war. I sat there and just… was scared. The humans did everything.”

“I think you might find there are humans that feel the same way you do. I encourage you to talk to him. Knowing the man myself, I have no doubt that he will be accepting of your story.” He held up his hands, “I don’t want to push you, but I do encourage you to let him know.”

I think it would be good for both of you

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docholligay · 4 years ago

Text

An Overwatch Christmas Carol: Stave III---The Second of the Spirits

Hello there! The third part of this is up up up, and at 11,000 words I know it’s long, so if you wanted to read it in parts that’s great and okay! I worked hard on this and I hope you like it!

Her alarm struck, though she had not set it, and she felt at her own body as she awoke from the horrible nightmare.

Ana, like most people of her ilk, believed herself ready in any moment for any sort of thing that came her way, that she could master it, and tolerate it, and come out victorious. So have all of us, in a moment where we are very courageous in our own homes and beds, said that same. And so despite the harrowing nature of what she had just experienced, it seemed to Ana Amari that anything between a children’s choir and an army might have been just as expected.

But what Ana was most unnerved by, and utterly unprepared for, was nothing. The alarm sounded, and still it stayed dark, a cold, and quiet, just as her room had always been, and no matter how many times she looked over to the clock, at five, ten, or twenty minutes, still the same nothing answered her back. This was enough to make her brave, as it might us all, and so she spat her words into the darkness.

“Ridiculous.”

There was a light from the other room, at that, peeking and shining under the door with a brilliance Ana did not know.. The apartment in Brixton was tiny and dark, and would never have been accused of any manner of warmth by anyone, and yet now the light coming from the living room was golden and warm, dancing light firelight on the walls despite there being no fireplace anywhere near the building.

“Right then!” There was a chipper, high voice from the other room, “Come on! Christmas is ‘alf over already!”

Ana stepped out of bed, creeping toward the door. There had been Jack, and there had been Reinhardt, and despite herself, it was getting harder and harder to pretend that it was all something in her mind. And she knew that voice, had known it for more years than semed reasonable, when she reflected upon it.

She turned the corner into the living room. There was a tree brightly festooned with ornaments and tinsel, and while it might not have been the finest tree in the world it had clearly been dressed with great enthusiasm. There were stockings hung from the edge of the window, carefully nailed in, mismatched and well-loved. The room rang with an echo of laughter, almost as a chorus, but one voice above them all.

And, on what had been her coffee table, now grown long and covered with a white cloth, a grand feast, ham with a rich, shiny, glaze, turkey overflowing with stuffing, rich turnip and parsnip gratin, dripping with sauce, bowls full of roasted potatoes and mashed potatoes, pigs in blankets, Yorkshire puddings, and mince pies with brandy butter.

Tracer sat cross-legged on the end of it, in a bright green sweater, which looked thick and soft even from this distance, a crown of red and green gold star tinsel, mixed here and there with jingle bells, on her head. There was a Christmas pudding in front of her, and she popped a bit into her mouth before she looked up and saw Ana. She swallowed, licked the fork, and grinned.

“Right then.” She set down the plate, and leapt to her feet, “Come on! Christmas is ‘alf over already!”

Ana opened her mouth to protest, but if she had to hear another lecture about narrative structure and known mythologies, she was going to lose whatever was left of her mind. Besides, she had little belief that Tracer would care much about her own feelings on Christmas, and even smaller still was that small pang of regret, the part from last Christmas still dancing in her mind.

“You already said that.” She allowed.

Tracer stood up straight for a moment, and considered, hand at her chin. “I did, didn’t I?” she laughed. “Was right both times!”

Lena Oxton had died. Ana knew this. She knew it in the same way that she knew Jack had died, and Reinhardt had died, and she had attended their funerals, and she had seem them burned or buried. But Tracer’s death was newer to her, having been an interruption to the month of November, the dirt on her grave not quite settled.

It was as, well, unsettling, as her encounter with Reinhardt had been. The room seemed to respond to her, the lights twinkling when she laughed, the smell of the Christmas feast following her about the room like a cologne. The flames seemed to dance and she bopped about the place, and it was only in that moment, Tracer’s eyes glittering brightly, that Ana noticed something.

She wore no chronal accelerator. Ana never would have remembered her without it.

Too much. Draw back.

“You look fairly good, for someone who has been dead for six weeks.” Ana snorted.

Tracer’s eyes narrowed, and the cheer left her face.

“Don’t get smart with me Ana, not in the mood.” She scowled, “Doing this for Jack, because I said I would, so I did, and I’m a woman of me word. But don’t think I particularly feel any sorrow over the idea of you spending the rest of your life alone. I don’t, not a drop.”

Ana opened her mouth for a moment, and then reconsidered. The image of Jack in her mind, of him somehow gathering this group of people beyond the grave to help her, the constant reiteration that this was her last chance, somehow for once in her life, Ana Amari could not come up with some sharp rebuke.

She looked straight ahead, and frowned, adjusting her scarf. “The night will be over before you know it, so, let’s go.”

Tracer nodded. “Right then.” She snapped her fingers, and the two them exploded into sparks against the night, rushing off into the present.

They were outside as the morning sun shone brightly through the streets of London, even the fog feeling it must cast away into the night and not disturb the sacred joy of that beautiful and crisp day. There was the smallest dust of snow on the ground, though you would have been forgiven for thinking it was so much more for the delight in children’s eyes as they gazed out of their windows.

Tracer ran down the sidewalk, jumped, grabbed onto a pole and swung back toward Ana, all in one swift motion, landing right in front of her, eyes glittering.

“Christmas morning!” She gestured grandly, London caught in a sort of pause, the hurry Ana was used to at seven am only a distant memory. “‘appy Christmas, London!”

Tracer rushed over to where a bunch of pigeons were cuddled on the eave of a window, and pulled two large handfuls of birdseed out of her pockets, tossing it all in front of them.

“‘Appy Christmas, little ones!”

“Did you just have that--”

But Tracer was already off, running through the sidewalks and stopping wherever she found someone to greet. A happy Christmas to the little dog with a biscuit, a happy Christmas to his owner with a box of tea, pulled from that same pocket. A happy Christmas to the nurse just walking to home, hoping her husband could distract the kids long enough so she could see them open presents, a gift card to the Pret by the hospital pressed into her hand even as she looked confused. A happy Christmas to the bus driver with a bottle of scotch, rested by his side with bow. .

Eventually, Tracer seemed to realize herself, and broke into a laugh that seemed to ripple through the street, the lights glowing a touch brighter as she did it, even the icy lace on the windows seeming to glitter just a little more brightly as she dashed back toward Ana.

“Right, right, I,” She dramatically paused in front of Ana, “Love Christmas. But you don’t ‘ave to!” She interrupted Ana’s protest, “For that isn’t the real point, not ‘ere, is it?”

“Giving people all these things, but,” Ana shook her head. “Is the point that people will be driven into debt over it? That it’s an excuse to press honest people into working more and harder, and later? The Christmas spirit, for sale at Mark and Spencer’s.”

“Marks and Spencer, but I’ll allow it.” She rocked back on her heels. “There are plenty of people who don’t understand the meaning of what Christmas is, and often they’re the ones with the biggest trees, and that’s the God’s honest truth. What I show you ‘ere? Ought to be in every day. Every where. Because it isn’t about any ‘oliday, or turkey, or nothing. Is it, Ana Amari?”

She drew something out of her pocket, a small gold book,, maybe the size of a credit card, and she flipped it open before pressing it into Ana’s hand. A picture of her and Pharah, Pharah only a baby, long ago and oh so far away. They both looked so different. So full of promise.

“Come on, Ana, there is just so much to see.”

She looked up from it only to realize that they were inside someone’s living room, parents looking at each other with tired eyes as a little girl ran happily around a dollhouse, placing the furniture in this room or that.

“Up all night constructing it, they was,” She shook her head, the bells tinkling, “but it ‘ardly matters. Was all she wanted, right?”

Tracer drew something out of her pocket, and knelt down next to the girl’s dollhouse, nearly nose to nose with her. Ana, whatever Reinhardt might think, had listened to him, and assumed the same was true here, that they could neither see nor hear the two of them, but the girl paused and looked in Tracer’s direction with such intensity that Ana wondered for a moment. Tracer put something in her palm, and closed her hand around it, smiling.

Tracer jumped back up next to Ana and threw an arm around her, Ana shrugging it off just as quickly as the little girl opened her hand.

“Look! Mummy! Daddy! It’s a kitty just like Patch! I didn’t seen it before oh it’s just like her!”

Her parents looked confused, each looking at the other, but the little girl was radiant in that moment of joy, and though Ana refused to look over at Tracer, she could feel the happiness pouring off her.

“I don’t know what you--”

“Next!”

But Tracer’s fingers snapped again, and they found themselves back in Brixton, outside of Ana’s apartment building with the falling, tattered awnings over crumbling bricks at windows. It was nothing to look at, but at least it was a place to sleep, and that was all the more Ana thought of it. It looked particularly dreary, if she were being honest, today, where she could see the scraps of Christmas trees in windows, and plenty without, people like her who didn’t participate in the nonsense of Christmas, who were fully cognizant that nothing changed on one day, no matter when that day was.

“Up she goes!”

Tracer grinned brightly, jumped on top of a dumpster out back, and grabbed onto the drainpipe, the tinsel in her hair shimmering in the dim morning light, throwing off stars into the daytime. She quickly began to shimmy up, humming “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” as she did so.

“Tracer,” She crossed her arms and stared up at her, “I have a key.”

“...You better not pout, I’m telling you why,” Another pull up the pipe, “Lena Claus is coming, to town,” she looked back down at Ana and shook her head merrily, “No you don’t! Left it in your room, then, didn’t you?”

She did not wait for an answer, simply started back up the pipe, as Ana felt for a pocket that she realized wasn’t there.

“Tracer.”

“What?” She turned around, swinging out with one arm, “Bit too old for this, Amari? I could do it all day.”

Ana huffed, but scrambled up onto the top of the dumpster and grabbed the pipe.

“Death has done wonders for you health, but not your attitude, Oxton!”

Tracer nodded. “That IS true.”

Ana began to climb behind her, grumbling as her hands tried to gain purchase on the cold drainpipe, her hands aching with the swell in her knuckles. Feeling her age, a bit, but also feeling a bit of something else, something she could not quite place. She looked up at Tracer above her, still climbing, toward the third floor, occasionally giving a bit of a bounce, or a swing.

Perhaps it was a bit....bad. It was true, that Tracer was well in a way Ana had not seen her in more than a year, and that was all she had said. But there was a sudden realization that Tracer so loved this moment, with a glowing smile and a song on her lips, because she was still basking in the joy of what it was to have her body obey her again, just as it had for years. It felt unkind, even if it wasn’t unfair, to criticize her for it, and she could not remember having had the feeling much before, least of all with Tracer.

“....Just you wait, poppet, got all her gifts ‘ere in her back trouser pocket, Lena Claus is coming to town…”

Ana struggled to pull herself up, slipping a bit on the iciness of the pipe.

Maybe not that bad.

“That doesn’t rhyme!” Another small slip, and a scowl as one of her slippers dangled off her foot.

“Slant rhyme, innit?” Tracer looked in a window, “Good enough for Shakespeare, good enough for me. ‘Ere we are!” She cocked her head and laughed down to Ana, her nose wrinkling, with its spray of freckles gathering like bunches of holly, those lights in all the windows bouncing again, along with her.

Ana slipped again, and felt her foot give way, but with a snap of Tracer’s fingers, they were inside a beige-walled apartment much like Ana’s, same layout, same unloveable carpet, same cheap seaming at the windows, but oh, so much more crowded. Not that it was particularly hard to do, but Ana looked at a man and a woman, sitting on their small threadbare couch together, a toddler sitting on the woman’s lap as the two of them directed the three other little children around the tiny apartment, with only a small smattering of toys to distract them.

Despite this, the apartment felt warmer than Ana’s own ever had, more filled with light despite the bareness of the walls, and maybe it was only the smile between the parents and their children, or maybe it was the chatter in a language Ana did not know, but knew the feeling of without having to understand the meaning, but somehow she felt a certain twinge of what she had felt all those years ago in that miserable military camp, all those Christmases ago.

She resented it.

“I suppose I’m supposed to be amazed it’s Christmas here, too?” She glanced sidelong at Tracer.

Tracer jumped up onto the back of the couch and sat there, cross-legged, shaking her head. “Ana, s’not Christmas here, they’re Muslim, don’t you notice anything? Thought you was,” she made her hands into claws, “the Shrike!”

Ana glowered, unable to decide if she were more annoyed at herself or at Tracer, and glanced around. Of course she would have noticed, if she had a moment, if she hadn’t been waiting for whatever lesson Tracer meant to lay upon her.

“Our point in being here, isn’t Christmas at all, as I said.” Tracer pointed to the both of them. “Inconvenienced by Christmas more than anything, they are. All the schools closed, all the meal programs off or offering a bit of ‘am, nothing really to make them keep the slightest bit merry in all the world. But...look at them. ‘Appy to spend the day with their little family. New to London, right, and filled with something like the Christmas spirit. And that, Ana, is ‘ope. That, Ana, is universal.”

Ana huffed. “They have nothing.” she pointed her chin to the kitchen, where daal and rice cooked, spiced carefully and beautifully, “Such a meager feast.”

“But very appreciated!” Tracer jumped off the back of the couch and shuffled toward the tiny corner of the apartment that served for a kitchen. “She’s been working plenty ‘ard, for the meal they ‘ave here. Everyone knows it.”

The family chattered happily, even as the father had to rise and place a sweater in the sill of the window to keep out the chill from the cold wind that dared to slip inside, and even as the mother smiled sadly toward the large pan on the stove, her eyes full of wishing for something else. But neither of those small, tiny regrets seemed to be able to steal the joy they had at simply being with their children, despite missing a day’s work, despite missing out on the childcare, despite all the things Ana might have laid, not unfairly, at Christmas’ feet, a sense of pleasantness seemed to endure, like cider hanging in the air long after the drink is gone.

“I--” Ana began to say something, something in the back of her mind, and then shook it away.

Tracer nodded, as if knowing that the bounds of this room had been reached in their capacity to teach her student.

“Need to see something a bit more familiar, don’t you? Come on then!” Tracer walked over to the door, and opened it, ushering Ana through, who came along, though grumbling.

Tracer reached into her pocket and materialized a large cardboard tray, laden so heavily with delicacies that Tracer had to catch it with her other hand. Biryani chock full of meat, paratha so decadent that it looked as if it might melt under the simple wave of Tracer’s hand, sweet rice smelling richly of cinnamon and raisins, and things Ana did not even know, but made her feel a pang of jealousy and hunger all the same.

Tracer went to knock on the door, thought a moment, and as a sparkle fell from her fingertips, she drew a Christmas pudding out of her pocket, sauce dripping over the sides, nuts and fruits bright on the top.

“Just so as to welcome them to the neighborhood, try something new, as well.”

She set it down with the rest of the food, and then knocked. There was a call from inside and the swiftest patter of feet as a little boy rushed and opened it, even as his father rose from the couch to call after him. At seeing Tracer, his eyes grew wide, but Tracer smiled as she put a finger to her lips, and with one last slip into that pocket, took out a 100 pound note and tucked it next to the pudding.

She turned and quickly went down the hallway, giggling as the father looked all about the place, unable to see anything at all, while the little boy broke into a bright smile himself, and waved.

Ana found herself waving back, and then stopped herself when she saw Tracer, hands in her pockets, grinning with such a luminosity that Ana would have sworn the hallway was brighter than it had ever dared to be.

“So you are what, Noel Baba now? Must be nice, to be so easily loved.”

“Oh!” She slid down the bannister, and at the end, let herself fall into a somersault and popped back up to her feet in one smooth motion. “I’d love to be Father Christmas, really! But of course, no, there’s no real Father Christmas, so near as I know, but, we all sort of are, right? Father Christmas, and all of us spirits, can only come once a year, and so how lucky and powerful can we be? You, on the other ‘and, ‘ave seen that family at the little mail cubbies for six months now, innit?”

And did not reply, but it was certainly true, that she had seen her. That she had noticed the mother trying to wrangle to children, and the father’s long hours, and the mother has once admired, in halting English, Ana’s scarf, seeming slightly shy of the ragged edge of her own. She had told Ana her name.

Ana could not remember it.

“Always ‘ad the power to do what I did, on any given day, right? Could ‘ave given them all that, but didn’t. Could ‘ave given the bus driver what takes you every day a gift, as well. You’ve ‘ad enough chance to be that bearer, Ana. You waste it, and you can’t pin that on me, not rightly.”

Ana walked down the stairs after her. “I live on the next floor, you have taught me enough--”

But as she stepped down another stair, her foot plunged into the snow on the sidewalk, and she looked up. On a simple street, still being rebuilt after the Battle, but about half redone with a grocery store and several apartment building patched back together. But even the ruins were decked with lights here and there, a bit of English humor at the edges of a healing misery.

“Things like that,” she felt compelled to defend herself, “are only patches on, on a bigger problem.”

Tracer stopped her walking and turned around. “Right then, so you go about with an ‘ole in your trousers til you can buy new? Mustn’t bother with a patch, of course not.”

She looked over Ana as they stood, nearly nose to nose. Tracer’s eyes did not linger, and never had so long as Ana had known her. They flitted, instead, like a hummingbird, from moment to moment and bit to bit, but somehow you got the sense that she was taking in all of you, whether you particularly wanted her to or not. In her eyes, Ana saw reflected bright lights of gold and white and green, though she did not recall there being lights so near.

She was still smiling, had never stopped, and this perhaps annoyed Ana worst of all.

Tracer cocked her head, and she took a step back, looking up and down at Ana.

“Like there’s no point in apologizing, right?”

“I tried--”

Tracer burst out laughing. “Oh, right, right! When you told ‘er that it wasn’t as if your mum were there for you, and so she might as well get over it and see a therapist? Some apology, I’ll say.” Tracer spun around in a pirouette, but than turned back. “And still--”

“Fareeha is a military woman. More even than me. To the good. She works things out in probability, in risk, in order. What would be the benefit of sentimentality, for all that? She does not do things that don’t benefit her. She hasn’t since she was a child. She had a plan, even then. She does what needs doing and I--there’s no reason I would fit into that.”

Tracer looked at her moment, and gave a confused shake of the head. “You really don’t know her at all, do you? No more, at least, than any clerk in the new office, and that’s the truth.” She did not give Ana a chance to respond, to argue. “Come on, then! Let me introduce you to your daughter.”

Tracer threw her arm around Ana’s shoulder, and though she took a deep breath and tried very calmly not to sock her right in the jaw, she had to admit that the warmth she had felt in those other rooms, she wanted to feel in Pharah’s home. She wanted to know what it might feel like to have the warmth of Pharah’s love, something that had been lost to her for so long.

Ana had never been to see the apartment they moved into after the Battle for London, and nearly paused for a moment as Tracer let go of her and jumped on the railing and then through the window, but the snap of her fingers gave no moment to think more of it. Their old place, she knew, had been destroyed, parts of it simply cratered in, Pharah rifling through what they had to try and reconstruct their belongings. Mercy, of course, had gone to pieces, by Ana’s measure, some memory of childhood bothering her enough that she kept her distance. The new place had been built of an old shell, like so many things in London, and Pharah had taken pains with the layout. It was a lovely place, bright and welcoming without being devoid of a certain peculiar charm, seeming less like a new-constructed box and more like it might have been in London all this time, even from the inside.

The furniture was new, and tidy, and Ana nearly laughed to see what she assumed could only be her daughter’s way of making sure everything had its place, and was put into it. Little cubbyholes built in by the door for shoes, books organized by subject and alphabetized, a few lying on the dark coffee table near where Mercy sat, reading one of them. But it was not without its hominiess, the smell of Mercy’s coffee in the air, and even Ana was not immune to it, walking to the mantle over a small fireplace, where a few framed pictures nestled among bright silver and blue garlands.

“A bit personal innit?” Tracer looked at the mantle herself, ‘Not quite the barracks you imagined.”

Ana let her fingers rest on a picture of Pharah and Mercy at their wedding, smiling under the chuppah, the pink roses and daisies in Mercy’s hands blooming brightly. Pharah’s hair was in a low ponytail, tightly held and shining, but she wore still the small gold charm in her hair, as she had for so many years. No longer, of course, not after everything that had happened between them.

Ana gave a mirthless chuckle, “All Angela’s, even before she was punishing me.”

Tracer grabbed at the picture. “She built that chuppah herself, you know. So it’d be a piece of her that was also Ang’s dream. Didn’t put it that way, of course, Fareeha, but that’s what it was.”

There were other pictures, crowded family tables and smiling faces in different locations--bright beaches and a ski chalet, even one at Disneyland Paris all of them squeezed into the frame together. There were, of course, none of Ana.

Tracer pointed to one at the edge of the mantle, Pharah and Tracer side by side as comrades they could not have imagined becoming, everything bright and green around them, both smiling, Tracer holding onto an iron gate, but her other arm firmly around Pharah. Pharah wore her usual deep blue, and Ana found herself jealous at the tightness of her grip on Tracer, the way they grinned at each other, Pharah’s other hand at her shoulder.

“She cared for me, you know.” Tracer said, tapping at the edge of the picture.

“Yes,” Ana rolled her eyes and turned away from the mantle, her voice brisker and more cold than even that wind outside “I know, she preferred you to me, because she preferred anyone to me, if this is your point I can just go home, because--”

“Bloody ‘ell, Ana, it’s not what I said!” Tracer scowled, the lights in her eyes near to bursting with the heat of lost patience. “You are so bloody lucky I owe both Rein and Jack a bloody fucking SCORE of favors--”

“--Well, you don’t owe me any, so you can just--”

“God no, you’d ‘ad to ‘ave done something kind for me even once for me to owe you--”

“--Oh, poor pitiful Lena, as if you don’t have enough adoration, you attention hou--”

“--You meanspirited little desert rat, ought to let you rot, I ought--”

“--You don’t know the first thing about--”

“SHE’S ‘OLDING ME UP IN THIS PICTURE!” Tracer had taken it, and held it in front of Ana’s face. Angela looked up from her book, around the room for a moment, confused, and both Ana and Tracer fell quiet. “Didn’t notice, did you? When you looked? But she is. Was just after me last birthday. Couldn’t really stand on me own much.”

Ana took the picture from her and looked down at it. Of course it was clear, looking at it now. Pharah's arm was at her waist, and her thumb was looped into Tracer’s belt loop, holding her close to Pharah’s solidness. Her other hand was at Tracer’s shoulder, steadying her, as Tracer did her best to hold herself up. She should have seen it.

Tracer took it back from her and placed it back on the mantle. “Not many people see that, when they look, because that’s way with Fareeha, right? I meant--and you never knew this--she literally helped take care of me.”

“No benefit to ‘er, mostly a drain on ‘er already limited time, being as she was running all of Overwatch herself. But from the time I started to need a bit of ‘elp, now and again,” she passed a hand across the pictures, and small whirls opened, showing she and Pharah together, in a park, in Tracer’s bedroom, out on Winston’s patio, poring over paperwork, simply sharing a lunch together, “Every Thursday, eight to eight, she did. Earlier, it was Overwatch paperwork,” she touched the edge of that whirl in its frame, and it came alive, she and Pharah arguing playfully over a stack of papers, “Pretending it was on business. Got to be more and more, of course. Took the pressure off Em and Win, when I couldn’t ‘ardly do nothing for meself. Cooked, did the washing,” she touched the edge of another photo, and the two of them were in a dark pub, Tracer in a corner chair with the table tucked up close to her, “Got me out the ‘ouse, when she could. When I could, honestly. And,” her voice got soft, “at the fag end of it all…”

She touched the edge of a silver frame, the whorl opening just a little more to show Pharah feeding Tracer, Tracer’s body trembling.

Ana looked at the photos, and then over toward the window, where a soft morning snow was falling, so heavy in the drifts that it was easy to forget that it was built of delicate individual lace. Had she been gone from her daughter’s life for so much of that year? She had known that Pharah had assumed the duties of Overwatch, that she was often too busy to be seen, but she had pictured something so much different. So much more in the ways that Ana had isolated herself.

“You know,” Tracer passed a hand over all the frames, bringing the photos back to themselves, and put her hands on her hips, “I ‘ave had a bit more fun in me life, than that particular bit of it, that much I’ll say. Don’t much like to think about it, though really, you get so much of life, and only, what, two percent of it, maybe three or four at the outside, is all that bad, than what is there to fuss about? But,” She pointed to Ana, “Much as I ‘ate it, you need to know it. You ‘ave to learn to ‘ear Fareeha, love. You must, if there’s any ‘ope at all.”

Tracer walked away from the mantle, and away from Mercy, and hustled toward the kitchen, small but well-appointed, and laid out in a certain unmistakeable logic that could only have come from Pharah’s own mind. She had put so much of herself, Ana thought, in this home, even as soft as all the furnishings were, and even with the Shabbat candlesticks and kiddush cup tucked into the corner of the kitchen. It was as if Mercy was the rose and Pharah the trellis, growing around the things that Pharah had made.

Pharah was studying a cookbook carefully in the kitchen, her eyes narrowed as she read the same recipe over and over again, flipping back and forth. She had, on her kitchen island, a very large ham, and several ingredients in front of her, everything examined and re-examined as she quietly mouthed the words of the cookbook to herself. It was silly, to see it as another rejection of Ana herself, and yet she felt herself bristle at it. It was one thing, that Ana knew she kept no particular part of her Muslim heritage particularly close, but it was another to see something so plainly in front of her.

Ana watched her with such rapt attention that she did not even notice Mercy come up behind the two of them.

“Is that a ham?”

“Yes.” She did not look up from the cookbook, but looked back to the ham, and then at her book, flipping through to another part, scowling at it all the while. “I understand how to make the bacon my father sends. I have learned how to make a fry-up. This seems like it should not be that difficult, but...it’s entirely new to me.”

Mercy stood silently for a moment. It had never been stated, but she thought that somehow it had been agreed by them that though she understood Pharah was not religious in the slightest, and sometimes a bit aggressively areligious, depending on her mood, Mercy herself was, and the idea of using her cookware to make pork turned her stomach, just a touch. Was she being unreasonable? Pharah did all of the cooking and never asked anything of her, and--

Pharah’s head snapped up, as if she could read the thread running through Mercy’s mind. “This is disposable.” She touched her hand to the aluminium roaster the ham sat in. “For Christmas.”

Ana turned to Tracer. “You came to show me what, that without my guidance, my daughter is going to forget herself entirely? Become some soft Londoner full of pig fat? I should expect a Christmas tree next? I know that, that is why--”

“Ana,” Tracer looked over at her, “You ever just think of...shutting up, every now and again? Watch. Learn something. God’s sake.”

Mercy thoughtfully touched at the edge of the counter.

“Fareeha. I am Jewish, you are Muslim.” She looked at her wife. “We don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“Oh!” Pharah laughed, the fierce concentration of her dissipating immediately as she looked to Mercy, “Yes! No, no, Angela this is not for us. I was--” She closed the cookbook. “Tracer loved Christmas, very much. I thought that Emily and Winston, that they probably wouldn’t--Emily loves the ham, especially--that it would be hard for them. I thought I would bring Christmas to them, in some small way. I can’t--” she looked back down at her glistening pink ham, “I can’t give them, what it is they want, of course. But a ham, I can give. After what happened,” her face grew dark, and serious, “after what was done to her…”

Mercy looked at her with great love, gave an adoring huff of a sigh, and smiled. “What a beautiful idea.”

Pharah pulled herself from her red cloud, and nodded happily.

Ana stared at the couple, both chatting now about the ham, side by side, neither of them having any particular clue what they were doing, but the room was filled with their love of their friends, and for each other, and their child, so much so that Ana could almost smell the dinner they planned to cook. They glowed completely in the light not of what they were given, but what they were giving, Mercy inelegantly pointing out side dishes, Pharah noting what might be in the well-stocked and organized fridge.

“My father!” Pharah exploded in the thought, an excited light in her eyes Ana had not seen for many years. Had she missed all the times it had flashed? Had she only seen her daughter’s cool, collected gaze? Pharah looked at the aviator’s watch on her wrist, and then up at a small clock on the side of the cabinet. “He should be awake by now. He would know how to make this, though I think Rebecca prefers a turkey for Christmas.”

Ana could say nothing, merely took a step toward them, mouth agape.

“That’s right, Ana,” Tracer got up from leaning against the wall, “Despite your very best efforts, she grew up ‘uman. Despite your very best efforts to make ‘er something like you, she ‘as a bloody ‘eart after all, and friends, and a family, and she takes care of them, when they need it. Must ‘ave been Sam’s influence, I think.”

Ana felt a flash of guilt, and pain, and then anger, and she whirled around to punch Tracer, who jumped to the side as Ana’s fist plunged through the wall but did not stop her pursuit. Tracer dodged again as she came, Ana frustrated by her age, and Tracer’s grin, humbled by the fact that it had never only been her ability to blink that made her a terrifying opponent, angrier yet still. Until Tracer stopped in front of her, and let her hit. Ana put her full force behind it, wanting to take away everything this smug little Englishwoman was saying, because if she could simply hit Tracer, make her stop, it would not be true.

She hit.

The fist went right through her.

“I’m a GHOST, ANA.” Tracer erupted into a fit of laughter so hard it took her a minute to recover, which was not nearly long enough for Ana’s taste, and put her hands on her hips, affecting an exaggerated accent, ‘You look fairly good for someone who has been dead six months, forgot that awful quick, didn’t you then!?”

Ana let her fists fall to the side, though she did not unclench them. “Take me home.”

“Cut a bit close, that did?” Tracer peered into her face. “You know why I put up with you”

“Jack--”

“No, though you do owe ‘im a bit of kindness, for ‘is work in the ‘ereafter for you. But that isn’t it, Ana.” She looked over to where Mercy tenderly touched her belly as Pharah talked on the phone, wishing her father a Merry Christmas, beginning to measure out something for a glaze. “Jack believed in you, and I owe him my field career, and that’s the truth. Reinhardt believed in you, and he was always kind to me. But none of that is why. I’m ‘ere because Angela Zeigler did everything she could for me, from the day she met me, even to the end, and so if I have to spend one day in your miserable company, I will do that for her. Because she is a woman what believes in mercy above all else, and still thinks you deserve it, no matter me own leanings. Think on that, Ana Amari. You’ve done nothing but spit in ‘er face, going on years, and she still ‘olds out ‘er ‘hand so you can do it all over again.”

Ana crossed her arms, but did not take her eyes off the couple. “And you want me to admire this?”

“No, don’t expect that much from you, but I do want you to be cognizant of it, at the least.” She nodded back to Pharah and Mercy. “Some people don’t count the cost.”

Mercy smiled as she backed away from Pharah for a moment. “I am having a wonderful idea. Just wait.”

Before Pharah could say anything, Mercy had her coat on and was running out of the house, and before Ana could even think to protest, Tracer had the two of them zipping after her. The door to the neighbors was right across from theirs, and Mercy knocked on it aggressively, and then looked at her watch, and then knocked again, perhaps deciding it was a perfectly acceptable hour.

A man, in a warm Christmas sweater, his slippers still firmly on his feet, answered.

“Angela? Is everything all right?”

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” she grasped his hand in both of hers, “But I am wondering, if you have any Christmas decorations you aren’t needing? You see, we have friends, and it has been a very lonely holiday for them, and Fareeha and I have nothing to give.”

“So she’s going to bother this man and his family on Christmas Day.” Ana laughed, “The Christmas spirit. Togetherness. Poor planning. If family love can be made by cheap tinsel, than what is it anyway?”

“Shut up, you, and watch.”

The man startled for a minute, but then nodded his head, “Of course, of course, I know you had some unpleasantness this year, and, I’ll never forget that night you came over, when Camilla was sick.”

Mercy shook her head, as if it had been nothing, and walked in the door, following him as he looked in closets and pulled out garlands and took some ornaments off his tree, and put them all in a box. He bent down to explain to the children what they were doing, and a little girl ran off to the fridge and brought back a fat santa made of paper plates, a little boy with a stuffed dormouse with antlers.

They chatted happily to Mercy, and she thanked them profusely, dropped the box right inside her door, and continued onto another house, where there was a tangle of lights given and a bag of tinsel, and then the next, where Mercy was given a large plateful of cookies and other sweets from a little old woman, on and on until Mercy could hardly carry any of it, stacked up as it was. Some of them took it oof their own trees, out of their own kitchens, a spare stocking was taken off the mantle here and there. None of it matched, and all of it was secondhand at best, but it seemed to glisten and gleam with joy.

As Mercy went to round a last corner, Tracer pulled the two of them into small street that would have been called an alleyway in any civilized city, and pulled out of her pocket a tiny tree. She set it on the ground, and blew on it, and it grew to a fine height, not too large, nothing like the giant affair Winston had set up every year in his home since he’d been in London for Christmas, but smelling freshly of pine. She regarded it, and then threw a strand of tinsel here or there on it, so it would look properly discarded.

Mercy saw it out of the corner of her eye, backed up, and her eyes grew wide as she took it all in, something she never could have imagined. She clung the little box she had closer, running best as she could toward the house, calling Pharah’s name.

Ana stood for a moment, the snow falling softly still around her. It was snowing quite a bit, for London, off and on, or maybe it was only Tracer’s wish that this represent Christmas as best it could that made it so. She went to open her mouth, once, twice, but could not bring herself to say what she meant to, what she wanted to.

“She’s done nothing but help the people around her, be kind to them,” Tracer supplied, “So why wouldn’t they, the one time they get the chance, return it? Come on,” She took Ana by the elbow, “night’s coming on fast.”

Tracer pulled the two of them down the alleyway, and they turned the corner into what might have been a wall but instead was just another street, in a different part of the city, the darkness having fallen in the moment it took them to slide between the bricks.

Around them, the warehouse and odd converted apartment buildings rose, lights in this window or that, a tiny balcony with a number of rowdy revelers on it, drinking some hot rum thing that Ana could smell even from the street. Tracer bopped down the sidewalk with her, drawing this thing or that out of her pocket for a stray cat, smiling as she looked into the windows, and then they turned the corner, and her smile faded, just a bit.

It was the same street she had seen with Reinhardt, and yet it lay so still as the last of the light faded from the city that it hardly seemed that it could have been that same place that had been so fresh and alive, every building like tombstones in a row.

The house was quiet outside, and so grey. Where before, Ana could have ignored that it had once been a simple shipping warehouse, there was no mistaking it now, the cool metal of it tinny and burnished as the streetlights began to fly on. There were no bright sounds of cheer, or games being played. No lights trimmed the bannisters, no garlands played in the windows, and even the small dashing of snow seemed greyer than Ana had remembered when she had visited with Reinhardt. There was no doubt about the quietness settled over this house, and the darkness of it, just one lone lamp lit, the window before it dimming and greying even that.

She should have expected it, and yet, somehow, it came as a surprise to her.

“No point in the, ‘narrative structure’, if Tiny Tim is already dead. As I already told Reinhardt.” She looked over at Tracer. “Aren’t I supposed to turn over a new leaf, and prevent your death?”

Tracer shook her head. “No one could do that, love. If love could have saved me, I’d ‘ave lived forever, and it wouldn’t ‘ave been you that did. Just ‘ow life is sometimes. Sometimes, in life, you lose, love, and that’s the bitter truth of it.”

“So what’s the point? Exactly.”

Tracer bucked up her chin and smiled. ‘Come on then! And I will show you, what it is you’re meant to see.”

They slid through the doorway, Tracer not even attempting any manner of gymnastic endeavor to do so. The smells of fresh baking and cinnamon and apples no longer permeated through the house, and Ana looked about for the giant tree with its bright lights and collection of ornaments, the tinsel hung in garlands around the windows and down the stairway, the music playing, and yet there was nothing, just one lone lamp where Emily sat, even the brightness of her red hair dull in the shadowed light.

She was reading a book, curled up in the corner of the couch by herself, her hair hanging over the side where the light might have touched her face, and Ana noticed that her eyes ran over and over the same page, as if simply playacting at reading while the whole of her mind was somewhere else.

The door opened, and a cool deep wind flushed in as Winston came in the door, removing his fogged glasses and wiping them on his sweater.

“Emily.” He gave her a weak smile.

“Oh,” she set down her book, page still unread, “I wondered when it was you’d be coming home.”

She rose to her feet, slowly and quietly, and started toward Winston, who just as quietly took off his shoes and put on his slippers. There was none of the laughter or raucousness that Ana had felt in this room, before, and suddenly, not crowded with a group full of Oxtons, it felt so large. So empty. So silent.

“I’m sorry, I--”

“Oh no,” she tightened her sweater around her, “no, don’t be.”

“I went to--” He hung up his coat, and stared at the wall a moment, “I went to take a wreath, to where she was--well--where she is.” He tried to smile. “One of the silver tinsel ones, with all the rainbow colors and bells? She always--” He took a breath.

“Oh aye, she loved those. Would like that, that you did that, I think.”

“There are some lovely trees, there, I think in summer it’ll be---she loved green--” Emily touched his arm gently, “--it’s a nice place-- brushed off the stone a little bit. For the wreath.”

Emily nodded. “Was good of you. I have, well, there’s a ready meal in the oven.”

They stood there, simply looking at each other, until Winston nodded sadly and slowly worked his way over to the kitchen, opening the oven and taking out the meals inside on their little cookie sheet. Emily had bought several, for him, and he took a large bowl out of the cupboard and dumped them joylessly inside, mixing the mash and what passed for a steak braise all together. He poured himself a large glass of wine, and passed the bottle to Emily, and they sat across from each other at the small table, saying nothing as they quietly ate their food, or picked at it, rather, only a few errant bites here and there.

“It’s the job.” Ana said, barely convincing herself, the Christmas of the past in this same house still dancing in her head. “We lose people. Good people.”

“Didn’t bring you ‘ere because I thought you’d care about Em and Win.” Her arms were crossed, and she leaned against the wall, looking at the two of them, her eyes glistening. Then she shook off her sadness, the jingle bells in her hair ringing as she did it, and smiled again. “Ana, did you just call me a good person?”

Ana chuckled. “Don’t get a big head.”

There was a knock at the door, and a robotic voice rang out over the house, echoing in the emptiness of it.

“Angela is at the door.”

Winston looked puzzled, but rose up to meet it, trying to pick his feet up a little and put on a brave face, giving an unconvincing smile as he opened the door. Mercy’s cheeks were rosy as she bore the ham in her arms, covered with foil but smelling like a dream, salty and sweet and rich, garlands wrapped around her as she struggled to carry them, her eyes bright with the joy that she was determined to bring with her.

“Happy Christmas, Winston!” She came in the door without even being asked, “I was wondering, if maybe Fareeha and I could join you? For the cheer?”

Pharah came up behind her, lugging in the tree and hardly swearing at the pine branches in her face, that same snowflake sweater on in that same bright blue, a red bow jokingly tied in her hair from the decorations they had brought. She looked to Winston, and then took a tattered but convincingly repaired wreath off her arm and stuck it to the door with an adhesive hook, and nodded.

Winston moved to the side as Emily rose to meet them, Mercy embracing them both and hurrying to the kitchen as Pharah rushed back out to the taxi, bringing in boxes and quickly trimming up the home as neatly as she could with the materials she had been provided, doing an impressive job with the few boxes of scattershot decor.

And as she worked, the room began to change, even so slightly. Emily began to put ornaments on the tree, and WInston asked Athena to play some Christmas music, and in a few moments the room was not as it had been on that night, but it began to take on the glow of a surviving candle, one that might light others, one that might let this place know warmth again.

“Fareeha worked--” Ana sighed and walked to where she was decorating the mantle seriously, adjusted each bow, “She worked very hard.”

“Right, she did. Fareeha is like that, as I’ve said. She took care of me, with not a word. Wouldn’t let me protest it, neither. She’s here for Win, and Em, in their time of need, because Fareeha is nothing if not a rock, right?”

“She is very practical.” Ana continued to say these things, but they felt further disconnected form her, as if she was a ghost herself, simply saying the things that she had said before, over and over again, in a loop, ever so softly. “No,” she chuckled, just as softly, “Zeina. Not me. Sam. But not me.”

Tracer faced her, arms crossed, but the look on her face was no longer angry, or cruel, but simply searching.

“You talk and talk over ‘ow an Amari shouldn’t ‘ave to say nothing, and Fareeha never does, but with her actions. But you still never could speak ‘er language, could you? That all being true, what do you think she’s saying? And what did you say to ‘er, running off all the time, never telling ‘er when you’d be ‘ome, or if, wondering if you’d died until one day, it was true? Or, you let it be true. Even to ‘er. No Ana, you say Fareeha should speak your language, but she always ‘as. You spoke perfectly bloody clear, to ‘er.

“L--”

The thought was interrupted by another knock at the door, a door that did not wait to be answered, but simply opened, and a flood of people came in, all bearing various small things; a Christmas pudding here, a roast there, some garland, gallons of drink. The Oxtons came in, chattering and laughing, and kissed Winston and Emily on the cheeks, and told Mercy how she was glowing, and Mark clapped Pharah’s shoulder and told her what a wonderful job she’d done, and sorry that they had taken a bit of time, but the family was a bit like herding cats, wasn’t it.

Dva and Brigitte walked through the door to calls of ‘hallo’ and ‘happy Christmas’ and an older woman spotted at Brigitte’s hand as she went toward the kitchen with a large bag of rum and brandy and sweetness.

“That a ring, Miss Lindholm? Thought we might miss it?”

Brigitte laughed like a little girl, a blush rising to her cheeks, and flashed its brightness. “I never think you miss anything. She asked me today.”

Dva shrugged, but in that way that indicated she was quite pleased with herself. “Lena’d give me a hard time for doing it on Christmas.”

“Oh she would! She was wicked!” an aunt laughed, “But I think it’s beautiful. We would ‘ave invited you personally, but expected you back in the Nordics, we did.”

“We would have,” Dva nodded, “but we thought…”

“Of course, of course, love, say no more, it was right kind of you to think of it, and we’re delighted to ‘ave you! Oi!” She called back to the room, “Guess who’s getting married!”

There were cheers and jokes and a dozen questions thrown at the happy couple, as cookies and plates of food were passed around. Pharah was complimented on the quality of her ham, Mercy was told how beautifully she glowed, a few children hung off of Winston and asked him to tell the story of how he beat Doomfist again, though he always looked a little sheepish when he told it. Emily was rapidly pulled into an animated conversation over the best of the Christmas puddings, and the tree was lit, twinkling brightly if a bit patchwork.

Ana would have been lying to say that the room took on the same festivity of the year prior, as there was still the sense of something missing, like an empty spot on a curio shelf, where all the dust and all the space let you know something belonged there, but it was warmer than it had been, and it took on that same glow, even if slightly smaller than the years prior. There was laughter, even if there were a few tears wiped away, a few reassurances that the first year is always the hardest, and didn’t Lena do us all such a favor by bowing out so close to Christmas that the sadnesses seemed to roll together? But still the laughter, the warm, the closeness pervaded, and the rum punch was poured, and they banded together, the lights seeming to grow brighter as they did so.

Parvati jumped up on the back of the couch, and went to hit the side of her glass before thinking better of it and simply whistling loudly, the room turning to her, and, after a bit, deciding to quiet down to a few muttersw, and listen what she had to say.

“Happy Christmas, everyone. Know that we all ‘ave a bit on our minds, this year. Not the first time we’ve ‘ad it. Won’t be the last.”

It sounded so much like Ana’s practicality, and so little, and she felt something inside of her pull, some realized notion that to know the facts of the situation and to wield them cruelly were two different swords, than there had been so many people around her that had always known this, and it hd been Ana alone who refused to see.

“Life’s made up of meetings, and partings, and that’s the way of it, innit?. We’ll carry Lena with us, always.” Parvati raised her glass, “To Lena. I’d say may she rest in peace, but, think we all know that’s the last thing she’d want.”

Everyone took a drink of whatever they had in their hand, the moment not dark at all, but not because everyone in the room was looking away from the shadow. No, they all clearly knew that shadow, and had sat with it, but they brought their own candle into it, burnishing the pain of the loss with the memory of what had been.

Despite herself, she was taken by the notion. Despite herself, she smiled.

Tracer leaned in close to her. “You miss the love of it, Ana, and that’s your tragedy. You don’t see how love can make something beautiful. You see the reality of it, but you don’t see how love can make a hard reality somehow bearable.”

In the back of her mind, London stood, bombed out once again and rebuilding, the patchwork of it stronger and better than what had came before. Hadn’t Egypt done the same? And wasn’t she a daughter of Egypt? How horrible, to know that Tracer was right.

A man began to sing, not a Christmas carol at all, for Ana was beginning to allow the holiday to melt away and see the truth behind it, the core that came together in a million different worlds, some of which had never seen a Christmas at all, and as his voice raised above the din, they began to join him.

“...pretty bubbles in the air, they fly so high, nearly reach the sky….”

Sniffles and tears mixed in, wiped away with a joyful punctuation.

“...Then like my dreams, they fade and die!”

Arms were drawn close around each other, the entire room a tight knot of human light against the darkness, as their voices rose even higher.

“FOOOOOOORTune’s always hiding! I’ve looked everywhere, I’m forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air.”

There was a collapse of laughter, admissions that Lena would have considered it the fittest hymn and carol and battle song of all, and another round of spiced drinks passed around in pitchers.

“No matter what, nothing sinks them.” There was admiration in her voice, now.

Tracer’s voice lowered. “Soft Londoners, full of pork fat.”

She whipped around to look at Tracer. “Don’t MOCK me.”

“You mock yourself, “ Tracer snorted, “acting as if it’s some manner of courage to push away every kind thing what comes your way the whole of your life.”

“I--” Ana stopped herself.

If she valued honesty, what was the lie in what Tracer was telling her? The whole of her life, she had believed that sentiment came to nothing, and it was only encouraging weakness to pad things for herself, for others. How could she ever have thought it would be so simple? She looked at Pharah, sitting alone at the edge of the room, smiling as she drank at her mug, but still somehow disconnected from it all, rubbing at the edge of her watch with a distant look in her eye.

“Fareeha,” Ana watched her, “Tracer, tell me she will be happy. Tell me I haven’t ruined her the way I ruined myself.”

“I live only in the moment, Ana. Future’s not me domain,” She gazed over at Pharah and considered a moment. “But I see something...Fareeha, if you look carefully, you can see a red light about her. You can see a shadow on her face. I see an anger, a rage, deep within her, and if these shadows do not change, I fear for what I see in her. I’m only the ghost of the present, and can’t tell you rightly, of course. But you must remember her getting arrested in Dublin, after I died.” Tracer shook her head. “You turned cold, but Fareeha? Puts lines around everything because she knows what’ll ‘appen if she doesn’t. Fire in her may burn down every good thing in her.”

Ana could not draw her eyes away from Pharah, could not stop seeing the reflection of red light about her, kept telling herself over and over again that it was just from the tree so near, that there was nothing mysterious about it at all, and that every way she had taught Pharah to make an island of herself had not ruined everything.

The party continued, Pharah eventually being drawn from her chair and brought into the games, Ana convincing herself that her eye was old, and failing her. The warmth of the party continued, drawn close and near with laughter and joy, kisses on the cheek and close hugs, questions about Dva and Brigitte’s plans, stories about Tracer, all coming together into a mulled wine all its own.

“Right, then.” Tracer said softly.

Ana looked back to her, a spirit with sharp words and sharper powers, but very much again a woman Ana had simply known, looking at her family with a sorrowful gaze, wishing she could touch them, sing with them, love them. Tracer was like Ana, in that way, she supposed.

No. Because her family would delight to hold and kiss her again, to hear her voice ring over the room, to see her smile. Ana’s family would not. Pharah barely looked at her. Mercy hated her, after her actions this morning. Her grandchild would not know her. She felt that same pang of jealousy and hunger that she had in the tiny Brixton apartment, deeper now, and more keen.

Worst of all was the realization that she had chosen this for herself, over and over again, in every word and action. That she had built the walls so high and so well that no one could hope to scale them, that she had laid the broken glass of her own personal miseries across the top and never for one moment realized that her daughter had the strength to not attempt to climb it any longer. That she would urge others never to try, and show them the scars on her palm from her own failures.

“Can’t stay much longer.”

Ana noticed the party beginning to get quieter, the lights in Tracer’s eyes beginning to fade, and a sudden panic began to grip her, the sense that she might lose everything she felt she had only begun to grasp, that she was on the verge of something great, slipping through her fingers.

“You can’t already go. There’s so much more to teach me.”

Tracer shook her head, somehow growing thinner, and smaller. “I was never meant to be long in this world, Ana. It was always meant to be brief.”

“I have,” Ana began, and then cleared her throat, and looked to Tracer, “I, I was wrong, not to come to your Christmas party. To your birthday.”

Tracer leaned against the wall, and the party faded from view, the golds and reds and greens fading into the greys and blue of the city, Tracer now leaning against the wall of an underground station, cap on her head, leather jacket pulled in close.

“If I could do it over again, I would not have missed your last year.” She paused, “If I could do it over again, I would not have been myself.”

“Why didn’t you, Ana?”

There was no anger in it, not this time, just a hanging sadness as she shook her head and leaned against the wall, some annoucement Ana could not quite make out coming over the station. A chill ran through her, in that moment, only the two of them standing there, the hazy glow of fluorescent lights overhead dimming the world in a way Ana could not quite understand, but knew intrinsically.

“We wasn’t friends, not really, but…I was dying.”

Ana opened her mouth to protest that this was in the past, that it was not Tracer’s realm. That there was nothing to explain, because it was past now, and so what did it matter, she could not go back and have attended either. She opened her mouth to say that no one would have wanted her there anyway. She opened her mouth to say that she was jealous Tracer had so much of love. She opened her mouth to say, that she had been too proud to admit she was lonely.

There was a rumble, down the tracks, the train speeding its way toward the station. She could feel the rush of air coming from the tunnel, the lights in darkness, coming.

“Was dying, Fareeha was trying to bear up under it for everyone, and you couldn’t even--not for neither one of us--not for anyone.”

The train began to screech into the station, and Ana had the horrifying realization, all in one moment, that it was here for Tracer, and surely enough, as she glanced up to the clock, that horrible long shadow of a hand was drawing toward midnight.

“I should have gone,” she barked out as quickly as she could, but that terrible, terrible screeching echoed all through the station, shrieking high and loud as she tried to take Tracer’s hand, only to find that it was fading away, “I never hated you, I only, you were allowed to be light-hearted, and I wasn’t, and I was so--”

Tracer shook her head, her eyes dull with exhaustion, “Can’t ‘ear you, love. ‘Ave to go now.”

“I can do it different!” She reached out again, “I can learn to be different! I should have been, and I wasn’t, but, Tracer--”

The doors to the train opened, and Tracer looked at them with a smile, even as her hand shook. “That’ll be me train. I trust you to the spirit what’s coming round next. You must see that spirit, love, no way round it.”

“What was the point of Jack sending you if I can’t undo any of this!?” She stood in front of Tracer. “I have learned, now, and so you need to send me back, and I’ll do it better,” Tracer’s body passed through her, and she stepped into the car and grabbed onto a pole, glancing back, “LENA!!!”

The doors slammed shut, and Ana pulled and pulled, but she could not stop the horrible droning of the announcement declaring that they were pulling away from the station, and however she screamed and pounded, Tracer could not hear her, but simply looked up at the advertisements on the side of the car, lost in her own world. The train pulled away as quickly as it had come, speeding into the darkness, the only sound in Ana’s ears her own throbbing heartbeat.

The photo of she and Pharah was cool in her hand.

#apologies to other versions of CC I have straight up stolen lines from ahhah

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bots-basket · 4 years ago

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Safety in numbers #4

{ This chapter is kinda long- 030 }

Balan been searching around the entire theatre for the little visitor after he had sent those gentlemen on their way. But so far he had no such luck. Where could have she gone? The only place he hadn't looked was in the wonderworld.. but she shouldn't have been able to enter it without his permission. Still- He should at least head to the Bout tunnels and look anyways. When he first approached the hidden tunnel opening- he realized it wasn't too hidden. Somehow the whole doorway was wide open! Practically anyone could get into it now! This riled up much concern with the magical maestro as he headed into the Bout portal, now a little more desperate to find the missing child. Judging by the way she acted before, She Was in no way ready for wonderworld just yet.. Not even close. But finding her would prove to be much more difficult than Balan realized.

After closing the bout tunnel behind him, he began to travel in-between the different mindscapes connected to the wonderworld- hoping to reach the isle of tims. Since She probably couldn't enter any of the mindscapes by herself, she should have been sent to the isle of tims... At least that's what he predicted. But then again, she did enter the wonderworld by herself.. so whos to say she couldn't enter the mindscapes aswell? That's when something Odd started to happen. Passing through the bout tunnel in Jose's mindscape- the colors had begun to fade into a gloomy purplish color- and it was much darker than it used to be inside. Wait.. what's happened? the colors faintly remind him of Lance's- But it didn't make sense for Lance to bother with the bout tunnels considering how he uses them to travel aswell. What reason would he mess with them now? Either way, If Balan's guard wasn't up- it definitely was up now. At the exit of the bout tunnel, The usual entryway was blocked off. but unlike usual it was blocked off COMPLTELY by strange black crystals. Despite the eerie atmosphere of the bout tunnel Balan didn't pay the entryway much nevermind, assuming that this was all in-fact a Lance 'prank' Afterall. He focusing his power- he conjured up and Energy Ball and threw it at the entryway like how he'd usually do to get past Lance's barriers.. Except the unusual happened. The barrier didn't break- It didn't even scratch. Balan raised an eye ride before attempting it again, but a little more powerful this time. He got the exact same results. Before he could attempt a third Blast however, That's when things got exponentially worse for him.

Suddenly More Black Crystals Shot up from the sides of the bout tunnel- along with some from the main crystal as they headed straight for Balan. Although slightly startled by the development he bobbed and weaved out of the way of the advancing crystals. Had he.. Angered it?! how is this even possible?! Either way it's going to be troublesome getting out of this tunnel.. ----- Meanwhile -----

Lance had arrived at the scene from once the purple smoke had originated. The area had been disturbed by multiple people as there was many footprints in the dirt- but other than that there was nothing else out of the ordinary. Nothing broken, nothing missing. He Created a few extra Negati to examine everything a little more closely as he oversaw the operation. But the real reason he didn't look himself was because his mind was too preoccupied.. How did he not sense this many people enter the mindscape? It would be one thing if just one person slipped through his fingers- but a whole group? First that girl, and now whoever left these footprints. Something about that just doesn't add up. A Hissing squad of Negati brought him out of his thoughts. They had all collectively circled around something on the ground. They were hissing at it but made no attempt to get close to it.

Lance floated down and walked over to get a closer look at the object that was making them so upset. gently picking it up with one of his hair tentacles, he saw that it was some sort of tiny capsule. there was a little bit of purple power inside, but it was too small to do anything. Yet it was still upsetting the Negati to the point where they hissed at their master when he went to touch the power with his dainty fingers. apparently whatever this was.. it was dangerous. He should keep hold of this just incase. He dropped the capsule into one of his mini negtai portals, and his Negtai calmed down once it was gone. There was no sign of a weapon that made that Bang sound earlier- so Lance deduced that whoever was here before had taken it with them. At least most of the excitement was over.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" !!

The Sound of the girl's scream rang throughout the mindscape as the Negati master made no Haste to head towards the sound As quickly as possible. For some strange reason he couldn't access a bout tunnel.. so he had to make it there on his own accord... He just hoped he wasn't too late.

------- Rosie nearly fell over from shock as a Gigantic Wolf creature was staring down at her with a menacing look in its eyes. The Negati that were once chasing her had tried to defend the child, but were easily swatted away and dispersed back to their realm by the wolf... Leaving Rosie alone to fend for herself. Rosie actually liked dogs, but something about this one in particular really rattled her.. especially with it's pure purple eyes Staring down at her with obvious malicious intent.. Oh if only she hadn't accidently run into it- But with whatever those little black floaty things chasing her, Of course she wasn't paying attention! Rosie frantically glanced around for any means of escape as The Wolf Crept closer to her bearing it's toothy fangs. Looks like the only was out was back from once she came.. With her hands gripping onto the glowing mindcores in her hoodie pockets, She made a break for it. The wolf didn't hesitate to give chase as she tried to return to the road. But that wasn't meant to be as the edges of the ground broke off and separated! Now Rosie and the beast were ontop of some sort of floating island- Making her absolutely trapped with the creature. Taking advantage of the girl's discombobulation from the ascent into the air- The Wolf jumped infront of her, Knocking her over with the sheer force of the landing. The Little mindcores in her pockets tumbled out from the fall and laid right before the trembling child.. too tired and frightened to move and grab them. The sight of the looming figure of the wolf kept her stuck in place..

Lance had just made it over to where they were when he saw the scene before him. What was going on!? He immediately raised his arm to form an engery link- commanding the mindscaper to cease their attacks- but something was wrong. He.. He couldn't get through to them!? No matter how hard he tried, the Negati master couldn't reach or hear the Mindscaper, let alone command them. He couldn't stop him.

The Wolf gave a Loud toothy Snarl as it stood over the girl and the little glowing orbs, Each pulsing a brighter glow as every second passed.. The girl shut her eyes tightly as she knew what was going to happen next.. "NO!" Lance desperately called as he Dove towards the two, sending his hair tentacles to attempt to pull the girl out of the way of the out-of control hound. No- no no no no NO!

He wouldn't make it in time-! ..... ..... .....

Suddenly Lance felt a bit of his power leave him that very moment...

As if like clockwork, A Bright Flash soon covered the entire area for a split second, And then the next thing to be seen was the Wolf monster slamming into the ground away from the child.

As Lance turned to see what could've been responsible for sending the wolf flying.. He saw a Large pantherlike being rivaling the size of the wolf itself standing over Rosie in a protective manner.

It was completely made out of energy.. and had a galaxy aesthetic to it.. except that it was completely light green aside from some purple embroidery highlights that looked similar to that of Lance himself. But the most defining feature, was the mindcore in it's chest, now glowing a steady green color a little darker than it's entire body.

" .... Bass..?"

Rosie looked up to the feline and quietly whispered his name.. before she completely passed out.

The Energy Feline's eyes softened a little as it looked down to the girl, before completely doing a 180 and becoming silted When he turned to the wolf getting back up. His fur stood on end as it hissed at the wolf with great passion..

Looks like there's gonna be a fight.

#{ daydreaming; drabble }#{ safety in numbers; balan wonderworld!verse }#{ follow your heart; balan }#{ shy but sweet; rosie }#{ i am her soldier; bass }#balan #Lance #balan wonderland #balan wonderworld #(( Poor balan is stuck in the elevator))#(( ALSO SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH BARKTHOLOMEW))#(( HMMMMMM I WONDER WHY ))#(( Lance is in a constant state of ‘WHAT THE HECK’ ))#(( Rosie needs a ‘almost died’ punchcard tbh ))#self insert #fic #fanfic

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asterkiss · 4 years ago

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Read from beginning here.

- CLAIMED Pt. V

When Mabel awoke, she found herself laying in an extravagant four poster canopy bed with sheer curtains. Confused and disorientated, she sat up and looked down to find herself dressed differently than she recalled. Last she’d checked, she’d been wearing her favourite bunny pajamas.

Now she was wearing a pink nightgown which was—was that silk? Mabel felt some of the material between her finger and thumb, frowning.

It was then that the curtains surrounding the perimeter of the bed were thrown back to reveal a young woman with blue hair. Mabel snapped her head up and their eyes met. Almost instantly, the woman drew back in surprise, eyes widening. ‘O-Oh, I’m so sorry! I thought you were still sleeping!’

She lurched away, the curtains dropping back into place just as Mabel leaned forward and reached out. ‘Wait, don’t go—!’

There was a pause and then, almost tentatively, the curtains parted just enough to reveal a sliver of the woman’s face, her gaze averted down. ‘Y-Yes? What is it?’

Mabel blinked at her timid demeanour. She was a pretty lady however Mabel got the feeling she wasn’t human considering the blue hair and stark-white skin. Mabel squinted. Were those pointed things poking out between her hair meant to be her ears…?

‘Um…’

Mabel snapped her attention back to the woman’s face who looked clearly uncomfortable beneath her scrutiny. ‘Oh, right, um. Haha, so this may sound like a random question buuuut… where am I and how did I get here?’

The woman blinked. ‘I, um… I don’t know. I’m just here to bring you these.’ She poked her hands through the curtains to reveal a pile of clothes within her grasp. Mabel stared at them. She had a whole lot of questions right now—most important being was she in danger?

‘If I put those on, will someone answer my questions?’

The woman nodded. ‘Y-Yes, I’ve been instructed to take you to the King after you put these on.’

‘Oh okay, makes sense— wait, what!? The King?’ Mabel yelled, causing the woman to flinch at her volume but Mabel was too alarmed to notice. ‘What King? Am I in some other country? How is that possible, I don’t even have my passport on me!’ Had she been smuggled? Was this some teenager abduction ring!?

The woman gave a shake of her head. ‘Ah, no… I meant our Erlking. The King of the Fairies.

You’re in the Fairy World, Miss.’

- CLAIMED Pt. VI

Okay, so she had been whisked away to the Fairy World through a magical portal in a lake and was now being taken for an audience with their King.

That was fine. No biggie. Totally cool.

—except holy shit she was freaking out!!

Mabel couldn’t help tugging at the dress they’d made her put on. It was a green gown that fell down to her ankles, belted at the waist with a silver sash that matched the trimming on the square neckline.

It was pretty but it was more like some sort of medieval cosplay gown she’d expect to see at those nerdy fairs Dipper went to.

Mabel missed her sweaters.

Elaine—which was the name the blue-haired woman had introduced herself as—had insisted on braiding Mabel’s hair for presentation and although she’d tried to refuse initially, the woman had looked so crestfallen at her denial that she’d felt guilty and agreed to it in the end. Dammit. The woman had better puppy-dog eyes than her—and that was saying something!

(She was thankful McGucket had been able to give her a hair tonic to regrow her hair out after making her deal with Bill).

‘Here we are, Miss.’ Elaine came to a stop in front of two large ornate doors. Elaine had lead her out of the room she’d been sleeping where Mabel had found herself stood on a platform suspended high in the trees upon which the small hut was built upon. Various canopy walkways connected the woodland trees and platforms and the entire forest seemed to glow in the darkness from the treetop settlement.

It was beautiful.

They’d descended to the forest floor and made their way to an incredibly giant tree with two doors at its base, built into the wood. Even when Mabel titled her head all the way back she couldn’t see the top of the tree. It seemed to go on endlessly as if it could pierce the clouds themselves.

Elaine bowed her head and stepped to the side and Mabel couldn’t help looking to her. ‘Wait, you’re not coming in with me?’

The woman shook her head frantically. ‘Ah, no no, I’m not permitted!’

Oh. Mabel felt slightly disappointed. So far, Elaine was the only person—or, uh, whatever she was—she’d spoken to. And while she was overly timid, she didn’t seem so bad.

‘Okay then, guess… I’ll go in?’ Sucking in a deep breath of air, Mabel squared her shoulders and pushed at the doors. They gave way beneath her with ease, opening wide and allowing her to step forward.

Time to meet the Fairy King.

The interior was plunged into dim candle-lit darkness and as she entered the hall she felt as if several pairs of eyes from within it were peering out at her. Her attention however was captured by the throne waiting for her ahead. It was elevated, with a path of steps leading up toward it. The teenager could hear the sound of quiet chittering and whispers from either side of the pathway, dark eyes blinking at her from behind the lines of trees.

It was unnerving.

But not as unnerving as the King seated within the throne. He was everything she’d expect of a Fairy King. Well-dressed in a form-fitting robe and long platinum hair that fell down the expanse of his shoulders in waves.

God, he was attractive.

He regarded her with green eyes, lips twitched into a smile. ‘Mabel Pines, it’s been a long time.’

She blinked. ‘Uh… has it?’ She forced an awkward laugh, rubbing one of her arms. ‘Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.’ She would certainly recall having met someone as pretty as him before.

The King blinked at that. ‘Oh, but we have. Of course you were just a child then.’

‘I…. huh?’ Mabel frowned, tilting her head. ‘What are you talking about?’

The King chuckled. ‘One thing at a time, first let us bring out the prisoner.’

‘Prisoner?’ Mabel repeated, feeling unnerved and even more confused. The sound of shuffling came from behind and when Mabel looked back over her shoulder, the doors were pulled aside to give way to—

‘Gnomes?’ Mabel cried. She half-expected to see Jeff or Shmebulock but the group of four gnomes weren’t any she recognised. They were carrying a small cage and as they came closer, a voice became clearer.

‘…are you hearing me? I am speaking here, you little rodents!! I was destroying dimensions before you were born!’

The cage was dropped between her and the throne and crouching down, Mabel glanced inside it to see—

‘Bill!?’

The triangular demon span around within his container, meeting her gaze. When he did, his form turned red, gaze full of fury. ‘YOU—!’

Mabel flinched back at the anger in his voice but before she could speak, the King cut in.

‘Now then, let’s begin, shall we?’

Mabel raised her attention back toward the King. ‘Begin… what?’

The fae ignored her, regarding the cage at the foot of his throne with narrowed eyes. ‘Now then Bill Cipher, you are charged with unlawfully staking claim on a soul that was already marked as ours. How do you plead?’

#claimed #mabill #slinks in quietly and drops this and then scutters back out #dont mention my long absence lol

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merigreenleaf · 4 years ago

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Unexpected Inspiration Series: Concordia’s Art Magic

Blythe could only assume that if Adair was holding a paintbrush, the jar in his other hand must contain paint or ink. Then again, it was Adair. It could just as likely be grape jam. And to think, she'd finally got herself unsticky from Sol's glue fiasco this morning. With some trepidation, she held out her hand. Adair dipped the tip of his brush into the jar, then drew a quick blue swirl on her palm. At least that solved the mystery. It was, in fact, paint. "I wouldn't call a paint smudge much of a glow." "Give me a minute." This time Adair didn't return the brush to the jar and instead held the tip of the bristles just far enough away that they tickled Blythe's skin. She fought back the reflex to close her hand so she wouldn't disturb whatever it was he was trying. When nothing happened for a long while besides Adair gazing intently at her hand, Blythe mouthed to Etri, "What's he doing?" Etri tapped his finger against her wrist, calling her attention back down. She had expected nothing to change and hissed a sharp intake of breath when it had. The swirl was still there, but now there was an aura of purple about an inch away from her skin. When she moved her hand, the strange glow stayed with it. Etri leaned closer for a better look. She pried her eyes away in time to catch Adair looking pleased with himself in an embarrassed sort of way. "So all Weavers' hands look like this?" "Yeah, but not just our hands. Picture that covering your entire body and you get a better idea of how we glow." Blythe made a face and wiped her hand clean on the paint-stained cloth he handed her. "Blech. I'll pass." -Excerpt from an early draft of Colorweaver (Book 1)

Concordia as a whole is filled with artists, craftspeople, inventors, and creative hobbyists. The culture has art at its center and almost everyone joins in, even if it's just a way to pass the time rather than as a vocation. It's a drive passed down from generation to generation and the reason for this is that art magic runs deep in the blood of Concordians. History and myth have blended together into stories telling of how the first Concordians-- several struggling, displaced groups of people who joined together to survive-- asked for help in driving away a threat and to help keep their small population safe. Legends say that the constellations came down from the sky to teach magic to the people. Centuries later, these magics have become the nine types of art magic in Concordia.

(Info about the art magic below!)

Here are the types of magic. These are represented in the moodboard from left to right, top to bottom.

Wordweaving (Glow color: red) These Weavers work their magic into words, both spoken and written. These are the poets, the storytellers, the actors, the writers. They're the ones who can affect emotion or, in the case of my morally ambiguous main character, influence someone's thoughts for a short time. This is probably the most dangerous or easily corrupted of magics, but considering the tests that go into becoming a master artist and the checks in place after someone does, this hasn't been a huge problem. (Dray has just made it a problem by avoiding any real training, which is also not a usual thing-- nothing Dray has done with their magic is correct, if you get down to it, and it means that they are going to have Consequences sooner than later. But I digress.) Another example of how this magic can be used is in the scrolling marquee in front of the theater the characters visit in book 1.

Colorweaving (Color: purple) These are the artists whose tools are ink, paint, pencil, charcoal, etc. They're essentially illusionists with the ability to make what they draw/paint move around on whatever they're using as a canvas. Adair has this magic and while he'll sometimes use this to make animated paintings, his career as a cartographer has him creating interactive maps. As the series progresses, he figures out that if he paints on himself or someone else, he can change their appearance. He may even work out something that Colorweavers have forgotten they once knew how to do: by drawing on the air, it's possible to create a believable 3D illusion.

Timberweaving (Color: dark green) Woodworkers and carpenters, obviously, but their magic does more than just allow them to make sturdy creations from wood. Not that this is anything to scoff at-- this is why the oldest Artisans' houses haven't fallen over despite being built on stilts and almost every generation adding a new room or even a new floor. This magic can also make wood as buoyant on air as it would be on water and is a frequent way transportation is built. Not all vehicles hover a few inches off the ground, but this does include the "float-wagons" my main characters call home. Those are something of a cross between a motorhome and a house and can be driven (albeit slowly) around.

Terraweaving (Color: orange) These are the Weavers who work with stone and clay, sculpture and pottery. Way back in Concordia's history there was a Terraweaver who used to sculpt trainable dog-sized animals to give companionship and help to those who needed it. Not just by way of a service dog-- one of the things she made for a gardener friend was a pet that doubled as a planter. The more traditional ways of working this magic are the ability to work stone as though it were soft clay and putting their magic into buildings to make them more steady and solid, much like the Timberweavers, or to make them resist fires.

Oreweaving (Color: red-violet) These Weavers frequently have chemical or heat magic and often use this to etch, shape, and manipulate metals. They're the jewelers, the smiths, and are probably the most "inventor" group of the bunch. Sol tends to use his light/heat magic in a similar way to how the arcane metalworkers would (softening and shaping metal in his hands), so there's some overlap here in terms of heat with the glassworkers. The reason for this is Oreweaving was originally a kind of lightning magic. You'll still find it used as a kind of "battery" when an Oreweaver works with a different type of Weaver on a project. This could be to extend the life of the magic in something else, because eventually all magic inside a creation will run out and need to be recharged, or it'll be a backup battery. Concordia relies on wind, water, and solar power, so magic is only ever a backup or a way to store power they already have.

Savorweaving (Color: pale green) The Weavers who work with food and drink. What they cook doesn't burn, produce stays fresh longer, herbs don't lose potency or flavor after they're dried, food keeps longer or can be made to be more filling. They're the reason Concordia has the equivalent of refrigerators. These artists can also influence the taste and strength of flavor, and I bet they can look at a person and guess what their favorite foods might be.

Glassweaving (Color: gold) This magic involves heat and/or light. These artists are the reason why Silveridge has so much stained glass! As well as using this to make super-strong glass, some Glassweavers use this magic directly by putting it inside glass globes to be used as lamps. Portable heating, like something to keep in your pockets to keep your hands warm? Probably also had a Glassweaver involved. Concordia's mail system is via pneumatic tubes that run about twelve feet off the ground, and while a few different kinds of art go into creating these, the tubes themselves are made of magically-influenced glass.

Songweaving (Color: blue) This magic involves sound and voice, although in terms of pitch and changing how you sound, not the verbal influence of the Wordweavers. I have a character in later books with this magic who can make her voice sound like anything, as well as throwing it so that the sound appears to be coming from somewhere else. This is also the reason that Concordians are able to record sound and music, as well as amplify it or play it at another location simultaneously.

Threadweaving (Color: blue-green) These are the fiber artists, the spinners, weavers (small "w"), knitters, tailors, etc. They can put their magic into clothing and fabric to make it warmer or cooler than it would otherwise be. (This suits Concordians well because current fashion calls for lots of layers of embroidered fabrics and they live in a warm climate.) This can also make clothing protective, usually against things like weather, but it is also how the Protectorates are able to stay safe without needing to wear something heavy that would look like protective gear. Remember the floating homes I mentioned earlier? Some of these are propelled via large fans, sort of like a hovercraft, but some are made with sails on the roofs. Whether it's land or sea, these sails can propel the vehicle forward even if there isn't much wind and can quite likely store some of the wind for later, should it be a still day.

Not everyone in Concordia has magic particularly strongly: some are only good at never burning what they cook, some have simply a pleasant singing voice, some are above average at writing poetry. Sometimes these people will make this part of their careers, sometimes it'll only remain a hobby they enjoy. If the magic is particularly strong, though, it requires additional training and those people are considered Artisans. There isn't a lot of difference between an Artisan and a craftsperson when it comes down to what they create; the only real difference is that an Artisan has magic as an extra tool, so their end results are different. Considering no two artists ever create exactly the same thing anyway, this means that there has never been more importance placed on the Artisans versus craftspeople. Each person will only ever have one type of art magic; even if they carry several types in their bloodline, one will be dominant and only this one will be usable. Each of the nine types of art magic has its own color that glows in both the artist and the creations they make. Only those with decently strong magic can see this, but it does mean that a lot of people, clothing, objects, and locations in Concordia have almost a stained glass look to them if it's something you can see. Part of the reason buildings in Silveridge are made with white stone is because of these glows. Silveridge is where a large percentage of the Artisans live, so it became a tradition to build and paint in white, then add colorful embellishments. Otherwise think about how badly paint colors might clash with the glows used to create the things in the city! Even if most people aren't really aware of how magic glows, they've embraced this aesthetic. Concordia, and Silveridge in particular, is all about aesthetics.

These are just some examples of what each kind of magic can do. Concordians are always coming up with new ideas-- sometimes those ideas work great, sometimes they fail spectacularly. Either way, the artists and craftspeople are constantly creating. Their art magic allows for greater technology than their world might have had without it. Concordia freely trades their creations, so most of their world has access, as well. At some point I'll talk more about Galanvoth, the country that considers itself Concordia's competition.

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This moodboard is for @homesteadchronicles theme of “craftsmanship” because how could I not talk about Concordia and their art magic when most of my series involves this. :D In the future, I'd love to talk more about the Artisans, the history of Concordia’s magic, and just more world building stuff in general.

Tagging my series list! Let me know if you want on or off the list, it’s all good. And as always, please add me to any writing tag lists you have, whether you’re on my list or not. I love reading about writeblr projects. :)

@homesteadchronicles @ageekyreader @lynnafred @the-gay-hufflepuff @oceanwriter @desperatlytryingtowriteabook @muffindragon227 @theguildedtypewriter @toboldlywrite @wchwriter @dreameronthewind @shadow-maker @pen-for-sword @loopyhoopywrites @emptymanuscript @madmoonink @perringwrites @megan-cutler @elliot-orion @thatwriternamedvolk @indecentpause @writer-on-time @ravenpuffwriter @siarven @musicismymoirail @lady-redshield-writes @bluemartlet @reeseweston @worldbuildingwren @hiddswritingrefs @cay--scribbles @focusdumbass @enasroterfaden @missrobinswritings @joshuaorrizonte @zofiehelen @kainablue @kalis-scribbles @inspirited-goddess

#writing #writeblr #moodboard monday #moodboard #world building #about my world #fantasy series #art aesthetic #worldbuilding #magic #unexpected inspiration series #unexpected inspiration aesthetic

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sxveme-2 · 4 years ago

Text

blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Edited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Twelve: The One With the Coffee

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3073

Lily Briar Osborne. The girl that would lay her life down on the line for anyone who even showed her the slightest of affection. Or even just said hi to her on the subway or something. She would never hurt a fly. Never raise her voice or become angry. Even when parents grew upset with a diagnosis Lily had given to their child. But when it came to her son, her boy, the earth she, the sun, revolved around. That's when she would cut someone. She would go to war for Hunter, and everybody who knew Lily understood this. And they all knew never to cross her when it surrounded her only child.

She would even dare to take on the challenge of a six-foot-four, 220 pounds, man, made out of strictly muscle. Lily Osborne. The five-foot-five, 128 pounds, meek, and frail doctor would throw down in an apartment building parking lot almost an entire foot taller than her if it meant protecting her son from his reckless tendencies for the rest of his (hopefully) long-lived life. The surge of strength that ran through her veins rivalled the primal levels that a woman can feel while experiencing childbirth. For it has been scientifically proven that the mama bear instinct is indeed a real thing women experience, their child or not. It is wired in a woman's DNA to place their own life at risk or face an unspeakable force if it meant protecting a child. Especially when that said person is a mother, it heightens that instinct.

So the sheer thought of Scott putting their child, and Mary's, in danger, was enough to make Lily a new woman. One with no reservations or any sort of anxiety holding her back. She wished to inflict the pain he made her feel on to him. Make him experience the heartache that he had caused her for over ten years. Together or not. The heartbreak he inflicted on her. The feeling of abandonment that Hunter experienced at such a young age. And it all came to a head because he had decided to make the brilliant choice of leaving his children home with a deadbeat babysitter. And all she wanted was to strangle the life out of him.

But that would create more problems than it would solve, wouldn't it?

"What do you mean I'm done being a father? He is my son Lily," Scott grumbled, his voice dropping a few octaves in an attempt to create a more domineering presence.

"He is more Gen's child than he will ever be yours. The divorce gave you a second chance to be better. And you blew it. Again," the blonde snapped, stepping back and draping her arm across her son's frail shoulders, "Tell Mary to call me if she needs any divorce tips."

With the final dig served, Lily lead her son and the others back towards her car, where everybody piled in. But before the doors shut. One voice, one powerful and overprotective voice spoke out, "See you in court, jackass." Rose's voice called from the driver’s seat before Gen slammed the door and everybody was locked inside of the car.

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After dropping Gen and Rose off at Gen's apartment building, Bucky took over the wheel after Lily inputted the GPS. Seeing as he was the only sober one since Rose left...being a supersoldier and all. Lily sat in the backseat of her car, gripping her son close to her chest as the car revved along the empty streets of now suburban New York. Gentle music played in the background as Lily listened to the soft breathing emitting from Hunter's lips. The boy had dozed off not too long ago, and let’s face it, the boy deserved to have some shut-eye. He had just gone through something that would stick with him through all of his years. But one thing kept sticking inside of Lily's mind as if stuck on repeat.

Why was the guy calling out Scott's name while banging on the door?

"Want me to carry him in?" Bucky's soothing voice cooed, snapping Lily out of her thoughts. Without realizing it, they had arrived back at the quaint-style house that she and Hunter called home. Her hand halted from stroking the blonde hair atop of her son’s head and gave the man upfront a gentle smile.

"Oh, that's okay. I've carried him from the car a few times," Lily smiled while popping open the car door and scooping her son into her arms. She let out a quiet grunt as she stepped from the car, forgetting that he was still a growing boy. Seeing as he was turning 12 soon...Lily almost became tearful at the thought of him growing up. Clearing her throat, she nodded to the keys in Buckys hand, "Unlock the door for me would you?"

Complying, the three passed the threshold, coming face to face with a sleeping Joey at the front door. Lily smiled gently and stepped over the large dog that continued snoring on as she walked Hunter up to his room, tucking him in under the blue Captain America comforter she had gotten him for Christmas last year. Flicking on the Thor nightlight that sat on Hunter's bedside table, Lily placed a kiss on his forehead before shutting the white door behind her. She slid into her own bedroom to step out of her dress and pulled on pyjamas, scrubbing the makeup off of her face and letting her hair down. When she exited her room, her eyes spotted the kitchen light on, the blonde walked down the wooden stairs, feet tapping gently. Her green eyes laid on Bucky, looking at the framed pictures of the little mismatched group that Lily called her family.

Pictures of Lily, her brother, and her sister as kids. Lily a ripe 14 years old, Rose standing at a solid seven, and Cedar still being a young three-year-old. His eyes flickering across to one of Lily and Hunter in front of Stark tower When the young boy was only eight. Or Lily, Rose, and Gen sharing glasses of champagne at her bachelorette party all of those years ago. One of Lily's personal favourites though was her graduation photo. A bright smile plastered on her face as she held her diploma in her hands. But the one that Bucky couldn't seem to take his eyes off of is one of Lily's least favourites.

The first time that Lily held Hunter in her arms. Her hair stuck to her forehead from the sweat of childbirth. It had been 27-hour labour, and Lily's face stayed puffy and red as she held the freshly swaddled and cleaned baby in her gentle arms. Tears rolled down her cheeks as the baby halted his screaming the moment his mother’s heartbeat began to radiate in his ears. The god-awful hospital light beat down on Lily's face, creating a fluorescent glow around her already beaming facial expression. Everything inside of her wanted to toss the photo off of the picture table and keep it for her eyes only. But her mother loved the photo and managed to convince her ever-so-insecure daughter to leave it. Alicia Osborne had said it showed genuine happiness from her daughter and created a new light. It was raw and real. And that's what everyone loved about it.

Especially Mr. Barnes.

"Twenty-seven hours later..." Lily sighed gently as she leaned on the banister, "I wanted to get a c-section but looking back at it I'm glad I didn't...but the pain is still a haunting memory." The blonde commented, eyes scanning over the pictures herself.

In each picture that was taken without Lily's knowledge, her smile was bright. A warm glow lit up any room that she managed to find herself in. It was an infectious thing, the doctor’s smile. It radiated kindness and sincerity. A certain type of authenticity that seemed to be a gift that was few and far between. Everybody had become too hostile and aggressive with one another, but that one diamond always seemed to be found in a group of coal. And that's how the majority of people in her life viewed Lily. She was the one tomato that would grow on the plant when you first started gardening. The rose that stuck out brighter than the rest. And even though she tried so hard to blend in and run with the crowd, Lily's energy, or aura as Gen would say, was too charming for anybody to ignore. Much to the eldest Osborne's dismay.

"You look beautiful," Bucky began, hand resting on the side of the silver frame and lifting up the photograph, getting a closer look at all of the small details. The way the tears made her eyes light up like green Christmas lights. or how they seemed to be made of stained glass. How he could see all of the similarities between Hunter and Lily, even when he was just born. The curve of their noses, the twinkle of love in their eyes. A bit of Bucky's heart broke at the domesticity of it all. Sure he was a playboy back in the ‘40s, but he had dreamed of a family one day. A small home and a dog. A beautiful wife beside him and a son and a daughter, similar to the life that Lily leads now. but he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to find that, "Just...naturally."

Placing the sentimental picture back down, Bucky raised his ice-blue eyes to look at the woman that stood on the stairs. Her golden hair tousled, laying perfectly messy across her shoulders. The pale skin of her cheekbones that were naturally coloured a bit red. How Lily's face was so naturally beautiful, even with the faint acne scars on her cheek, the blemishes across her forehead and chin (no doubt from her work). The deepness of her under-eye that was permanently stained a purple hue from countless late shifts and sleepless nights. The way her eyes fluttered open and closed as she attempted to keep herself awake and coherent after the hectic night that she had just suffered through.

"Thank you. I didn't feel very beautiful at that moment though. Just a lot of emotions going through my mind." she chuckled sleepily, barefoot landing on the cool hardwood of the main floor of her two-story home. Lily stepped forward, past the supersoldier as she herself lifted the picture from his hand to look at herself and her son. But who was missing from the picture? You guessed it. Scott, "You're probably wondering where the father of my son is in this picture," Lily commented, tears welling up on her waterline, "Supposedly stuck at work. But I learned later that wasn't the case."

Dropping the framed photo back onto her small table collection, Lily kept her eyes down on the floor. She had grown ashamed (?) of her past relationship. How he had so obviously been walking all over her like she was a rug. And instead of standing up for herself and confronting the son of a bitch, she took it. For seven years, Lily took the pain and emotional trauma that Scott had inflicted upon her heart and mind. All because she hadn't had the strength or the courage to stand up for herself. To know her own worth and realize that she was Lily Osborne. One of the top pediatricians in new york. Single mother of an eleven-year-old boy. The woman who graduated top of her class, all while raising a child alone in New York. The girl who came out on the other side of an emotionally abusive and draining relationship alive and intact. She was Lily fucking Osborne. And she had allowed a deadbeat, no good, son of a bitch, to use and manipulate her like a pawn in his game.

And she was ashamed of it.

"And who's this big guy." Bucky's smooth voice cooed, once again, reeling Lily in from the dark corners of her mind. Lily glanced over her shoulder to see Bucky delicately stroking Joey's ears. The dog had a stupid grin on his face, just enjoying the attention from the new person his mom had decided to bring into her home.

"That's joey. The other boy in my life." Lily smiled, eyes creasing as she admired the way Bucky interacted with her dog. Though not much of a guard, clearly, Joey was an excellent judge of character. Lily had learned this when she once brought home a nurse friend and Joey lost his ever-loving mind. It was later revealed that that nurse was stealing money out of Lily's wallet. And really, ever since that moment, Lily trusted Joey's reaction to people she brought home.

And by the looks of it, the German Shepherd had a new favourite friend. Lily's heart swelled at the sight that had taken place in front of her. The soft touches Bucky made with his left hand. The metal one. It seemed as though Bucky was nervous he would scare Joey, or worse, cause harm. But to Lily, it was one of the most endearing things she had seen him do in the entirety of their friendship? If that's even what it was. The two weren't romantically involved, they weren't close friends. They were more so acquaintances. Of course, Lily was attracted to Bucky, he looked like he had been sculpted by the Greek gods. Not to mention, he was a kind soul. He was sweet and caring. And the way he acted for Hunter and the way that he treated Joey was evident of that.

"Uh, do you want some coffee?" Lily asked, scratching her cheeks with her nails, shifting her weight before walking off towards the white and grey-styled kitchen with navy blue accents. Her thin hand dripped the dark kettle and filled it with water before placing it back onto the boiling device. Her deep-set eyes glanced over her shoulder to see Bucky once again admiring the pictures placed aesthetically on a brown stained wood table, "Bucky?"

"Hm? Oh, sure. thank you." his voice echoed. It was a deep vibrato tone that sent a shiver down Lily's spine. It was a voice that Lily would love to hear in the mornings. One that she could only imagine would continue to drop a few octaves. Small grunts as he stretched after waking from a deep slumber. cradling Lily tight in his arms as Joey snored soundly at the end of their bed with the light shining through the sheer white curtains.

The feeling of his calloused flesh hand and the contrast of his cold metal hand sliding along her pale and supple side in the morning. Slightly chapped and swollen lips kissing her forehead as her soft breathing radiated against his chest. Whatever it was about Bucky, it had an everlasting effect on Lily. It kept her heart beating rapidly and her face growing a deep shade of red that matched the natural rosacea of her cheeks. She longed for the feeling of his strong arms wrapped around her thin waist as he pressed gentle and generous kisses to her cheek and down her neck, creating goosebumps on her skin.

Lily pulled out her coffee grounds from the cupboard and perked up when she heard the soft footsteps of Bucky's shoes tapping against her floors. After the kettle screamed at her, Lily poured two cups and took out the cream and sugar from her fridge and baking cupboard. Turning around, she came face to face with that same broad chest that she did all those weeks ago. A small gasp escaped her lips as the coffee sloshed inside of the navy blue mugs she held in each hand as she bit her lip.

"I take two sugar," he stated, cool eyes looking down at the girl as she attempted to avoid any contact between them. When she moved left, he thought to do the same. When she went to duck around his right side, he accidentally blocked her path. It was an uncoordinated, unplanned tango that neither one of them knew how to end. Well, that's what Lily thought at least.

His large hands reached forward and grabbed the mugs from Lily's. The supersoldier placed them on the counter island behind him before returning his attention to the much smaller blonde girl in front of him. Without thinking, he placed both hands with no hesitation on either side of her face. Her breathing came to a halt as he leaned forward and planted a deep and passionate kiss on her flower soft lips. His human hand threading into the hair that hung on the left side of her face, the golden tresses tangling into his fingers. Her own eyes fluttered closed as she returned the pressure that he had initiated onto her lips. Lily's arms slid around the man’s neck as she took a hesitant step forward, closing the small gap that kept them apart.

And after what Lily believed to be hours, the two broke away, lungs gasping for air. Lily's face exploded into a fit of red as she stared into the same eyes that always seemed to make her feel like she had a place in the world. Even if she had only seen or even been around him a handful of times, Bucky Barnes made Lily feel like she was the most special girl in the world, just by maintaining (or attempting) eye contact with her through those steel-blue eyes of his. The same eyes that used to be hidden by a mask and glasses because it was too dangerous for anyone to see his face. The same eyes that had seen the horrors of the world. The ones that watched men and women die at his hands.

"Your room is on the left when you go upstairs."

And with that, Lily darted out of his grip and up the wooden stairs with her heart pounding in her chest so loud she wouldn't be surprised if he could hear it. It played a dangerous rhythm in her ears as she shut her own bedroom door and fell back onto the plush pillows and blankets that laid decoratively on her bed. Lily's calloused hands slapped her forehead before sliding down to cover her entire face. The moment replayed in her head 1000 times over.

He kissed her. And she liked it.

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