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infizero · 6 months ago

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pokespe reread: yellow chapter - closing thoughts! 🟡

that's the end of yellow and gen 1 as a whole!! before i (very excitedly) move onto GSC, here's my closing thoughts ft. me talking way too long about blue for some reason

(before we start i want to reiterate that i use they/them for yellow. i just cant use anything else sorry. i also use "yellow" and "amarillo" interchangeably 👍)

ok, i wanna start by talking about yellow's personality bcuz MAN! i am so glad i reread this chapter in particular bcuz i really forgot so much. as a child i 100% woobified yellow very badly and basically any trait of theirs that wasnt "sweet nice pokemon-loving healer" got destroyed in the process

there's so much else to them!! they're headstrong, they're brave, they're determined.... and while inexperienced, they're literally stated to have power on the same level at red's at certain points!!! amarillo is not just a little cinnamon roll or whatever, and i really appreciate being able to remember that via this reread.

i also really love their pacifist streak! i like how they're kind and prefer not to fight not out of naivety or stupidity or cowardice, but as a conscious decision that they make because that is what they want to do. and i think that's really admirable! sticking to ur principles while being informed and everything. and it def leads to a lot of interesting situations where they're able to win without actually attacking, which is cool to see

ok you know me. ive gotta talk about yellow's gender.

i love yellow bcuz they're one of those characters where everyone has different interpretations of them gender-wise but we all sort of agree that they are not cis LOL. those kinds of characters are fun to me

i def can read yellow in different ways, but i personally see them as an afab non-binary person. (tho i dont think they would've had the words for it until later) that's just how they read to me. and im definitely even more attached to this hc now that i myself am trans LOL (not that i wasnt before. you know how it is)

anyways, when it comes to what's actually in the text, i actually like how yellow's gender was handled! i really like the fact that as a reader you go through almost the ENTIRE ARC thinking they're a boy before it's finally revealed. i think that's definitely preferable in this situation to the audience knowing from the start.

not only does it come as a surprise (i mean. if it's your first time reading obviously lol) but it sort of asks you as a reader to inspect your own perceptions of characters when it comes to their gender, esp probably when this came out. how does your perception of amarillo change once you find out they're actually a girl? should it change? idk i just find that interesting

i also do appreciate that yellow's abilities and personality (at least for this arc) dont change between before and after the reveal. like thats a low bar lol, but i appreciate that they're still shown to be strong in their ways once you know they're a girl, and they also still act the same. again low bar but it would've been easy to treat yellow more like A Girl afterwards so im glad that doesnt happen.

(im a little wary for the future since yamamoto definitely draws yellow more overtly feminine-looking than mato, but lets hope that stays about the same. ok?)

^ while im mentioning that btw. i fucking loveeee how mato draws yellow so much. they're so perfectly androgynous looking it makes me happy :) and again that doesnt change at all after the reveal so yayyyyyyy

but anyways. i also rlly like blaine's reaction to finding out in particular. he asks about it, a little bewildered, and when they request that he not ask about it right now, he obliges and does not bring it up for the rest of the arc! and doesnt treat them any differently! its fucking awesome i love blaine so fucking much guys

amarillo's gender in general was a lot less of a big deal than i remembered/expected it to be? like it really does not matter in the grand scheme of things and i think thats pretty cool ^_^

on the subject of that scene though...

bro im sorry this is not the reaction of a cis girl who's only been caught pretending to a boy 😭 the "dont ask right now" thing i could understand, but this line??? this feels wayyyyy more personal. fym you feel naked without that hat? the hat that hides your ponytail and girlness?? you feel exposed and bad without hiding the fact that you're female? interesting.

like to me. yellow might've had some preexisting feelings, but blue telling them to pretend to be a boy (i'll get to that later) and getting to go around like that was their trans awakening for sure.

but what i find interesting is that despite blue saying that, yellow doesn't... actually ever introduce themself as a boy? like literally not a single time. they hide their ponytail and dont correct people when they refer to them as such (although now that i think about it i actually cant recall if anyone actually calls them a boy or uses he/him for them in their presence, but it probably happens) but never do they actually call THEMSELF a boy or anything like that

like despite blue's instructions, yellow doesn't really pretend to be a boy so much as just go around with their ponytail hidden and have everyone just assume they're a boy. which i find interesting, and its why i so strongly see yellow not as transmasc but as non-binary. they're a "girl" but everyone assumes they're a boy, but yellow themself doesnt ever comment on the matter. truly goals oh my god if i could go around and just have everyone think im a boy even if its technically more complicated than that my life would be blessed. anyway

that's the sort of subtextual reason as to why i view yellow as non-binary, but in terms of my actual hc, this experience is their awakening not because of them getting to be a boy, but rather them getting to not be a girl. and i think once they get to live like that for a little bit that's def what leads them to think about it more and eventually figure all that out :)

ANYWAYS. getting back to the actual text. i wanna quickly talk about the other characters bcuz i really like how everyone was incorporated into this arc

i thought this arc did a great job handling all of the different characters. i like how each of them gets a chance to shine without it feeling too crowded, and it's really cool seeing what everyone's been up to in the 2 years since RGB.

obviously you've got blue leading yellow, green training them, and the whole thing with red (which i'll get to in a little bit), but also the gym leaders (both good and bad), bill, blaine and mewtwo... they all felt important in their own way. no one felt glossed over or anything.

that little peak we get of green's childhood + him teaching that little boy was cool :D i love green so much.

i particularly liked seeing blaine and mewtwo's bond after 2 years of them healing and training together, and the twist of giovanni being the one to let red out of the ice genuinely had me shocked, i did NOT remember that. him showing up at the end to save yellow (and using the same move red beat him with!!!!) was a really cool moment that had me freaking out

the elite four were also really fun (and very intimidating) villains! i like how they each had their own point of intrigue, they never felt like just one unit without their own personalities. lorelei is the one who froze red, bruno was being manipulated, agatha mostly sticks to the shadows but has her past with professor oak, and of course everything with lance. their goal is insane but they really do feel like actual threats so it never feels ridiculous

speaking of lance, he is the PERFECT foil/antagonist for yellow. having them both be from the viridian forest, both with the power to read pokemon's minds and heal them, but with vastly different outlooks on the relationship between people and pokemon is just suchhh a good dynamic

amarillo uses their power for good to help both people and pokemon, while lance uses that same power in pursuit of helping pokemon but via a plan that would've surely only ended up hurting both..... very very good...

i like how the story does sympathize with lance's cause and points out that YES, humanity has problems, and their actions and pollution and everything have hurt many pokemon. but that's not a reason to wipe out ALL humans; it's instead something to try and improve so that both people and pokemon's lives can be improved and they can live in harmony. lance's motivations are noble but obviously the way that he goes about it (attempted global genocide) is uh. not

i also like how its shown near the end that lance's efforts won't just hurt pokemon if he gets his way, but are actively hurting HIS OWN right now. his dragonite was suffering in silence in pursuit of his goal, and thats not to mention all of the trainers opposing him's pokemon who could've gotten seriously injured battling with him. and of course that's not even getting into the fact he FOR SURE killed at least a FEW people in the midst of destroying an entire city. and partially destroying several other cities. noble cause, but bad actions in pursuit of that cause. i always find that kind of thing interesting

rq before i talk about red and yknow. the main plot. i wanna circle back and go on a small tangent about blue because she makes me insane and even though i already said some of this in the tags of a previous post i need to get it out here

this line made me spiral into my years-long sadness about blue and the loss of her childhood and i just. need to talk about it. going ahead and giving the disclaimer that a lot of this stuff was definitely not meant to be that serious (because this story is written by a man who was definitely not thinking about the implications of stuff like this) but the way that it ties into blue's larger backstory makes me want to grab someone by the shirt and shake them violently

blue saying "until you can use the fact that you're a 'woman' as a weapon" is soooooo fucking sad dude. blue is a girl who has been using flirting and her position as a "woman" in the world to her advantage since AT LEAST 11 years old in RGB. literally in order to survive on the street

we can assume (and hope) that nothing bad ever happened to her, thank goodness, but that's still a very dangerous position for a little girl to be putting herself in. and it's always been really sad to me that she's had to learn how to weaponize being a girl from such a young age.

how did she learn that? somehow blue had to learn that she could get her way by flirting with men and making herself look and act as appealing as possible and i really dont want to think about a little blue out on the streets learning to play into the desires of men to survive, something she should NOT have to be dealing with that young. she should be getting to play!! to discover who she is!!

and this is AFTER already getting kidnapped, groomed into being a perfect trainer, and having to basically raise a kid only a few years younger than her in the midst of all that trauma. unintentionally or not, blue is literally like a personification of what it's like to grow up as a girl and how awful it can be and it makes me SO fucking sad.

blue had to grow up far too soon and i feel like this can even be seen in her want to get her own pokedex in RGB. she has had such a hard life and she's only 11 fucking years old (at the time). she's either had to play mother or be an object of desire to make ends meet, OF COURSE her deepest wish and motivation would be just to go on her own pokemon journey like other kids her age!!

so while again i could just chalk up blue telling yellow this to "a man wrote this and it wasnt meant to be that deep", i do genuinely believe blue WOULD say this. because this is what she's had to do to survive and she thinks it's fucking normal!!!

OK. ANYWAYS. SORRY. this chapter is not about blue i just had to rant for a second bcuz she makes me so sad and im not normal about her. let's move on and wrap this up lol

red's disappearance is such a fantastic event to base the story around. i totally forgot that we see him in the very beginning, but i like that all we get is him getting the battle invite, and then it cuts to oak and misty discussing how he's gone missing. (for whatever reason i thought that he was missing for way longer than a month? i guess my child brain just exaggerated that lol)

i feel like not seeing red at all before he goes missing could've been interesting? but i think getting that small glimpse at the beginning is good for reestablishing his character, especially since you've gotta account for people who are just now tuning in.

but anyways, the mystery of what happened to red is really well done. i like how it's really unclear what happened for a long time and even after getting hints like learning he was frozen by the elite four, it's still unclear exactly how he got out, where he went afterwards, why they froze him, etc.

you don't even SEE him in action besides the opening for quite a while, which i reallyyy like. all the information is coming from people OTHER than red, which gives him a really interesting, vaguely "haunting the narrative" type role in the arc as a whole. esp since the protagonist this time is yellow, someone who's only met red once or twice briefly when they were younger and therefore doesn't really know him.

the scene where we finally get to see red and bruno's battle is sooo impactful too. you watch as it starts off normal, as red is able to overcome challenges over and over again like normal, and then in an instant it all goes wrong...

watching red accept that he's not gonna be able to get out of this one by himself and sending pika away to get help.... his sad little smile before he falls..... him struggling on the ground, realizing that it'd be basically impossible for pika to be able to properly communicate with anyone, before he finally succumbs to the ice....

it really does hurt, ESPECIALLY considering his previous role as hero. he always manages to win in the end, but not this time. and his last thoughts before getting frozen are literally him starting to think that it might be hopeless. and reminder that he's literallyyyyy 13 during all of this. lorddddd

LAST THING I WANT TO MENTION

this arc does a reallyyy good job at subtly setting up for GSC. like throughout the arc, blue mentions how she's still working on trying to figure out who kidnapped her as a child; it never becomes relevant during yellow's plot but it keeps it in the back of your mind.

and then of course you get silver's cameo midway through + the direct tease for GSC with him showing up at the end and everything. obviously a very minor part of the chapter overall but it does a great job at keeping this plotline fresh in your mind so that it can be really delved into later. very awesome

AND SPEAKING OF GSC. I HAVE FINALLY FINISHED THIS FUCKING POST oh my god its like 3am. i really did not mean to write this much but i just love pokespe so much and i have thoughts. ok?

ANYWAYS. it's officially time for GSC babey. i was thinking of maybe splitting gold & silver and crystal into two separate arcs? i know they're technically the same arc but this is also the longest arc in the whole series so maybe that would be good.....?

although then "gold & silver" would only be those first two volumes, and i also dont remember if those leave off on a good point.... idk i'll probably just put them all together. "gold & silver reread" and "crystal reread" just look better than "gsc reread" ....... T_T

oh well i'll figure it out tomorrow when i continue onward. it's finally time for SILVER BABEYYYYYYYYYY (and gold and crystal i love them all dearly. but i do have a favorite)

#serena.txt #pksp reread #yellow reread #also side note i realized that i've been pronouncing amarillo wrong my whole life and i feel very embarrassed. ALSO i learned today #that the spanish name was just an english localization thing and it/smthn similar doesnt exist in the og japanese?? i did not know that #normally i would be like ''well its not in the original so-'' but im sorry latina yellow is so fucking good that i cant let that go #its real to me. ok?

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honeyhan-123 · 3 years ago

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A Slice of Heaven ~ Part Two

Summary: When Jensen stumbles across Melody Meringue on a cam website, he just can’t forget her and his obsession blurs the lines between right and wrong.

Warnings: dark!Jake Jensen, masterbation, camgirl, ice play, unequal power, this is not a healthy cam girl/patron relationship!

Word Count: 2.6k

Notes: I’m so glad y’all have been enjoying this series so far so here’s an update a day early! This is slightly more reader focussed but the next one will be back to Jensen.

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part One

Your back ached as you climbed up the stairs to your apartment. The temptation to quit your job was stronger than ever but you knew your side hustle couldn’t keep you afloat forever. Eventually you would lose the demure appeal and your patrons would move onto the next young girl.

Already you felt like you were pushing the boundaries of your age, claiming to be a couple years younger than you really were. It wasn’t a big difference, definitely passable in the sensual lighting of your shows, with your eyes hidden behind a mask but still, you knew it couldn’t last forever. You just had to save up enough so you could have a nice little nest egg for when you had to rely solely on your real job. Not that being a minimum wage sales assistant was much of a “real” job. It definitely wasn’t where you had pictured yourself being back at university.

Your keys rattled in the door and all you truly wanted to do was crash on the lumpy sofa and binge a few episodes of whatever was on. But no. He had requested another show.

Normally your side hustle only took up three nights a week but ever since he had become a patron, it was more like five or six nights a week. You had no idea who he even was, only that he went by the username JJrulez and paid well. He was a regular in your normal shows, always tipping generously and had recently become a private viewer too. You always made more money in the group shows, yet with how generous he had been, you felt the need to cater to him when he asked for a private session. He didn’t seem to like the public ones, and some of the comments he had made about how he didn’t want other men seeing you did make you feel a little uneasy, but it was easy to just brush it off. He was just a faceless voice online.

And really, you did feel a little bad for him. Spending hundreds of dollars on some girl you’d never met seemed pretty pitiful. You couldn’t imagine wasting that kind of money, but at the same time you were glad he was.

You showered and prepared for tonight’s show. You could never be quite certain what JJ was in the mood for. Sometimes he was forceful in what he wanted, dictating your every move. Other times he was more laid back, happy to watch whatever you had prepared. You hoped tonight was one of the latter types.

You climbed up onto the bed and switched on your webcam. You logged into the private chat and sent him the link and within moments, he joined you in the session. Like always, he didn’t turn on his camera but you knew he was there from the soft breaths that came across the speakers. He always rattled your nerves but you swallowed down your fear as you tried to speak.

‘Hi baby. how’re you feeling tonight?’

‘So much better now that you’re here baby. You were on my mind all day at work.’ You plastered on a smile for the camera despite the pit in your stomach. It was too much. He was too much.

‘What were you in the mood for tonight?’

‘Well tonight I thought we could switch things up a little bit. You have one of those fridges with an ice dispenser don’t you?’ You nodded, unsure of where he was going with this.

‘That’s good. I want you to go fill up a bowl with some ice for me, honey. And then I want you to come back here as fast as you can.’

‘Okay.’ Your voice was more shaky than you really liked but you did what he said and stumbled your way to the kitchen. You felt out of control as you filled the bowl. You had thought that starting a camming business you would be the powerful one but now you felt anything but.

You climbed back onto the bed and held out the bowl in front of you, ‘is that enough?’

‘Yeah honey. That would be plenty. Why don’t you shimmy out of that little set. I want to see those perfect tits.’ You undid the clasp of your bra and the sheer material fell away, before you wiggled out of the matching panties. You could hear him let out a groan at the sight. ‘Now get some of the ice honey. I wanna see you rub it over your body.’

The ice was much colder than your heated apartment and it sent a shiver down your spine. He seemed to enjoy your reaction, even more so when you started rubbing the cube along your decolletage. ‘Move it a little slower, draw it out for me.’ You obeyed the voice as always and slowed your movements. It was just like a messed up version of a tease. The ice melted against your skin and you could feel the water cascade down your torso. You’d definitely be wanting a hot shower after this session.

Eventually the ice reached your nipple and you couldn’t help the gasp. You could hear him chuckle over the speakers. ‘Doesn’t that feel good honey? Do the other one now.’ You reached back into the bowl of ice and grabbed a new cube, starting the process all over again.

Once both of your nipples were starting to hurt from the cold he finally let you stop. ‘Now I want to see that pretty little pussy.’ His voice was slightly laboured with his heavy breathing but it still yielded far more control than you felt.

You leaned back on the bed and brought your knees up on either side of you, giving him a clear view of your cunt. ‘That’s good honey. Now get some ice and make that pussy wet.’ Your toes curled and your cunt clenched at the thought of rubbing ice along your lower lips. You’d never done something like this before, and a tiny part of you was interested in giving it a try.

You took a bracing breath as you reached into the ice bucket once more. You repeated a little tease for him, trying to build up the anticipation. The ice cube danced along your breasts before slowly sliding down your stomach and you heard him let out an appreciative groan as it passed your navel.

‘That’s it honey. You’re doing so good.’ You could hear movement from his end of the connection and could only imagine he was teasing himself. You had to wonder if he had his own ice bucket beside him.

Your gut clenched as you trailed the ice along your inner thigh, slowly getting closer to where he wanted it.

You couldn’t help the squeal when the cube finally came into contact with your lips. The pure coldness was jarring against the heat of your flesh. JJ let out a chuckle at your reaction, his tone hinting of condescension as he teased. ‘Aww honey, does it feel a little weird?’

You couldn’t find your voice through the lump in your throat and the best response you could make was a little whimper and nod of your head.

‘That’s good honey. This kind of thing is all about the line between pain and pleasure and I bet your pretty little pussy is just so sensitive.’ A chill that had nothing to do with the ice went down your spine at his mention of pain. He’d asked you to do some pretty questionable stuff in your sessions together but you definitely didn’t trust him enough for that kind of thing.

He must have seen the hesitation on your face as he quickly spilled out ‘don’t worry about the pain honey. I mean, how could I even inflict any on you through a computer?’ His words did little to reassure you but you couldn’t seem to find the word to say what you wanted. Instead, you just plastered on a fake smile and tried to slip back into the Melody Meringue persona that you had almost perfected.

‘Well, I’m all about pleasure here.’ Your voice was a little too shaky for your comfort but you tried to fake your way through it.

‘Oh yeah? Am I making you feel good honey?’

You faked a breathy moan, ‘yeah baby. So good.’

‘I wanna see your pretty pussy swallow that ice for me.’ Your fingers played with the cube as you tried to slip it into your heat, only to be stopped suddenly. ‘No honey, get a new one. I bet that pussy is so hot and wet, that cube’ll be melted in seconds.’ You followed his instructions once more and whimpered as the cold brushed against your walls.

The mixture of ice and heat felt strange. A little too strange for you to fully be into it as you felt the cube already start to melt slightly.

‘Now I wanna see you fuck yourself. Get that dildo, the one you used last time.’ You gulped and reached for the case next to you. The purple silicone one was the biggest of your collection and obviously a favourite of his. You couldn’t understand your patron’s obsessions with your bigger toys. Did they delude themselves into thinking that their cock was just as big as the eight inch monstrosity in your hand?

You quickly lubed up the silicone, sensing JJ’s impatience and lined it up with your cunt. The ice on its own felt weird enough and you weren’t sure how it would feel mixed with your hole being filled.

You took a deep breath before slowly sinking down onto the bulbous head. There was the familiar stretch deep inside of you as you pushed the tip past your entrance but it was mixed with the completely new sensation of the ice being pushed even further inside of you.

‘You’re taking that cock so good honey.’ JJ praised you as the base pressed against your lips, the entire thing finally inside you. ‘Now let me see you fuck it. I wanna see how you ride it. How you’d ride me.’ You tried to hide the grimace at his words. Your patrons said similar things all of the time but there was something so needy and possessive about JJ when he said things like this. It made you want to reiterate the rules with him.

But instead of doing any of that, you just continued to gyrate onto the dildo, doing as he said. The familiar squelch of your pussy taking the cock filled your room and you could hear similar sounds coming over the speaker from him.

‘God, fuck. Honey…’ He panted as your pace picked up.

‘Yeah baby. Just like that.’ You made your moans even breathier and felt the reliable tug in your gut. You were nearly there, but none of that mattered until he finished. You shifted into a kneeling position once more so you could really ride the dildo like he wanted. Your other hand reached up to play with your tit, pinching and slapping your nipples lightly. ‘Feels so good baby.’

‘Yeah you like that. You like that big cock filling you up, poking out from your belly.’ His grunts were so loud you felt like he was right in the room with you as he pleasured himself.

‘Yes baby. I do. I fucking love it.’

‘Course you do. Girls like you are all the same. Desperate for a nice big cock to split them open. I - I can’t wait to -’ His pants were heavy as his voice turned high and slightly whiny. You recognised the familiar pattern and slipped your hand down to your clit, getting ready to cum for him.

‘Baby, I’m gonna cum. Please let me cum.’

‘Yeah honey. Do it. Cum for me. Wanna see you cum.’ You let go, allowing yourself to fall off the edge. Your toes curled and you threw your head back. There was the familiar pulsing sensation in your clit as a spasm of energy travelled through your muscles. Your moans were caught in your throat as you rode out the orgasm. It was your favourite part of your sessions, the only time when you truly felt like yourself.

You were only slightly aware of JJ’s own orgasm, his whimpers filling your ears as he came, no doubt into a little fleshlight.

You took your time coming back to reality, enjoying the afterglow of the orgasm too much to let it go just yet.

When you do finally come around, you stretch out, allowing the thick dildo slip out of your quivering cunt. It sends another small wave of pleasure over you and you can’t help the smile. You slip on the black silk robe that you keep at the end of your bed for easy access like this and reposition yourself once more as you look into the mirror of yourself on the computer screen

His breaths are still heavy so you know he’s still there. ‘How’re you feeling baby?’

‘So good honey. You always make me feel better.’ He praised and you felt a stir in your stomach as a deep part of you preened. This, and your growing student debt was what had attracted you to camming in the first place.

‘I’m glad you feel better baby.’ You purred and reached for the water bottle by your bed, ready to log off and get some sleep.

‘Can I book an appointment for tomorrow night?’

You tried to bury the laugh that wanted to escape. It was more than just a little pathetic how eager he was but you shouldn’t complain. He had been paying most of your rent for the last few weeks.

‘I’m sorry baby, but I’ve got a public show tomorrow night. You’re obviously more than welcome to join though if you want to see me again.’

‘Well why don’t you just cancel it? We could spend the evening together.’

You bit your cheek as you thought over your words. It was always a tricky negotiation between keeping a private customer happy while maintaining all of your regulars and you needed them more than JJ. ‘It’s my weekly countdown. It’s where I make most of my money. Plus, how would that be fair to my other patrons?’ You tried to remain polite but firm as you denied him.

There was a slight pause and JJ huffed like a spoiled child. ‘Fine. What about the night after?’

Wow, he must really be desperate.

‘Unfortunately I’m otherwise engaged, I’ve got a personal matter to attend to. I don’t work Sundays either so the next time I can book you in is Monday.’

‘Monday?’ You could hear the affront in his tone and could imagine him pursing his lips as he considered the less than favourable outcome. There was a small silence and you weren’t sure how to break it.

‘Monday is my next free time.’ You tried to gently explain.

‘Fine.’ He huffed once more. ‘Book me in for Monday. The same time.’ His tone was curt and sharp and you barely had a chance to respond before the connection cut out, leaving you alone in the session. His familiar green blinking light turned grey, then black as he logged out and you hoped that you hadn’t just lost one of your best customers.

But then again, maybe giving JJ a bit of a berth wouldn’t be a bad idea. You had a feeling he could be a bit obsessive.

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Thanks for reading!

#jake jensen #jake jensen x reader #dark!jake jensen #dark!jensen #dark!jake jensen x reader #the losers #dark jensen #dark jake jensen

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ringmyheart · 4 years ago

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hey, i was wondering if i could hv headcanons with how to fight characters? maybe when their crush's parents scold them for getting bad score at school, like that time at the end of the semester. pls do it with seong taehoon and jiyeon woo. thank you! 🥺

SEONG TAEHOON

The first thing he’s gonna do honestly is tell u to fight ur parents. U tell him about how u got a bad score and how it’s the end of the semester and the test/ur overall grade was important and he’s so used to living life the way HE wants he tells u to just. Fight them

And you’re first thought 2 say is idk how to fight? Bc what he said is just so sudden and kinda preposterous and ur upset and he’s like okay, I’ll teach u then and ur like I’m not fighting my parents 😭 and he goes okay then I’LL do it

And u have to rlly reiterate like” NOBODY is fighting my parents” first and foremost and after that he kind of just goes silent because he has no idea how to help you or what to do and u have knocked every idea he’s offered out of the park

Truthfully I don’t think he cares about grades too much for himself and this extends to you too. He doesn’t get why you’re so concerned, and his dad (I’m pretty sure form what we’ve seen so far) is really nice and laidback so it’s not like he’s ever being reprimanded so he’s also partfully angry at your parents bc they made u upset

Like rlly angry LMAO and as ur ranting to him ab how they yelled at u for bad grades he’s just like one day… one day he’s gna fight them 😐 he doesn’t make exceptions. He might tell u to tell them to watch out LMAO but he says it so dead seriously and u laugh but wonder if he’s even joking ?

He’s like okay well have u considered: running away

And u quickly dismiss that idea too bc u have nowhere to go and it’s literally just them scolding u ur like it’s not THAT srs... I’m just upset and he’s like u have a place to sta... nvm he’s not gonna b sweet if it’s not like absolutely necessary LOL

Bc of his lack of understanding or just overall interest in this kind of stuff, he just listens to u bc his advice clearly wasn’t cutting it for u.

He asks to see the grade and u hand him the test or the grade folder and it if ur grades weren’t even that bad, he’s gonna get frustrated w you and be like u have gotta b kidding me this is what ur stressed about 😐 what ur parents yelled at u for?? And he smacks u on the side of ur head and is like please tell me ur joking these are good. Anything above a C in his eyes is still really good

If ur grades were a D, he’s like neutral like okay yeah it was kinda bad but not the worst, don’t stress about it I’ve gotten tons of D’s.

And if it was an F he’s like oh okay yeah it was pretty bad like I get it. But this would just make things worse and ur like ur right I did so baaad and he’s like nonono oh no it’s not like that and he like stiffens and goes quiet when u get misty eyed I guess and wonders once again why this is so serious to you?? Who cares about grades?

He probably gets mad ur letting other ppl control ur life. We’ve seen that he hates other ppl living their lives for others or by others rules and he’s kinda frustrated at you and wishes he could just take over u for a day or something and tell ur parents off and ur talking about it and he’s narrowing his eyes at you but ur clearly upset so he’s not gonna yell at u rn. When u feel better ab this he probably will tell you to stop living by others standards but for now he’s kinda lost

He tries to convince u to rise up against ur parents and is like “are u gonna keep letting people in ur life control u?!” And it’s like a motivational pep talk and ur like “no!” And he’s like “are you gonna let THEM yell at you and hurt YOUR feelings?! Cause I sure as hell am not!” And ur getting more energetic and r like “me neither!” And he’s like “are you gonna let ur own PARENTS talk to YOU like that?!” And u go “no!!” Nd he’s like “we r sick of it!!” And u go “ya we r 😭” and then he thinks ur on board so he’s like good!! Let’s go beat ur parents

And ur like “what” and he realizes u weren’t on the same page the entire time so he eventually bedgrudginly will lie that idea go

And he tells you this, like he says it won’t matter in seven years, right?? So why does it matter? Pls cheer up and be doesnt outright say this but he’s like “don’t worry ur pretty little head about it” or something to cheer u up

If it works and he successfully consoles u he is rlly happy and doesn’t show it but he’ll shove his hands in his pockets and go “see?? I told you. I’m good at this advice thing.”

If it doesn’t, he’ll try to take ur mind off it and he probably just shows u his spinning back kick or something LMAO or take u to the dojo so u can either do stuff w him or just watch

But if u tell him what ur upset about isn’t grades but ur parents, he’ll listen to u tell him what they told u if it was mean or strict and if it’s rlly bad his eyes will go bloodshot and he’ll roll up his sleeves and be like okay let me at them then

Literally don’t even JOKE ab him beating up ur parents he will do it 😭😭 and worse thing is he’ll WIN. Don’t even be like “yeah I wish u would beat them up for me” bc he doesn’t draw the line between u joking and him actually doing it probably. Even if he knows ur joking, which he will bc he’s not dense he’ll use it against u and be like u have me permission and suddenly ur the instigator

He listens to u rant about them if u just want a listener and he can probably tell by ur body language… like If ur clearly wanting advice, he’ll offer u the best he can and will tell you to stick up for yourself or, if you’re really upset he’ll even consider talking to them for u. No fists to his chagrin but he’ll advocate for u and he won’t plan beforehand at all he’ll just say “I think u need 2 be nicer to ur child.” And will be like “this shit doesn’t even matter anyways” and will rip the test paper in front of them so this option is obviously not even a choice for you

If u start to cry he’ll first awkwardly do that thing that people do when they don’t know how to console someone and rub your arm and he’s like “Uhh, do u want water?” Bc he’s sad bc UR sad and doesn’t know what to do and it’s like what he’s doing isn’t that helpful but the tone in his voice is v consoling and comforting bc he’s suddenly kinda quiet 4 once

If ur sobbing he’ll hold u and u cry into his shirt and later he’ll talk about how you got it all wet but like when he goes home in the mirror and sees the tear stains it reminds him ur hurt and breaks his heart

He will study with you. And by studying it’s just him like sitting with you while you study. He doesn’t think you should study but if that’s how you want to solve this and feel better he’s down. He won’t read anything but if u have flash cards he will read them back to you and ask u questions and he doesn’t know the right answer himself (unless it’s math he’s probably rlly rlly good at math.) so u have to write them on the back. But he’s pretty good at helping u study

And if ur doing flash cards, he won’t tell u the answer until u guess it and he’s good at hinting to it and he gets annoyed VERY easily when ur not saying the answer u wrote on the back but bites it down

If ur parents make u stay home more and study as like a consequence of gettig a bad grade, he won’t have any of it

He will either confront ur parents and that either makes things somewhat better or incredibly worse

So if that’s what happens he’ll text u a lot and face time u in secret and call u a lot so even tho ur not together, every time u come home from school and open a book ur phone is hidden in the bend of it and ur fting and sometimes u don’t even talk he’s just FaceTiming u so u won’t b alone while u study and bc he misses u

Overall, he really couldn’t give a shit about grades but if need be, he’ll help u with urs, he’d be the best math tutor if ur looking, if ur parents lock u up a lot to study more bc they’re mad he will use any other option to see u, and he’ll try his best to console u despite not being that knowledgeable or understanding why you’re upset. His go to comfort option is distraction, but if it’s futile he’ll do whatever it is u wanna do. If u thank him for helping u he’ll kick something and will b like “yeah whatever I was just sick of u moping around.”

JIYEON WOO

He understands what’s going on with you all too well. When you tell him ur parents scolded u bc u didn’t do so hot in a test or ur overall grades this semester, it’s like his heart is a weight that drops into his stomach and ties his intestine into a huge knot. Like he feels the dread set in

He’s takes a muuuuchhhh more calm approach than Taehoon tbh, like while ur talking he won’t say a word and will listen. He is SUCHHH a good listener and especially now he’s just staring at you and nodding his head to let you know he’s listening to make sure u know that like he is there and present and if ur sad he’s sad too like u guys r a “team”

While ur venting, if u begin to cry he’ll let u and he’s more of a “rub-ur-back-soothingly” type of consoler so he’ll do that and if u half hug him he’ll continue do it but he’s looking at u w the saddest eyes in the world ☹️

Doesn’t rlly know what to do at first besides listen and b nice

He might even get misty eyed with u too bc he understands so much. But he won’t bring up his home situation at ALL, it’s like ur stage and he’s just a listener, he won’t make u feel like he’s comparing ur pain

His fist clenched at his side because he’s angry at your parents AND his and he’s imagining what ur parents said in his mind and even if it wasn’t that bad, he’s fuming

He might even offer to run away w u too and he “knows a place” 😭and ur like omg it’s not that bad but after reminiscing on his own home life he just assumes you’re as sick of it as him

If you’re his s/o, you obviously know about his YouTube streams, so that week at the end of every stream he’ll take a risk and unmute it and go “and don’t worry about grades too much, guys :)” and ur “guys”

Either that or he’ll do something so he will stop streaming completely for that week bc it might make u feel like he’s rubbing it in ur face how much he studies nd how studious he is and yes it gets him in trouble w his dad but when u start to feel better ab ur grades and u smile and he’s like “I thought u were upset?” And u say “oh, yeah… I’m feeling better now :)” it’s all worth it

Since he’s so consumed w streaming if u weren’t able to ever meet in person, and u had to FaceTime or text him, he probably spams u and u guys have to text at like 3am bc he’s studying all other hours of the day so he’s under his covers and reading or calling u

Like it goes

‘My parents got mad at me bc I got bad grades :(((‘ and then he sees the text he reads it and then again and is like oh no bc is it like his situation???

And then u go get a snack or something and go MIA during texting but he doesn’t know that so he spams u bc he thinks that maybe ur parents took ur phone and r locking u up like his did him so he’s like

‘Are you okay?’

‘Hello…?’

‘Where did you go? :(‘

‘Are you okay?’

‘Please be okay…’

‘(Y/n)?’

And if he suspects ur parents took ur phone and r gonna read this he sends things a very lengthy and persuasive text that explains why this is cruel and unusual and to PLS give u ur phone back and then it says seen and ur like it’s still me :)) I’m okay but thx for worrying 😭❤️

And he’s like ‘thank god…’

Since he’s a part of that newtube company (XY or something? I forgot HAHA), he has connections honestly??? So if you’re that torn over this grade he might try and pull some strings to improve your grade, make classes easier or to reach your parents even. Like he affects his parents’ boss which then butterfly effects to you

Assures you that grades aren’t that important, or tries to, but it’s so horrible coming from him because he has such good grades and it always is gonna feel like he’s just saying that no matter what

If he could he’d fail a test too to make u feel better and like ur in it together but his dad would MURDER him. So he just tries to tell u it’s okay and graders aren’t that bad

If ur mostly upset over the bad grade, he’s like it’s fine, and even if it’s a grade he genuinely considers bad he’ll look at it like “...” before going this is fine too!! :) and in his mind he’s like if I got this my dad would kill me but would NOT tell you that EVERRR. He’s gonna do anything to preserve ur feeling rn and the next few weeks he’s especially nice to u

Will study with you to make you feel better but it’s hard because he’s really far ahead tbh :(( like he explains assuming u already have some ground knowledge. BUT he’s really good at being patient so if ur like I don’t understand and get frustrated he’s like “oh I’m sorry!!! Here, I’ll go over it again.”

U guys start spending time at the library and when his dad questions him he’s like I’m studying and he really is and it’s like a study date and it actually ends up being RLLY fun

Might even print u worksheets and stuff and leaves nice notes on them when he gives them to u like every chapter has another ‘u can do it’ of ‘ur already here?! Omg! Ur far ahead keep going!’ And lots of smiley faces and hearts in the margins

He is not above helping u cheat. He will give u answers in school, risking being caught nd getting in trouble, like he’ll find a way to sit as close to u as possible in class and “drop” his pen besides u that just happens to have a paper inside with all of the answers!!!!

And when you see it you’re so happy and you look at him and wink trying it be inconspicuous and it’s so obvious and he’s like omg (y/n) pls… but he’s happy ur happy and ur grades improve so much bc he gets every answer right and so of course you are getting them right too

But u both plan on u getting a few wrong to avoid suspicion and he’s so happy when ur happy bc ur grades improve so he’ll start sending u the HW, too

Will send u just study notes if u don’t want to cheat and they r so good and he’ll also send u his flash cards and everything and lend u notes from the past

He knows ur YouTube username so if u start to study a lot more bc of ur parents’ scolding and watch his streams to “study” w him despite the million viewers it’s like it’s just u nd him and when u comment like “here bc my parents yelled @ me and now im trying to improve my grades” he is simultaneously v happy ur there but also heart broken

If it’s mainly ur parents scolding u ur upset about, he’ll listen to u talk about it for hours on end over text, FaceTime, call, etc.

Makes a joke ab sending ur parents to the nursing home he volunteers at to cheer u up 😭😭 it either makes u son harder or laugh

Overall, he cares LOTS about grades, but his not urs. And if ur worried ab getting a job he’s like dw I’ll cover u in the future :)) and he’s very understanding bc he’s in a very similar situation and hates seeing u suffer like that or go thru that even if it’s genuinely not that bad. If u cry his works just SHATTERS and he’ll listen to u rant and cry for hours on end. And if ur grades were actually considerably bad, he won’t tell u that, and he’ll help u improve them bc THATS his solution to it and he’s good at helping u study. If ur not up to it he will help u cheat despite the danger of getting caught, so he can see u happy again :(( he’s rlly so sad ur going thru the same thing as him and will do anything to make it better. Won’t offer to fight ur parents but if need be he might rough one of them up if things escalate to really like mentally abusive-like proportions. But if it wasn’t that bad, he’ll just console u and help u to feel better no matter what !!

(Unedited)

I hope this came out well!! I’m so happy I’m getting how to fight requests tysm for that, <3 also it ended up kinda long and I lost my train of thought a few times but this felt like an emergency request and when I read those I like when they’re rlly long bc it distracts and comforts me. If it was one I hope ur okay and know u r more than ur grades!!!! ❤️❤️ ty for ur request :))

#Jiyeon Woo x reader #Seong Taehoon x reader #Jiyeon x reader #Taehoon x reader #How to fight x reader #Viral hit x reader #Taehun x reader #Seong Taehoon #Jiyeon Woo

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anarchyduck · 4 years ago

Text

Get Out of Jail Free Card

Day Two: I don’t want to go

AO3

---

‘Heads up. Kid is in a mood.’

Tony frowns at Happy’s message. Considering the teenage raging hormones, there’s no telling what sort of ‘mood’ he’s expecting from the kid. Judging from the tone, it must not be good.

So he prepares himself for whatever comes up the elevator.

“Hey Mr. Stark!” Peter chirps, grinning ear to ear as he enters the lab.

Or so Tony thought.

“Hey kid.” he greets, watching the kid haphazardly toss his backpack on the floor near his work station. The kid doesn’t seem upset. “How was school?”

Peter shrugs. “It was fine.” he replies. “Aced my Spanish test. Tomorrow’s Decathlon meeting has been moved to the day after because of Mr. Harrington’s doctor appointment. Or something, I don’t know.” Kid gives a half hearted shrug then turns to grab a bottle of water out of the lab’s mini fridge.

Tony remains seated at his own work station, perplexed. Parker seems to be fine. Cheerful, hyperactive, chatty - the usual. He picks up his phone to look at the message again and resorts to writing his own.

‘Define ‘mood’’

“So nothing bad happened?” Tony prods a little more. “That Thompson kid didn’t give you any trouble?”

Peter shakes his head, mouthful of water. “No.” he replies, pausing as he takes another long drink and adds, “No more than the usual, you know?”

Okay so it isn’t a bully problem.

Tony’s phone buzzes on the table and he picks it up to read Happy’s reply.

‘Won’t talk about it. Something at home’

Something at home? The mystery deepens. Tony has met May Parker several times, even more once Peter’s real internship was discovered. She treats Peter like he’s more of her son than her nephew. A kind, formidable woman who would not hesitate to fight anyone who even dared side eye Peter.

“How about your aunt?” Tony inquires, finding it increasingly difficult to keep the questions casual.

“She’s fine.” Peter says with uncertainty. He shoots Tony a questioning look as he sits down. “What’s up with the interrogation?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “If you think this is an interrogation, you’d never make it through a real one.” he remarks then waves his hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. Just wanted to check in on my favorite intern.”

“I’m your only intern.”

“Which automatically makes you my favorite.” Tony reiterates, drawing a light laugh from Peter. He realizes he sits at a crossroad with the kid, to flat out ask what’s going on (if anyone is really going on) or leave it be. Parker has the terrible habit of not being frank about things, especially when they’re personally happening to him, which can lead to complications down the road.

“It’s nothing, Mr. Stark. Really.” Peter says dismissively, eyes turned downcast to his desk where he makes an impressive attempt in looking busy.

So there is something bothering the kid.

Tony leans his head back, looking up at the ceiling as though it has all the answers. “Okay,” he sighs heavily, running a hand down his face as he directs his attention to Peter again. “Look, enough beating around the bush.” To this, Peter gives him a deer caught in the headlights look. “Happy already gave me the warning something was going on with you so let’s hear it. What’s the problem?”

Peter opens his mouth while spinning a mini screwdriver around in his hand then closes it. Tony can practically see the warring thoughts on his face, though the internal conflict doesn’t last very long. The kid gives a long suffering sigh then says “My Aunt Jan is getting married next Saturday.”

Tony frowns and tries to connect how that's relevant. “Okay…? Wait.” he gives it some more consideration and adds, “I didn’t know you had another aunt.”

Granted, he never thought to look very deep into the Parkers family tree but that’s beside the point.

“I have four aunts actually.” Peter says then adds, “Or, had four aunts. May had a sister named Annie who died before I was born. May has two other sisters - Aunt Jan and Aunt April, which no one talks about for some reason. Aunt Jan says she’s the black sheep of the family and May doesn’t talk about her either, so I imagine her name is burned off the family tree.”

Tony thinks there’s a pop culture reference in there somewhere but he can’t place it. “So your Aunt Jan is getting married.” he says to get things back on topic. “And that’s a bad thing because…?”

“Because she’s just… awful.” Peter groans, chair squeaking as he leans back into it. “She always made these really mean comments and talked about Ben and then talked about Ben and May taking me in, as if they shouldn’t have. And the wedding is all the way in Boston, which means we’ll have to stay at Aunt Jan’s house and I just... “ Peter heaves a sigh, slouching in the chair as he continues playing with the screwdriver. “I don’t want to go.”

“So don’t.” Tony says, believing it being the simplest solution to Parker’s problem.

Peter’s head snaps up, looking aghast. “I can’t do that! I promised May and it’s a family event and-”

“It’s obvious you don’t want to go.” Tony says. “So just tell your aunt you changed your mind.” Peter looks like he still wants to protest, to which Tony adds, “Would she force you to do something you don’t want?”

“Yes.” Peter grumbles.

“All right. Then I’ll give you a Get Out of Jail Free card.” Tony offers. “Just say you have something going on with me that weekend like” - he snaps his fingers until an idea comes to mind - “tell her we’re going to the Compound and I need your help working on some gear.”

"You would do that, Mr. Stark? Really?" Peter asks, having the gall to sound surprised about it. As if Tony wouldn't do something for the kid. But then Peter deflates into the chair again and shakes his head. "No, I shouldn't. If I don't go, May will be there alone with them."

Tony hums and nods. "For the greater good, huh?"

This kid. Sure it's just to a wedding, but this is just another example of who Peter is. Self sacrifice and unwilling to let him become a burden or let someone else suffer. Tony's admiration grows for him day by day.

"Well, now that's out of the way." Tony claps his hands together as he stands, chair rolling against the tile floor. Peter perks up in his chair, eyes on his mentor as Tony approaches his desk. "Let's go over some upgrades for the suit. Any new ideas?"

He watches that spark in Peter's eyes, how the kid lights up. "Yeah! Uhm, actually I was thinking about stuff in class today and wrote it down…"

Tony grabs another chair to join the kid as Peter rambles on about his latest ideas. When he isn't looking, Tony sends a message to Happy.

'Kid is good. Btw, send a list of hotels in Boston.'

#webpril 2021 day 2 #webpril 2021 #peter parker #tony stark #irondad #spiderson #spiderman #spider-man #iron man #marvel #duckie's writing

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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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energyanon · 3 years ago

Text

Henry Reading Part II

As always, I wrote this in real time, and edited punctuation after. I’ve italicised all of the “placements” names so hopefully it makes more sense for you guys to know what placement i’m talking about. Also keep in mind everytime i move to a next placement its because the energy has said all it needs to with the last person. And also note everytime that anything in the field moves, I have to check in with everything else cause movement means change in the dynamic, and so it’s always good to check in to see what the placements think about that. Guys... it’s a long one but... Im cautiously hopeful at the moment omg.

Placing HC, body, image/status and fans.

HC, body and I/S are standing beside each other in a line. Body was close to HC, then I/S wanted to be on top of him, for energetic reasons I put image next to him instead, wedged between him and body.

Immediately HC just wanted to sit down and relax but felt claustrophobic with everything so close to him. A little anxious, very hot, and off kilter. He wanted to move away from the other two, so I moved him. He’s now in the furthest part of the field, but he is SMOKING hot like I’m BOILING.

Image/status also is feeling a bit off kilter, it keeps swaying one way to the next but heavily leaning towards Body now. Like as if it’s entire gravity is based off of “body”s orbit.

When Image/Status looks at Henry it doesn’t even seem to recognise him. Kind of like a “what are you doing here” and it’s heavily leaning towards body, it has no regard for HC as a human whatsoever.

Body is also a little off kilter but feels like it can’t move or feel anything, and it’s only swaying to each side slightly. There’s a lot of pressure in the throat/lungs. But otherwise body is numb. It doesn’t feel like a living organism it feels like a statue.

Body will not look anywhere besides in front of it and down.

You know what it feels like, it feels like Body is standing in those lines in the military where a captain is walking down and assessing every person there and you have to stand still and silent and wait for this person to assess you and then leave. It’s a very obedient feeling like “I have to stay here and do what I’m told”

It doesn’t feel like it has any freedom whatsoever.

So I’m gonna add Body IMAGE, instead of just Body and see how they interact.

Oh I just remembered I have placed fans but literally none of them are paying any attention to it. So we move on.

Body image is directly in front of Henry. If it could be apart of him it would, but it’s standing in front of him, noses touching.

It feels like a mother (yikes)

It’s telling him he’s not good enough

Hands on hips, it’s very stern.

100% a mother energy. Not a MOTHERLY energy it feels like a stocky woman shorter, has authority over him and he respects it.

I know that sounds like DG, but this is just the “energy” I’m feeling so it could be actual mother or another woman in his life that has this kind of energy. It could also be that females are a heavy influence on his life.

Body Image is Disappointed “you can do better”. it’s looking him straight in the eyes. It’s not happy with him at all, it doesn’t seem to have any compassion for him, it almost feels disgusted, like it shouldn’t have to be wasting it’s time but it is. It also feels like a bit of a bully like if he wants to move it moves with him going “where are you going huh. You stay right here you can’t walk away from me”

Henry

Surprisingly, he isn’t crippled by body image being there it’s more like it’s a nuisance.

Body Image to him feels very military once again, “this is my superior, I have to listen I have to do what it wants, but I’m tired of listening to it. But I’m just gonna stand here and shut up and be as invisible as possible until it does.” Feels very “sir yes sir” to him.

He feels very stuck here but he WANTS to move (that’s great news) he just feels like he can’t while body image is in the way and he’s not gonna try until it’s gone.

When he looks at BODY he’s looking at it forlorn. Like he wants to be United with body, but body is listening to whatever it’s being commanded by and so is he, so neither of them can move.

I got him to look at fans cause I wasn’t feeling anything for them. When he looks at fans he gets instant anxiety but also doesn’t believe he has the time to deal with that right now and he just wants to look over at Body. Anxiety leaves as soon as he stops looking at fans.

There’s a sadness when he looks at Body, almost like he misses a lover. He wants it back. He wants to hug it and tell it that it’s ok, he wants to comfort it. He feels like Body is in a worse place than he is. He thinks Body is struggling. When he looks at status/image he actually has 0 concern he’s just worried about Body.

I moved to fans. Fans feels nothing for the field. Makes sense cause it seems like no one is paying attention to it. I’m taking that to mean that fans doesn’t need to be here. It’s not the issue being dealt with. I’m taking fans out.

Taking note that HC doesn’t seem as unbelievably depressed as he was in the last one but we also have a different set up. But still interesting.

Body:

Body still an absolute statue will not look anywhere but ahead

Status/Image The only movement status wants is to be CLOSER to Body so that they are almost one. I’ve got status/image behind Body, but hugging it from behind. Not in a loving way but it feels connected it feels like that’s where it’s meant to be

Body:

Body immediately feels hot with S/I there behind it. It’s falling back a little but eyes still ahead. Still a statue. Feels… almost comfort with S/I there but it’s not comfort it’s like.. it feels… more stable.. like body doesn’t WANT it there but it’s not going to move and if S/I moved it would almost feel like a loss. It wouldn’t know what to do with itself.

Henry

Now that S/I has moved behind body and is hugging it, HC is panicked, still not moving, still blocked by body image but he’s looking at S/I now, S/I has his full attention.

His first thought was “no please don’t move there” and now he’s just staring at S/I knowing he can do nothing

Ok INTERESTING. He felt the need to draw his attention back to Body and get its attention by YELLING (almost like there’s a chasm between them but they’re actually really close in this constellation) he’s yelling “know your worth” and just that over and over again.

(Which frankly, I’m impressed by).

But Body isn’t listening to him so he just keeps yelling almost desperately? Body image is trying to get his attention but he won’t give it to it.

Body image:

Is annoyed, wants to grab his face and get HC’s eyes back on it. “I own you.”

It’s doing everything it can to get HC to pay attention when his eyes aren’t on it it wants to get abusive.

Like real abusive. Beating him to the ground.

I’ve followed the movement, and HC is on the ground.

It’s crouched over HC now and it’s just belittling him, it’s hammering into him. “Disgusting Pig”. “No one will ever love you what worth do you have.” It’s just laying it on him it’s not kind in anyway, it’s so horrible.

Henry:

Ok this is interesting cause I go back to Henry and I assumed he would be absolutely hurt by this but he’s not.

The feeling is that of an abused kid whose just had enough but can’t leave their parents just yet. like it hurts him emotionally but it’s more of a wince, he’s used to it, and he’s numb to the rest of it. He’s saying to Body image “let me go. Please.” “Please leave me alone you’ve made your point”

There again is almost that feeling of crying but it’s just the base of the emotion it’s not enough to get watery eyes.

Oh. That would make sense.

The good news is that HC doesn’t feel absolutely crippled by this.. he just feels like he’s stuck in an abusive relationship and he knows that he’s stronger than it, and whenever it says he’s disgusting he knows that he’s not. He keeps reiterating that to himself and saying that to body image, but it’s conflicting because he’s also too tired to get up and leave and fully believe it. It’s like eventually the abuse from Body Image wears him down and he knows even if he gets up and fights back it’s just gonna be there the next day wearing him down again.

Ah.

That energy has passed now, he’s sitting back up. He’s still blocked by Body image which is now sitting in front of him, still so close its touching. But Henry is breathing heavy as if he was just in a fight. And this feeling is similar to the last reading, the absolute hopelessness not knowing what to do, deep sighs feeling lost. Disassociating. Just.. over it.

Body:

Ok now body is looking at Henry and it feels so sad over what just transpired and it wants to comfort him but it doesn’t want to piss off body image.

It’s now looking forlorn at HC. And Body finally wants to move away from status/image.

I moved it to where it wanted to be - the edge of the field. And it’s turned around facing status/image and it’s defiant. “You don’t own me”

Body isn’t angry, it’s just defiant and protective. If S/I takes one more step body will bark at it like a ferocious dog. That’s the feeling.

Body is staring S/I down.

Status/Image

S/I didn’t feel anything about Body doing that it just went “ok. I’ll move myself somewhere else then” with a bitchy little smirk.

And placed itself in front of Body image and in between it and HC.

And now status is sitting too. All three of them. Sitting.

Status/image feels like it’s good friends with Body Image.

Henry: With that move, Henry now feels like he’s behind a wall.

A giant Ass brick wall and he can’t see anything beyond it.

Another deep sigh. He’s sick of it.

He’s so tired.

Body Image: Body image feels like S/I is almost like a daughter to it. It’s much younger but it likes status/image there.. in a really mean way, like it keeps looking at HC like 😏 see? How are you going to escape us. And wants to pat S/I’s head.

Body:

Body can’t seem to notice anything around it it’s almost like everything has vanished now because the other three are behind a brick wall and that wall is absolutely invisible to body. Body is just looking around like “well fuck.”

It feels like it has nothing to do now.

(Controversial……. I’m going to place HC’s younger self..)

Younger Self HC

HC’s younger self has placed himself in front of body but further away, he’s shaking and anxious looking at Body. Body feels like it is looming and intimidating but little HC still wants to be friends but not sure how. He’s holding himself like a shy little boy. Head is kind of ducked. And he can’t quite look at Body in the eye. Body needs to make the first move

Body: Body very hesitantly made the first move and knelt in front of little HC. It was kind to him but in a pitying kind of way. It said “hello little one”

And just knelt there. Little HC gave body a hug, and body couldn’t reciprocate its the feeling of when an adult has something devastating and sad to tell the child but hasn’t told him just yet.

Little Henry

Hesitantly hugging Body. Very awkward it’s taking a while to get used to being this close to body.

But when he does get used to it, body feels very warm, very motherly. It feels like a motherly hug.

Still even then the crying feeling is BASE level, not getting watery eyes or anything.

(I need to find where the basis of where this lack of crying is or it’s going to drive me insane.)

I’m leaving it there, as HC has accepted where he is atm, even if it’s behind a wall, he has the same feelings as he did in the last reading, I can’t get those to go away without a constellation, but I felt like there was movement with young HC and body bonding and having a little cuddle.

That’s some healing movement right there

OOO actually let me check how HC feels about young him and body making a nice little movement like that.

Henry:

OH!!!!!?

Ok the brick wall feels like glass now, he can see through it. But he’s got a little smile on his face seeing little him and body having a hug.

He feels like he may be stuck here but at least that happened?

He feels a lot more hopeful and alive than he did the last time I checked on him in this reading.

Awake too.

He doesn’t feel like the two in front of him are even blocking him anymore. Like they are but he feels like he could sneak away..

but he just doesn’t want to just yet he’s too tired he can’t be bothered, but he’s feeling MUCH better now.

He feels hopeful

And that makes him happy. And that’s finally where I will end it.

Guys OMG. POSITIVE MOVEMENT!!!! WE GOT IT!! Note: Ok, I didn’t move tiny henry. tiny henry moved HIMSELF. That’s HC’s little inner self making MOVEMENT. I didn’t facilitate that, that was where the energy wanted to go all on it’s own.

Which is PHENOMENAL AND WONDERFUL NEWS?!?!? Also I have left little HC and Body hugging for the moment cause I feel like that needs to fully integrate. Small movements but HUGE.

#HC #reading

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peaceoutofthepieces · 4 years ago

Note

About the last ask: Oh wow I'm so stupid hahahaha yes it's for vds, sorry 😂

My brain was like other ships? never heard of them 😂

Nr. 12 for that dialouge prompt thing? (Maybe some friends with benefits turning into friends to lovers 🙈)

12. “Stay the night. Please.”

Jens flops onto his back next to him and keeps a hold of Lucas’s hand. He doesn’t use it to draw him closer, though Lucas does have to twist to not have his arm pulled uncomfortably. Jens holds it to his chest, over his thrumming heart, and traces over it in a mindless, unfamiliar, soft gesture. Lucas feels his nerves spark, even though he was sure they had sizzled out. Even though Jens’s smile is nothing more than sated, and he’s staring at the ceiling while Lucas is staring at him, and the touch really doesn’t mean anything. Jens simply thrives on the contact, leans into any and all affection. It doesn’t mean anything.

None of it means anything.

No matter how many times one follows the other home and warms their bed, no matter how many too-gentle pecks slip in between heated kisses, no matter how many soft, loving touches they share in the lines between friendship and lust.

It doesn’t mean anything. Not for them. Not to Jens. It can’t, for the sake of their friendship. This is what they sighed up, with careful consideration and sturdy lines drawn in the sand. It doesn’t mean anything more than what it is, which is fire in his veins, rapid heartbeats, drug-like daydreams and better nights, breaths between kisses and touches, all of it shared and euphoric.

In other words: it means everything.

To Lucas.

It’s why he can’t immediately force himself to get up. To go, leave, keep things locked away and forgotten like he’s supposed to. Instead he rolls fully onto his side, rolls closer, and presses his palm carefully to Jens’s chest, brushing his fingertips over the skin. Jens’s hand twitches over his, then grabs it; not to stop the touch, but to lace their fingers together. He squeezes, once. Lucas squeezes back.

Then Jens looks at him.

Lucas waits. He’ll be told to leave. If they were in his bed, Jens would already be out and pulling on clothes by now, much better at following the rules they’ve set themselves. They’ve only lingered like this maybe twice before, when everything was particularly good and they got a little caught up in a few more needy kisses, trapped and blown around on their high. But they don’t really linger. They don’t bask. The telling, weighted looks come before, not after.

Lucas steals glances when he can, holds onto it longer than he should, secretly. But now that he’s allowed Jens to catch him looking, the other boy isn’t looking away.

In fact, Jens grips his hand tighter as he swallows. His thumb is still sweeping gently over Lucas’s knuckles. He rolls onto his own side, bringing them face to face, bringing them closer still, laying their clasped hands in the minimal space between them.

Lucas’s breath catches. He can’t breathe for risk of bursting the bubble, of whatever this is, some unbelievable kindness the universe has offered him. Then Jens is letting go of his hand, and his heart is cracking, but the hand only moves to his cheek, thumb finding the same rhythm on a new patch of skin. Jens is still looking at him. His warm brown eyes are soft, the pupils still blown, but clear. There’s a hint of something that looks like nerves, something hesitant and careful. It turns resolute just a second before Jens closes his eyes and hides the feelings away, touching his forehead to Lucas’s.

The kiss sends a wave through Lucas, happiness and hope trickling down his spine as he finally allows himself to press closer, press them back together. The kiss is so unbearably soft, even as Jens deepens it, licking into the corners of Lucas’s mouth and imprinting himself in the crevices of his being.

It doesn’t last at all long enough, and Lucas finds himself following Jens as the boy retreats with a hum of protest dying on his lips. He opens his eyes and finds Jens smiling, seeming to handle the lack of contact for only a moment before ducking their heads together again.

Lucas swallows. It feels thick. He doesn’t know how he’ll speak past the lump in his throat, and he doesn’t want to say it anyway, but it needs to be said, so he tries. “I should go.”

Jens finds his hand again and, to Lucas’s surprise, clings on tightly. His voice is just as hoarse when he breathes, “Stay the night. Please.”

The universe grinds to a halt. This is too much kindness for Lucas to believe.

“We don’t do that,” he says carefully, even while kicking himself for not accepting the offer in an instant and taking any and every thing Jens will give him. But it’s not worth it, if Jens will regret it as soon as they wake from their stupor. Maybe even before they fall asleep.

But Jens licks his lips and burrows closer. “No,” he agrees, softly. “But we could.”

Lucas will not let himself hope. “What do you mean?”

“You could stay. I could kiss you in the morning. I want to. I think you do, too.”

It’s so matter-of-fact, so easy, so sure...No. Lucas knows Jens better than to think that. He knows Jens understands what this could mean just as much as he does, that they both understand the threat. That Jens wouldn’t say such a thing and risk what they already have unless he meant it, unless he’d thought it over and through.

Lucas raises his hand to Jens’s face this time. Brushes a thumb over his bottom lip, still slightly curved in a smile. He takes a slow breath. “Can I?” he murmurs. “I mean—you’re right, but. Are you sure?”

Jens kisses him again by way of answer, and Lucas feels all his bones settle. Jens curves an arm around him and holds on, and Lucas slides a hand into his hair and does the same. To make sure, he reiterates, “Stay.”

There doesn’t need to be any more hesitance. Lucas has always known he would.

Dialogue Prompts

#van der stoffels #vds #wtfock #skam nl #ask game #you’re still very right anon #really...other ships wie?

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brasskier · 4 years ago

Text

Inspired by @valdomarx, @therogueheart, and that one anon, here’s a post-mountain Deaf!Jaskier story. Read it under the cut below or find it on my ao3 here.

Geralt stumbled upon Jaskier for the first time since the dragon hunt early the next spring, at a crowded market a week or two northeast of Oxenfurt. He'd stopped into town to stock up on supplies and maybe pick up a contract or two before moving along. If asked, he'd insist it was a series of hunts that brought him so close to the Academy, that he might as well follow the coin. And if he happened to run into his bard (ex-bard?), and happened to have the opportunity to apologize, and the bard happened to choose to follow him again? Well, so be it.

He smelled Jaskier before he could see him, head perking up and eyes searching the crowd for the flash of a colorful doublet and that soft brown hair. The market was teeming, thrumming with chatter, and just as vivacious as Jaskier himself.

"You goin' ta buy that or not?" The stall keeper asked, jarring him back to his abandoned transaction. He dropped a few coins on the stall, pocketed the herb, and disappeared without so much as a grunt. Weaving through the throngs of people, he relied on smell - on that familiar chamomile and saffron - until he finally spotted a glint of emerald green, and the strap of a lute. He watched from a distance.

Jaskier's hands were flashing about as dramatic as ever, glancing back and forth between the balding man tending the stall and another man standing beside him. His companion was as flamboyant as he was, dressed in a regal blue and arms waving about just as exaggeratedly. But then Geralt realized he couldn't hear Jaskier, which was unusual, because the bard had never in the two decades he'd known him been able to keep his voice down. The crowd was certainly cacophonous, but not that loud.

"Jaskier?" He drew a little closer and called his name tentatively. The bard didn't seem to react, carrying on with whatever he was doing. He tried again, a little louder, and then a third time, increasingly forcefully. He was getting irritated now - how dare he pretend to not hear me - and was tempted to simply move on. With a heavy sigh, he approached even further, lingering just a few paces behind him. "Jaskier?"

"Think someone's calling you," the stall keeper announced, jerking his head in Geralt's direction, and Jaskier waved his hands again before turning to follow the man's gaze. He blanched when his eyes finally met Geralt's, mouth hung open and hands dropping to his side.

"Geralt?" He squeaked out finally, dragging a hand up to his heart. There was an unusual quality to his voice, Geralt was quick to note. Not hoarse, like he'd heard him after many a late-night performance. Just different.

"Jaskier," he repeated, casting his gaze down to the russet dirt at his feet.

"Gods," Jaskier breathed. "Just - melitele's tits - I just…" He trailed off, wringing his hands together. Geralt couldn’t help but think he looked like one of the stray fawns that would occasionally stumble upon his campsite and linger frozen for a few moments, cast in the firelight and trembling with fear.

"It's okay, I know." He kept his eyes trained at his feet, trying to pin down the bard’s tone. The way Jaskier produced certain sounds, dragged over his vowels, a little bit of its usual edge missing. He must be overwhelmed, Geralt concluded, but he wasn't particularly convinced. "I'm sorry." He waited patiently, uncertainly, for either his acceptance or rejection.

"I need you to look at me," he said instead, surprising Geralt. He did as he was told, lifting his chin to face him. "Can you repeat that?"

"I'm sorry," he reiterated. He felt frustration welling again - he got his apology, does he really need me to repeat it? - but he quickly quashed it.

"Thank you, Geralt." He could see the emotion brimming in Jaskier's eyes. "We have a lot of catching up to do." Jaskier glanced sideways for a moment, fidgeting with one of his rings. "Perhaps we could share a drink? There's a tavern not far from here." He jerked his head to the right. Geralt grunted, and Jaskier raised an expectant eyebrow.

"Sounds good," he clarified. He was becoming increasingly convinced that Jaskier was toying with him for pleasure's sake. He knew full well how to interpret the Witcher's grunts, after all. And yet the expression drawn across his face looked impressively genuine. Humans are weird.

Jaskier uttered his thanks to the stall keeper and turned to face his companion - who'd been waiting patiently behind him - again. He wagged his hands about wordlessly, and it finally dawned on Geralt that this was not his usual theatricality - this was common sign language, and he wondered when exactly Jaskier had picked it up.

Jaskier was quiet most of the way to the tavern but seemed to perk up once they were seated - in the far back corner, Jaskier's choice. Geralt spoke first, determined to get this apology over with and behind him.

"I'm sorry about what happened." Jaskier tilted his head as he listened, chin resting on folded hands. "What I said was wrong. I shouldn't have blamed you, and…" he exhaled sharply, as if apologizing - or, more specifically, being honest and vulnerable - caused him actual pain. "The best blessing life has given me is finding you again." Jaskier's head tilted impossibly further, and then came the tears, and - fuck - did Geralt say the wrong thing?

"That's awfully sweet, Geralt," Jaskier eventually choked out, and he relaxed a little. "I'm sorry, I just--" He dragged a hand across his face. "That was so kind." He sniffled into his sleeve before finally re-righting himself. "I guess I'm just a tad sentimental." Geralt forced the best smile he could manage across his lips. "Gods, it's been so long. Go on, tell me everything you've been up to."

"Not much," he replied between sips of ale. "I'll tell you everything later." He chided himself as soon as the words left his mouth for just assuming there might be a later. "How have you been?"

"Hmm?" He sighed, fighting hard to keep from rolling his eyes.

"How have you been?" Jaskier seemed to spark to life again at this.

"Oh," he said simply, pushing his hair behind his ear and chewing on his lip. "Well, I returned to Oxenfurt, taught for the winter. I just headed out, actually. I've been a bit preoccupied." He leaned in closer, stared past Geralt at the wall behind him. "I, uhh, I got sick, coming down from the mountain." Geralt hummed, drawing a slow sip of his ale. "I mean, I kinda woke up sick, but then there was the dragon and…" He rubbed his thumb against the rough wood of the table. "Well, I was a little distracted. I don't even really remember making it off the mountain, to be honest."

"I'm sorry I didn't notice." Geralt might as well get all his apologies over with at this point, he thought. Jaskier waved a hand to hush him.

"I woke up at a healer's. Apparently someone had found me not far out of town and dragged me in." He let out a shaky exhale. "He said I'd had an infection in… In my brain." Geralt watched him with a sour mix of pity and regret, unable to shake the feeling that he should've been there. The image of Jaskier, waxy pale and slumped unconscious, trembling in a stranger’s arms, burned into his mind. "Anyway, I'm lucky I survived. But my hearing did not." Oh. Fuck. Suddenly the pieces slid into place - the sign language, the strange quality to his voice, the incessant requests for Geralt to repeat himself.

"Fuck, Jask, I'm sorry." He rarely shortened Jaskier's name, but he knew the bard liked the nickname, and it was the least he could do for him. His mind reeled with regret. He should've been there. A random stranger shouldn't have been the one to find him and rescue him. If he'd known, he'd have never - no. No, what he did was wrong outside of the context of what'd happened next, and he was not about to qualify it. Jaskier, for his part, seemed relatively unfazed.

"Nothing you could've done about it, really," he insisted, running his finger along the rim of his glass. "The healer said I just needed to fight it off on my own." This did absolutely fuck all to ease the guilt gnawing in Geralt's gut. Questions swirled in his head - how was Jaskier going to sing or play anymore? Could he still compose even? How was he going to survive; that was how he procured coin, after all? Was he… was he happy? Did he blame Geralt?

"I know, I just… can you still sing?" This question seemed to amuse Jaskier, who laughed heartily.

"Yes, Geralt, I can still deliver my fillingless pie." Geralt couldn't tell if he was serious or not, and while he used to be able to read his voice a little more consistently, he was unsure now and kicking himself for not making a better study of the bard's facial expressions and body language when they'd been together.

"You know I didn't…"

"I know. I know you didn't mean that." They sat in silence for a beat while Geralt wracked his brain for his next question.

"How? Do you sing, I mean, if you can't hear. How are you even talking to me?" He shrunk behind his tankard, suddenly embarrassed by the utter lack of tact that'd never bothered him before.

"Well, one of the perks of teaching at a premier Academy is access to some of the finest physicians this side of Nilfgaard. I'll be honest, it took a lot of work to relearn how to sing and speak; I was mute for most of my travels back to Oxenfurt, mostly out of shame." Geralt's stomach churned, imagining Jaskier entirely and utterly silent. That wasn't the bard he knew. His Jaskier never shut up, mouth constantly running faster than a horse, always a story to tell or a song to share or a joke to crack. And certainly never worried about whether anyone else wanted or needed to hear him. Jaskier was not quiet. "But fortunately I still have a tiny bit of my hearing - on the lower end, mostly, which is good for you. Plus I have decades of muscle memory, so it wasn't so bad. And as for right now? I'm mostly lipreading, though the pitch of your voice is helpful." Geralt couldn't tell whether he was being genuine or just trying to placate him. "It's just different. Have to feel it more than hear it, which if you ask me more musicians should try."

"I'm glad," Geralt gritted out, nodding at the bartender to bring another round of ale. "That you can still sing." Jaskier beamed.

"I knew you always liked my singing," he declared triumphantly, arms folded across his chest.

"Did you already know common sign?" Geralt asked instead of retorting with something snarky; let the bard have his victory.

"A tiny bit, but the language professor at the Academy was fantastic at teaching me." Geralt closed his eyes and tried to envision the odds and ends of common sign he'd picked up over his years of travel. "I made a lot of Deaf friends; they've been so supportive of me." With a sigh, Geralt decided to give it a try.

"I know a little," he signed, tentative and deliberate. Jaskier's eyes lit up.

"You do?" He signed back, eyebrows raised and grin spread across his face.

"Not much. I can…" His hands slowed, wracking his brain for the sign for learn. He sighed again and said it aloud instead. There he goes again, assuming Jaskier will stick around long enough to warrant learning more. Jaskier teared up again, and he cursed inwardly, wondering for what must've been the trillionth time that afternoon if he'd messed up.

"You'd do that? For me?" Jaskier squeaked, pawing at his eyes with a hand tucked in his sleeve.

"Of course." For a moment Jaskier looked like he might fling himself across the table and into his arms, but instead he fidgeted in his seat.

"That's enough about me now, isn't it?" Jaskier asked, always a master at changing the topic when he grew bored with it. "Tell me about your hunts." He leaned over, fished around in his pack, and plucked out his notebook and pen.

"First was an infestation of drowners," Geralt began, taking extra care to face Jaskier as he spoke, and pausing when he went to scribble something in his notes. They spent the next hour like this until, just as Geralt was beginning to wonder if the bard was going to force him to talk all night, Jaskier was tugged to the front of the tavern while excited patrons clamored for a performance. Jaskier obliged, as always, and Geralt watched, as always.

When Jaskier dropped back into his seat, shuffling his lute unceremoniously to the floor beside him, Geralt expected him to bid him a hurried goodnight, get on his way, and leave. Just a nice day catching up shared between two friends (?), and decidedly not the start of their next joint adventure. But instead of any of that, Jaskier called to the bartender for another mug, busied himself fixing his hair and his doublet.

"Told you I could still sing," he said with a wink as the bartender deposited his ale on the table in front of him. "And something to eat, please," he added before returning his attention to Geralt.

"I never doubted you," Geralt's reply came easily. It was, perhaps, the truth.

"Now then, would you say it has more or less filling now?" He leaned forward on his elbows, cheeky grin and narrowed eyes, and even Geralt could recognize the facetiousness of his words. Before Geralt could answer, he waved a hand, as if dismissing himself. "So, where were you? Something about a missing cow?" Geralt nodded, leaning back in his seat.

"So the boy told me his father would pay me, if I could find the cow. So I said, 'how much?'" He continued on with his tales, no matter how excruciatingly mundane they felt to him, until Jaskier's head dips forward and then picks back up for a third time. "Think it might be time for you to get some sleep?" He asked, and Jaskier blinked away the sleep in his eyes.

"Yeah, probably," he muttered, scrubbing at his face with one hand, the other dipping down to reach his lute. "Are you staying overnight?" He asked, and immediately flushed at the confused look he received from Geralt. "I just mean… I don't… you can't leave before I get to say hi to Roach."

"It's too dark now. I'll get a room at the inn." Jaskier’s face lit up, and he followed him in rising to his feet. "Just have to grab Roach first," he said when they finally made it out the door and into the cool early-spring night.

"M'kay," Jaskier hummed with a fond smile. He rested a hand on Geralt's shoulder. "I'll see you in the morning." It was a firm statement, certain and unquestioning.

"See you then," Geralt replied, heading back to the stable where he'd docked Roach so he could bring her closer to the inn. And he, too, was certain.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #julian alfred pankratz #henry cavill #joey batey #mountain breakup #deaf jaskier #deaf character #fanfiction #the witcher netflix #ao3

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hollenka99 · 4 years ago

Text

Whenever and Wherever

This is ridiculously late because I didn’t have much time to work on it thanks to irl stuff so sorry about that but happy (belated) birthday @bupine. Have some bench trio.

The first time their paths cross, it's in the tailor shop run by Tommy's family. Tommy seems to be manning the counter while his brothers and father are supposedly in the back. The customer is clearly an enderman hybrid if his facial features are anything to go off of. He's just here to order a suit for a new job as a stenographer for the mayor apparently. Ranboo lingers longer than he likely expected to when he walked in as the three of them make conversation together. Before their latest acquaintance heads off, they decide to meet up again outside of work hours.

Talking to Ranboo comes easy. Before too long, you could tell Ranboo's work schedule based on where he was found lingering. At the tailor's shop? Well, it was likely one of his days off and he wanted to keep Tommy company for a while as the owner's son worked. At the bakery? That usually meant Ranboo was on his lunch break and hoped to sneak something sweet into his midday meal. He occasionally buys a few flowers for Tommy with the excuse of 'livening up his workspace' and offers Tubbo his attempts at baking. Whenever possible, the three of them either made time during lunch or in the evening to hang out together.

Then Ranboo seems to realise he gets off work around about the same time the bakery owned by Tubbo's family closes for the night. That mixed with the fact he really isn't the best with anything kitchen related... Listen, Tubbo was simply being a good friend by helping him out. Plus, who wouldn't want to take advantage of an excuse to spend more time with one of their best friends? It becomes a... thing, their evening practice sessions. Tommy once comments on it during a lunchtime meet-up, only to tease them but it kind of hits Tubbo how often Ranboo swings by so they can bake together.

It becomes blatantly clear everyone knows what's going on between the two of them when they hang around at the back of the tailor's one afternoon.

"If one of you doesn't ask the other out, I will break into your homes, steal your clothes and alter them so they're unwearable. Then I will make you pay to have them fixed."

"We... We uh, aren't-" Ranboo begins defending.

Tommy glances up from his sewing machine as he switches it off. "Fucking hell, just kiss or something, I don't know. But please stop forcing me to watch the two of you make eyes at each other whenever we hang out. We haven't been 16 for years. Sort yourselves out or whatever."

So they clumsily arrange a 'date' and let things go from there. It goes... well. A second attempt to make sure the first wasn't a fluke wouldn't hurt, nor would a third. It soon gets to the point where this new dynamic feels entirely natural. Tubbo's only worry is that Tommy might feel like a third wheel. Their mutual friend assures them he doesn't care about that. Besides, they know him, if he was actually bothered by it, he would have complained a ton by now.

Getting engaged isn't a big affair. In fact, it is a complete mess that occurs on Ranboo's sofa following a lull in conversation. He trips over his words, segues into various rambley detours and eventually manages to get to the point where he asks the all important question. Tubbo knew his answer the moment he realised where his boyfriend was headed with the conversation.

"So Tommy," Tubbo leans over the counter. The way he very blatantly holds Ranboo's hand only causes his attempt at acting nonchalant to come close to failing. "How much for a couple of wedding suits?"

"You're not getting a friend discount. In fact, I think I'll double the typical asking price purely because you are my friends."

"I hate you, you know that, right?"

"Hmm, might even make it triple."

"I will personally uninvite you."

Tommy and Tubbo maintain straight-faced eye contact for all of five seconds before the taller of the two breaks into a grin. Before the new fiancees can react, Tommy has his arms around both of them, drawing them in closer.

"How could neither of you tell me you were looking at rings? Absolute crime, that, if you ask me. Especially since I'm obviously the bestest man around. Disgraceful, the both of you. How can you sleep at night knowing you left me out of the loop? Gonna have to quadruple the price as punishment."

An elbow to the ribs leads to a slightly pained inhale before the three of them descend into snickers.

Is it bad that he forgot land-dwellers need air?

Tubbo had been watched the two of them from afar. The one with sand-coloured hair makes himself round as he falls a significant distance towards the water. After a few repeats of this odd practice, he decides he will greet the human when he next appears in his domain. Tubbo grabs him by the arms with a friendly smile but it doesn't seem the human is so keen to befriend any merfolk. In the struggle, he gets a weird appendage to the face. Not one to be easily put off, Tubbo swims to the surface in time to see the boy communicating angrily with one whose hair colour resembled those of a beast he's been warned about. He thinks he'll dub them Sand and Orca for simplicity.

Orca spots him watching their conversation and walks over, positioning himself close enough to include Tubbo in any discussions they may want to have with him but far enough that Tubbo couldn't physically reach either of the boys with his arms. Sand greatly disapproves of this supposed fraternising with the enemy. Orca keeps attempting to communicate but their languages are vastly different so all it amounts to are gestures. When they leave, Tubbo finds it funny how the one named after a deadly predator is the most willing to be friendly while the one whose namesake he loves lounging upon occasionally had a tendency to come off as hostile.

The pair of humans don't visit him everyday and even on the days they do, the position of the sun isn't always the same when they arrive. Nevertheless, they continue to come as often as they are able and Tubbo appreciates that. He can't replicate any of their human vocalisations and though they try, neither of the human boys are particularly great at whistling and chirping properly. The constant gesturing seems to be the only way for them to communicate but they somehow manage to become firm friends despite it all.

One thing Tubbo definitely understands is fish. He is perfectly capable of getting his own food and honestly prefers catching it live anyway but if they want to offer him a snack as a sign of friendship, he's hardly going to say no. There's always the option to share the food with his family later. He brings Sand his namesake as a way of thanking them. Even if he knew a good place to observe orcas so he could extend a similar gesture to his other friend, Orca apparently can't swim. At least, that's how Tubbo interpreted it when his friend once pointed to himself, motioned as if he was pulling himself forward in water and shook his head afterwards. So Sand is the only one who sometimes joins him in the shallower water. And Tubbo has learned from his mistakes now, he makes no attempts to keep Sand below the surface longer than the human boy can manage.

One day not long after they meet, Sand tries to tell him something he can sense is important. He gestures between himself and Orca, points to the sun and makes a wide circular motion with his finger, extends his arm so it rises above their heads then ends the message by pointing to the shore. It takes another round of reiterating before Tubbo begins to potentially understand. They will get big with the sun and be here? It sounds odd but he supposes he can't physically stop them from leaving.

The sea grows warmer and cooler then back again over and over. He visits their spot each time the temperature rises. They never come. Or maybe he just keeps missing them when they do show up. He's not sure. Either way, he gets older and grows into young adulthood as the years continue to pass. He hopes the same is happening to them. They did promise to return once they got bigger too, after all. Although, the thought he might have wildly misunderstood Sand's parting message isn't always easy to not dwell on.

His waiting finally pays off and he couldn't be more ecstatic. They've both grown weird shells on their backs that he feels would be ineffective at defending them, their feet are disproportionately longer and their faces are practically unrecognisable with protective shells around their eyes and mouths. They are much larger than the last time they all saw each other too. But it's them, it's really them! Not to mention them seem to have developed the ability to breathe underwater somehow. Unsure how to greet them properly after all this time, he rushes off to the seabed with a grin and presents them with a fish as well as a fistful of sand. They look between themselves before accepting the gifts gratefully.

As the sunlight wanes on the surface, the humans sit on their familiar secluded spot of a caved area while Tubbo lets the water lap around him. The human duo have suddenly lost their strange shells now, both on their backs and faces, as well as returned to having better proportioned feet. Orca offers his own reunion gift. If Tubbo were human, he might have made use of non-existent tear ducts to inadvertently express how moved he was by the object. Because oh wow, he was never able to communicate Orca's

Tubbo knows what it is like to be displaced by war. He'd been born in a time of technical peacetime, though everyone knew this would change sooner rather than later with all the tension.

He's 9 when the war seems to decide it's time to directly come for him as the son of the president, more than the resource shortages or street violence ever could. An attempt to assassinate his father that he'd been too close to lands him in hospital. It's officially too dangerous for him to remain a symbol of how safe their country was. All those not old enough to potentially enlist get evacuated, Tubbo especially.

Snowchester is... alright. It's isolated and out of the way, which is probably for the best in the general scheme of things. But at his age, all he really cares about is making the most of the snow before the novelty wears off and questioning how long it will be before he can go home to his family again. The answer was less than a month and 'we don't know so you'll just have to sit tight. Okay?'. So he reluctantly settles into his new life. He makes an effort to get to know the handful of other kids from the village in the hopes of gaining at least one friend to help him through this, he wanders around the marketplace on Tuesdays to find the sweet highlight of his week and for the hell of it, he challenges himself to become a master snow sculptor. Tubbo also writes to home to let his family know how he's doing but it feels like it has to go through 50 hands just to reach them for the sake of maintaining his secrecy which really sucks. By the time he celebrates his first birthday without them there, he had given up on arguing about the risk of just ringing them.

Then when he's 11, men posing as sea merchants arrive on their frozen shores during the night. Before he's even fully woken up, he's on a horse in his goddamn pyjamas and clutching a pitiful bag filled with whatever he and foster father had managed to stuff into it in 2 seconds. He doesn't get to bid Snowchester a proper goodbye. They're already on a rowboat they'd kind of stolen after racing through the trees when reality finally begins dawning on him. The man who'd looked after him explains they were headed to a new place that would hopefully prove to be safer than his old home.

He's used to the cold of a tundra by now. This place is more landlocked than Snowchester but not everything can be on the coast. He guesses the isolation and lack of enemy reinforcements arriving directly at a village is a good way to decrease the risk of attack. He hates it here. Snowchester might have been a fair distance from other places but at least there had been a bunch of people around. This was literally one guy looking after two kids, now three, in the middle of actual nowhere.

Phil does his best to be accommodating, he will give him that. And the other boys he's living with aren't too bad half the time. But it's too much. He decides he'd rather keep to himself. Ranboo, like Phil, is a bit more patient with him than Tommy is. Ranboo is willing to play a chess game he has no chance of winning or solve the same jigsaw for the 5th time that week. Tommy, on the other hand, will talk at him or encourage him to go outside.

"If nothing dangerous happens, you have to... make me a hot chocolate. Yeah, that seems like a decent payment."

"Payment for what?"

"For getting you to stop sulking and enjoy the snow obviously."

He humours him but he makes sure his reluctance is unmistakeably evident. It turns out Tommy has excellent aim when it comes to throwing snowballs. When Tubbo complains about this, Tommy simply shrugs and reveals his brother is the commander of the army so what did he expect? It doesn't matter whether you're hunting for food or stopping the enemy from getting you first, precision and accuracy are important for survival. That's part of the wisdom Wilbur had bestowed upon him before going off to lead their side to victory anyway. Tommy then ends his speech by standing next to Tubbo in order to cram a previously concealed handful of snow down his back in a surprise attack. Tubbo swears he is going to work out how to dislodge half the roof's worth of snow on Tommy's head tomorrow for that. When they finally head back inside, Tommy lets him know he'd like his drink to include whipped cream and those tiny marshmallows if they still have some lying around.

In time, he learns Tommy had been sent far from home the same as he had. Logsted had been 'a tiny shithole with nothing on offer to do' that eventually fell prey to the same exploitable feature that Snowchester had. Phil had been an old contact of General Soot's so when the initial relocation efforts fell through, Tommy was sent to Phil. No big deal. Well... listen, Tommy can act like a prat at the best of times but he supposes it is nice knowing he's not the only one paranoid this will abruptly end terribly one night.

The days, weeks, months roll by swiftly. The three of them have snowball fights at least onc

Technically, it's Tommy's fault they nearly die. He'd been so insistent on fighting the dragon like his father once had that Tubbo had lost the will to try dissuade him. To be fair, he was all for it. It was only that Tommy was eager to jump right into the challenge while Tubbo… would prefer to actually survive.

They agree it will be an 'in and out' affair. They'll sneak down to the nearby portal at night, kill the dragon and hop back to the Overworld before their absences are noticed. If their families are unaware, they will never get in trouble for this. It can be an epic tale to impress future acquaintances but one to keep to themselves within earshot of those who'd scold them for it.

So that's what they do. With diamond armour and arrows they 'borrowed', the pair of 15 year olds face the dragon. They've already assigned themselves roles with Tubbo being in charge of destroying the crystals and Tommy tackling the dragon as a distraction. The plan is to take on the beast together once Tubbo's initial objective is complete.

It goes to shit when Tubbo barely makes a water clutch after being pushed off a tower by the force of an exploding ender crystal. Tommy had tried to get closer to him to provide support but ended up getting caught in the dragon's toxic breath. And then one of them must have accidentally triggered hostile attention from the surrounding endermen. A perfect example of sod's law, everything that could go wrong seemingly does. They tire themselves out too much by trying to return to more neutral odds. It doesn't happen. The cherry on top was the dragon knocking Tubbo into a pillar with her wing.

He's definitely had enough of this bullshit by the time he lets the developing concussion steal his consciousness. Let them just respawn in the bed they'd set up right outside the stronghold's portal room so they can be done with this. He really doesn't want to lose a life, especially not to a stupid stunt like this. But by this point? Fuck it.

When he wakes, it is not on the ground. It seems to be in a building on some sort. Has someone taken him home to work through his injuries? Tommy couldn't have since the next time Tubbo sees him, he has a haphazardly constructed splint on his leg. They bicker about their disastrous exploits until Tommy grouchily alerts them to the presence of their host, a young looking enderman.

It passes them a written message and Tommy, being the son of someone who is pretty much a jack of all trades when it comes to learning about other cultures, has a go at reading it. It's nothing too elaborate, just a summary of what happened while Tubbo was unconscious. The End native had spotted their plight as Tommy continued to get bombarded by aggressive endermen and toxic fumes courtesy of the dragon. All it had done was bring them home and attempt to give them medical assistance. Now here they were. At the bottom is a word Tommy's never seen before.

"Dunno what the fuck a Ranboo is."

"Maybe it's his name, idiot. Look at where it is, it's a signature."

"Oh, yeah maybe. What kind of stupid name is Ranboo though?"

They can't go back without the dragon dying and neither of them are in a position to make a second attempt, especially at the start when they are still both recovering. With no way home, they resign themselves to their new reality of living permanently in the End. The least they can do, in Tubbo's opinion, is try their best to communicate with their host by learning enderspeak. That goes... very slowly. Even with Ranboo helping out and Tommy's head start, it's not the easiest thing for them to learn. The humans share some of their language with the enderman in return.

Either way, they start living in their new home as Ranboo's guests. Their diet becomes saturated with chorus fruit and the first time either of them accidentally teleports during a meal, it's a shock. Their new friend waits until Tommy's broken leg heals before occasionally showing them around the islands that make up this dimension. They visit an end city that happens to have a ship nearby at some point and Tubbo resists the urge to lightly smack Tommy at the back of the head for acting like he's not impressed. They may possibly never be able to go home but come on. there is a literal massive ship floating in the sky.

Phil comes for them as soon as it feels like they might finally be getting used to their new way of life. They get the scolding of a lifetime mixed in with Phil making his relief and worry painfully obvious. They introduce Phil to Ranboo and of course the guy is conversational in enderspeak. At one point, Tubbo catches Tommy making a jabbing motion towards his father with his thumb incredibly subtly before rolling his eyes. As deeply in trouble as they are, as much as they were settling into what they believed to be a more permanent life change, the promise of home fills Tubbo with anticipation. He can't wait for the four of them to return to the Overworld.

Because you're coming too,

+1.

He's never been so eager to go to an airport in his life. His mum half listens while concentrating on the road as he rambles about all the plans the three of them had started making for the upcoming two weeks. There were so many games on their list for them to try. And yes, he knows they won't be able to get around to them all but they'll be damned if don't make an effort to dent it. Oh and then also all the stuff that got picked on the spinning wheel from Ranboo's stream a while ago.

Tubbo is beside himself as they wait in the arrival meeting area. There's no word of delays so come on, get here already. Then there he is, wearing his signature sunglasses and mask in the midst of the emerging crowd. Once the pair are close enough to do so, Tubbo throws his arms around his friend. And god, he knew Ranboo was much taller but he doesn't feel he'll hear the end of this, especially not once Tommy shows up.

They've already established this in preparatory voice calls but as they head towards the car, Tubbo explains that Tommy isn't due until tomorrow. So maybe they could watch one of those Starkid shows tonight since Ranboo's internal sense of time will be screwed by the long journey and Tubbo's hardly the best at maintaining a circadian rhythm as it is. His parents and sisters will go to bed and that's when the party can really start. Ranboo suggests The Trail to Oregon purely because the scene where Slippery When Wet threatens to murder god lives rent free in his head. But it would ultimately be up to Tubbo when the time came tonight.

Just outside the car with Ranboo's luggage in the boot, he asks his mum to take a picture of the two of them. He dms it to the missing member of their trio with a smirk.

Tubbo: Bet you're so jealous right now

Tommy: No because he's going to hang out with me more after I get there

Tubbo: As if

Tubbo: Can't wait for this week

Tommy: Same

Tubbo: Ranboo says hi btw

Tommy: Wow cringe

Tommy: Can't go on call rn but I say hi too

Tubbo: Whos cringe now?

Tommy: Shut up

He and Ranboo spend the entire journey home chatting about everything and nothing. Oh, these next two weeks were going to be amazing. Tubbo can't wait.

Tubbo wakes slowly. He doesn't tend to be startled by Ranboo's lack of eyelids as often nowadays. They may not share a bed that frequently, separate homes and all that, but he's seen his husband crash on his sofa after an exhausting day enough times to gradually get used to it. Michael had managed to snuggle up between them at some point in the night too. The little zombie piglin boy is fast asleep as well. Tubbo readjusts his arm so it encompasses their adoptive son, drawing him closer slightly.

Distantly, he recalls he's planned to meet up with Tommy later and it makes him think. A husband who cares about him enough to make Tubbo one of people whose side he'd stand by if necessary, a son whom they both love and would defend with their lives and a best friend who still stuck by him despite how much they've changed in the several months since they first met. He'd like to think that regardless of the timeline or universe, he'd always have them or close enough copies.

Content with his situation, he lets his eyes slip close once more and drifts back to sleep.

#dream smp #tubbo #tommyinnit #ranboo #my writing

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thewatermelloncat · 4 years ago

Text

A Light Supper

Summary: Written for this prompt from Anonymous:

…Five tries to hide the fact that he’s coming down with a cold from his siblings, so they all end up going to the dinner with Reginald. Five’s trying to remain calm and hold back his sneezes but once everyone else starts messing things up and leaving, Five leaves with them and they all realize he’s sick and was hiding it from them the whole time.

Warnings: None

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“You’re wr…wrong” Diego’s stuttered words shatter what little remains of the spirit of the siblings around the table. They’d all agreed to go to the dinner with the expectation that their father would play mind games on them, but somehow, they ended up hoping that this version of their father would be different.

Still, Diego was stupid to bring up the matter of the President when Five had warned him against it. As if his literal headache isn’t enough, his own siblings are making it worse.

“Look, forget about the president. We have a catastrophic war coming in five days” Five attempts to save the conversation. “We need to figure out how to stop it.”

“War?” their father turns to him. “Men will always be at war with each other.”

“No, this isn’t just some war” Five hopes his voice will remain steady. If it doesn’t and it cracks, he can blame it on exasperation. “I’m talking about a doomsday. The end of the world.”

“Well… you’re the special ones, aren’t you? Why don’t you band together and do something about it?” Reginald tells them, his entire demeanour making it seem like they weren’t smart enough to have thought of his suggestion in the first place.

Five opens his mouth to reiterate his point when Klaus suddenly chokes out a gasp as his arms flail in the air. For a few seconds there is confused silence before Allison speaks up.

“Is he having a seizer?”

“Overdosing probably” Diego mumbles, sounding both unconcerned and uninterested.

As the flailing continues, a sharp tingling sensation strikes Five hard in the back of the nose and he brings his fist up to rub against it. He can’t sneeze in front of their father and risk embarrassment, not now. Holding his breath for a second, he distantly hears Luther ask whether they should do something.

He’s glad the distraction has taken all eyes off of him as he struggles to keep his composure, but he doesn’t have time for it.

“Klaus! Now is not the time” Five whispers harshly, his fist still pressed under his nose to keep from sneezing. His voice sounding strained. “What are you doing?”

“I’m” Klaus seems to choke out the word, the rest of the sentence still stuck in his throat.

“Out with it, boy” Reginald commands.

“Ben!” Klaus manages to finish his sentence before falling to the floor.

No one has any time to contemplate the meaning of the statement before their father stands abruptly. “Well… thank you for coming. I’ve seen about enough.”

Five huffs out a sigh of both defeat and the need to sneeze finally leaving him. Drawing in another breath he aims to stop his father from leaving but Luther interrupts him.

“No, I” he breaks off, slamming his fists onto the table as he stands up. Then he exceeds all expectation of stupidity and rips his shirt open. “Look at what you did to me. Look at it!”

“Oh, shit. Why?” Five huffs softly, leaning back in his chair defeated.

All hopes of saving the conversation vanish as their father steps over Klaus’ form lying on the floor and disappears behind the doors of the elevator.

Five’s sigh of despair sounds halfway between a cough and a sob as he leans forward to rest his head in his hands, his face twisting in frustration. He stays like that unmoving as Allison calls out for the check and his siblings murmur to each other around the table. It isn’t until he feels eyes being drawn to him that he sits up and slams his fists against the table.

“I should have come on my own.”

“Wait. Where’s this coming from?” Luther asks.

“You’re all incapable of making a good first impression” Five runs his hand down his face, feigning a display of frustration while really being a cover for rubbing his nose as he needs to sneeze again.

“Come on, Five. We get you’re frustrated but we all know that dad’s not an easy person to impress” Allison mediates.

“He also didn’t seem like he was going to help us anyway” Luther points out.

“We might have got him to if you’d been able to keep your shirt on” Five sniffs.

“Hey we can’t pin this all on Luther. We’re team Zero” Diego defends him.

Five isn’t even going to comment on the questionable branding. “All right, I won’t” he accepts, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I told you not to mention the president” he looks at Diego who stares back at him blankly. “You made Diego punch himself in the face, and you exploded fruit everywhere” he turns to Allison then Vanya, whose expressions both shift to guilt. “And you did whatever the hell that was” he glares at Klaus as he finally picks himself up from the floor.

“Look Five, we’re sorry. All right?” Luther apologises.

“You know, this time sorry just really isn’t enough” Five can feel himself shaking and his voice sounds muted with defeat.

“I’m sure there’ll be another way” Vanya encourages.

“There is” Five bites back. “But it isn’t an option I want to take.” At the end of the sentence Five’s breath catches and he quickly covers a couple of coughs behind a fist.

“Well, don’t get so worked up you choke” Klaus jokes before being silenced by Five’s glare.

Luckily no one else comments on his slip in composure and Vanya directs the conversation away from it.

“We’ll find another way if it’s not something you want to do. Or we can help you with it.”

Fives sets his jaw and holds off on explaining, he can’t be bothered getting into it now. So, instead he shakes his head, “let’s just go.”

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The elevator descends at a painfully slow rate.

No one had complained at Five’s suggestion to leave, not wanting to stay in the place any longer than he did. They’d all packed themselves into the small space in a tight squeeze but Five was happy where he was, wedged in the back corner where the joining walls could hold him up.

Dinner – or what failed to be it – took its toll on him both emotionally and physically. He hadn’t expected it to go smoothly by any means given his luck but it had gone worse than he could have imagined. Now he had no choice but to make a deal that he didn’t want to do.

In amidst of thinking deeply he isn’t aware of coughs bubbling in his chest until it is too late and he quickly throws an arm up to cover them.

Immediately all eyes are drawn his way and there is an awkward shuffle of bumping shoulders to try and get a better look at him. Though there is nothing he can do while he struggles for breath. After he’d caught it back, he sighs and lowers his arm, saying nothing.

“You not feeling so hot?” Klaus looks up at him from where he slouches on the floor. His moping for himself disappears as his expression morphs into that of concern.

Five stays silent, knowing that not answering will be answer enough. There is no point in denying it, he’d only be digging himself a grave. It was a good run while it lasted.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were getting sick?” Allison asks, her posture deflating at the realisation that she’d missed it.

“Isn’t important. Not a priority” Five murmurs slowly. Small spaces had never bothered him but the confined space and many eyes upon him make him shift uncomfortably, feeling claustrophobic.

“If you’d told us we could have talked to dad while you stayed back and rested” Luther tells him.

Five scoffs and rolls his eyes. He was about to explain in how many ways that would have been stupid given the display they had all made in front of their father but the elevator doors open and Vanya’s voice cuts him off.

“There’s a couch over there” she says directing them to a seating arrangement over by the balcony.

Wordlessly Five lets Allison take him by the shoulders and lead him over the couch, the rest of the siblings following behind them.

As soon as Five sits down Allison is stopped in front of him reaching her hand out to his forehead. Though before she can get a proper measure Five moves her hand away.

“Five” she protests sharply.

“Just… g-give me a second” he ignores her complaint with his breath hitching.

“I’ktcch, I’ketchu… Ih’ketshuu” he sniffles wetly after directing the series of sneezes he had been holding back throughout the meeting into his elbow.

“You’re not too warm” Allison tells him, withdrawing her hand from his forehead where she had repositioned it after Five had lowered his arm. “Does anyone have anything that can be used as a tissue?” she asks after hearing Five continue to sniffle.

“Uh, yeah” Luther draws out as he fishes through his jacket pocket. Pulling out a handkerchief that would normally be used to wipe blood off his hands if things got rough throwing someone out of the bar.

Allison smiles at him as he hands it to her, then she hands it down Five who mumbles out a tired “thanks” before blowing his nose.

“Why didn’t you say anything? We wouldn’t have thought any less of you” Allison says.

“That’s not what I’m worried about” Five dismisses looking up at her. “The world ends again in five days and none of us have time for this.”

“Five, you’re not going to be able to keep going if you don’t rest” Luther points out.

“There’s no time for me to rest.”

“You have to find time, buddy. You’re no use to us if you crash” Diego tells him.

“I have to figure out how to get us back. It’s my fault that we’re stuck here.”

“That’s the thing” Klaus speaks up. “We’re all here together, aren’t we? We can help you figure it out.”

“Just one day, Five” Allison begs.

“One day” Five chuckles sardonically.

“That’s all we’re asking, Five” Vanya says, stepping closer to him. “Take one day off and I promise you you’ll feel better.”

Though incredibly stubborn, at Vanya’s words spoken in a motherly tone, Five’s thoughts set on refusal pause for a second. It’s easy to see why caregiving comes naturally to her. She also makes a good point. If Five takes a day to recover he can get back to it and work more efficiently, and he can no longer ignore the part of him that has been screaming for rest for days on end.

His siblings seem to sense his compliance as his shoulders drop in defeat.

“We’ll still be trying to figure things out. It’s not like no one will be doing anything” Vanya promises.

Five nods in acceptance before raising the handkerchief back to his nose. “Hiht’cht, hih’isshh.”

Allison sighs sympathetically, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

#tua #umbrella academy #umbrella academy fanfiction #five hargreeves #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #reginald hargreeves #sickfic #sneeze

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taenohana · 4 years ago

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BTS is hypocritical (tw: depression, self-harm)

Okay, before anyone come at me and scream at me or accuse me of being a hater, hear me out. I realize the title may come off somewhat click-baity, but I promise you I have nothing but immense love towards the boys, and that I choose this title because it fits the whole essay I'm about to write.

Today, I went on a spree, reading opinions about why people dislike BTS or find them arrogant, and there is something I've noticed being mentioned a lot. That's right. It's that BTS is hypocritical.

Now most of the arguments are about them not practicing what they preach, most especially about "Love Yourself" and "Speak Yourself." This bothers me a lot because all eventually boils down to "They shouldn't tell people to love themselves if they themselves can't do it."

Let me tell you why this bothers me so, so much.

Basically, BTS is advocating for self-love and for voicing yourself and to speak up. The problem is they themselves are just 7 young men who haven't even reached 30 of age. As you can see in Burn the Stage or during Jin's speech that they almost disbanded, anyone can tell that they too struggle. Some members even spoke up about depression. Apparently, some people have said that this is somewhat hypocritical of them.

Now, I have issues with this sentiment because this screams like "You are not fit to spread positive messages if you can't practice it yourself." And of course, toxic positivity does exist. But let me speak a bit more about myself here. I have been for the past few months relapsing with my depression and anxiety, and I have been experiencing many, many panic attacks. While I recall some of my most depressive years to come from last year, and I had gotten better earlier this year, I have been relapsing. Not as bad as one year ago, but I'm certainly not well. And I hate toxic positivity, believe me, I do. With that being said, there's something I discovered this year.

I've found out that it hurts me when I see others going through the same thing as I am or even more. Someone reached out to me when I contemplated hurting myself even more, and ever since I have been thankful to her for just that bit of light/warmth that she gave me. It might not last as long as I'd have liked but it gave me hope. Ever since, whenever I see someone else struggling, I feel the urge to reach out, to be there for them, to console them, in any way I could.

From there, I've gained many lovely friends who are always there, whom I can rely upon, whenever I relapse, whenever I just need a shoulder to cry on. And it is all based on mutual respect and admiration and just the raw feeling of caring for one another, something that should be our basic instinct as human beings, where we help each other when we see someone is hurting. I did not come to them or reach out so that they owe me something in return and so be there for me when I need them. And they did not approach me just so I owe them and be there for them. We are simply there for each other, hoping the both of us will come out better than yesterday.

Basically what I'm saying here is, am I not fit to console others, to tell my friends that they deserve love, that I wish they learn how to love themselves, just because I myself am struggling with those things as well? Just because I have trouble loving myself, am I not allowed to tell my friends they deserve being capable of self-love? Just because BTS are struggling themselves, are they not allowed to spread positive message to love oneself?

And it's such a bizarre thing because apparently people were shocked when Burn the Stage came out or when Jin said they were going to disband. Some were surprised because "Turns out they're not as happy as they make themselves appear to be."

This shocked me even more.

How? How did people not realize that they have always been struggling? Must Jin declare it first or must there be a whole documentary exposing their strife as a group for people to realize that they're human, and always have been? Especially for older fans, surely you know how much they struggled. Especially for fans watching all their content, surely you could sense whenever one of them is unhappy or is struggling. The signs are always there. All we need is to pay attention.

Anyway, with this shock/revelation came the questions and doubts. Now the same people saying they were shocked to find out the reality (which has always been there tbh, which was one reason I didn't cry much watching Burn the Stage because I thought "This is nothing new? I somehow knew that it's more or less like this behind the scenes."), now are saying "So they have been struggling all along? If so, why do they preach these things to love oneself? Why do they not practice it?"

Simple. The answer is simple:

It is hard.

Yes, it is an irony that it's simple because we all know how hard it is. We have all been there, telling our loved ones they deserve everything in the world, yet when it comes to ourselves? It's hard to see that we deserve it just as much.

BTS are no different. They were 7 boys, struggling to make their name, as they notice the struggles around them and wishing they could also voice out their concern and reach out to us, hoping it will console us and comfort us. Just like when we tell our friends we are there for them. That they deserve love and happiness.

Naturally, what comes after "Why are they not practicing what they preach?" is the question "Why are they not speaking out?"

Now that they've shown explicitly that they, too, struggle (which should be our common sense anyway once we stop and remind ourselves that they, too, are humanbeings like us), some people are wondering why they don't speak out more or explain what is troubling them or caused them to struggle. Now that we have Burn the Stage and Jin saying they almost disbanded, some people are beginning to wonder: why?

Why were they fighting? Why did they almost disband? What were they struggling against? What were troubling them? All these questions with the ultimate conclusion being: if they tell people to speak up, they should speak up.

Another hypocrisy.

Again, I will draw from my own personal experience. See, I think we as humanbeings are complex. We want to be understood, yet at the same time most of the time we don't let people see our bare selves to be fully understood. I personally do this because of two reasons. One, I don't want to add burden to others, making them worry about me. Two, sometimes I don't think anyone will ever understand what I'm going through. Moreover, sometimes I do know the answers to my own struggles, and I simply just can't apply them. In this case, I don't see the point of talking out my problems.

Now, there were so many moments in which I "signalled" to my friends I felt unloved and that I was going through an episode, and they would come to me telling me I could talk to them, and that they were there for me. Most of my responses? You guessed it. I'd love to talk about it but I don't know how.

I don't know how.

Questions were spinning in my head. "Would you be able to understand it? Is it worth speaking about? Aren't you going through something bad, maybe even worse than me? Would I sound annoying, whiny, attention-seeking? Once I open up, would you find me as non-reliable? Would you then stop relying on me and talking to me about your problems? Would things change? Would talking about it fix anything? Would I feel better afterwards? Would you feel burdened to give an advice or solution? Is it even necessary, especially now that I'm slightly better and no longer having an episode? Should I still tell you what happened anyway?"

Of course, some were easier to talk to because maybe in the back of my mind I knew they once went through something very similar that I felt like they could understand. Some were harder because while we were close, I had never opened up to them (and you do realize opening up the first time to someone is a tough thing to do), and some of course I just know are going through even worse (or at least more immediate problems) that I couldn't bring myself to speak up.

For this. It is not that simple. To speak up is not that simple. Does that mean I'm against speaking up? Of course not. I will always still encourage people to speak up when they feel silenced. It's important.

However, it's equally important to understand that each of us has our own pace. Not everyone can open up as fast as the next person. And it's always good to offer lending someone an ear without forcing words out of their mouth. Trust me. Once you tell someone you're there for them and you're willing to listen, people will talk when they are ready.

Another thing is about privacy.

It's no secret that BTS is often dubbed as being "woke" or "real," whatever those words actually mean. This is not something they claim themselves, but rather it's something that fans and some media have pushed on them. Now this makes people think, if they are so real, why are they not speaking up about their experiences and how they are also manufactured in some ways? How they put on happy faces and act like their life is going swell, and that they love their life?

First of all, we all wear masks. Not a single one of us show our real selves. Since I'm going impromptu here, I might be inaccurate about this philosophy but the gist is that we all have different masks we wear towards certain people or in certain situations. And there's one mask we never show to anyone. A mask only we have ever seen. This thing doesn't just apply to idols.

Secondly, again, to reiterate my previous points, the boys are not always happy. Pay attention, and you will know. And they don't always act like they're happy and that they love their life. Once again, once you realize they're humans just like us, you will find out that that is far from the truth. I think it should be enough for us to know that they struggled and that they are trying themselves to be better and to improve, and that some of the problems have already been resolved. As fans, all we have to be is be there for them when they do want to speak up more. Otherwise, they do have the right to keep it between them, and we should respect their privacy, just as we won't force our loved ones to talk about what's bothering them. Just simply be there when they want to be heard.

Another ridiculous thing to add here is that people will always find fault. If they genuinely love their life, people will say, "Oh of course they're happy. They're rich and successful now." OR "How hypocritical of them to be happy of their rich and success when they used to diss capitalism and suchs. They should be more considerate towards those who are suffering and not act so carefree and happy with their lives."

However, let's say they openly show how depressed or troubled they are, people will still talk. "How are they not happy? Why? That is very arrogant and and ungrateful of them since they have everything they've ever dreamed of now." OR "How can they preach about self-love when they cannot love themselves for who they are and what they have now. They're being hypocrites."

Here I also like to underline "arrogant," it has come to my attention that many people find them to be "empty" or "arrogant." And I'm gonna be honest. Before I got to know them, they also appeared arrogant to me. But then I realised, there are many groups who seemed arrogant to me before I learned about them more. As soon as I got to know them, I could see that they, like most others, are just dorks. Of course, there are some actual arrogant idols, but my point is people shouldn't judge before getting to know someone or a group.

I have been a victim of the same thing due to my naturally resting bitch face. If I don't smile, people automatically assume I'm a stuck-up bitch. This has even impacted my academic life in which I was rejected from an organization because I was "too arrogant." So think before you judge.

Another thing is "empty." I admit I have fallen out of love with their music for the last two years until BE came out, reminding me of why I love them. And I admit, I, too, have thought of the same thing. I thought their music no longer spoke to me and is "too bright or optimistic or positive" to me. As I've mentioned, I hate toxic positivity. And it might've crossed my mind that they were heading towards that, which was why I started to lose interest. I still love them, don't get me wrong, I just didn't resonate with the messages or feel of their newer music.

However, I can see that there's nothing wrong with that. After BE, I see that they are still the same lovely boys who helped me through my depression. And as much as I miss their older music which I find to be more relatable, their newer music which has a more positive/optimistic vibes aren't so bad. As much as I wish they make music like they used to, it's a nice change. Now they have music that just feels good and suits me just fine on better days.

Empty? Of course. Just like in Black Swan, they express how they're falling out of love with music. Of course, they feel empty. As someone who writes and love stories, I relate. Why? It's relatable since stories or writing no longer excite me the way they used to. This is a real struggle that every artist (or at least most) go through. It's a period of emptiness, of losing your passion, of no longer enjoying something you love with all your heart. It is something familiar for people with depression.

So you could look at it this way. They, too, are going through things a lot of people do. They are, after all, human beings. Something interesting I found during one of the interviews is one of the members (I think RM) saying that it seems as if their moods or life or experiences suit the album they were making.

This is to say that they struggled with self-love when they made Love Yourself series. Or how they feel that during the making of Map of the Soul series, they feel like they're losing their roots (hip-hop or their angsty and "woke" messages in music), questioning who they really are, whether they still fit as musicians and what their messages for people in the world should be.

I would like to close this essay just by saying that I understand why people are viewing BTS this way. It is a valid opinion, and I won't discredit nor disrespect that. Even so, I hope people would come to understand more that being depressed or struggling doesn't necessarily mean one cannot spread positive messages and comfort others. And that speaking out isn't easy and shouldn't be forced. Encourage people to speak, to open up. Reassure them that we will never devalue their words, that we will listen and try to understand. But never force them to speak. They could be uncomfortable yet, they could be not ready yet. Even so, I promise you it's very comforting and appreciated to know someone will be there, ready to hear, when one is ready to speak.

Also, never judge someone based on how they look, learn and get to know about them more, and understand that people only show what they want to show: idols, us, everyone, we all have masks.

Let us learn to appreciate the good things in life, including BTS' messages and try to apply it in our lives while also understanding that they're humans like us, not angels. Understand that probably one of the reasons they find it hard to practice what they preach is exactly because people look up to them and expect them to be better at what they preach. That one of the reasons they struggle and put on a facade is exactly because they feel it's what expected of them. And perhaps they just don't want to disappoint us fans and distress us, doing their best to entertain us and distract us from our evil thoughts.

Finally, let's be humans. Let's be kind to each other. Let's be there for each other. Let's try to listen and pay attention more, and try to understand each other. Let's help each other and encourage each other to speak about our struggles while still respecting boundaries and privacy. Let's take one baby step towards a better future, towards making this world a better place to live.

Thank you for making it this far.

- Hana 💮

#depression tw #self harm tw #rm #namjoon #jin #seokjin #suga #yoongi #jhope #hoseok #jimin #taehyung #v #jungkook #jk #bts #about bts #important #hana's thoughts

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years ago

Text

A Change in the Weather AU (inspired by Cacophonylights's A Change in the Weather) - Chapter 32

Read on AO3.

Warning for mention of past sexual assault.

It’s around ten in the morning when Sebastian and Kurt wake in their tent out on the porch, rattled to consciousness by Sebastian’s ringer slicing through the lull of the still pouring rain. Kurt hears Sebastian groan, hears him curse at it, mumbling something about not answering it out of spite and wouldn’t that show it who’s boss? Kurt chuckles at his boyfriend’s sleep-deprived ridiculousness, but Sebastian has no one to blame for this oversight but himself. Kurt had left his phone in the bedroom before they’d retired to the porch for this very reason.

He didn’t want to be disturbed.

They’re both dog tired. More than that. Whatever animal dogs use as a metaphor when they get tired, that’s what Kurt and Sebastian are.

It’s comfy in their tent out on the porch. Too comfy to deal with things like phone calls when Kurt and Sebastian are lying next to one another, asleep in each other’s arms. Kurt feels Sebastian stir, mumbling again about how he’s willing to punch his phone to fucking pieces if it doesn’t knock it off, then settle back into their cozy cocoon.

“You could just shut it off, you know,” Kurt reminds him, giggling when he feels Sebastian’s breathing hitch.

“Yeah, all right,” he says without owning up to his mistake. He reaches underneath his pillow to get it, but before his fingers touch it, it obligingly stops ringing. “There you go then. I guess that’s that.”

“Who was it?” Kurt asks, completely unaware of anything outside Sebastian’s tirade with his eyes closed.

“Don’t know, don’t care. They’re gone. That’s all that matters.”

“Sounds good to me,” Kurt says, surrendering to the hug that envelopes him from behind. Sebastian’s soft snores fill the tent again, and Kurt takes that as his cue to go back to sleep, the patter of the rain on the outside skin of the tent a powerful sedative.

But right as Kurt gets ready to re-visit his fantasy from last night in the darkness behind his eyelids, Sebastian’s phone rings again, dragging them both further into consciousness.

“Argh! What do you want?” Sebastian whines. Kurt rolls to his opposite side in their sleeping bag as Sebastian proceeds to verbally berate his phone. Kurt is reluctant to do anything that qualifies as moving, but he so wants a front seat to this temper tantrum. If he’s going to have his sleep repeatedly interrupted, he wants to be entertained.

And besides, if Sebastian had turned off his phone, they wouldn’t be having this issue.

Again, the phone stops ringing, but it starts immediately up, and Sebastian fishes it out without stalling this time to put an end to its reign of terror. “Ugh. Too bright,” he murmurs, squinting at the screen. But something he sees stops him from shutting his phone down. “Wait a minute …”

“What?”

“It’s Liv.” Sebastian stares harder, making sure. “Pfft. Her timing is impeccable.”

“Shouldn’t she be here?” Kurt asks. “She didn’t mention having any plans for the morning.”

“I don’t happen to have her social calendar memorized, but mumsy and dadums probably took her and Brian out to brunch. If Julian went with them, you know what that means …” Sebastian bites his lower lip suggestively, growls for good measure.

“Pizza for breakfast?” Kurt teases.

“No …” Sebastian says. “You … on the living room couch. This way you won’t be able to even look at a couch cushion without getting a hard on.”

“Kinky,” Kurt says, his heart fluttering at hummingbird speeds from the smile Sebastian flashes him, broadcasting his intentions on devouring him whole. Still, Kurt can’t help thinking Sebastian looks more than a little nervous. That thought doesn’t dim as Sebastian answers his phone.

“Hello, Olivia!” Kurt yells before Sebastian gets the chance.

“Hello, sister dear,” Sebastian says, voice dripping venom. But Olivia doesn’t rise to the challenge.

“Hey,” she says in a guarded tone. “How’s it going? Did you guys have fun last night?”

“We did,” Kurt answers for his yawning boyfriend. He rests his head against Sebastian’s chest, their tent so quiet despite the rain, he’s able to hear Olivia even though his ear is nowhere near the phone. “Very much.”

“That’s good. I’m glad,” she says. She sounds happy for them, but also distracted. “Have you guys seen Julian by any chance?”

“No. We’re not even awake yet,” Sebastian replies. “We are currently enjoying the sleep in and cuddle phase of being on vacation!”

“So no phone calls or anything?” Olivia reiterates without any of her usual teasing, her syrupy swooning over how sweet the two of them are together. “No texts?”

The scowl drifts from Sebastian’s face at the concern in his sister’s voice, the urgency behind her questions. “No, Liv. Nothing. Why?”

“We can’t find him.”

“Is that all?” Sebastian relaxes, but not enough to erase the worry lines from around his eyes. “He’s just bummed out over Cooper. He’ll turn up. He always does. It’s only … fuck …” Sebastian exclaims when he glances at his phone screen “… ten in the morning!”

“Seb,” Liv says firmly, trying to make her younger brother hear her, “he left early. He didn’t tell us where he was headed, but he was in such a hurry, I thought Cooper had arrived. I thought … I thought things were finally going to work out for him. But he hasn’t checked in, and we’ve been calling him for hours.”

“Julian’s not really a check in sort of person,” Sebastian points out. “Never has been. But maybe Cooper did come through and they’re at a hotel. You know Julian …”

“His phone has stopped going to voicemail,” she interrupts, nearing her wit’s end. There’s a knot between Olivia’s words, an unlevel platform struggling to keep her voice steady enough for her to tell them the rest. But she doesn’t have to. Kurt feels Sebastian’s chest tighten beneath his cheek and he just knows. It’s contagious, Kurt’s chest tightening shortly after. “He’s gone, Sebastian. He’s just … gone.”

“Where are you now?” Sebastian asks.

“We’re out looking for him. Brian and I are still local but Mom and Dad are heading farther north.”

“Don’t worry.” Sebastian throws off the covers, mouthing the words I’m sorry to Kurt when a sudden block of cold air hits them both like an anvil and Kurt’s teeth chatter. “Kurt and I are going to head out in a few minutes and help. We’ll find him, Liv.”

“Do you have any idea where he might be?”

“I have a hunch.” A pained expression colors his tired face, but it disappears quickly. “Let us go. I’ll text you in about thirty, let you know our game plan.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she says, a bit more relaxed than when she first called.

“Awww, are you worried about me, sis?” Sebastian coos.

“Well … I’m worried about Kurt mainly. But sure - you, too.”

Sebastian retaliates with a rude noise. Olivia laughs conservatively, and things feel closer to rectified. “Thanks a lump.”

“Bearing that in mind, maybe Brian and I should swing by and pick him up …”

“Goodbye, Liv,” Sebastian sings, disconnecting the call. He stares at the screen, or at his reflection in it - Kurt can’t tell. But he knows Sebastian is thinking.

“What’s up?” Kurt asks when Sebastian starts swiping through his call log.

“I’m checking to see if Julian did try to contact us this morning, but we were too dead asleep to wake up.”

“Unlikely seeing as Olivia’s calls woke us up.”

“Yeah, well, it took her five tries,” Sebastian says, showing Kurt his screen.

“Wow.”

“I know. My mom and dad tried nine and we missed them, too.” Kurt watches Sebastian’s eyes scan the numbers on his screen. When he reaches the end, he scrolls back to the beginning and checks again. “Crap! There’s nothing.”

Sebastian and Kurt recline together in the silence, Kurt staring at Sebastian, unsure what they’re supposed to do next; Sebastian looking Kurt over appraisingly, a hundred and one thoughts at work behind his eyes.

“What?” Kurt asks, unable to take Sebastian’s silence any longer, his pensive stare that prickles Kurt’s skin and not in a good way, not when he feels like they should be doing something! “Do I have something on my face?”

Kurt can tell by the way the right corner of Sebastian’s mouth quirks that he has a comeback for that one, but he doesn’t let it out. “I may have a way to find him, but you have to swear you won’t tell anyone!”

“You don’t trust me!?” Kurt gasps since that’s the absolute last thing he’d expected Sebastian to say at this stage of their relationship, fledgling or not.

“Lawful good, babe. Remember?” Sebastian replies like that explains everything. “Plus I know you. If you think we’re in over our heads, you’ll call in reinforcements whether I want you to or not. And I need you to trust me on this one, okay?”

“Hypocrite much?” Kurt mutters.

“I need you to trust me,” Sebastian repeats, sounding as urgent as Olivia did doing her darndest to get through her brother’s thick skull, “and do what I’m asking without question, just this once.”

“Sebastian! I’m not going to tell on you! Your brother’s in trouble! I’m going to do anything in my power to help you out!”

Sebastian blinks at Kurt, doesn’t seem relieved by his response. His brows draw together, an unamused look brewing in his eyes. “Mmm … hmmph …” he says, going back to his phone, not at all thrilled by Kurt’s enthusiasm. Kurt rolls his eyes because he can’t with his boyfriend, acting jealous at a time like this!

Sebastian holds his phone like a poker hand, close to his chest, but bit by bit, he loosens his posture as he navigates a website Kurt has never seen before. He doesn’t want to peek, doesn’t want to invade his or his brother’s privacy, but the bizarrely high-tech looking page has Kurt curious beyond belief.

“Okay, I have to ask,” he says, breaking down. “What is that? What are you doing?”

Sebastian gives him a look, still thoroughly unamused, but his apparent need to talk through this with someone wins out in the end. “Julian has two phones. Has for a while now. He has the one our folks set up for him with the number he’s had forever, and one he bought for himself. I’m the only one in our family who knows about it. Only two people have that number including me. Anyway, both of his phones have a GPS tracking function, but he tends to turn it off on his main phone.”

“But not on the second one?”

“It’s a safety net. In case he gets himself into any real shit, at least I can find him.” Kurt watches Sebastian flip through screens, eyes following his finger as he scrolls. What starts as a blank, inscrutable expression swiftly becomes a frown. “Of course, I don’t actually trust him as far as I can throw him, so I downloaded an app called Spyine.” Sebastian smirks. “It’s one of those apps that jealous husbands use to keep tabs on their wives.”

“Well …” Kurt’s face pinches with disgust “… isn’t that morally ambiguous.”

Sebastian flips to a new screen with a map displayed and sighs. “This isn’t good.”

Kurt moves up Sebastian’s chest to see better, no longer concerned with invading privacy considering the site Sebastian is using. “What isn’t?”

“According to this, his phone is either not on, or …” Sebastian swipes back, again double checking.

Kurt gnaws on his inner cheek, wracked by the suspense. He’s beginning to feel like he’s been dropped in the middle of a Tom Clancy novel. “Or …?”

“Or he’s nowhere nearby.” Sebastian makes it sound so simple, but from the way his eyes cloud over, Kurt knows it’s not.

“Like … nowhere near the beach house?”

Sebastian shakes his head but he doesn’t explain. Kurt’s stomach flips. He feels out of his depth and completely useless. He wants to help Julian, but he has no idea where to start. He knows nothing about the technology Sebastian is using. He’s barely aware of the fact that his own phone has a GPS tracking system. As it is, he has no idea whether it’s switched on or not. He thought they’d be able to find Julian regardless using cell phone towers and pinging signals, but that’s because the only information he has on the subject comes from watching Law and Order. “What’s the reach on that thing?”

“I don’t know exactly. Far? I’ve only had to use it once, but that time, he was only a couple of miles away.” Sebastian’s head snaps up, a hint of Eureka! in his eyes. He slaps a palm to his forehead. Kurt jumps at the smack! the contact makes. It sounds like it hurt. “Shit! I have a feeling … fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! I know where he’s heading!”

“Where!?”

Sebastian blows out a breath. It’s the most annoyed, frustrated, worried, anxious sound Kurt has ever heard come out of another human being, and Kurt knows, he just knows that the next words out of Sebastian’s mouth are going to open a Pandora’s box. “Westerville.” Sebastian puts both hands over his face, laughs maniacally into his palms. “Fancy a drive? I swear we’ll come back.”

“Yes.” Kurt sits up, moving aside so Sebastian can get ready. “Of course. Whatever we have to do.”

“Great,” Sebastian says, although he sounds more put out than relieved. Kurt can’t help wondering if this is a pattern for them - one of their many complicated tangos. Julian had mentioned that Sebastian has an inner mom complex. Does that extend to more than damages to home and property? Is this a habit - Julian messes up and Sebastian goes after him? What else would necessitate Sebastian downloading some super spy app onto his phone?

“We should text your parents, right?” Kurt follows Sebastian to the tent door, carrying the sinking suspicion with him that they’re not. “Let them know what’s going on?” Sebastian stops Kurt before he unzips the rain flap. He drapes a blanket over Kurt’s head and shoulders, then puts an arm around him to keep him from getting too too wet.

“Not quite yet,” Sebastian says, hurrying them the short distance across the porch to the door.

“It’s going to be a twelve hour drive! What are they going to think when we don’t come back? You have to tell them something!”

“I will tell them something!” Sebastian throws the door open and ushers Kurt inside. “I just … I need to figure out what that something is first.”

***

Sebastian doesn’t pack any of his belongings, but Kurt does. He doesn’t take everything he brought with him when they leave. After all, they plan on coming back. But he does grab a few things - a couple of shirts and some shorts he’s sick of wearing. He’d already mentioned to Sebastian wanting to stop by his house to say what’s up to his dad and tell him the good news about the check. Kurt didn’t feel right telling his father over the phone, but he wants to get it out of the way as soon as possible so that his dad won’t waste time worrying. Kurt isn’t exactly sure how much he intends on telling his dad, though he should probably consider telling him the whole truth eventually.

If Charlotte knows, Greg will, too, sooner or later. It’ll get back to his dad one way or the other.

Kurt wants his dad to hear it from him.

While they’re in Ohio, Kurt plans on depositing the check into his account (he’s been trying to do it via mobile but, again, his frickin’ phone …) and bam! One less thing to worry about.

Sebastian leaves his folks and Olivia a note letting them know that he and Kurt will be out for the afternoon and well into the evening, running down some of Julian’s hangouts. It’s not exactly a lie. In fact, it’s enough of a not lie that it’s nearly the truth. Never once does Sebastian mention in his note that any of those spots are in North Carolina so technically not a lie.

Kurt is frightened at how quickly that conclusion is to come to, and how okay he is with it.

Kurt expects Sebastian to text his parents and come clean after their first rest stop. When that doesn’t happen, he hinges his hopes on the second, which they take two hours later. But Sebastian doesn’t text them then, either. He doesn’t look at his phone at all once they hit the highway. He just drives, with so much determination, it concerns Kurt. What will happen if they show up at wherever it is they’re going and Julian isn’t there? What do they do then?

Kurt considers texting Liv on the sly to tell her that they’re okay and that they have a lead. But if he does, that would mean Sebastian is right.

Kurt is a lawful good. And that’s not necessarily a good thing.

But worst of all, it would mean Sebastian can’t trust him.

So he turns his phone off and puts it in his pocket to avoid temptation.

Half way to Ohio, they stop for a bite, and to sit down somewhere that isn’t a car. But they eat so fast, so anxious to get back on the road, Kurt barely tastes his sandwich. When they settle back into Sebastian’s Mustang with a canvas bag full of road snacks, the engine is barely cool to the touch. Sebastian merges onto the highway, hops lanes until they hit the far left, and that’s where they stay, cruising at a hair above eighty for the remainder of the way.

Kurt watches Sebastian drive for awhile, but Sebastian’s eyes don’t leave the road. He either doesn’t notice, or he’s so used to Kurt watching him, it doesn’t faze him. Kurt feels like he should say something, reassure Sebastian that they’ll find his brother, but Sebastian knows that better than Kurt does. Kurt doesn’t even know where in Westerville they’re headed. The Smythe estate? But then why didn’t Sebastian just say they’re going home? Dalton? Also a possibility, but then why not mention it?

Kurt hates waiting, but he’ll have to and see.

Kurt is tired of questions that have no answers, but he doesn’t want to pressure Sebastian for any. And since staring him down while they’re trapped inside a vehicle together might be seen as pressuring, he shifts his attention out the window to the cars driving beside them, at the trees and the grass, the gorgeous ocean they’re leaving behind.

Saying goodbye to that ocean prematurely will be one of Kurt’s biggest regrets about this adventure.

But it won’t be his only one.

***

Kurt wakes to a shrill metallic beeping spitballing through his brain. It unnerves the hell out of him since he didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep. They’d been traveling in silence, the radio on low, tuned in to a classical music station Sebastian chose. Kurt didn’t rest his head, didn’t close his eyes.

He’d blinked, and hours had flown by.

It’s night when Kurt opens them again.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Sebastian says when he hears Kurt stir. “I raised the volume on my phone in case I got a signal.”

“And?” Kurt inquires around a yawn.

“I think I’ve found him.”

“What time is it?” Kurt asks, starting conversation to ease the tension. He could check the time for himself. It’s right there on the dash.

If Sebastian isn’t too worried about Julian’s well-being, if things aren’t as serious as Kurt is beginning to fear they are, Sebastian will tease him about that.

But he doesn’t.

“Around nine,” Sebastian says. “We made really good time.”

Kurt sighs, that tight feeling in his chest becoming tighter with every mile marker they pass. “Sounds like it.”

A web of apprehension weaves its way around them both. Too much has been left in the air and it’s piling up. Kurt doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he does remember the phone calls Sebastian let go to voicemail, the text messages he didn’t pull over to read. They kept coming and coming, and Sebastian ignored them until they stopped.

Does Sebastian have the GPS tracking on his phone turned on? Are they in danger of the entire Smythe clan following them? Kurt doesn’t ask. He doesn’t want to add to Sebastian’s stress, even if his own brain is about to melt from it.

Sebastian pulls into the small side lot of a place called The Draft Room. It’s not as big as the club in Columbus, but it’s a step up from Scandals. He parks in the first empty spot, turns off the car, and sits, staring at the brick wall in front of them. Kurt scans the lot in search of Julian’s Jag, but he doesn’t see it.

That doesn’t mean Julian isn’t there.

“Are you all right?” Kurt asks, reaching out a hand to caress Sebastian’s shoulder.

“Yes?” Sebastian says, but it’s another question, not an answer. “I … kind of don’t want to do this.”

“Do you want me to go? I can look around, see if he’s there, text you if he is.”

“No,” Sebastian says, overlooking the opportunity Kurt hands him to poke fun at his menace of a cell phone. That’s two for two. “No, it’d be best if we both went. Just … stay with me? Please?” Sebastian sounds so small when he asks. So timid.

So not like Sebastian.

Kurt takes his hand. He threads their fingers together, smiling as confidently as he can with his heart trying to tear out of his chest. “Always.”

***

The place is nowhere near crowded, so even if he wasn’t wearing the tightest jeans imaginable or a leather jacket that costs about as much as Kurt’s SUV, Julian is easy to spot from the front door, sitting at a stool dead center of the bar with no one else around, as if he wants to be easy to see.

Easy to find.

Sebastian walks through the front door as if he’s pushing himself from behind to make himself go. He slides up to Julian, bumps him with his hip, and slaps a hand on his shoulder. Julian jerks in his stool and looks up at him, smile vibrant, but when his eyes lock on to Sebastian’s, when he sees his brother there next to him, his smile falls.

“Hey, baby brother,” he says, knocking on the bar and signaling the bartender. The man steps up, filling Julian’s empty shot glass with whiskey.

“Hey, Jules,” Sebastian says. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Ain’t it just?”

“You know, they have bars in North Carolina ...” Sebastian stares at Julian’s glass. Kurt doesn’t know whether he’s contemplating cutting Julian off, or knocking it back himself.

“True. But I didn’t come to Westerville to drink. I just sort of … ended up here.” Julian grabs the glass as if he knows it’s in danger, drinking down the whiskey in one gulp.

“I can see that,” Sebastian says with more sympathy than Kurt expected considering their impromptu, all-day drive. “How deep in are you?”

“Uh … I don’t know.” Julian picks up his empty shot glass and gazes into it, as if it holds the answer. “Two beers and two shots?” He wiggles the glass Sebastian’s way. “Wanna catch up?”

“No thanks. How long have you been here?”

“A few hours. Figures you’d be the one to find me.”

Sebastian shrugs. “I had help.”

Sebastian is referring to his phone, which he holds up as a visual. But Julian spots Kurt standing behind him, watching over his shoulder, and what remains of Julian’s grin - the miniscule shadow of it - dissolves.

“I didn’t give him an ultimatum,” Julian says, speaking straight to Kurt now, another human who understands the woes of falling in love with an Anderson brother. “I said that maybe inviting him to the beach house was going too far too fast. That maybe he felt like I was putting him on the spot. I told him that I would meet him half way. When I didn’t hear from him, I told him I was willing to meet him all the way …” Another shot appears, then disappears down Julian’s throat. “But he’s not coming. I know he’s not coming. I was an idiot to think he was, to think that everything was finally going to work out for us.”

“Maybe he’s just …” Kurt tries, but Julian shakes his head.

“I’ve looked for him everywhere. Called every number I ever had for him. Some of them have been disconnected for years, but I called them anyway. I even called the house.” Julian’s cheeks flush red, as if of all the things he’s done, this is the one he didn’t want to admit to. “Emily says he just … he just left. He didn’t pack a bag, didn’t tell anyone where he was going. Just pfft. Gone. I don’t know who got to him, but they got to him good.”

“I'm ... I’m so sorry,” Kurt says, his heart sinking when the light that always lingers in Julian's eyes, the one that blazes hot behind the ice blue of his irises, starts to burn low, threatening to go out.

“So many secrets …” Julian looks down at his phone clutched in his hand as if at any moment it might spring to life with a call or a text. “We’re so good at keeping secrets, aren’t we, Sebby?”

He pauses, and Kurt feels Sebastian go rigid beside him.

“Julian …”

Kurt has heard Sebastian say his brother’s name dozens of times, and in as many different ways.

He’s said it jokingly.

He’s said it seriously.

He’s spat it like a curse.

He’s said it with affection.

But this was a plea.

He was begging Julian to stop.

“We keep secrets from mom and dad," Julian continues to himself as if they aren't there, which means Sebastian’s pleas can’t reach him. "Secrets from Liv. Hell, the two of you kept the biggest secret of all. You even had me duped, though, apparently that isn't as hard as I thought.”

Julian laughs, dry and hollow, until it becomes a cough.

“Julian …” Sebastian repeats his plea softer, subconsciously searching for and taking Kurt's hand. He squeezes it tight, and Kurt can't help noticing how it shakes.

Julian shoots his brother a smirk, lifting a newly-filled shot glass in his fist in an unspoken toast and downing it in a single throw. He slams it down on the bar, the glass bottom hitting the wood with a poignant thunk.

“Now why haven’t you told him yet, Sebby?” he asks, mockingly upbeat the way depressed drunks sound when the liquor finally hits. This Julian is such a departure from the one Kurt normally sees – the suave and sophisticated sexy man whose every word speaks to Kurt’s artistic soul – that he might as well be a complete stranger. Someone who looks so much like Julian that from a distance on a cloudy day he could be mistaken for him, but turns out to not be him.

This transformation frightens Kurt, but Sebastian’s reaction to it concerns him more.

Sebastian squeezes Kurt’s hand a little too hard, arriving at a conclusion that Kurt doesn’t even realize exists.

“Tell me … tell me what?” Kurt asks Julian, then Sebastian. He would much rather hear it from Sebastian, but Julian gets to him first.

“Why it is that Sebastian went away,” Julian replies, talking to the wood grain in the bar, the bottom of his glass, everything but them. “You know it wasn’t your fault, Sebby. At least, if you tell him, he’ll know exactly how much of a bastard I really am, and you’ll never have to worry about losing him again. Not to me, anyway.”

That last part was meant as a joke, but to Kurt it feels more like a jab. Not at Kurt, and not at Sebastian. At himself. He’s skewering himself on his own metaphoric sword, one he’s been carrying around with him ever since whatever happened happened.

Whatever he’s about to say, he doesn’t expect Kurt to forgive him, or to speak to him ever again.

Kurt’s eyes meet Sebastian’s, but Sebastian isn’t looking at him. He’s staring at an insignificant speck on the bar, frozen to the spot.

Numb.

“Come on, Sebby …” Tears burn in Julian’s eyes that Kurt can hear in his voice. “You love him. He loves you. He should know, dont’cha think?”

Sebastian still can’t seem to answer. He’s paralyzed, mouth agape, unable to breathe a single word. Kurt has never seen Sebastian like this. Whatever Sebastian hasn’t told Kurt yet, whatever this pain is that the two of them hold on to, that the two of them share, Julian is getting ready to spill it. Kurt won't deny that he wants to know - he wants to help. But this is not how Kurt wants to find out.

He doesn’t want Julian outting his brother against his will.

“Julian, no,” Kurt says, even though he’s sure what he’s saying no to is the one thing he’s wanted to know all summer. “You can’t do this. You can’t hurt your brother like this. It’s not right.”

“No, Kurt! It’s my story, too!” Julian insists, unhinged. “And I … I need you to hear it, to try and forgive me because what I did made this …” He flicks a finger between Kurt and Sebastian “… so much harder for you! And you don’t deserve that!”

Julian had mentioned early on that Sebastian would never want to look weak or vulnerable. Kurt suspects they have that in common. Kurt wonders when the last time Sebastian saw his brother like this was. A while, he assumes, if the way Sebastian’s eyes widen are any indication.

“It’s … it’s fine.” Kurt’s voice is thick, on the verge of panic. He feels like he’s standing in the path of a runaway train with nowhere to run, no way to escape. “Really. Forget about it. I … I forgive you. It’s …”

Julian shakes his head. “Don’t, Kurt. You don’t understand. You can’t even conceive of how bad I hurt him …”

“Julian …” Kurt steps protectively in front of Sebastian, puts his free hand on Julian’s knee and squeezes, trying to break through his haze of whiskey and self-pity “… please, stop. I don’t need to know.”

“Yes,” Sebastian agrees in a voice so quiet, it can’t qualify as an actual sound. Kurt turns to look at his boyfriend, expecting him to be looking away, off in the distance like Julian, maybe down at his shoes. But he’s looking right at Kurt. “Yes, you do.”

Kurt shakes his head. This time, it's Kurt's turn to plead.

"Sebastian ..."

“That’s the spirit, baby brother,” Julian cuts in with a fake laugh and a halfhearted version of his trademark salute, which has been conspicuously missing the past week while he’s been brooding over Cooper. He takes his next shot off the bar and passes it to Sebastian. Kurt watches Sebastian sadly put the glass to his lips, snap his head back, and down the drink, a single tear racing down his cheek and getting lost in his hair. “Let’s tell our story together.”

Julian knocks on the bar as the bartender walks by and the man fills their glasses. He sets one out for Kurt without asking and fills that one, too. Kurt is so stunned he doesn’t have the wherewithal to wave the man away. On his end, the bartender doesn’t seem to mind that Kurt and Sebastian don’t look anywhere close to 21. He looks about as done with life as they all feel right now, or like the bouncer at Scandals when Kurt and Blaine first went, which would be a funny comparison any other time but now. Kurt wishes he could bring it up, break the tension, get a smile out of Sebastian, steer this conversation in a different direction.

But that would be beneath them.

“There was this … guy,” Julian begins, landing on that word as if the crux of their problems is always some guy. “Seb fell so hard for him, so fast. He called my brother all sorts of cutesy nicknames. They were so adorable together. Frankly, it made me kind of sick. But, in the spirit of brotherly love, I wanted to help Sebby land this boy, because back then, he had no game to speak of.” Julian grins with inappropriate wickedness. “And I mean no game. So I got them some fake IDs and I took them out drinking.” Another shot appears. Julian downs it. Just as quickly, it’s refilled. Kurt has lost count at this point. “It might have been love.” Julian’s brows draw together. “Was it?” He squints up at Sebastian, waiting for an answer. Sebastian downs another shot but says nothing. Julian shrugs. “I don’t know. It could have been. I mean, not the kind of love you guys have, but love. But right before we went out that evening, I got into a fight with Cooper, and I turned into an asshole.” He sputters. “Well, more of an asshole than usual, right, guys?” He pauses, snickers to himself, gets a little carried away, but he doesn’t sound like he’s enjoying his joke. He sounds like he’s trying to keep himself from crying. And he’s not doing that good a job. “I got them both drunk …” he explains, waving in the direction of the bar “… and then I went about seducing this poor boy of Seb’s.” He shakes his head, the look on his face one of revulsion. “Man, I pulled out all the stops for that kid. I really went overboard. And he fell for it – hook, line, and sinker. I may have made him fall in love with me.” He growls angrily, another shot flying down his throat. “Sebby, he got mad, sulked in a corner …” Another wave of his hand, this time in the direction of the jukebox sitting in a half circle of golden light “… had one too many to drink. He got real sick, went to the bathroom, and while he was in there, there was … there was a man ...” Julian hiccups.

Warning bells sound off in Kurt’s head, their clatter coursing through his body, carrying adrenaline with them, and now his hands begin to shake. “Don’t. Stop. I don’t think I should hear …”

“No,” Sebastian whispers, his voice raw, as if he’s been drinking nails instead of alcohol. “Let him … let him finish.”

Julian turns on his stool, eyes blurry as he stares off behind them. “When I got to them …” He squeezes his eyes shut, tears leaking from the sides “… he had Sebastian pinned between the sinks, had his pants unzipped and his hand down them.” Julian’s voice shudders, gaze returning to his glass, glued as if he can see the memory in the reflection, playing before his eyes. It probably is, Kurt thinks. It probably plays back for him over and over when he shuts his eyes, when he drinks too much, every day that Sebastian was overseas … “He was trying to kiss him, k-kept saying …” Julian clears his throat so violently Kurt feels his own throat burn “… kept saying that he wanted to t-taste himself on Seb’s lips.”

And that’s the moment.

The moment when those alarms in Kurt’s head, and all that coursing adrenaline, build in his chest, and explode. With those words, Kurt’s entire body folds in on itself and freezes solid from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. It creeps underneath his hair, makes his follicles itch as if bugs have been nesting there and are clawing to get out. A picture of Sebastian pinned against a bathroom wall like Kurt was with Max in that bar in Columbus fills Kurt’s brain. The man pinning Sebastian there Kurt fills in with the vilest human being his mind can conjure up. Now that that image is there, Kurt knows it’ll never leave him.

Like Sebastian and Julian, he’ll never be free of it.

But back in Columbus, when Max tried to assault Kurt, Sebastian was there. Sebastian saved him. Even though that memory enrages Kurt, it doesn’t paralyze him with fear.

A second later, he feels the phantom of Dave Karofsky’s mouth on his, and his knees nearly buckle beneath him.

“So …” Kurt says, “so, that man … he …”

“Yeah,” Sebastian says with his last bit of voice, the hand that’s been latched on to Kurt’s since Julian’s story began slipping away. “Big brother charged to the rescue about a minute too late.”

“Oh … oh God. Sebastian …” Kurt turns to his boyfriend, to hold him, but by the time Kurt realizes he’s leaving, he’s completely out of reach, weeding his way through the tables to get outside, find fresher air. Kurt turns back to Julian, but his gaze stops on a narrow door with a small rectangular sign nailed over the frame. It’s the door to the bathroom, directly in Julian’s sight line, which Kurt had overlooked since he thought Julian’s gaze was aimed nowhere. Julian glares at it like he’s fit to burn it down, and things suddenly fall into grooves and click.

This is the bar.

This is where Julian took them.

This is where it all happened.

That’s why Sebastian was so certain Julian would be here.

That’s why he didn’t want to come in.

“That’s what happened between the two of you?” Kurt stares at Sebastian’s back, fighting between running after him and giving him a minute to pull himself together. “That’s why Sebastian went to Paris? That’s why he stayed away for so long?”

“Yup.” Julian downs his next shot. Kurt’s and Sebastian’s, too, with such effortless fluidity, those glasses might as well have been full of water. “That’s the story of how big bad Julian Smythe let his brother down, lost his trust … and broke his heart.”

***

“Are you okay?” Kurt asks when he finds Sebastian standing by the curb, staring at his shoes while he teeters on the edge. Kurt had been practicing those three words while walking through the bar towards the door. He didn’t want his voice to crack, needed to stamp out the tears pressing behind his eyes. He didn’t want Sebastian comforting him, which he would if he thought Kurt was upset. Kurt needs to remove his own feelings from this equation.

He needs to remain neutral and help his boyfriend.

He’d considered stopping into the restroom and splashing water on his face, but no. He wants to stay miles away from there. He can’t see it. He can’t know what it looks like. Speculating is fine. Intrusive thoughts he can handle when they’re figments of his own imagination. But reality …

Reality will split Kurt apart.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” Sebastian says, looking over and around Kurt instead of landing on his face. His eyes are red, but it doesn’t look like he’s been crying. Kurt imagines he’s been out here pressing the tips of his fingers into his eyelids, trying to erase the last ten minutes from his brain. And Kurt doesn’t blame him. “I’m good. I found Julian’s car, so I called for a tow.” His gaze flicks down the street, avoiding Kurt’s eyes with the pretense of checking for the truck. “He’s in no condition to drive home so I thought, you know, we should take him. If you don’t mind. I mean, he’s not the best driver when he’s sober.” Sebastian chuckles uncomfortably. Kurt watches his face stagger between holding it together and falling apart. “Besides, I … I don’t think he should be alone. He needs someone to take care of him.”

“I don’t mind.” Kurt is dying to touch Sebastian, to hold him. At the very least, to take his hand. But he’ll wait for Sebastian to come to him. Kurt doesn’t know where Sebastian’s mind is right now. Is it here, standing on the street, talking to him? Or is it in that bathroom long ago - scared, confused, praying for his brother to come find him and rescue him? “I think that’s a good idea.”

“Speaking of Julian …” Sebastian looks anxiously over his shoulder to the front door of the bar, as if expecting Julian to appear. “Where is he?”

“I helped him into a booth by the window.” Kurt points, re-directing Sebastian’s attention to the plate glass next to the door. At a round, wooden table where they can keep an eye on him, Julian sits, head resting on his folded arms, a glass filled with more ice than water melting by his right elbow. “I thought it would be best to keep him where I could see him. I paid the bartender twenty bucks not to give him another drink.”

“Ahhh. You’ve done well, Padawan,” Sebastian says with a wink. “But you didn’t have to do that. I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it. Haven’t you heard? I’m rich.”

Sebastian snorts, worrying his lower lip with his teeth like he’s itching to remind Kurt that having a $10,000 cashier’s check at his disposal doesn’t necessarily make him rich, especially when it’s going to go straight to the bank, then straight out again to NYADA.

“I called Liv,” he says instead. “Told her we found Julian. And where.”

“How did she react?”

“I think she kinda knew. We’ve been wrapped up in the ongoing saga that is the Juliper rom-dram. We know how it plays out by now.”

Bizarrely syncopated steps approaching interrupt their conversation. Sebastian finds their owner, his eyes staying with him when he sees him coming their way. Kurt thinks he might be the tow truck driver looking for him, but a longer look says he’s not. He’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans, flip-flops of all things, and he’s smoking a cigarette. Kurt waves a hand in front of his nose, making no effort to hide his disgust, but Sebastian puts up a hand, getting the man’s attention.

“Hey,” he says, “can I bum one of those?”

“Sure,” the man says.

Kurt pulls a face. One of what? he thinks. He can’t possibly mean …?

The man stops walking and reaches into his back pocket for his pack. He shakes out a single cigarette and offers it to Sebastian, who takes it, thanking him under his breath. The man pulls out a blue BIC lighter and flicks it. Sebastian puts the cigarette between his lips. He leans towards the lighter with a hand cupped over the flame, taking a few long drags to get it going. Sebastian steps back, blows a long plume of gray smoke into the air.

“Thanks,” he says.

Kurt stares at him the way primitive man must have stared at the first eclipse. His thoughts go immediately to how bad that is for Sebastian’s lungs, how awful it is for his health!

But watching him a while, sucking on that cigarette like he’s a seasoned smoker, Kurt’s second thought is how unbelievably sexy he looks.

He’s not proud of that thought, but there it is nonetheless.

“No problem,” the man says, continuing on his way. “Have a good night.”

“You, too.” Sebastian takes another drag along with a bigger step back, doing his best to keep the smoke away from Kurt’s personal space. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, then another drag. “This isn’t an all the time thing,” he says without opening his eyes, not interested in seeing any judgement from Kurt, Kurt figures. “This is a once-in-a-blue-fucking-moon thing. The last cigarette I had … I don’t even fucking remember. It wasn’t this year, I don’t think.” Sebastian lowers his hand and flicks the filter of the cigarette with his thumb, sending spent ash to the cement. “I need something to calm me down and I … I don’t want to go looking for anything stronger. I need to drive.”

Kurt sighs, oddly disappointed in himself at Sebastian’s need to find anything stronger to calm him down. “I understand.”

Sebastian opens a single eyelid. The look he gives Kurt isn’t a glare, but it comes close. “What’s with the sigh?”

Kurt is about to admit that he’d rather be the thing Sebastian turns to for comfort, but he squashes that comment quickly. This isn’t about him. Not a single bit. There is something else on his mind. Something that bothers him more. “You grew up too fast,” he says sadly.

The hand with the cigarette traveling up to Sebastian’s mouth stutters to a halt, Sebastian staring at it as if he’s never really looked at one before. He flicks it again, sends more ash and a few sparks to the ground. “You’re probably right,” he concludes, bringing the cigarette all the way to his lips. He takes a drag, avoids commenting further. “Anyway,” he says when enough time has passed to change the subject, “I told her that we’re probably going to stay the day here because I’m …” He chuckles again, that same uncomfortable laugh that tiptoes on the borders of crying “… I’m just plain wiped out.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Kurt agrees even though he can’t see himself sleeping after this. His body is running on adrenaline, his mind racing with images and thoughts and questions. So many fucking questions. They’re maintaining out here with tasks they have to accomplish and Julian whom they have to get home safely. What is it going to be like when they’re alone in a quiet house and a dark bedroom? The same dark bedroom, Kurt assumes, that Sebastian had to return to after he was assaulted.

“Good. That’s good.” Sebastian takes a drag and doesn’t say another word. Kurt doesn’t either. Every single word he has fails him, disappearing when he needs them most. Sebastian takes a longer than normal pull on his cigarette, then crushes the tip underneath the toe of his shoe while he blows the last of the smoke away. He ditches the butt in a nearby trash can, brushes the ash off his hands. He shoves them deep into his pockets, staring down at the smooth, beige cement. “Kurt?”

“Yes?”

“I know I probably don’t smell all that stellar at the moment, not after that but … would you mind …” Sebastian’s voice cracks and his face screws up. He tilts his head to the sky, breathes in hard through his nose “… can I have a hug?”

“Of course,” Kurt says, almost barreling into Sebastian’s embrace.

Sebastian extends an arm, opens himself up to Kurt, and Kurt steps into it. Sebastian wraps his arms around him and holds him, huddled in the safety and security of Kurt’s arms.

Together they wait in each other’s arms until the tow truck arrives.

#acitw #acitw au #kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #spread the love #two chapter left

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sablelab · 5 years ago

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Covert Operations - Chapter 123

SYNOPSIS: Claire wonders if Jamie’s visit really happened last night or if she was dreaming. Going stir crazy in Med Lab she asks Dr Foster when she may be discharged and is surprised when Jamie visits her again. He discusses her condition with the Doctor and they both keep up the facade they discussed the night before. As expected and true to form Madeline and Operations do arrive in Med Lab with their decision about Jamie and Claire’s rehabilitation.

Chapter 122 and all other chapters can be found at … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

THANK YOU all for your support of my writing of this story. I love reading your impressions of what I have written and I appreciate you taking the time to do so. I hope that over the next few weeks or months as I plan out the last scenario that you will continue to enjoy Covert Operations especially over this extra-long Droughtlander.

CHAPTER 123 Laying in her hospital bed Claire’s mind started to play tricks on her. She started having self-doubts about last night wondering if Jamie’s visit was just a dream. She pinched herself hoping that she would find that it wasn’t a dream but that it had really happened. Jamie had been here … she’d seen him with her two eyes, touched him, kissed him, talked to him all under Section’s nose without discovery. These fanciful thoughts were superfluous for the reality was that her love had indeed been in her room. The fact that Jamie had been able to do so, made her realise to what lengths he would go to achieve his mindset. She marvelled at his tenacity in being able to pull off his late-night sojourn with Fergus’ help without being found out. But knowing Jamie, she was not surprised that he was able to do what he did. Her only worry was that there could be a glitch and they would be found out. No doubt she would find out soon enough when Madeline and Operations finally came to see them.

Suddenly the voice of her doctor roused her from her reflections. “Good morning Claire. How are you feeling today?” he asked in his usual upbeat way. Opening her eyes, she sat up in bed with a bored expression on her face. Dr Jeremy Foster had just started his rounds and had surprised her with his greeting. Claire looked at him and saw a slight smile on his face as he expressed his amusement at his patient’s behaviour. “Ah, I see that you are better judging by that scowl,” he replied ignoring her facial reactions while reading her paperwork for the day. Claire folded her arms across her chest. “When do you think I’ll be able to leave Med Lab? I’m going stir crazy in here.” Things were certainly getting better then. This morning he’d come across a grumpy looking woman who although battle scared was biting at the bit to leave. A muffled chuckle was her answer.

“Oh my, Claire … and here I thought you were enjoying seeing my smiling face each day.” “I do but …” “But you want out of here. Yes?” “Yes.” “Well … it could be soon but don’t get your hopes up. It all depends on Operations and Madeline.” Claire bit her bottom lip steeling her inner thoughts about Section’s leaders and trying to be positive by remembering Jamie’s parting words. Be patient … It will happen Claire … We will be together.

Holding her arm out so that her blood pressure could be taken, she tilted her head back to stare up at the ceiling as Dr Foster continued to take her obs. Her mind was reeling with a combination of happy and cautious thoughts. Her impatience at not knowing when she and Jamie would be discharged was starting to get to her. Suddenly the pain from her wounds was telling … but it wasn’t the physical wounds that manifested themselves it was the hidden ones that she’d buried deep within her psyche. She grimaced but held back the moan that threatened to escape, instead repeating over and over again in her head, “We will be together. We will be together.” Claire knew that she needed Jamie’s touch, his love and support to erase all of her demons. Dr Foster watched the emotions that crossed his patient’s face. He could see that she was struggling with her situation at the moment. In fact, he was a little worried that if Section’s leaders failed to implement his recommendations that his patient might very well take much longer to recover. Not only that, but Claire may even be taken off the continuation of the mission if her mental wellbeing didn’t improve.

Clearly, she still bore mental scars of her incarceration. Having been subjected to prolonged torture Claire was still emotionally drained although physically she was doing fine. However, there was obviously something that was causing her pain. It only reiterated in his mind that she needed to be in an environment that was conducive to a complete physical and mental recovery and the sooner the better. Section One’s leaders needed to come to the same conclusion as well. Madeline and Operations had been sitting on their hands for far too long. If they didn’t release both her and Jamie soon, he would have to speak with them again and plead their case despite the consequences should they disagree. “Well everything is looking good Claire. I’m optimistic that you’ll be out of here before the end of the week.” “Whoopee.” Jeremy Foster gave her a reassuring grin and replied tongue in cheek. “You’re such a model patient … I’ll be sorry to see the back of you.” Claire was about to answer but they both looked up when they heard the sound of the automatic doors woosh open. She suddenly felt her body go into overdrive at the sight of the visitor walking through the glass-panelled doors. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Seeing who the person was, Dr Foster turned towards James Fraser as he made his way into the room. His eyes widened a little when he’d appeared but he was not at all surprised to see Jamie there. Both of his patients had indeed made excellent progress despite their horrific injuries and it was testament to their training and conditioning that had held them in good stead. The two operatives looked as though they were physically recovering quickly. Jeremy Foster was amazed at how well Jamie’s prognosis had gone. The man was a machine and despite the uncertainty a few days ago, it certainly was remarkable how he was healing. Turning to look at Claire he stated the obvious. “I see you have a new visitor.” He then walked over to where Jamie was standing and spoke to his other patient. “It’s good to see you up and about Jamie. How are you feeling?” “I’m fine,” was his patent James Fraser answer. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

However, Claire wasn’t fine. She took some deep calming breaths as she stared down at her hands. They were trembling. Her heart was thumping riotously within her chest as she tried to retain her composure, but it was difficult when she was having heart palpations knowing that he was here again. She cast a glance at Jamie when Dr Foster’s back was turned. Her mouth was suddenly dry and she tried to moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue. Her skin felt clammy to the touch, then it felt the opposite, as she stared at the man she loved as he spoke with Jeremy Foster. Memories of last night were as vivid now as could be. She also felt a little bit nervous but at the same time overwhelmed to see him back again so soon.

Whatever would she say to him? How could she stop herself from revealing her emotions when her heart was doing flip flops in her chest? How could she keep her feelings from showing? Jamie had said people would see it in their eyes. She needed to be cool, calm and collected in front of Dr Foster but more so in front of Operations and Madeline should they turn up today.

Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she glanced up into the eye of the surveillance camera. Knowing that the video surveillance would be monitoring their every word and actions, she needed to have self-control. Lowering her eyes in an effort to draw some air back into her lungs, she hoped that she could do this and more. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“That’s good, but I’m afraid the patient is not in the best frame of mind today. Perhaps your visit will change her disposition.” Jamie felt a faint smile tug at the corner of his mouth at Dr Foster’s remark about his Sassenach. He knew exactly how she was feeling. He couldn’t wait to get out of here either. However, knowing that this was supposed to be their first visit he asked, “How are her injuries doctor?” “As you know, they were extensive and it was lucky that you got back to Section when you did … for both of you. Fortunately, Claire’s wounds will heal and fade with time with no apparent scaring. With rest and rehabilitation, she should be back to full health in no time.” “I see.” Lowering his voice a little so that Claire couldn’t hear Dr Foster continued. “Her physical injuries are healing quite well Jamie. It's the hidden ones that are a worry.” The insinuation belying his words struck a chord with Jamie. He was well aware of Claire’s state of mind and he intended to do something to fix that. “I understand.” Jeremy Foster passed a quick intense glance at James Fraser knowing that as her trainer, mentor and partner he would know exactly what he was alluding to. He then raised his voice once more.

“Good. I'll be back in a short while. I’ll let you two have some time alone to catch up.” His parting words however, were a caution that they were not totally alone. “Should you need anything while I’m gone Patrick will help you.” Jamie cast a look to where Patrick Mullins, the Med Lab tech was on duty working quietly in the far corner of the room.

“Thank ye.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ When Jamie had entered Claire’s room, he’d seen Dr Foster hovering at her bedside on his morning rounds. He had hoped that the doctor would be there so that he could ask about Claire and how she was faring. Jeremy Foster had only reconfirmed what he’d already deduced himself … all that was needed was for Operations and Madeline to give them the green light for some recovery time. His eyes were drawn to his Sassenach and he began to walk over slowly towards her bed. He leisurely trailed his hand along the starched white sheet just as he’d done last night when he’d approached as she slept. Jamie could see that she was nervous at his appearance but having discussed a strategy to deal with her feelings in the wee hours before dawn he knew that she would follow his lead should Madeline and Operations visit this morning too. He came closer until he stood by her bed. They looked at each other for a moment in silence but Jamie could see that his Claire’s face was riddled with thoughts of trepidation for what the day may hold. His eyes widened slightly before he turned to speak to Patrick Mullins, the Med Lab technician, working inconspicuously in the room. Jamie decided that he would prefer some modicum of privacy to speak with Claire.

“Will ye excuse us, please?” Taking in the situation the technician looked at the Level 5 operative. He was not at all surprised by this request. Nodding in compliance Patrick carefully put away the vials he had been handling, and quickly left the room leaving Jamie and Claire alone except for the surveillance cameras’ impersonal stare. Waiting until the orderly had closed the door behind him, Jamie made sure to keep his back to the video surveillance cameras before he spoke to Claire. Although they would catch their every word, he could prevent them seeing his facial expressions. Jamie’s voice was impersonal, but his eyes conveyed for a split second that he wanted to pull her to him and hug her tightly.

“How are ye feeling?” To both of their ears he showed enough concern for her welfare but with a tone that could not be misinterpreted by anyone watching for anything more than that. Jamie had no doubt that this first visit would have been anticipated and that they were being monitored very closely to gauge appropriate or inappropriate behaviour between the two of them by Section’s leaders. He was confident that they would have a visit from Madeline and Operations shortly knowing that he was here visiting Claire. She could feel Jamie’s gaze roaming over her face and reciprocated with a wry smile, “Oh, I’m fine, just a little swollen and … bored.” “So, Dr Foster said.” Folding her arms defensively across her chest, Claire’s eyes studied Jamie with just enough concern for his situation. He still looked magnificent this morning like he did last night. In her mind’s eye she caressed his frame once more before resting them on his bandages. He too was dressed in his standard white undershirt for Med Lab and to her eyes, he looked magnificent and oh, so sexy. “How's your wound?” “It's all right.” “You look good for someone who has gone through a major operation.” “I’ve been better … but I’m fine.” “That’s good.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ However, before they could continue any more banal conversation, Jamie happened to glance towards the room’s glass door. His sudden distraction caused Claire to glance that way as well to see what had captured his curiosity. Section One’s leaders, Madeline and Operations, were in the corridor speaking to Jeremy Foster. The two operatives passed a quick look between each other. Finally, they would know their fate. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The sound of the Med Lab doors opening once more captured Jamie and Claire’s attention as Madeline, Operations and Dr Foster all entered the room. With an effort Jamie pulled his gaze away from Claire knowing that their time would eventually come, but for now he was the perfect cold operative. He turned towards Section’s leaders as they came closer to her bed and watched as Madeline’s cool gaze took in his bearing before resting them on the patient. Casting her astute eye over him standing at Claire’s side, Madeline folded her arms across her chest before meeting his eyes again. "Ah, Jamie … I see you are up and about.” She took in his bandaged chest wound, white scrub-type pants and white tank top. Madeline noticed his pale face, deep under the eye circles, but it was Jamie’s demeanour that caught her attention the most. She knew that determined posture. Section’s cold operative was standing in front of them giving them little to go on. His eyes were guarded; his stance was that of a mentor’s aloof concern for his material's wellbeing and nothing more. Not only that but it seemed that James Fraser had turned the corner and that his recovery was imminent. Madeline cast an enigmatic glance towards Operations. “You must be feeling better,” he added. Acknowledging their presence Jamie nodded in his succinct way being careful to sound reserved in his reply. “Aye … I am.” He watched Operations’ face at his response, then moved away from Claire’s bed to stand at the back of the room. “Good.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The two leaders then turned their attention towards Claire observing her as she sat up in bed. Without turning to Dr Foster who was standing behind them Madeline asked, “How is she doing?" Claire felt on edge at the look her superior gave her. Despite Madeline’s apparent detached interest, it was as if she was sizing her up while her nervous anticipation had everything to do with what Section’s leaders would decide. Claire smoothed the sheet across her body and surreptitiously glanced at those around her bed. She knew that whatever Dr Foster had to say about her condition may affect any decision that Madeline and Operations might make about her recuperation away from Med Lab. “Claire’s much better.” Operations cleared his throat and spoke to Dr Foster. "What do you think? Is she able to be discharged?” Both Jamie and Claire pricked up their ears at what the doctor might say. The physician considered his question for a moment then turned towards the two leaders. “My professional opinion is yes. I think that Claire is ready to leave Med Lab. I can do no more for her medically. Recuperation is what she and Jamie both need now.” Jeremy Foster saw the two leaders exchange a surprised yet compliant look at his opinion as if they too had already come to the same conclusion. “So, what you’re saying is that both Jamie and Claire should be discharged.” “Yes. I see no reason to keep them here under observation any/ much longer. Both operatives have continued to improve much faster than anticipated and could be released as early as/ the end of the week tomorrow morning. They certainly would benefit from time away from this environment to enhance their healing.” Operations seemed to have been put on the spot by the doctor’s candid reply. He cast a look Jamie’s way, then shot Madeline another frosty glance as if to say he’d been checkmated and didn’t like it, before turning to address Dr Foster once more. “And how much time would be needed for their recovery?” The doctor was taken aback by Operations’ question. He was sure that Section’s leaders would have already discussed this before coming to Med Lab. He was at a loss how to proceed in case he said something he shouldn’t.

“Excuse my impertinence sir, but Madeline and I have discussed this at length.” And so too had Section One’s leaders. Madeline noticed that Operations’ manner was noticeably restrained even though he was well versed in her reasons for granting Jamie and Claire downtime and had agreed that it was the way to go. However, despite the pros and cons of her arguments, he was obviously still not 100% in favour of the proposal. She cast Dougal a reserved glance.

He ignored her look. It gnawed at him that Madeline knew him so well. It was as if she could read his mind and knew his thought patterns before he did so himself. Glaring at Dr Foster with obvious irritation he was resigned to the fact that the doctor’s answer would be the same as what Madeline had suggested. Nevertheless, he was hoping that he would say a couple of days. “Just answer the question.” “A couple of weeks should be sufficient sir.” “I see.” To appease Dougal’s reservations and concerns about the Rising Dragons’ mission Madeline asked, “Will they have recuperated enough by then to return to the mission?” “I see no reason why not.” Satisfied that the assignment would not be prolonged or compromised any further Operations replied succinctly, “Two weeks and not a day more.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ James Fraser stood like a sentinel overseeing the current proceedings, reserved in his manner but vigilant in his deportment. Both he and Claire took in the conversation that had occurred between Dr Foster, Operations and Madeline, knowing that a decision for them was imminent. He waited for the green light from Section’s leaders but it was still not a fait-accompli that they would be given downtime for recuperation. However, it was obvious by Operations’ reaction, that no matter how reluctant he was about granting them time, his sole focus was on the Rising Dragons’ mission and how their absence would affect the end game that he so wanted. He also observed Claire. Her shoulders became tense as though she was bracing herself for whatever Section’s head strategist would say. Normally when operatives had been in Med Lab, like she had, they were transferred to Level 3 for reprogramming under a new instructor especially when an operative had been out for some time. However, Jamie doubted that they would do this in their case, because both he and Claire were vital to the success of the Rising Dragons’ mission. Madeline also liked to conduct a psyche analysis on any operative who had been incarcerated and tortured to test their suitability for reinstatement to an important mission to see if they could still meet Section's standards. Jamie knew they both would be subjected to some form of psyche analysis at some time. No doubt Madeline had planned for such a situation but the question was … when would she conduct it … before or after downtime? ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Turning to address James Fraser and then Claire, Madeline stated succinctly, “You'll both stay in Observation for the rest of the day as Dr Foster has outlined.” Jamie nodded in approval as he walked towards his superiors. “Then you'll be discharged in the morning.” Jamie’s face was blank and Claire’s eyes were wary of Madeline’s next statement, as if anticipating the worse. Although a wry smile bowed her mouth it failed to reach her eyes. “Operations and I have also decided to grant the two of you some downtime away from Section One for recuperation.” To Jamie and Claire’s ears her words lacked sincerity but it was nothing more or less than what they expected from Section’s head strategist. Madeline always played her cards close to her chest. Not only that, but ulterior motives were always laced with any favour granted. There would be payback for the two of them. Madeline scrutinized the both of them to gauge their reaction to what she’d told them. None was forthcoming except a concise “Thank you” from Jamie. Operations stared intently at his best cold operative for a few seconds. His facial features registered his inner thoughts about this whole process, they tightened, his eyes were intense and his words were terse and concise. “We have also deferred your debrief of the mission until you have returned from your downtime.” His superior gave Jamie another telling look. “However, I will expect a comprehensive and thorough report from you on my desk when you return to Section.” Their eyes locked briefly in a taciturn exchange before Jamie tilted his head in compliance. “I understand.” Diffusing the impasse situation between the two men, Madeline brought matters to a close. “Enjoy your downtime. Use it wisely to rest and recover for once you return to Section One we expect the both of you to immerse yourselves in the Rising Dragons’ mission without reservation.” “Of course,” Jamie replied in his monotone manner refusing to give Madeline the satisfaction of seeing that her words had not been lost in translation when reading between the lines. Operations and Madeline didn’t respond further, but they looked at Claire once more, before exiting Medical, leaving Jamie alone with her again. They heard Dr Foster address them as he walked them out of Med Lab. “I’ll arrange for their discharge first thing in the morning then?” “Yes … see to it.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Two weeks. Remembering where she was Claire looked around the room cautiously as she sat in her bed. Her eyes lowered as she contemplated what had just happened. A gamut of emotions was rioting through her system as it finally dawned on her that both she and Jamie had indeed been given downtime. As hard as she tried not to smile, she couldn’t and a broad beam of happiness crossed her face. She dared to glance up at Jamie who had once again placed himself in a position that hid the surveillance cameras from capturing her mood. They looked at each other for a moment in silence their eyes locking together. Jamie saw the emotions cross her face and his eyes widened slightly in understanding. “Are we really going to be able to have downtime together on the outside?” Jamie said nothing but his eyes gave her the answer she wanted to hear. Claire sighed in contentment, biting her lip in an achingly familiar way. Her blue eyes suddenly beamed with such emotion that the breath caught in his throat. Anticipation, longing, desire and happiness were all gleaming on her features and to Claire’s bewilderment were reciprocated in Jamie’s intense gaze. Two weeks. It was a lifetime to them. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~to be continued TUESDAY 26th May

#Jamieandclairefanfic #jamieandclairecrossover #jamieandclaireau #LFNoutlander #the lallybroch library #outlander fanfic #covert #covert operations #sablelab

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thegreatkaleesi32 · 4 years ago

Text

Whumpy fluff

Whumptober Day 10: Alt. Prompt: Water

@whumptober2020

Here’s another excerpt from my novel that I’ve been working on all morning. This comes much later than anything else I’ve posted so far, so bear with me. Lena is a scientist (self insert) who’s crashed on their magical island and befriends James.

Summary: James has been rescued and is having a bad time in fever delirium and panicking. His dad (Peter), Lena, and his dog (Delilah), help him through.

CW: Referenced torture, referenced drowning, referenced psychological abuse, aftermath of torture, injuries, fever, broken bones.

...

Lena grunted and pulled at her arm, throwing almost her entire weight into it.

Delilah snarled in response and yanked back.

Lena got her feet out from under her and shoved them into Delilah’s behind. She knew it didn’t hurt her, and she used her placement as leverage to pull Delilah forward. She let out the most un-lady like grunt she’d ever made as she pulled.

Delilah snarled harder and Lena felt her straining.

“I know you’re playing but this is getting ridiculous,” Peter commented.

“Nah…” Lena panted. “We’re just funnin’ around.”

The game was simple. Delilah bit down on Lena’s forearm, holding it in her mouth. It was tight enough that Lena couldn’t get her arm out but not enough to break skin. It wasn’t entirely pleasant, but it wasn’t for Delilah either. If Lena could get her arm out, she won. If she tapped out or their attention got called elsewhere, Delilah won.

This time Lena gave her arm a wide swing, attempting to knock Delilah off her feet. Delilah went with the motion and Lena used her legs to try and hold her down.

Lena was laughing like a giddy maniac and Delilah was snarling and foaming at the mouth. But her tail was wagging and her eyes were sparkling with joy. She understood how it could look like she was being mauled to an on-looker. Delilah did too which was half the fun.

Lena grunted again, letting out more of a primal yell as she finally knocked Delilah off balance. But Delilah held on tight even as she went down.

The next yell wasn’t by either of them though.

It was James.

Delilah immediately released her hold on Lena and they both scrambled to their feet and over to James.

Peter was already there, trying to soothe him with gentle words.

James was unresponsive, muttering to himself and letting out little whimpers and cries of pain.

“Julie, please, Julie…” Lena caught.

James writhed underneath the blanket.

“Dad, please don’t leave me,” He screamed.

“I’m right here. I’m right here, pumpkin,” Peter cooed. “I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

Delilah curled up next to him and let out a whine of distress.

“What is it, girl?”

Delilah put her paw on James’s forehead.

Lena understood and copied Delilah’s motion.

“He’s burning up!”

James, in whatever fever dream he was in, did not like the touch. He wailed and tried to throw her off.

Now that she was leaning over him, she felt the heat radiating off him.

“Peter, draw a bath, we need to cool him down.”

“How cold?”

“Just cool. Ice cold would be dangerous.”

“Sure thing.”

Peter ran into the bathroom.

Delilah howled. It sounded like a wolf summoning her pack at a full moon but was heavy with fear and concern. She rubbed her snout against James’s cheek. He turned his head away, and Lena could feel Delilah’s distress.

Lena began hurriedly pulling off bandages, looking to see if any wounds had festered or if any of the infections had gotten worse.

Delilah tried to help. Lena had her hold James up while she undid the bandages around his chest.

She left the splints on. It was a tough decision, letting the bandages get wet and soggy or risk moving a limb. Soggy bandages could be fixed much easier. She also left his shorts. He would be mortified if they removed them for something as simple as a bath. Not when they had other pairs at the ready.

Peter and Lena were done at about the same time. Peter wrapped his arm around James’s shoulders and the other under his legs and easily lifted him.

James fought against the hold, thrashing against Peter so hard that Peter nearly dropped him.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Peter chanted, but knew James wasn’t hearing them.

Peter lowered James into the tub, keeping his arms out over the lip to preserve the bandages on his hands.

The water must have hurt, but it was impossible to tell if it was enough to arouse James or not. He shrieked again, and flailed his limbs, hitting against Peter and Lena. The two of them had to hold him in the tub. Peter tried to talk over James’s crying and soothe him, but he was clearly elsewhere.

James eventually gave into them. She was horrified that it wasn’t because he understood where he was and what was happening, but rather some other reason that fed into his nightmare. He was mumbling to himself again, and Lena couldn’t make out what he was saying.

Lena rested his head on the lip so his face was upturned and gently scooped water onto his forehead. She made sure it dribbled into his hair, not onto his face. He stiffened at each pass of water. Peter kept his hands on James’s shoulders as a precaution.

She could still feel the unease of the universe. It was thriving off his fear and pain. Was she supposed to save him from drowning in the basement, or from something else?

What she did know what that caring for him felt natural, as if they’d been friends for years. When he was lucid, he was easy to talk to, and she felt closer to him than to anyone she’d met at King’s. He was so vulnerable, and it amazed her that he was able to connect with her through his ordeal.

He really was amazing, and it was a shame he didn’t see it.

After a few minutes of sitting in the cool water, James came to.

His eyes fluttered open. He gasped and tried to clamber out of the tub. He splashed water in his face which made him recoil and clamp his mouth closed.

“James, it’s okay. It’s okay. Easy now. You’re home, pumpkin.” Peter said in the gentlest tone possible. Lena heard the undercurrent of urgency though.

“I’m home?” He asked, looking around the room.

“Yes, James. You’re safe at home. We’re in the water because you have a nasty fever. You were delirious.”

“Where…where’s Julie?”

“She’s not here. She’s not here, sport.”

“Julie?” He asked looking up at Lena, arching his neck bath further.

“No Julie here. Just me. Just Lena.”

“Lena!”

“Right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

James moaned and closed his eyes.

She knew what this meant by now. He thought he was hallucinating or dreaming and it made her heart very heavy.

“Are you still confused, James?” Lena asked.

He nodded slowly. Peter had tried to assure him, but said too many things at once. Peter was quite good at soothing him, but Lena was better somehow, able to tell what he needed in the moment.

“That’s okay. There’s a lot going on right now.”

“There’s…there’s water,” he slurred.

“I know there is,” Lena said softly. “We’re not going to let you drown. The hands on your shoulders aren’t going to hurt you; they’re making sure you stay above water.”

He moaned and slumped into the tub. The water rose and he shrieked, eyes flying open again.

“It’s okay,” Lena intoned. “It’s not going to go any higher.”

James nodded and closed his eyes again. Lena slowly carded through his hair.

“Are you feeling any better?” she asked.

“A little.”

“That’s great. You were probably really warm, huh?”

He nodded again.

“Do you remember where you are?”

“Home.”

“That’s absolutely right. You’re home. You’re safe now. I know the water is scary but we have to cool you off, alright?”

“It hurts,” he said.

“I know. I know it does. When we get you cooled down a bit I can give you some more meds.”

“What do I have to do?”

“You don’t have to do anything. Rest now. Try and relax. Let us handle the rest.”

“But they’ll torture me…you’ll tell Julie and she’ll…”

“You’re home now,” Lena repeated. She looked up at Peter. His jaw was set and his cheeks were red. “You’re home which means you’re safe. No one is going to hurt you.”

“Please…I just…I wanna sleep.”

“I know. When you’re nice and cool we’ll get you into bed and you can sleep as long as you want.”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“You keep giving me potions…”

“Those have worn off by now, I’m sure. You’re home, remember? So we’re not giving you those potions.”

“It hurts too bad. And I’m scared.”

“I know, James. But we’ll do what we can with the medicines to ease the pain. And I’ll get you some ice, maybe that’ll numb some of the injuries and cool you down. And I know you’re scared, but you’re safe here. We’re protecting you. I want you to try to relax, okay? Think you can do that for me?”

“I…I can try.”

“We’re right here for you. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

“Of course I promise,” Lena responded easily.

“And dad?” It took him a moment to be able to focus on his dad.

“I’m not leaving your side.”

He hummed in acknowledgement.

“What else are you confused about?” Lena asked.

“The water,” he said. “Wait, I think you explained that already.”

“I did, but I’m happy to reiterate as many times as you need to feel better.”

“I’m sorry, I’m stupid,”

“Hey,” Lena said. “You’re not. There is tons and tons of proof that pain, fear, fever, injuries, everything you have, affects memory, reasoning, and critical thinking. And other things of course. I’m also sure you have a concussion.”

“What’s that?” James asked.

“It’s when your brain bounces off your skull, essentially leaving it bruised. The same way your chest hurts when your ribs move, your brain hurts when you have to think. And the same way you can’t lift anything heavy, your brain can’t process as much.”

“How…how did that happen? Surely I’d know if my brain was bouncing around.”

Lena chuckled, and didn’t mean to. But miraculously, James did to.

“Getting hit the head. Which I’m assuming happened to you.”

“Is that why I’m so scared, and confused, and weak?”

“I think your concussion is definitely contributing, especially to the confusion. But I attribute the fear to the trauma, the conditioning, and the gas lighting. And I don’t think you are weak. Not being able to use your limbs and being scared are not weak. Neither is asking for help. In fact, asking for help when you need it is the epitome of bravery.”

“What do you mean conditioning?”

Lena sighed. She found herself massaging his shoulders. He leaned into her touch, and she felt knots ease as she dug her fingers into his shoulders.

“It means like training you essentially. They made you fear them and your surroundings. They made you distrusting and skeptical because they wanted you to feel unsafe and afraid.”

“And…and there was another word you said, and I’m not sure what it meant…I don’t remember what it was.”

Lena racked her brain. “It was probably gas-lighting.”

“Yes, that. What is it?”

“It’s like, making you doubt yourself. It’s a form of manipulation that makes your question your own judgement and memory.”

“How…how do you know all this?”

“The terminology, or know they did it?”

“Both.”

Lena moved both her hands to his left side to really work at one of the knots. She was slow going and gentle, because she knew massages could hurt.

“I have friends who took psych classes and shared their knowledge with me. And I know they did it to you because of how uncertain you are. You literally don’t believe your eyes that you’re home. Which tells me they made you hallucinate and tricked you so you stopped believing what your senses told you.”

He hummed and looked up at his dad. James’s face fell and he looked down at his chest. He must have seen how upset his dad was.

It did warm her to see how caring he was, but also made her heart even heavier as didn’t want him to feel guilty.

“James, do you remember the other day? When your dad told you about your official nickname?” Lena asked.

“Yes,” He said.

“You’re dad said that making you feel weak was nothing more than a technique.”

James nodded.

“I know you don’t believe him.”

“I’ve been trying to hide it.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want you to be upset.”

“James, I could never be upset with you about that,” Peter assured.

“It’s going to take time to believe us and feel safe,” Lena said. “It’s sad for us, because we want you to feel better and can’t do much in the meantime. But you can’t protect us from that feeling. The best thing you can do is tell us what’s wrong, or that you don’t believe us because then we get to help and everyone feels better and endorphins get released at all the love and affection.”

He smiled again.

“What are endorphins?”

“Happy chemicals. They literally bind to the happy receptors in your brain. Or maybe they get released into the brain? I don’t remember exactly. Or hold on, they might be a family of happy chemicals. I was never good with remembering my hormones.”

She laughed at herself. James did too.

And she loved this about him. He loved her science jargon which seeped into her regular speech. And he asked her what they meant so he could better communicate. She also wondered if it distracted him from the pain and fear.

She shifted to his right shoulder. He was indeed releasing tension in his shoulders, and this was the most relaxed she’d seen him in a long time. Even in the water, which was incredible.

“Do you remember the point I was trying to make?” She asked. “Because I don’t.”

James started laughing again.

“Oh, yes,” Lena said. “I got sidetracked. They wanted to break you down mentally because they wanted you to surrender. There’s three main components to that. First, physical. All the physical pain reinforces the other two components, makes you miserable, and frankly makes it harder to think, which makes the other two components work better. The other two are mind games. Gaslighting. They made you doubt yourself and your perceptions so they could make you feel worthless. And they induced, well, it’s called learned-helplessness, which is pretty self explanatory. Make you feel reliant on your captors, which induces shame and fear, so they could manipulate you into surrendering.”

“You know a lot about kidnapping people,” James commented.

Lena snorted in laughter. Peter smiled and looked up at her.

“I read a lot,” She answered.

“About kidnapping?” James asked.

“Back to my point,” Lena spoke purposefully fast to make them think she was deliberately changing the subject. She had no qualms about sharing her reading history, but figured that might not be a good conversation to have with James.

And to her great relief, James chuckled.

“All these feelings, the confusion, fear, and doubt were tactics they used to break you,” Lena said. “They are not weakness. It’s okay to tell us about those feelings. It’s the same as telling us your back hurts.”

“Lena, thank you. I think…I think that finally started to sink in.”

“I’m glad.”

“You’re very articulate.”

Lena smiled. Her hands were aching now, so she stopped her massaging. Instead she poured more water on his forehead. The rest of his skin was cool now, except his forehead.

“What else can we do to help?” Lena asked gently.

James shook his head every so slightly.

“That’s okay. Just hang in there. Do you want me to tell you what I remember about brain chemistry and hormones?”

“Yes please.”

“Okay, fair warning, this is digging through some ancient knowledge. Like we are going way back into the filing cabinets.”

“That’s okay, I probably won’t remember anyway,” James answered.

“I guess that’s a good point.”

So she named as many hormones as she could, starting with dopamine and serotonin. But she didn’t know as much about those, so mentioned the stress pathways with cortisol, and eventually found herself talking about estrogen and progesterone. She could see that Peter was uncomfortable about female sex hormones, but Lena remembered those the best.

James slowly drifted back into unconsciousness.

“I’m summoning Julie.” Peter said. His words were curt and harsh but his eyes were brimmed with tears.

“I still don’t know about that.”

“I wasn’t asking you.”

“Alright.” Lena said, doing her best to hide her annoyance. She knew James was suffering and of course she wanted it to end, but having Julie come here would traumatize him all over again.

“I’ll take all precautions. And when he awakes healed, we will tell him we found a magic potion. Or Tom invented one. Or we got it from the spirits. Whatever we need to say.”

Lena nodded. There was no arguing with him.

“Can he be transported to a different room when Julie comes?” Peter asked.

“Sure. Just as long as you’re careful.”

Peter nodded. He set up towels on the bed while Lena sat with James, still combing her fingers through his hair.

They pulled him out when he started shivering. They quickly tagged teamed the event, having grown used to the most efficient way to dry him off, put disinfectant and wound cream everywhere it was needed and bandage everything again.

They rested him in the bed, above the covers this time, and placed a cool cloth on his forehead.

It warmed up instantly.

Peter and Lena both knew they were in for a long night. And Lena changed her mind about summoning Julie.

#whumptober2020 #no.10 #alternate prompt #water #alt prompt: water #torture aftermath #aftermath of trauma #bathing #caretaker #injured whumpee #comfort #fever #referenced torture #referenced past abuse #writing #whump #OCs

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