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rant-2-me · 3 years

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My mental state has just worsened over the days, though I'm not sure why, and I just feel so unmotivated and lacking any energy to practice any self care other than napping, and also feel anxious because I'm not studying enough.. feel like I'm just 1/4th assing my responsibilities.. And when someone asks me how I'm doing, sometimes I blurt out that I'm not fine, and the guilt I feel afterwards for making them worry, so I find myself withdrawing from initiating conversation with them, even though I really want to, and this makes them worry about me more.. I just don't know anything anymore, everything feels too much, yet I can't rant in a clear conscience without feeling guilty for bothering them, and thinking how I don't deserve to complain because they have had so much worse (yes I know pain is relative, but I feel so horrible, like a whiny child, who doesn't know how to be content with her blessings)......

Sorry I know it's a lot.. feel free to delete it if it's triggering or making you uncomfortable in any way... I just needed to get it out..

My lovely nonnie, im so, so glad you sent this ask. and got it all out of your system. yeah this sounds cheesy but like ive been there, with not knowing how to reach out—im proud you had the courage to send this ask. girlboss vibes.

also this ask took a while to answer and im so so sorry about that, but I didnt want to do anything less than the best for you, so let's just jump right in <[:)

Lacking motivation, god I've been there, but doing self care is super super important so here is a how-to, hon.

How to do selfcare when you’re not motivated to:

1. Be a little “gross.”

Gross is in quotes because it’s so subjective, but you undoubtedly have a few behaviors you consider kind of gross regardless. Now’s the time to do them without judgment. For me, that’s meant showering less, eating weird food combos (sometimes in bed), and letting my brows and mustache grow magnificently unruly. For you, it could mean doing something you normally judge yourself for or cutting back on activities you only do for the benefit of others. Now is not the time to allow “socially acceptable” behaviors to rule you.

2. Eat whatever the hell you want.

This should be a rule always, but I’m not going to pretend there aren’t societal, social, and personal pressures that go into why we eat what we eat. Try to shut down the voice that judges or polices what you’re eating right now. We’re in the middle of a goddamn pandemic. If dinner has to be some slices of cheese and deli meat eaten in front of the open fridge, so be it. If you have a lot of cravings and are snacking more than you normally would, cool. If pre-pandemic you decided you were going to stick to a certain meal plan and it’s just not happening anymore? Don’t beat yourself up.

Yes, what we eat is connected to our mental health, and I don’t want to discount that—but if the stress of eating healthfully is making you feel like crap anyway, whether that’s because you can’t fathom cooking or don’t have the means to shop for certain foods during isolation, just eat the sleeve of Oreos and try again another day. It’s okay.

3. And wear whatever you want.

Or, more realistically, wear whatever you can. Even if it means wearing the same ratty sweatpants for a whole week. Or month. Maybe you started all this out aspiring to get dressed every day to work from home productively, or maybe you have a whole collection of comfortable loungewear you feel guilty for not utilizing. Whatever arbitrary rules and expectations you’ve set for yourself, you can throw them out.

On the other hand, maybe you need to quiet the voice that tells you there’s no point in getting dressed or feeling presentable. If it helps, by all means, play with your look, wear awesome or weird outfits, do your hair and makeup or whatever activity might feel a little silly given your current reality. In the middle of a pandemic, nothing is a waste of time if it makes you feel good.

4. Use shortcuts to avoid creating chores.

In my first week or so of working entirely from home, I was baffled by just how messy my apartment got. How on earth were so many messes piling up when I wasn’t even doing anything but working, sleeping, and eating? I hadn’t realized it, but a lot of my small tidying routines had become casualties to the pandemic. And, it turns out, slacking on the little ways I pick up after myself every day (such as doing the dishes right after I use them) added up quickly.

Instead of forcing myself to stick to the same levels of tidiness that I used to maintain, I’ve found shortcuts. For example, I use paper plates and plastic cutlery when I feel too fatigued to wash dishes so they don’t sit in the sink for days on end. Or I stick to the same two “outfits” to avoid clothes piling up when I’m too depressed to put them away every day. If you can find a small way to go easy on yourself, even if it feels a little wasteful or indulgent or gross, it’s okay to tap into those shortcuts right now.

5. Be kind to yourself if your place is messy or dirty.

I won’t lie: I’m someone whose space impacts my mental health a lot. Typically, keeping my apartment clean helps keep my mental health in check and letting my apartment get gross makes me feel worse. That’s still true in a lot of ways, but to adapt I’ve been trying to be mindful and accepting of where I’m at. And it’s…helped?

It turns out that taking the pressure off does a lot to mitigate the guilt and some of the other negative mental health effects I usually experience. In practice, it involves a lot of talking to myself. Instead of seeing my apartment turning into a depression cave and immediately thinking, “Oh, God, I need to clean up, this is so disgusting, I’m a monster for living like this, of course I feel depressed,” I go for kindness. I think (or even say out loud because, well, desperate times), “Of course my apartment is a mess right now. I’ll get to it when I get to it. I can handle the mess for now.”

6. Accept your new sleep schedule.

idk anyone whose sleep hasn’t been screwed in some way by all of this. Anxiety, depression, fatigue, pent-up energy from sheltering in place, tech use, new work responsibilities, screwy schedules…pretty much every aspect of our new reality can impact our sleep. Some people are sleeping a lot more, some are sleeping a lot less, and some are cycling through both extremes. Oh, and the temptation of naps! It’s all there.

Trying to maintain a healthy sleep schedule during all of this is a worthy endeavor—and more power to you if you’ve figured out how—but there’s a good chance that it feels impossible.

By “accepting” your new sleep schedule, I don’t mean pretending it doesn’t suck; I mean doing what you can to be gentle on yourself about it. For me, acceptance has looked like watching some comfort tv and reading my favourite books at 2 a.m. instead of staying in bed and anxiety-spiraling about how I can’t sleep. Is it ideal? No way. But I’m not going to waste energy stressing about something I currently can’t control.

7. Give yourself plenty of room to do absolutely nothing.

I’ve given myself permission to do a whole lot of nothing. That includes getting rid of the pressure to be productive and practice self-care, yes, but in a broader sense, it also means not forcing myself to actively “adjust” every day.

Some days, I just need to do nothing but feel my feelings. Or avoid feeling my feelings. Or stare at the ceiling. Give yourself space to do (or not do) whatever you need to.

also, nonnie? my love?

Never feel guilty about telling someone who cares about you when you don’t feel okay.

People who genuinely care about you—and I’m sure they are many—will care if you aren’t feeling good, there are always going to be people who care about you, who want you to be okay, that’s why they ask, why people make rant, why “how are you?” is such a common question.

But if you do need to talk, but you feel like you’ll “burden” people who you do talk to, here’s a guide to ranting.

Guide to ranting:

1. Pick the right person. Someone who’s in the right headspace to listen to you, you could also pick someone who cares about you—if you’re anxiety tells you nobody cares about you, pick someone who “should” care about you in your relationship, e.g: a friend you’ve had for a long time, a friend who’s told a few of their problems, or friend you might not feel close with, but seems very kindhearted and a good listener.

2. Pick the right time to talk to them, so you can have their undivided attention. If they are busy—as most people will be with something—they’ll have a hard time giving you good advice and listening to you. Ask them when they are free, and then ask them:

3. “hey, can we talk? I’m not mad or you or anything, it’s just that I have been not feeling great, and I just want to rant to someone about it.” and “No pressure to say yes, you might have your own stuff to do deal with.” to make sure they are the right person to talk to.

4. It’s ok to test the waters. Start slowly, you don’t have to share everything at once if you don’t want to.

5. You never know how your friend will react to what you say.While you can’t know how they’ll react, just remember that sometimes people’s initial reactions may come from a place of shock, surprise or not knowing what to say. Their initial reaction isn’t always their longerterm reaction, it may just take them a little time to process.

6. Look for ways to take action. Don’t get me wrong, ranting can be amazing for you, but on its own may not solve your problem.

But maybe venting to people isn’t for you. No matter! There are other ways to get out emotions:

Ways to rant without talking to anyone

1. Cry it out— simple and rewarding. When the baggage is just too heavy to carry cry it out. It can help you ease the pressure and ease your mind to think straight after days of holding that frustration in.

2. Work out — easy and fun. tire yourself out and release all the frustration in working out! This is going to be so satisfying for you as you try and punch, kick, balance, lift, and breathe those frustrations away.

3. Clean & rearrange — practical and can be fun. we get frustrated by so many things and one thing that can truly help clear our minds is to have a clean place where we can stay and live for the moment to breathe. Clean your room, rearrange your things and you’ll be surprised by the satisfaction this brings — a signal of a new beginning.

4. Scribble — simple and fun. Make scribbles, doodles, drawings, take a pen or a pencil, and let go. It does not have to be “good” art or professional at all. Just draw whatever comes to heart, sunflowers or clouds or rainbows—anything.

5. Write it down — fun and simple. Let those words out of your head and just live in the moment.

How to fight the lack of motivation.

1. Don't fight the lack of motivation.

If you feel down or unable to muster tons of energy, let it be ok. Be easy on yourself and acknowledge that it's ok to have a dip, especially at this time of the year.

2. Once you have accepted your slump, get to the bottom of it.

Ask yourself, "What is the root cause of this sluggish feeling?" Go deeper than the obvious reasons. Is it related to work? Your personal life? Relationships? It might also just be the weather. Get clear on what areas of your life you're feeling the most resistance.

3. Dig into that area. What is not ideal about this aspect of your life? What would make it better?

Make a list of how you'd like your current situation to improve--and be specific. If you truly can't find a reason to be less than enthusiastic, then accept your feelings and let them pass with time.

4. Take your list of what is missing and go through it.

What is holding you back from being able to create the things that are missing in your life?

5. Get support for creating the life you want.

Do some research and find an expert to help you. Even though they love you, friends and family aren't objective enough, and they tend to give advice that is a reflection of their own life and insecurities.

6. Think of current habits that are contributing to a less-than-ideal life.

Maybe it's fear, laziness, or not having enough confidence. Pick one to focus on.

7. Address this habit over the next 2 months.

They say it takes 28 days to create a new habit, but this varies from person to person. If you focus on it for two months, you are sure to build the neural pathways needed to call it a new way of being.

8. Buy a book, read articles or do some research on this particular behavior or feeling.

Read about the common causes of this habit as well as the proven ways to bust through and work around it.

9. Create a plan around shifting your current habit.

Make sure that changing this habit ultimately helps you move forward in the area of your life that is not ideal. The energy from clarity, awareness and then action will immediately get you feeling more motivated, no matter what.

10. When all else fails: make a list of activities that excite you, and do one of them right now.

Talk to a fun friend, dance around at home, workout, watch a funny YouTube video, tackle something on your to-do list. Accomplishing something will give you a hit of dopamine in your brain. If you're too overwhelmed by your day, sit for five minutes and meditate. Put on some soothing music and breathe.

okay, that's all nonnie, I hope you feel the lust for life in your lungs, please have all my love, i hope this helped, this ask took a while, but it was worth if it helps

and if you need to dont worry to send another ask, if you like spam the inbox!! queen!!!

take care, much love my sweet honey, bye <3

—*putting daisies in your hair as they leave* mod peppermint <[:)

#mod peppermint #ask #anon #rant

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halorocks1214 · 5 years

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the law of relativity

AO3 Link

Word Count: 9963

Summary: The Law of Relativity states that each person will receive a series of problems (‘tests of initiation’) for the purpose of strengthening the ‘light’ within. We must consider each of these tests to be a challenge and remain connected to our hearts when proceeding to solve the problems. This law also teaches us to compare our problems to others’ problems and put everything into its proper perspective. No matter how bad we perceive our situation to be, there is always someone who is in a worse position. It is all relative

Previous Parts (in order): Alan | Virgil | You are here! | Gordon

WHY 👏🏼 CANT 👏🏼 I 👏🏼 WRITE 👏🏼 FICS 👏🏼 IN 👏🏼 MO 👏🏼 DER 👏🏼 RATION 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼 also just bluuuergh. dont ask about this fic. part of it was written in a dark auditorium, another was written in a different state, another was written on a frickin bus, this fic has been places ill tell you what. half the time i think this is hot garbage and the other half i think its actually decent so im posting this while my head is in a good headspace and then promptly yeeting myself off the internet for a few hours to wait and see what happens. this series is becoming less of a canon divergence AU and more of a straight-up AU because of certain details im trying to worm in there buT IM TRYING MY BEST

thanks once more to @gumnut-logic, because of the length, this time i used three prompts, them being "What do you mean?", crease, and dream (and they werent even used that much sksksksk)

Warnings for both graphic and non-graphic depictions of violence, as well as mentions of torture and other PTSD/panic attack related stuff. I went deep with this one fellas

Orphan.

The word tasted dirty in his mouth.

He can still see the footage in the backs of his eyelids from when he watched it exactly one year ago. He was the only other (living) adult at the time in the family outside of Grandma, so he was permitted to see it. He remembered they originally didn’t want to show him, mainly because of his age, but Grandma was fierce, and she put one hell of an argument on the table.

One Scott refused to let fall through the cracks by breaking down. If only Grandma knew how he cried his eyes out and screamed to high heaven that night in the hotel room after essentially watching his father be blown to bloody smithereens then she was a goddamn saint for keeping it a secret. It made sense, she was the mother to his father. She had quite the line up of stories from Jeff’s childhood. Scott sensed the early-greying of his hair came from her, heh.

The rest of his family eventually saw it, of course, they did. Scott couldn’t shield them forever. What he will protect, selfishly he might add, was how angry he was at how much better they took it than he did. They cried, yes they did, but they never fully broke down like Scott did. Later in life, he wondered if it was jealousy: jealousy at not truly being able to let go. Whatever it was, he made sure to swallow it along with whatever alcohol he chose for the weekend.

Just add it to the ever-growing pile of shit he had to deal with. Nothing new.

Suddenly he’s 20 again and seated in a plane to be taken to his first stint in the Air Force. He said his goodbyes to Virgil, Gordon, and Alan back at home while Grandma and John metaphorically held his hand all the way to the airport. John was… quiet, more so than usual, but Grandma was stuck right in the middle between being a sobbing mess and ecstatic at the fine young man he’s become.

You’re just like your father. He would be proud.

Scott was secretly glad she never physically said it. It gave him plausible deniability in thinking that those words weren’t laced behind her big, bright, prideful eyes.

The first time went well, maybe even great. He stayed for a couple of months, did some flight tests, and while the training was brutal, boy did he learn a lot. When he came back home it was to a family slowly stitching itself back together. Grandma was a full-time house member, Virgil had taken up painting, Gordon talked about potentially going back to his swim meets, and while Alan was still as silent as ever, he was perkier than when Scott last saw him.

It would be on and off for the next few years: a couple of months at home, slowly and painfully taking over the role their father had (he can’t remember when he essentially received joint custody of his younger siblings with Grandma, but hey, he’s not complaining), then a couple of months out at the Air Force base where he slowly climbed up the ranking platform. He became skillful, perhaps too skillful. When he got his rank of Captain he felt it was less of an honor and more of something they owed him.

He was getting cocky. Never enough to be a danger to his fellow men, but enough to be somewhat of an occasional annoyance. Charles smacked him upside the head more than once. It felt like the world was right-side-up for once. Scott made many-a-calls to John and Virgil, the former enjoying his first few rotations up in space and the latter squarely in the middle of college. Gordon was being offered sponsorships to hell and back, and Alan was quietly getting along with the other kids at his school. Grandma was on welcoming duty for Kayo, who was taking her slot in the Tracy family with grace, though, a warning that their family would take custody of her if something were to happen to her parents would have been nice, Dad.

Of course, nothing ever goes right for their family for too long.

Orphan.

Age 24, it was supposed to be a simple retrieval mission of civilians. Scott was put in charge of his squad and then some. At night, they rolled-- well, flew out to get the job done. Scott can’t even remember the country anymore when minding his own business. Australia? Finland? Perhaps Bangladesh? There was a place John was insistent Scott never do rescues in, Virgil tended to agree, and the eldest unhealthily let them banish him from ever stepping foot there without argument. He could never remember the name off the top of his head until John’s familiar International Rescue, we have a situation rung out in the living room followed by the name of the country.

He would immediately forget it later, trauma too strong, too volatile, but the way his heart stopped and his head shattered and the way he felt ice water rush down his back was a good enough reason to quietly leave the room and let John delegate the job to one of his brothers. Sometimes John found him retching in the toilet halfway through the mission. He made sure to always mute Scott’s wrist communicator, even if it was never turned on in the first place.

The plane touched down. Orders sent the ground team out. But then the ground team took longer than estimated. Scott tensely waited where he was told to. It wasn’t the first mission that took a little longer than predicted and knowing humans, it surely wouldn’t be the last. Then, words mixed with heavy static came over the radio. H--p. Co-- ---7--. --nd ba---p --me--at--y.

Scott sat tensely in his seat, remembering his orders and suddenly hating them. Radio back to home if the mission goes south. Well, it didn’t look like they had the radio anymore. Still didn’t hurt to try at least. Scott spoke the familiar protocol that was ingrained into him when trying to call base. Dammit. Nothing. Probably some kind of blocker of sorts. Sitting up straight as a board, Scott looked through his options.

… He was in charge here. If something happened to his team the fault would lie squarely on his shoulders. Going against everything but his gut, he went out to help his squad. He can’t really remember what he exactly did anymore, but he does remember that it made a noise. Like a Looney Tunes scene: he flinched, froze, waited to see if anything or one heard, breathed a sigh of relief, and continued.

He eventually stumbled across one of his closest comrades, Arnold Brigeets. Yes, the name was ironic and half the reason he joined the force in the first place. The guy was one of the people that actually trained Scott and also seemed to be one of the few that was genuinely proud when Scott became a higher rank. It’s why Scott was more appreciative of Arnold than others, that, and well… Scott thought his fatherly abilities were good. The guy did have three kids back home.

Orphan.

Ducking down behind the cover his older friend was semi-situated behind, Scott watched as Arnold jumped at the intrusion before sighing. Scott had run into some enemies that he swiftly took down-- nothing too serious, he didn’t have the time or weapons for such an act, but they definitely would be out of it for a while-- so Arnold must have too on his way to find cover as well, hence why he was so on edge.

“Thank God,” Arnold wiped his forehead, “Glad to see you join us, kid.”

Scott was breathing heavily, but the grin he attempted was still there, “Y-Yeah, so what happened? More threats than we thought?”

Arnold shook his head, “Yes and no. There were a lot more baddies than we thought, but that’s because the civilians weren’t civilians. It’s a tr--”

Boom. The familiar sound of a gunshot.

Arnold fell over. Never got back up. Dropped like a rock in a lake, never to come up to the surface again.

Scott was so caught off guard he couldn’t react to the gun that swiftly beat him over the head, knocking him out cold. The only thing on his mind was oh fuck oh fuck I messed up I shouldn’t have come I wouldn’t have made any noise that way why did I--

They had him for roughly two weeks. Scott always thought the plotline in movies where the villain vehemently denied knowing any important information was dumb as hell. We’re not stupid. We wouldn’t go after someone if they didn’t know something.

The things they did hurt and no amount of I don’t fucking know anything! would help. Those two weeks were lost to Scott in a sea of pain and torment. The only thing he remembered was being captured, then waking up in a hospital drugged up to his gills with his superiors staring at him like he cured cancer.

“You saved the rest of your squad from sharing the same fate as the first half.”

“I-I did?”

“You betcha, son. I only wish I was there to see it! People be saying you were like an animal in how you took ‘em all down.”

Scott’s never remembered, and he wanted to keep it that way.

He was given the highest honors, even the chance to skip a couple of ranks to be at the same level as the big boys, but the night they were going to share the news to the golden boy himself, they found him in one of the bathrooms with a bloody hand and a mirror shattered with no hope of fixing it.

He was honorably discharged to a family that was so thankful he was home. Words like missing in action and POA never stopped haunting their nightmares. Scott was too, God, of course, he was, but sitting around and doing nothing was the last thing his traumatized mind wanted or maybe even needed. After doing what he considered to be the biggest fuck-up of his life, he needed to feel important.

This isn’t the first time he’ll say this and it surely won’t be the last: thank Christ for Grandma.

“You want me to take over?...”

“Yep, it’s about time Tracy Industries received a new pair of eyes. The Board certainly thinks so.”

“But… they’d rather have a crazy, PTSD-infected veteran over you?”

A rough pinch to his ear, “Hey now, don’t call yourself that,” the gentle motherly tone was back as soon as it left, “Besides, that crazy might exactly be what they want. Half of their argument is that I “don’t take enough risks.” They’re getting tired of listening to an old fart like me.”

A moment of contemplation, followed by the cheeky raise of an eyebrow, “So you’re saying you want me to take so many risks they have no choice but to take you back?”

A bark of laughter, “Damn straight.”

He learned the ropes faster than normal (healthy, is probably the correct term), and he immediately won the hearts of both young and old in the company. Instead of flying planes every few months, he worked on business reports and vetoed new ideas every couple of weeks. It felt satisfying for the most part, and his family was just happy he was still alive to enjoy it.

However, there was a slight roadblock on his way to becoming a somewhat stable person.

He became prone to violent blackouts. It had to have started when he blacked out and saved himself from those two weeks of hell, which made the most sense. Something was always destroyed when he came back to life. John was the best at calming him down due to his own experience with panic attacks, however, John couldn’t always be there, and the next rotation for NASA was coming swiftly. Scott swore up and down he would be fine, he could figure something out. John went back into space with an eyebrow permanently raised.

It was just him and Virgil home (Grandma had taken Alan and Kayo to watch Gordon swim) when he, unfortunately, proved John right. Scott wasn’t sure what triggered it, but he vividly remembered coming back in Virgil’s extremely tight hold. The first thing Scott thought to say was damn, beanstalk, when did you get so strong? but then he laid his eyes upon the forming bruise on his younger bro’s face and hasn’t recovered since.

Virgil swore he never held it against Scott. Scott definitely thought he should have.

That night brought sudden clarity to Scott that he was doing this horribly wrong. He was a ticking time bomb, and it wouldn’t be long before something was damaged in a way that couldn’t be fixed. Scott needed an anchor. Something to ground him before he took it too far. John wasn’t going to be earthside forever, Grandma was busy with Kayo, Alan was just a kid, and Gordon was living the dream. None of them were viable.

Then, as he was thinking, he was suddenly aware of how calming Virgil’s arms were around him, how they were preventing the growing panic attack in his chest from getting even bigger.

It was easy.

For once in Scott’s life, his eyes were big and young as he asked Virgil, “Help me, please.”

After a few brief seconds, Virgil gulped, “Okay.”

From then on, Virgil was Stone Number One. Scott’s admiration for Virgil outweighed the guilt of putting the black-haired man in that position in the first place. Virgil was glad to follow his older brother’s leadership, but just as qualified to bring him the hell back when he went too far. From getting too sacrificial to preventing a good punching-out some of the idiots they dealt with, Virgil made sure Scott knocked that shit off.

Time went on, Scott was a top-notch CEO at Tracy Industries, John was having one hell of a time up in space, Virgil was graduated and had so many life opportunities to pick from, Alan was thriving at being a (mostly) stable kid, Kayo was 100% acclimated to the family, and Gordon--

Scott found himself gripping the wooden desk very abruptly. He was shocked he didn’t snap a chunk off in the process. Why was he thinking about this right after a giant business conference? Who knows at this point. If this giant origin story seemed jagged and jumpy, maybe even somewhat vague, good, that’s how it fucking felt.

Back to said story.

Scott always thought he and Gordon would have the least amount in common.

They do, but out of all the things they could have picked to be similar, why did it have to be the PTSD caused by military-related jobs? Scott was 24 when he got his, Gordon was just under 20. It may have been a few years since their respective accidents, but they’re never going to go another day without it feeling like it was just yesterday.

At this point, Gordon was up and walking again, mainly thanks to John and Alan while Virgil and Scott helped in their own ways. Grandma’s cooking was what probably motivated him the most though, ha, the need to get away from it… Scott smiled. Grandma was always a constant. Honestly, if it weren’t for her, the family might have fallen apart. Literally.

What has he been saying throughout this whole shindig? Thank Christ for Grandma.

One day out of the blue, Grandma reserved the entire family (yes, even Kayo and Alan) private plane tickets so they could spend some time on the mainland for a few days. Honestly, even if the island wasn’t getting major renovations, you hooligans need to get out more. Have some fun. Try not to kill anything, especially each other, she all told them while creepily grinning. John and Virgil smacked Gordon more than once on the plane for insisting that she finally snapped, dudes, she’s gonna kill us.

Most of the time during their little vacation, Scott heavily focused on his breathing. He was pretty sure he knew what she was doing. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, but the same went for his excitement.

Dad showed him these plans the day after his 18th birthday. You’re a man now, Scotty, I need your help making this big boy decision with me.

As soon as they reset foot down on the island, Scott took a deep breath and felt relaxed at the salty taste in the air. It was weird, nothing on the outside was changed, and yet… it still felt different.

“Guys!” Virgil yelled out, “Stop playing in the water! We just got back, aren’t you two tired?!”

Blinking back to reality, Scott looked over to see his two youngest brothers doing exactly what Virgil was yelling at them for. Poor Johnny was a little damp too, which is what probably caused Virgil to shout at them in the first place. The blondes didn’t care. They continued to prance around in the shallow waves with their pants legs rolled up, acting as if they didn’t hear anything outside of their laughter. Gordon shoved his hands down into the liquid and threw some directly at Alan, nailing him right in the face.

Scott exhaled slowly. He couldn’t imagine them doing this 8 years ago.

Regardless, the artist was right, and they couldn’t waste too much time. Kayo was swift in grabbing both gentlemen by the ears and dragging them onto dry land. They all painstakingly trekked their way up to the-- what would you call Tracy Island? Mansion? Over-blown cabin? Well, whatever it was, Scott would always be willing to call it home.

Stepping inside, each brother took in the view, which was underwhelmingly not that much different, except for one tiny thing. John suddenly noticed a figure already standing in the living room and blinked, “No way… it’s--”

Gordon jumped in, both with his body and his words, “Brains?! Dude, how’s it hanging?!”

The scientist in question jumped at the voices before clearing his throat and readjusting his glasses, “O-Oh, hello again, T-Tracys. It’s good to see you all once more.”

Virgil slung an arm around his shoulder, ignoring the blatant squawk, “Man, how long has it been?! What made you finally decide to crawl out of your hole?”

Snickers came from all corners of the house. Brains stood up straighter, “W-Well, I was contacted b-by Mrs. Tracy over here with an offer I c-couldn’t turn down.”

Eyebrows tilted in all shapes and sizes. Someone cleared their throat. Everyone turned to look at Grandma once again, “I think if you all follow me, you’ll swiftly understand what I’m talking about.”

I already do, Scott thought matter-of-factly. John seemed to be understanding it now, Virgil was on the cusp of remembering what his father was hinting at for him, and Gordon was just as lost as Alan. It made sense, Jeff talked to all of them about it, but the oldest had seniority. The two youngest not remembering just by words was expected, especially since that was going to be rectified very quickly.

The hangar under the island was beautiful. Point blank. It smelt of iron and steel and grease and engine and that was the first time since Scott had been in the Air Force that he didn’t gag or flinch at the thought of flying something again. Scott had seen the plans his father drew. He assumed Jeff finished building it, but he never got to physically see it since…

In some ways, he was glad he didn’t. Now he got to experience it with (most of) his family, and that made it ten times better.

After letting them absorb the scenery, Grandma slowly turned around to look at them all, “You remember that dream your father had?”

The four oldest blinked, Kayo simply raised her eyebrows, meanwhile, Alan, being the teenager he was, didn’t read the emotion in the room, “Oh, yeah! Aunt Casey always talked about how he was going to “change the world” and stuff. What did he call it again?”

Scott felt way more confident than he had in a while, “International Rescue.”

Grandma nodded, gleeful at the happy look on her oldest and youngest grandsons’ faces, “Well, I’ve been thinking about some things. I know we don’t exactly worry about money, but after everything your father put into these girls… I’d hate for them to go to waste.”

The Tracy family jumped at that. John’s mouth was wide open in shock, yes, shock, “That station is still up there?”

Grandma sighed, “You mean ‘Five? Not for long. Not if we don’t send someone up there within the next few days.”

John blushed at the grin Grandma gave him. Clearing his throat, his big brain came to a startling conclusion, “Wait… you brought Alan along?”

The other big brothers in the room jumped at that. Kayo was the only one with enough balls to say the truth out loud, “Mrs. Tracy, I mean no offense, but he’s--”

“Just a kid?” Grandma smirked, “A kid that’s topped the VR charts for Intergalactic Fury for weeks straight while simultaneously getting nothing but A’s in his classes?”

Scott nodded slowly in comprehension. He remembered Alan talking about that game for a while. It was some kind of online racing simulator of sorts. Scott caught the prettiest string of words from Alan when going to bed one night. Nearly made him shit his pants. He made the kid promise to keep it PG-13 if he wanted to keep playing.

Still, the elders in the family slowly turned to look at the freckled boy with both shock and pride. Alan blinked with wide-eyed innocence, “But my English class is only at a B--”

“Shh, kiddo, I’m making a point,” Grandma rolled her eyes. The other brothers snickered. Yep, still Alan. Grandma sighed, “Now before you point out that video games are different, I know, but the difference between them and this is that video games don’t have some of the most talented older brothers in the world to guide him.”

Said older brothers jumped at the idea. Before any objection could be made, Grandma continued, “Besides, the GDF seemed to be okay with it. The Colonel was willing to oversee some of his training too.”

John flinched at that, “But IR is supposed to be independent!”

Grandma slightly frowned. She didn’t exactly like it either, “It still is, but in the world of business, compromises have to be made.”

Virgil huffed and crossed his arms, “Well, that’s… rough. Here I thought only Scott would have to deal with the bullshit of business.”

Grandma chuckled at the somewhat un-Virgil-like behavior, “It really is, Virgil. But about that Scott part,” she slowly turned to look at him and him only, “I hate to give you more work to do, but if you want to work within their restrictions?”

Suddenly every pair of eyes in the room was on the head of the family. Gulping, Scott looked down at his feet to think. It was a tense few moments, nobody sure what he was going to decide, least of all him, before the brunette cleared his throat and brought his face back up with a grin.

“Well then,” Scott turned to look at the bright tip of ‘One, chest fluttering with a feeling that became unfamiliar to him over the past few years, “I guess now it’s time to state the obvious.”

From then on, every time he loaded into that cockpit of his girl, he felt lighter than air.

“Thunderbirds are GO!”

Everything was okay again.

Mostly.

Orphan.

Scott took another sip of his whiskey and refocused on his reports.

---

Scott was in some kind of dissociative state the whole way home.

Alan doesn’t deserve this. He’s still a kid, barely an adult, and he’s going to go through utter hell because you screwed up. You were 24, Gordon was just under 20, Alan was barely 18. Alan’s going to get fucked up like you and it’s all your fault.

His movements were robotic and rigid. Anyone with a working eye could tell he was deep in shock and running on autopilot. Mostly Jeff. Especially Jeff. The rest of the brothers all noticed too, but they were also running on their own empty fuel tanks, so the only thing they could do was guilty send their older brother the occasional glance of pity and concern.

Jeff was going to need to talk to them about that. Somehow. Maybe he shouldn’t be the one to point it out since he feels just as bad. His sons were too much like him, sometimes, and that made his guilt burn all the same. He should’ve been there to warn his sons about the dangers of unnecessary guilt. Having that kind of guilt was a parent’s job, dammit, and maybe grandparents only occasionally.

But then he remembered where he’s been for the past 8 years and… who really was Alan’s parents anymore? His gut was screaming it sure as hell isn’t you, but he knew his sons would want him to step back into the role as soon as he was physically fit to do so, not just for Alan, but for themselves as well. They would deny it, but they probably just wanted to be kids again too, even if it was only brief, fleeting moments.

Who was to tell the protective, fatherly side of Jeff no to that? No better time to fix things like the present after all.

He saw Scott go up the stairs when they first stepped into the living room, so that’s where Jeff was going to go too. Footsteps light, Jeff retraced his eldest’s pathway to his bedroom. Only, he stopped before said bedroom. Unfavorable noises were coming from the closed bathroom door, and Jeff could only swallow whatever emotion it made him feel. Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened the (unlocked) door to the bathroom and laid his eyes upon the incriminating scene.

Jeff was met with the sight of Scott retching his entire stomach into the toilet, hands aggressively grabbing his sticky, hair-gelled hair and trying to make himself bald from the strain.

Jeff’s reaction was always based on autopilot, and it will never stop being so.

Ignoring his protesting body, Jeff kneeled and placed a hand on his son’s back, only to abruptly pull back like he touched a hot stove when Scott only got more hysterical at the contact. The brunette clenched his eyes shut even more (and they were already shut as much as possible) while his head became a special kind of crease. Like he was in pain, “God, I wanna go home. Why won’t they listen I swear I’m telling the truth! Please, I just want Dad--”

Jeff was frozen on the spot, heart stopping in the process. His brain shut down while he watched his son continue to mindlessly ramble and panic. His freaked-out mind barely registered footsteps from behind in the hallway, followed by a voice going what’s going-- holy--

Something thundered past him. Blinking once, Jeff guiltily watched as Virgil kneeled behind the eldest and wrapped his arms around the thin man’s shoulders while taking Scott’s hands in his in a protective blanket, “Scott! Jesus-- we’re at home, you’re safe and it’s June 14th, 2--”

Scott only struggled more, panicking at the fact he could no longer yank his hair out. Dammit, it was the only way he could feel in control, don’t take that away too! “No! I swear I’ve said everything! Please--”

Virgil immediately knew that this was one of those attacks that Scott wasn’t coming back down from with pure human intervention. Add-on the sight of his father’s big eyes signifying the man was at a loss at what to do, Virgil had no choice. He snapped loudly, remembering the comms were still on and only feeling slightly bad at the way Scott flinched in his arms, “Shit-- John! It’s Scott! Get the stuff! We’re in the upstairs bathroom!”

Muffled footsteps through a few walls in the house could be heard. Jeff’s mind was only starting to catch up when the brother Virgil called for came rushing into the bathroom (Jeff never remembered it being big enough to hold four of them) and ignoring Jeff (practically shoving him out of the way too, man, this was bad) on his way to the main problem at hand. Landing on his knees in a way that made Jeff wince, John gently grabbed one of Scott’s arms from Virgil’s hold and subsequently pulled a needle from nowhere and injected something into Scott.

The response was instantaneous.

Scott’s breathing, while still labored, got slower. He stopped struggling as well, and the way he sagged reminded Jeff of ice melting into a puddle. The two other brothers’ shoulders also sagged, relieved at the crisis averted. John stood up, knees cracking as he rubbed the back of his neck. Then, he froze at the sight of something in the doorway, “G-Gordon…”

Virgil snapped his head up from where he was looking at Scott. Jeff did something similar. Yup, in the doorway was the strawberry blonde, eyes wide, making him younger by about 10 years. The ex-Olympian in question inhaled, closed his eyes, and soon speed-walked his way out of the entrance to the bathroom. Dammit, neither Gordon or Alan have seen something like that and it probably spooked him more than anything. He’d understand with his own PTSD-related issues, but still, seeing the “never weak” big brother freak out in such a scary way...

John combed a hand through his hair, shaking his head. As he started walking out of the room, he whispered to himself, probably hoping no one heard him, “Dammit, this is all so fucked…”

Unfortunately, Jeff did hear, and the dirty language made the father flinch. John was always the best about making sure Grandma didn’t wash his mouth out with soap, and the fact that he so willingly didn’t care meant that everyone was at the end of their rope. Still reeling at the sight, Jeff couldn’t react to the gentle arms that picked him up off the floor and slowly led him out of the suddenly stuffy room.

With the click of the door shutting, Jeff realized what Virgil did, “W-Wait, Scott--”

“Will be okay for a few seconds,” Virgil finished for his dad, “I know it’s nearly been a decade, but the one part of you I definitely know hasn’t changed is the need to comfort us, just like we hoped.” The small grin that fell over the middle child’s face put Jeff a little bit at ease, but Virgil wasn’t completely done, “So, I’m going to let you take care of this, but I just want to make sure you’ll handle it with grace. Take this slowly, okay? Scott might be doped up, but he’s still… volatile, in a sense.”

Jeff cleared his throat, suddenly choking on the unneeded tension, “Okay, Virgil, I promise, just… what happened? That was… bad, and really bad at that too. I know Scott would never let something that severe willingly come out in front of his family.”

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck, clearly not ready for this conversation, “Listen, Dad,” he inhaled sharply, cutting himself off before sighing in a way that said fuck it, might as well get this over with, “As much as it felt like it did, the world didn’t stop spinning because you… well, we had lives we somehow wanted to continue living. We all have lives and stories now, and this is Scott’s story to tell.”

Jeff was getting misty-eyed again. Back when he was just a kid, Virgil couldn’t keep a secret to save his life, mainly in part due to his insomnia-related issues (Jeff has to wonder if he still has them, more problems for the future) and general lack of filter because of sleep-deprivation. Now Jeff knew there was a starch difference between a kid who couldn’t keep his mouth shut and a man who genuinely knew how to respect another man’s privacy, but…

It just hammers home how much he’s missed with his boys. Gulping, Jeff made a mental note to talk with his mom about certain things he’s missed. She’ll know a lot more than he would, “Okay, Virge. Thank you, for stepping up there.”

Virgil’s shoulders relaxed at Jeff’s words, as well as his father’s hand patting him on the shoulder, “Thanks, Dad. Just… go easy on him. I know it’s a little late for this but none of us ever properly talked about things. It was very unhealthy, deep down we all knew that, but…”

“You just couldn’t get the proper emotions out?” Jeff finished for his son. At Virgil’s soft nod, Jeff exhaled, “I’m not going to say that it was a smart decision, but we’re all here now. We can move forward with this.” Jeff squeezed where his hand laid.

Virgil blinked before curtly going, “Yeah. Goodnight, Dad. Take care of Scott.”

Virgil stepped around his father and walked to where his bedroom most definitely was not, but Jeff could deal with that in a little bit. He had another son who he was pretty sure just had a violent PTSD attack of some kind, plus, Virgil seemed to sour at something Jeff said. The ex-astronaut wasn’t sure what it was, so he didn’t chase after him out of worry that--

Wait.

We’re all here now.

Dammit, Jeff. Out of all the sentences you could’ve picked...

Alrighty, just add that to the ever-growing pile of things that need to be talked about later. No biggie. Jeff found himself sighing and rubbing the back of his neck much like Virgil did a few minutes ago. Turning around, he was met with the bathroom door once more. Shaking his head, Jeff slowly crept into the room and saw that not much was different, especially with Scott.

His heart softly cracked, but, again, he can deal with it later.

Sitting down on the ground and grimacing at the way his body ached (was gravity always this rough?), Jeff leaned against the floor cabinets about 2-3 feet away from Scott, who made himself into a nice comfortable ball in the corner next to the toilet, his palm smushed against his forehead. Jeff waited a few seconds. Then minutes. Then he realized he would have to be the one to initiate the conversation. He probably should’ve realized that right when he came back in. He opened his mouth, but his wasn’t the one that words came out of.

“It was… Zambia.”

Jeff’s heart stopped and his mouth snapped shut. He couldn’t stop the way his eyes clearly showed his panic, but hopefully, he guiltily thought, Scott was a little too doped up to not realize it, “Scotty, what do you mean?”

Scott shrugged in a way that spoke he thought what he was admitting wasn’t a big deal. Yep, clearly not with it, “Mission went bad… caught for a couple of weeks.”

Jeff was hoping his first fuck back on Earth, spoken to himself like right now or otherwise, would have been a comedic thing, but the way nausea rose in his throat said this was anything but funny.

Scott wanted to be in the Air Force. Badly. Who was a father to deny his son’s want to be part of such a noble cause? He gave him tips, took him to meet friends in high places, sometimes even sparred with him when he turned 18, but then Jeff was suddenly thousands of miles away with no hope of ever having the chance of sparring with his eldest again. Despite it, Jeff hoped Scott went on to become the best pilot the world has ever seen.

Part of this looks like he did, but at what cost?

As much as it felt like it did, the world didn’t stop spinning because you… well, we had lives we somehow wanted to continue living.

Aw hell, “Jesus, Scott…” Jeff couldn’t tell if it was the brashness or the lack of a nickname that made Scott flinch and he hated it. He immediately softened his tone and brought his 27-year-old child into his arms, “Shh, shh, we’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out.”

Like father like son, old habits die hard, and as easy as it was to still be able to comfort his children, Scott seemed to just as easily take it as he used to 8 years ago, “Alan doesn’t deserve this kind of hell, God, he’s barely not a kid anymore! Why--”

Jeff tightened his hold to keep his son in reality, and because he didn’t like the tone behind those words, “Hey, you didn’t either--”

Scott somehow managed to fling himself out of the hug, focus incredibly on point for someone who was doped up to his eyelids five seconds ago, “But I fucked up! I made the wrong call and then suddenly Arnold was dead and he had a wife and kids-- shit, what the hell did I do?”

Okay.

First of all: way to put him back in that headspace when that’s the exact opposite you were going for, Jeff, father of the year. Second: dammit. Just… dammit. This was a big fat hand grenade in a giant handbasket that they didn’t have time to gently get out while simultaneously not yanking the pin clean off with the grace of a drunk elephant. Jeff was no stranger to Survivor’s Guilt, but there was a whole untapped pile of metaphorical C4 within his son’s head that was ready for someone to push the goddamn button.

He wanted it to be him, desperately, because it sounded like he already failed his family enough, it was all he could do at this point, but he absolutely hated that he couldn’t do it right now. This was going to take a lot of time, which they didn’t have, plus, Jeff thought he had a pretty good understanding of this new Scott and the rest of his kids. Jeff was aware that if he didn’t help his sons find their baby as fast as possible over everything else it’ll lead to a fate nobody wanted.

A shaky sigh, “Okay, Scotty, let’s get you to bed. We’ll talk strategy in the morning.”

Scott simply nodded as his father flung Scott’s arm around his broader shoulders and picked him up. Slowly and painfully but surely, father and son meandered their way to Scott’s room. With a thump a little harder than Jeff wanted, Scott flopped down on top of his sheets and immediately started snoring. Despite everything that just happened, the father couldn’t help but grin at the sight. Well, there was another thing Jeff gracefully passed onto his son.

Jeff only took Scott’s shoes off. He would’ve loved to pull the sheets up around him too, but the father didn’t want to take any chances at waking him up. Slowly tip-toeing out of the room, Jeff gave one last glance back at his son before finally letting him be and gently shutting the door. He had three other sons he needed to console, but his tired joints told him to selfishly take a moment for himself for right now unless he wanted to collapse and give his family more to deal with.

Jeff eventually made his way to his room-- which was sadly unkempt, he noticed-- and sat down on the edge of his unfamiliar bed to think.

He’ll figure something out. If he had to crawl through images of his son being brutally and bloodily tortured then by God he would with the fury of a thousand suns.

He was back and he wasn’t going to throw away any second or even third chance he was given.

---

“I got him.”

Virgil turned his comms back on, and with it, Scott’s heart restarted for the first time in a few weeks. Taking a moment for a breather, Scott leaned against the wall while practically wheezing. They have him back, holy shit, they have him back. Scott vaguely heard Gordon cry in pure relief and joy. He saw John’s side of the comms flutter for a bit before a bright flash happened. Blinking away the white spots, Scott looked at his wrist to see a fully detailed map of the compound.

Gordon spoke what they were all thinking, “Woohoo! First Allie comes back, then Johnny-boy gets us a free ticket out of here! We’re winning this race, baby!”

A very loud moment of silence. John cleared his throat, “Actually, I was going to say glad to see you in one piece, you little shit,” a playful gasp came from Virgil’s side. It was too high pitched to be from the pianist’s mouth. Scott chuckled, but the paranoid part of his brain said John wasn’t done. His brain was right, ‘“But guys… that wasn’t me. Or EOS. We still haven’t found a way to get past the metal they made these walls out of.”

That silence was even more deafening than the last, and before Virgil could utter out his typical what the fuck, a small logo appeared at the corner of their new map. One that was all too familiar. The Chaos Crew wasn’t the only one who could brand their awful deeds.

Son of a bitch.

Virgil’s order over the radio was meant for Alan, but Scott couldn’t help but listen to it too.

“Shit, Alan, you need to run.”

Making quick work of the compound once more, Scott, while booking it even quicker than last time, opened a private line between him and Gordon, “Hey, how would you feel if I said go help Virgil while I cover Alan?”

The first response was stuttering, which Scott expected, but then it was followed up by something completely out of left field for Gordon, “... Okay, just as long as you promise to bring Alan back in one piece.”

Part of Scott wanted to console Gordon, another was questioning why Gordon was so quick to give up, another wanted to say of course, I will, idiot, but the first part that made itself verbal was easy, “You know I will, buddy.”

Scott could physically picture Gordon’s tiny, little, somber nod clear as day, “Sounds good, captain. See you on the other side.”

With a click, Scott was back on the group comm. Suddenly remembering what exactly his job was, he pulled out the map so graciously given to them by The Hood. Looking at all the dots, one was heading towards a prone one (oh if that asshole did anything to Virgil…) while another one was heading right for Scott himself. Actually, in just a few seconds, right as Scott rounded the corner he would--

“Woah, look out there, Tigger!”

Yes, you heard that correctly: not tiger, Tigger. Tigger hadn’t been used since Alan was itty bitty. It always seemed like the kid had endless energy with the way he wouldn’t stop bounding off the walls and furniture. Even as a baby, Lucy had to sit with him for a few hours while he slept in his crib to make sure he would stay there. In fact, their mother gave Alan that nickname herself. She was quite the Winnie the Pooh fan, and the rest of the family figured it would be one of the ways they could keep her legacy alive for the tiny potato.

Wrapping his arms around said flailing potato, albeit much bigger than a baby, Scott thought he would collapse then and there. Alan was here, in his arms, and yeah, the sight of his dirty and somewhat ripped up IR uniform made him mad, but Scott, for once in his life, decided to focus on the here-and-now, aka his precious, alive little brother, who finally stopped struggling at the realization that hey, the person holding you is a good guy, time to turn off fight mode.

Smushing their foreheads together as much as possible, Scott desperately fought to keep the waterworks back, a smile from ear to ear hopefully taking whatever energy his tear ducts had, “You are getting such an ass beating when we get home, little bro.”

Alan jumped back with a look of What the hell?! What did I do now?!

Scott simply rolled his eyes, “Really? “Not important”? You graduated high school, tiny dude! That’s huge! You remember Gordon’s party, right?”

Alan’s mouth gaped before he closed it with slightly puffy cheeks. Those same cheeks tinged with a small blush. Alan wasn’t exactly expecting to be smothered so soon (well, he did cry his eyes out on Virgil’s shoulder, but that was different!). Shaking it off, Alan moved his hands rhythmically and rapidly, To be fair, we weren’t sure he was going to get one for a while.

Scott faltered a little bit at the ASL. Darn, he should’ve seen Alan’s lack of talking from a mile away. Scott carefully hid his disappointment from Alan. Lord knew what the kid would take it as, “Yeah, that’s what he got for barely making it. Imagine what you’re going to get!”

Scott assumed his semi-fake charm worked, as Alan seemed to play along without any kind of suspicion, Oh yeah. Fair enough.

This kid, man.

Then, slow clapping came from a dark corner, making Scott’s heart leap out of his throat as well as push Alan behind himself. Glaring as much as he could towards the invisible evil-doer, Scott didn’t have to think twice, “Alan, take my map and find Virgil and Gordon.”

The youngest looked like he was going to object.

“Go.”

He no longer did. Good.

Listening to the field commander’s orders, Scott felt his wristband slip off his wrist and a warm body leave his vicinity. An inhale. Also good. An exhale, followed by an even darker glare, “What more do you want?”

Short and straight-to-the-point and angry, two things Scott typically wasn’t. Regardless, like a cold gust of wind, footsteps started approaching him from the shadow. Once Scott saw the outline of a body, he tensed even more. Virgil would snap at him for clenching his jaw so much.

A dark chuckle reminded him of what was important. The voice that spoke reminded him of something completely different, “Now then, brother, let’s not be rude to each other!”

Scott’s pupils shrunk at the familiar sight of Gordon stepping towards him. Except it wasn’t Gordon, because Scott knew that Gordon knew better. He also knew Gordon didn’t cheekily smile like that, even after a prank, nor did he walk that straight. He always had a funny walk after WASP, and Gordon wore that fact like a badge of honor.

Oh no, Scott definitely knew who this was, “What the hell are you playing at?”

Fake-Gordon rolled his eyes, like it wasn’t obvious, “I mean if we want to go that route, why did kid insist you being in the military was the coolest thing he’d ever heard you do? Maybe I wouldn’t have been pressured into joining a branch myself in the end.”

Scott’s nostrils flared, and by God, his pupils might have actually slitted like a snake’s, or possibly even a dragon’s, “Excuse me?”

Scott blinked, and suddenly he was met by not-Virgil, “Plus, why was our conclusion after hearing a three-year-old wanting to see snow to go to a ski resort? It had to have been those big, selfish, beady eyes, right?”

“C’mon, Scotty, we gotta give you some kind of calming exercise. There’s going to come a time when neither me or John are going to be there.”

“Hmm… does yoga work?”

A snort, “Well, that’s not too bad of an idea. Maybe the person pissing you off will stop whatever they’re doing at the sight of you spontaneously doing downward dog.”

Laughter, an unfamiliar action, “Yeah, okay, but for real, those breathing exercises I’ve seen you do look okay. Let’s start there.”

Scott was not a liar by heart. He had to admit that those exercises were doing jack shit right about now.

Another blink, another brother. Familiar ginger hair was all Scott could see, “To continue that previous point, why did Dad start International Rescue again? And what led to his demise?”

“Sounds like a piece of work. Why do you keep dealing with these people again?”

“Someone has to pay the bills, Johnny. Grandma’s too focused on making the perfect poison for us.”

A roll of eyes, “Right, because the billions we have saved wouldn’t be enough to last a couple of families a few lifetimes. Glad to see your calming exercises are working at least. How’s that going for you, by the way?”

A pause. A flicker of vision around the room. Someone cleared their throat, probably himself, “It’s probably not as bad as whatever space is throwing at you. You handling it okay up there?”

Another pause, followed by a sigh, “Well, since you asked so nicely…”

Scott wanted to deflect the truth so badly right now more than anything else. Telling him he couldn’t pilot ‘One anymore would be a much more enticing option than what he was hearing.

Suddenly, Scott was looking in a mirror, “Besides, I know more than anybody that he wasn’t wanted. A mistake. I thought we Tracys hated being imperfect?”

The Hood must have known their backstories from internet articles, and being the mastermind he was, it probably took him all of three seconds to see Alan had some hidden self-worth issues. By playing the biggest Guess Who? game of all time, The Hood was most likely able to figure out some less-than-positive ideals Alan thought about himself throughout his childhood and danced circles around his already weakened mind to string together some spineless blame to put on the kid by sheer evilness alone.

Knowing his kid brother, it worked.

Scott wasn’t thinking straight-- maybe even at all when the first punch was thrown.

Just like that, Scott blacked out and was running on terminator mode. John would be disappointed. Virgil would be horrified. Gordon might find it funny. Alan wasn’t here, and thank God for that. Scott wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. All his mind was telling him was make lots of pain hard and fast. His brain also blocked out any hit The Hood was giving him in return. Pain flared for a few seconds, then it was swept away in the puddle of rage his mind was currently being consumed in.

Soon, his out-of-it mind found its target and gripped his-- The Hood’s arm, no disguise would make him have an identity crisis, thank you very much-- nice and rough.

Scott heard the familiar snap of cartilage and felt only partially bad. If he was thinking more clearly, he would be disgusted with himself. Yes, even The Hood didn’t deserve this level of Scott’s fury. Oh, he definitely deserved to be hit by a truck, but not by Scott. It was mostly due to Scott’s sanity. If he could be this graphic and violent at all, even to the worse possible criminals, that meant he could be that way during other moments, and that was not a territory he wanted to cross into.

Welp, he was here now, and he’ll hate to admit it in the future, but the only thing that brought him out of it was a tiny gasp from a few feet away. Snapping his head up, Scott’s eyes landed squarely on a smaller-than-normal Alan, who was currently clutching his arm to his chest in an emotion Scott didn’t want to figure out at the moment. So much for going and finding Virgil and Gordon.

“Allie, help…” fake him grunted out, only making real Scott growl and tighten his hold (and probably making his case worse). Looking up from the person in his arms, Scott felt his heart split in two at the sight. There was fear and uncertainty in Alan’s blue eyes and boy did it hurt. Scott couldn’t tell if it was because even seeing a potentially-fake Scott being beaten up was bad or if it was because he’d never seen big brother be this brutal, even towards their enemies. Whatever the reason, it involved Scott being the main root of the problem.

Wait, that was The Hood’s plan. Shit… make Scott act past the point of no return in a way that was unfamiliar to Alan so the kid couldn’t be fully sure who was who, and Scott fell right into his trap, hook, line, and sinker.

Fuck.

Bloody well done, Scott, you absolute moron.

Scott faltered a little bit, “A-Alan, I--”

That falter was enough for The Hood to break an arm out of his grip and elbow him in the face. In the brief second of freedom he had, he tried dashing towards Alan, but Scott was too quick for everyone’s good and soon had the imposter back in his arms, both of them struggling in a way that made them look like they were tied into the weirdest knot in existence.

Then, an earthquake struck.

No, literally.

A big shake of the abandoned compound threw the look-a-likes about and subsequently off the platform they were on. The place was old; it didn’t take a lot of weight for that guard rail they made their way over towards while fighting to snap right off. With a yelp, the two of them gripped the edge as much as they could and held on. Crap, I know we talked with Fuse about potentially setting some stuff off, but--

Blinking, Scott saw a familiar mop of blonde hair come into view. Alan was rather panicked, clearly not sure which Scott was the real Scott. Not only that, he had little time to decide which one to save. Goodie, another reason to despise The Hood: not only has he put Alan through weeks of torment, now he’s forcing the kid to decide to either save his oldest brother and biggest hero or his personal torturer.

And Alan won’t know until he picks.

Holy hell, this was getting worse by the second. Hopefully, big brother charm can work its magic and get them the hell out of there.

“Alan, quickly, over here!”

“I can’t hold on for much longer, Alan, hurry!”

The two Scotts glared at one another in the exact same way, not making Alan’s job much easier. Another shake, another slip down the metal cliff, more screams, and Alan looked ready to tear his hair out. Scott watched as the kid looked around rapidly, probably praying for a miracle in the process. Suddenly, the kid jumped when he must have spotted something important. Within the blink of an eye, he was gone and out of their range of visions to retrieve it.

Whatever the hell he noticed better be important, because if just ended up wasting precious time then--

Another shake, probably the last one. Still, it was enough.

Both their grips gave away at the same time, screams identical (God, did he always sound that wimpy?) as they plummeted to their demises. Scott was briefly able to look up to see his brother pop his head over the cliff like a chipmunk again and grab the (albeit broken) arm of The Hood and save him. Dammit, Scott should have expected that, though, that display of anger was uncharacteristic to Alan. Probably terrified him even more than he already was. Fuck, Scott deser--

Suddenly, a rope wrapped itself around Scott’s left arm and stopped his descent. Hard. Hopefully, it was only torn stuff, they didn’t have time to deal with dislocation--

Wait.

Scott wasn’t dead if he could think about these kinds of things.

Blinking, he looked at his arm to see the familiar rope of his grappling hook around his forearm. Moving his eyesight to look past that, he saw the wide, blue eyes of his baby brother struggling to stay on top. The Hood was using his non-broken side to try and climb his way back up to safety. Huh, that’s weird. When did Alan get ahold of that? Scott must have dropped it during his scuffle with--

That’s when it hit Scott.

Alan saved them both.

And it would be all for jack shit if Scott didn’t get his ass up there to help.

Panicking, Scott gripped the rope and started to ascend. He had two working arms and a smother complex to boot; it wasn’t long before he overtook a struggling Hood, who could only use one arm and a weakened brother (that bastard was so lucky Alan had a literal heart of gold).

Flinging his arms over the edge and pulling himself up-- and shrugging off the extra help Alan offered. Save your strength, baby bro-- Scott was in a much calmer search-and-destroy mode. He yanked his evil look-a-like up, turned him on his stomach, pinned him down, and before he could even watch Alan blink, “Sign something.”

There, now he watched Alan blink.

Scott pulled out one of his best ‘big brother’ smiles ever, “Tell me something in ASL. I don’t think The Hood learned that kind of etiquette.”

The body beneath him growled, making Alan jump and Scott tighten not only his hold but his glare. Further prove big brother’s point, why don’t cha? He lost the angry look immediately to grin at Alan once more, who seemed to be slowly getting the picture. With a gulp, the blonde slowly strung together a sentence that Scott had to laugh at, just a little bit.

Damn, could you teach me to fight like that, Scooter?

Nodding his head, Scott had to concede, “Sure. Consider it a graduation present.”

Alan blinked again, and the immense relief that washed over the boy’s shoulders would be enough to banish nightmares for at least a couple of days. Suddenly, The Hood’s disguise blinked out of existence, making both brothers jump that time. Scott didn’t falter in his grip, however. This man was going down right here and now, Scott thought darkly, staring at the prone body beneath his.

Scott saw Alan continue to sign out of the corner of his eye, You know you look like shit, right?

Scott chuckled. Alan was always able to put a smile on his face no matter the circumstances, “Yeah, well, kindred spirits, little bro.”

Scott was probably as pale as Alan was with such lack of sleep and food. Running on what was essentially a prolonged PTSD attack wasn’t healthy in the slightest, and no doubt whatever kind of bruises and scratches The Hood gave him didn’t help, however, seeing hope fill those deep-blue eyes when Alan learned he was truly being saved drowned everything out, including the way those freckles were getting lost in those eye bags.

Yeah, their entire family probably looked like shit, and the recovery process was going to be even shittier, but they were going to suffer through it together as a family would.

That made it all worth it.

Shuffling himself so one arm was free while the other kept The Hood pinned, Scott held it out towards Alan. The flinch the youngest made tore a hole in Scott’s heart that was only slightly patched when Alan leaned into the warmth and safety of his biggest bro. Long recovery process, remember? Regardless, Alan still took to the hug like a dehydrated zebra did a pond, and that was good enough for Scott.

The Hood groaned underneath them.

Yep, good enough.

#fabfivefeb #fabfivefeb2020 #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #scott tracy #alan tracy #jeff tracy #grandma tracy #the hood #virgil tracy #john tracy #gordon tracy #my post #my fic #series: rules of alchemy

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paradoxicalloop · 4 years

Note

hey so MMA can you talk about it? Idk I’m interested in it! How long have you been doing it for/how does it work(sorry for the dumb questions hehe)

No not a dumb question I love talking about it.

But in all honesty I did quit I think 3 years ago (because the division of the MMA studio I went to got shut down and they had to move us to another studio and I didn’t like it there) anyway. Every MMA studio is different but I can talk about my experience.

I did MMA (or we usually just call it karate most of the time) for about 8-9 years? Basically, you start out with white belt (of course) and every few months or so you would get to test for your next belt. To train for that next belt there were 4 things you were tested on: each belt had it’s own specific 1) form 2) one-steps 3) ju-jitsu 4) and board break.

A form is a really cool looking sequence of moves you that you have to memorize. (they’re really cool, look up karate forms on Youtube if you want some examples). Each belt has 1 form that goes with it.

A “one step” is basically a mulitstep move (i know the name is misleading) that is essentially exibiting how one would respond if some steps and punches at you. They could be as simple as blocking the punch with one arm and then (mining, not actually hitting them) punch, punch, palmstrike; or as advanced as hip-tossing them to the floor or grabbing their arm, swinging underneath it and then (safely) choking them from behind. Each belt has 2 one-steps you need to master.

The ju-jitsu...(idk what noun im supposed to add to this, sequences? sure let’s go with that) The ju-jitsu sequences are a lot like one steps, where u practice one technique, but they’re on the floor (the art of ju-jitsu is a type of knee-wrestling martial art). These could vary from how to get out from being pinned a certain way, to learning one choke or arm lock. Each belt has 1-2 ju-jitsu moves you need to master.

And lastly, boardbreaks. one of the most hyped up parts, and the last part of test day. It’s pretty self explanatory, you are assigned a move you must be able to break a wooden board with. But the boards do vary in thickness, especially for the little kids. (Also i know i said you’re assigned one move, but actually when ur testing for ur black belt u have to do four, but i’ll explain black belt testing in a bit) However, you should never try to break a board by just straight punching it like they do in the movies (and some other martial arts but idk how they do it there) you could damage your fingers that way.

In between practicing all of that we also do knee-wrestling, sparing, and practicing technique.

The regular testing is just an hour or so where ur family watches u do all the things listed above. But black belt testing is way different

Black Belt Testing

Ik this is a relatively small part of karate but I found it really important when I did it, and it’s a three day process, so I want to talk about it. But also if I remember correctly I’m technically not legally allowed to talk about it in this much detail so please don’t share this around too much

Black belt testing only happens once a year, and the training process is very extreme and lasts from August until the test in November. And well, the mantra for black belt testing is “someone will bleed, someone will cry, and someone will throw up,” and they really aren’t exaggerating.

First , you have to do running and push-ups nearly every day. You are required to run at least a mile outside of class once every three days, and I think 50 pushups (or as many as you can do, on ur knuckles, without dropping to ur knees) every day (they give you a log to keep track of this).

You also have to get up every Saturday morning for a special black-belt candidates only class. During that class they usually have you start with running three miles (to be able to pass testing you have to be able to run 3 miles in 30 minutes, and you arent allowed to walk at all while running those 3 miles)

AND you have to do 10 “acts of kindness” outside of class and log them, because “being a black belt isnt just about having the belt, its about showing the respect, politeness, etc. of a black belt.”

And that’s just the prep, if you can survive that then you actually get to test. The testing itself is a 3 day event, two are held in private and the last day is a ceremony for family to watch. If I remember correctly this is how these days play out:

First day: private testing. It happens on a Saturday morning, adrenaline’s high. We start off with warm up, listen to the head instructors speech about how this isnt going to be easy and how proud he is that we’re here, do line drills (preforming one move over and over again while walking in a line across the room), and then do our form, one steps, and ju-jitsu sequences for the instructors. There are also plenty of sets of push ups randomly thrown in (they say that during all the test days combined you are required to do at least 500 push ups). Push ups are also randomly dealt to the class if someone doesnt say “Yes sir” or “yes ma’am” loud enough, if we are being in any way disrespectful, etc.

Second day: The hard one (imo). This happens a week after the first test. After warm up we put on our shoes and then walk across the street to the track, we get yelled at (sometimes encouragingly) during our run, and I, in typical me fashion, end up throwing up (yes this happened both times). We then have to do knuckle pushups on the concrete. (yay.) After you’re sweaty and tired from that you get to spare! You have multiple rounds of sparing, some of them with tall adults you dont know, and honestly just try to survive. After that we move on to knee wrestling, more pushups, and then the day is over.

The Third Day: The ceremony. If you’ve made it this far you will very likely receive your black belt, the third day is really just for show. This is held in the Sunday after the second test. Instead of the karate studio it’s held in a really nice gymnasium and all your family is there to watch. You’ve been assigned a place to stand and have done practice runs because everything has to be perfect. You start of with warm up, making sure to tell yes sir and yes ma’am as loud as you can and stand up in attention as straight as possible (which u can imagine was very hard for me /j) when instructed. Then you do line drills again, your form, a round or 2 of sparing, and then the hard part. The big build up: board breaks. Each board is actually 2 boards tapped together and u have to break 4 sets of them and then you can finally relax. (I cried both times because I wasn’t able to break them quickly). Then they hand u ur certificate and u have to awkwardly shake all the adults hands. Then they dismiss everyone and u did it!

I know I’ve painted a lovely picture of the MMA/Karate experience but honestly it is really fun. It’s an amazing adrenaline rush, it helps you feel a sense of accomplishment, and going through all this with peers builds really good friendships. It was such a fun journey and I really do recommend it for anyone who wants to try it out. I learned so much and my time there really shaped me as a person and it was just so good. Honestly I wish I could do it again.

I’m so sorry this post is so long but I mean u did tell me to just talk about it so I gave you all the details you could have wanted.

#Em!!#not tagging this with topical tags because I don’t want people to see this #ask #long post #also I wrong this at midnight please excuse any incoherent rsd #I did not type ‘rsd’?? what happened there?

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ithinkthereforiamfandom · 4 years

Text

Extra Quarantine

Here is the first bit of my patreon piece. I’m extending it beyond the original parameters because I’m having fun with it. Whoops, its hella long, im gonna have to try and get a cut in here somewhere.

His head pulsed gently the throbbing timed to his heart beat, lubdub-throbThrob, John grit his teeth carefully and quietly sat up in bed, it had all been worth it.

…

A bored genius is a dangerous thing, a bored genius trapped in a London flat during a viral pandemic was about the worst. Evidence of this fact consisted of; a pattern of bullet holes in the wall, it was unbalanced! No remains in the fridge, all experiments concluded when John froze everything because nothing could be returned timeously, and finally said genius, laying his curly head on the couch. Stifled into stillness by the tragic circumstances afflicting him.

John was still working, but his hours had been drastically cut back so he was home far more frequently than he would have liked. Sherlock was spreading his misery is a quiet but uncontainable kind of way. He carried a blood sample home for the genius, having drawn it himself with a plan to let Sherlock have it and hopefully buy an evening’s peace with his own blood.

The evenings so far had consisted of concerts on the violin and most recently elaborate french dishes. It had surprised John at first but noise and heavy food every evening was beginning to tax him. He didn’t know what to do, so the blood would occupy Sherlock hopefully for a few hours.

…

“Here, take this.” Sherlock raised his head and took the warm vial. Blood John’s blood! His ears warmed in shock, John had refused all previous requests. “What’s this for?” “Experiments Sherlock, you’ve been nagging for ages. Do some experiments and I’ll cook. Let’s just have a quiet evening okay?” A deduction flashed across his mind. John didn’t like the playing, and the fancy dinners. Sherlock had played for John every night so far and cooked at the limits of his skills to reward his doctor for the hard work and risk he was enduring. And John didn’t like it.

…

John watched Sherlock’s face fall and felt like a heel. Sherlock had figured out of course that John was tired of his constant efforts. “Lock, no. I love your playing and your cooking is incredible, I just need some quiet, simplicity, some evenings. Let me cook tonight okay?” A quick hug saw some light back in the pale face and John set off into the kitchen. Toast and eggs was not the most elaborate meal but it was filling and just what the doctor ordered.

…

The next day on his way home John had been thinking about Sherlock’s efforts so far, it really was above and beyond but at the same time a very Sherlock thing to have done. Bombarding John with everything he liked, made John think… what does Sherlock like.

The answer was Embarrassingly simple: John. Sherlock liked having him to himself and John felt his cheeks flush at the realisation. Giving Sherlock all his attention was relatively easy and his upcoming time off would be ideal. John’s hours were now 1 week on and 1 week off. But how did he entertain his madman when there was no crime scene visiting, or morgue visiting, or Anything he could do!

He was deep in thought as he ascended to the flat, the smell of hot oil concerned him until the aromas of paprika and beer confirmed that Sherlock was making fish and chips. The mushy pea recipe that John had used once or twice had been such a hit with Mr I Don’t Eat It Slows Me Down that anything served with the peas was suddenly a very good thing. “John! I’ve made Fish so we need some of your" “Peas, yes Lock. I’ll do peas after I shower.” Sea glass eyes tracked him to the bathroom with a grin and John felt a chuckle bubble out of his throat. That would do.

…

The next Monday he woke beside dark curls, Sherlock didn’t sleep frequently but could burrow in like a badger when the mood took him. He hadn’t told Sherlock he was off all week and quietly got on with his normal morning prep waiting for the inevitable. “Jaaaawn" a baritone whine escaped the cocoon of bedding. “Yes Sherlock?” “I feel very sick, you have to stay home.” John released the fond sigh he would normally suppress.

…

Every few days since the Lock down had started they danced the same dance and Sherlock never won. John would sigh, and pet him, and leave anyway. So when the bed dipped behind him and… Tea, John didn’t smell like tea. He spun around as best he could and there was his doctor, clean shaven, dressed, but no tea. “You’ve not had tea John" “No.” “You always have tea before you go to work.” “Yes.” John’s eyes sparkled at him. “You’re not working.” “No. I have a weekly rota. Wanted to surprise you.”

Sherlock wrapped around John’s smaller frame and hastily recovered him in the duvet lest he escape. It was perfect! A week of John to himself. “I like this surprise John.” Strong arms looped around him and squeezed his ribs, before a sandy grey head settled under his chin. They drifted off back to sleep.

The week had begun with John’s marvellous surprise and it seemed all of London was feeling agreeable. The sun shone warmer when it was seen on John’s skin and the neighbours were less noisy when he could hear John’s voice. A contraption appeared in their lounge one afternoon. “My old printer from Uni, stopped working. I kept meaning to have it fixed but I suppose it’s a museum piece now.” John was giving it to Sherlock to do with as he pleased! A piece of John’s history.

…

John grinned as Sherlock set to delightedly deducing his old printer. His love of taffy was evidenced by a few sweet wrappers that had left traces on… hell’s John had no idea but Sherlock was smiling. He left cups of tea to grow cold next to the man and dropped kisses onto his dark hair as the printer came apart piece by piece, spreading across the floor. Reminding himself not to scold John stepped around the mess.

Hours later a grinning lunatic bopped him on the head with a piece of paper. “It works.” Came a proud announcement. “What?” “Your printer works John, I fixed it.” And true to his word the printer stood on their desk with a small pile of still warm printed pages. “It will be very useful for printing the files Lestrade sends.” John was shocked, quickly returning the kiss Sherlock pressed to his lips. “Necromancy" He stated in awe. “But we can’t print out police files Sherlock. It’s no legal.”

By way of demonstration Sherlock use the page he was holding to light a fire, the evening was turning cool. “I’ve ordered take away Lock, dimsum should be here soon.” A picnic blanket was soon set before the fire, wine was opened to breathe, and John was happy to let Sherlock estimate the ratio of blonde or grey hairs he had. Dinner arrived in good time and the evening went wonderfully, finishing with a very happy Sherlock dragging John down in front of the fire. “Just lie down a bit.” They woke on the floor the next morning.

John was nowhere to be found! Sherlock was to have John to himself for a week but their night on the lounge floor ended with him alone. Scanning the kitchen from his spot before the now cold fire place there was no John making breakfast and the bathroom failed to yield a soapy wet John in one of his customary boiling hot showers. A thunk drew Sherlock upstairs to where John stood, very dusty, cursing quietly at a very old tent.

The fucking thing had tangled itself! It had been packed scrupulously into place and now it was bollocksed! A polite throat clearing told him he was busted. Sherlock had risen early from their cozy nest before the fire and was watching him in that annoyingly studying way. “Stop, “Stop deducing me.” “Of course John.” But the reply was far too knowing. “Go put the kettle on.” “yes John.”

He watched his partner slip like a shadow down the stairs and hefted the whole disaster into his arms to follow a few minutes later. He could fix this after a cup of tea, he knew he could!

…

Sherlock set the camping kettle on the hook and stand he’d had next to the fire in case the power went out. John was staring at the camp set up like it had grown two heads and was speaking to him. “The camping rig has been next to the fire since winter started, you see but you do not observe. You want to camp out in the lounge, that’s what your old tent is for.” “Yes.” Sherlock grinned because he’d been bothering John to go camping for ages! For science, naturally but mostly to have John to himself.

Now they could camp in the lounge and there wouldn’t need to be dreary drives into the country side to shag his partner in a tent… for science.

…

His ribs creaked as Sherlock hugged him. John returned the squeeze with a slight chuckle. “I know you wanna shag in a tent LovelyLove. Now we don’t have to wait.” The kiss he got in response curled his toes! “We have a week Lockie, we’re gonna do everything you like. I’ll make sure of it.”

Sherlock likes coffee for breakfast so John presented him with a brand new bag of dark roast arabica beans. The genius was soon weighing and grinding to his heart’s content sighing in satisfaction as he sipped at his perfectly brewed cup. John had placed a grocery order which arrived a few hours later.

He was planning to cook for Sherlock that afternoon but the MRE package that Murry had stowed in his old gear as a joke was deemed more interesting than actual food. There was no way it was safe to eat but it was gladly handed over for experiment purposes. The cooking itself surprised John as it turned out that his madman actually enjoyed the chemistry and had taken over.

…

Sherlock didn’t trust John’s cooking skills. His gun hand, his sutures, and his heart were infallible but the man was a doctor, not a chef. It’s not that John couldn’t cook it’s just not his forte. The army had taught John to cook for a hundred men, returning had taught John to cook on a shoestring budget and sometimes it could be tasted through an entire dish. Sherlock had eased him away from the dinner prep to finish dressing the tent that had eventually been set up after John had expended a few feet of extra space and most of the swear words in his vocabulary… some of them in languages Sherlock only knew by name. The lasagne came together easily, the long process of making bechamel and tomato sauces, the careful construction, it was all relaxing. Sliding it into the oven passed John’s happily sniffing nose was pure satisfaction.

Tuesday saw the pair in their tent. John’s finishing touches had been lilos, bedding, and a small space heater. Not to be deterred Sherlock’s contribution was revealed as an Actual inflatable mattress, John hadn’t known they possessed such a thing, a very old and clearly sentimental quilt, and every ounce of camping gear London has stocked in the last two years.

Their arm chairs were replaced with camping chairs but this was very quickly changed back when John pointed out that one camping chair won’t support both of their weights. Sherlock chuckled with John’s throaty laugh as they replaced the arm chairs and put one to good use.

…

Strangely pleased to be allowed to make the breakfast porridge John stirred the pot over the fire. “No microscopes on camping trips Sherlock, you know you’d never take one into the bush right? Sherlock?!” The Sherlock in question didn’t look up from his microscope. “Of course I would John, plenty of things to examine in nature.” “My blood sample?” “Your blood sample of course. You may become ill with some unrecognized symptoms. I would need to run tests!”

His blood sample had become a bit of an obsession since it was handed over. It was flattering as hell but also kinda creepy. “At least stop for breakfast Love.” The fire burned almost constantly now. Porridge this morning then it would be set up to slowly cook Cod au Vin. They had received a case of wine from a client and finally had occasion to drink it.

…

Cod au Vin, it was the only dish his father had taught him to cook. Mummy had been vigilant in ensuring both the brothers could cook reasonably well from primary school, when they were both in their early twenties Father had taught him Cod au Vin, it was a Brilliant memory. All three men were huddled in the kitchen for hours. Slicing, browning meat, and drinking almost as much wine as they put in the pot.

Then Mummy had remarked that at least one of them had been conceived because of it and Sherlock had never made it until tonight. John had relinquished his spot by the fire in the early afternoon and admired the view, Sherlock applied the same focus to dicing onion and browning chicken pieces for John that he did examining John’s blood. A beautiful man in every way by firefight he was breath taking.

“So I have this dish to thank for your existence right?” Fire lit contrast made Sherlock’s face dark as he turned to the smirking doctor. “That’s the theory Beloved… and I’ll thank you to not repeat it while I’m seducing you with good food by fire light.” “I consider myself seduced my LovelyLove. Please do continue.” John had a fine view of Sherlock’s butt and the breadth of his shoulders, he was thoroughly seduced! It was fantastic!

Sherlock was delighted, he could feel John’s eyes on his body and felt his face flush over the heat of his gaze. The food would take several hours to cook over a fire and John was being deliciously indulgent. “May I seduce you back?” Sherlock startled having missed John’s approach with his mind in the gutter. “of course"

...

The room was cold as he towed Sherlock through the door and a quiet gasp released condensation into the air. Their camping set up in the lounge was comfortable but a bit austere This, this was luxury heaped upon itself. John smiled as long fingers flexed and caressed the pulse in his wrist. It was a habit that had developed quickly, a violinist's flexibility allowed his LovelyLove to hold his hand and take his pulse at the same time.

He had raided his old army locker for every blanket he possessed, even the old furs from his grandmother’s holiday home. Pillows and blankets piled high and looked marvellously inviting in the cold room. Quickly pulling the heating bags he had snuck in earlier John turned from the bed and undressed the most beautiful man alive. Each inch of exposed skin was met with a smile or a tender kiss and he chuckled to himself as he all but poured Sherlock into the bed. “John, John please.”

…

He needed John Now, the stupid jumper had to go, burrowing under the covers he pulled John with him, the bastard was chuckling having gotten Sherlock so worked up. “I’m coming Lovely, you can have me. Gimme a sec.” There would be so seconds as he pulled and tugged the clothes off his partner. Finally, naked, warm, and wrapped around his Beloved. Sherlock Holmes got Everything he wanted.

…

“Foods going to burn.” An Incredibly smug voice murmured to his shoulder. John always ended up as the big spoon and Sherlock could never figure out how he did it. “No it won’t, there’s too much wine in the pot.” “It is a nice wine though… Showers first Lovely, come on.” Sherlock was strangely okay with getting up. Thoroughly satisfied, and very much cuddled he felt quite ready to start the evening after a nice hot shower.

…

John stood by the fire with a naked chicken bone between his fingers. “It just came out.” “It’s Cod au Vin.” Sherlock smirked like that explained everything. The chicken pieces were permitted to fall apart on their plates as a couscous salad and plenty of the pot's other contents joined it.

John groaned, it was amazing. “I can see how this resulted in kids. It’s fantastic!” Praise always had the same effect on his genius, cheeks flushed and his chin dropped. It was excruciatingly cute. Not wanting to push it, they were neither in their twenties anymore John just smiled and ate.

…

“You know you’re not gonna be able to tell me food just happens anymore. I know you can cook now.” They were back in their camping bed having agreed to leave the luxurious pile in the bedroom intact for later use. It was actually early Thursday morning already by the time they settled down to sleep. “Yes, I can cook Beloved, doesn’t mean I am going to.” An icy cold hand settled on his belly and he shivered. “Sorry Lovely, Doctor and all.” He didn’t sound sorry at all but John’s arm followed his icy hand and a casual strength pulled Sherlock’s back against a warm chest. “Good Night Lovely.” “Good night John.”

_______________________________________

Thursday afternoon, John grinned to himself as he quietly got today’s event set up. Their laptops had initially been banned as not camping appropriate but John was busy getting the files set up on his machine. He has requested, not bullied… John did not bully, he had requested cold case files from Greg and after a few days of requesting the good DI had come through.

The cold cases were not digitised so it took a lot of scanning and sorting to get anything into an email and John knew he was putting a lot on Greg to get it done. Fortunately the lock down had slowed down most crimes and well he owed Greg rounds in the pub until 2022! “What are you up to?” a chocolatey voice asked and John jumped.

“Just sorting some paperwork Lovely. I know -” “You're the one who banned the laptops John” Elegant fingers wrapped around his computer and lifted it swiftly off his lap. “Here’s your bloody files Watson, you’re getting as bad as he is. Just promise me this will keep himself satisfied for a few more weeks.” Sherlock read under his breath as John’s face pinked. “You got me the cold cases, How?”

…

John was blushing, he had got Sherlock the cold cases he had been nagging for since the lock down started and was now flushed at having been discovered. “By pointing out to Greg that it would keep you busy but mostly by persistence. I didn’t lope off to pout after the 4th No, or even the 14th. Now Greg has had to scan and sort and email everything… I wanted to surprise you.”

Sherlock felt his own face heat up. “That’s why you banned the laptops, so I would stop bothering Lestrade and I would not find out what you were up to. John this is amazing! you are fantastic! I can finally fix the stupid mistakes the Yarders have been making!” He pulled John’s laptop into the lounge and settled it on their desk, scrolling with a triumphant laugh through the files that were now his!

He turned his eyes to his brilliant partner, John leaned against the door frame watching him. It was a proprietary posture but he did not mind at all. He did not mind being John’s to watch and smile at. Another email dinged and he opened the pop up. Emelia Riccoletti and half a dozen dead men, Brilliant! But she was dead before they all died.

…

John grinned at the frantic clicking from the lounge, he had watched his partner light up at the news of cases to solve and the chance to prove he was indeed smarter than the professionals. He made pasta on the stove for a change, the novelty of cooking over the fire had dulled quickly.

“She didn’t do it! Not after the first one!” His Sherlock, clearly on a mission, strode into the kitchen still carting his laptop around and nearly destroyed it by putting it down on the stove top. An inarticulate noise of protest redirected the mad man to set it on the counter. “She might have faked her death and killed her husband but the other murders, the other men, they died in their homes or in familiar places. The bride didn’t need to walk through walls if she was already in the house, not the bride but a bride. Any bride could kill now and London has always been full of them.

John set the meal down on the kitchen table, it would be ignored for a few hours and no doubt moved to the fridge to face the exile of all meals when Sherlock had a case. He finished his own food while Sherlock rambled on and on. He took a minute to just take in the sights. Eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, body in constant motion. Yes, this was a happy man and John felt proud that he was his.

_____________________________________

The mad bastard hadn’t slept for the last two days and this was the last day of John’s leave. They had migrated back to their bedroom and John had almost got Sherlock to sleep but there was no winning when the game was on.

“Come to bed you mad bastard!” John yelled from the blankets but knew the resignation would be clear in his voice. John rolled over to get some rest as Sherlock came in through the door. “John? Why are you sleeping?” “It’s 2am!” Is it?” Yes Lovely, its 2am and I have work tomorrow.” the mattress bounced as Sherlock dove under the covers. “Thank you John, this week has been fantastic.” As he spoke Sherlock’s arms and legs wrapped around the doctor and squeezed. The was an amused huff as John tried to reclaim some lung capacity but there was an octopus in his bed.

…

Sherlock held onto his Beloved. The week was over! He was tempted to not sleep, if he never slept maybe the morning would not come. It was irrational but at 3am with a snoozing John Watson in his arms anything seemed possible. A warmth seemed to be exuding itself from the sleeping doctor and Sherlock felt his eyes slide shut.

The next morning Sherlock burrowed stubbornly into the bedding. John had already left for his shift and there was no reason to get up now at all… Apart from all the cold cases he had to solve, and the fact that he needed a shower, and bacon. He could smell bacon.

…

John grabbed his bag, mask, and mobile. He had left a beautiful man in bed this morning so the day would have to count for something! He grinned all the way to the Tube station, he couldn’t quite stop himself

He got to work and took a few moments to compose himself but then his phone went off. The picture showed a very happy Sherlock Holmes sitting behind a huge stack of the bacon pancakes John had made that morning. John had slipped out of bed early to prepare the pancakes for breakfast and to make sure the leftover risotto was still okay.

He had left everything in a low oven to keep warm and left a few notes for Sherlock to find through the day. Breakfast instructions seemed hardly necessary but the “I Love Yous” and “Drink some Tea Lovelylove” post its would be if he wanted to come home to a content and hydrated partner.

…

Sherlock heard the street door open and tried to stop himself bounding down the stairs like a puppy. Instead he picked up his violin and started a gentle waltz. He didn’t realise what he was playing until steady warmth on his back started to sing in a low tenor. I know you, that gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam. They swayed together for a while as John hummed and Sherlock played on till. I walked with you once upon a dream.

“Disney Lovely?” Sherlock smiled and laughed at quizzical blue eyes. “I play plenty of Disney John. You remember that stint we did at the children’s hospital for the Angel of Mercy killer nurse case… well I go back sometimes while you’re at work.” “You play disney for the kids.” “Little people love Disney” Sherlock chirped and moved smoothly to the kitchen before John could process what he had said.

#patreon #johnlock

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luvdsc · 4 years

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hello hello!! its definitely been a while hasn’t it? 🌱 how have you been?? i’ve been all over the place (hence why its taken me so damn long to send in an ask) but i’ve finally finished all my classes for this semester!! yay!!! (can i get a whoop whoop 🥳) all i have left are a few tests/exams and i’ll be all done for the year 🌸 well that’s enough about me, i wanna hear about you!! how’s life been? have you been taking enough breaks and resting loads? (don’t forget to hydrate💧) (1/5)

congratulations on pulling winwin and jeno for your pcs!! im so happy for you *wipes tear of joy* 🤧 and also a huge huge well deserved congrats on being asked to lead a whole division!! 🎉 i knew all your hard work would pay off, and look where you are now!! 🙌🏻 im so so so proud and glad for you love ❤️ i also happened to see one of your asks about a lemon loaf? it looks super good omg if you’re willing to share the recipe im so down to try it out once im clear with all my uni stuff 🥺 (2/5)

definitely wanting to get back into the mood with baking once everything calms back down, it’ll also be fun to start cracking on christmas cakes 🎄 what are some of your favourite christmas bakes? (3/5)

also this is a super late response to the from home mv but!!! it was so so good omg the visuals the aesthetics 🙌🏻 everyone looked so good and the mv is definitely one of my fave mvs ever 😍 the baby pictures and voiceover that they included too?!?!? i legit almost started ugly crying that was such a sweet moment 🥺😭 but also yeah i wished they incorporated all their languages in the song, but hopefully the next album will have something similar where they’ll include the others!! 🙏🏻 (4/5)

anyways seeing as im sending this in the middle of the week (its wednesday morning at 2.03am for me), i hope you have a great rest of the week and get to rest loads on the weekend!! if you celebrated halloween last week, i hope you had fun 🍁 i hope work isn’t too hard on you and that you’re doing well🌼 until next time ~ sending you love💗 - ✨ (5/5)

✿ ✿ ✿

omg hello, honey bee!!! 💓 i’ve been doing good! it’s finally the weekend, and i completely conked out and slept sooo much, so it’s been a great saturday for me :’) and tomorrow, i’ll be making peanut butter cookies! 🍪 (pls ignore the fact that the cookie emoji is a chocolate chip one) omg congratulations, honey bee!!! whoop whoop you’re almost done!!!! 🥳🥳 have you started studying for your exams? when are they? i hope they aren’t too difficult 💞 life has been very work centric rip, but the days seem to go by relatively fast to me, so it’s not too bad! but yes, i’ve been taking breaks and getting sleep and drinking lots of water, thank you 💕 i hope you also have been getting lots of rest and staying hydrated, sweetpea! 💜

and thank you so soo much!!!! 😭💛 i was so happy to see that i got winwin, doyoung, and jeno 🤧 i hope i get some of this luck for the pt 2 album :’) and THANK YOU!!! 🥺💗💗 i started working on it yesterday, and there’s so much stuff to do already, so i might have to put more hours in, but it’s really exciting for me, and i’m not doing busy work like the other first years, so i’m really happy about that 💘 you’re so so kind, thank you so much for your support, lovebug 😭💟💟 and yes!!! I used this recipe for it! i substituted quite a bit of ingredients since i didn’t have it all and cut down on sugar by half, but it still came out delicious :’) rip i didn’t have a grater to get lemon zest so i had to do that manually, but the results were worth it 💛 omg what kind of christmas cakes do you like to bake? :o oooo sugar cookies are always fun to make over christmas!!! my parents like fruitcake, so maybe i’ll try making that too 🤔

omg YES the from home mv was beautiful!!!! I love the visuals and aesthetics so much too, like it was just them and nature, and it was simple, but still stunning since it highlighted the boys and their voices ✨ omg yeah, the baby pictures were sooo so cute 🥺�� i have the mv playing on repeat as i write for some nice visuals and music, and it’s so relaxing :’) and omg yeah!!! i really hope there’s an ot23 song on pt 2! i’m really sad jisung has to sit out on activities though... it must be devastating for him ): but he’s been injured since august, so i’m happy that he’s finally getting time to recover 🤍

omg that’s so late, i hope you got to sleep in the next day, lovebug!!! 🌙 and thank you so so much 💗 how did your week go? are you doing anything fun for the weekend? 🌸 i did not celebrate halloween unfortunately because i’m still too paranoid about going out to party and getting covid 😬 but i cooked with my mom, watched football with my dad, and facetimed my friends, so that was still just as fun 💘 did you celebrate halloween, sweetpea? did you have a costume? ✨ and thank you soooo much 🥺💖 i hope you’re doing well and resting up before your exams start!! sending you tons and tons of love back, honey bee!!! 💌💌

#asks #anonymous #✨ anon

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teen-heart-throb-mr-hyde · 5 years

Text

Why Didn’t You Stop Me - Chapter One

bro i can’t believe i actually wrote this anyways im pretty proud. if you wanna read it on ao3 it’s right here

The rain was strange that night. It came infrequently, in short tapping sounds upon the bedroom window. Despite the rain’s strange quietness, it woke Emma.

She stared at the darkened ceiling of her room, feeling her stomach rise and fall with her slow, even breathing. She sighed. Drowsily, Emma pushed herself to sit upon the edge of her bed. Her bare feet touched the cold floor as she stood and hiked up her nightgown ever so slightly with slow fingers. Each step towards her bedroom’s window was passive and delicate in an attempt to stop the floorboards from creaking, which she achieved with some success. With her other hand, she reached to open the window. The whistle of the wind and the hum of a dreaming London always helped her sleep. Moonlight made her thin fingers turn white as she reached for the window’s latch when she paused. There was no rain.

Then a small rock bounced against her window.

Having been knocked out of her tired stupor, Emma rushes to the window and threw it open. She looked down. Standing just a few feet below, rearing back to throw another pebble, was her fiancé, and love of her life, Henry Jekyll.

“Henry!” She called, trying not to laugh. “What on earth are you doing down there?”

He jumped, clearly not expecting her to appear at that particular moment.

“I needed to speak with you!” He called back up.

Emma leaned on her windowsill, her head tilted in amusement. She felt like Juliet.

“Why didn’t you just come in?”

“I needed to speak with you privately.” Henry amended his last statement. “Just…get dressed and come down.”

A sigh escaped her lips. Not of frustration or distress, one of longing. The type of sigh you can only give when the one you care about above all does something incredibly ridiculous. The kind of sigh that can only lead to the utterance of one phrase.

“I love you.”

Emma only caught a glimpse of Henry’s face lighting up in pink and red before she pulled back inside. She dressed as quickly as she could manage, throwing on a pale blouse and simple blue skirt that swept across her feet. She barely put her hair up and rather scandalously, in her mind, didn’t bother with a corset. Besides, she was just meeting Henry. She was getting married to the man in six weeks. Only after a few minutes later, she appeared outside.

When Henry saw Emma, like a beautiful apparition in the moonlight, he rushed to her and caught her in an embrace. She ran a hand across his cheek, coaxing his lips to hers. His kiss felt like the first breath of autumn. Henry pulled away, unable to pull his mouth out of a smile.

“Emma,” He said. “I need your help with my experiment.”

She giggled, slightly perplexed.

“What do you mean?” She asked. “Your proposal was rejected, you don’t have a subject.”

“I know that.” Henry took a few steps from her. “But, I do have a subject.”

Emma placed her hands together. Her stomach knotted with dread.

“Henry, you’re frightening me. What do you mean you have a subject.”

“I’m going to use myself, Emma.” He looked back at her.

That’s what she was afraid he was going to say. She padded forward, clinging onto his arm.

“You can’t be serious…” She said. She rested her head on his shoulder in a fruitless pleading gesture.

“What else am I to do?” Henry pressed his hand over hers reassuringly. He kissed her gently on the cheek. “But I can’t do it myself, I need a witness. I need you.”

It took her a long time to speak again. Emma clung to Henry’s arm, letting the cold wind of the night pass over her skin. She held his arm a little tighter and took in a sharp breath like she was ready to plunge off a cliff into a raging ocean.

“I’ll do it, Henry,” Emma said. “But why come all this way to get me? Why not just get John or Poole to do it?”

Henry turned to look at her, gently taking her hands in his.

“Emma, I’m going to be spending the rest of my life with you.” He said. “If I am to become altered in some way by this, I need you to be there.”

“Oh, my darling, I doubt you’ll change that much. You’re already perfect in my eyes.”

***

The laboratory was never a place Emma was fond of. She would never tell Henry, of course. It was frigid and not particularly well lit and the surgical tools, strange apparatuses and now-empty animal cages that decorated the relatively small room gave her the creeps. Her least favorite aspect of the room, however, was how much time Henry spent toiling away inside. It wasn’t healthy, spending hours, sometimes entire days at a time locked within its confines. Emma supported Henry’s work, no matter what anyone said about it, it was the extreme lengths he went to complete it which worried her.

Emma watched, holding Henry’s journal and a pen at the ready, as he mixed his formula. The process involved several different liquids and powders, none of which Emma knew the name of, much less how to pronounce, all to produce five centiliters of blood-red fluid. Henry raised the hypodermic syringe the formula resided in aloft. He looked back at Emma.

“It’s a thing of beauty, isn’t it?” He asked.

“It’s a bit strange to me.” She said.

“No matter,” He said as he rolled up his left sleeve. There was something frantic in his voice. “This is the moment.”

Despite his visibly shaking fingers, in one swift movement, Henry plunged the straight iron of the syringe’s needle into the vein right in between the end of his forearm and the beginning of his bicep.

“Our moment.”

He injected the formula.

A pause. The air felt so cold that it burned. A single point of black ink bled into the white paper as Emma held the pen to its surface in anticipation.

“So,” She began. “How do you feel.”

Henry stood still. Very still. More still than Emma had ever seen him in fact. His eyes searched the room as his mind searched for the right words.

“Warm. Very warm.” He finally said. “Like there’s this heat spreading through my veins.”

Emma quickly wrote his statement down. Just as she finished, Henry stumbled back, catching himself on the table.

“Henry!”

“No, no, I’m fine.” He waved his hand, smiling a very strange smile. “Just a bit lightheaded.”

Emma watched with bemusement as Henry began to laugh. He placed his head his hand, his whole body shaking ever so slightly from this sudden onslaught of glee.

“A slight feeling of euphoria.” He could barely speak the words.

Delirious laughter echoed through the laboratory. Emma quickly stepped over to the table, putting the journal and pen aside, and grabbing her fiancé by the shoulders.

“Henry? Are you alright?”

As slowly as he lifted his head, his laughter died down. Yet Henry could not remove the grin from his face.

“No noticeable behavioral differences.” He barely managed to keep the laughter down once more.

Emma smiled and sighed, removing her hands from his shoulders and retrieving the journal again. She quickly wrote down the few coherent things he had mentioned.

“Now, the die is cast.” She said, flicking out one last letter.

“I suppose it is,” Henry said, placing his hands on his waist. “We just have to wait. But I’m right.”

Emma covered her hand with her mouth and smiled. She’d got him on one of his little monologues.

“I know I am.” He continued. “But only time can prove my theory now. Prove it to all those fools who didn’t believe me.”

His breathing was ragged.

“I’ll prove it to them. I’ll show them.” He thrust his hand forward as if gesturing to some unseen audience. His smile was full of pride. “I’ll show the world I—“

Henry’s hand dropped. His whole body seemed to go limp from some shock. He stumbled again, and again caught himself against the table. But worst of all, the pride was gone, he looked terrified.

“Henry?” Emma asked, somewhere between horror and good spirits. She felt her own feet stumbling backward. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, God... What’s this?” He barely choked out. A question to the air. His chest rose and fell at an alarming speed with each hyperventilated breath.

Emma was shaking. She clutched the journal so tightly her knuckles turned white and her nails dug into the black leather of the cover.

“Emma,” He barely stammered. “Some-Something is happening, I can’t explain it!”

Henry’s head suddenly whipped downward. He clutched his face in his hand and desperately gripped to the table with the other. Before his face disappeared, Emma could’ve sworn there was a change in it. Some horrible, near undetectable change.

She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t look away.

“There’s something inside me!” He cried out. His voice was strangled. Each word was pushed from his throat with painful effort, and each word was louder and more frantic than the last.

“Emma, it’s driving me insane—“

Henry could barely finish that last word before his voice twisted from barely coherent words to loudest, most agonized scream Emma had ever heard. Both Henry and the journal clattered to the floor. He writhed, his whole body contorting in agony with each cry of anguish. Henry’s voice itself was contorted as well. It began to rasp, seeming to drop deeper as he cried out. Emma wanted to help him. More than anything she wanted to cover her ears and scream, loud enough to drown him out. But she couldn’t. She was paralyzed. Suddenly, Emma felt her eyes playing tricks on her.

Was Henry’s body changing?

She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t bear to look at that horrible prodigy. Tears came bursting forth from Emma’s eyes as she shielded them with her shaking arms. Her mind was completely submerged in terror.

And then it all stopped.

No more crying out, no more desperate gasps, just silence. Silence and this ever so quiet ragged, rasping breathing.

Slowly, Emma lowered her arms, only to see Henry, no, someone like Henry, standing with his back turned to her. His back was near bent, hunched over the table, as the stared into the mirror just on the opposite side. Emma gasped, tripping backward. He suddenly straightened his posture. He heard her.

With a slow, sweeping movement, his claw-like hand pointed to the journal and pen on the floor. He flicked his wrist upward, wordlessly indicating for her to pick it up. She did, frantically flipping through the pages. The pen rattled in her hand.

“Midnight…” He said. His voice was too low, too deep, too gruff to be Henry’s. He rolled back shoulders. His shoulders were broader than Henry’s, too. “And all’s well.” He added a sing-song tone to his voice.

This creature that stood before Emma and his hands through his undone hair, laughing breathlessly. Calmly, he turned to face Emma, leering and looming over her like some abominable shadow. And finally, when she saw his face, another dagger of fear was driven through her heart.

His face was some gruesome parody of her beloved’s features. Limp strands of hair cast a shadow across his sunken cheekbones, pale lips and dark, merciless eyes. He looked down at his hands, stretching his fingers and savoring the sensation before finally, to her dismay, casting his gaze upon Emma again. His eyes searched for words again, a leering smile pulled his lips.

“Free.”

And once more, laughter echoed throughout the room.

#jekyll and hyde #dr jekyll and mr hyde #jekyll and hyde the musical #emma carew #henry jekyll #edward hyde #writing #kermit's writing #writblr

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glasyasbutch · 4 years

Note

Stella: 13 Roona: 22 Gent: 30

prose boys part one! prose boys part one! under a readmore bc its almost 2k words! thanks for sending them in rebekah i did full scenes for each prompt bc im a whore. bolded are the actual “things they said”.

Stella: Things you said that were important to you (set about six months after her clan’s home in the wood is razed to the ground, and she’s just found herself fully indoctrinated to the nearby city’s criminal ring as an assassin)

Her hands are small, even relative to the rest of her, which as a gnome, is much tinier than most people walking these streets. It's usually an advantage. Makes it all the more simple to just slide her hand into someone's pocket while they were preoccupied at the food cart. Snag a coin while they ordered, snag a hunk of bread while they paid.

She isn't proud of it. She doesn't like having to penny pinch other people's pennies to get by between jobs. But she likes starving to death less, so she swallows her damn pride and got down to it.

The problem is that the figure she’s trying to rob is also a gnome, which means her hands are not nearly as relatively small as she’s used to them being, and she manages to get her thumb caught on the edge of his pocket as she pulls away. His hand is around her wrist before she has a chance to react, grip terrifyingly tight.

"Pardon me, but I don't believe anything in my pockets belongs to - Ester?"

The fake tears she's been trying to push out begin to well up for real, turning her into a breathless, glassy-eyed mess, and she looks into a face she thought she'd never be seeing again. "Gray?"

Gray drops his grip on her wrist, only to clasp her hand between his protectively. "Ester, what are you doing out here doing this?"

She finds her knees start to buckle, and she pushes her weight into Gray's hands a bit to stay standing. "The fire, Gray, I barely made it out, I just ran in the first direction I saw. I ended up here, and when I looked back it was nothing but smoke. I only had my bow with me and I - I thought I was the only one who made it out. I didn't know what to do. I'm just trying to survive in a world I wasn't raised to live in."

Gray's eyebrows furrow, his expression sinks. He reaches his other hand out to grip the side of her face. "There's at least three of us who made it out. I left with Reddy, but he took off from this town a few weeks ago. I was starting to get lonely, but ... then I find you." He smiles, in the crooked sort of way that happens when loss starts to slip through the cracks of joy. "You can do better than this, Es. We're still clan. My house is still your house. Come back with me, at the very least 'til you get on your feet."

"Gray, no, really, I couldn't," she starts, but gets cut off as he begins to tut and takes his hand from her cheek to grip her other hand.

He pushes back her sleeve with his fingers, unintentionally, ever so slightly. He isn't even looking, but it's still enough to make her gasp and stiffen. That, he does notice, and gods damn it, he glances down.

Their clan is from the woods. They don't know a lot of city culture, but the symbol tattooed on her wrist, still slightly red from its freshness, is one of the things they have to recognize. Its something they know damn well to avoid, because these men who take shelter in the woods some nights, with these symbols emblazoned on their wrists and sword scabbards and coin pouches, setting off their hunting traps for fun and leaving their empty booze bottles behind when they go and not putting their fires out properly, are the kind of men who know no rule or law or code, and show no mercy when they feel they've been crossed.

"Ester," he says, voice darkening. "You can do better than this."

She tears her wrist away, tugging her sleeve back down. "My business is my own, Gray."

"As is my home, if you've chosen to turn your back on everything we lived for so quickly."

"I was hungry. I was going to die out here. I don't have many marketable skills, but they saw something worth a paycheck in me."

Gray says nothing, but drops her hands from his with a sharpness that can only indicate disgust.

"You can do better than this," he repeats. Then, for a brief moment, his gaze softens. "I hope you do."

She makes no move to stop him as he turns to go, walking with as big a stride as his gnomish legs can let him, vanishing into the crowded streets. She rubs at her wrist, letting the sting of pressing on the fresh tattoo distract her from the sinking feeling in her gut as one of the last survivors of her clan willingly turns his back on her. She had always figured she had no one left, but now she’s looking right at him and she knows it.

"I'm gonna," she whispers at the space where he has been standing, making up her mind to get back what scraps of her family she still has left. "I'm gonna get out of there, eventually. Swear on the trees."

*****

Roona: Things you said after making a bad decision.

"Vinny Vinny Vinny Vinny Vinny!" Roona pants, running so fast she nearly trips over her feet, "Pouch pouch pouch pouch please please please!"

They tug at the loose piece of leather fixed around their traveling companion's waist, barely waiting for acknowledgement of their presence before scrambling up the leg into the pouch and pulling the flaps closed, trying to look as much like a lute as possible.

Now, most lutes arent quite so lumpy, because they don't have knees to tuck in, and they don't swell and sink because they don't have lungs that are heaving from the mad dash they've just undertaken. But, however much like a lute she doesn't look, Roona supposes the ruse has worked, because no one sticks a sword straight into the flaps and the shrill complaining voice eventually huffs its way out of earshot.

"Is the purple dress lady gone?" she whispers, pulling one very small peep hole open in the mouth of the pouch.

"Yeah," Vinny sighs, still debating whether or not she wants to know what happened this time.

"Okay, good." Roona's head fully emerges from the pouch now, braids more mussed than usual and face still flushed reddish from exertion. They flash a forced smile up at Vinny. "So, don't get mad but. Um."

It seems, whether or not Vinny wants to know, Roona's gonna be telling her anyway.

"You know that really fancy dress shop down the road? I was over there window shopping, you know, like you do. And, well, I went inside, cause they had this really nice yellow thing and this other dress with lilac trim, and I wanted to know how they'd look together? Um?"

Vinny's lips press together, knowing exactly where this story's going.

"So I, uh, I grabbed a pair of shears, and I took a little bit of the trim off the back of the skirt? I mean, it's the back right, no one's gonna see, and it's not like they ever sell the mannequin models anyways, but. For SOME reason, the dress lady didn't like that."

"Roona. C'mon."

She sighs, brushing a few loose hairs out of her face. "No, no. I know. I ... I know. Like, actually. Sometimes people are just stuck up dickheads about their stuff, but like, this one I get. I'll go apologize in the morning, probably. Once she's had the chance to forget where she's left the fabric shears again."

They begin to pull themself out of the pouch, but stop with one leg dangling out over the lip. "On a totally unrelated note. Can I pitch you on a mix and match dress shop?"

*****

Gent: Things you said when you should've been quiet

"Gods," he huffs, flipping over what he's pretty sure is the third page of sigils for what he's significantly less sure is the fifth time. "You really think an archmage with a lifespan like his and absolutely no friends to hang out with would be able to find the time to write a damn key for his notes. Wenceforth! C'mere. Do you know what the fuck these double lines are supposed to be mean?"

The goblin starts at the mention of his name, trotting over on creaky joints from the post he'd be standing by the door. He slips on a pair of glasses, and peers over the piece of paper being held out for him. He spends a good minute tracing a finger across the ink, grumbling and mumbling to himself before turning to face Gent and announcing, very definitely, "No!"

Gent groans and slumps even further in the chair than he has been.

"You've known him forever, Wenceforth, has he always been this illiterate? I mean, god, for all the griping he does at me about penmanship making the difference between a Dancing Light and a Flaming Sphere, you'd think he'd care literally at all about how his own fucking notes look."

"Well, Master Errenis is quite a learned mage, you know, he's really quite skilled, but uh. Between you and me. He's always been a bit more meticulous with his notes since. Well."

Gent immediately shoots up, leaning over the arm of his chair to stare down Wenceforth. "Since what, Wence? You can't just leave me hanging here, man."

"Oh, you know, I don't really want to embarrass him or anything," he mumbles, anxious grin twitching onto his face.

"Oh come on! Please? I'll pay you the rest of my weeks stipend, Wence, I need to know what could've possibly embarrassed Yussah bad enough to change his wizardly ways."

"Oh, all right," he chuckles, leaning in, "but you didn't hear it from me. One time, good few years back, Master Yussah was studyin' this little ball thing, and got himself stuck inside. Had to call in a bunch of his wizard friends to get him back out. And they, ah, barely made it too, I heard, 'cause his map notes were just ... unintelligible."

"You're kidding, Wence? He got stuck. In a ball."

"Sure did, sure did! Had to call that pretty Taldorei lady myself to fix it all up."

"You had to get Arcanist Vysoren to get Yussah out of a ball?" Gent reaches for the goblins shoulders and gives them a good hard squeeze. "Thank you so much for telling me, Wence. You are truly the only man I have ever cared about in my life."

"Come now, surely he's not the only one." someone drawls from the doorway behind Gent.

Gent spins around in the chair, placating grin half way through stretching across his face. "Master Errenis, hello, how are you doing, did you need a hand with something, hope I haven't kept you waiting?"

Yussah gives a wry laugh. "I've been waiting in this doorway long enough, Ms. Avoris. Gossiping about my handwriting won't get those wards copied any faster."

Gent presses his lips together, turning (relatively) apologetically back to his work. Yussah motions for Wenceforth to follow him out of the room, starting to describe some spell components he needed dug out of storage. He stops in the doorway, just to be sure Gent is still in earshot.

"I have got to get that kid to see some other wizards. Let him study with someone really old and crazy, like Waccoh. Then see how he feels about my damn notes."

*****

#bros if you thought This was long get ready morgan sent me one for every single character #stella #roona #gent #asks

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simptasia · 5 years

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hc questions 5, 6, 7, 26, 44 & 47 for any or all of the science team members if you want? :)

oh bless!! thank you!! i’ll go with My Beloved Three, as usual, the sci trio

Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

my hcs on this have wobbled over time but overall i imagine dan, char and miles are all like, fairly, neat. tho they all have a tendency to leave papers around

and miles doesn’t make the bed as much. cuz imagining miles napping in rumpled quilts is a very cute mental image. hair disheveled

i think a good term for whats going on with dan and char is Organized Chaos. they’re both scientists (and a musician) for heck’s sake. it doesn’t look like they know what they’re doing but they do. but ur not gonna walk into their house(s) and be like “ugh gross what the fuck”. it’s nice. dan tends to make the bed

and i imagine dan keeps The Rat Room (yes, you heard me) immaculate because you reeeeeeally want that area to be well cared for

as for personal, lets get this out of the way, none of them are yucky. but dan is showering the least, just due to absent mindedness and hyperfixation. like ya really get into a project and then suddenly oh fuck i need a shower. but thats relative. he’s not a stinky gross boy. i imagine miles washes the most because like, he has body piercings and those GOTTA be cleaned every day, especially the downstairs one. miles values his dick, he don’t want an infection

also its amazing how much more you shower/bathe when you have a partner. or in this case, two partners. in general and for sexy purposes. hell yeah

well thats enough of me picturing these three showering, moving on

Eating habits and sample daily menu

its odd how often i’ve pictured these people eating together

dan: eats the least (and for once that isn’t a skinny joke, he could eat cake every day and he’d still be like that) because for the most part he doesn’t have much of an appetite. he eats what he needs, with random bursts of being really hungry (it’s a neurodivergent thing). i imagine he has a extra fondness for pasta and can put a surprising amount of it away when he wants to. tho typically for ease, he’ll stick to noodles. he takes his coffee mild and decaf. i hc him as a vegetarian due to not being able to process meat. his body also cannot handle alcohol and the one time he tried it he needed to be hospitalized. his ice cream preference is vanilla with chocolate sprinkles. or honeycomb. favourite vegetable is capsicum (which he’d call a bell pepper because he’s american), favourite fruit is pineapple. on that note he likes pineapple pizza. overall he eats simple but isn’t against trying new things. he has a very neutral disposition towards food

char: of the trio, i define charlotte as the Loud Passionate One so obviously being a big eater goes with that, likes a big breakfast (eggs, sausages, sometimes french toast!), sometimes skips lunch when she’s working at the museum due to focus, has a ravenous sweet tooth (i haven’t been subtle that i’ve made her ADORE chocolate but in general i see her liking sweet things), she can handle eating less tho because she’s gone on plenty of expeditions and such. so i think she eats a lot under normal circumstances because, like, she can. i don’t think i need to tell you what her ice cream or starbucks preferences are, do i? takes her coffee with three sugars, two coffees and creamy. likes mochas and hot chocolates too. with marshmallows. naturally, her fave kind of chocolate is galaxy because she is an English Woman. another fave of hers is cadbury’s creme eggs. but lest you think Good Lord Sapphire This Woman’s Entire Body Is A Sugar Molecule, don’t worry she does eat well. like veggies, fruits, meats, she’s fine. of meats, she has a fondness for fish (i have no further information, im terrible with fish. but she’s a pom, so...). favourite fruit is pear, favourite vegetable is peas. likes a bacardi, or rum and coke

miles: he eats a “normal” amount but he’s a grazer. which means, not so much Set Meal eating than eating/snacking thru out the day. he takes his coffee black, no surprise, but with sugar! see, its a metaphor. for him. likes fried eggs and hash browns. his fave food is very cheap mac and cheese. i think in general he really likes cheese. he doesn’t have complicated tastes, like, he grew up poor. he likes seafood (in particular fish tacos) but not lobster as he discovered when he got cashed up. he likes salty food but likes sweets too, in particular i can imagine him snacking on m&ms, skittles, gummi bears. little things. doesn’t have a fave vegetable because he doesn’t care enough, to him veggies are things to eat so you won’t die. doesn’t hate him but isn’t excited to eat ‘em. fave ice cream is mint choc. he’ll drink whatever (except for vodka) but is used to beer. thinks pineapple on pizza is an abomination, espech since he really likes pizza otherwise. i consider him a food opportunist, like, oh theres food here? yoink. or like, oh hey, if everybody else is eating, i’ll have whatever’s going on

....i feel like whenever i write hcs about these guys my brain takes on their tone. like, that was a lot of short, eh whatever, sentences for miles there

Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

dan:

- reading (really depends on how you define Wasting Time). also he composes music and when he was alive, that was considered wasting time (ugh)

- sometimes even just doing hobbies or work or whatever, even then, he tends to have this feeling of never doing enough due to his Perfectly Healthy And Supportive Upbringing [seethes] so uhhhh basically, anxiety? like this was a dude raised to think anything other than his work was a waste of time. it didn’t exactly work but a decent amount of that Pressure has to still sit with him

char:

- watching tv, espech star trek

- not a waste of time if you’re enjoying yourself

miles:

- card and board games (weren’t expecting that, were ya? i’m not saying that's his Fave Thing To Do, but he considers that a good chill out thing to do. something to do when ur bored but you don’t feel like watching tv or having sex)

- “it’s something to do”

Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?

dan:

for original lifetime dan, it was Do Science, Make Mom Proud (tiny voice: and maybe spend the rest of my life with charlotte. if i’m lucky. maybe. please? love?) cuz i imagine dan, although very focussed on the future, actually doesn’t think/care about HIS future. i just don’t think he cares about himself enough

limbo dan is like Make Music, Love Charlotte. which is fair. and then Love Miles on top of that. so yeah, just wants to be a good musician and husband. and one day, father. with char actually in his life in this world, thats def on his mind. he won’t bring it up tho, he’ll wait for her to mention it :3

(dan’s canon contingency plan for things not working out is hydrogen bomb)

char:

alive char, like, ADVENTURE! ISLAND! SOLVE MYSTERIES! that makes it sound like she’s a fucking scooby doo character. i mean, her Goal was to find the island and find out what the fucky duck is going on. she did that. and overall his goals seem like adventure/career orientated. i hc that this version of char never intended on getting married or having kids. she wasn’t Against the ideas and she’s certainly had romances but she was more thinking of other things. (that and i think deep down char thought nobody would ever wanna marry her)

in limboverse There Is No Mystery but she still has her great job(s), that is she works at a museum and i think she goes on expeditions sometimes. so theres that, she’s got the great career. really, her Plan for the future in this world is live the live she couldn’t before. she (and dan!) died young so they’re gonna like, actively adore each other and get married and have kids. and also miles is there. ha, that sounded so rude. she loves miles too. (besties/fuck buddies turned Hey You Wanna Join Me And Dan’s Relationship and miles like... yeah sure)

miles:

step one: get money to fill gaping hole of sadness in chest

step two: ????

step three: die

and even my limbo miles whomst i’ve put with dan and char doesn’t have any plans for the future, besides like, do his job and maybe become a dad again (context: i hc that miles had two kids with richard when he was alive). so he’s still chilling but without the depressing ache of loneliness and bitterness

so basically long story short for all of them (in limboverse): Love & Family

Superstitions or views on the occult?

ohooo i like this one

dan: didn’t grow up believing in magic and such (which is super ironic because his mother is a fucking other) but he has a very open mind. i think he’ll believe it if he’s thrust into the situation. it’s interesting really, dan is known as the science guy and that's great but he’s super fucking accepting of not science shit. tho of course, he’s not seeing the island time travel as magic but science. but more importantly, he regards miles’ powers with zero doubt or questioning. he doesn’t even seem confused, he is absolutely on board with miles being able to talk to dead people. this all implies miles told him off screen and dan believes him

so basically he’ll accept whatever is presented to him as true

which honestly, is what a good scientist is like. the trope of the scientist character who is ultra non believing of the supernatural, even when they’re seeing it before their eyes, is annoying. like, you know the ones? the ones who get angry about it. the overly skeptical scientist. hate that. dan is not that

and his character arc includes embracing free will over destiny so there's that

char: she’s not superstitious and doesn’t believe in magic or the supernatural at all. tho thrown into bizarre situations she’s like ???? but has to accept it. and she KNOWS something is up with the island. she knows its different. i just mean, under normal circumstances she’d regard magic stuff as funny nonsense. i hc that char, in living life, doesn’t believe miles can speak to the dead. really fucking weird this isn’t addressed in the show but hahaaaa they wasted char! anyways and like, if presented with the concept that dan’s brain damage is being healed by the island, she’d look confused, say thats impossible but she’d think on it

what i’m saying is she’ll rule out magic concepts at first, on reflex. but would grow to accept them, especially with stuff she knows/has repressed

she doesn’t believe in ghosts, psychics, visions, magic healing and all those exist in her world, so it’s all a matter of experience

miles: WELL WHADDYA THINK

actually it’s funny. miles has magic powers but he’s 0% superstitious and i imagine outside of his own powers, he really doesn’t believe in the occult. i hc that until he personally proved otherwise, he grew up thinking he was mentally ill. and once he realised it was true, thought he was some kind of freak

and he’s incredulous when he finds out hurley has powers too. tho miles, being miles, does roll with the punches a lot in the show, he’s skeptical when it comes to hurley's power. and i find that interesting. also i fucking love how when hurley describes his power, miles says “thats not how it works”, like ???? babe???

but overall his attitude on the island is like “well. this is happening”

i do think thru his life, despite his power, he doesn’t believe in All Magic or occult or whatever. i also hc that he attracted those kind of people who are REALLY into astrology and auras and stuff like that and he found them exasperating. (i think he’d be a lot more okay with it if it was claire who was talking about astrology and palm reading with him. he’d be endeared when its her)

and i think he thinks other psychics he’s met or seen on tv are straight up bullshit. he can believe he has it but he’s skeptical of other people. just assumes they’re scammers. hell, he was a scammer. who just happened to have the power. he was like “well i have this, i may as well get some use outta it”

oh and in limboverse, they all kinda have to accept their situation. and they take it with ease due to appreciating getting happier lives

How do they express love?

a dan who loves you will pet your face and look at you like ur his entire reason to live. a char who loves you will squeak at your jokes and will never once let you feel bad about yourself. a miles who loves you is sorry he isn’t better at this stuff but he really is trying... sure we can cuddle if you wanna, that’s cool v///v

the dan and char we saw in the show was them holding back and i find that very amusing because they were HEART EYES AS FUCK for each other and so affectionate and so soft hearted, like oh my gosh. canon show dan/char is them when they’re pining... when they’re not even a couple (yet, damn it)

imagine them at full power

i figured it out, dan/char couldn’t be an Official Couple because then jeremy davies and rebecca mader would have destroyed us all, especially me

anyways. they’re both very protective of each other. they... they touch each other a lot. like a lot for people who aren’t dating and whomst don’t think the other one loves them. like char is surprised when dan says he loves her. that fucking astonishes me. HE’S NOT SUBTLE. char are you okay???

dan is more open about the love than char, seeing as he said it. and double downed on it. char i feel was holding back for different reasons than dan. dan was holding back (fucking barely) because of eloise’s Love Will Only Bring Pain upbringing, which’d give somebody a serious complex. so he was adverse to actually pursuing a relationship AND i figure he thought “she wouldn’t wanna be with me anyways”. but char i imagine, a deep seated insecurity and need to be defensive, but also! dan was like REALLY mentally unwell before the island. and that's the dan that char knows (and loves) but she’d feel guilty if she pursued anything with him. like she’s taking advantage of a brain damaged person

ah fuck i went on a big thing about why they didn’t become a couple instead of like.... the question. how do they express love? like they did in the show. smiles, touches, longing gazes, protectiveness. they would die for each other

as for miles, how does he express love? Not Well. at first

whoever is the first person he fell in love with (i imagine richard), he was not good at... being open about that. i don’t think miles is good with love. lived his life pretty detached/bitter about the concept, which i imagine is due to having cynicism about life and death. everybody you love is gonna die, so why bother? (his mom dying hit him pretty hard) so uhhh its gonna be... baby steps

slowly becoming more open about liking somebody, becoming more affectionate, more... uh, couple-y (and later throuple-y). it’d take time and he will always be miles, but hey, he gets there. he’ll still always have his snark but he won’t be a Genuine Asshole to people he loves. heck, i imagine he’ll be downright soft in the right situation. and he can be gentle and kind. he’s a salty boy not a cunt

but i digress. basically he’s a little “yeah, yeah, i love you too, shut up” about it but he does have that soft gooey center. basically those who know him, and love him, know his true heart. it’s just a part of being miles “defensive walls” straume

feels love (and even that takes him a while to realise, cuz he hasn’t been a romantic relationship kinda guy, most of his life his relationships have been a Just Sex thing), not Great at like... Doing Love, you know what i mean? but like once he’s used to it, he can be quite a tender little pudding cup, actually

#asalesbian #lost headcanons #BRUH I WROTE SO MUCH #SOOOO MUCH #sometimes i hold back #but this time i took the chance to go on some tangents and such #i really enjoyed this!

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pamphletstoinspire · 6 years

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The Death Penalty and the Myth of Closure

Many argue that the death penalty can help survivors move on with their lives. However, this counselor writes that true healing can happen only when we learn to "walk with the pain."

The death penalty has been with us for millennia. If you take the time to read the Old Testament, you will find that the death penalty was widely accepted. We find in the words of Exodus the justification invoked to this day to defend the use of executions: “You shall give life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe for stripe” (21:23–25).

This is known as Mosaic law and is an integral part of our legal system. And yet Jesus came to challenge it: “You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say to you, offer no resistance to one who is evil. When someone strikes you on [your] right cheek, turn the other one to him as well” (Mt 5:38–39).

What a truly radical notion! In the Old Testament, one sees that violence was a way of life, and execution was a primary tool for meting out justice. But Jesus sweeps that all away.

As with many things Jesus said, excuses have been made and qualifiers added: Love your enemy . . . except when he is a murderer. Then you are justified to kill him, a conclusion that sounds very much like Mosaic law.

Desire for Vengeance Is Real

On the other hand, even if we accept Jesus’ teaching, turning the other cheek is not that simple. I can’t simply say, “Well, Patterson, you claim to be a Christian, so you must love your enemy and oppose the death penalty.” I also understand the desire for vengeance.

Some years ago when I was an Army psychologist, I was tasked with evaluating a man arrested for beating his 3-month-old stepdaughter within an inch of her life on Christmas Eve. It had already been determined that the child suffered irreversible brain damage. As I was interviewing the man, I received a call from the pediatric ICU informing me she had also been blinded. I hung up and told this man that news. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Oh, well.”

In that moment, I wanted to jump across my desk, grab him by the throat, and beat him within an inch of his life! As I think about him almost 40 years later, I have the same feeling. I am not proud of that, but it also helps me to be sensitive to the feelings of survivors when it comes to discussions of the death penalty. It reminds me to be sensitive to survivors’ need for justice and, possibly, vengeance.

Many justifications for executions set aside the language of Mosaic law and focus on possible benefits for the surviving family. One doesn’t so much hear the word vengeance in such discussions, but one does hear the word closure. A common justification for the death penalty is that it provides closure for the family.

When Boston Marathon bomber Dzhokhar Tsarnaev was sentenced to death, the mayor of Boston expressed the hope that “this verdict provides a small amount of closure.” Similarly, when the decision was made to allow survivors of the Oklahoma City bombing to witness the execution of Timothy McVeigh, Attorney General John Ashcroft stated that he hoped the execution would help survivors “meet their need to close this chapter in their lives.”

Whether executions provide closure depends on what we mean by that word. For most of us, closure implies a completion or conclusion. When a corporation announces store closures, that means those stores are no longer operational. So, in discussing the process of grief and trauma, closure would seem to imply a conclusion—the suggestion that there is an end point to grieving.

This expectation of closure is sometimes supported within a person’s social network. At this time, I am counseling several parents of children who committed suicide. All have commented on encountering, either directly or indirectly, the message “Aren’t you over it by now?”

Think for a moment of the people in your life you have lost. Are you no longer grieving? If I think of loved ones who are gone, I become aware that I may be grieving those losses for the rest of my days. My grief may not be as intense as it was at the time of the loss. But reminders of someone’s absence in my life help me see that grief goes on, that there is no closure in the sense of conclusion to my grief. There’s no point at which I dust myself off and say, “OK, I’m done missing that person.”

The Myth of Closure

In her book Closure: The Rush to End Grief and What It Costs Us, Professor Nancy Berns makes the compelling argument that the concept of closure has emerged within a political context to justify the death penalty and as a “made-up concept: a frame used to explain how we respond to loss.” It has become such a common word in discussions about grief that people assume it exists and is within their reach. In fact, its prevalence reflects the hope we all have that we can heal from the devastation of tragedy and trauma.

For some, closure means the conclusion to a very public process of crime, arrest, trial, and multiple appeals. Anecdotal evidence suggests that indeed the execution provides that sense of closure. But the word closure also implies healing and completion. Evidence suggests that not only does the death penalty not facilitate healing but, in fact, may interfere with it.

In his 2007 study of families of murder victims, Scott Velum found that only 2.5 percent indicated a strong sense of closure resulted from the execution of the murderer. A study published in the Marquette Law Review compared survivors’ reactions in Minnesota and Texas. Killers in Minnesota were sentenced to life imprisonment, an outcome that was experienced as satisfying by survivors. Texas survivors were less satisfied by death penalty verdicts, in large part because of the prolonged appeals process.

As Bill and Denise Richards, parents of a 9-year-old boy killed in the Boston Marathon bombings, wrote in the Boston Globe, asking that the government not seek the death penalty, “The continued pursuit of that punishment could bring years of appeals and prolong the most painful day of our lives.”

Jody Madeira worked with and studied survivors of the Oklahoma City bombings. In her book Killing McVeigh: The Death Penalty and the Myth of Closure, she noted that Timothy McVeigh’s execution did not provide the kind of closure some survivors may have hoped for. As one survivor noted, “There won’t be closure till I am dead.”

The Path to Healing

Are survivors then simply left in anguish, or is some form of healing possible? Perhaps rather than talking about closure, we should be talking about healing.

Sociologist Loren Toussaint suggests that healing is possible through the process of forgiveness. Madeira agrees that forgiveness can help but argues that it is not the only path to healing. This is a delicate topic that must be approached carefully and without judgment. Forgiveness can indeed help survivors heal, but it isn’t that simple. Forgiveness is a process, one that can last a lifetime.

First, let’s be clear on what forgiveness isn’t. Forgiveness does not mean condoning—a distinction relevant to people dealing with someone on death row. Forgiveness does not minimize what was done. The bombings in Boston will never be acceptable. The 9/11 attacks can never be dismissed in terms of the personal trauma. The murder of a loved one will never be OK. After all, the God of my understanding is indeed a God of mercy, but also a God of justice.

Then there is the common phrase forgive and forget. Not only is that often not possible, but in some cases it’s not a good idea. If someone has assaulted me, I may need to forgive that person, but it may not be a good idea for me to invite him or her over for dinner. That person may have no remorse and might assault me again.

The first step in forgiving is making the decision to forgive. The important thing to realize in making this decision is that the person who will benefit most from forgiving is the forgiver. Forgiving frees the forgiver from all the negative venom of hatred and resentment. Essentially, to forgive is to reclaim power from the forgiven. Professor Madeira quotes Oklahoma City bombing survivor Bud Welch as saying about forgiving Timothy McVeigh: “I was the one that got relief from all this pain . . . and it wasn’t about McVeigh.”

Sometimes we confuse forgiveness with reconnecting with someone in a loving way. That reconnecting is a decision that I may make after I have forgiven. I also have the option of not having the offender in my life. In other words, to forgive doesn’t necessarily mean to reconcile with someone.

To forgive means I also have to face all my rage and anger, all my thoughts of vengeance. We can’t sidestep the emotions. I have sat with some people who experienced tragedy or trauma and afterwards stated, rather flatly, “I’ve forgiven that person,” without any acknowledgment of the pain inflicted by that person. This to me is an intellectual exercise, not an experience of true forgiveness.

Learning to Walk with the Pain

In exploring alternatives to the prevalent concept of closure, we also need to broaden our understanding of grief. The concept of closure may have its roots in Elisabeth Kübler-Ross’ famous five stages of dying. That theory has been broadened to include grief. The fifth stage is acceptance. Like closure, this notion has many meanings.

What does it mean to accept the death of a loved one? Again, some kind of finality is suggested, a sort of conclusion to the grieving. I have sat with persons who judged themselves because they did not feel they were finished grieving. Others had well-meaning friends and relatives suggest they should be “over it by now” or that they hadn’t “accepted” the death because they were still grieving.

Over the years I have dealt with many people who came to see me because someone else was concerned about them or, more often, because they themselves questioned whether they were grieving correctly.

I recall one beautiful woman who came to see me after the death of her husband of 50-plus years. She was concerned whether she was grieving correctly. She stated that well-meaning friends had given her a stack of books on grieving. Not wanting to disappoint anyone, she read them all. When I asked what she thought after all that reading, she told me: “I’m completely confused. They contradict one another.”

So what did I do? I gave her a book to read! Only it wasn’t an edition of Grieving for Dummies. It was C.S. Lewis’ A Grief Observed, his journal written the first year after the death of his beloved wife, Joy. The book has no easy answers, and, at its conclusion, it is clear that Lewis will continue to grieve. There is no nice, clean ending. No closure. Only Lewis trying to learn to walk with the pain.

In dealing with losses in my own life, what works for me is to view grieving as a process of learning to walk with the pain. This suggests that, because of a particular loss, my life is changed forever. I am challenged to find a way to move forward living my life as well as possible while at the same time carrying the loss. This is especially true for those who’ve lost a loved one through some criminal act, be it murder or terrorism.

To learn to walk with the pain has several facets. One is to make the decision not to let the trauma define the loved one’s life. It is to affirm that I will not be known as the parent of that girl or boy who was murdered. Rather, I will be known as the parent of a child who touched lives in a beautiful way before leaving life much too soon.

Another facet of walking with the pain is to facilitate the loved one’s legacy. Such legacies may take the form of charitable donations or even the establishment of a charity. Others might establish a scholarship fund. Some get tattoos or plant trees. Such actions don’t make pain go away, but they create a legacy that has some meaning.

For me, acceptance means acknowledging that life is now different, and that I will be walking with this pain until I meet my loved one again in a better place. That may be the only real closure.

By Richard B. Patterson, PhD

#death penalty #myth of closure

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