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theonlygamergost · 4 years

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He didn’t hesitate - Dream-ing SMP au

I was one of the people who wanted to see Wilbur blow everything up at the festival, and I also want to see Phil on the Dream SMP, but since he isn’t on the server... what if I mixed these two things that didn’t happen?

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The Dream-ing SMP au is an au where Wilbur, Techno, Tommy and Tubbo join Phil’s Minecraft hardcore world, right after they joined, Wilbur gets a mysterious fever that makes him sleep for three days, while asleep, he dreams about the Dream SMP. So now, Wilbur will have to deal with the feelings and events that happened in the Dream SMP knowing that he dreamt them himself, All while living in Phil’s peaceful hardcore world.

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Cw// Jschlatt, Dream SMP festival - Tw// Swearing, TNT, (almost) Drowning, Angst, lots of angst, mention of nightmares?

This is very angsty, just saying, be ready to cry.

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Enjoy!

“Let the festival begin!” Tubbo exclaimed, everyone wondered why he had said such a line when the festival of Manburg had been going on for almost an hour now, but the line wasn’t meant for them.

From the top of the building he was standing on, he jumped down in broad daylight, running for the back of the hill, “WILBUR SOOT?” Quackity noticed his brown coat instantly, moving the attention of the president to him.

Both Niki’s and Fundy’s screams of his name were drowned by the adrenaline pumping through his blood, he jumped over the fence and dug the dirt covering the room with the button, he looked once more at the sign singing the L’Manburg anthem, sighed, and pressed the button, bolting outside once again, climbing over the hill to get a better view, he yelled “TUBBO, TECHNO, TOMMY RUN!!!” On cue, Techno started up his elytra meanwhile Tommy jumped off the same building Wilbur did.

Tubbo was about to jump off the stage to run towards him, to run in the woods, and finally join him in Pogtopia, but Jschlatt grabbed his arm,” Where are you going Tubbo? Are you following orders from that guy instead of mine?” Tubbo stuttered, Schlatt giggled, “Of course you would, traitor” To the sight of the president of MAnburg grabbing Tubbo’s arm, Tommy turned around and loaded his crossbow, ready to shoot at Schlatt and free his friend, but it was too late.

Everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong in that exact moment.

Techno’s wings got shot, making him fall, Niki kneeled down to help him, the explosions had already made the blackstone stage and the seats in front of it disappear and Tommy, at the sight of his friend disappearing in a cloud of dust, froze still, “TOMMY RUN!!!” Wilbur shouted, running back towards a TNT-danger zone, but the blonde boy had also disappeared in the explosion by now, a cloud of dust engulfed the British boy in the brown coat.

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Wilbur sat up, sweat, tears, and heavy breathing clouded his mind and plagued his body, looking around frantically, the sober pattern of smooth stone, cobblestone, and oak fences welcomed him to the simple house, purple shulker boxes disposed in a line pointed at a pair of wings and a striped bucket hat, “P-Phil?”.

By the wall of chests, Phil was grabbing materials and mumbling to himself, his name being cried out by Wilbur made him turn around, “Will! Mate! You finally woke- Are you… ok?” The bright smile turned into a more preoccupied expression. Leaving the lists of things he needed on a shulker and sitting next to Wilbur on the red bed, Phil touched his forehead to find out it was boiling and covered in sweat, “You have a fever… that explains it” he mumbled to himself, making Wilbur even more confused.

“Explains what? And why are you here? Why am I here? I’m supposed to be in the Dream SMP Phil!” It was Phil’s turn to stare blankly at Wilbur, “Dream SMP? What are you talking about? Also, why wouldn’t you be here? You came here with Tubbo, Techno, and Tommy a couple of weeks ago now, did you forget about it?” At the sound of the names of his fellow Pogtopians, he asked where they were, to which Phil simply pointed outside.

The two young boys were playing happily with some of the dogs, giggling and running in the morning’s bright sun, a glass building with bees, and a fence full of cows could be seen in the distance.

“Techno left to mine some more netherite for you all, he won’t be back for a while”.

Knowing that everyone was safe made his heart rest a bit, only to get preoccupied with the fact that the older man didn’t know about the SMP “But what about the war? The election?” Phil sighed, getting up from Will’s bed “The fever must be getting to you Wilbur, you are speaking nonsense” Wilbur tried to complain, telling him about Schlatt and how he needed to get L’Manburg back, but Phil simply brought a hand up in a sign for him to stop rambling.

He took a cloth, dipping it into the cauldron and wringing it, going back to the bed, he gently pushed Wilbur down on his back and placed the damp cloth on his steaming forehead, “You slept for three days straight with a fever mate, it’s normal that your mind can get a bit delirious, I’m sure it must have been a pretty intense dream too, you kept shifting and whimpering, I think you cried a couple of times too.” Phil moved away from the bed again

A… dream? The Dream SMP was all… a dream?”

“Here, drink this” he helped Wilbur sit up-right again, giving him a glass of water, he started gulping down the liquid.

But it was all so detailed… he could feel the heat of the sun and the warmth of the other players… he could feel the pain with each arrow and fall… everything looked and felt so real!

“Not to be a dick Will, but the sweat is starting to dry, if you don’t go wash you’ll start stinking soon” Phil interrupted his train of thoughts, “Plus, the water today isn’t cold, just a bit chilly, it’ll do you good, collecting your thoughts and waking you up… you might want to consider” Wilbur nodded, giving the blonde man back the glass after murmuring out a thanks for the water and the suggestion.

Getting up, the world started spinning, forcing him to sit back down. He waited a minute or so before slowly standing up again and leaning on the wall for support, his body did feel like he had been asleep for three days, his legs were holding him but they shook. As he looked down at them he realized that he was wearing his old skin: white tee, black jacket, and black trousers, it was definitely more comfortable than the L’Manburg and the Pogtopia skin.

Clicking the button to open the iron door, the bright sunlight blinded him briefly, while his eyes adjusted, some cheers in the distance brought him back to when it was just them, right after Eret betrayed them, Tommy, Tubbo, and himself, rebuilding the blown up L’Manburg while goofing around… the sunlight was just as warm.

The ocean surrounding most of Phil’s house was clear, you could see the bottom, the fishes and the sea lanterns.

Thank god in Minecraft you didn’t have to worry about your clothes getting wet, you could just jump in, feel the water on your skin, and be completely dry a few seconds after getting out.

So he did just that, taking a deep breath and inhaling as much oxygen as he could, he let his trembling legs give out and fall into the water.

In a second, everything went quiet, the cool water washed over him, getting rid of stress, sweat, and the effects of the fever, he felt reborn.

Just as he did when Dream gave him the TNT.

His forehead wrinkled, how was it all a dream? Tommy and Tubbo looked so peaceful while playing earlier, there is no way that they would have looked like that if the SMP happened, and Phil didn’t know anything about it? At this point, it had to have been a dream…

So if… hypothetically speaking… the Dream SMP… the wars… the betrayals… the election… the festival… If they were all a dream…

Did he create all of those situations? Did he think about Eret betrayal, all of those explosions, Schlatt winning, him and Tommy running into the woods…

Did he think about killing his friends? About making them fight in combat?

He made them suffer… he dreamt about making his friends suffer!

What kind of person does that?! What kind of friend dreams about those things?!

A faint voice called out his name, but his vision started to get darker… he was out of oxygen, but he was too occupied calling himself a monster… he was terrified of his mind… he was…

“WILBUR!!!”

In the last moment of consciousness, a shadow covered the few rays of sun filtered by the water while warm arms wrapped around him, pulling him upwards, then everything faded.

“WERE YOU NOT LOOKING OVER HIM??” “No- I didn’t think he would have just sunk to the bottom like a rock! He looked fine!” “Is he breathing?” “If-... He-... doesn’t-... soon-!”

As if a rock fell on his chest, Wilbur gasped for air as water rose up his throat, using his elbow as support as he coughed out the water that ended up in his lungs. He could feel the presence of people next to him, but he was too tired to turn and see who they were.

As he started breathing air again, he collapsed back on his back, the lights shined on the worried faces of Tommy, Phil, and Tubbo who where standing behind the man that was sitting on his knees in front of him, he was also panting and his clothes were also wet, after focusing on his face harder, he was able to see that it was Technoblade.

He gave him cpr...

“Will? Can you-... hear me? See me?” He nodded, Techno sighed in relief, using his hands to help himself up straight, he allowed Phil to kneel down next to Wilbur, sitting next to him up and cupping his face, “What the fuck crossed your mind, Wilbur?! Why would you not swim up to breathe?!”

He wasn’t paying too much attention to Phil, his eyes were focused on Tubbo that was holding his mouth, and Tommy who was hugging him, eyes clearly puffy from crying.

Then, behind the two teens, Technoblade emerged back from the water, with his royal red cape in a hand, and his shiny crown in the other.

Techno jumped in the water without taking his cape off…

The voice he heard calling his name in fear was Techno’s…

Techno saw Wilbur in the water and jumped in without taking his cape and crown off…

At that point, Wilbur started crying, gripping on Phil’s shoulder as hard as he could.

In the Dream SMP Techno did not hesitate to agree on helping Wilbur in his maniacal plan, without fear of his reputation getting damaged or getting his hands dirty…

… Just like he didn’t hesitate to jump in the water, even with the risk of damaging his cape and losing his crown.

#tw jschlatt #tubbolive #tubbo #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #ph1lza #technoblade #quackity #fundylive #nihachu #dream smp #fanfiction #my fanfiction #mcyt #mcyt fanfiction #writing #my writing #dream-ing smp au

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mnthpprt · 4 years

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Chapter 38: Nocturnal

[Am I procrastinating by writing yet another chapter? Yes I am. Pls send help.]

I wake up only a couple hours later to find Arthur is gone. He must have gone back to write in is room. I don something comfortable and pick up my blood soaked clothes from the bathroom floor to wash them. Though Sebastian knows what I did, I don’t want to wake him up in the middle of the night for this. He has done enough already, and I can deal with the stains myself.

I fetch a bucket and a jar of salt from the kitchen and bring it back to my bedroom before filling it with cold water. I then proceed to scrub as much as I can off the clothes inside the shower, using a thick salt paste, and when the water stops running red, I lather them in soap and leave them to soak in the bucket. The stains are fairly fresh, so hopefully they will come out in a day or two.

After drying myself off, I leave to aimlessly roam around the mansion. I need to do something, anything, to keep my mind occupied. I eventually end up in the attic, crawling onto the roof through the dormer window. I am pleased to find Jean is there. I don’t think I could handle being alone with my thoughts.

“Mind if I join you?” I ask, knocking on the window frame. Jean turns to glance at me before shuffling over, making space for me beside him on the edge. “This is becoming a habit, huh?”

“It’s not one I’m opposed to,” he shrugs. I light a cigarillo, and he looks at it disapprovingly. “Unlike that one.”

“Sorry.” Before I can smother the flame on the roof tiles, he holds my hand to stop me.

“I was joking...” he mutters. “I don’t mind if you smoke.”

I... did not think Jean had a sense of humor. His is a lot like Mozart’s, I think, in the sense that it’s hard to tell when they’re kidding. I chuckle and look up at the sky. The sun is still nowhere near the horizon. It must be around 3 in the morning.

After exhaling a cloud of smoke, I glance at Jean to notice him staring at my arm. My sleeves are still rolled up from the laundry, and most of my tattoos are fully exposed.

“Is that some sort of plant?” he shyly asks. I nod.

“A monstera adansonii. I used to work in a flower shop, and this is my favorite plant that we sold,” I explain. Though it is commonly referred to as ‘Swiss cheese plant’, the holes on its leaves have always reminded me of the craters on the moon.

“I own a shop too,” he quietly informs me, catching me by surprise. “I sell weapons.”

“Sounds about right,” I chuckle. His fascination with the objects is evident in his bedroom. “Do you make them yourself?”

“Only some of them. I mostly just make slight alterations.”

“Must be a lot of work, if you also own the place,” I ponder out loud. “No wonder I rarely see you during the day, you must be so busy.”

“Napoleon helps me with the paperwork. I wouldn’t be able to manage without him.” I tilt my head, wondering what he means by that. “I, uh... I can’t read or write,” he explains.

“Oh.” It makes sense, given the time that he lived in. Most people back then were illiterate. I open my mouth when a thought occurs to me, but quickly close it and sink down against the chimney, resigned.

“What is it?”

“I was going to offer to teach you, but I’m not much better off myself,” I chuckle. “I could not spell in French if my life depended on it. I can kind of read it, though. That, I might be able to help you with.”

“... Thank you,” he murmurs after a brief pause, before turning to look at me with his good eye. “I am glad that you are staying here, Anaïs.”

“Yeah, about that...” I mutter. “I think I understand how you felt that night. These baby vampire impulses are... a bit too much to handle. It’s rough.”

Jean nods slowly and looks away from me, as if thinking about something. When he finally speaks again, his voice is even softer than usual.

“You slipped, didn’t you?” His unexpected question makes me tense beside him. I guess he feels it, because he continues. “I was up here when you came back. I saw you.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” I sigh. “It was bad. I mean, it was self defence, but that doesn’t make it any less awful...”

“It does,” he declares. “Do you think that person would have died if they hadn’t attacked you?”

“Not really, but-”

“Then they deserved it and their blood is not on your hands,” he cuts me off. “Not literally, at least.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way. The logic in his argument is not exactly airtight, but it’s better than blaming myself for what I did. I helped Jean hate himself a little less, it’s time to let him do the same for me. Satisfied with my new mindset, I bring the cigarillo to my lips and inhale a deep puff.

“... People,” I finally correct him after I blow out the smoke. He looks at me, confusion in his ocean blue eye. “There were two people.”

“And you took them down on your own?” he inquires. I shrug. It’s not exactly something I’m proud of. “Impressive. I didn’t think a frail little woman like you could defeat one, even as a vampire.”

“Hey, I’m stronger than I look,” I laugh. I am still not sure whether he was teasing me or not, but I chose to take it that way. He looks at me before shaking his head.

“Nah, I don’t believe that.” Yeah, he is definitely messing with me this time.

“I am, I swear!” I play along, gently smacking his muscular arm. “Wanna take this to the training room?”

Instead of replying, he gets up and offers me his hand. I take it, letting him effortlessly pull me to my feet, and follow him back inside.

“You know,” I say on the way there, “I’ve been wanting to learn how to fight properly for a while. Ever since I saw you and Napoleon on my first day here.”

“How about I teach you that, and you teach me how to read?” he suggests. I smile.

“I’ll do my best.”

When we enter the training room, Jean turns the switch on the wall, making the lights turn on with a flicker. I wonder how he feels about all this new technology, so unfamiliar to him. He seems to have gotten somewhat used to electricity and running water, at least. Although I’m pretty sure his brain would implode if he saw the things that are common in my time.

He exchanges his rapier for a wooden version of it he takes from the rack in the corner, and hands me another one, identical to his. It’s heavier than I expected. I hold it between my thighs to tie my hair up as Jean expertly waves his sword around with a flourish, getting accustomed to the different handle in his hand. What did I just get myself into? Whatever it is, it’s going to be fun.

“En garde!” He takes a stance, and I try to mimic it, but my thin right arm is unused to the weight of the weapon, so my left hand instinctually joins to support it. “No, use only one hand,” he instructs. “Like this.”

I am surprised to see I can easily hold it up once I get past the mental barrier of what my human body was capable of. I am stronger and more resilient than I have ever been, though I think I’ll need some time to get used to that.

“Alright, I’m going to attack now. Try to block it,” he warns be before lunging forward and thrusting his sword towards my stomach. The movement is deliberately slow to give me time to deflect it, which I successfully do.

He slashes at me again, stepping closer. I push his sword to the side with my own, but it comes back in full force. I barely manage to block it this time, reeling backwards.

“Focus,” he orders me. “There is more than one way to avoid being hit.”

I nod, taking the hint. When he attacks again, I am quick to dodge his sword, focusing on agility rather than strength. While I struggled significantly to parry Jean’s hits, I can effortlessly jump and twist out of the way without ever having to lift my own sword. His movements accelerate, and I follow along, resulting in a graceful dance between us. It reminds me of waltz with Mozart, how he had spun me around the ballroom until my vision blurred and I struggled to keep up with his quick footwork.

“Ow!” I cry out in pain when Jean’s sword hits my hand, right on my knuckles.

“Désolé! (Sorry)” he apologizes, lowering his weapon. “Not bad, Anaïs. How come you’re so fast? You’ve never trained before.”

I simply point at my skates across the room, the red suede boots having become part of the training room’s vast collection of equipment over time. I started leaving them here, on the floor near a corner, when I realized I could never use them outside of the mansion.

“When you’re falling from a triple spin in the air, you gotta be quick or you end up breaking your leg, or something,” I chuckle. Jean nods, his eyebrows raised, as if he just considered that possibility for the first time. He probably did, but to be fair, he has been watching me skate for a month now. He should know better.

I slowly flex my fingers over the sword’s handle, but wince in pain when I try to move my pinky. It’s too sore for me to continue training.

“Are you hurt?” Jean asks, concerned. I shake my head.

“I’ll be fine, it’s just my pinky,” I brush it off. “It will be healed in a day or so.”

“We should continue another day, then.”

I want to argue, but he’s right. I can barely hold the sword straight. My pinky might have taken the brunt of it, but the dull ache expands through my entire hand.

“Okay, but I’m gonna skate instead, if you don’t mind,” I finally give in, walking to ‘my’ corner of the room, before kicking my shoes off. “I have way too much energy. I fear I’ll end up eating someone again if I don’t get rid of it somehow.”

As I struggle to tie my laces with a semi-numb hand, I remember something. I look up at Jean and stare at him for a few seconds before voicing my thoughts.

“Do you know any songs?”

“Yes, why?” he asks, confused.

“My headphones are dead.”

“Headphones?” He sits on the floor beside me and tilts his head.

“Yeah, you know those little things I wear in my ears sometimes?” I remind him. “They play music. And, well, it’s kinda weird for me to skate without music, so I was wondering if you could sing something...”

“Did I accidentally hit your head?”

I snort at his genuine question. Of course, he seems even more confused by my explanation. It is then that I remember my phone still works. I turned it off after my first night here to preserve the battery. It must be in my room somewhere, along with my wireless earplugs.

“Wait here,” I tell him, quickly pulling off my skates. “I’m just gonna show you. I’ll be right back.”

That said, I jump up and run barefoot out of the training room. I have no idea how I’m gonna explain this to Jean without him thinking it’s witchcraft, but it might be better if I just let him see it for himself.

#ikemen vampire #ikevam #ikevamp #ikemen #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikevam fanfic #ikevamp fanfiction #ikemen vampire jean #ikevamp jean

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amayawolfe · 4 years

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Ch. 4 - On Death's Doorstep

My Stories Masterlist

Word Count: 4468

Summary: Hisoka finds himself back in familiar company from his past. Is this all real? Or is he dreaming? Perhaps even... dead? The only thing that quickly becomes clear is that the redhaired teen is most definitely not safe.

⚠️ Warnings: angst, blood, gore definition, mild violence, nightmares, mental trauma, mentions/suggestions of trauma, mental instability, panic attack, rot/decay, self harm, strangulation, near death experience, unintentional/accidental suicide, death rattle

Hisoka

A warm, bright light slowly penetrated Hisoka's closed eyelids, steadily rousing his conscious mind. He could tell he was laying on something soft and was covered with some sort of blanket. Keeping his eyes closed, he attempted to shift his position to get more comfortable only to be greeted with a wave of intense pain. He winced and hissed through his teeth, he felt as though his entire body had been trampled by a herd of stampeding horses.

Having been overcome with such a great amount of pain so quickly, his muscle tensed and cramped, making matters all the worse. He swallowed hard and felt his brow furrow as he tried to focus on making his muscles relax. It was a slow and exhausting process.

The sound of someone walking on soft flooring close by caught his attention. Whomever it was shuffled right up beside him and stood silently next to him. Before he could speak, a warm hand lightly lay on Hisoka's sweaty forehead as though checking his temperature. After a moment, it began to gently stroke his head, brushing his damp hair away from his forehead. The act was soothing, and Hisoka could feel himself start to relax and take some of the edge off the pain.

"I'm sorry, baby, that last one was really rough with you, wasn't he..."

Upon hearing his mother's soft, tender voice, Hisoka felt as though he had downed an entire bucket of ice water; ice and all. He forced himself to suppress a shiver when chills ran down his back and he felt himself nod in response. Confusion trickled into Hisoka's brain, was this a dream? Or was he dead, too? How come the pain felt so real? If he was dead and now in the afterlife with his mother or simply dreaming of her, he shouldn't feel this kind of pain, right?

"Am I-" ♣ his voice cracked, sounding hoarse and brittle. He licked his lips and found that they were dry and cracked. He then realized he was horribly thirsty as if he hadn't drank anything in days.

"Water," ♠ he pleaded in a croaked whisper.

His mother loosed a pain filled sigh, "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but the water was shut off again. I'll have to leave to try and find some." The soft rustle of clothing indicated his mother was starting to move away to do just that.

Hisoka shook his head, causing it to throb and spin behind his eyelids. Everything hurt so badly, it made him feel weak and vulnerable. He didn't want to be left alone, even if it meant the company of someone he hated. He feebly reached out to where he had heard his mother's voice coming from. His arm shook and ached as he reached for her.

After a hesitant moment, he could feel her soft, warm hands gently wrap around his own. He sensed her draw close; the movement was followed by a tender, motherly kiss placed upon his brow. Her actions made a tight ache form in Hisoka's chest. How he wished that this could have been his mother all the time. Loving, caring, gentle. He knew all too well this facade was only the beauty that hid her venom.

He slowly opened his eyes, his vision was a little blurry but he could see her sitting there beside him in her pale green bathrobe. Hisoka guessed she had just recently gotten out of the shower since her hair was up in a towel. The warm light that filled the little apartment they shared was brighter than normal and gave their surroundings a very fuzzy and surreal feeling.

Hisoka tried to recall how he could have possibly gotten here. His brow furrowed again as he struggled to remember the most recent past events.

I was with the troupe, we reached Dolle, we got to the inn, Jasper harassed Aba- Wait! ♠ Hisoka's eyes narrowed as flashes of being pulled into an alley darted through his mind. He could see and hear Jasper talking to him, and the brief scuffle they had. Then someone was behind Hisoka, but the broken stream of memories ended there.

Hisoka felt a sinking sensation within the pit of his stomach. He licked his lips once more and tried to swallow before he spoke, "Am.. Am I dead? ♠"

His mother gave him a sorrowful look, "Oh, sweetie, no no, you're not dead." She let go of his hand with one of hers and began to stroke his head again.

"You must feel awful, I told that last one to be gentle with you. I'm so sorry sweetie."

Her tone had become sickeningly sweet with empty apologies. Hisoka's nose wrinkled as a wave of disgust washed over him. He pulled his hand away from hers and looked away, yet she continued to stroke his head.

"You always did say you were sorry, mother," he barely croaked in a rough, broken voice, "but you never did anything to prevent it." ♠

The hand that had been stroking his head stopped and slowly pulled away. There was a heavy silence for a few minutes before he heard his mother sigh.

"You're right, I'm a terrible mother. I should have done more to love and protect you."

A scowl started to form on Hisoka's face yet he did not respond to her. Another heavy silence, one that grew uneasy with every tick of the second hand in the clock on the wall.

After a while, Hisoka finally broke the silence, "Do not expect me to disagree with you..." ♣

He could hear her shuffle and shift uncomfortably beside him.

"I didn't- I mean, I know..." She trailed off and Hisoka snickered at her pathetic attempts.

His anger and disgust with his mother was starting to override his pain and dissipate the fog in his mind. It gave him new energy to say the things he had wanted to for so long.

"You knew perfectly well what you were doing," ♠ he snarled, glaring at the back of the couch he was laying on, "Yet you never did anything to fix it. Your own pleasures were always more important than me. ♣ Even though you could see what it was doing to me and what I was being put through you-"

Hisoka stopped his tirade, he could sense something was wrong. The warm light that had been filling the room started to fade away and the air around him had become cold and heavy. His mother's breathing changed, becoming thick and ragged.

"I know," her voice rasped, barely above a hoarse whisper, "I know I was a horrible mother. No, a horrible person. But Hiso, my son, my love, did I really deserve... this?"

Hisoka hesitated, dreading what he would see. The air had become so heavy he could barely breathe as the room continued to descend into darkness. He slowly turned his head to look back at his mother. What he saw caused him to open his mouth wide in a silent scream and desperately attempt recoil to further into the couch.

All color had drained away from his mother's flesh. A horizontal slit appeared in the middle of her throat. The wound wept crimson rivers as it began to yawn wider and wider. He could see muscles, tendons, and trachea seemingly rot away at a frighteningly rapid pace. Hisoka tried to scramble away but his battered and bruised body failed him while his decaying mother leaned forward and slowly began to reach for him with both hands

"Tell me, please sweetie, did mommy deserve to die like that? Did you really have to kill me?"

As she spoke her lips started to rot and pull away exposing her teeth and gums. Her cheeks became sunken as her eyes fell back into her head, leaving empty withering voids that bore into Hisoka's tortured soul. She wrapped both of her rotting hands around her son's throat and began to squeeze, cutting off the precious oxygen his body so desperately required to sustain life.

Hisoka began to thrash and tear at the arms in a frantic and desperate attempt to pull death's hands away from his throat. His actions were futile as he only managed to tear away large handfuls of rotting flesh leaving behind exposed bone. His mind was in full panic, he couldn't breathe to scream and his eyes were blown wide, staring into those voids in his mother's now skeletal face. She drew closer, slowly descending upon him as she chanted over and over.

"Hisoka, why did you do this? Why did you do this to me? I'm your mother. Hisoka? Hisoka! Hisoka! Hisoka!"

Abaki

"Hisoka? Hisoka! Hisoka wake up!" Abaki cried out to her unconscious friend who now thrashed around in his bed and wasn't breathing as his own hands were wrapped tightly around his throat. She desperately tried to pry Hisoka's hands away to free his airway but couldn't get a good enough grip.

She watched in horror as his usually pale, freckled face started to change to an angry shade of red and his lips began to turn blue. Shaking her head, Abaki turned and bolted for the door. Flinging it wide open, she screamed out into the hall, "HELP! PLEASE, SOMEONE, ANYONE, HELP! IT'S HISOKA!"

She looked back over her shoulder, tears of fright were streaming down her face. Terror gripped her heart as she feared she was going to lose her closest friend. That she was going to watch him die right in front of her, unable to help.

Within seconds, Abaki could hear doors opening and hurried footsteps rushing in her direction. The first to the door was Magikana, barefooted and in her long sleeping gown.

"Abaki vaht-" the magician's gaze darted from the frightened girl to the thrashing, dying boy. Her already wide eyes grew even wider as she pushed passed Abaki and made a beeline for her apprentice. As she made it to Hisoka's side, another showed up at the door in boxers, a tank top, and socks. It was the juggler that had seen Hisoka before the sideshows. His eyes grew wide with shock amd concern as he took in what was going on.

"Do not just stand zere, Zane, hold him still for me!" Magikana snapped, struggling to hold Hisoka down the best she could. The juggler blinked then rushed over to help. He barely managed to grab hold of Hisoka's legs to pin them down.

"Kids stro- OOF!" Zane was cut short when Hisoka unconsciously delivered a hard kick to Zane's gut, knocking the wind out of him a bit.

The next person who appeared at the room's door was Moritonio in a house robe. With a quick look he immediately understood the dire circumstances, grabbed Abaki's wrist, and made his way towards the others.

"Come girl," he instructed calmly, "we'll need your help, too."

Moritonio drug a dazed Abaki with him over to the bedside opposite Magikana, nearly tripping over her own feet in the process. Zane was now laying over Hisoka's struggling legs, keeping them pinned to the bed.

"Press your hands on his chest, Abaki, try and keep him still as best as you can," the troupe leader ordered, "Kana, hold his shoulders, I'll try and pry away his hands."

"Be careful as to not break his neck," she warned as she adjusted her position and pressed Hisoka's shoulders down into the mattress.

Just as Moritonio took hold of Hisoka's wrists he noticed the boy's thrashing had diminished greatly, becoming nothing more than feeble twitches. A sense of dread washed over him as he realized what was happening.

"Hisoka?" The boy's hands were still wrapped tightly around his own throat. Moritonio strained to carefully pull Hisoka's hands away. As he did so, Hisoka's nails drug across his own flesh leaving behind bright red trails in their wake. The moment his airway was free, a strange gurgling sound started to emit from the trainee's throat. The adults grew pale as Moritonio felt for a pulse. After a moment, he looked up at Magikana and shook his head.

Abaki's chest grew tight and it felt like her heart had stopped. Her eyes grew wide and became brimmed with tears, gaze falling upon her friend's face, "H-Hisoka?"

At the sound of her voice, Moritonio glanced over at Abaki and his eyebrows suddenly shot up; an idea came to mind. He looked back to Magikana who seemingly heard the ringleader's thoughts and she nodded. The magician then snapped her fingers at Zane to draw his attention away from the poor boy and onto her,

"Quick, fetch zee doctor, ve vill do vaht ve can."

Without question, Zane nodded and bolted out the door. As soon as he was gone Moritonio looked back to Abaki once more.

"Abaki. Abaki!" The traumatized girl jumped a little and turned her focus to her troupe leader and nen master. "Listen to me carefully, Hisoka's heart has stopped as well as his other bodily functions. We could try to resuscitate him, but Kana and myself are not familiar with the methods and may make matters worse trying. However, we need to try something, and I may have just the thing. I want you to emit a small amount of energy into his body. Give it a jump start."

Abaki blinked a few times, she was in a mild state of shock, "W-what? You want me to..." She looked down at her friend's lifeless body and nearly broke down. Magikana turned swiftly and grabbed the girl by the shoulders, shaking her just enough to snap the trainee's attention to the magician.

"Listen carefully, if ve are to save Hisoka," she said in a cool, calm yet stern voice, "ve need you to listen to vingleader, okay?" Abaki nodded with a sniffle before looking over to her nen master.

"O-okay, what do you need me to do?"

"Place your dominant hand here," Moritonio instructed, pointing to an area of Hisoka's chest just over his heart. Abaki hesitated, but only for a moment, then she leaned forward and rested her hand lightly on his still chest. Her lip quivered but she kept it together and looked back up at her nen master.

"Okay, what's next?"

Moritonio spoke clearly and quickly as he explained to Abaki to move her nen to her hand. Once she had done that, she was to slowly and carefully emit her nen into Hisoka's fading residual nen. Abaki was terrified, she knew there were so many ways this could go wrong. She could accidentally force too much nen into her friend causing organs to be ruptured and bones crushed. Or she could completely fry his nervous system rendering him brain dead. She could even damage his aura nodes and cause him to become nenless.

Tears started to spill from her eyes again when those horrid thoughts threatened to cloud her mind. She gave her head a little shake and bit her lip to help maintain focus. She understood why Moritonio was having her do this instead of himself. Emitting nen would flow smoother from a person who is naturally an emitter. With Moritonio being a transmuter, the task would most likely be more dangerous even though he was the more experienced nen user. The fact that her and Hisoka had been training their nen together for the past several weeks and were more intune with each other's nen was another positive factor.

Abaki bit her lip a little harder as she felt the strain of her efforts start to fatigue her body. She had no idea how much time had passed. Seconds? Minutes? Or had it been hours? She honestly felt as though it had been the latter. Her eyes having been shut during most of the process, she wasn't even sure if Magikana and Moritonio were still there.

Hisoka, please, wake up, her heart and mind pleaded as one. She pictured his warm, mischievous smile as he teased her about her crush on Camilla. Those sparkling amber eyes filled with life and excitement as he showed off his nen and magic tricks. She couldn't picture him any other way. This cold, still, lifeless body she was mixing her nen with was not, no, could not, be her friend.

Her brow furrowed and her jaw tensed all the more as she pushed those happy memories of their short lived friendship down through her nen and into his. She now tasted blood coming from her abused lip, but she didn't care.

Hiso, I'm not giving up on you. Wake up. Wake. Up. NOW!

Abaki gave her waning nen a gentle but firm push in a last attempt to save her friend. The last of her nen energy that she could spare. She gasped and would have collapsed onto Hisoka if not for Magikana catching her and holding her upright.

Her vision had begun to blur from over use of her nen, but she could see her friends' still, lifeless face. Moritonio checked for a pulse once again. After a moment his shoulders drooped and the look on his face became sad and grim.

"H-Hiso?" Abaki whimpered. She began to reach towards him with trembling fingers when all of a sudden his entire body jerked.

Abaki cried out in frightened surprise as Magikana pulled her back in sheer reaction; even Moritonio jumped back. Hisoka threw his head back into his pillows and his back arched greatly, lungs hungrily sucking in a massive breath. His bloodshot eyes were now wide open and possessed a frightened, feral look.

When Hisoka started to flail again, Moritonio quickly stepped forward and grabbed the trainee's wrists in case he were to hurt himself again.

"You're alright, boy," Moritonio calmly stated, "no need to thrash about, you're safe. Nothing and no one here is going to harm you. You're among friends."

Hisoka blinked several times, pupils so constricted they were barely visible within their golden irises. He was obviously confused, not to mention terrified. He seemed to slowly recognize the older man as he began to settle down. Moritonio let go of Hisoka's wrists and slowly backed away a bit to give the boy a little more room to breathe. And breathe he did, for he was alive and now conscious to the waking world.

Abaki let out a choked sob as an enormous wave of relief washed over her. She wanted to rush forward and hug her friend, but Magikana held her back. A task not too difficult since the girl was now quite weak herself.

"Is best to let him rest, yes? Little one still has injuries."

Abaki glanced up at the magician and saw that, she too, had tears in her eyes and her lower lip trembled ever so slightly. She looked back at Hisoka then reached out and gingerly took her friends hand. She winced a little at just how cold his usually warm hands had gotten. The touch made Hisoka look in Abaki's direction. His gaze was a little unfocused, and he still seemed a bit confused. He blinked a couple times before he attempted to speak.

"Aba-" Hisoka, Magikana, and Abaki all winced in unison at the sound of Hisoka's voice. Broken, dry, hoarse, it sounded painfully horrible. Hisoka lightly touched his throat with his free hand then jerked it away with a ragged hiss. He then looked over to Magikana with a muddled expression.

"Is bit of story," she sighed softly, reaching over and gently brushing the red raspberry hair out of the eyes of her apprentice. "Rest now, you are safe. Doctor should be here any minute now."

As soon as the magician finished her sentence, a huffing, red faced Zane magically appeared through the door with an exhausted looking woman in tow. She wore medium length salt and pepper hair up in a messy bun, wore glasses, and carried a doctor's bag.

"S-sorry it- *pant* took so long," Zane puffed, "She was *pant* asleep."

"Well," the doctor mumbled under her breath, "it is the middle of the night." She spotted Hisoka and adjusted her glasses as she walked towards him. Moritonio stepped back to give the women more room while Magikana and Abaki stuck close on the opposite side.

She instantly frowned upon a closer look at Hisoka and looked back over at the ringleader.

"Is this the same boy that was attacked in the alley a couple days ago?" she asked, carefully tilting Hisoka's head up to get a better look at his neck.

"Yes," Moritonio answered plainly.

"These are not the injuries my colleague told me about, these are fresh," she glowered at the marks on Hisoka's neck and snapped her head back round angrily. "What happened to him? Who did this?"

"It would appear that while the boy was in comatose he had a horrendous nightmare," the ringleader explained calmly. "He's been mumbling and talking in his sleep throughout most of this past day. We figured he would soon wake up, but instead, he attacked himself. He strangled himself to the point of losing consciousness once more, as well as he had stopped breathing."

The doctor's face paled a few shades and even more serious, something Abaki had not thought possible just a moment ago.

"Heartbeat?" Moritonio slowly shook his head.

"How long?" she further inquired.

"Close to thirty minutes I'd say."

The doctor's frown depended and she continued her exam. She checked his eyes and listened to his vocal cords, heart, and lungs. Once that was done, she asked Hisoka to do some simple motor function tests which he completed relatively well. Abaki held Hisoka's hand while the doctor worked, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze whenever Hisoka flinched or seemed uncomfortable. She was relieved to feel the warmth returning to his fingers.

When the doctor lifted his shirt, Hisoka's eyes blew wide with surprise. His attention was drawn to the vast collection of bruises and bandages all over his body as well as the ones on his arms and legs. He looked over at Magikana and Abaki. His trainer frowned and shook her head slightly, silently mouthing the words, "vill explain later".

Finally the doctor sighed, removed her stethoscope and placed it back into her black bag.

"Well," she started in a tired voice, "his vocal cords and trachea are damaged, but not to the point of needing hospital care, thankfully. The rest of his injuries seem to be coming along nicely; and quickly, might I add. But he will still need at least two weeks of bed rest, plenty of good food, and lots of water. You want to have him stretch a couple times a day so his muscles don't stay stiff all the time. It'll help up blood flow and healing as well. I will be back to check on him in a week, but call me or my colleague if anything strange starts to arise. Not breathing or having a heartbeat that long, I am honestly surprised he's doing as well as he is, all things considered."

"Thank you, doctor," Morintonio replied solemnly.

Abaki noticed the older man frowning at the doctor's news and how he exchanged looks with Magikana. This was an issue, the troupe was supposed to have been in the next town by now, but due to the recent events things had been put on hold. To put travels on hold for another two weeks could prove to be devastating to the troupe's finances.

Moritonio motioned for Magikana to come with him as he walked with Zane and the doctor outside the room. She nodded then gently brushed Hisoka's hair once more.

"Rest, little vun, I vill explain everyzing in zee morning." Hisoka frowned a little as he looked over his trainer's face. He then sighed through his nose and weakly nodded his head. She produced a tired smile and gently ruffled his already messy hair. Before she left, she retrieved two blue sports drinks from a nearby grocery bag and handed one to Abaki and Hisoka each.

"Both of you, drink, rest," she instructed then focused on Abaki, "Stay viz him, I vill be back as soon as I can be." And with that she left the room.

Abaki shifted her position so she could lean back against the headboard to rest more comfortably. She watched as Hisoka opened his bottle and chugged down over half of the blue liquid in one go, wincing from the pain as he swallowed.

Once Hisoka drank his fill, he pulled the bottle away from his dry, cracked lips and took a large, shaky breath. He looked over to Abaki and the two friends stared in silence.

I wonder if he knows that he nearly died. Well, I guess he actually did die. At least for a short bit there. Should we tell him if he doesn't know? Or would it be better left not telling him? I'm not sure if I would want to know that I did something like that to myself without knowing.

Her mind continued to wander as she carefully examined the red haired teen. His dark and sunken blood shot eyes, messy hair, bruised and scratched face, then finally the freshly forming brushes on his neck. She felt her lips twitch as she surprised a grin and snorted through her nose.

Hisoka blinked and opened his mouth to question her but quickly thought better of it. Instead, he closed his mouth and tilted his head, giving Abaki a look of inquiry.

She couldn't help it, a wry, exhausted smile lightly danced across her lips as she said to her friend, "Hiso, you look like shit..."

~ ~ ~

📜 A/N: Thank you so much for reading my story and I really hope you liked the chapter. If you did, please remember to heart and pass word along of this story! I do apologize for the long wait on this chapter, life just gets crazy sometimes, yah know?

Also, I wanna add that if you are feeling down, depressed, unstable, or think that you could cause harm to yourself or even others, please, please, please reach out and get help. Whether it be friends, family, or even someone from a help service, someone out there does does care about you and you do, in fact, matter! As a survivor of attempted suicide, and one who deals with Bi-Polar I Depression, I know that the battle can seem tough, endless, and just down right exhausting. I know that asking for help can be tough and scary, but the first step to anything worth while usually is.

With that said, I again thank you for reading, and please take care of yourself. Get lots of rest, sunshine, exercise, and drink plenty of water! Until next, laters!

~ ~ ~

Previous Chapter: Ch.3 - The Show Must Go On!

Next Chapter: Ch. 5 - Whispers of the Cards

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 4 years

Text

A View To A Winchester (Part 14)

Series Page

Summary: Julie’s starting a new life after divorce in a home with a very nice view.

A Dean X OFC story. I got this idea staring out the view of my home office window and thinking how nice it would be to have Dean Winchester to ogle.

Section Word Count: 6,000

Section Content: fluff, flirting, angst, smut, PTSD, R-rated language, oral sex

~~~~~

Turns out being kidnapped and exsanguinated by a psycho is what totally puts me out of commission. Good to know what the breaking point is for future reference.

Julie sat under the covered patio. It was a bright, sunny day. The sky was that cornflower blue shade that she would have loved. Before. Everything now felt a little duller, muted. It was hard to explain, even to her therapist over their video sessions.

Co-workers called and left messages, wishing her well and begging her to come back to the bank as soon as she was able. When will I be able? Her fuse shortened more as each day ticked off the calendar. Comments she could usually keep in her head spilled out with ease. Talkative Wes had resorted to small waves when he spotted Julie in the yard or outside. The ill-temper and crankiness even wore on her long-suffering mother. Brigida had finally given up and headed back home yesterday. No amount of pasta was going to fix Giulia.

Her eyes narrowed, alone under the patio, inspecting the Impala parked in Dean’s driveway. Julie had even been bitchy to Baby’s owner over the past two weeks. There was no rhyme or reason to it. Any time he called or stopped by, the conversations were short and stilted. She wanted to be left alone. By everyone. Even the man of her dreams. Literally.

Out of everyone who had been blessed to experience her wrath, Dean had seemed the least unphased by it. He’d do his check-ins daily, leaving a voicemail if she didn’t pick up. A long string text conversation he’d been having with himself was more proof on her phone of his continuous efforts to reach out. The bad jokes didn’t stop in person, either, it turned out. Every time she ushered him out a door he’d spin around and flash her the smile that had curled her toes. Before.

The therapist defined what Julie was doing as emotional avoidance. She didn’t want reminders of what had happened, which was understandable and the way most people tried to cope after a traumatic event. Unfortunately, Dean was the very walking reminder of the event in question since he’d been the one to save her. Numbness was avoidance’s partner in crime. And, all the effort she was putting into circumventing everything was exhausting. No energy. No interest. She felt like a flat soda with a pitiful fizzle when you twisted the cap.

And then, there was the other thing gnawing at Julie. The other reason she’d been avoiding Dean. The thing that she hesitated to mention to her therapist until her second follow up session.

She’d dreamed of Dean while she was unconscious. No. Dreamed wasn’t really an accurate description. Because none of the dreams she’d ever had before compared to what she’d experienced.

I lived my life with Dean. For what felt like months.

That life was a technicolor masterpiece. A 70mm film on an IMAX screen. It was bright and vivid. Every frame, aspect of her Director’s cut only put this real life to shame; it was a grainy indie film at best. And most especially, Dean had been in almost every scene. Well, Dean but not really Dean. A perfect archetype had formed in her head of this man. He was loving, affectionate, caring, funny, understanding, thrilling, sexy, fulfilling, and made sure she orgasmed every goddamn time. And there had been many orgasms in that film. Definitely Rated M for Mature. How was she supposed to reconcile all of that with the actual man who had to have some damn flaw?

To be fair, he’d already given me way too much to build up in my head. It’s all his fault. Yeah, the man rescues me and it’s all his fault. Perfect sense there, Jules.

And, maybe even more important - she had felt absolutely no fear in that other life. She’d been safe with Dean. That was something she knew was an impossibility in the here and now. Kidnappers and psychos aside, there would always be that fear, deep down, that Julie wouldn’t be good enough for anyone to love. Not for very long, anyway, and especially not for forever. And especially not by Dean.

What was she supposed to do? Exposure to things that made her happy, or used to make her happy, was the therapist’s suggestion. Constant exposure. And, blocking Dean out of her life because of the possibility he might disappoint her? Would she really be alright with never knowing how things might turn out with him? Did she really never want to take a chance on love again? Was that a well-rounded life or living in constant defense mode? That was the question the therapist left her with at the end of their session that morning.

She sighed and stared at the computer screen after the call. Being clean made her happy, so she forced herself under the shower sprays and then dressed in a comfy pair of leggings and light sweater. Wavy long hair left loose to air dry after a quick comb through with a hair pick. A spritz of her favorite perfume filled her nose with a mix of fruity and floral scents. She decided some natural source of Vitamin D could only help. Grabbing a blueberry muffin, Julie wandered around in the yard munching away on the snack. The sun warmed her head and shoulders. She even tried not to scare Wes away and let him ramble about his garden.

So, now she sat, staring at Baby through her chain link fence. Thinking about her owner. The thoughts weren’t enough to bring her joy. Which is the craziest shit. All I had to do before was picture the man and… boom… ear to ear smile.

A ringing from her phone got her attention. Dean. She hesitated. The fear flooded into her veins and she was unable to push it away. Constant exposure. She swallowed. And answered.

“Julie?” The shock in his voice was obvious.

“Yeah.”

“I-I didn’t think you’d pick up. Was going to leave a knock knock joke on your voicemail.” He chuckled, hesitant.

She sighed. “Let’s hear it.”

Silence. Then, throat clearing. “Knock, knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Tank.”

“Tank who?”

“You’re welcome.”

She cringed. “That’s so bad. It’s almost good.” She could feel the right side of her lip twitch up in… Jesus, could it be a smile?

“I thought it was pretty good. How are you?”

The dreaded question. “I don’t know.”

“Hm. That’s good.”

“Good?” She felt her nose wrinkle up.

“Better than you saying fine when it’s obvious you aren’t. I mean, you always look…”

Julie cut him off. “You shouldn’t have to try and dig yourself out of a hole you didn’t create, Dean. This reaction I’ve been having... It’s all me.”

He was quiet for a few seconds. “We all cope differently. I hit the bottle more than I should. I don’t suggest that by the way. I’m hardly the poster child for emotional stability.”

She laughed, surprising herself. She felt lighter in that moment.

“It’s nice to hear that, sweetheart.” His voice deepened, even more than she thought was possible, at the last word.

Her insides vibrated, like she was a guitar string he’d plucked at with his fingers. Those fingers, those hands. The things you’ve done to me with those hands. Well, not you, actually. Dammit, Jules! “I really like that nickname.” She confessed.

“Yeah? Well, I’ll try and use it more often, then.” He sighed. “You are, though. A sweetheart. Even when you’re bitchy.”

Julie chuckled. “Thanks, hot stuff.”

He clicked his tongue. “I’m still on the fence about that one.” Movement in one of Dean’s windows got her attention. There he stood perfectly framed like a picture from the torso up. The filtering of the screen hazed up her view more than she liked. His gaze wandered over to the patio, landed on her, and surprise washed over his face. “You’re outside?”

She shrugged, staring at him as they continued to talk on the phone. “Figured I’d try and snap out of this funk.”

“But, you’re outside. The only time I’ve seen you out is when you’ve been spying on me.” She could still make out the smirk through the screen.

“My therapist has suggested doing things that make me happy.”

“Good advice.” He nodded, serious. “Hm.”

Julie watched him thinking.

“So, I’ve um, got to take care of something out back. You gonna be around for a bit?”

“Yes.” She dragged out the word.

“Good.” He ended the call and gave her a wink before disappearing.

She stared at the empty window. Out back. She inventoried both their lawns, which he’d mowed only yesterday. A frown formed and she berated herself for missing that show. Hey, being upset that I missed drooling over the man, in real life, is a good sign. A swipe of her phone’s screen had her reading through Dean’s incoherent messaging over the past few days. My hero. It sounded super corny even in her head. But it was true. She couldn’t deny it.

I’ve got you. You’re safe with me, Jules. She thought back to the night when they’d begun to explore each other. Before. The things he did to her body. The Real Dean. The naughty commands he eagerly followed and the sexual directives he’d wanted, but never got the chance to dole out. This man, who made her throb and ache, wanted to make her feel safe through all of it. Everything. Point, Real Dean.

A sound she identified as Dean’s front door closing broke her out of her heated reminiscing. His tall figure appeared, strolled over to Baby, and dropped a red bucket by one of her wheel rims. He rubbed his hands together and turned his back to where Julie was sitting. He crossed arms over his chest and inspected the car from hood to trunk with a slow, methodical stare. There was the tell tale squeak of Baby’s driver side door when he opened it.

Julie watched, a bit perplexed that he hadn’t even looked over to where she was sitting when he came out. It’s almost like he’s… Julie grinned and noted the way Dean leaned into the interior of the car. He widened his bowleg stance, then bent down so the denim hugged the curves of his perfect ass. She heard the key turn in the ignition. Baby’s stereo played a song from his extensive playlist at a respectable volume.

He stood up, closed the car door and stretched, arms raised high above his head. Only a flimsy white t-shirt covered his torso. And it was short enough that when he stretched and then scratched at his side, she got a nice long look at his muscled belly. He smiled to himself and walked into the shed. Julie’s eyes widened in revelation. He’s putting on a goddam show for me. Point, Real Dean.

“Hey, Julie.” She gasped at the unexpected interruption by Wes. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

She placed a hand to her cheek and felt the warmth. “Yeah. I’m good. No apology necessary.”

Wes nodded. “I was- I was wondering if Mamma might need another couple tomato plants for her garden. We bought way too many to plant and…” He placed a bedding tray with two starter plants left inside.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure she can do…”

“Mornin’ Wes.” Dean’s voice had them both turn in his direction. He gave Wes a salute, a neatly wrapped hose draped over his shoulder. Something about the scene felt very Deja Vu to Julie. Holy shit. This happened with Fake Dean. Except, I ended up helping him wash the car. There was water and suds and… Her mouth dried up. He made me cum in Baby’s backseat.

“Oh, hey, Dean. What’s goin’ on?” Wes waved.

Fucking tease. He’s really full on ignoring me.

“Great day to wash a car.” He offered a smile.

“It is.” Wes and his obliviousness to social cues kind of reminded her of Cas, now that she thought about it. The fact that Dean had not spoken to Julie didn’t even seem to register to him. Wes turned back to Julie. “Well, I’ll just leave these with you.”

Julie side-eyed Dean, now crouched down attaching the hose to the spigot by the side of the house. “Thanks. I’ll try not to kill them in the short amount of time they’re in my care.” She smiled.

Wes smiled and walked off. Samuel must have told him to make the visit short and sweet.

Dean raised up and wiped a palm on his ass, leaving a wet handprint on the light colored denim. He grabbed the nozzle and shot a steady stream of water in Baby’s direction. There was that beautiful profile, serious and down to business, soaking his precious car in sheets of water.

Julie smiled. I’ve died and gone to heaven.

After about thirty minutes of delightful torture, Dean’s intentional avoidance (of which the irony only irked Julie more), and the increasing summer heat, she’d had about enough. She couldn’t say what made her finally snap. Maybe it happened when his entire upper body ended up drenched. His shirt stuck and clung to his body in x-rated ways. Samuel would be all about judging this wet t-shirt contest. Maybe it happened when he sponged and sudsed all of Baby up with long, languid strokes. Bending and reaching, muscles and all his pretty parts on full display.

No. I’m pretty sure it happened when he lifted up his t-shirt to wipe his face and gave me the chance to see that chest of his.

Julie stood up and marched over to the fence, twisting her now dry hair with one hand and tossing it behind her shoulder. She waited, patient as she could, while Dean wiped off the last little bit of water from Baby’s rims. He took his time, knelt and focused on the task, and made her shine.

“Hey.” She threw the call out to him. But he didn’t hear her. Or at least pretended he didn’t. She tried again, a little louder. “Dean!” He stood up, opened the driver’s side door, then clicked off the music. The door clicked shut and he strolled over to the spigot. She sighed and tried one more time. “Hot stuff!”

He froze in mid-step at that. His neck cocked in her direction along with an eyebrow.

She grinned and crossed arms over her chest. “Do you have a second?”

Dean tilted his head and walked over. Her insides crumbled the closer he got. Sunshine glistened off his skin from the combination of water and sweat. He flashed her a smile. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if I could get your help with something.” She pursed her lips.

“Sure.” He rubbed his hands together. “What do you need?”

She pointed a thumb behind her. “In the house?”

He looked downright intrigued at the question. “Alright.” He cleared his throat and pried the wet shirt a few inches off his chest with both hands. “Give me, like, five minutes so I can clean up out here and get out of these…”

“Can’t wait.” She shook her head.

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Sure, sweetheart.” His hands tightened over the fence rail.

Julie anticipated his next move and stepped backward. She didn’t wait to see him hop over and quickstepped her body to the sliding door. The sound of him landing on the ground and his strides along the yard sped up her heart. The reaction wasn’t fear. She was… happy.

She opened the door and stepped inside. “Julie.” The call of her name was hesitant. A turn caught him near the entryway. “I don’t want to track a whole bunch of mess into your clean house. Brigida would kill me.”

Thoughtful and sexy, with a side of self-preservation. Smart man. “Leave your shoes outside?” She offered and slipped out of her own flats, sweeping them out of the way with a bare foot. “You aren’t going to need them.”

Dean smirked. “I just don’t want to get in trouble later.” He toed off the sneakers and hopped up into the living room. The door slid shut.

“Does that mean you want to get in trouble now?”

He chuckled and marched closer. “Feeling better, I take it?”

“A little. You helped take my mind off certain things.”

“Good.” He held out an open palm.

She slid her fingers over the damp, pink skin and commented, “You’re all wet.”

“That’s my line.” She laughed at his retort. “And, I wanted to change. But, someone was insistent that they needed my help with... something.” Sock-covered toes curled into the area rug. His fingers threaded in between hers. “What do you need, sweetheart?”

Her breath hitched and the sobbing erupted out of nowhere, without warning.

Dean’s eyes widened. He pulled her forward, into his warm, wet embrace. She clutched at his back. “You’re okay now, Jules.” A soft and husky voice whispered through the kisses he placed on top of her head. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you like that again. Not while I’m around.”

“You can’t be around me 24/7.” She tossed out the fact when her breathing had normalized.

“Well, then, we give you some tools and tricks so you feel safer when I’m not. Little bit at a time. One step in front of the other, right?”

She shrugged into his arms and sniffled. “Dean?”

“That’s me.”

She smiled into the wet cotton. “There’s something else.”

“Okay.” There was that hesitancy in his voice again. She hadn’t remembered hearing that tone from his voice as often. Before.

The rumble and soft hiccups of breath from her mouth vibrated through the shirt to the warm skin. “I had every intention of having you... right here… in the middle of this living room… and, then…”

Those large hands circled along curves hidden under the thin sweater. The motion was soothing and arousing. “Then what?”

“Being this close to you... My body usually has a mind of its own and reacts in a very… pleasant way…”

“Mm-hmm.” He kissed her forehead.

“But, sometimes, now… there’s fear, too…”

His body tensed.

She held tight, feeling him pull away because of the statement. “No. No. It’s not you, or anything you’ve done.” Her lips tasted the cotton of his shirt, burrowing into his chest in defiance of his attempt to detach. “You were the only one that was there, that found me, when I was…” Her nails dragged down the fabric covering taut muscles. “If I ever ask you for the whole story, all that you saw, what you had to do to save me, would you tell me?”

The exhale from Dean over her head was drawn out, complicit. “If it was going to help you, yes.” She tapped his ass, innocent in the attempt and insistent on the need for a different answer. He whispered a comical gasp in surprise. “Hey now.”

“If I ask you, would you tell me? Regardless of how much you think you know what’s best for me, even more than I do? I already had ten years of that bullshit.” She pulled away to stare up at him. Needing to verify his words with the scales of truth hidden in fields of glowing grass. Those things he dared to convince others were merely eyes with the added cocky grin. “Would you tell me the truth just because I asked you to?”

His hands cupped her face. He smiled and searched every inch with his gaze. The eyes finally locked with hers. Her heart stumbled over a few beats. “Yes.”

“And will you tell me the truth, always, even without me having to ask?”

Fingers tightened their grip along her jawline. “Sweetheart, are you proposing to me?” He raised a brow, “Or, is this me proposing to you?”

Julie shook her head, fighting every cell in her body turning to jello at the charm and the words dripping from pompous, delectable, way too full of themselves lips. “Answer the question, Dean-ah.”

Dean’s voice and expression hitched back in surprise. “Did you just Brigida me?” She stomped a foot and he chuckled. “Yes, Julie.” The tone lost any jovial remnants. “I will always tell you the truth.”

Her heart lightened again.

Dean’s forehead pressed against hers. “Even if it hurts.” He sighed. “You enjoy the good stuff more when you go through pain to earn it. What I’ve come to learn, anyway.” Julie’s mouth tilted up, Dean’s mouth tilted down, their motions working in tandem like connected gears. She found his open lips, ready and willing to receive the something between lashing and adoration she was desperate to inflict.

Plump lips glided over hers. He moaned at the insistence of her tongue, licking and tasting the fleshy underside of his lips - those damn lips - along his teeth. Fingers hooked around the back of her neck and pulled her higher, elongating her frame. She lifted up onto tippy toes to maintain the glorious contact.

“Jules.” He groaned and peeled her mouth away with a soft tug at the base of her hairline. A small huff pushed through her open mouth. He licked his lips. “I’m super glad you want to try and work through this.” She smiled at his out of breath state. “Super glad.” He repeated and swiped the pad of a thumb along her bottom lip. “But, if it gets to be too much and you need to stop…”

“I’m not going to need to stop. I want to feel good with you.” She whispered.

A tiny whine escaped his throat. He dropped his brows. “Shit. Right now?”

She nodded.

He huffed but couldn’t hide his smile of anticipation. “Alright, sweetheart. But, you can’t order from the full Dean menu. Maybe just the Happy Meal. I’ve got to go and meet up with Cas and Jack in, like,” he glanced at his watch, “shit, in like a half hour.”

She shrugged. “Happy’s good. That usually comes with a toy, anyway.”

“Ah. So, I’m your toy now?” He clicked his teeth together, then licked her lips with a light stroke of his tongue. “First, it’s ‘hot stuff’.” Another lick. “Then, you’re spanking me.” A tiny shake of his head before another lick. “Now, I’m just some plaything.”

“I’d tell you to shut up... let me continue to objectify you... but I really do love that voice of yours.” Julie shot back between his licks.

His lips curled into a smile. “So, we doin’ this right here?” He nodded to the sliding doors and the open curtains. “Put on a little show for the neighbors?”

“Oh, I can’t put on as good a show like the one you gave me earlier.” Her heartbeat sped up.

“I doubt that. I’ve seen the previews.” He stepped backward and pulled at one hand. “Upstairs?” She nodded. He guided back to the bedroom. The door clicked closed. “So, where were we before?” He smirked. “Sit that cute ass on the bed.” He half-asked, half-commanded.

She did as told, tucking hands under the back of her thighs in wait. “I thought I was going to get to place an order.”

“If we had more time, sure.” He stalked toward her, pulling the damp shirt up and over his head. She swallowed and took in the bare skin of his chest, the ripples of muscle underneath. All of it in the glorious sunlight shafting through the windows. “But, if you want to feel good with me, right now, you’ll let me do what I’ve wanted to do since I first tasted your cobbler.” He leaned over her seated frame and captured her mouth in a heated kiss.

“Wait.” She moaned into his mouth. “Please.” Her hands pushed on his shoulders. He leaned up a little more at the silent direction.

She had to feel him, run her fingers over his arms, his chest. See how this Real Dean compared to the fake one she made up. She’d missed the many scars, one a sizable trench-like cut across his tummy. There were dimples and craters. Bullet holes? The hills and valleys were velvety and rough, steel and warmth. Alive and twitching under her fingers, there was even the slightest pudge and soft give to his midsection.

Damn, I didn’t do him justice. He’s got a roadmap of the life he’s lived on his skin.

His breath hitched above her as she explored with touch. So many questions flooded her mind. She wasn’t surprised to see the tattoo above his heart, right under the left side of his neck. Her fingers circled over the fading black ink. Never would her imagination have come up with the design - a sun with flaming rays, a star in the center. Hands slid along his sides up and around to the rigid blades of his back. A long sigh left his mouth. His eyes crinkled down at her. “You’ve gotta lie back for what I want to do.”

She acquiesced and released. The fluffy comforter billowed in the receipt. She leaned up on her elbows. “What have you wanted to do?” she asked. He straightened his posture and stepped back, unbuckled his belt, pulling it from the loops. The waistband of his jeans rode low over narrow hips when he unzipped. That sweet ass is the only thing keeping them on. Her gaze went lower. Shit. That hard-on might be helping, too. He cleared his throat and slid a palm along the denim over his lengthy excitement. Her mouth hung slack.

He took his time and stroked the fabric. “Eyes up here, sweetheart.” An exaggerated frown matched the one she felt herself making. “I know, little miss nose crinkle. But, you’ll make me lose my train of thought if you keep staring down there. I already don’t have as much time as I want to really enjoy this.” He stepped close again. One of his legs wedged between both of hers. Hands skirted over legging-clad thighs and pushed her sweater up to brush over her stomach. Fingers hooked under the band at her waist and began to peel fabric down past her hips. Her cheeks warmed, realizing he’d caught her panties as well.

“Dean…” she groaned and fell back, lifting her hips to assist. She placed the back of her hand on her forehead and stared up at the ceiling. Embarrassment pumped through her along with arousal.

“Gonna make you feel so good. Promise.” Smoke and honey coated his voice. His fingers skimmed over her bare ass as he continued to undress her. She closed her eyes, bit her lip. He guided her legs up with his tugs. A soft swish of the leggings confirmed he’d balled and tossed them somewhere not within easy reach. “Open your eyes, sweetheart. Can’t act shy for me now.” His mouth pressed above her belly button. She gasped, opened her eyes and watched him snake his body over hers, kissing the sweater, eventually landing on her mouth again. His green eyes inventoried her face. “You like to watch me, right?”

She smiled and nodded.

“And I like it when you watch me.” He grinned and slid down. Her neck tilted to the side to track his descent. His chin grazed over her sweater and dipped into her belly button. “So, make sure you have a good view.” He licked his lips.

Holy shit. I mean, a girl can dream and imagine that a man as hot as this likes to… that whole oral fixation theory. It made for some great material to work with when I was unconscious and in LaLa Land. But, could he really? “You-” She started and lifted up on her elbows. Her mouth dried, and every ounce of liquid seemed to pool into her core. He was bent over, hovering inches above, and staring with great regard at her sex. On instinct her legs tried to shut, but they only managed to pinch around his sturdy, tree trunk thighs. His hands rubbed and soothed, prying her legs open.

“Relax.” He knelt next to the bedside, guided one leg over a shoulder. Warm fingers kneaded at the flesh of her thighs, edging closer to her pussy along with his mouth. He inhaled like he was identifying the subtle aromas in a glass of wine. “Damn, Jules. You smell good.” He smiled.

She was lightheaded. All of the blood was definitely traveling to one spot. “Are you telling me you really like doing this?”

He raised a brow. “You gotta be specific.”

She shook her head, swallowing the giggle of self-consciousness at the sight of him between her legs. “You like going down on women?”

A snarl twitched over his lips and she thought she heard him growl. His eyes closed as his nose buried into her brown curls, right above the slit. She snatched in breath at the feel of his tongue sliding along the edge of her folds. Slow and thorough as he licked. Holy shit. Licking me like an ice cream cone. He dipped inside and searched, nuzzling lower to the wetness he had created. “Hm.” He groaned. The vibrations skirting over her sex made her shiver.

Dean’s mouth worked Julie over. She became enthralled by the absolute bliss he was portraying. He was a damn good actor if he wasn’t enjoying it. There was no awkwardness or held breath. No need for constant reassurance that he was doing it right. No inner countdown working in his head to pay back whatever sexual act he thought she was owed in return. His closed lids showcased long, beautiful lashes. They fluttered open like butterfly wings when his name escaped her mouth. His bright green eyes, sparkling in the sunlight, locked onto her face. Gorgeous son of a bitch. He licked toward her clit. A warm forearm draped over her tummy. His palm pushed and maneuvered with gentle pressure so her lips literally opened up for him, like a blooming flower. He broke contact from her with his tongue. His gaze dropped. Now, a thumb and forefinger assisted, and even she could see hints of the pink, wet flesh of her walls and clit from her vantage. She was on absolute full fucking display. “Shit.” she whimpered.

He grinned. “You’re pretty everywhere, sweetheart.” The pad of his thumb brushed over her clit hood, peeling it back. She fell back and gasped. He blew on the sensitive collection of nerve endings. “I don’t have to ask you if it feels good. I can taste how good you feel.” Another gasp from Julie as the tip of his tongue delved down into the source of her wetness again. He spread the slick over her walls with a slow and languid lick. All the way up to her clit.

“Fuck, Dean.”

He hummed against her, then spoke. “Eyes on me, baby. You’re going to miss the show.”

She sighed, trying to lift herself up on forearms and biceps that quaked in response to every little thing he was doing. “You’re going to kill me.”

A large hand wrapped around the thigh draped over his shoulder. A deep chuckle rattled her insides. “I’m being gentle on you.”

“This is you being gentle?” She licked her lips, unconsciously mimicking him.

“You ready?” He grinned.

“No.” She shook her head. “But, don’t stop.”

“Famous last words.” He kissed her clit and her body arched up, or at least tried to under his palm and forceful restraint. “Need to hear you, watch you come undone.”

She moaned and nodded. His lips closed over the bud and began to suck with a steady, unyielding pressure. He gazed up, his cheeks hollowing at his ministrations. “Yes, Dean.” She whispered. Then his tongue got in on the action, licking the nub as he sucked. He was plucking some invisible nerve. Her entire body ticked and jerked. “Fuck.” Her voice whined and rose higher.

He moaned in approval, eyes never leaving her face. Narrowing lids encouraged her to let go. She bucked under him but he held her tight in place.

“Oh, God, Dean. I’m- I’m…”

He tore his mouth from her. “Are you gonna cum for me, sweetheart?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Say it.” He groaned. Her eyes widened as he walked his fingers along her folds, felt him circle one into her juices, and slathered her clit with the wetness. His thumb took over the assault. “Come on, baby.”

The ticking was back. “I’m gonna cum for you.”

He worked her faster. Her body tensed. He was on literal fire, his body so warm against her. She struggled to stare at him. His face full of lust and primal need, urging her to the edge with that commanding voice. “Yeah, that’s it. I wanna see how pretty you look when you cum for me. Gonna lick you clean. Come on, baby. All of it. Just for me.”

She whined, one last time. “Fuck!” Her brain snapped into a million pieces and a rush of electricity thundered through her entire body.

He moaned and let her ride out the wave, no longer torturing her clit. She watched, shuddering through the tension as he lapped at her release. “Hm. Taste so fucking good.”

She shivered. The inevitable over sensitivity washed over her. He sensed it. Of course he fucking did. Drew back on his knees, rocked up to stand, and then tumbled beside her on the bed. She tried to catch her breath.

He waited, perching himself on an elbow to stare down. He smiled.

“Jesus.” She managed.

“You really needed that.” He placed a hand on her hip. “And, I really liked that.”

Another shiver. “You can’t be real.”

“I’m misdirecting you with all my charm and expertise.” He shrugged.

She turned into him. Her eyes wandered over his chest and down to his jeans. The flap of his open zipper revealed some curly golden brown hair. His erection looked ready to spring out of the denim with the slightest shift of his body. She smiled. “Did you go commando?”

“I was washing Baby.” Another shrug. “Didn’t think I’d be here, doing this.” His brows raised. “Not that I’m at all complaining.”

Her hand rested on the dip in his side right above his hip. His skin shivered. “You’re going to be complaining if you don’t let me take care of that.” She nodded to his lap.

He sighed. “No time, sweetheart.” He sat up and groaned.

“Of course there’s time.” She rose as well.

“I told you. Not for what I want to do.” His fingers traveled through her hair. He kissed her soft and sweet. She moaned at the taste of herself on his lips. He smirked into the kiss and let his tongue slide into her open mouth. He pulled away and kissed her forehead. “Next time I cum, it’s going to be inside you. And, I’m taking my fucking time.”

His matter of fact statement made her blush. “Okay.” she replied.

He stood up and inspected her, zipping up his jeans in obvious discomfort. “What are you doing the rest of today? Besides staying home and thinking way too much?”

Being under his gaze, lying half naked, heated her up again. An attempt at some modesty had her cross legs and tug the sweater over hips. She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“This is probably a very bad idea. But, did you want to come with me?”

“To see Cas and Jack?”

He nodded and found his t-shirt on the floor. When his head poked through the neck of the shirt, he continued. “Jack and Cas are on speaking terms again.” Julie pondered whether actually speaking to Cas was a real possibility. “We were going to go to the festival in the city to celebrate.”

“Do you mean the Italian festival? St. Anthony’s?”

He nodded. “That’s right around your old stomping grounds, isn’t it?”

“Yep. God, I haven’t gone to that in ages.”

He smiled. “So, come along. Like I said, I’ll probably regret it. What with Cas… but, you can see what I have to deal with on a regular basis.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

She smiled. Real Dean. All the fucking points.

Part 15

Series Page

#dean winchester fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean x ofc #spnfanficpond #spn fanfic series #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #dean winchester smut #supernatural fanfiction

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cigarettesnsex · 5 years

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cigar no. 22

"to drown in your ocean..."

00:30

To be honest, I'm unsure of where to start with this. Do I tell you how we met or what happened afterwards?

Okay, well now that I think about it that wouldn't make much sense so I'll tell you how we met. He was a transfer student. Typical cliche I know but nothing about him turned about to be cliche.

In fact, they way we met was quite tragic really. He almost hit me in the face with a soccer ball he'd kicked during gym class. Maybe I should've known then. Though you can't possibly judge a person by the way the kick a soccer ball right?

(a chuckle )

Through high school we were the perfect couple if you will. A couple that only a few people at school knew about and of course my mom.

She was always accepting of me. Dad however...

Anyway! Back to the story. We were a classic Bonnie and Clyde if you will with a Titanic ending. Not that I'd seen it coming but it came either way. Just like every day after that.

Now, you may be wondering where this really all began seeing as my vagueness isn't helping anyone.

I believe it was the day he came home and asked me, "If I left you today would you still love me?"

taehyung sits in the living room. he stares ahead blankly at the tv with the black headphones atop his head.

the yellow walkman is right next to him looking more lifeless than taehyung felt. yoongi has left him with this about thirty minutes ago and he had ignored it until curiosity got the best of him.

well, curiosity wasn't exactly the right word to use. a burning desire to know was more like it.

and maybe burning wasn't the right word for it either when in reality he felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on his head.

jimin's voice had sounded so...lifeless that taehyung was afraid to continue.

The more I know the more chances I'll have of helping Jimin.

that's what taehyung had convinced himself of but he was unsure if he'd be able to stay still once it was done. yoongi said it'd taken him three whole days to get through the whole thing but taehyung has a feeling he'd be done before then.

sighing deeply through his nose taehyung grabbed the walkman and pressed play.

Of course, when you hear that you think, "What type of question is that?" And at the time I was too naive to even question it. I could only respond with a, "Wherever you go I'm sure to follow."

Oh, what a fool I was. The way his eyes flared at me his lip set in hard line should've told me then. Hell, the way he smiled right after should've raised the flag.

But like a sap I was drunk off love and high on my emotions. So, I brushed it off though the question came to visit me again soon thereafter.

"If I left you today would you still love me?"

"Why would you leave if you love me so much?"

That response is what I believe triggered him. I can still feel the way he'd wrapped his hands around my neck squeezing as he yelled at me for asking such a thing. Said someone like me shouldn't care about whether or not someone cared about me cause I was just another body to them.

A space in which was being wrongly occupied. Said that if I were to disappear that day no one would miss me. In a way, I suppose he was right. Who would miss someone like me.

From there I guess it only went up in spirits you know. He didn't get physical with me again but the condescending words never stopped or the disgusted looks.

To look at someone as if they are just vile is worth than baring a physical mark around your neck.

To think I was so weak.

"you're not weak Jiminie. you've never been weak."

taehyung speaks out into the darkness even though jimin is just down the hall. though the jimin he speaks to us one trapped on a cassette tape. his words reaching no one's ears but his own until now. to think that jimin carries this much inside him both amazes and terrifies taehyung all the same.

he continues the tape listening to the tone of jimin's voice each time he mentions something worse.

the degrading, the neglect, the headaches, the sleepless nights, or the overstimulation and rough handling.

it was a cruel and wicked play. a romeo and juliet type ending without the romance. oh, how the words jimin uttered stirred something inside of taehyung's gut that had him gasping for air.

a sinister, wicked, and unrelenting tale that sounded more unreal as it continued.

One night out of the many I've successfully stowed away he spoke to me with calmness in his voice.

I was sitting on the bed. Right hand cuffed to the bedpost wearing a shirt that was two weeks overdue in need of wash. If I close my eyes I can still smell my dried up tears and his cum.

He was wearing the gray sweater I bought him after our first month anniversary. It was a knit sweater made of wool that caressed you in the softest ways.

Something I used to wear back when the sun still shined. He looked at me with a look akin to remorse though I doubt it was anything of the sort.

" You know Min I don't think you're all that bad. The little naive look in your eye has dissipated and I' don't know whether I'm proud of it. You always held this childlike aura around you and to say I wasn't envious would be a lie."

I'm unsure of why I find this to be one of my most vivid memories but something about the way he regarded how I used to be struck something within me.

I could handle the degrading and all the yelling, however, when he brought up the person I'd once been it hurt worse than anything I'd experienced up to that point.

I had to wait three days before he finally decided to uncuff me from the bed and I was gone the next.

When I tell you sunlight never felt so-

taehyung stops the tape snatching the headphones off his head in the process. his mind is spinning like a top his heart of the edge of beating right out of his chest.

to think jimin endured a lifestyle- no imprisonment such as that was beyond him. he no longer felt compelled to finish the tape for he had listened to all he needed to hear.

leaving the walkman on the couch he stepped out on the balcony cigars already between his lips.

he had no intention of lighting it just the presence of it comforted him.

jimin's tape had him thinking back to jungkook wondering if the younger had ever felt neglected while with him.

and if he did he hopes he made up for it in some way. no one deserved what jimin has been put through.

to have someone build you up only to tear you down slowly, taking you apart piece by piece until only your skeleton remains.

though taehyung supposes it wasn't about the physical aspect of it at all.

it was more centered around the mind. having an indescribable want to take a person's conscience and grind it til it was dust.

to have them completely unaware of who they were taken from them while it rests in the palm of your hand.

taehyung couldn't fathom why anyone would want something like that in their possession. why anyone would crave such a feeling of hierarchy.

though power was like an addiction to some. you give them a taste and they won't stop until the well runs dry.

or when their cup hath runneth over.

#love #Long Reads #Wattpad #kpop #kpop icons #kpop ships #kpop fanfiction #bts #BTS v #bts ships #bts fanfic #btssmut #reading #read #gay #bts jimin #bts jungkook #BTS suga #Namjin

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starsailorstories · 5 years

Text

“7 Rooms” is going to be I t h i n k the first mention of the Altamaian term “fonsilia” in a thing I’ve put up for you guys to read, and I just wanna talk about what a fonsilia is and its cultural significance

So back in the day when the deserts of Tarega were still densely populated, people would live in big multifamily ‘houses’ that were basically open-air forts during the planet’s arid cycles (which last about 12,000 years) and then just build a roof as the rainy cycle approached. Eventually someone figured out that the most efficient thing to do was to build the roofed part of the house around a big step-well that could fill up with both groundwater and rainwater, saving everybody a bunch of water-collecting time (astraeas don’t need to hydrate their bodies, BUT water is still important for hygiene and for treating diseases--the preferred method for delivering medicines depends heavily on water electrolysis).

Eventually as technology advanced and things developed by the Basillans on Tarega spread around to wetter planets via trade and colonization, it became more usual to have a central courtyard with a fountain and a pool around it rather than a central well. Structurally, it’s sort of like the peristylium of Greco-Roman architecture, but a fonsilia CAN sometimes be enclosed (usually with a big skylight or a portcullis though) and no matter how fancy it gets it can’t really be too divorced from its utilitarian purpose. It’s sort of like how a big fancy trophy kitchen is still a kitchen, even if nobody really cooks in it.

If I really HAD to draw a parallel between a fonsilia and a part of a western-style home here on earth I would say it’s like a laundry room but if the laundry room was considered the center of domestic life, like a kitchen or a den/family room is, and was used for personal washing up too, like a bathroom everyone shares. The use for laundry means that--especially on Altamai where all the weather is below you down in the clouds and in the rings where there’s no weather unless someone really wants there to be--its function is extended to making/folding/repairing clothes and household linens, and usually anything else that needs to be made from scratch is going to be made there. A city fonsilia might look like a garden with some mechanical laundry equipment standing around (washing machines are a thing but they’re expensive and also wind up with a key, it’s heckin wild) and clean clothes and sheets hanging on lines, but a rural fonsilia is often huge and still crowded with stuff, workbenches and buckets and spinning wheels and drying racks and stuff for processing raw fabric and making soap and just all kinds of things.

Social bathing is becoming less of a thing since contact with patriarchal societies introduced body shame and these poor gay doofuses collectively said “you know what, maybe we’re not repressed ENOUGH” (that’s a whole other essay, this post sheds a bit of light on what the concept of modesty means to astraeas) but it’s still normal to wash young kids in the fountain or for older siblings to take a fountain shower with younger siblings so they can help. Because astraea hair is pretty thick and dry (it’s structured like a feather) and it’s most common to either grow it super long and braid it all up or like shellac it together so it doesn’t move it’s pretty normal for washing hair to be kind of a big regular project that a family does together. Even since private baths have become more of a thing, most people just get a big jug of water from the fonsilia and crouch down over a wastewater drain (which is another standard interior feature) or in a big bucket and wash like that. It’s sort of a different process because they don’t really have skin????? At least not in the way we think of it. But we don’t have time to unpack all THAT

Another big use of them is just for hanging around to cool off or soaking clothes/handkerchiefs/whatever to cool off with, they’ve got one (1) organ that’s literally plasma and 0 blood/sweat so temperature regulation is a concern. Most people also have them built with a sort of oven structure underneath so they can heat them in the winter too.

Large workplaces also tend to have fonsiliae especially if they make heavy use of lux labor (lux units generally live where they work since they’re not allowed legal ownership of anything. you can give a lux a house if you want but she will legally be a squatter. yes it’s very stupid). Also, rich and fancy people will usually have multiple--a fancy guest one with a very landscaped garden around it, and an everyday family one, and a “utility” one for actually doing the laundry.

The long and short of it is, it’s a space that’s in heavy practical use, it’s often the only running water in a house; and so there’s a tradition of making it a nice place to hang out. And people hang out there. That’s what a fonsilia is.

#sweet chariot #worldbuilding

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not-a-statement · 6 years

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Chasing ghosts. Chapter 1

I’m finally posting the first chapter.

Forgive me for my grammar, like I said I'm not a native speaker, but I hope you'll find it at least readable.

As always big thanks to @edward-or-ford for all his help and guidance

I’ll soon figure out how to create a master post, but just for now I’ll leave a link to a prologue (if you haven’t read it) here

Hope you guys enjoy this chapter

New City, NY, August 31st 2024

Dipper set aside the empty glass and glanced around at the merry people gathered to celebrate the Pines twins’ birthday. There were friends, a couple of relatives, colleagues. Mostly the Zach Turner’s colleagues: Dipper himself did not have personal contact with many people every day. A freelance journalist is called freelance for a reason. But if you are a stockbroker, even a beginner, then you might be in this kind of crowd. All of them fit, most of them tanned (probably from a solarium), wearing fancy Trussardi polos, a full set in order to impress you. To make you believe that you are looking at a wealthy confident man who knows no worries and ready tackle any money issues.

No, It’s not that Dipper could blame them, it's just their job to look successful and reliable. But from all this dazzling crowd hanging out in the backyard of the house he began to feel a ruffling sensation in his eyes. As if somebody poured a bucket of transparent glue on each of them and after they were shot with a sequins canon or whatever. It’s just seemed that each movement of these people somehow refracted the rays of sunlight at such an angle to hit Dipper directly in the eyes with a piercing beam. But anyway, Mabel was probably over-delighted with this kind display. Somehow it became a sort of tradition for the past ten years: what was painful for Dipper was pretty joyfull for Mabel.

Pines mentally kicked himself for that last thought. It sounded terrible, even if he didn’t say it out loud. And it sounded even worse coming from the thoughts of a loving brother.

Hah, a loving ... brother. It's odd even to put these two words in one sentence…

Another mental kick. Don’t you even dare to think about your feelings for your own sister, not now. Better to not ever.

Disgusting thoughts.

Wrong feelings.

Bad brain. Very bad and being an ass right now. We need to focus on what is important: today's birthday. Stan could get to us from his backwoods. Dad and Mom are also going to visit in a couple of days, when they return from the next trip around the country. They are probably happy with their new life without the constant care of children, busy only with each other and with their dreams.

Everyone was happy. Why couldn’t Dipper at least relax a little and pretend that he enjoyed this noise, instead of constantly thinking about escape paths from this house filled with smiling mannequins and idle talk? From the house where every piece of furniture, every spoon from the gift set and every word uttered by its inhabitants would forever remind Dipper of what he lost, and more than that, what he could never get. It was taken away from him by this slender hard-built bastard with a radiant smile from ear to ear and the sweetest speeches that he poured in huge doses into the ears of everyone around him. All these manners, courtesy. Damn, was it really only Dipper that was sick of this man-made likeness? Did no one else see his essence? Why did no one else see him as the dirty bastard he was? And why was Mabel, sweet smart Mabel, so blinded by all his fake ... this fake ... facade?

Dipper let out a deep sigh and reached for the glass again.

You know what? Forget it. You once again begin to come up with wild ideas and seeing things. Not every man hovers around Mabel actually turns out to be a psychopath, a juvenile maniac or a bunch of wild Fae creatures.

Yes, but I was right then!

Because then you tried to protect your sister, not the girl you are in love with.

As if there is any difference.

Newsflash. Of course there is. Want an example? Okay second year at college, the black guy what’s-his-face? Always found an excuse to hang in your dorm room with Mabel. You do remember him, right? And how long did it take your eye to recover from swelling.

Hey, it's not my fault that he got into a fight.

It happens when you get a lot of suspicious glares.

There weren’t so many of them ...

Dude, he still probably thinks you are a racist or something.

The rumble of a bourbon being filled in a glass was almost a lullaby. Dipper did not even notice how he filled the vessel almost to the brim.

Well, that was great: he was talking to himself now! Not that it was the first time. He often arranged internal disputes on this or that topic, clashing his rational part with itself or with the sensual, but never before his emotional side sounded so offended and pitiful.

Dipper frowned, sipping an amber drink, which burned his tongue and throat, but at the same time it became a little easier to consider everything that was happening and himself in it. With this ease, eyelids grew heavy, thoughts became slower - only the footage of the last six months of his life began to flash before his eyes.

If it could be called that. A life ...

Life is something sensible, controlled in the most of things. With no comprehensible forecast, only with assumptions - and that's enough, believe me.

And this kind of floating in the time-space with rare interactions with random objects floating there as well could hardly be called a life. It's like flying on autopilot without a specific purpose. And even you can not enjoy a journey in spite of what they say. A kind of asteroid in the cold space.

Or more like....

Perhaps it's ... like a satellite? Yes, a satellite that spends its entire life quietly orbiting its planet - a circle after a circle, year after year. It's boring, but you can adapt, especially if you do not think about why you get in this orbit and what happened before. If you do not replay in your mind moments from the past when at the age of fifteen you started to notice things that should not have been noticed, when your sweating hands, weak legs and lack of words turned the simplest conversation into an attraction of strangeness and awkwardness. If you do not replay memories of prom night over and over again in your head, which you found an excuse not to go to having no date to bring along, and your sister spent the whole night accompanied by that tall blond guy from her Spanish class and returned only the morning after. Or how you secretly threw out letters from the MIT that was ready to tear you away from the opportunity to choose a college in the same city as Mabel did.

Collect all these pieces together, and here you are - Dipper Pines - a proud mayor of the city called "What am I doing with my life?". Population: one person.

No, not like that.

And you are ready to go out into the streets and tear leaflets to passers-by with an invitation to the seminar "Are you too happy with your life? I will tell you how to get rid of this feeling. Every Sunday at a local community center. BYOB"

Yes, that's better. I can at least raise a little money.

Wait, what am I talking about? I need to open my eyes ...

A little more ... a little more ...

Oh, No! Bad idea!

Too light! Too light and too many people!

Oh... damn it …

Hmm ... although what am I? This was like it before I fell into my thoughts.

And yes - I'm still here. In the backyard of this hellhole, where Turner dragged my May ... um ... my ... my sister in his clawed paws. And from this hell I will never get her out of.

Dipper opened his eyes a little wider and looked at Zach's two-story house with complete disdain. Painted in a sky blue color, with windows washed up to the illusion of their absence and a neat backyard with garden gnomes, miniature paths lined with wooden footbridges, solar-powered lanterns and a low fence separating this site from the neighboring ones, it fit perfectly into a quiet family scenery, which New City of himself represented. This house came in no comparison with a small apartment in Brooklyn, where the twins has lived for almost a year after moving to New York. The apartment, which was a witness of moments of happiness and sadness, where the TV sometimes wasn’t turn off til morning because of the another marathon of cheesy horror movies, which housed the whole world of two closest friends, who loved each other sincerely and unselfishly. And which kept the secrets of one of them about where in its sincerity and disinterestedness there were footnotes in small print.

At the age of sixteen, Dipper told himself that only time was needed and that everything would end, everything would pass.

Now that’s a funny statement. Like a film or a book with an open ending, it gives a choice. For example, how long will it take or what will end? How many more will a small gray spinning top spin before shaking and gradually slowing its course until it stops? And will it stop at all?

Well, anyway, Dipper learned one thing - nothing can depend only on his will and obey the dry logic and, therefore, control. At the age of eighteen, he began to feel how gradually the situation began to develop according to his own scenario, regardless of his efforts to manage it. At twenty-two he could hardly find an explanation for his actions and decisions, and six months ago …

Six months ago, the satellite nevertheless descended from orbit and began its journey through the cold dark and empty nothingness. Six months ago, time had finally passed and everything was over.

On that day he walked from the editorial office with a new assignment. It was Friday, there was nowhere to hurry, although on the streets of New York even if you do not want to you have to merge with the eternally rushing crowd. There was a smell of spring in the air, and no matter how cliched this phrase was, damn it, it was true. Even Dipper felt something like that. Light and warm whiff. For the short time that he walked from the editorial office, the world around acquired more color, more smells - not literally, New York, with its busy streets, always supplied smells even above normal. Everything around seemed to come to life, blossoming in all its glory.

Not surprisingly, Mabel was always so happy about the arrival of spring, wherever we were. Maybe I should learn from her? Observe her today while taking a walk in Central Park - why the guy can’t invite his sister to take a walk in Central Park? Also, it’s now so beautiful there - bare trees are just beginning to be covered with the first signs of foliage, old men and women and young lovers are walking slowly along the paths of the park, contemplating what’s happening around them ...

It is possible to pretend that there is no hidden sadness that there is no emptiness inside. You can just move your legs, do not think about anything and absorb the sensations. And all this next to the most beloved person in the whole world …

Immersed in these thoughts and not particularly paying attention to scurrying hurried to and fro people around him, Dipper did not notice how a lazy and pacified smile began to creep across his face.

At least today life is good!

Mabel was waiting for him in the Ferrara bakery on Grand Street, where she was heading after another interview. It turns out that it's not so easy to find a job in New York for a mobile designer, but Mabel was not one of those people who despairs even after four months of searching. Although it seemed to Dipper that her enthusiasm was already at an end, and only by some miracle she still finds the strength to get up in the morning. He wanted to cheer her up, somehow raise her spirits, even if she does not admit that she is sad. Show that he is near, that he was always and will be there.

He planned everything: meet Mabel after work, a walk in Central Park, pizza for dinner and several pre-prepared playlists to choose from - romantic comedies, musicals, horror films and detectives. When they were sixteen, they could spend the whole night before the TV screen watching this kind of marathon of films. It's clear, they are older now and they have work and responsibilities, but, hey - today is Friday.

Simple and sincere. Only two of them, together.

It sounds like a date. Something like that…

From Worcester Street, on which stood the editorial building, it was ten minutes to go to the venue. Turn to Grand Street and go east, bypassing Green, Mercer, Broadway, Crosby, Lafayette, Center, Baxter and Mulberry Street. Piece of cake.

Despite the fact that after the turn the only thing that he had to do was to be on the straight line all the time, Dipper repeatedly checked the route in Google maps to make sure that he does not get lost and will be in place on time. Yes, it sounds odd, but New York is a big city, and it needs to be able to navigate. He didn’t want to repeat the story when Mabel mistakenly left for Jersey City and Dipper had to explain to her how to send her geolocation message to find it and pick her up.

Although now, probably, Dipper with all the desire could not not find the place where his sister was waiting. Huge signboards to the owners of the establishment seemed to be not enough, so they hoisted a giant plastic cones with a multicolored ice cream on both sides of the entrance, put a showcase with sweets on the street, and on the visor above the entrance for some reason they’ve put an old red baker's truck or something like that. Only the red carpet leading inside was missing. Oh, no, here it is …

Mabel sat in the far corner at a table for two. Before her stood a half empty mug of latte (obviously with a syrup of bubble gum, how can one drink it at all?) And a barely touched strawberry cheesecake. A slight dreamy smile played on her lips, a look through half-open eyelids was directed against the wall opposite her, the cheek is propped up by the palm, and the head is slightly tilted. Oh, so might it be that today she was at luck?

And how did it always happen that in any situation, in any position and with any expression of her face, Mabel was more beautiful than all the girls, that he’s ever seen in his life?..

"Hi, sis," Dipper said with a smile. "How was today?"

Whatever Mabel dreamed of, she was deep in her thoughts, because only the creak of the chair being moved in front of her and the appearance of her brother in her field of vision could bring her back to reality.

"Oh, hello, Dip," she chirped smiling wider. "I didn’t expect you so early."

“What?” Dipper was slightly taken aback. “I thought that I was even five minutes late ... wait, is this sarcasm? ...”

"No, no," Mabel said, quickly removing her elbow from the table and tucking the hair into her ear. She scanned the bakery, as if not quite understanding where she was.

“What time is it now?”

"Um, seven o'clock, just the time we agreed to meet”

"Oh, already?" Mabel lowered her eyes slightly and began fiddling with the tips of her hair.

"The time flew by so quickly," she added in a half whisper. Her cheeks glowed softly.

“Yes, already” something suspicious was in the behavior of the sister. But put it off, Pines. You were going to offer something.

"Well, how did it go this time? Everything’s worked out? Looking forward to the call?”

"Or I can call first," Mabel playfully giggled.

“Mmm? Can you call them first for what?”

Mabel raised her eyes to her brother, in which a certain perplexity was read. For another couple of seconds, the sweet mist of dreams in her gaze dissipated until something clicked in her head, and she finally realized what Dipper was talking about.

"Ah, yes," she did her jazz hands "an interview. Well, it seems that next month you’ll still have to pay for the apartment. "She sighed and took a mug of coffee with both hands, lowering her head," again ... "

"Hey, hey," Dipper reached out and covered Mabel's arm, "it's all right. It's not important, the main thing is that you find a place where you’ll be appreciated and where it’ll be interesting for you to work and manifest yourself. You're the most creative person in this world. Heck, they're just idiots, if they didn’t take you right away!”

Mabel looked into Dipper's eyes and sadly, but sincerely smiled.

"I'll help you with what I can and will be around," Dipper smiled back.

God, how beautiful she is. There were so many guys in high school who liked her that the fingers of Ford's hands would not be enough to count them. True, none of those who had the luck to be with her, did not last more than two or three weeks, because none of them saw that behind the beauty of her there is also a very sharp mind. The whole universe with its rules and colors was stored in this charming fair-haired head. But none of them seemed to notice this.

Unlike Dipper.

Mabel embodied all the things that he lacked so much: freedom, creativity, infinite energy. Without it, he would not be a whole person. No one would have him learn to enjoy life and look at the world from a different angle, different from the position of dry logic.

"Thank you, bro bro," Mabel said quietly. "It means a lot to me, really”

"Any time, May," Dipper snapped his hand away and looked at his watch. "We still have plenty of time until the sun sets. It's about 20 minutes by metro to the Central Park, so I thought that we could wind up our heads a little. What do you say? You didn’t have any plans for tonight, did you?”

Mabel looked away and blushed profusely, covering her mouth with her palm and softly giggling.

Oh no. No no no! He screwed up, did he? He said it as if he was inviting her on a date. Oh, damn, oh, damn it! He rehearsed this phrase so much that it sounded like a simple friendly proposal in order to funk up anyway ?! She knows, she knows for sure, and now this situation will become even more awkward.

Set the panic aside! I need to figure out how to get out of this. Just laugh it off or try to explain what he meant.

Shit, why his palms are so sweaty? Is he in the eighth grade again?

“It sounds tempting, Dip. I’d really like to take a walk now …”

Oh, my God, phew. Everything is fine.

"... but, you see ..."

But? What’s for but? But what?

"... I really don’t know how it happened ... it seems that I have a date tonight!" Mabel finished her phrase. Her eyes were just glowing with happiness. The smile was broader and more dreamy than before, which made Dipper feel cold in the lower abdomen.

“I really didn’t know that this is the case in real life, but when I was walking from Five Points here ... i mean, our eyes just met, and I realized that he’d come up to me and ask me some question or say something... I just don’t understand how you constantly experience such stress every time you try to talk to a girl, this has never happened to me ...”

But Dipper wasn’t listening anymore. Only now he finally noticed all the details surrounding them. Strawberry cheesecake - when was the last time Mabel allowed herself something sweet in the city? Of course, they were not so poor, but given the fact that Mabel still did not have a permanent job, she tried to save money and not squander the money of her brother over trifles. So it was a treat. Then, how did Dipper not notice the empty espresso cup standing on his side of the table? He was too busy contemplating his sister to draw attention to this and to the fact that Mabel was constantly fiddling a napkin in her hand, on which was visible the pen-written sequence of numbers and one word.

Zach.

He left her his phone number. Who does this now? What kind of moron should one be to do this, instead of just dictating a number to be recorded in the phone?

That invisible, light breath that warmed Dipper so far from the moment he left the editorial office was instantly replaced by an importunate cold draft, from which all the muscles of his face grew cold and numb, turning nis face into a fixed mask that did not express any emotion. The bright March evening began to be replaced by a dark emptiness.

And Mabel kept talking and talking. She was extremely excited by what was happening: so many emotions, so many assumptions and hopes. As many as many times the only one phrase sounded in Dipper's head:

It happened again …

Sooner or later, it should have happened, but why today? On the day when he finally felt a barely perceptible wave of happiness?

Sometimes it seems that the universe itself is against you. Whether you achieve something desirable say some fun and joy come to life - bam! Sign here, please.

On the one hand, you can, of course, decide that this is "designed" so, that it’s fate and junk, that everything is natural and the time has come. The time for whatever - for example, the time to give up.

On the other hand, one can regard this same "bam" from the Universe as an appeal not to relax and to act further, to become better, to grow and all that.

You can, of course, just not react at all.

It depends.

A lot of dependencies happens to be all around us. Someone sits for hours with a guitar, learns to play the way his or hers favorite performers do, someone shoves career needle into his or hers veins, someone’s obsessed with science - yes, there are plenty of examples.

And love is something you can depend on too.

It’s even addictive.

And for someone who already has a strong addiction, something smoother will ... be like ...

Damn ... words ... how to make them into sentences? ..

So, enough for today's memories.

And speaking about strong and smooth ... I need another drink.

The glass stood on the table right here. Where is it ... hey?

Hey!

What the...?

"You tell me. That's enough for you, kid."

Kid? Oh he didn’t...

Dipper opened his eyes, trying to make out the speaker with him. It would have been better if it was anyone, but Zach.

"I think you might have the wrong glass, buddy," he croaked, trying to focus on the figure of the man next to him holding a vessel with amber corn liquid.

“Oh yeah? And didn’t you have the wrong party, knucklehead? The last thing I want to see right now is how my nephew gets drunk as hell at his birthday party”

Wait…

Stan? ..

“No, Pope John Paul II. Who do you think?”

In a second, Dipper's eyes flew open, and consciousness returned to online mode. Was he talking all this time out loud?

“I ... um” Dipper uncomfortably fidgeting on the chair, adjusting the edges of the shirt that was pulled up and briskly brushing his hair with fingers.

"Stan ... how long ... are you sitting here?"

"What? You wanna know how much of that nonsense that you muttered I heard? Don’t worry, your secrets will die with me.”

Oh no…

Dipper swallowed nervously and nodded uncertainly, looking before him. Stan responded with a laugh and added, changing his tone from more strict to good-natured:

"It's a joke, kid," he lifted his massive hand onto his nephew's shoulder, "there's nothing for me to blackmail you. This time.”

If they were in another place and under different circumstances, Dipper would have laughed along with his Gruncle. Now he did not even try, because together with laughter it would have turned out to be some silly awkward likeness.

"And yet, what made you to portray that guy ... Kain Rivers? Give you a piece of cake in the hand, and there’ll be complete similarity.”

"You mean Keanu Reeves?"

“Him, too.”

Dipper sighed and lowered his head, covered his face with his hands. Stan, having sipped a little bourbon from the glass, put his hand on his shoulder again.

“Seriously, Dip, what's wrong?” he added worried.

“Nothing, I'm fine” telling lies to a man who has proved over many years that he is the most understanding and caring member of the family left a disgusting taste on the tip of his tongue. If someone than it would be Stan to always be able to hear out and help. He would lay down his bones for the well-being of his family. Maybe he can at least somehow pour out his soul? ..

“What did you feel when Gruncle Ford disappeared in the portal? What’s it like to understand that your closest friend’s gone forever?”

Stan also sighed, setting aside his glass, and turned to face Dipper.

“Listen. You and Mabel, as long as I can remember, have always been together. You grew up, studied, moved to another cities. As I said, you rarely see such a relationship between a brother and a sister. But sooner or later, both of you should have had other companions of life. This is normal - it’s so arranged in the world. People get married, have families, children, invite each other to their dinners, go to work, dig in the garden in the backyard. It’s not the same as getting lost in another dimension for thirty years. Mabel just got married, she didn’t disappear from your life. Yes, now you’ll be separated not by the walls of the rooms, but by a good one and a half hour drive, but ... I’m not a good speaker... anyway,” - he drank some more whiskey.

"You two are better than we were with my brother. I'm telling you this, Ford claimed it until his last breath - believe me. Even if you were separated by space and time, you’d find a way to find yourselves... I mean to find each other. Do you understand what I mean?”

Dipper looked at the old man. In Stan's glance, God bless his heart, confidence and love were read. As always. And although he did not come even a bit close to understanding what was going on in Dipper's heart, his words still warmed.

"Yes, I do, Gruncle," Dipper smiled slightly. "Thank you."

"Well, it takes more than a simple thanks to be stuffed" Stan laughed and rose from his seat, leaning on the cane, "if you knew what they feed you on the plane, you’d understand what I mean. Next time I fly business class, and you pay. I spotted like a table with snacks inside, it's time to visit it.”

With these words he headed toward the house, stepping unsteadily and constantly leaning on his cane. Dipper saluted him in the style of Lando Calrissian and frowned. It was not fair to upset Stan today with talk like that. So much of a burden was falling on his shoulders lately, and then there's just a glimpse of joy. Still, not every day his grand-niece marries.

It's a pity that Ford did not live to see this day. I definitely need to take a couple of days off and go to Oregon. Stan becomes too weak to regularly care for the grave.

“Dipper! Bro-bro!”

Oh no.

Dipper pulled a smile on his face and turned to the source of the sound. There she was, flying to him in a light purple summer dress with a white collar.

"Silly drunken little brother. Where did you disappear?“ Mabel laughed, catching him with an empty glass and a half-empty bottle.

Dipper rolled his eyes and smiled wider.

"Mabel, we're the same age. Also I noticed that one bottle of champagne was open before the guests arrived”

He frowned in a mocking way and rubbed his chin,

“Hmm ... But who drank the champagne?..”

He pretended to be chewing a pen, thinking hard.

Mabel stuck out her tongue at her brother and laughed loudly.

"You’re such a nerd!"

She plopped down next to him and laid her head on his shoulder.

“Just think of it, we’re twenty-five now. Do people even have to live so long?”

"I'm still surprised that you even lived to be of age, considering the amount of sugar you absorb daily ... Ow!" light elbow pokes from her still caught him off guard.

“You deserved that. Be grateful that Mister Tickles didn’t show up for such conversations with your sister.”

“Okaaaay. Mabel, are you sure you’re twenty-five?” Dipper quickly moved away from Mabel, who was ready to attack on his brother's ribs with his fingers spread out, and raised both hands, "Okay, okay! No more of that!”

"Good brother." Mabel nodded with a satisfied look. "And now, if you'll allow me, jokes aside."

She took a small rectangular bundle from her handbag hanging from her shoulder on a thin chain and solemnly handed it to Dipper.

“Here!”

Dipper took the package from his sister's hands and for a few seconds admired this neatly wrapped in a nice-to-feel gift paper object. It was a pity to spoil such beauty.

“Come on, open it!”

In one motion Dipper opened the package, and in his hands was a large, thick notebook of dark blue. On his soft leather cover was woven golden threads of a small pine tree. Dipper carefully opened the title page, which was encoded with a neat letter. This time Dipper's face was lit up with a sincere smile - they invented the cipher together, many years ago, when in the classroom they passed notes to each other or left them in lockers.

"Wow ..." Dipper sighed. "I ... um ... thanks, Mabel."

"You're welcome, Dip," his sister shone, "I just wondered where it's seen that Dipper wouldn’t have a journal, would he?" she again laughed and wrapped her arms around him, pulling her brother in a bear hug.

“Happy birthday, Dipper.”

"Happy birthday, Mabel," he replied, breathing in the fragrance of her floral perfume. "I ... um-uh ..." he cleared his throat and pulled away. "My present ... it... I decided not to carry it with me, so it's in the house, but ... I'm sure you'll like it too.

“It would be better if it was so.” Mabel said haughtily. With these words she jumped up, grabbing Dipper by the sleeve of his shirt and dragging him toward the house.

"There's a whole bunch of them there! Gifts!” she skipped off to the house, taking her stumbling brother along with her. "Let's go! I can’t wait to open each one right now!”

* * *

“Son of a…” the lighter was still sent to the garbage because of malfunctioning, and now all the hope remained that the houses still had matches. Dipper had already rummaged through all the drawers in the kitchen, but not even one sucker was found in this abundance of kitchen utensils and cutlery, such an absurd abundance for the apartment, now serving as a lonely young man's refuge.

Dipper's gaze wandered around the kitchen, the space in his eyes doubled, quadrified - in general it was multiplying in every possible way, and it was extremely difficult to focus on something definite.

Was it really necessary to get so drunk? He did not have a car in New York for the time being, he used to travel by public transport and a taxi, but this is not an excuse for finding a pub on his way home to Brooklyn and staying there until midnight. The morning will be very bad. Very painful and bad.

But, it looks like this is the problem of tomorrow's Dipper, not today's, who has a real business to do now.

He held his hand to the countertop, and staggered to the gas stove, which looked like the last chance to light a damned cigarette, clamped in his teeth. Unsafe last chance. After meditating for couple of seconds, Dipper shook his head, muttering "No, sir," and went to investigate further. Still an eternity, according to the present chronology of Dipper, was wasted - there were no lighters or matches in the house, so that the stove was again in his field of vision.

Still adhering to the nearby interior for a safety net, Dipper drove to the suspicious fire-breathing inhabitant of his house. The fire was only lit from the fifth attempt, and, bending over to the hotplate itself and almost putting his shirt collar on fire, Dipper finally sucked in the pungent tobacco smoke.

And, it turned out that trying to smoke his first cigarette in life right now was a bad idea. Even disgusting. Not only that, he immediately became overwhelmed with a heavy cough and the shaking of his diaphragm awakened something dark in the stomach, consisting of half of bourbon, and half of the birthday cake.

Oh, shit, shit, SHIT!

To the left from the kitchen into the corridor, to the end ... lights on...

Where’s this switch ?!

Oh no! ..

FUCK!!!

At the last second Dipper managed to touch the toilet before he utterly unpleasantly vomited. All thoughts and emotions were compressed into a dot, leaving the consciousness with a devastatingly pure emptiness.

At some point, it might even have seemed that Dipper had blacked out, but as soon as the last urge receded, he straightened leaning with his hands on the rim of the toilet bowl and stood on his unsteady legs and went to the sink, much more tired and much less drunk.

At least giving the face a splash and rinsing the mouth with a freshener will not hurt.

And what do we have here? Oh, nothing, just your dirty still green face with a week stubble and some substance smeared around your mouth.

Oh, gross, ew!

He pulled off his shirt right over his head, doused his face with cold water, rinsed his mouth and staggered into his room.

Well, that's my life now. Drinking, no permanent job, a broken heart ... what could be better?

Dipper hobbled to the bed and plumped on it, without even bothering to remove the veil and pull off his trousers.

At least here I can quit pretending, he thought, as the tears came down bombarding his pillow.

#pinecest #fanfiction #chasing ghosts

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shirlleycoyle · 4 years

Text

How to Get (Back) Into Biking During the Pandemic

Among everything that is happening as society grapples with an unprecedented pandemic, there is one small, potentially promising trend: more people are riding bicycles.

Bike traffic across New York City's bridges is up 50 percent, while Citi Bike rides jumped 67 percent. Philadelphia's already-popular multi-use paths more than doubled in ridership—even quadrupling in some stretches—leading the city to convert a major roadway into pedestrian and cycling-only traffic. Chicago's bike share program, Divvy, saw twice as many rides during the first 10 days of March compared to last year.

This surge in cyclists and people pursuing alternative modes of transit—a small silver lining in an otherwise grim, stressful and uncertain time—is not without consequence. As with grocery stories, pharmacies and other businesses deemed "essential" by local governments, bike shops are also slammed as people rush to try to either buy a brand new bike, or get one they haven't touched in years properly serviced.

Just as Hurricane Sandy forced a lot of people to suddenly consider riding a bike, the coronavirus is doing the same but arguably on a much more profound scale. With cities enforcing social distancing measures through shelter in place orders, riding a bike is not only one of the few viable ways to get around, but also one of a few ways people can find respite from spending most hours of the day stuck inside their homes.

And that, understandably, leads to a lot of questions. How do you make sure your bike is safe to ride? If you don't have a bike, how do you go about buying one, and how do you know which one is right? If you're starting to ride for recreation, how do you make your bike more fun to ride? Where do you ride? Or, if you absolutely can't leave your home, how can you ride inside?

The good news is that when it comes to bikes, unlike the many uncertainties we're facing during this extremely upsetting and stressful time, there are clear and good answers. Consider this your pandemic cycling guide. Here, we'll get you up and rolling so that you can not only function, but hopefully find ways to, briefly, ride away from the all-consuming dread and anxiety.

Is it safe to go to a local bike shop?

If you're reading this, you're likely in one of two camps: you either do not own a bike, or you own a bike but the unstoppable march of time has seemingly rendered it unrideable. Both very stressful situations if you're looking to start riding a bike, but nonetheless very solvable.

In either case, despite how busy they might be right now, you should strongly consider working with a local shop and try to avoid online shopping as much as possible.

"There's nothing better you can do right now for your local community, and your cycling community, than buying from a bike shop," says Shawn Wolf, co-owner of King Kog and Sun & Air, two Brooklyn-based bike shops. "And even if you buy a bike online, you'll still need to have it assembled or tuned up at a bike shop anyway."

There's something to be said for establishing a relationship with your local shop; it makes regular repairs and new bike purchases an easier experience as you and your mechanic get to know each other. But bike shops also hold an important role as community centers, hosting events and clinics, serving as meeting points for group rides and advocating for policy changes that protects and promotes cycling. If they disappear, so does the local cycling community.

So yes, although most shops are extremely busy—and visiting one is creating one more in-person interaction in a time when we should be limiting our in-person interactions—there are some steps you can take to work with a bike shop while still keeping you and the staff safe.

How to wash your bike

If you have a bike and want to get it tuned up, the first thing you should do is wash it. This is partly for health reasons (you don't want to pass off a contaminated bike), partly for courtesy reasons (even outside a pandemic, it's considered not a nice thing to do to drop off a dirty bike to be serviced), but mostly because you'd be surprised just how many issues a good cleaning can fix. Annoying creaks, crunchy gears, sluggish shifting, and even rust vanishes once you've rid your bike of months, possibly years, of dirt and grime.

Image: Steve Rousseau

All you need to clean your bike is some hot water, a bucket, dish soap, a scrub brush, and some rags or towels you don't mind getting dirty. (If you have access to a hose and some simple degreaser, awesome. If not, just fill up a bucket with soapy hot water and bring it outside with your bike.) It's going to feel really great afterwards, trust me. There are few joys in life like a clean bike.

First, give the chain, cassette (that's the collection of gears at the rear wheel) and the crankset (those are the gears at the front), a good spritzing of degreaser. If you don't have degreaser, soapy water works just fine, too. Really soak that stuff. Let it sit for a minute or two, then grab your scrub brush and scrub it all down. What I usually do is hold the scrub brush on the back of the cassette while spinning the pedals backwards to run both the chain and the cassette through the brush. What you're trying to do here is loosen up and scrub off all of that old, dirty lube stuck to the chain. Once you've scrubbed, rinse it off. Everything should look all nice and shiny. If it isn't, soak the chain again with degreaser or soap and scrub again.

Next, lather up the rag with some hot soapy water, and wash the rest of your bike, starting from the top and working your way down. Pay special attention to the underside of your fork, and around the bottom bracket (that's where the cranks attach to the frame) as that's where dirt tends to accumulate. Give the wheels a good washing too, focusing on the brake tracks and, if you can reach, the contact surface of the brake pads. Clean brakes stop better! Wipe down the chain, this time with the rag, until it stops picking up dirty lube. Rinse it all off and then wipe down the chain one more time with a fresh rag until it's dry. Awesome, now you have a clean bike.

Once it's dry, give it a once-over. If you can, pump up the tires and inspect the sidewalls for any bulges or tears; take a look at the tread, taking note of any sizable gashes or holes left, and try to remove any noticeable pieces of embedded glass or other road debris. Spin the wheels to check to see if they're true and not wobbly. Go over the rest of the bike looking for any cracks or wear that might need a second look at the shop.

If the bike is rideable, give it a quick test ride. Maybe everything is fine! In which case, you likely don't need to see a shop at all! If anything feels off—the shifting isn't smooth, the brake levers have too much throw—pay attention to the sounds the bike is making, where it's coming from and whether it happens when you're pedaling or coasting. With those three pieces of information most mechanics can pinpoint the issue pretty easily.

Image: Steve Rousseau

If something is wrong and needs to be fixed, the best thing to do is to pick up the phone and give your local shop a call. Most shops right now are trying to navigate a tangle of local government orders and recommendations from public health experts, and you shouldn't (and in some cases can't!) just roll into the shop. Let the shop know what's up with your bike, and they'll let you know when you can come by to drop it off.

To give you an idea of how things ideally should work with your shop, Arleigh Greenwald, owner of Bike Shop Girl in Denver, has a process that's been approved by an ER Doctor, her wife. Everything in her shop is done by appointment only, either over the phone, email and text or through her website. A customer comes to her shop, locks up the bike they want worked on outside. Greenwald sanitizes the bike, services it, and when it's finished she invoices the customer via email, and locks it back up outside where the customer can come pick it up. It's obviously not as quick as just coming into the shop for some quick adjustments, but it's enough to keep Greenwald and her customers safe.

Not all shops work this way. King Kog's doors are still open, but customers are required to sanitize and are offered latex gloves, but expect to take some extra steps beyond just rolling into a shop with your bike and expecting it to be fixed immediately.

"We're going to try to continue business as usual as much as possible and schedule out our repairs," says Wolf. "It's just going to take a little bit longer and we just ask everybody to have some patience and you know, be mindful that the system is slow right now."

When you come to pick up your bike, ask your mechanic if they'd prefer to be tipped in cash or through an app like Venmo. Given that shop workers, like most service workers at the moment, aren't being given hazard pay, consider tipping at least 20 percent of your repair bill. For a standard tuneup that's about 20 bucks, but if you're getting more comprehensive work done—suspension serviced, new groupset installation—consider tipping a more.

It's OK to buy a new bike, but it's not ideal

Ideally, buying a brand new bike from a shop requires a lot of in-person interaction. A shop would get a sense of what your needs are, show you some options that might fit those needs, and let you test ride a few bikes to see what's right for you in terms of fit and feel. All of this of course runs in the face of basic social distancing practices.

That doesn't mean you should entirely put off buying a bike from a local shop. You can accomplish 90 percent of the bike-buying process with just a phone call. Heck, most bike shop staff can not only help you find the right bike—and believe me, they want to, there's nothing Wolf hates more than selling someone a bike they'll probably grow to hate—but they can figure out what size will fit you over the phone with nothing more than your inseam height.

If you're looking for something more than just getting around, and want to jump into more recreational riding with a road, gravel, or mountain bike, then you can still safely buy a new bike from a shop, but just expect that you're likely going to have to adjust the fit on the bike yourself.

Normally for a proper fit you would spend at least an hour pedaling on a stationary bike in front of an array of sensors measuring your hip angle, pedaling circle and all kinds of arcane geometric measures in real-time, as a bike fitter makes millimeter adjustments here and there for optimum comfort and power output. But I'm afraid that was in the before-times. It's simply just not safe to spend the required hour-plus in close contact with someone else, especially an overworked, stressed-out bike shop employee to get a fit.

The good news is that you can probably give yourself a "good enough" fit with one weird trick: properly adjusting your saddle height. I know this, because in the before-times I paid hundreds of dollars for a number of professional bike fits—thinking that I'd need everything on the bike swapped out to fit my body—and the biggest change the bike fitter made was raising my saddle a few centimeters. So trust me when I say that setting your saddle to the right height will likely get you 90 percent of the way there.

Setting your saddle height is very simple and easy. Get on your bike, and put one foot at the bottom of your pedal stroke, then shift your foot forward so just your heel is resting on the pedal. If you can't, then your saddle is too high and you need to lower it. If you can reach the pedal, but your leg is still bent, you should raise your saddle. What you're looking for here is a comfortably straight leg; you don't want your knee to be fully locked out, but you don't want it too bent either.

Once you have this rough approximation, pedal around and see how it feels. If you find yourself bouncing around, the saddle is too high. If pedaling feels "cramped," like your leg should be extending more, then raise it. Keep in mind that there is no "perfect" saddle height, find one that feels comfortable, and feel free to change it.

Ride safe

Now, with a working bike that fits reasonably well, the only thing you have left to do is to ride it. Thanks to decades of city planning that has almost-exclusively catered to the automobile, how easy it is to ride varies greatly depending on where you live. I am not going to lie to you and say that you can do things that will completely eliminate the threat of sharing the road with 3,000-pound boxes of metal and plastic. 2019 was the deadliest year for New York City cyclists since 2000. Even as someone who has been riding bikes in cities almost every day for the past 7 years, I still have close calls with drivers almost every time I ride.

That said, there are a number of things you can do to mitigate the risk of riding a bike. Because it's worth it! It's fun! It's a great way to stay fit, explore the place you live and ultimately points you towards being a more self-sufficient person.

The most important thing you can do to stay safe riding a bike is to expect that everyone and everything is going to kill you. I know it sounds extreme, but in practice this is mostly just assuming that every car and pedestrian is going to do something stupid. They're not going to stop at a stoplight. They're not going to signal their turns, They're going to drift into the bike lane. They're going to abruptly pull over in front of you, and just as you're about to pass them, the driver is going to swing their door open right into you. It does suck that it has to be this way, but expect the worst at all times and you'll, hopefully, never be surprised.

You can try to stick to roads with bike lanes, but don't assume that some paint makes you invincible. If you find yourself on a road without a bike lane, or have to exit one because there's something blocking it—more often than not a parked car—then ride in the middle of the road, known as "taking the lane," to prevent other cars from trying to squeeze around you. They might get angry and honk, but they can go pound sand. Better that they get mad than letting them take a chance with your life.

If you're still new to riding, and don't really know your way around, Google Maps has a bike routing option if you're just looking to get from point A to point B—it more or less sticks to bike lanes and avoids busy multi-lane roads.

A wheel-on trainer. Image: Steve Rousseau

If you're wondering where you should ride to get some exercise in, a good place to start is Strava, a social networking site for athletes. While yes you can use it to add your friends and upload any rides you've done, Strava's route-building tool is one of the best ways to find the good roads in your area. Pick a starting point, and place waypoints on roughly where you want to go, and Strava will use every ride that's even been done in that area to route you along the most popular roads for cyclists. Additionally, you can pull up a heatmap overlay to see this data for yourself, allowing you to see where people are riding, and where they aren't. You can also check with your local shop to see if they have any routes for you to check out.

You can use the Strava app for real-time route navigation, but ideally you want a GPS device, like a Garmin or Wahoo, to not only give you an easier way to look at directions, but also to record your ride and any data from a heart rate monitor you might be wearing or power meter on your bike.

Given that you probably have a lot more time in the day now to go ride, a fair question to ask is, well, How do you get faster? How much is too much? How do you ride bikes "right"?

And honestly, if you're just starting out, the simple answer is to just ride.

Start with an hour-long easy ride. Bump it up to 90 minutes once you feel like an hour isn't enough. Try to go hard up the hills every once in a while. You don't have to ride every day to get fit. If you wake up one day and you're not feeling too stoked on riding your bike that day, then don't ride. It might sound flippant, but honestly, jumping straight into a structured training routine is a great way to burn yourself out.

If you're curious, and want to learn more about the science of getting faster on the bike, I highly recommend picking up The Cyclist's Training Bible—a canonical text amongst amateur bike racers, and a really good starting point after you feel like you want to turn your bike rides into more focused, interval-based workouts.

The only specific advice I'd keep in mind in terms of training is that you don't want to increase the amount you're riding from week to week, known as volume, by more than 20 percent. If you're riding 5-6 hours a week, then the following week you don't want to ride more than 6-8 hours, then 7-10, 8-12 and so on. You're not going to physically injure yourself—the great thing about riding bikes is that they're fairly low-impact—but if you try to ride more than your body is used to, you run the risk of overtraining. You'll feel tired and hungry all the time, and you'll start to hate your bike. Which, especially now, is not something we want to happen.

Also, if you plan on riding a lot, invest in a few pairs of cycling bibs. A chamois, the padding in the crotch that makes you feel like you're wearing a diaper, is much more effective at making things more comfortable compared to more padding on your saddle. (The difference is that a chamois moves with your body, while a saddle does not). Also, the suspender-like straps on a pair of bibs keeps the shorts from falling down, and thus the chamois, in place. Do not get a pair of cycling shorts without the straps. They are not good. And if you're worried about looking like a weirdo in lycra, you can just wear them under normal shorts or pants, it's fine!

Social distancing on the bike

One thing to keep in mind through all of this is that even though you're on a bike, you should still follow social distancing measures. Don't go on group rides with friends. Try to stay six-feet away from everyone at all times. Regularly sanitize all the touch points on your bike—saddle, handlebars, shifters, pedals.

Another aspect of social distancing on the bike is learning to become a little more self-reliant in terms of taking care of your bike. As we mentioned earlier, bike shops are overwhelmed at the moment with people either trying to buy new bikes or get old ones fixed. Learning some basic bike maintenance—fixing a flat, lubing your chain, adjusting your shifting—will help free up shops to handle jobs that actually require their tools and expertise. All you really need to get started is a basic cycling multi-tool, an adjustable wrench, some tire levers, a floor pump, and YouTube. (Park Tool has some really great basic maintenance tutorials that I still regularly reference when I'm working on my bikes.)

In addition to not overloading your local bike shop, you also want to consider not overloading your local hospital either. Ride with an extra air of caution, knowing that getting into a crash will only add to a healthcare system that is already running past maximum capacity. Take it easy down fast descents. If you're going to ride hard, do it on roads that you know are safe to do so, like climbs and other long, uninterrupted sections of road with wide shoulders. If you're hitting the trails on a mountain bike, think about skipping technical features you haven't cleared yet. And yes: please wear a helmet whenever you're riding and use lights when it's dark outside. Also consider getting a bell for your bike. It'll make navigating, and maintaining social distance so much easier on crowded streets—people respond better to a bell than you constantly saying "on your left."

If you don't want to take the risk, there's always the option of riding inside—and if you already have a bike you don't need to drop thousands of dollars on a Peloton to do so. A wheel-on trainer will work with virtually any bike, and you can get a used one online for less than $100. Strap on a $40 speed sensor to your bike, plug in an ANT+ dongle into your computer and now you have a setup that can run virtual cycling game Zwift.

If you do plan to stick to riding inside, there are two things to keep in mind. First, invest in a good fan. When you're riding outside, the air naturally cools you more than you think. Without a fan you're going to struggle to ride more than 20 minutes without overheating. Second, even with a good fan you're still going to absolutely drip sweat, so get a towel and drape it over your handlebars—it's incredible just how good your sweat is at corroding your bike.

Despite everything going on right now, it's actually a really great time to get into riding bikes. You can try to set the fastest time up your local hill. You can learn how to fix things. You can strap a bunch of bags on your bike, stuff them with gear and snacks and go camping. You can just ride to your local park and hang out on a bench. There's just an incredibly wide spectrum of ways to ride, skills to learn and things to just spend hours nerding out on.

How to Get (Back) Into Biking During the Pandemic syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

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abutterflyobsession · 8 years

Text

Doctor Who AU: Part 12

the plot fails to progress because I’m tired

prelude/one/two/three/four/five/six/seven/eight/nine/ten/eleven/ao3

The sky was on fire.

But on the ground it was dark, shadows layered with a dim orange light.

And there was screaming.

Running.

The shadows seethed with people, people running for their lives.

A city stood dark against the blazing sky, buildings glowing a dull orange as they began to break apart, pieces falling, screams rising sharply in response, then cutting off when the rubble smashed into the ground.

Children.

Children were crying, lost and frightened, caught in a war that they had no part in making. Casualties of their elders' poor choices.

Nothing could save the children.

“No!”

The sound of the voice cast ripples across the burning world, washing away the flames, the sound of feet scrambling across the rubble fading away into silence.

The silence when the wind died down, letting the dust settle, leaving only the crunch of your boots on the ground, the dry sound as you swallow, holding your breath, afraid it would give you away.

The silence that isn't really silence.

It's full of the noise of your comrade's boots, the rattling of gear, the pounding of your hearts.

Waiting for the signal.

Waiting for the order.

Because it had been following orders.

There had been no way to know.

“No! Not that either!'

Ripples ran through the air, coolness breathing into the air like a sigh of relief.

Trees, old and tall, had grown up and blocked out the sky with their dense canopy. The quiet here was muffled by the dense growth of the forest. It was impossible to see more than a few yards ahead and when things moved out of sight it was impossible to know what they were.

“Now, this is very interesting,”

Bog twisted around and found that the Doctor was standing on a fallen tree, looking out over the small area of visible forest with a contemplative attitude.

“Yeah?” Bog asked, more to buy himself time to think than to actually prompt an answer. He had no idea where he was or how he had got there and if it was at all possible he wasn't going to give the Doctor the satisfaction of appealing to her for answers.

“Yes, because I would say this appears to be part of the Black Forest in Germany, but it feels far too big.”

Bog bit his tongue to keep from asking what she was talking about.

“This feels to be about the same time period the primrose stone was first cut. But four hundred years ago the forest did not look like this. At least, not according to history.”

Tired of the crick in his neck he was getting from looking up at the Doctor's perch, Bog swallowed his pride and asked, “What's going on?”

“Psychic feedback,” The Doctor picked her way down off the fallen tree, digging the toes of her boots into the moss that covered the soft, rotting wood, “Something activated a psychic data dump from your necklace, but the connection was bad and there was a lot of interference. So you might have picked up some trace memories--”

“There was a city. It was shining and silver . . . or, it would have been, except . . . everything was on fire . . .”

“Nothing to worry about. Just signals getting crossed.”

“None of this is real, then? But . . .”

“No more real than memories are.”

“I saw--”

“Yes, yes, I know, I was here too. Had to give things a nudge before you got stuck reliving old times.”

“Nudge?” Bog wondered how much the Doctor had picked up of his memory of his tour in Afghanistan.

“Poke at your subconscious. Play word association. Look, like this,” the Doctor picked a pebble off the ground, “I say something, like, 'school', and give you a little push--”

She tossed the pebble and it hit the air like the surface of a pond, shining ripples spreading out and distorting the forest. For a few seconds the forest was gone and Bog was standing in the hall of his school, fourth year, his knuckles throbbing from having punched Lucas Campbell in the face, driven to it after Lucas had made one too many cracks about Bog's looks.

The ripples settled and the forest was back.

“What are you doing poking around in my head?” Bog rubbed the traces of phantom pain out of his hand, “I don't remember inviting you.”

“You got pulled in by the data dump and I followed. It appears we are in a memory of your family's ancestral home. At least, their ancestral home on earth, anyway.”

“Grand. How do we get out? Weren't we just talking to your creepy ex in the art shop? And being abducted?”

“He'll wait. This is all in our heads so it's really taking no more than a few seconds. Less, since we've got my processing power to work with.”

“Don't you ever get tired of tooting your own horn?”

“Don't you ever get tired to keeping your eyebrows locked in a permanent glower? I swear, those things are the most aggressive eyebrows I've ever encountered. They're like attack eyebrows. You could take bottle caps off with them.”

The Doctor was standing on her tiptoes to inspect Bog's eyebrows.

He leaned forward, making her drop back on her heels.

“What about you?” He pointed a long finger at her, “Have you ever met a hairbrush in your life? You're like some tiny, angry, rumpled pixie. Probably so angry because you've never been able to get anything off the top shelf without someone giving you a boost.”

“My dear marsh man,” She smacked his hand away, “shelves have nicely spaced footholds built right into them. Why would I get a hand up when I can just climb the thing?”

“ . . . how many shelves have you pulled over on yourself in your lifetime?”

“The shelves in the TARDIS are built into the walls!”

“And why is that, I wonder?”

“Let's get back to the matter at hand, shall we?”

“Only because I take the change of subject as acknowledgement that I was winning this argument,” Bog said, folding his arms, still leaning over the tiny woman.

She pushed her face a little closer to his, twisting up her mouth as she searched for some appropriately cutting retort to put him in his place.

“Your eyes are very blue!”

Bog blinked, confused.

“It isn't fair.”

The Doctor spun around and stormed back to her fallen tree.

A branch caught her ankle and she crashed to the ground.

“Are you okay?”

“I am fine!” She popped back up, “This is just a psychic interface! I don't actually have nerve endings in here. The pain is literally all in my head.”

“Right.”

“All of this,” the Doctor staggered to her feet, yanking the edge of her coat off a grasping branch before spinning around with her arms thrown out to indicate the forest around them, “This is just an interface for the data your ancestors left for you. We should be able to access it and find out more about what your fashionable bauble is capable of.”

“So, it's full of information? Like a flashdrive?”

“If a flashdrive could contain what is possibly the entire history of your people, constructed from their memories with such care and detail that you can smell that the dirt is still wet from rain, feel the veins on the leaves . . . then, yes, 'like a flashdrive'.”

“Yeah, I've got mud in my boots. Could've done without that.”

“I am plagued by such tiny minds. Just try and access the information.”

“How, great and powerful time wizard?”

“Identify yourself.”

“Identify myself. Just, “Hey, Bog, here, any of my tree ancestors listening?”, or what?”

“Maybe with a bit more pizazz. Confidence, at the very least.”

“Uh. I'm a descendant of the . . . Cheem? Cheem. I'm a descendant of the Cheem and I hope that this interface isn't password protected.”

“Poetry.”

“I'm a singer, not an actor.”

“Despite your shortcomings as a performer, I think it worked.”

Bog followed the Doctor's gaze and saw that another person had appeared.

He was assuming it was a person, anyway.

The shape of it was human but the details were not. The face was rigid, lined with deep grooves, like patterns in tree bark. It's head swept back into a crown of wood, the bark of it layered, like it really was part of a tree, separating at the rings.

Bog stared at it.

It stared back at Bog, absolutely serene.

“He's waiting for you to ask a question,” the Doctor shoved her hands into Bog's back and pushed him toward the tree person, “Ask it about why the stone was cut up and what the yellow stone is.”

“Stop pushing!”

“Then stop just standing there gapping like a fish! I can only stretch five seconds so far!”

“It's only been that? You must be doing a prize-winning job because it's certainly felt like an eternity!”

“Ask. Questions.”

“Question: what's the plan?”

Dawn was spraying down the interior of the TARDIS with a fire extinguisher.

Sunny stood in the door, ready to duck out if anything else caught on fire or started spewing toxic smoke.

“Talk some sense into this bucket of defective quantum drives that my sister is so irrationally attached to!”

“Is it safe to use a fire extinguisher on an electrical fire?”

“It isn't electrical! It runs off of energy from the time vortex! And I don't know whether or not it's safe to use a fire extinguisher on that because my sister threw the user manual into a supernova!”

“Why?”

“Apparently they had a difference of opinion!”

The last fire put out, Sunny risked coming back inside, “Why does it freak out when Roland is nearby?”

“Not sure. Something is screwy about his time line, I think. And the TARDIS hates that sort of thing. She tries to do an emergency evacuation. Once she abandoned us at the North Pole and went all the way over to the South Pole. That was the worst hitchhiking trip ever.”

“Should I just nod and pretend I understand any of that?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Dawn put on her glasses and glanced over the monitors, “She's got safety protocols and a strong sense of self-preservation. Paradoxes, anomalies, the TARDIS sees them as danger and tries to get away. Roland might be existing twice in the same time line, or something like that.”

“But, aren't I doing that right now? Future me is at work right now, remember?”

“But that's pretty tidy. You're not trying to change the past, you're just preserving a time loop. If Roland—or whoever he is—is trying to mess with a fixed point in time . . . well, this makes the old girl unhappy.”

Dawn patted the console.

“Huh. I guess I kind of get that. What are we going to do? Figure out what important event he's trying to change? Do you have like . . . future history books?”

“Loads. But I've also got a lot up here, too,” Dawn tapped her forehead, “much more portable and easier to reference. From a historical point of view there really isn't anything big going on right now. Not in the next few months, even.”

“What is there aside from a historical point of view?”

“Oh, there are loads of smaller things that are important and don't make it into the history books. Little things that lead up to big things. They're harder to spot. Like, if somebody very important was going to do great things, then it is very important that their parents actually meet, or the important person would never be born.”

“Which means that Roland is possibly trying to sabotage someone's first date? That is . . . pettier than I imagined messing with history would be.”

“It could also be a poet not seeing a daffodil at the critical moment and never writing a great poem that touches the hearts and minds of the world. Someone cleaning out the petri dishes and never discovering penicillin . . . yeah. Our best bet is to shadow Roland and stop him in the act.”

“Except our ride is kind of not cooperating right now, remember?”

“So we'll need to use an alternative mode of transport. Luckily, my sister doesn't know that I know where she keeps that vortex manipulator! Like, a wrist-watch time machine!”

Sunny was starting to recognize that manic gleam in Dawn's eyes as a sign things were about to get, well, for lack of a better word, interesting.

“It's dangerous, isn't it?”

“Um. It might be a teeny-tiny bit . . . glitchy.”

“How glitchy. Lags a few seconds glitchy? Or stuck in Medieval Europe glitchy?”

“It tends to have very, very brief power outages. Very brief. You hardly notice. Except if you were traveling through the vacuum of space at the time . . .”

“I have a feeling this is what I was trying to warn myself about on the phone earlier.”

“Are you coming?”

“Heck, I know I make it back. Let's go!”

#strange magic #spread the lofe #butterfly bog #potionless #strange magic doctor who au #doctor who au #my writing #fanfic

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