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John felt odd.
Not bad.Ā He didnāt think it was a serious medical issue. Just odd. Or, well, not justĀ odd butā¦ primarily odd.
There wasā¦ pressure, inside his chest. But it wasnātā¦ it wasnāt an inwardĀ tightening, like a knot. It was an outward pressure, like something was inside his chest that was too big for it. Not tooĀ too big, it didnāt hurt, it was just enough that it was noticeable. In fact, the pressure didnāt feel uncomfortableĀ at all.
foreshadowing done well makes me go feral like thereās NOTHING better than getting to the end a book or an important storyline moment and realising that the author laced information so intricately into their writing that werenāt noticeable upon first read but when you read back sections theyāre light giant red flags like wow writing is amazing
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 TBA
John felt odd.
Not bad.Ā He didnāt think it was a serious medical issue. Just odd. Or, well, not justĀ odd but... primarily odd.
There was... pressure, inside his chest. But it wasnāt... it wasnāt an inwardĀ tightening, like a knot. It was an outward pressure, like something was inside his chest that was too big for it. Not tooĀ too big, it didnāt hurt, it was just enough that it was noticeable. In fact, the pressure didnāt feel uncomfortableĀ at all.
He just felt... full.
Not so full that he struggled with lunch, of course. It was one thing to come to terms with the fact that genuine meat was readily available so soon after the war (it had been years, why couldnāt he remember it had been years?) but the spread before him now? That was a whole cooked turkey, juicy and bursting with flavour from the stuffing mix it was cooked with and strips of bacon wrapped around it. Roast potatoes, crispy coatings from his oil distribution, fluffy innards and so satisfying; roast parsnips, equally crispy outside but soft and sweet in the middle; steamed carrots cut into discs, with optional melting butter, that he could scoop a dozen of into his mouth at once; steamed sprouts, which regrettably had a very strong flavour but went down quickly; bread sauce, a thick, creamy, mild dollop that heād happily eat a bowlful of; cranberry sauce, sweet and sharp, complimenting the salty bacon-infused turkey; two different types of gravy, one thicker and richer than the other; and something called pigs in blankets.
John didnāt think heād ever felt such delight as when he found out that, many centuries ago, some genius decided that sausages could be improved with a bacon wrapping.
He had to admit, he probably ate more than his fair share. But he also had to admit that no one minded-- in fact, Mochou, Changming and Davis gave in and passed over food they didnāt have room for.
And it was strange, to sit in a group, listening to a conversation he wasnāt part of, and not feel like he was an intruder. Even if he wasnāt directly involved, they accommodated for him; things John wouldnāt be expected to know, they explained. He learned about local shops and services, amusing anecdotes from peopleās pasts or about their relatives, plans for the new year and even talk of the political climate, but he was very focused on his little bacon-wrapped sausages for that discussion and took none of it in.
And then... dessert.
All of that food, and then dessert.
TwoĀ desserts.
One was a plate of pinwheel-shaped pastries filled with prune jam, and the other was a BĆ»che de NoĆ«l which looked like an awful lot of chocolate. While Riley had figuratively written the menu for the main meal this year, Alouette had been on the desserts with old family favourites, and she was eager to get Johnās approval. And she most certainly did.
By the time the lunch was concluded, John felt bloated again and he kept smiling for no reason he could pin down.
Theyād just settled in the living room, debating whether they wanted to play something or watch something, when Davis suddenly leapt up.
āAlmost forgot a classic!ā He declared, heading back into the kitchen even as others protested. John was curious despite the response-- what classic?Ā
Davis returned with a tray full of drinking glasses, each full of what looked like milk, and a small plastic dispenser.
āAlright,ā Davis started, setting the tray on the coffee table despite the lethargic moaning of the group.Ā āI got eggnog, I got cinnamon, who wants some?ā
John sat up a little, but before he could move or speak Davis was laughing. āYeah I know you want some big guy, donāt worry! I got you.ā
There was one more glass than needed, John realised, and with that in mind he shouldnāt have been surprised when Davis offered him one with cinnamon and one without.
āThere you go,ā Davis said, seeming pleased with himself, āsee how you like that.ā
John remained silent, and Davis started to frown. John firmly reminded himself of the kitchen incident, and focused on the worry in the smaller manās eyes.
āYou okay, John?ā
Say something, he thought, take the glasses.
He didnāt.
āJohn? Ća va?ā Alouette had propped herself up from her dozing slump, and everyone else was looking at him with concern again.
He nodded and forced himself to reach out and take them, if only to stop everyone staring, and fought to find his voice. āThanks.ā
They were still staring.
āJohn...ā Mochou murmured beside him. āYou can tell us.ā
She intended to say more, but Davis cut her off. āAlright, anybody else? Cāmon I know you guysāll love it once you have it, youāre all getting one, just say āyesā or ānoā to cinnamon.ā
Riley immediately started waving a hand clumsily as if to fend Davis off. āNoooooo Iām stuffed stop trying to make us faaaaaaaat.ā
All eyes turned to them instead as they lazily kicked up a fuss, and John felt the tension in his shoulders ease. He looked down at the āeggnogā in his hands and decided to push aside the unsettled feeling he couldnāt place and focus on the objective; heād try the undoctored eggnog first to get the base flavour, then see how the cinnamon interacted with it.
āĆ.ā The soft sound from Mochou distracted him, and a quick assessment made his innards squirm. She had that look on her face, when he said or did something that upset her-- sheād insisted repeatedly that it wasnāt his fault, but the correlation was consistent enough despite changing variables to reflect cause and effect. Unfortunately he was struggling to ascertain the pattern, so he didnāt yet have any action to take, and it was frustrating.
John tilted his head in question, but Mochou brightened suddenly, smiling and patting him on the leg before turning to Davis and calling, āCinnamon, please!ā
And now John was the one left perplexed. Had he misread her expression? Had it not been aimed at him but rather at something unrelated within her mind? Was she pleased that he was no longer agitated, or perhaps realised what the problem had been and deemed it resolved? The urge to ask for clarification came and went, and he sipped the plain glass of eggnog.
He liked it.
______________________________
It was, as the Crew dubbed it, Present Time.
John had tried to excuse himself, offering to wash up after the meal, but heād been veritably shouted down. So now he was sat here as the Crew passed gifts to each other, feeling truly awkward for the first time in days.
He was admittedly curious, itching to know what theyād given each other, but he felt uncomfortably conspicuous spectating a tradition he wasnāt (couldnāt be) involved in. Simply the fact that he had nothing himself to give caused an uncomfortable almost-burning sensation in his stomach, and he wanted nothing more than to walk out when Changming pulled out the cards John had written.
The effusive thanks he was met with were almost too much for him to take. (Heād clumsily handwritten the same hollow festive greeting over and over and they were praising him like they hadnāt saved his life; he swallowed back bile and dug his fingers into the couch cushions.)
He almost missed Rileyās voice calling his name.
Looking up, John froze. Riley was holding out a wrapped gift-- a Christmas present. The gift tag had his name on it.
Swallowing thickly, John said, āNo.ā
Riley startled, jerking back as their face fell, and guilt added to the sour churning in his guts.
All eyes on him.
(It wasnāt-- he couldnāt-- )
āI canāt,ā he blurted, āIām sorry.ā
______________________________
He didnāt come back to himself until he felt the blast of cold air as he opened the door to step outside the apartment block.
Regretting his lack of clothing warmer than his hooded jacket, he pushed forward regardless. He wouldnāt be out long, he told himself. He just needed a moment. He just needed to breathe.
The crisp chill helped to clear his head, and he relished the deep breaths of fresh, unrecycled air. He found the cold weather much more pleasant with the knowledge that there was warmth to return to.
A sharp cry of alarm from nearby snapped his head around, and he caught sight of an elderly civilian fallen back against their car. Their arms were heavily laden with bags, overbalancing them, and with potential ice underfoot they might well do themself harm.
He crossed the distance and reached out, āItās alright,ā he reassured, āIāve got you.ā
āOh! Oh, I--ā
John gently took one load of bags, then carefully but firmly gripped their arm. His other hand steadily scooped the civilian off the surface of the car door, moving around to support their back as they got their feet under them.
āAre you alright?ā
āOh-- Oh my, youāre a strapping lad arenāt you? Thank you so much, I- Iām alright, didnāt quite do any damage!ā They were startled but smiling gratefully.
John frowned. āWhere do you need to go?ā
āOh, dear-- oh, just on the ground floor there.ā They glanced up at him hopefully. āI donāt suppose youād mind... ?ā
āNot at all.ā Said John, taking the other bags.
āOh thank you dear, you are a treasure.ā
They seemed surprised when John slipped all six bags onto one forearm, and beamed when he offered the other in support, making another comment about his being āimpressiveā. It seemed in good cheer, so he didnāt dwell on it.
On the short but slow walk back to the apartments, John learned that Makani had just come back from a lovely Christmas lunch with many of their friends, whereupon theyād received far heavier gifts they had expected. They hadnāt wanted anyone to fret, so theyād insisted they could get it all home safely, but clearly theyād only been partly right.
They seemed to be taking the near miss cheerfully, and had no qualms allowing John to support them with his āastonishing armsā, to the point that they made no attempt to let go of him after they were safely inside the building. He shivered at the difference in temperature, and Makaniās smile finally dropped.
They clucked their tongue. āOh dear, you must be freezing young man! Come in, come in and have a hot drink.ā
John hesitated. He knew the Crew were probably upset and worried about his absence, and he should really go back before they felt the need to look for him, but... he almost couldnāt stand the thought of facing them right now.
āAnd maybe,ā Makani continued gently, a shrewd look in their gaze, āyou can tell me all about whatever troubleās got that look on your face.ā
John immediately schooled his features, and Makaniās face scrunched in irritation.
āOh, donāt do that. Thatās unnerving, that.ā At his lack of response, they sighed. āI only mean that it might help to put a voice to it, rather than running around in the freezing cold until you make yourself sick.ā
Their eyebrow arched, and John felt his head dip in sheepish embarrassment. He didnāt particularly want another round of hypothermia.
āEither way, come in and warm up. A drink is the least I can do for lugging my sorry baggage to the door.ā
They smiled and patted his arm, and John felt something inside of him pang with a strange longing. Something about Makaniās worn and wrinkled face made the acrid knots loosen in his belly, their dark eyes warm and welcoming. Despite himself, he nodded.
āI just...ā For a moment John wrestled with himself, then huffed in frustration as he lost the words again.
But Makani seemed to understand. They nodded, like some unspoken question had been answered, and didnāt press. āCome in.ā They urged again, and John gave in.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Giles, bemused by the appearing and disappearing colors in his life, has a growing suspicion that he and Jenny are soulmates. Jenny, going out of her way to hide the truth, does her very best to complicate absolutely everything.
soulmate aus are always my favorite thing to mess around with, and my 2020 resolution is to chase down EVERY self-indulgent idea i EVER have, EVER. i was kinda already doing that before but now i wanna do it MORE.
happy new year, y'all! polished this off just in time to post it in 2019 california time, but i donāt really live in california. so. uh. looks like this is a 2020 fic.
Do you think Lasky would be the type of person to steal johns clothes? I can just imagine john opening up toms closet and finding like three pairs of his sweatpants and shirts.
I mean, definitely. Theyād be apart for long stretches bc John would be on ops, and even when they were both on Infinity at the same time, thereās no guarantee theyād both be free. Lasky 100% spends his lonelier nights curled up in one of Johnās tees at least.
John tried to wear one of Laskyās shirts onceā¦.
I come bearing a gift! Iām sorry if itās bad I just started drawing, but wanted to do a quick little sketch of johnsky. I was scrolling through pinterest and I saw the thing where one partner is underneath the other doing push ups and giving them a kiss every time they come down. Thought that would be a cute idea for these to. Thanks!
I have been struck dead this is amazing. 1: Ur art is GREAT bc you put effort and love into it and do not let anyone tell you otherwise. 2: John would find out about this and totally do it, and Tom would laugh at first and then lay there adoringly. I needed this so bad you donāt even know, thank you.
BlakeāsĀ āThe Tygerā, despite its conjuration of sublime terror, ultimately views nature through the lens of artifice. The tiger is a piece of craft, significant for what it tells us about its anthropomorphic creator. The tiger is not itself; itās not a wild, uncreated thing.
In contrast, the only crafted thing in NaelāsĀ āThe Tigerā is the cage, existing only as an impediment to freedom and destroyed as soon as it is introduced. Nature, rather than creation, is taken as fundamental, and with the destruction of the cage the boundary between the human observer and the natural world is eliminated. We cheer for the tigerās destructive freedom in a moment of Dionysian ecstasy. Predatory, terrifying, alive, the tiger is out.
