She was never good around children, well, technically speaking she kinda was one still. Well, a teenager. Either way she never dealt with many kids, only adults. Or anyone older than her. So when she was faced with one of the captain’s daughters, she really didn’t know what to do.
The Blackwatch agent glanced to the side slightly, looking for anyone to take the wheel. She wasn’t one to hold a conversation that way. What did kids like to talk about? Murder? Weapons? What their next assassination target is?
@rvindancer milky you keep changing urls on me and I hate it stop fucking with my custom tags I s2g but I love you anyway and you know it even if I have to punch you in the face w/ my lips softly. Hoe.
@pcrdner I know y’all are sick of hearing me talk abt James but it’s hard not to?? He’s just so sweet all the time im…Anywho I love him and you should totally follow him.
@securitychief-pharah is a fucking meme. That is all. Nah not really I love them?? A Lot??? Because a) they spam me with only the finest quality memes but is also a really caring compassionate person? I’m dead I love them so much.
@rvindancer (without icon because i'm in bed and mobile suxx) "Fareeha, please. I'm getting old but I'm not senile yet. The 'for a friend' excuse doesn't work anymore since 2017." Ana is having the time of her life, despite the nagging voice of her conscience reminding her that she's a terrible person.
Nurse Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character healing yours.
@rvindancer (drabble meme) [open]
“Fareeha, come on. I know it doesn’t taste good, but if you have to take it if you want to feel better.” Ana’s unwavering patience resounded in her calm and amused tone, as she held out the teaspoon for her daughter. Being bed-ridden with a flu was never fun. Much less so for an energetic thirteen-year-old girl living with a merry band of real-life heroes. Yet such was poor Fareeha’s present misfortune, and her mother had taken the day off to nurse her back to health.
The pout on the little girl’s face was unmistakable, and Ana found it difficult to keep a straight face and not laugh - knowing this would only upset her daughter further. Clear amber eyes sparkled as her face lit up with a kind smile, finally convincing Fareeha to obey and take her medicine with a grimace of digust. Putting the small bottle and teaspoon aside on the bedtable, Ana sat on the bed and leaned forward to press a kiss on her daughter’s feverish forehead.
She didn’t like seeing Fareeha sick. Illnesses had a way to make mothers feel powerless in the worst possible ways, and while Ana could hold a straight face rather easily, when it came to Fareeha, anyone could tell she was worried and restless.
“Mom, can you tell me a story? Like when I was small?” The little girl - well, teenager - asked, leaning back against the billion pillows scattered on her bed, tone sheepish as if ashamed of her request. Grown up girls were not supposed to ask for stories, were they? But there was something about feeling unweel that prompted people into reversing back to their childhoods - to the blessed times they could rely on their mothers and recline in the protective bubble of their loving arms.
“Of course habibti.” Ana replied with a fond smile - moving over for her back to lean against the bedframe, joining her daughter under the colourful blankets. Immediately Fareeha shifted to press against her mother, accepting the refuge of her warm embrace. The cheek of her daughter nested against her chest, Ana wrapped her arms around her. Holding her tight - pressing a kiss on her forehead and another one in her hair. Fareeha always complained that her mother hugged and kissed her too much; all teenagers did.
Except when they were sick. Even modern medicine hadn’t found a better remedy to fever than a parent’s love.
And Ana’s love for Fareeha ran so deep, so tenderly, it felt almost painful at times. An overwhelming, unconditional love Ana had never figured out how to deal with. Never felt like she had to figure it out either. It was part of the bargain, after all. They all said Ana was untamable, rebellious. At the top of the world, without anyone or anything ruling her life in her stead.
Lies. The center of her world had a name. And the center of her world was currently lying against her, unaware of her mother’s thoughts.
Her embrace tightened around Fareeha, fond smile widening and eyes glimmering as her vision became slightly blurred. You’re going to be fine, habibti. It’s just a fever, and I’m here. I’ll always be here.
“What story do you want?” She asked instead. For this one shall be a story for another time.
