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auspicioustidings · 5 months

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Firewatch Part 9

Summary: Johnny and Kyle come to a realisation and you take a chance to escape.

Words: 2.3k

CW: Kidnapping

You had mostly expected to wake up in Price's arms, but you instead woke up to see him asleep in one of the armchairs. He was a big man, it was a little ridiculous to see him sleeping in a chair. You glanced out the window, it looked like it was maybe late afternoon.

Had Price stayed the whole time then? If he was going to stay why not climb into bed with you since that clearly seemed to be their play here? It kept you so off balance that none of them had… Well there were plenty of horror stories on the news for you to imagine. And they had kidnapped you. Four men had kidnapped you and had made it clear they at least wanted you. It was starting to sink in that at any time they could decide to have you and there wouldn't be much you could do about it. But they hadn't. The one time one of them hadn't backed off as soon as you asked there had been consequences for him.

You felt more rested if still exhausted, but it was enough to feel anger building again. It was infuriating that they weren't monsters. You didn't want them to be because the thought was terrifying, but at least then you'd know where you stood. At least then you could be solid in hating them rather than finding them to be the kind of men you would have liked to have known before this mess.

It was a temptation to just roll over and go back to sleep in some form of protest, but you resisted and got out of bed as quietly as you could. Price didn’t stir and for a moment you had the mad thought that you could sneak out the window. You still didn’t have shoes, but if you snuck out and they didn’t notice would it give you enough of a head start? Would you even be able to navigate the woods? There was a dirt trail for cars to come to and from, it must go the whole way to town if the police had visited. If you followed it, kept just in the treeline so you weren’t so easily found…

You were starting to drift towards the window in a bit of a trance, the only thing snapping you out of it was the sound of voices somewhere else in the cabin. You paused and focused in to listen.

“--love her anymore?”

“Come on Soap, you think the same.”

“...aye maybe. Naw really what we signed up for is she?”

“That’s it, better bury our girl out in the yard then.”

“Och I’ll miss her ye ken? Spent so long loving her.”

You’d take your chances in the woods.

–

“I think I might actually have a crush on her.”

Soap gave Gaz a look that belayed the fact he thought what had just come out of his mouth was utter nonsense. He was sat at the kitchen island, fingers rubbing the fabric of the blanket Ghost had stolen from your house. Dosia was grumpily headbutting Soap’s legs and then pretending she hadn’t now that nobody she actually liked was about to pay her any attention. He had originally tried to pet her and gotten hissed at, so now he was steadfastly pretending she wasn’t showing him any affection to make her feel better.

“Ye’ve been in love with her for a year and now ye have a crush?”

Gaz sighed and rested his head on his arm, staring at the fabric in his fingers. It was a blanket that didn’t seem like it belonged to you anymore. It had belonged to the girl he had loved that was true, but she had never existed had she? She was this delicate little thing, a pretty little dove he had wanted to keep on display and care for.

That was not the woman in the cabin with them. No, that woman was brash and swore and fought. She had fuck all manners when she ate and snorted when she laughed and was trying to pretend she hadn’t. She treated her cat like it was her baby. She wasn’t some innocent little lamb either, she was a great kisser and wasn’t shy about barking at him to shove his fingers in her. By all accounts, that woman was not someone he would ever think was one he would like.

It terrified him actually. You were real now and you were not what he thought, so why was it so easy for him to let that dream girl go? Why did he touch this blanket and not feel a damn thing after all that obsession? Instead there was another feeling bubbling up when he thought about you. He didn’t know if it was love, but then he was pretty sure what he had been feeling was never love in the first place. This new feeling was thrilling and fragile but he wanted to keep it.

“I like her. The real person. She’s sort of a pain in the arse but she’s fun.”

“The real person?”

“We really fucked it all up didn’t we?”

Soap sighed and leaned over the counter, head lolling into one hand while the other played with the edges of the blanket. The tangible object they had associated with you all this time. Or well, that they had associated with some imagined girl. They really had fucked it all up.

“So now ye just don’t love her anymore?”

“Come on Soap, you think the same.”

All things considered, he did. He smiled with a bittersweet fondness at the blanket, feeling like he was letting go of something.

“...aye maybe. Naw really what we signed up for is she?”

“That’s it, better bury our girl out in the yard then.”

The two looked at one another with a grin. It was a silly thing to bury a blanket. But it was what it represented that was important. It was burying an obsession with someone that wasn’t real, wasn’t a person. It was letting go of what they thought they had wanted and embracing what it was they had, because even after so short a span of time they had realised that what they had was so much better. It was real. You were real.

“Och I’ll miss her ye ken? Spent so long loving her.”

He shared a small smile with Gaz. Johnny didn’t know how to pick apart the flurry of emotions in him and figure out how he wanted this to end, he just knew he wanted to keep talking to you, learning about you. It was going to be a lot harder now to keep you here against your will now that he liked you as a real person, but he was nothing if not a selfish bastard.

They put the blanket lovingly aside, Johnny gave Dosia some scratches behind the ears which she duly pretended was not happening while purring and they got to work making a frankly irresponsible amount of brunch in the hopes they could get to your heart through your stomach.

–

It was a miracle Price hadn’t woken up. A small part of you knew it meant he was exhausted as well, that this was hard on him. Well his two men were already about to get rid of you and presumably start again with a nicer, more receptive girl. She probably enjoyed cooking and cleaning. Was probably going to be wonderful and submissive and would never yell at them. Johnny would never lose his temper with her. Simon would never wind up punished because he lost control with her. Would Price go and buy her favourite shampoo? Would she like tasting oranges from Kyle’s fingers? You had.

The “road” really wasn’t much of a road. It was painful to walk on in bare feet and you were hissing every time you landed on a particularly sharp stone. You saw there was a pick up truck and considered stealing it, but you didn’t want to go searching for the keys knowing it increased the likelihood of you getting caught. When you glanced in just to make sure they weren’t in the car you saw it was a stick shift. Well that idea was out, you had learned on an automatic and would absolutely stall loudly if you tried to drive this thing.

So you were walking. Not running because you would absolutely wind up with a broken ankle and then you were really screwed. You could grit your teeth through it. Your mind drifted to what the hell you would say when you emerged. If you told the police the truth then all four of them were going to jail. If you lied then they would be free to take you again. Christ you felt bad enough about Simon being banished to the tower, could you handle all of them being put in a cell?

God it was sweltering, a stark comparison to how cold it had been last night. You had to take off the hoodie and tie it off around your waist. Maybe you should tear it apart to wrap around your feet? But then what happened when the sun set and the cold came in. You hoped you would be out of the woods by then. This place would be terrifying in the dark.

You stayed just off the road in the treeline, hoping that it would make it tricky to spot you from the tower if you were under the trees. At some point you stopped taking breaks fearing that if you stopped again you would not be able to get up. Your feet hurt, you were thirsty and hot and hungry. You wanted to curl up with your damn cat. It was with a dose of self-loathing that you realised you wanted to laugh with Kyle when she was mean to Johnny.

When you heard the distant rumble of the truck you moved further from the road, waiting for the sound to pass. They knew you were gone then. Were doing the most obvious thing first and going down the road to see if you were on it. You were far enough in the trees that you couldn’t see the road anymore. You hadn’t thought you had went that far, maybe only a few minutes, but you were turned around. You turned, trying to figure out which direction the road was with a mounting sense of panic.

Fuck. Idiot! You had seen the stories about what happened to people who went off the trail this far in the forest. It was fine near the edge where your cottage had been, where there were little walking trails (although admittedly the first few times you had ventured out you hadn’t spotted them), but this far out? You knew that they always said you should stay where you are, wait for someone to come and find you. Except they had no way of knowing which part of the road you had left from.

At least if you died it’d be on your own terms you tried to rationalise. They were going to kill you, but you had no guarantee they wouldn’t brutalise you first, so maybe wandering out never to be seen again was better. Just because your heart stupidly told you they were good people didn’t mean they were. You hoped they kept Dosia at least, they seemed fond enough of her.

You were angry at the tears welling up, knowing that you couldn’t really afford to lose any hydration. There was a sudden bitter regret for making fun of those survivalist shows. You should have paid attention. Were you supposed to try get to high ground? No, you should find water. Did you just pick the direction that was your best guess to get to the road? You’d be able to see the stars when the sun fully set, and the brightest would be North you thought. Didn’t much help knowing North because you could not visualise a map.

Your feet were so sore now. You sat against a tree, the discomfort of sitting on the ground vastly outweighed by the relief of getting weight off of your feet. You didn’t want to look and see how bad it was so you ignored it. You just let your head fall back against the tree trunk and closed your eyes, imagining you were back home. If the men that had kidnapped you were in your little imagining it was not something you would ever admit out loud.

–

Simon Riley did another rotation. Price had called it in an hour ago and ordered him to keep a watch for you while they searched on the ground. Fuck he was so mad at you, what were you thinking? When they got you back he was going to cuff you to the fucking bed anytime they left you alone. Night was falling, the temperature was dropping.

“Come on sweetheart, give me something” he mumbled, looking for any sign from the trees.

You would never have made it on foot even if you had taken the road, not without shoes, not so late in the day. It got dark out here, so dark you could barely tell where you were going without a torch. What the fuck had happened while he was gone? He trusted his team, he couldn’t entertain the idea that they might have been so cruel to you that you thought dying out there was better.

It was another 8 hours until there was finally an update from Price over the radio.

“Found her. Get home Simon, she’s in a bad way.”

#mhairiwrites #cod au #fanfic #tf 141 x reader #not the direction I thought this was going when I started writing this chapter this morning #and yet here we are

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pocketsizedquasar · 8 months

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thoughts about jon, gender, n hair

aka i've literally wanted to write a fic centered around this concept for like over two years but. well. anyway. i still might write the fic at some point but lord knows when that'll happen so in the meantime here are my jon jarchivist headcanons centered around hair and gender, ft. my personal flavor of jon: persian, w/ a white grandmother, n amab nonbinary transneutral/transfemme

⁃ jon's hair was always kept short as a kid. short hair was for boys, his grandmother had said, and besides, she didn't have the desire nor energy to learn how to care for his thick persian curls; the shorter they were, the less tangled and unruly, the better.

⁃ jon explored some more fem/gnc presentation in college, some of which included growing out his hair. he attributed it back then more to just the fact that he was exploring his queerness (in a bi and ace sense) in general & that he spent a lot of time around georgie (also transfemme), and didn't really think about the actual gender accompanying it -- he wasn't actively thinking much about his own gender. questioning and coming to terms with his sexuality was already a lot.

⁃ but he liked the way his hair looked and felt long. he liked the quiet rebellion of it. he liked the way georgie ran her fingers through it. he liked how many different ways it could be worn long -- in ponytails and buns and braids and just loose down his back. he doesn't remember much of his mom, but he's seen in pictures her long, dark, curly hair, just like his now, and he likes the reminder.

⁃ he keeps it long after college, though upon getting hired as a researcher at the magnus institute, he has a bit of a crisis over whether or not to cut it, re: standards of white cishetero "professionalism" and decorum and masculinity, all of which he's doing his best to perform. maybe even early on in his research days he cuts it a bit and decides it makes him feel so bad (for some inexplicable reason) that he decides to just leave it long, though tidy and brushed and straightened and pulled high up into a tight bun so it looks neat and out of the way and functionally short anyway.

⁃ similar thing happens when he gets promoted to archivist. i personally like him deciding not to cut it here because i like him being allowed to keep one (1) thing, though i def understand other hc's where he does cut it short for S1 / being the archivist. he's still very much keeping it pulled up in a tight bun and out of the way, and removes anything else remotely feminine about his appearance -- earrings, more fem clothing, nailpolish, etc.

⁃ i read mossy's @coulson-is-an-avenger "shopping for gender in a british wal-mart" fic like 2.5 years ago and i still love it so much and it's still canon to me basically re: he tries a skirt Once to work at the sort of peak sweet point where he's settled in enough to feel comfortable trying to wear a skirt but not yet paranoid enough about Prentiss. sasha talks w him about gender and femininity and stuff, though he's not quite ready to confront it yet.

⁃ then prentiss/season 2 hits and he regresses again hard into self-defense mode; the performative masculinity goes Harder. his hair is still long but it's messy; thick curls and flyaway strands frizzing about his sleep deprived and paranoid face.

⁃ by the time s3 rolls around, everything else in his life has gone to shit, so mostly he's just like "fuck it" re: his presentation in general, including his gender presentation. there's also a sense of just.. "this it the one thing in my life I have control over," so he sort of starts just wearing whatever. even if he's not really acknowledging the actual gender feelings to himself. but his hair and his clothes are One thing he can control about himself, one thing the watcher can't really take away from him. so with s3-s4 it's like. yeah he feels like he's becoming less and less human and yeah he's being kidnapped once a month and yeah the world is going to end but at least he can wear a goddamn skirt.

⁃ i do think there's also an element of it too where, there's obvious anxiety and concern about him being a visibly brown and trans/gnc person in fucking London of all places, but as time goes on i do think there's a bit of like. even if i face violence for this what does it matter. i hardly leave the archives anyways, and even then, would that really be anything? in the face of everything else that's happened?

⁃ in the safehouse jon and martin (who to me is a trans man btw) talk about gender a bunch and Jon realizes they want to try using both he and they pronouns and maybe jon decides they want to do some more feminine things, want to try wearing skirts and maybe painting their nails again and martin braids flowers into their hair and things are good

⁃ and then season 5 and the apocalypse hits.

⁃ for the first little while in the safehouse jon's hair is still long. but before they leave, he cuts it, for several reasons -- first like, if keeping it long and presenting femininely was partially about control for Jon, this is them letting Go of that, of what he perceives to have just been an Illusion control. yeah it might make them a bit dysphoric but so what, my body was never mine tobegin with.

⁃ and i think he's also doing it as a mental preparation for leaving the cabin, after jon and martin have had the initial talk about eventually leaving. long hair is a liability; hair can get pulled on and tugged on when being kidnapped and grabbed at; hair can be drenched in shampoo and twisted by plastic hands; hair can be tangled and snag on the walls of a coffin; it can be full of dirt days and days later; hair is a hassle and a hazard and an illusion of control and above all it was a comfort to jon and this is no longer a world where you can trust comfort, martin.

⁃ martin walks in on jon in the bathroom staring at themself in the mirror with a pair of scissors. they ask martin to cut it for them. (martin gets a haircut too, in a show at solidarity and some levity. also undercut martin rights)

⁃ anyway, Somewhere Else Jon wears flowy dresses and grows his hair long and leaves lipstick stains on martin's face when they kiss and hikes his skirts up above his knees when they work in the garden and their hair is long and dark and thick and curly and he likes it; likes the way it looks and feels, the way martin runs his fingers through it, the way it reminds him of his mother and the way it makes him smile at the person they see standing in the mirror.

⁃ and it's good. it's really good.

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