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iam93percentstardust · 3 years

Note

For the birthday prompt: [Winteriron or Stuckony] Omega Tony soothing Alpha Bucky after a panic attack/nightmare shortly after they get him back to the Tower/Compound. Maybe a little bit of the team being overprotective on the omega genius and had been keeping him away from the "dangerous" and traumatized alpha assassin. But in the end, Tony just struts in like it's nothing and Bucky just f'ing melts to do whatever Tony says (in a sweet way, not a creepy one). Please?

Tumblr is doing weird things with the asks so if this doesn’t work, bear with me and I’ll post the story in the notes.

This story got a little bit (okay, maybe more than a little bit) away from me so I hope this is still what you were hoping for! I went the Stuckony route here and I’m also headcanoning that after a few years of dating Steve, Tony has mostly gotten over his emotional constipation.

As always, everything I write is on ao3 but tumblr doesn’t like links so I’m not including that

The first time Tony sees Bucky Barnes, it’s through a screen.

It’s the first real lead they’ve had in months, since the flurry of sightings immediately following SHIELD’s collapse. The team had sent Natasha and Clint to check it out. They’re both betas, and Nat’s ability to control the calming pheromones all betas let off gives them an edge over an alpha they suspect is on the verge of going feral.

He’s not on the verge, Tony realizes when he sees Barnes on the screen for the first time. He is feral.

Eyes clearly gone red, clear even through the low saturation of the screen, baring his fangs at Natasha and Clint as they cautiously approach, growling so fiercely that the other people in the market are giving him a wide berth as they peer at him fearfully from under their lashes—Bucky has been pushed past the point of breaking into ferality. It’s not surprising. Their entire world crashing down—literally, in this instance—would be a lot for any alpha to handle, but for one trying to deal with seventy years of brainwashing and amnesia? Yeah, Tony’s not surprised.

There’s something slightly terrifying about it. Alphas going feral is supposed to be a nightmare story, something you tell children about at night to scare them into being good. It’s not supposed to be something you see in a crowded marketplace. And when Tony thinks about how easy it would be for something to go wrong, if they’d sent someone other than Nat or Clint—like Steve who had wanted so badly to be the one to bring his friend in or even Tony with his omega pheromones evolved to tempt alphas into paying attention to him and only him—he shudders.

But—there’s something almost piteous about it too. It’s clear that Bucky is terrified beneath his snarling veneer, clear that he doesn’t fully understand what’s happening, and something in Tony’s heart shifts the same as it had the first time he saw Steve.

Something thrums deep inside him to the tune of mine.

“I can help,” he says.

Beneath him, Steve shifts uneasily, saying, “Tony—”

“I want to,” he interrupts. He turns, Steve’s arm sliding from his stomach to his hip, and rests his head on Steve’s shoulder, watching Nat raise her hands placatingly out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve had six months to get used to—everything. It wasn’t his fault, I know that, and—and you still love him, Steve, I know you do.”

“I love you,” Steve says, which isn’t really much of an argument.

“I know.” He smiles when Steve rolls his eyes at the well-worn response. “But you love him too. And… he feels like you did when we first met.”

He can feel Steve tense, and he tucks his head deeper into the crook of Steve’s neck, purring quietly to force him to calm. He knows his alpha is only worried about his safety. Bucky isn’t the same person he once was and even if Steve still has feelings for him, it’s only instinct to be worried about the omega he’s also in love with. But he doesn’t need to be worried. Tony is more than capable of taking care of himself and his own instincts are screaming that Bucky won’t hurt him, that Bucky is his. Only once Steve is fully relaxed again does he continue, “Please, Steve. I want to help. I want to know him better and I want to know if what I’m feeling about him is real. Let me?”

Steve sighs but Tony feels his lips curve upwards where they’re pressed against his hair. “I don’t let you do anything.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

Bucky is still feral by the time he, Nat, and Clint return to the tower, but it’s tinged now with panic. Tony can smell the sour scent it all the way from where he and the rest of the team are waiting in the kitchen and Bucky’s still outside. He’s not sure if that says something about his strength as an alpha or the depths of his panic, but either way, it’s not good. He glances again at the screen where he can see Natasha trying to calm Bucky down enough to get him to enter the building—the windows blacked out so that Bucky doesn’t panic further at the sight of the team just inside the landing pad—but it’s no dice.

“I’m going out there,” he announces.

It’s meant to just let everyone know that he’s going, but everyone else seems to take it as an invitation to stop him. The noise in the kitchen swings up into an uproar. Even Steve, who knows that he has every intention of helping, has tucked him up against his side, keeping him from taking a single step out of the kitchen.

“He’s dangerous,” Bruce argues once the initial noise has died down a little. It’s telling that Steve doesn’t immediately argue with him the way he normally does when someone says something bad about Bucky.

“We’re all dangerous,” Tony shoots back, ineffectually trying to wriggle his way out of Steve’s arms. “I’m dangerous and biology practically dictates that my orientation is about as dangerous as a bunny rabbit.”

Steve, who has been on the receiving end of Tony’s intense heats, snorts.

“Look,” he continues, “Nat’s not having any luck getting him to calm down enough to come inside and right now I’m really worried he’s going to either steal the Quinjet and take off or jump off the tower and take off. Either option comes with a lot of paperwork that I have to sign so I’d prefer it if he just came inside so why can’t I try? We can’t send another alpha out there, he’ll take that as a sign of aggression, and we can’t send Sam. The last time Bucky met him, he kicked him off a helicarrier. So that means we’re down to me. Sucks that it’s me but I’m our best option.”

“If he hurts you—” Steve begins.

“He won’t,” Tony says softly and turns so he can nose at Steve’s scent glands. “You won’t let him. I know you’ll be right there, ready if something goes wrong.”

Steve clearly still doesn’t want to let him go out there but his arms loosen enough for Tony to slip away. He smiles at the others, hiding his own nerves beneath a façade of self-confidence that he absolutely doesn’t feel. It’s not like any of them are wrong: feral alphas are dangerous, and this one is more dangerous than most. But he’s not wrong either: Bucky is in more danger the longer he stays out there. Hydra is searching for him and it was sheer luck that the Avengers found him first. But he doesn’t know how long that luck will hold, so the quicker they can bring him in out of the cold, the happier he’ll be.

He straightens his shirt and steps outside, ignoring the way the rest of the team trails him to the door. Bucky’s red eyes snap instantly to him. It’s unsettling, a little terrifying, and Tony has to stop himself from reaching for his sunglasses or from jamming his hands in his pockets. Instead, he holds himself loose and open, hands at his side and palms open so Bucky doesn’t think he’s hiding a weapon in his fists.

“Tony, what do you think you’re doing?” Clint murmurs, alerted to his presence by the sound of the door closing. Natasha is still concentrating on Bucky, trying to soothe him. Even from where he’s standing, he can feel her pheromones washing calm over him and he revises his plan to include her. He’s never felt this kind of strength from her before but he’d be an idiot not to use it.

“It’s okay,” he says, keeping his eyes fixed on Bucky, who’s growling lowly now. “Go back inside, Natasha and I have got this.”

“Can’t do that,” Clint says. “Steve would have my head if—”

“Steve’s my backup. He’s right inside. Go inside; I can’t calm Bucky down if he’s worrying about you.”

“But—”

“Please.”

He thinks it’s the please that does it. By now, the team knows that the whole Tony Stark doesn’t use social niceties thing is bullshit but he still spends so much time in the workshop, and so much time teasing the others when he’s not working, that it’s still an indicator that he’s completely serious about something.

Clint doesn’t waste time asking any other questions. He, more than anyone else on the team except for Steve, knows better than to underestimate people and question them when they’re confident. And Tony is about as confident as he can be. There are ways that this can go wrong, absolutely, but they’re running out of options and what he’s about to try is something that’s been scientifically proven to be effective.

He doesn’t watch Clint go, though Bucky does, only to snap his gaze right back to Tony as soon as Tony takes a step forward. He places a hand on Natasha’s shoulder as he passes her, murmurs into her ear too low for even supersoldiers to hear, “Keep up the good work. You’re helping,” and comes to a stop within armlength of Bucky, knowing that Bucky could easily reach out and hurt him if he wanted to.

It seems to throw Bucky off, who blinks at him. Tony smiles at him and reaches up to his neck, loosening the scent blocker just enough to dilute the bonded scent pouring off of him and allow his own to filter in.

Bucky blinks again. “Omega,” he says eventually, voice rusty with disuse.

Tony smiles again. “That’s right.”

“And… Stevie?” Bucky guesses. In that moment, he sounds so young that it makes Tony’s heart break. Bucky had his future stolen away from him just the same as Steve did. He can’t fully regret that because it brought them both to him, but he knows how much pain and healing Steve had had to go through after waking up in this century and he knows what Bucky will still have to do, and he hurts for them.

“Steve’s my alpha,” he says. “Do you remember Steve?”

Bucky hesitates and then slowly nods. The red is slowly starting to recede from his eyes—though Tony isn’t sure that has anything to do with what he’s doing or if it’s just because he’s managing to baffle the alpha—and then Natasha shifts. It’s nothing more than a twitch of her leg but Bucky instantly notices it.

Before Tony realizes it, Bucky has snatched him to him, tucked him behind the mass that makes up Bucky’s body, and is snarling at Natasha, eyes scarlet red again. Just barely, he sees the door start to open and if it does, if the team comes out of it ready to fight, they’ll lose Bucky.

“No!” he shouts, startling Bucky. It’s enough though. The door pauses. Tony can see Steve through the crack, looking terrified, but he isn’t hurt. He’s okay. Bucky hasn’t done anything other than seemingly try to protect him.

He darts in front of Bucky again, wraps his arms around his shoulders, and tugs him down to his neck, tucking his face into the loosened scent blocker so he can inhale both Steve and Tony.

“Settle,” he commands. It’s usually a command an alpha uses for their omega but there’s precedence of omegas using it too. He draws on every ounce of strength he typically reserves for the boardroom and pushes it into his voice, ordering him again when Bucky lets out an answering growl.

It takes a moment but Bucky suddenly melts, going limp and boneless against him. Tony’s only half-expecting it; the alpha’s weight takes him by surprise and they sink to the ground, Bucky taking in huge gasping breaths as he breathes in their combined scents.

“Oh my darling,” Tony whispers, hands coming up to stroke through Bucky’s hair. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Without quite meaning to, Bucky ends up moving into the guest room on his and Steve’s floor. Tony means to put Bucky on his own floor but then Bucky spends the afternoon following him docilely around the common areas, as sweet now as he was feral a few hours earlier. The others still seem a little wary but as time passes and it becomes obvious that Tony is in fact doing some good, they start to relax. By the time they’d be heading up to bed, Bucky is stretched out on the couch, head on Tony’s lap and feet tucked under Steve’s legs, as the team watches a movie.

“I think he’s imprinted on you,” Clint observes dryly as he heads for the elevator. “Like a duck.”

Tony doesn’t look up from where he’s carding his fingers through Bucky’s hair but he feels the alpha tense. “That’s okay, darling,” he comments idly. “I’m pretty sure Steve and I imprinted on each other once we started living together too.”

Natasha groans. “Don’t remind me. It was like watching a Disney movie without the singing animals.”

“Disney movie?” Bucky asks, voice muffled by Tony’s thigh.

“I’ll show you,” Tony assures him.

The rest of the team starts slowly filtering out until it’s just the three of them. Tony and Steve exchange a look over Bucky’s head, not needing to communicate with words after the years they’ve spent together. They’re both concerned about where Bucky will sleep tonight. With a quick glance toward Bucky and a tilt of his eyebrows, Steve tells him that he would be more than happy with Bucky staying with them, but he’ll leave the decision up to Tony. No one likes the scent of a distressed omega after all, and the easiest way to end up with a distressed omega is by inviting someone into their space that they don’t want there.

Fortunately, Tony would be more than happy with Bucky there. He hadn’t been joking when he’d said that one look at Bucky and it had felt like they were meant for each other, just as it had felt with Steve—and, he suspected, just as it had felt with Steve and Bucky, even if they’d never made a move.

But he wants the choice to be Bucky’s, so he gently lifts his hands away from Bucky’s hair and asks, “Bucky? Do you want to have your own floor? We’ve got a few extras for when we expand the roster. Or you could stay on our floor, if you’d prefer?”

Bucky doesn’t even hesitate to say, “With you.”

He knows Bucky doesn’t mean it the way he wants, doesn’t mean that he’ll join them in their bed, but maybe… Maybe someday, once Bucky is better (he isn’t so naïve as to think this is the end of it; he only has to look at his own history with backsliding after Afghanistan and Stane and the palladium reactor to know that) and if he and Steve can figure out the right words to invite someone into a triad bond…

Well. Maybe someday.

He wakes up in the middle of the night to Steve gently shaking his shoulder. “Waz wrong?” he mumbles, blearily rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Did I have a nightmare?”

“No, sweetheart,” Steve whispers, leaning over to kiss his bare shoulder. “Bucky wanted to know if he could join us. Said he was worried about Hydra.” He doesn’t say if Bucky was worried about Hydra taking him away or someone else, Tony or Steve, he notes, but the answer is the same either way.

“’Course he can, long as he’s not a blanket hog.”

He fully expects Bucky to climb in on Steve’s other side. It only makes sense: the two grew up together so of course, Steve would be the middle in this instance. Instead, Steve tugs Tony closer to him so that he’s spooning up behind him, and Bucky crawls under the blankets so that he’s facing Tony, looking more relaxed as soon as his head hits the pillow.

Huh. Maybe there’s something to what Clint was saying about Bucky imprinting on him. He would be more worried, but alphas don’t imprint on someone unless they feel safe with them, unless there’s the beginning stirrings of a mating bond in the back of their mind, even though a full bond takes time, communication, and love to develop. Considering that Tony’s pretty sure he’s imprinted on Bucky the same way, he really isn’t that concerned about Bucky’s feelings.

Still though, he makes a note to sit down and talk with Bucky eventually about how they can’t just rush into this. They’ve all been through too much to immediately strike up a relationship. Bucky isn’t in the right mental state at the moment. And as for Tony, he wants to make sure they’re all on the same page and that Bucky won’t regret this two years down the line. Hell, he’s still uncertain that Steve won’t regret this at some point, so he definitely wants to know that Bucky’s sure of his feelings.

But that’s a problem for tomorrow-Tony, he decides. Tonight, he’s going to snuggle into his alpha’s warmth and enjoy having Bucky close by instead of somewhere out in the world where Tony can’t keep him safe.

The next day is weirder. Not in a bad way! Just—here: when Tony finally drags himself away from the warm spots in the bed that his mates (not his mates; his mate and his mate’s best friend… who might one day be his mate), makes his way into the kitchen, and sleepily grumbles, “Coffee,” there are suddenly two steaming mugs in front of him, one from Steve and one from—someone else. He raises his eyes slowly to where Bucky is watching him with hopeful eyes. That answers that question then.

“Uh, thanks, Snowflake,” he says and takes a cautious sip out of the one Bucky put down. It’s not that he thinks it’s poisoned. It’s just that Bucky has been here for less than twenty-four hours, there’s no way that he know how exacting Tony can be about his coffee, how particular—how—how…

Huh. This is pretty damn perfect actually.

He takes another, larger sip and then looks at where Steve is busy making breakfast for the three of them. Steve watches him with an amused look in his eyes. Tony knows Steve isn’t concerned about someone else preparing his coffee—Bruce has done it plenty of times and whenever Rhodey’s in town, he insists that he’s the only one who can make Tony’s coffee—he’s just enjoying watching the two of them together.

He thinks about the nights he used to wake from a dead sleep to the sound of Steve weeping over Bucky, about the concerns he used to share with Tony that Bucky wouldn’t want to stay with them or would want to leave. He wonders now how much of that was fear that Tony wouldn’t want Bucky to stay because he wouldn’t be able to stomach housing the person Hydra used to kill his parents. Silly alpha, he thinks fondly. As though Tony wouldn’t love anyone Steve loves.

At least that’s a fear he can put to rest.

Gulping down half his coffee in one go, he leans back in his chair and casually says, “Steve, you’re fired. Pack your things and go. I’m keeping this one. His coffee is lightyears ahead of yours.”

Steve bursts out laughing and crosses the kitchen to pull him up and kiss him soundly. Tony purrs into the kiss, answered with a low rumble from Steve and then, so low he almost misses it—another rumble from Bucky. He smiles triumphantly and pulls away with another kiss, hands resting on Steve’s broad chest.

“Better finish up that breakfast, soldier,” he says teasingly. “Got things to do today in the workshop and I need my alpha down there to stand around and look pretty. You too, Bucky Babe,” he calls over his shoulder. “Universe gave me two supersoldiers, be a shame not to take advantage of that.”

He doesn’t know what Bucky looks like but the kitchen suddenly scents like contended alpha, and he knows it’s not Steve’s scent because he knows Steve’s scent as well as he knows his own. He smiles again, nuzzles deeper into Steve’s chest and hums happily.

It’s not perfect yet, he thinks, but soon—soon it will be.

Tony was right that first day—it takes time, months really. Time for Bucky to backslide and Steve to backslide and Tony to back-shimmy because he doesn’t do anything as gauche as slide. It takes months of therapy, days of consultation with the world’s top experts on how to remove the brainwashing and programming from Bucky’s brain, hours of working together in the workshop on Bucky’s arm as Tony comes up with improvement after improvement.

It’s countless bad nights where Bucky wakes up in a nightmare and reaches to strangle Steve—never Tony, never his omega, but always his best friend—and countless bad days afterward trying to convince him to come back to their bed. It’s figuring out how to work around the myriad of triggers all three of them have and sometimes it doesn’t work. Sometimes Bucky doesn’t realize that Tony can’t handle baths anymore. Sometimes Steve doesn’t notice that Bucky’s afraid of heights. Sometimes Tony misses that it’s the anniversary of Bucky falling from the train.

It’s bad sometimes.

But it’s good sometimes too.

It’s figuring out how they curl around each other in bed and waking up warm and rested. It’s feeding each other by hand in the morning when they’re too tired to bother with silverware. It’s cups of coffee and donuts with sprinkles and warm hugs. It’s Bucky resting his head on Tony’s lap and tucking his feet under Steve’s legs during movie nights.

It’s Tony and Steve dancing together around the kitchen island as Bucky cooks, watching them fondly. It’s Bucky crooning old songs from the 40s when Steve’s on a mission and Tony can’t sleep without his alpha. It’s Steve and Bucky spending hours walking the streets of Brooklyn, reminiscing about growing up together.

It’s love, blooming slowly but surely for everyone to see.

And when one night as Tony is changing out of the charcoal suit he’d worn for the board meeting that day and into his pajamas and Bucky stops him with a hoarsely whispered, “Doll,” he smiles and guides Bucky’s hand to his waist.

“It’s okay, darling” he murmurs. “You can.”

Bucky’s kiss, when it comes, feels like coming home.

#stuckony #alle writes #alle answers #if you like please consider reblogging #fingers crossed that tumblr lets me post this #willowlark369

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whenisitenoughtrees · 4 years

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Congrats on 500 followers!!!!! Your writing is amazing and you totally deserve it! Would you be able to do “Can you please stop biting your lip…it’s distracting.” for analogical? If you don’t get inspo for it that’s totally fine I’m just on a total analogical kick recently lol

@wisherbystarlight thank you!! i absolutely love analogical so here you go

Title: abject impermanence

Word Count: 3,570

Content Warnings: implied suicidal ideation (in reference to virgil ducking out), negative self image

(fic masterpost)

Virgil would rather die than admit this to anybody, but he develops a crush on Logan after their first debate.

It’s ridiculous, and bothersome, and stupidly humiliating, and he has to spend a few days in his room before he feels prepared enough to face anyone again, prepared enough to put up his usual walls and throw around his usual sarcastic comments, and all the while, his heart is beating far too fast, his mind racing, insisting that he’s being obvious, that everyone knows.

(That is what being Anxiety means: he is under a microscope all the time, his every movement watched and analyzed and derided, alone in a crowd of people who wish him nothing but ill.)

It’s awful, really. Is he truly so pathetic that the first time someone treats him like his opinions are valid, he falls head over heels for them? Because he has to admit, that’s the root of all of this. The debate, and the fact that even though Logan didn’t agree with him, he still treated him with respect, like he was someone worth listening to, and none of the light sides have ever acted like that before.

And they’ve certainly never told him that they don’t mind his company.

So. He has a crush on Logan. And it takes him a few weeks to calm down enough to really think about it, but when he does, he decides that nothing has to change. It’s not like he’ll ever work up the courage to act on these feelings

(because holy shit, how badly would that go? He can picture it now: Logan sneering at him, Logan rejecting him, Logan informing him that he would never in a million years have feelings for someone so irrational and useless, and while Virgil is at it, would he kindly remove himself from his presence and never come back and— well. Maybe Virgil is irrational, but he can’t bring himself to risk something like that)

so the only thing to do with them is pretend they’re not there, right? He’ll keep all of his emotions right here, in his chest, and then one day, he’ll die, and no one else has to know a thing about it.

He doesn’t see what could possibly go wrong with this plan. Which is odd for him because usually, he can only see the things that could go wrong. But the only factor in this plan is him, and his own ability to disguise his feelings, and he’s been successfully doing that for a very long time.

(After all, it’s been years, and none of the others have managed to figure out how much their rejection hurts him, how deeply it strikes at the heart he pretends not to have.)

But he doesn’t anticipate things changing. He doesn’t anticipate trying to duck out, at least, not until the moments in between making the decision and actually going through with it, and he doesn’t anticipate anybody coming after him. He certainly doesn’t anticipate their reactions, doesn’t anticipate being told that he’s important,

(because since fucking when?)

and doesn’t anticipate their acceptance.

He doesn’t anticipate telling them his name.

And alright, maybe he could deal with all of this. Maybe he could ease his way into being one of them, edge his way into their inner circle. It’s something he once would have thought impossible, but now, they seem determined to make him one of them, to bring him into their family, and even though part of him wonders whether they’re just trying to make sure he doesn’t duck out again, doesn’t hurt Thomas, a larger part of him is ecstatic about the fact that they’re including him at all. Maybe he can let himself have this, for once.

But that night, Logan comes to his room.

“Do you have a moment to talk?” he asks, and reluctantly, Virgil takes off his headphones.

Because, yes. Of course. He’s hardly busy, and even if he were, he’s certain he’d figure out a way to put it aside in favor of Logan, because really, he’s helpless to do anything else.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, aiming for casual. He thinks he makes it, if only because he is very practiced in hiding how much of a mess he is internally. “What’s up?”

Logan looks uncomfortable, a bit shifty, even though he hasn’t been in his room nearly long enough for its effects to take hold.

“I merely wanted to check in with you after today’s events,” he says, and then pauses, biting his lip, something that Virgil finds incredibly distracting. “Specifically, to ensure that you are alright.”

He blinks. “Of course I’m alright,” he says. “Why wouldn’t I be alright?”

“Well, I was considering everything that happened, and it occurred to me that we glossed over precisely what ‘ducking out’ would have done to you in the long term.” In an oddly vehement motion, Logan shoves his glasses further up his nose. And Virgil knows very well that as the embodiment of Logic, Logan tries not to display his stronger emotions, but right now, he is the perfect picture of distress. “I find it likely that if Thomas had been unable to utilize you for an extended amount of time, you may have… disappeared, for lack of a better word, not unlike a muscle that atrophies after disuse.”

Well, yes. He knew what he was risking. But he’d felt low enough that he didn’t particularly care about himself.

He was just tired of hurting Thomas.

(And maybe, just maybe, if there was a part of him, small and insidious in the back of his brain, that found the prospect of nothingness appealing, he’ll keep that to himself.)

“I mean, yeah,” he says. “But that didn’t happen. You guys came and got me, and I’m okay now. Not gonna do anything like that again, I swear.”

“That’s not my point,” Logan says, even more upset entering his voice. He crosses his arms, holding his shoulders tensely. “No matter how illogical it might seem, I find myself wondering what might have happened had we not attempted to reach you in time, and the idea is… displeasing.”

Oh.

Despite himself, Virgil’s heart flutters.

“So, I arrived at the conclusion that assuring myself of your continued well-being would help to assuage my concern.” Logan fidgets. “As well as the fact that… I want you to be alright. For yourself, and not just because I am…”

“Anxious?” Virgil can’t resist finishing, even as he feels his face flushing underneath his foundation. God, he hopes Logan doesn’t pick up on that. He shouldn’t be reacting this strongly to something as simple as basic worry, especially after the day they all had, but to know that Logan has been thinking about him? That Logan doesn’t like the idea of him not being around, doesn’t want him to vanish?

That Logan cares enough to come check on him like this?

It’s a strong, heady feeling, and Virgil has the sneaking suspicion that his crush has just upgraded itself.

“Yes,” Logan answers, and he seems a bit embarrassed, but he holds his ground, staring Virgil straight (gay) in the eyes. The direct eye contact is intense, almost too much for him to handle, but Virgil finds himself unable to look away.

“Well, uh, I appreciate it, I guess,” he manages. “Really, it’s nice to know that you care.”

“Of course,” Logan says, and seems almost indignant at the idea that he might not. “I value our discussions,” he adds, and Virgil has to pretend that that statement doesn’t almost give him a heart attack.

But that is mostly the end of that conversation, because really, neither of them is very good with touchy-feely emotions. Logan sinks back out shortly after, and Virgil is left alone in his room, his headphones lying uselessly on his lap as his mind reviews their exchange over and over again, searching for all the places where it might have gone wrong, or where he might have messed up. He can’t really find any, and that is a realization in and of itself, almost enough to distract him from the bigger one, the one that looms over him.

It’s not just a crush anymore. He could try to deny it, but he thinks that would summon unwanted attention. So he accepts it, accepts that he is… he’d say infatuated, but infatuated isn’t the right word. Infatuated doesn’t even begin to cover what he feels when he looks at Logan, doesn’t cover the way his heart races and his words trip over themselves and the way he longs for his approval. It doesn’t cover the way he knows so many little details about him, like the way Logan pushes at his glasses or fiddles with his tie when he’s nervous or upset, or the exact way his lips curl around the edges when he’s pleased and trying not to show it. So many little details, none of which would be on his radar at all if he wasn’t—

Well. He won’t deny it. But he doesn’t particularly see the need to voice it, either.

After all, it’s not like it changes anything. Or at least, it shouldn’t. He wasn’t planning on sharing his feelings when they were a simple crush, and he’s certainly not going to share them now that there’s more.

Except, nothing is ever that simple,

(Nothing ever can be, with him. It’s what he does best, turning easy things into overcomplicated messes because he can’t let go of all the what ifs—)

because suddenly, he’s welcome to spend time with the others. Is welcome at their table, is welcome in the commons, is welcome to join their movie nights and their game nights, and most of the time, he even feels mostly okay with doing so, because Patton is enthusiastic in his invitations, and he can tell that even Roman is honestly trying. And sometimes, it makes him want to cry, because this is all he’s ever wanted, to be one of them, and now he can and it’s almost too much.

The only problem with that is that he’s spending a lot more time around Logan.

Which is fine. Great, even.

Except, sometimes, Logan will do things. Little things, inconsequential things, but things that remind Virgil all too clearly of the feelings he keeps nestled under his heart.

For instance, Logan bites his lip a lot. When he’s working, when he’s watching movies, when he’s listening to the others, and sometimes for no reason at all. It’s a stupid thing to get caught up on, but he can’t help himself. And it’s not as if Virgil’s attraction to him begins or ends with the physical, but—

Whenever he does it, Virgil can’t stop his eyes from zeroing in on his lips. Can’t stop himself from thinking about how much he would like to kiss him.

He would like to kiss him a whole lot. And he’s fairly sure he’s being pretty obvious about it, but he can’t bring himself to stop.

So, really, he should have prepared himself for the possibility of being found out. Under any other circumstance, he would have, but there’s a saying, he thinks, about love and fools.

“Can I help you with something?” Logan says, and Virgil flinches violently, the rest of the world coming back into focus. He snaps his gaze up to meet Logan’s eyes, and the expression on his face might be amusement, maybe, but it could also be annoyance, and in fact, it’s probably definitely annoyance, because actually Logan is annoyed with Virgil and maybe even angry and now their budding friendship is completely ruined and all because Virgil doesn’t know better than to stare when he really shouldn’t be staring and—

No, stop. Stop. He’s not going to do that, not right now. He wrests his thoughts back under control with an effort.

Logan was working, typing away on his laptop, biting his lip as he concentrated. And Virgil just so happened to be out in the commons as well, in the perfect position to watch him and daydream, just a bit.

He needs to reply. He’s left it too long, and Logan’s eyebrows are inching up his face as he awaits a response. And the longer he takes to come up with something, the more suspicious Logan will be, so he should just shrug, mutter a denial, and pointedly turn his attention away. Something like that.

But it’s his job to make snap decisions under pressure. And sometimes those decisions aren’t the right ones.

So instead of taking another second to think things through and deflect Logan’s interest, his mouth opens ahead of his brain and says, “Can you please stop biting your lip?”

Logan stares. Virgil feels himself wilting.

“… It’s distracting,” he finishes weakly, and prays for the ground to swallow him whole. He can’t even manage to sink out

(because his mind is screaming at him now, screaming horrified recriminations, screaming all of the worst case scenarios, and it’s taking all of his concentration to breathe properly, much less get out of here)

because the sheer force of his embarrassment is leaving him paralyzed, curled up in his chair and with nowhere to go, nowhere to escape Logan’s widening eyes.

“Is it now,” Logan says, and he doesn’t sound particularly angry, but Virgil could very easily be wrong. Or, he could be angry and trying to hide it. Or maybe he’s not angry, but irritation would probably be just as bad, at this point.

“Sorry,” he mutters, hunching in on himself. “Nevermind, forget I said anything.”

“Virgil, you’re magnifying,” Logan says softly, and that softness is worse than any anger could be, because what if he’s figured it out? What if he pities him? Virgil would take just about anything over pity. “Whatever you think you just said, I assure you that it didn’t come off nearly as badly as you seem to believe.” He pauses, tilting his head. “Though, I can’t say I’m certain of what you meant, considering—”

He cuts off suddenly, and Virgil can practically see the cogs turning in his head. He should leave now, leave before Logan draws his conclusions, but he is frozen, powerless to do anything but let this train wreck happen in real time.

“I wouldn’t ordinarily consider biting my lip to be a disruptive habit,” Logan says slowly. “It makes no noise and does no one any harm, and it’s not something I would think affects anyone else. But you were staring, which means there is something about the habit that draws your attention. I can only think of a few reasons for that.”

He takes it back. Pity would be far better than this, than this slow and measured reasoning, drawing out all of Virgil’s best-kept secrets, spiraling toward a conclusion that he never wanted anyone to know, much less Logan himself.

Perhaps that is why he says what he says. Because with this, Logan is only prolonging the inevitable, and it’s torture.

It’s like a band-aid. The biggest band-aid ever, maybe, covering one of the worst wounds of his life, but a band-aid. And it’s coming off one way or another, so he might as well rip it off now and brace himself for the sting.

“Oh my god,” he says. “It makes me want to kiss you. That’s why it’s distracting. And I’m just gonna go die in a hole now, if that’s alright.”

His face is burning, mortification rising up in him like a tidal wave, threatening to swamp him. This is, possibly, the worst thing that has ever happened to him, ever.

(It’s not, of course, because anything and everything is better than it was before he was accepted, when he was on his own and so lonely and bitter all the time. But this comes close, he thinks. It’s a different kind of hurt altogether, but a hurt nonetheless.)

Logan sets his laptop down, giving him his full attention. For a moment, he is completely silent, and Virgil prepares himself to stand and sink out and into his room, where he will spend the next few weeks huddled under the covers on his bed with his headphones on blast, hating his life and himself for being such an idiot, because here he is, ruining one of the best friendships that he has ever known, and for what? Because he was too much of a moron to keep himself from staring, from forcing his unwanted attentions upon the one side who was more likely than any of the others to notice what he was doing? It’s pathetic, and stupid, and he knows it, and Logan knows it, and—

“I don’t see why you need to do that,” Logan says. His voice shakes, just slightly. “You could kiss me, if you wanted.”

Virgil stills. He can’t have heard that right.

Logan clears his throat. “That is to say, I would enjoy it, if you kissed me. If I’d realized you were interested, I would have broached the topic sooner.”

Hysterical laughter threatens to escape him, his brain dissolving into static, because what? And he knows he needs to say something, needs to respond, but his vocal cords refuse to work, so he’s left sitting there, staring, stricken dumb.

Logan glances away, something like uncertainty crossing his face. “I apologize,” he murmurs. “I’m not doing this right, am I?”

And that is what finally spurs Virgil to action, because Logan sounds so terribly dejected, and that is absolutely not allowed. Not when it’s Virgil that’s made such a mess of things, when none of it is Logan’s fault at all.

“Do you mean it?” he croaks.

Logan blinks, his expression clearing, and then landing on comprehension. His face softens, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he stands, crossing the floor and kneeling in front of where Virgil sits.

“Of course I do,” he says, and then reaches out with one hand, cupping Virgil’s cheek. Virgil’s breath catches, the contact shooting lightning across his face and down his spine. His heart starts beating faster, and he doesn’t know whether it’s fear or anticipation or some mixture of the two. Most of him still hasn’t processed that this is happening, hasn’t made the jump from Logan can never know about my feelings because he’ll reject me and then I’ll have no choice but to jump off a cliff to Logan knows about my feelings and he is doing the exact opposite of rejecting me hoooooly shit what do I do—

“I think about you often,” Logan says. “Ever since our first debate, if I’m being completely honest.”

Virgil blinks.

The laugh escapes him, then, but there’s not much hysteria in it. It’s something warm, now, something bright and colorful and blooming as he realizes just how much of an idiot he’s been, as his anxiety slowly begins to fade away,

(not completely, never completely, because he is who he is and that will never change, and his mind is already looking to the future, at all the fresh new opportunities he is going to have to screw this up, but for now, in this moment, he has Logan here in front of him, offering to kiss him, telling him that his feelings aren’t as one-sided as he convinced himself they had to be, and it’s very difficult to be negative at all, in the face of such a beautiful thing as this, as him)

morphing into something that he is tentatively willing to call hope.

“Yeah?” he says. “Me too.”

Before he can lose his nerve, he shifts position, leans down, and kisses Logan. Lightly, briefly, and it’s really more of a peck than anything else, but in the split second in which their lips meet, Virgil can feel just how soft Logan’s are, and when he pulls back, anxiously searching for a reaction, Logan’s cheeks are dusted with red.

“Yes, um,” Logan says. “That was… good. Would you like to do it again?”

A wave of fondness washes over him, and he lets it drag him away.

“You dork,” he says, and pecks him on the lips again. He doesn’t yet have to courage to try for more, but he thinks that might come with time. If he is allowed time, if he is allowed this, and he is not prone to optimism, but for once, he might be willing to give it a go.

Optimism, and whatever this is, new and exciting and budding between them. And there is a part of his mind that is screaming at him, insisting that he’s only going to hurt Logan or get hurt himself, and that no brief happiness could ever be worth that, but—

Logan’s lips are gentle and soft, and Logan is smiling at him, and that, he thinks, might be worth the world.

(“I would be extremely displeased if you died in a hole,” Logan informs him a bit later. “Please refrain from doing so.”

He agrees, if only because of that fact that if he died in a hole, he would never get to kiss Logan ever again. And now that he’s started, he doesn’t ever want to stop.

He is not one to believe in permanence. Or in happy endings. But just this once, he’ll try it, and trust that Logan will catch him if he falls.)

General Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer @mrbubbajones @snek-boii @severelylackinginquality @aceawkwardunicorn @gayerplease @elizabutgayer @dwbh888 @thatoneloudowl @sanderssides-angst @gayboopnoodle @wildfire5157 @a-ghostlight-for-roman @ldavmp4

#analogical #virgil sanders #ts virgil #logan sanders #ts logan #my fic #long post #cat does prompts #wisherbystarlight

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one-boring-person · 3 years

Note

Is it possible to request part 5 of Unexpected Resistance?

😅

I look forward to reading about 2 humans dealing with their awkward (in love?) Robo companions.

It is indeed! I hope you like this, and thanks for giving me the incentive to write more!

Unexpected Resistance. (Part Five)

T-800 (The Terminator) x OC

Warnings: injury detail, blood, swearing

Context: the T-750 and T-800 come round

A/n: I'll try to update this more frequently 😅

Masterlist

Co-written by: @jawline-of-steel

As the T-750 comes back online, her body suddenly goes rigid, eyes staring directly ahead as her head snaps upright, joints locked in place. Instinctively, Kyle backs away from her, nudging Sarah behind him as he watches the terminator recalibrate, paying close attention to the slow but sure movement of each separate finger, wrists cracking as she bends them. Tense, the two humans await the return of their protector, unnerved by the systematic bodily movement she seems to be doing, her head finally rotating to scan the room, eyes unblinking and unseeing, expression totally blank.

It takes a moment, but eventually, the T-750 blinks, body relaxing again as she stands, turning to face Kyle and Sarah, head tilted to the side momentarily.

"My CPU has been successfully reprogrammed." She intones, going to the dresser, using the mirror to hide the cuts made to her scalp with her hair, before she returns to them.

"How do you know?" Sarah inquires, slight fear giving her voice an edge.

The T-750 makes eye-contact with her.

"Upon my reconnection, all new changes to my CPU were made known to me and are logged in my files. This also includes any change made to both my outward and inward form." She explains, turning her attention to the hulking form of the T-800 still prone on the bed, "The T-800 will reconnect imminently. It is vital that his CPU is recalibrated before this time."

As she says this, the T-750 swiftly relocates the nail kit from before, and moves to the space beside the superior terminator's head, remaining standing as she runs a hand through his hair. Finding what she's looking for, Kyle and Sarah can only watch as she efficiently performs the same operation on him, cutting back the relevant flap of skin and hair to expose the access plate, which she expertly picks out. In the bad lighting of the motel room, the T-800's skull shines brightly under the thick coating of blood, indents and notches collecting the stuff before the T-750 plucks the plug from the hold of the chip. With clinical efficiency, she then uses the tweezers to reach into the available crevice, pulling the CPU chip from it's safe hold.

Holding it up to the light, the cyborg locates the switch and flips it using the scissors, leaning back over the large body of the terminator before she replaces the chip and plug, moving the flap of skin back into place.

"And he won't be hostile when he comes round, will he?" Kyle asks, still shielding Sarah with his body as they watch the T-750 work.

"He will be initially. Some time elapses before encoded data can be overridden by the new input, which will induce a series of short-circuits on his database. This will likely mean he is violent towards the nearest target, which will likely be Sarah." She confirms, standing over the T-800.

"Sarah? Why Sarah?" Kyle questions, frowning, "And why aren't you attacking us?"

"Sarah was his last primary target, and there is no identification of you on his files, so his initial overrides will focus entirely on the nearest subject. I am not violent with you now because your identity is written deeply into my coded data, which cannot be overridden, a feature that the Resistance added in. It does not yet exist in the T-800."

Both humans nod, only to jerk in surprise when the cyborg on the bed suddenly snaps awake, body jack-knifing upright.

"Fuck!" Kyle curses loudly, pulling out his shotgun, aiming it at the bed, where the terminator has already recalibrated all of his joints, his head moving in a broad scan of the room.

"Put your weapon away! Any sign of hostility will register negatively and it will attack." The T-750 snaps to them, eyes fixed on the T-800.

The male terminator regains sentiency, at which point his gaze fixes unwaveringly on Sarah, a crease appearing between his piercing eyes as he stands from the bed. Terrified, Sarah hides behind Kyle, only to realise that the T-800 has not, in fact, moved closer, and is simply staring, apparently running through data on his HUD. Behind him, the T-750 stands, ready to intervene, should things turn ugly, expression blank as she watches the other cyborg calibrate himself properly, muscles slowly relaxing as he speaks.

"Changes have been made to my CPU. Why?" He states, voice deep and unaffected by the hours of disuse.

"Adjustments to suitability of life in this time period were necessary. If they were not made, termination would have been performed." The T-750 explains, holding the T-800's stare steadily as he turns to face her.

"That was not a parameter of my mission." He tells her, ignoring Kyle and Sarah now.

"Your mission is no longer ongoing, and so the parameters have changed. You are now required to exist as humans do, just as I will." She responds, observing the other cyborg closely.

"I will update my files." He acknowledges, turning to face Kyle and Sarah again.

"Jeez, we've really gotta work on how you guys talk." Sarah mutters, pressing a hand to her forehead, "Can I go get some sleep now? I'm tired as hell."

"In a minute. I think we should give these guys names, so we don't just call them T-750 or T-800 in public all the time." Kyle suggests, head tilting to the side, "What about Mark and Grace?"

Sarah shakes her head, the two terminators simply watching as the two humans decide over their names.

"No, not those. What about...Jack and Lucy?" Sarah looks at them both as well.

"No, they don't fit." Kyle chews his lip, glancing around the room for ideas, even as Sarah does the same.

After a moment, her eyes land on the cheap bible placed on the bedside table, the names clicking instantly.

"How about Adam and Eve? You know, like the first two humans on earth? These two are technically the first terminators on earth, so it fits." She clarifies, quite proud of herself.

"Yeah, that works, I like that." Kyle grins, the terminators still staring.

"Those are satisfactory names." Eve acknowledges, nodding at the suggestion.

Just as she says this, the T-800's eyes suddenly go dead, and the huge figure steps forwards, expression deadly. Sensing the danger, the other cyborg moves up beside her new companion and kicks out his legs, sitting down on his back as he goes down, hanging on for dear life as he starts to buck her off.

"Get out of here! He will show no mercy during these episodes!" Eve shouts, wrestling to stay in control as the bigger terminator throws her off.

Terrified, Kyle and Sarah rush from the room, narrowly avoiding being swiped by the T-800, who makes a grab for them, only to be pulled back by Eve.

As quickly as it came on, however, it fades out, the terminator going lax once more.

#terminator imagine #terminator #terminator 1984 #t-800 #oc #arnold schwarzenegger

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bffsoobin · 4 years

Text

Windflower

01| 02|03|04|05|06

↳ after a heartbreak you find yourself in a small town looking for purpose. you find employment with Choi Soobin and his impressive ancestral home. when you start to fall in love again, there’s no way for you to predict what you find in the depths of the home and Soobin’s mind.

➤ hanahaki au, fluff, angst

Word Count: 2,438

Warnings: Light swearing, Soobin being a cutie pie, me not proofreading. I think that’s it??

A/N: This does include the writing that was part of the preview post I made, but it is the first official chapter of Windflower! Please know that genre and warnings will change with every chapter I post! I also don’t quite have an upload schedule, sorry about that!! Hope you all enjoy nonetheless!

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

Your car groaned in protest as you turned into the parking lot of the quaint diner. Giving the dashboard two loving yet harsh hits with the palm of your hand seemed to do the trick. Now silent, the beat up blue car seemed to quietly thank you as you settled between the white painted lines of a parking space and shut off the engine. It was a gray, overcast day but humidity hung in the air wherever you went, making your hair puffy and the back of your legs stick to the cracking leather of your driver’s seat. Heaving a sigh at the uncomfortable stickiness, you pulled down the mirror from the roof of your car to survey the reflection staring back at you.

It’s a startling thing, to look at yourself in a mirror and barely recognize your face. Your skin was dull and starting to break out, the bags under your eyes had seemingly never been more prominent than they were in this moment. Your fingers danced over the darkened skin, wondering at what point of your trip you began to look so worn down. Was it the moment you left your apartment? The twelve hours of mindless driving with no destination in mind? Or had this degeneration begun the moment you found yourself completely alone in life?

You snapped the mirror back up against the roof and rubbed your hands over your face. Mindlessly, you pushed through the items littering your passenger seat until you clasped the familiar quilted fabric of your wallet. As soon as you stood up outside of your car, a wave of dizziness sent you grasping at the top of your car for support. You needed food more than you had originally estimated. Your legs were still a bit shaky from disuse as you walked toward the small white building. Portions of the paint had peeled off in jagged strips to expose the tightly stacked brown bricks waiting underneath. The simple clear door displayed a sun-faded open sign with handwritten hours of operation. As soon as you pushed the door open, the smell of grease and fresh apple pie invaded your senses and your face involuntarily shrunk up in disgust. Another thick paper sign attached on a tarnished metal stand boasted a cheerful cursive that read “Please Seat Yourself!” You could hear a radio playing faintly from somewhere in the building.

Almost every booth in the rectangular dining area was vacant, save for one elderly couple sharing a plate of fries. The floor was sticky under your feet as you made your way to a booth, and whether the texture was a result of the humidity or a lack of cleaning, you couldn’t tell. Sliding into the booth was familiar, almost comforting as you thought back to all of the times you had slid into booths with your friends at dinner, or slid yourself into a booth at the coffee shop near your apartment to work on a paper. Well. Your old apartment. The thought of adjusting to past tense created a scowl on your face as an unsuspecting waitress approached your side. She cleared her throat and caught your attention. To your surprise, she was fairly young, maybe in her late 30s; and she stood in her bright blue blouse and skirt uniform with a cock to her hip and a serving tray tucked under her arm.

“Hi, hun. My name is Melissa, what can I get ya?” the woman’s tone was deceivingly cheerful, given the slow restaurant and heavy air. You heaved a sigh and looked down at the thin paper menu. It wilted in your hand as you picked it up and you soon abandoned the idea of even trying to read through it.

“Hi. A vanilla milkshake and fries, please.” The order was so simple that Melissa didn’t even write it down, just nodded and turned to head into the kitchen to relay your order. A dull buzz warned you of the beginning of a headache but you expertly pushed the feeling aside and decided to ask for a glass of water when she came with your order. Mindlessly, you began searching your phone for places to stay in the tiny town you had stumbled upon. This hadn’t been the kind of place you expected to end up for the summer, but you were never one to plan anything. Enthralled in your scrolling through motel listings, Melissa scared you as she set your order down in front of you. She caught a look at your phone and your face flushed in embarrassment. How much of an obvious tourist could you be? You asked for a glass of water in an attempt to shoo her away, but when she came back with a glass covered in condensation she didn’t leave.

“Not from around here?” it was a rhetorical question, but you gave her props for trying to ease you into the conversation. You shook your head, not really caring to elaborate on where you came from as you shoved a few fries into your mouth.

“I don’t usually talk to customers like this, but; well, we’re dead today and I saw you looking at places to stay on your phone. I don’t recommend any of them. Especially not to a young pretty girl like you. Most of them are way too pricey for their rooms. And the Moonlight motel is literally run by a druglord. He’d gobble you up,” she shivered at her own words.

“Well, where should I stay, then? Unless I missed a Best Western on the way in, I don’t have many other choices,” you deadpanned, hoping to hide the nervousness that was rising in your stomach. If you didn’t stay here, where would you go? But then again, why do you want to stay here so bad in the first place? You took a slurp of your milkshake as you contemplated.

“Look, it’s sort of a town secret, but you remind me of my niece, so I’ll just tell you now. There’s this estate- gated, two story house, old timey stuff, gorgeous garden” Melissa waved her hands around as she spoke, chipped red fingernails putting on a show of their own. “It’s called the Flower House, actually. It’s been passed from generation to generation, since the town was founded. The boy who owns it now is just about your age, but he’s been living there alone since his cousin moved away for college years ago. He’s a lovely boy, we love when he comes into town, it just isn’t often.” you raised your eyebrows at her, trying to figure out how this mysterious boy and his ancestral house had anything to do with your housing predicament. “Long story short, he came around a few weeks ago looking for anyone who would be willing to help him keep the house and yard clean. No pay, but it’s free living in a beautiful home. And he’s not bad looking either.” she winked suggestively. “If you want, I can give you the address and you can go talk to him?”

You looked into her eyes, sparkling with hope of giving you a helping hand. “Okay, yeah. Sure, what have I got to lose?” Melissa hurried away to get writing materials as you continued eating with renewed vigor.

As Melissa cleared your minimal dishes away, she set a ripped piece of paper in front of you that simply read;

“Choi Soobin, 476 Gardenia Dr.”

After paying and being sure to leave your helpful waitress a generous tip, you hopped back in your car and began your journey to discover the mysterious Flower House.

The drive through town was oddly peaceful, even with the grumbling of your car to accompany you alongside the pop songs on the radio. Air whipped into your windows as you drove by houses, small restaurants and one single chain grocery store where everyone seemed to be shopping. Stopping at an intersection with a single blinking stoplight, your phone instructed you to turn left. You passed the town’s schools, elementary and highschool; all huddled onto one campus with a large parking lot separating the two. The electric sign posted reminders of the last day of school for the students as you sped by. The farther you got away from the school, the older the houses became. Some were rotting apart, others covered in creeping vines. The street gradually slanted upwards as you continued to drive towards your destination. At the end of Gardenia Drive stood a towering home with a multitude of windows circling the entire building. A large chimney stood out on the top, one of the only signs of the home’s age; as the outside was wonderfully kept. The most impressive feature was of course the garden, for which the house gained its nickname. Your mouth hung open as you tried to fathom the sheer amount of flowers that were in full bloom on the front lawn. Blues, pinks, purples, reds and whites all stitched together in a beautiful quilt of florals. Some ivy was growing up the old wrought iron gates and the trunks of a few towering trees. While the growth made other houses look dated and worn down, the ivy here only added to the elegance that took your breath away. With your car parked on the road right outside, you exited your car to approach the gates.

Fumbling with your hands, you navigated over the brick path leading up to the intimidating 10 foot tall gates. Despite the obvious history of the metal, a modern doorbell buzzer and camera system was installed just to the left of the entrance. It was harder than you’d like to admit to raise the courage for pressing the button. Your mind blanked as you performed the action, not knowing what to expect. A voice crackled through the speakers and made you jump.

“Who’s there?” a smooth voice inquired. Suddenly you were unsure of what to say.

“I, uh. I’m Y/N. A waitress at Russ’ Diner told me to come talk to you about an um.” your mouth was suddenly going dry. “A living arrangement?” A small exclamation of understanding was music to your ears.

“Okay! Hold on, I’ll be right over to the gate!” The static disappeared with the voice. You looked down at your phone out of habit and realized you had no reception. Figures, as you were sort of in the middle of nowhere. It didn’t matter right now anyway. You put the device in the back pocket of your shorts just as the gate began creaking open and welcoming you onto the property. You could faintly make out the shape of a body making its way toward you through the dense trees.

When he stepped into your line of sight, sunshine managed to peek through the thick blanket of clouds that had been permeating your entire visit and bask him in a wash of gold. He was tall, with long legs covered in the material of light wash skinny jeans. The knees were a bit dirty, and you recognized the stains as a mix of grass and dirt. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt that clung perfectly to his wide shoulders and showed off his defined waist.

Not only was he dressed in a way you definitely didn’t expect, but his looks threw you even farther into surprise. His face was evenly tanned, and not a single blemish could be found. Suddenly, you became all too aware of the dismal state of your own complexion and fought the urge to bring a hand up to cover your face from him. Dark, hooded eyes examined your form as you stood awkwardly on the path and waited for his next words. He seemed amused by your lack of introduction, and chuckled a little as he asked, “Y/N?”

Hearing your name broke the spell that his beauty had put you under and you nodded. His face lit into a smile as he beckoned you further onto the land with a waving hand. You followed him closely and caught his words as they floated in the wind back to you. “I’m Soobin. This house belonged to my great-great-great uncle and his wife. Well, wives.” He chuckled to himself as he led you into a gazebo. Soobin settled into one of the wooden chairs situated around a matching table and gestured for you to sit in the one across from him. A pit of nervousness built in your stomach at the close proximity between the two of you. The table was only three feet wide, and Soobin’s long leg stretched in front of him and decreased your distance even more. Up close, you could see the permanent upturn of the corners of his mouth, and the sparkle in his brown eyes.

His honey brown hair ruffled in the breeze that passed you by and he closed his eyes at the feeling for a moment. “So,” he began suddenly, “you were at Russ’? Who sent you my way for the job?” He clasped his hands together and rested his chin on the new structure. He blinked owlishly as you took a deep breath.

“Yeah, I just came into town for the summer. Melissa served me and she told me that all of the motels here are pretty shit,” Soobin laughed and nodded at that, and your heart skipped a beat. “So she gave me your info. Said you might be able to give me a better place to stay if I helped you out.”

“Ah, I see. Melissa is right, though. Those motels are awful. I definitely wouldn’t want to see you staying there.” He appraised your face for a second while he paused. “If you want the job, it’s yours.” He stated as if it were the most casual thing in the world. You sputtered.

“Wait, what? That quick? You don’t even know anything about me! I could be a murderer!” He laughed openly at you now, and the sound stirred an emotion in your stomach you hadn’t felt in months.

“Well, are you? A murderer?”

“No! Of course not.” Soobin nodded and crossed his arms over his chest.

“So, can you clean? Cook a decent meal? Drive to the city for groceries? Water some plants?” You nodded at every question he raised and watched as his smile upticked more with every bob of your head.

“Then you’re perfect. Welcome to the Flower House.” He stood, frame towering over your still sitting being and offered you a strong looking hand. Ticking his head toward the massive home behind him, he grinned. “Tour?”

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Blue Neighborhood Series: WILD (Crystal/Nicky) - Mac

AN: Hi there, this is the first of a series of oneshots based off of Troye Sivan’s Blue Neighborhood album. The basic premise is that all the season 12 girls live in one neighborhood but have very different lives. Each song off the album applies to one of them/a pair of them. And we get to see how each of their lives intertwine. Does that make any sense? Who knows.

All my love to Meggie for beta-ing. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Crystal can’t get her mind off her new neighbor.

Crystal groaned loudly as she heard yet another crash from the house next door.

She heard a few curses and another loud banging noise before the cul-de-sac went blissfully silent. Crystal fist-pumped the air as now she could finally, finally get some sleep. Who the hell moved into a new house at midnight?

Unluckily enough, another noise started sounding below Crystal’s window. This noise was softer and didn’t immediately warrant a groan of distaste. No, it sounded an awful lot like singing. The voice was muffled, but Crystal became more and more sure the voice was singing as the notes travelled up a floor to her room.

The person sounded… rather good. Crystal hated to admit that their new neighbors, who had the bright idea of moving houses in the middle of the night, were doing anything well, but the fact persisted.

The singing was rather good. And now Crystal was both awake and intrigued. So now, of course, Crystal had to get up to peer out the window and see who was doing the rather good singing.

It was dark. Midnight. So she could barely make out the figure, but it looked to be a girl about her age, high school senior, maybe junior. She was carrying boxes from the back of the moving truck into the house.

Fuck it,Crystal thought She was already snooping; she might as well snoop more. She opened her window slowly, wincing as it creaked from disuse. She went slowly, drawing up the frame until the warm night air danced across her face.

She could hear the song more clearly now, still didn’t recognize it, but the singer was definitely a girl. It took Crystal a few more minutes to realize the song wasn’t in English. Her three years of French seemed to fail her in that moment, other than identifying that the song was in fact, French.

The girl looked to have blonde hair, or maybe that was just a trick of the faint garage light that illuminated her. Crystal leaned a bit closer to her window to get a better look, in the process she nearly knocked the screen out of the damn thing and cursed rather loudly.

There was a scuffling from under her window and Crystal ducked down so she couldn’t be seen.

“Hello?”

The voice was heavily accented.

“Is someone there?”

Crystal held her breath, not that it would help much, she was a whole story above her neighbor. Still, the intensity of the moment made her wary.

The girl must have given up looking because she went right back to moving boxes, but her singing turned into light humming, and Crystal surprised herself by being sad at that fact.

The days passed, and Crystal saw neither head nor tail of their new neighbor.

She brought it up on Wednesday, during lunch, or what was considered their lunch period.

Freshman year, Crystal would always steal away into the art room to work on her unfinished projects at any given moment. This included lunch, breaks between classes, and sometimes even during her other classes. After about a year of her doing this, and her friends complaining about never seeing her, they finally decided it would be easier to hole up in the stuffy art room with her rather than brave the bustling cafeteria.

Crystal nonchalantly mentioned the racket that occurred the other night while trying to seem invested in the unfinished painting in front of her.

“Oh yeah, the new girl, what’s her name, Nicole? Nina?” Jackie shrugged. “Something with an N.”

Jackie seemed unbothered by the appearance of the newest member to their neighborhood, as she went right back to studying for their chemistry exam. Heidi shrugged too and continued looking over Jackie’s shoulder as she studied for their chemistry exam.

“I think she’s French,” Crystal threw out.

Jackie hummed noncommittally, absorbed in her studies. Crystal was just about to shrug it off when Aiden piped up from the table beside her. “You talkin about the new girl? The one that moved in at the asscrack of dawn?”

Crystal nodded.

“Her name is Nicolette, goes by Nicky. Moved from Marseilles, France. Only child. Seemingly lives with her single mother.”

Crystal and their present company looked up from what they were doing to stare wide-eyed at Aiden.

She just shrugged. “I know people.”

Crystal didn’t press further. She turned back to her unfinished painting and lamented that it wouldn’t paint itself.

But at the same time, her mind was reeling.

Nicolette.

Crystal liked that name. It seemed… fitting in a way.

She went through the rest of her day with little care for anything else, Nicolette on repeat in her head.

She didn’t know why she was so absorbed in this girl. She shockingly didn’t seem to mind either.

When Crystal got home, she finally shook her strange stupor. She let the dogs out, made herself a snack and went up to her room to start on the metric fuckton of homework she had to do.

She sat down, opened her textbook, and promptly closed it again. She did this twice more, before actually starting to read the words inside.

Her focus drifted after the first few lines, along with her eyes. and she soon found herself looking out her window, but not just aimlessly, looking directly into the eyes of the neighbor she had been obsessing over for most of the day.

Crystal startled herself when she realized what she was doing, and had the decency to blush. The girl, Nicolette, Nicky she mentally corrected, smiled a bit at her clearly flustered state. Crystal felt her stomach flip.

This was the first time she actually got to see Nicky in the daylight, albeit through a crusty window screen, but goddamn, she was just as beautiful as her singing voice. If not more so.

Nicky waved after a few awkward moments of the two staring at each other. Crystal waved back immediately and then mentally kicked herself for looking too eager.She’s gonna think I’m a freak.

But Nicky didn’t close her window shade in horror, she didn’t look disgusted by the mere sight of Crystal. No. What she actually did was look around her room for a moment before holding up a finger. Wait a second, she mouthed.

And Crystal found her mind supplying that she would wait much longer than that if Nicky asked her to. But she just nodded.

Nicky smiled and got up to search her room for something.

She came back a moment later with a notebook and a pen. She scribbled something down before pressing the notebook to the window.

Hi I’m Nicky

Crystal couldn’t stop the smile from spreading on her face. She pulled out one of her hundreds of sketchbooks and wrote her own message.

I’m Crystal

Nicky smiled and wrote her response.

Hi Crystal

Crystal giggled to herself.

Hi Nicky

Nicky went to write something else down, but Crystal beat her to it.

You could just open your window, you know?

Nicky grinned, but jotted down something else.

I thought this was more romantic.

Crystal couldn’t stop herself from blushing. Nicky was joking. Surely.

Crystal didn’t have time to process the possibility of Nicky not joking because the girl in question was now opening up her window.

Crystal followed suit and tried to not look like a complete fool, evidently, the world was out to get her because the screen from her window fell lifelessly to the grass below her.

Nicky laughed.

And oh, they could hear each other now.

“I meant to do that,” Crystal tried to cover for herself.

Nicky only laughed harder. “Sure, you did.”

And oh, Nicky was definitely French. Her accent smoothly tied up in her words. It made her impossibly more fascinating.

“Hello there, neighbor.”

“Hi.”

“How you doin’ with moving in?”

Nicky sighed, “Oh, you know, I’m drowning in cardboard boxes, and I want to die, but what else is new.”

Crystal nodded, “I feel that.”

Nicky smiled softly, but averted her eyes, “I’m sorry I have not introduced myself. I’m not the best at English.”

“You’re from France, yeah?”

“What gave it away, the accent, or the good looks?” Nicky winked.

“The flag hanging up behind you.” Crystal pointed to the very evident French flag on the far wall of Nicky’s bedroom.

“Oh.”

It was Crystal’s turn to laugh.

And then abruptly stop laughing.

The sudden silence was awkward, and Crystal found herself tracing the lines of the fallen window screen on the grass.

Nicky also seemed uncomfortable by the sudden lack of sound. So uncomfortable in fact that she motioned back to her room, “Umm, I should… get back to-”

“Yeah! Yeah, me too.”

Nicky nodded. “Umm, see ya?”

“Yeah, I’ll see ya.”

Nicky smiled and went to close her window, but just before it could shut, Crystal called out, “Same time tomorrow?”

Nicky looked up at her and smiled.

“Sure.”

Crystal nodded and closed her own window as Nicky pulled her blind down.

She found herself constantly looking over to see if Nicky’s blind went up.

It didn’t.

Crystal couldn’t possibly concentrate now. Her mind replayed Nicky’s laugh like a loop in her head.

Maybe that made her crazy. To be so infatuated with a girl after knowing her for less than ten minutes.

Heidi certainly thought so.

“Girl, you sound clit-matized.”

Aiden looked up from her sculpture to look confusedly between Crystal and Heidi, “What the hell is that?”

“You know, like dickmatized, but she’s a girl? Clitmatized,” Heidi explained.

“That’s not a real thing,” Aiden said.

“Well now it is, hoe,” Heidi shot back.

“Guys!” Crystal exclaimed. “We were talking about me and my problems.”

Aiden rolled her eyes. “So what, you have a crush on her. You’re bein’ a little creepy. We’ve all been there.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Jackie chimed in.

“I think it’s creepy,” Heidi called.

“I think you should talk to the bitch more,” Aiden said.

“I think I’ll just die in a hole,” Crystal lamented, throwing her head down on her open homework.

Crystal decided that dying in a hole would be counterproductive to figuring out why she was so infatuated with Nicky. Hence, she settled for trying to finish the homework she had neglected from the previous night.

The rest of the day passed slowly. Maybe it was because she had something to look forward to. Maybe it was just that high school was boring as hell.

Crystal didn’t know.

What she did know was that as soon as she watched Heidi, Jackie, and Aiden close their front doors, she sprinted upstairs to her room.

She found Nicky had beat her to it and was staring dreamily out her own window. So she had most probably seen Crystal’s frantic running.

God, just kill me now.

Crystal put on a brave face and marched over to her window, opening it with greater care this time around so as not to dislodge the screen.

“Hey there neighbor.”

“Hey there.”

“How was your day?”

“Ugh, god, it felt like it would never end! I swear high school is such a scam.”

Nicky chuckled. “Well, what do you want to do after?”

“Realistically or in my fantasy?”

“Oh fantasy, definitely.” Nicky smiled.

Crystal smiled and felt a bit of the tension in her mind dissipate, “Well, in my French vanilla fantasy, I get into this really prestigious art school, like the Juilliard of art schools. And on my first day of class, I create this masterpiece. Better than Van Gogh.”

“Naturally,” Nicky added.

Crystal giggled and continued on, allowing herself to really ham up the details. Nicky seemed to smile more when she did. “They see my potential, and they fast track me to the big leagues. The MET, the Smithsonian. Boom. One cold day in February, that masterpiece from before is hung up. I am undercover in the crowd, observing everyone’s reactions. After a while, everyone leaves, except for one guy. He is staring at my painting with an unreadable expression. I approach him. He is crying. He is moved to tears by my masterpiece.”

“He wants to buy it?”

“Better. He’s a washed-up artist, hasn’t created in years after his wife died tragically.”

“How is that better?”

“I’m getting there!” Nicky held up her hands in surrender, and chuckled lightly. “So he’s a washed-up artist, and he loves my painting and offers to mentor me. I decline.”

“Why would you-”

“I offer to help him get back into his art. We build a friendship even though he’s a cynical old man who doesn’t laugh at my jokes. But he starts creating again. He and I open up our own gallery in New York City. And people come from all over the world to get a look at our art. But the best part is, on the opening night of our gallery, I meet his daughter.”

Nicky rolled her eyes fondly, “Let me guess, you fall in lov-”

“We fall in love.”

Nicky laughed. So hard she snorted a bit and then laughed at herself for snorting. Crystal went giggling right along with her.

“I like that world,” Nicky spoke softly. The fondness in her voice struck Crystal like a slap.

“Me too.” She smiled.

It was at that moment that everything changed. Suddenly, the tension that hung between them was gone. It was like the universe decided they had suffered from their mutual awkwardness enough. Conversation flowed smoothly from the two windows, and before either of them could blink, the sun had set.

They didn’t seem to notice, talking long into the night about anything and everything under the stars.

Nicky talked about her childhood. Growing up in France and Morocco. She had so many stories from so many different places, Crystal worried she’d never hear them all.

Maybe that’s why they stayed up so late.

Maybe Crystal worried that when the sun rose, the spell would be broken, and Nicky would go back to just being the girl that lived next to her. And not this incredibly fascinating human that seemed to be equally as fascinated with her.

Unfortunately, Crystal wasn’t superhuman, and after the third consecutive yawn, Nicky sentenced them both to some well-needed rest.

Crystal agreed, begrudgingly shutting her window and giving one last wave to her new friend.

They went on this way for the next week. Crystal rushing home to find Nicky waiting for her, window propped, a smile etched into the corners of her eyes.

Crystal swore she got more beautiful every day.

On one such afternoon, Crystal finally got the courage to ask Nicky about the night she moved in.

“Were you the one singing the other night?”

Nicky’s head shot up in surprise.“Oh, god, did I wake you up?”

“No! No!” Crystal lied. “You sounded really good,” Crystal said truthfully.

Nicky blushed at the compliment and ducked her head. “Now you are just winding me up.”

“No really!” Crystal insisted. “You sing beautifully.”

“I really don’t-”

“Wait hold up!” Crystal cut her off and made her way over to the far corner of her room. She picked up the worn down guitar and came back over to sit by the window.

“You play?”

“Not since I was ten, but it’s just like riding a bicycle, right?”

Crystal tried to play a chord and the screech from the instrument rang out like a gunshot.

“Yep, just like a bike,” Nicky teased.

Crystal fiddled around with the tuning until the noise emanating from the instrument sounded a bit more like music and a bit less like a feral animal.

She played softly, getting reacquainted with where to put her fingers and what the hell a strumming pattern was. Nicky just watched her with a soft smile and chimed in with praise and some teasing words until the afternoon sun had turned into moonlight.

They had gone so long without talking that when Crystal finally spoke, her voice cracked. She blushed, but Nicky only smiled warmly.

“Do you know Landslide?”

Nicky nodded.

“Okay, gimme a second.” Crystal grabbed her laptop and pulled up the chords, before beginning to strum lightly.

Nicky nodded along to the first few notes, humming lightly through the verse. When the chorus came, she finally started to sing.

Well, I’ve been afraid of changing

‘Cause I’ve built my life around you

Crystal couldn’t help the smile on her face. Nicky still had her accent when she sang. The fact made Crystal’s chest feel fuller than it should have.

But time makes you bolder

Even children get older

And I’m getting’ older, too

Crystal cheekily tried to chime in for the last line.

Said, I’m getting older too

Nicky looked up at her pleased. “You can sing, you can play guitar, and you are an artist? Is there anything you can’t do?”

Crystal was very close to saying something stupid like ‘I can’t stop thinking about you.’

But luckily, a voice from Nicky’s house called out before she could make a fool of herself.

“NICKY!”

Nicky sighed and turned around to yell back, “Coming, Mom!”

She shot an apologetic look to Crystal who just motioned to say ‘Go ahead. I’ll be here.’

“See you tomorrow?”

Crystal nodded. “See you tomorrow.”

But Crystal didn’t see Nicky tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the day after that.

Her blinds remained shut tight for the next week.

“Maybe she hates you.”

“Aiden!” Jackie scolded.

“What, you were both thinking it.”

Jackie shook her head and turned to face Crystal. “She could just be going through stuff. She just moved, yeah?”

Crystal nodded.

“So she’s probably unpacking still, or getting ready to start a new school. Or literally any number of things other than her hating you.” Jackie shot a glare at Aiden who held her hands up in surrender.

“Or she died.”

“Heidi!”

“Just me thinkin’ it?” Heidi looked to Aiden who shook her head. “Just me, okay.”

Crystal groaned. She had probably scared Nicky off. Probably scared her off so much she never wanted to see Crystal again. Probably scared her so much she was moving back to France.

Probably scared her so much she was… waiting by Crystal’s locker after homeroom.

“Hey there, neighbor,” Nicky smiled.

And oh god, Nicky up close was even more breathtaking. Her long blonde hair tied into the most perfect braid and her outfit was so trendy and cute and, Jesus Christ, she smelled good too.

“Sorry, I missed you the past couple of days. We went to stay with family and it was so short notice I didn’t have time to tell you.”

“You’re… oh.”

Crystal’s brain was still trying to process that Nicky was here. That she was real. And apparently going to their school. She looked to the locker Nicky was leaned up against and saw her name in cute cursive letters on the front.

“We’re… locker neighbors?”

“Yeah. I asked the principal to put me next to you.” Crystal must not have given the right response because Nicky’s face fell and she quickly started apologizing. “Oh god, I am so sorry I should have asked! I wasn’t even thinking. I don’t mean to cramp your style”

Crystal couldn’t help but laugh, “No! Nicky, Jesus, if anything you’d be helping my style.”

“What do you mean? I like your style.”

“Oh. I… Forget it.” Crystal shook her head to clear the blush from her cheeks.“You want a tour?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Crystal smiled in spite of herself and held out her arm. Nicky gave a chuckle and took it graciously.

The two frolicked about the school, under the guise of a tour. They chatted and laughed and caught up with each other’s lives.

Crystal hadn’t realized how much she had missed this. This ease between them. The way their thoughts seemed to run together like ink. It was refreshing to have someone who’s brain worked like yours.

When the bell finally rang for lunch, Crystal steered Nicky away from the mass of teenagers heading for the cafeteria, and toward the art room.

The two entered to find Jackie and Aiden already in a heated discussion about which version of A Star Is Born was better. Heidi was sitting next to Jackie just watching on in amusement.

The three of her friends did a double take when they noticed Crystal’s guest.

“Hey guys, this is our neighbor Nicky.”

“Our?” Nicky asked.

“Yeah. Heidi lives across the street from me, Jackie lives on the other side of Heidi, and Adien lives next to you.”

“Oh, well hello there neighbors.” Nicky smiled and waved.

Heidi’s eyes lit up in recognition.“Oh, is this the girl you been talkin our ear off about? The one you’re kinda in love with?” Jackie elbowed Heidi in the ribs.

Crystal’s whole body flushed crimson and she opened her mouth to respond, but Nicky beat her to it.

“Oh, so you’re in love with me?” Nicky asked teasingly.

“No! No. God, no,” Crystal lied unconvincingly.

She looked over to her friends for backup.

Jackie caught on and tried to cover, “No, Crystal has had this insane crush on… on… on Gigi!” Crystal winced at that name. “Yeah, Gigi. Since we were little.” Jackie nodded.

Heidi clearly didn’t know what was happening as evidenced by the confused expression on her face. “Wait, I thought Crystal broke up with her-”

Crystal cut her off, raising her voice to drown out Heidi’s “Yeah, I’ve had this silly crush on this cheerleader. It’s kinda pathetic. Like just cause we grew up together doesn’t mean she would ever look at me like that.” Crystal laughed nervously.

Nicky looked unconvinced, and a little… disappointed. But the expression disappeared a second later. “Well she’s stupid if she doesn’t think you’re cute.”

“Amen,” Aiden called.

Nicky nodded and turned back to Crystal. “Anyway, enough of that sad stuff, let’s see those paintings you are always talking about.”

#rpdr fanfiction #crystal x nicky #nicky doll #crystal methyd #high school au #cisgirl au #lesbian au #fluff #flirting #blue neighborhood series #wild #mac #s12

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ill-will-editions · 4 years

Photo

THE FUNERAL OF SALVATORE RICCIARDI: Celebrating a friend and comrade, while taking over public space again

WU MING

A final farewell to Salvo, to the songs of Su, communists of the capital! "This rebellious city, never tamed by ruins and bombings…"

Of all the measures taken during this emergency, the ban on funeral services is among the most dehumanizing.

In the name of what idea of "life" have these measures been taken? In the prevailing rhetoric of these past few weeks, life has been reduced almost entirely to the survival of the body, to the detriment of any other dimension of it. In this there is a very strong thanatophobic connotation (from the Greek Thanatos, or death), a morbid fear of dying.

Thanatophobia has permeated our society for decades. Already in 1975, the historian Philippe Ariès, in his landmark History of Death in the West, noted that death, in capitalist societies, had been "domesticated", bureaucratized, partly deritualized and separated as much as possible from the living, in order to "spare [...] society the disturbance and too strong emotion" of dying, and maintain the idea that life "is always happy, or at least must always look like it”.

To this end, he continues, it was strategic "to shift the site where we die. We no longer die at home, among family members, we die at the hospital, alone [...] because it has become inconvenient to die at home". Society, he said, must "realize as little as possible that death has occurred". This is why many rituals related to dying are now considered embarrassing and in a phase of disuse.

Even before the state of emergency we are experiencing, the rituality of dying had been reduced to a minimum. That is why we have always been so impressed by the manifestations of its re-emergence. Think of the worldwide success of a film like The Barbarian Invasions by Denys Arcand.

Forty-five years ago, Ariès wrote: "no one has the strength or patience to wait for weeks for a moment [death, Editor's note] that has lost its meaning". And what does the 2003 Canadian film depict if not a group of people waiting for weeks - in a context of conviviality and re-emerging secular rituality - the passing of a friend?

Eight years ago we undertook, together with many others, to set up an environment of conviviality and secular rituality around a dear friend and companion, Stefano Tassinari, in the weeks leading up to his death and in the ceremonies that followed. Much of our questioning on this subject dates back to that time.

If the rituality linked to dying was already reduced to a minimum, the ban on attending the funeral of a loved one had finally annihilated it.

Back on March 25th we shared a beautiful letter from a parish priest from Reggio, Don Paolo Tondelli, who was dismayed at the scenes he had to witness:

"And so I find myself standing in front of the cemetery, with three children of a widowed mother who died alone at the hospital because the present situation does not allow for the assistance of the sick. They cannot enter the cemetery, the measures adopted do not allow it. So they cry: they couldn't say goodbye to their mother when she gave up living, they can't say goodbye to her even now while she is being buried. We stop at the cemetery gate, in the street, I am bitter and angry inside, I have a strong thought: even a dog is not taken to the grave like this. I think we have exaggerated for a moment in applying the rules in this way, we are witnessing a dehumanization of essential moments in the life of every person; as a Christian, as a citizen I cannot remain silent [...] I say to myself: we are trying to defend life, but we are running the risk of not conserving the mystery that is so closely linked to it".

This "mystery" is not the exclusive prerogative of the Christian faith nor of those possessing a religious sensibility, since it does not necessarily coincide with the belief in the immortal soul or anything else, but something that we all ask ourselves, when we ask, 'what does it mean to live?' 'What distinguishes living from merely moving on or simply not dying?

That said, those who are believers and observers have experienced the suspension of ritual ceremonies - including funeral masses - as an attack on their form of life. It is no coincidence that among the examples of clandestine organization that we have heard about these days, there is the catacombal continuation of Christian public life.

We have direct evidence that in many parishes the faithful continued to attend mass, despite the signs on the doors saying they were suspended. One finds the "hard core" of the parishioners in the refectory of the convent, or in the rectory, or in the sacristy and in some cases in the church. Twenty, thirty people, summoned by word of mouth. In particular last Thursday, for the Missa in coena Domini.

The same can be said of funerals. In this case as well we have direct testimonies of priests who officiated small rites, with close family members, without publicity.

In the past few days, we have identified three types of disobedience to some of the stupidest and most inhumane features of the lock-down.

Individual disobedience

The individual gesture is often invisible but occasionally it is showy, as in the case of that runner on the deserted beach of Pescara, hunted by security guards for no reason that has any epidemiological basis. The video went viral, and had the effect of demonstrating the absurdity of certain rules and their obtuse application.

Continuing to run was, objectively and in its outcome, a very effective performance, an action of resistance and "conflictual theatre". Continuing to run distinguishes qualitatively that episode from the many others which offer "only" further evidence of repression. As Luigi Chiarella "Yamunin" wrote, the video brings to mind,

"a passage from Crowds and Power by Elias Canetti on grasping, which is indeed a gesture of the hand but also and above all is 'the decisive act of power where it manifests itself in the most evident way, from the most remote times, among animals and among men'. Later, he adds - and here comes the part pertinent to the episode of the runner - that 'there is nevertheless a second powerful gesture, certainly no less essential even if not so radiant. Sometimes one forgets, under the grandiose impression aroused by grasping, the existence of a parallel and almost equally important action: not letting oneself be grasped". The video [...] reminded me how powerful and liberating it is not to let yourself be caught. Then I don't forget that if you run away you do it to come back with new weapons, but in the meantime you must not let yourself be grabbed."

Clandestine group disobedience

These are the practices of the parishioners who organize themselves to go to mass on the sly, of the family members of a dearly departed person who agree with the parish priest to officiate a funeral rite... but also of the groups who continue in one way or another to hold meetings, of the bands who continue to rehearse, and of the parents who organize themselves together with a teacher to retrieve their children's school books. It's an episode that happened in a city in Emilia, which we recounted a few days ago.

In order to retrieve the books from a first grade school that had been left at school for the last month, a teacher came to the school, took the books out hidden in a shopping cart, and entrusted them to two parents who live near a baker and a convenience store respectively, so that the other parents could go and pick them up with the "cover" of buying groceries, avoiding possible fines. The books were given to the individual parents by lowering them with a rope from a small balcony and stuffed into shopping bags or between loaves of bread, as if they were hand grenades for the Resistance. In this way those children will at least be able to follow the program on the book with the teacher in tele-education, and the parents will be able to have support for the inevitable homeschooling.

After a phase of shock in which unconditional obedience and mutual guilt prevailed, sectors of civil society - and even "interzone" between institutions and civil society - are reorganizing themselves "in hiding". In this reorganization it is implicit that certain restrictions are considered incongruous, irrational, indiscriminately punitive.

Furthermore: at the beginning of the emergency, parental chats were, in general, among the worst hotbeds of panic, culture of suspicion, toxic voice messages, calls for denunciation. The fact that now some of them are also being used to circumvent delusional prohibitions - why shouldn't a teacher be able to retrieve the textbooks left in the classroom? why should a dad or a mom have to resort to subterfuge, self-certification, etc. to retrieve those books? - is yet another proof that the "mood" has changed.

Provocative group disobedience

The performance of the trio from Rimini - a man and two women - who had sex in public places and put the videos online, accompanied with insults hurled at the police, is part of this rarefied case history.

The police have since held a grudge against the case, as exemplified by their official social channels.

The only thing missing from this catalog of disobedience is, of course...

Claimed group disobedience

Here we have in mind visible, and no longer merely clandestine collective disobedience.

For a moment we feared that the fascists would be the first to bring it into play. Forza Nuova attempted to leverage the dismay of believers in the prospect of an Easter “behind closed doors,” and without the Via Crucis. However, when leaflets circulated calling for a procession to St. Peter's Basilica tomorrow (Sunday 4.12), accompanied by mottos such as "In hoc signo vinces" and "Rome will not know an Easter without Christ", they were dismayed to find that it wasn't the Fascists who were behind them. Instead, it was our comrades and friends from Radio Onda Rossa and the Roman liberatory movement who, this morning, in S. Lorenzo, greeted Salvatore Ricciardi with what in effect became the first political demonstration in the streets since the beginning of the emergency.

Salvatore Ricciardi, 80 years old, was a pillar of the Roman antagonist left. A former political prisoner, for many years he was involved in fights inside prisons and against prison conditions. He did so in a number of books and countless broadcasts on Radio Onda Rossa, which yesterday dedicated a moving four-hour live special to him. He continued to do so until even a few days ago, on his blog Contromaelstrom, writing about imprisonment and coronavirus.

Headlines about this morning's events can already be read in the mainstream press. A precise chronicle, accompanied by some valuable remarks, can be heard in this phone call from an editor of Radio Onda Rossa [here]. Among other things, our comrade points out: "here there are rows of people standing in front of the butchers shop for days and days, yet we cannot even bid farewell to the dead? [...] We're in the open air, while in Rome there's not even a requirement to wear a mask and yet many people had masks, and there were only a few people anyway"...Yet the police still threatened to use a water cannon to disperse a funeral ritual. The part of the district where the seditious gathering took place was closed and those present were detained by police.

During this emergency, we’ve seen so many surreal scenes - today, to offer just one example, a helicopter took to the sky, wasting palates of public money, in pursuit of a single citizen walking on a Sicilian beach - and even still, this morning's apex had not yet been reached.

For our part, we say kudos and solidarity to those who run, and are out running great risks to claim their right to live together - in public space that they have always crossed with their bodies and filled with their lives - out of pain and mourning for the loss of Salvo, but also out of happiness for having had him as a friend and companion.

"Because the bodies will return to occupy the streets. Because without the bodies there is no Liberation."

That's what we were writing yesterday, taking up the “Song of el-'Aqila Camp”. We reaffirm our belief that it will happen. And the government fears it too: is it by chance that just today Minister Lamorgese warned against "hotbeds of extremist speech"?

In her telephone interview, the Radio Onda Rossa editor says that the current situation, in essence, could last a year and a half. Those in power would like it to be a year and a half without the possibility of protest. They are prepared to use health regulations to prevent collective protests and struggles. Managing the recession with sub iudice civil rights is ideal for those in power.

It is right to disobey absurd rules

We should point out once again that, whilst keeping a population under house arrest, while prohibiting funerals, and de jure or de facto preventing anyone from taking a breath of fresh air - which is almost a unique phenomenon in the West, since only Spain follows us on this - and while shaming individual conduct like jogging, going out "for no reason", or shopping "too many times"...while this whole little spectacle is going on, Italy remains the European country with the highest COVID-19 mortality rate. Good peace of mind for those who spoke of an "Italian model" to be imitated by other countries.

Who is responsible for such a debacle? It is not a hard question to answer: it was the people who did not establish a medical cordon around Alzano and Nembro in time, because the owner asked them not to; it was those who spread infection in hospitals through an impressive series of negligent decisions; those who turned RSAs and nursing homes into places of mass coronavirus death; and lastly, those who, while all this was happening, diverted public attention toward nonsense and harmless behavior, while pointing the finger at scapegoats. This was blameworthy, even criminal behavior.

Everywhere in the world the coronavirus emergency has presented a golden opportunity to restrict the spaces of freedom, settle accounts with unwelcome social movements, profit from the behavior to which the population is forced, and restructure to the detriment of the weakest.

Italy adds to all this its standard surfeit of irrational ravings. The exceptionality of our "model" of emergency management lies in its complete overturning of scientific logic. For it is one thing to impose - for good (Sweden) or for bad (another country at random) - physical distancing as a necessary measure to reduce the possibility of contagion; it is quite another to lock the population in their homes and prevent them from leaving except for reasons verified by police authorities. The jump from one to the other imposed itself alongside the idea - also unfounded - that one is safe from the virus while "indoors", whereas "outdoors" one is in danger.

Everything we know about this virus tells us exactly the opposite, namely that the chances of contracting it in the open air are lower, and if you keep your distance even almost zero, compared to indoors. On the basis of this self-evidence, the vast majority of countries affected by the pandemic not only did not consider it necessary to prevent people from going out into the open air generally, as they did in France, but in some cases even advised against it.

In Italy, this radius is, at best, two hundred meters from home, but there are municipalities and regions that have reduced it to zero meters. For those who live in the city, such a radius is easily equivalent to half a block of asphalt roads, which are much more crowded than in the open space outside the city, if it could be reached. For those who live in the countryside, however, or in sparsely populated areas, a radius of two hundred meters is equally absurd, since the probability of meeting someone and having to approach them is infinitely lower than in an urban center.

Not only that: we have seen that very few countries have introduced the obligation to justify their presence outdoors by authorizations, certificates, and receipts, even calculating the distance from home using Google Maps. This is also an important step: it means putting citizens at the mercy of law enforcement agencies.

We have recorded cases of hypertensive people, with a medical prescription recommending daily exercise for health reasons, fined €500; or people fined because they were walking with their pregnant partner, to whom the doctor had recommended walking. The list of abuses and idiocies would be long, and one may consult our website for further examples.

Legal uncertainty, the arbitrariness of police forces, the illogical limitation of behavior that presents no danger to anyone, are all essential elements of the police state.

Having to respect an illogical, irrational norm is the exercise of obedience and submission par excellence.

It will never be "too soon" to rebel against such obligations.

It must be done, before it’s too late.

Translated by Ill Will Editions

#Italy #COVID19 #defiance #coronavirus #state of exception

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mamichigo · 4 years

Text

currents (that take you home) [gen]

Fandom: Breath of the Wild

Relationship: Kass & Link

Summary: Song that cut the quiet of the wilderness, but fit in with all the natural noises perfectly. That was how Link remembered Kass.

Word count: 1,7k

As faint as the music was, carried over by the sea breeze, Link heard it before he could see a lone figure atop a stone pillar. He recognized it as well, and though he couldn't see the familiar blue plumage in the dark of the night, he knew it was Kass just from the melody. Even if it took some climbing, he followed the sound to the Rito, who didn't notice his approach lost as he was in the notes of his accordion.

Careful not to scare him, Link tapped his wing twice. Though he startled, Kass turned with the same calm with which he always held himself. As his gaze fell upon Link, his eyes widened, but his expression softened, a smile tugging at the edge of his beak. Link smiled back and waved.

"I certainly didn't expect to see anyone else up here," Kass said, but there was no surprise in his voice. After encountering each other in so many unexpected places, the sentence was more an inside joke than an expression of his true feelings. "I hope you are doing well, my friend."

Link started on a sign for "dead tired", but paused and shook his head to himself. He shrugged. 'Nothing some food and rest can't cure,' he signed finally.

Kass had a knowing air to him as he said, "Strange that I found you here, instead of at a stable, then," Kass commented. Link hesitated a moment, shuffling on his feet, so Kass laid an encouraging wing on his shoulder. "Is something on your mind?"

He sighed and sat down at the pillar's edge so his legs dangled; Kass' wing was dislodged to his back, and it remained there.

He groped for words for a whole minute, but nothing came to him. Even when he raised his hands, it resulted in nothing, and they hovered there uncertain of what to do. Link didn't look at Kass, but he could feel the sympathy with which he was regarded. Filled with embarrassment, Link scratched the back of his neck.

"Well, then," Kass spoke up, taking pity on him, "would you be amenable to hearing a song?" Link peered up at him, and Kass returned the look. "It would be our last."

Confused, Link frowned. He turned to the side so Kass had a better view of his hands. 'What do you mean?'

"We have both been to so many places, and met along the way," he said with a note of nostalgia. "The last song my teacher passed down to me is of this very place. After that, I have nothing else to sing to you."

A pregnant pause. Kass watched him from the corner of his eyes, his fingers distractedly pressing on buttons.

'What will you do?' Link asked, and Kass tilted his head. 'After the last song is done.'

Kass hummed and looked out at the horizon, though the eagles cawing almost made the sound unheard. "Home should be my next destination. It's been awfully long since I've seen my family."

Home, to Rito Village. Link had just been there himself, and could still feel its chilly air on his cheeks. It was nothing like the breeze here, by the oceanside, where the very air tasted of salt. Whenever he thought of the place, he saw hammocks and welcoming smiles, if a little on the more reserved side. It suited him just fine, Link thought. It was no wonder Kass wished to go back, especially with a family waiting for him. Link thought of his own "home", or the closest thing to it he had; removed from the rest of Hateno, a place where only the weapons hung on the walls spoke of a person's inhabitance of it. Link shrunk into himself.

At his lack of response, Kass nudged his shoulder. "Would you like to hear the song?"

He shook his head fast enough to give himself whiplash. Realizing how quickly he had refused, Link flushed. 'Not yet,' he explained. 'Just a little longer.'

"Just a little longer," Kass echoed. "Time never runs as we want it to, does it?"

Link chuckled, and was not surprised to find the sound was wobbly. 'It really doesn't.'

Maybe accepting that they would be there awhile, Kass sat down as well, careful not to drop his accordion. Their shoulders knocked together and jostled Link, to which Kass apologized, but Link smiled and waved a hand.

Kass inspected his profile. "You have been to Rito Village, then?" He asked, eyes on the braids that Link hadn't bothered to undo quite yet.

Link ran a finger over the ruby that dangled from his hair, felt the strands that fell off the braid. 'I have.' As an afterthought, he added, 'It's a beautiful place.'

"I must admit I didn't think a Hylian would appreciate it much." Link made an affronted sound, and Kass laughed. "Your kind seems drawn to places of more opulent making, like Zora's Domain, or even Gerudo Town, from what I've heard."

'Those places are nice too,' Link signed, and hoped Kass didn't point out the fact that he had included Gerudo Town in his affirmation. 'But…'

"But?"

Link leaned back on the palm of his hands and kicked his feet in the air. Feeling at ease, he whispered, "Rito Village is simpler. Peaceful." Link closed his eyes and imagined the wooden houses, the smell of food that always seemed to permeate the place. If he tried hard enough, he could even feel the warmth of the fire where he could usually find Amali and at least one of her daughters.

"It's rare to find someone who takes a liking to that kind of thing. To many, it's almost monotonous." Kass chuckled. "Wherever I go, I find adventurers in search of great treasure, or maybe just the thrill of the journey."

Link scrunched up his nose. "I have enough of that."

His voice was scratchy from disuse, as it usually was, but it didn't seem to bother Kass. Instead, he shared an amused and knowing smile with him.

"Then I can see why you'd like Rito Village."

Link nodded in agreement. While the place made it hard to forget the Calamity, what with the clear view of the Castle in the distance, it also made it easy to believe there was something beyond that fight. It was a comfort he found nowhere else.

He glanced at Kass with some guilt.

"Your family," he started, and saw the way Kass' entire attention shifted to focus on his next words. "They'll be alright."

Kass' softened with fondness. "I never doubted they would. But what makes you say that?"

"The Beast, I… It's been taken care of."

For a long moment, silence reigned once again, and Kass appraised him with too sharp eyes. Link wondered if Kass could read past his words, if he could catch hidden meanings from the air with ease. It felt like it, and yet Link was too afraid to ask how much he knew.

"I'm thankful my home is safe," was all Kass said, but Link was warmed by it all the same. It was all he needed.

Somehow, he was reminded of Teba's acknowledging nod every time they happened to pass by each other the times Link spent in the Village.

"I'm guessing you've had your own share of trouble there?" Kass gestured to his headdress. It took a moment for Link to remember that the fray of the fight had taken the feathers that should be behind his ear, by the golden piece. "What a shame."

Link traced the empty space with mournful regret. "I never got the time to have it repaired…"

Kass scanned the damage, including the loose braids. "It's nothing we can't take care of, I'm sure."

The meaning of his words evaded Link, who stared at Kass waiting for a clarification. Instead of words, Kass simply reached for one of his own feathers by the curve of his wing, and Link gasped when he plucked it. He frantically looked from Kass to the feather.

"Don't look so alarmed, I won't feel the absence of a single feather." That did little to calm Link. Kass touched his wing to Link's head. "Besides, if you are to be wearing armor of Rito making, might as well have it looking its best, don't you agree?"

That was enough to stop Link's protests before he could voice them, aware that Rito, like all the other races, were quite proud of their own designs and craftsmanship. He clamped his mouth shut and let Kass fuss over his headdress, working his own feather into Link's hair in a way that wouldn't easily fall off at a mere gust of wind.

Suddenly, he was struck with the image of Revali's disdainful stare. Though he couldn't remember him all that well, Link was sure Revali would be outraged to find that any Rito would willingly give him one of their feathers. The thought made him laugh.

"This should do," Kass announced, once he deemed the feather secure enough. "It's only one feather, but I assure you it looks better than none at all."

Link mourned the fact that it was so late and he couldn't see his reflection on the water below, and his shield only showed an opaque, lineless version of himself. He made a mental note to check how it looked as soon as he could. That wasn't to say that he doubted Kass' opinion, especially as the gesture counted much more than any looks ever would. Link smiled so wide it made his cheeks hurt.

"Thank you," he said, and hoped his appreciation was as loud and clear in his voice as it was in his heart.

"No need to thank me, my friend."

He touched the feather and felt its edges, the softness of it. Link looked up at Kass. "When you return home, can I visit you?"

Kass lay a protective wing on his shoulder. "I'd be saddened if you didn't."

More confident than he'd been before, Link nodded, and asked, "Could you sing me the last song?"

Kass patted him one last time before raising himself, fingers already started on the music. "It would be my pleasure."

As the first notes played, Link closed his eyes and made a promise to himself, a single word.

Soon.

#link #kass botw #link tloz #tloz #botw #my writing

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sustraiii · 5 years

Text

TEAM ZRCN ARC 2 - CHAPTER 12

Back with the villain squad this chapter! Neela’s fate is revealed, and tensions bubble over in a tense meeting.

WISTERIA

The room was quiet today Wisteria noted, as she stepped inside. Although it was noon, the windows had been blackened out long ago, giving the room a state of near-permanent darkness. Or at least it would be, if not for the dim light hanging from the ceiling.

“Lunch is ready,” Wisteria announced, setting down the tray she was carrying onto the fold-out table into the room.

The figure in the corner slowly rose to her feet, tentatively coming closer, and grabbing the sandwich as if she expected Wisteria to snatch it away again.

“Hungry aren’t we?” Wisteria remarked.

The young woman swallowed her mouthful of the sandwich before answering. “You don’t exactly give me much to eat. I think I could be forgiven for feeling as though I’m being starved.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, Neela,” Wisteria assured her, catching the younger woman off guard by her casual use of her name. “They deem you to valuable to risk hurting. From what I can tell they’re planning on using you to blackmail your father into giving them a considerable amount of money.”

Neela went silent for a moment, the look on her face appearing to imply she was processing this new information. A moment passed before she looked up at Wisteria, scowling at her. “Don’t act as though you’re above killing someone like me.”

“What’s that supposed to me- Oh! For the last time, I didn’t ‘kill’ your teammate!” Wisteria fired back, more defensively than she intended. She already had enough comments from Candy, who seemed to delight in taunting Wisteria by saying she didn’t know she had it in her.

“Can you say that for certain though?” Neela challenged, tilting her head to one side.

“I’m not having this conversation with you again,” Wisteria told her outright, already turning to leave. “The answer is going to be the same as the last five times you’ve asked.”

Neela didn’t respond after that, so Wisteria left her to brood in silence. She had barely closed the door behind her, before another voice cut through her thoughts.

“Wisteria,” Candy greeted, a teasing smile on her lips. “Did I scare you?”

Hardly. But Wisteria opted against responding to that, instead asking, “What is it that you want Candy?”

Candy’s smile soon disappeared when she clearly didn’t get the response she was hoping for. Good, Wisteria thought. It would take more to scare me than someone like you.

“Farron wants to speak with us,”

“Finally!” Wisteria said, emphasising a relieved sigh if only for the annoyance it provided for Candy. “It has taken him long enough. What was he doing? Trying to wrap his head around how much of a colossal fuck-up you made?”

Candy’s lips pressed into a thin line, and Wisteria likely would have gotten an earful, had she not turned and began walking away. With a shrug, Wisteria followed close behind. The building they currently found themselves was the old processing plant for the Shizukana mines, long since closed and disused after the mines blew up. It was dark, miserable building, both inside and out. Much of the old factory had been gutted long ago, but you could still see reminders of what it had once been. If all went to plan, Wisteria would finish her mission here, and then she could finally say goodbye to Farron and his group. Then it was only two years left of her contract with the Rossi’s and she could finally go home. Whatever home was anymore...

Farron waited for them in what had once been the foreman’s office, as evidenced by the now faded lettering on the door. The two women entered quietly, but Candy came to a sudden stop inside, almost causing Wisteria to crash into her. Wondering what had caused the sudden halt, Wisteria glanced around her to see Nieve and Ulysses stood behind Farron.

“What are they doing here?” Candy questioned, gesturing towards the two of them.

Farron’s expression remained as neutral as ever, but he relaxed into his chair slightly before he spoke. “Helping me get the story straight.”

“I’m not following,” Candy said, her features shifting into a confused frown. “I thought things were pretty clear.”

“To a degree,” Farron admitted. “However, I have since learnt you weren’t very forthcoming about the build-up to certain events. Including how I supposedly gave you permission to use my prototype in that village to attack those students.”

Candy seemed to turn mute at that. Wisteria couldn’t help but smirk at her getting called out.

“Don’t smirk, Wisteria,” Farron advised with a firm tone, his green eyes shifting towards her for a moment. “You are not exempt from this diversion to my plans. I hear you gravely wounded one of these students. That he might even potentially be dead. Would you care to explain yourself?”

“I can’t say for certain whether he survived obviously, as I’ve been here for five days, but I can assure you that was never my intention,” Wisteria informed him. And she wasn’t lying either. True, she had meant to attack him, but only to knock him down and get him to yield. She had never intended to cut him like that. “The boy slipped when attempting to parry me, and unfortunately it threw off my aim as well, leading to what eventually happened.”

Farron frowned slightly and Wisteria got the impression he wasn’t overly satisfied with the answer, despite it being the truth. His gaze soon shifted back to Candy.

“Not only did you divert from the plan, but you also wasted the prototype. I warned you that it was unstable and that it was to come back to me as soon as Wisteria arrived,” Farron scolded.

“Why does she only get to walk away with a slapped wrist?” Candy asked, gesturing angrily towards Wisteria.

“Wisteria isn’t the issue,” Farron responded, cooly, “Now if I can continue -”

“No!” Candy shouted, interrupting him. “Ever since she joined, things have been going wrong! Verde’s gone underground, Saika and Merlot were arrested, half our supplies were reclaimed. And it's all her fault.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m to blame for like zero of the things you mentioned,” Wisteria pointed out with a smirk.

“And there you go with a smirk again,” Candy yelled. She came striding up to Wisteria and grabbed her arm roughly. “I swear this is all just a little game to you.”

Wisteria only returned the comment with a sneer, before glancing down at where Candy was holding her arm. “Let go of me.”

“Or what?”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Usually, when using her semblance, Wisteria liked to ease her victims into it, but to be frank, she had had enough of Candy’s snide remarks. She was sure the Rossi’s wouldn’t mind if she had a little fun in her last few days here. The effects of getting hit with the full force of Wisteria’s semblance was almost immediate: Candy’s pupils went wide, she seemed to pale in colour, and she dropped to her knees trembling. Her breaths became nervous and ragged, and her body trembled violently. Nieve was used to such scenes, but Ulysses seemed visibly shocked at what was going on, becoming even more distressed when Candy began gasping about her chest hurting.

Seeing Candy knelt in front of her, Wisteria was reminded of a story she once knew. The story of a frightened little girl who lived in constant fear. Her parents left her when she was young, and she had been taken in by people who were supposed to protect her, care for her, and love her. But they didn’t.

She was a slave to them, a helpful tool to complete the tasks they didn’t want to do. And when she refused, they would lock her away, withhold her toys, or beat the back of her shins with a cane. Sometimes she would only have to cry to get such treatment. And unfortunately for that poor little girl, she cried often.

Her life was so very sad and fearful. Until one day it wasn’t.

One day that frightened little decided she had enough. She didn’t want to be afraid anymore. She wanted them to stop hurting her and leave her alone.

They knocked her down, yelling and screaming in her ear, calling her worthless and insignificant. And then she raised her hand to defend herself. “Leave me alone!” the girl cried out. And they did. They dropped to their knees and shied away from her. They were afraid. Stop. They begged the girl. Stop. You’re hurting us! Please, stop this!

“Say my name,” Was all the girl requested. “Say my name, and I’ll let you go.”

But they hesitated, and so she squeezed harder, and they screamed louder. Four more times she asked before she finally got her answer.

Wisteria! Your name is Wisteria Bloome.

“P-please…” Candy croaked, a shaky holding a shaky hand up for mercy.

Beg as much as you like, Wisteria thought, if I really wanted to kill you, it wouldn’t matter much. I could choke the life from you without even laying a hand on your throat.

And perhaps she might have done just that, had it not been for Nieve intervening, resting a hand on her shoulder, and pulling her out of her thoughts. There was a concerned look in her eyes.

“I think you’ve made your point,” She said, casting a glance between Wisteria and Candy, who was still trembling in front of them. With a small, almost reluctant nod, Wisteria released her hold on her. Candy gasped loudly, and the first few breaths after her release were long and deep, desperate to steady her nerves.

Wisteria was also feeling the effects of her powers. It had been a long time since she had pushed herself that much and she felt light-headed and little dizzy; had it not been for Nieve stood nearby, Wisteria would have likely toppled over herself. Nieve had been with her for a long time though, she knew what could happen in situations like these - both for the victim and Wisteria.

“Thank you, old friend,” She whispered quietly, giving her an affectionate pat on the back. Wisteria straightened slightly, before addressing Farron and Candy. “We’re done here for today.” She informed them, before clicking her fingers and summoning Ulysses towards her and Nieve. As they moved to leave, Candy finally seemed to have recovered enough strength to be able to lift her head. The look she aimed at Wisteria was one of hurt and questioning.

“I did warn you,” Wisteria said softly, the faintest of smiles gracing her lips. And with that she and her companions departed, leaving Farron and Candy to deal with what had just happened.

#team zrcn fic #Neela Oxford #wisteria bloome #candy cornel #farron hargrave #nieve #ulysses crest

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lettheladylead · 5 years

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THE LAST MCDUCK by @iamthehousethatfloats - https://archiveofourown.org/works/17465270

yes, i am That Bitch and ive drawn even more. and this is just part one! and my tablet did stop working completely in the middle of this so there are many things i had to do with my laptop mouse and thats a yikes BUT life goes on. also the quotes are not necessarily accurate but AGAIN its fine

i believe this starts at chapter 6? yes it does. this is from chapters 6-12. ok i will include quotes under the cut for explanations HERE GOES:

1. There, over the Duckburg skyline, was a swirling vortex of malevolent shadows, swelling in the sky.

Goldie didn’t pause to think. She stepped in front of Dickie, blocking the scene from view and causing the teenager to finally risk opening her eyes to stare up at her in confusion.

2. ‘See, I knew you didn’t need me, Moneybags,’ she murmured, watching the footage of Scrooge reunited with his little family with a pang in her heart she’d never felt before.

3. ‘Oh yeah, I know about that stuff. There are some folk in Dawson with very long memories. Also, Linda has an anonymous twitter account called ‘shitmybossdoes’ that is very informative.’

4. ‘Linda, have you seen Goldie this week?’ She asked the concierge one morning, on her way out to a photography class.

‘Nope,’ came the helpful response. Dickie waited for anything further information that was forthcoming, but there was none.

5. ‘McDuck! Never heard of the man! I’m Gideon de’Paperoni, Madame.’

There was a pause. An awkward one. Then Goldie snorted with laughter. ‘Pepperoni, really? That’s the alias you’re going for? In Naples?’

6. She had already cased the joint multiple times and so when Gideon’s eyes flickered momentarily to the disused dumb waiter on the back wall before he schooled his features into a look of innocent confusion, she wasted no time in marching over and ripping up the hatch to reveal an oddly nervous looking crow. She grabbed the crow by the neck, silencing his squawk and carrying him over to where Dickie and Gideon stood.

7. ‘Hello Poe,’ she said, holding out the spell book and nudging Dickie to prompt her to get out her phone.

8. ‘Who are you?’ Webby asked, frowning. She asked just as they were about to leap out of the bushes and claim their victory at last.

9. Scrooge’s face flushed bright red. ‘It seems pretty simple to me!’

Now it was Goldie’s turn to get riled up. Her eyes glinted dangerously as she rounded on Scrooge. ‘Oh really? It’s simple is it? Tell me Scrooge, what about you and me has ever been simple?’

10. She took one last desperate look over her shoulder to where Scrooge stood, watching them with an unreadable expression. Dickie tried to communicate a hundred things in one moment.

11. ‘But it doesn’t matter what I want.’

‘You’re wrong.’ Dickie said, again. ‘Oh Gigi, it’s the only thing that really matters.’

12. She left Dickie to hide the bike among some rocks at the water’s edge and waltzed brazenly into the garage, blowing a kiss at the security cameras as she went, blasted her way through a hidden side door and slid down the spiral banister into the basement, where she hacked into the lab with ease.

13. ‘What you always do,’ Donald said with a shrug. ‘You go after her.’

Scrooge opened his mouth to object, and as he did so something like thunder rumbled in the distance, and a second later the house shook like there had been an earthquake.

14. ‘We need you to fix it,’ Dickie piped up. ‘You’re the only one who can.’

‘Of course I am. But why should I?’

15. Goldie’s eyes glazed over as Dickie and Gyro geeked out over wiring and circuitry.

16. She glanced at Dickie, who was digging around in her bag for her phone. She finally found it and as soon as she whipped it out, she opened up the voice notes and started to play Poe’s incantation.

The moment it began to play, Webby jerked and stumbled forward, her own shadow twisting and contorting.

‘Woah - what’s happening?’ She sounded far too enthusiastic about the prospect of imminent peril.

17. Scrooge stepped forward to grab at her arm, but nothing he did stopped her shadow from writhing and warping and splitting in two over their heads.

18. ‘LENA!’ She cried, hurling herself on her lost friend with all the enthusiasm of an overexcited puppy.

19. Dickie, meanwhile, practically bounced for joy and bounded all the way over to Gyro, hugging him tightly.

Gyro flailed around and looked to Goldie and Scrooge for help. Neither gave it. In fact, both seemed to rather relish the moment.

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vibranch · 5 years

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Kingdom Hearts Fan Fic - Time Enclosed Within

Pairing: Leon x Rinoa Heartilly / Squall Leonhart x Rinoa Heartilly Rating: T Word count: 17,097 Chapters: 3/5 Entirety on AO3

Summary: A lone castle in the outskirts of Radiant Garden sits abandoned and neglected. Once the home to a powerful Sorceress, it is now the perfect spot to salvage materials to speed up the Committee’s rebuilding efforts. After all, it’s been ten years since the Heartless ravaged this world. Each member has faced the Darkness and come out on top. And with a Sorceress of their own, what demons from the past could possibly haunt them now.

Dear Sora,

It’s been a little while. I hope everything worked out with finding Riku and the King. No doubt you’ve been keeping yourself busy. Well, the same can definitely be said for us. A lot’s been happening over here at Radiant Garden. We’ve been reunited with a lot of people we’d thought we had lost forever, and everybody from the Restoration Committee has been trekking out further from the castle town you’re familiar with. It’s mostly been to salvage materials that we can use to help us rebuild. One of the places we came across was Ultimecia’s Hollowed Bastion.

The name sounds a little familiar, huh? I should probably take a moment to explain.

Hollow Bastion wasn’t just the name of this world because we couldn’t remember its original name. There was a reason for why we called it that. In fact, Radiant Garden has a long history of Hallowed Bastions. But in order to explain that I should first tell you about the Sorceresses who lived in them.

Sorry… I guess I’m doing a bad job of explaining this. You’ve probably got more questions now. You’re probably thinking I just misspelled Hollow in that last paragraph. But there is a very key difference between Hallowed and Hollowed Bastions.

And there I go again, making it unnecessarily complicated. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to keep throwing these strange terms at you.

You know what? I’ll tell you the important terms as they come up. Instead, I’ll start with my time in Ultimecia’s Bastion. Her once Hallowed Bastion. Her, then and forever, Hollowed Bastion.

Shortly after you sorted out things with Tron and the MCP, me and a few others began a trek towards a Castle once controlled by the Sorceress Ultimecia. Sorceresses were very important figures back before Radiant Garden fell to the Heartless. They were women of great magical power. Often, they would make history. Sometimes good, sometimes bad. But very rarely, would a Sorceress not leave a mark on the world.

As members of the Radiant Garden Restoration Committee it’s our responsibility to rebuild the world as much as possible. And Ultimecia’s Bastion was likely to have some materials within that we could use to help with the restoration.

Most Sorceresses had some kind of Bastion to call home after their powers became well-known. It was a place that they could rest away from others who might fear their powers. But Sorceresses didn’t stay in there alone. Most Sorceresses had a Knight.

You see, phenomenal powers alone aren’t enough. Sorceresses have a tendency to be misunderstood, and in those times, many have relied upon another to help protect them. A Knight. New sorceresses especially rely upon their Knight. No one is born a Sorceress. Previous Sorceresses pass down their powers to others. They allow the power to grow within the Heart of the one they pass it down to.

However, learning to properly use that power takes time, and using too much too quickly can leave the Sorceress exhausted and unable to defend herself. That’s where the Sorceress’s Knight comes in. Not only do they protect their Sorceress, the bond formed between them makes their very presence amplify their Sorceress’s power.

That brings me to Ultimecia’s Bastion. Typically, a Sorceress’s Bastion would be a castle or tower. Basically, a place with imposing architecture to keep people away. And Ultimecia’s Bastion was no different. It was disused even before the Heartless attacked. Its tattered and worn down appearance even made people who had business with Sorceresses want to stay away. Many wondered if Ultimecia was even still alive in there or not. Back when I was still a new recruit, there were many arguments within Radiant Garden’s chain of command as to whether or not Ultimecia’s Bastion was a Hallowed Bastion or a Hollow Bastion.

If a sorceress used her powers for the betterment of the people around her, then her Bastion was considered a place of miracles. But there were women who used the power of the Sorceress as an excuse to flex control over others. These ‘Hollow Bastions’, as they were called, were home to some of the most dangerous individuals Radiant Garden had ever seen. Some Sorceresses would, tragically, go bad after a while, commonly from losing their Knight one way or another, and their Hallowed Bastion was considered to have hollowed.

Regardless of whether or not Ultimecia’s Bastion should be considered Hallowed or Hollow, I lead a party of four towards it. It included Yuffie, Cid, Rinoa, and myself. I figured a small party should be fine. After all it had been ten years since the Heartless swarmed and force the people to flee Radiant Garden. If Ultimecia was a threat, she would almost certainly be long dead by the time we arrived at her Bastion. And besides, we were mostly just checking to see what was still salvageable. We weren’t sure what kind of state the Heartless would have left the place in by the time we got there.

Cid was fired up and ready to go inside as soon as we got there. “Alright already! Let’s get in there and go home.” Or maybe he just had something else he’d rather do back home.

Rinoa was also pretty excited to get inside. “C’mon, Squall! Let’s go inside already!” she said, tugging my arm towards the door.

Don’t think you can start calling me Squall, by the way. Rinoa is a special case. It’s still Leon to you, got it?

You never got the chance to meet Rinoa. She’s not actually from Radiant Garden. I met her back at Traverse Town, back before you showed up. Back then we… We spent a lot of time together, and I think that’s enough that needs to be said.

“So, do you think the front door is just going to be unlocked?” Yuffie asked.

“No, but that’s why we brought Rinoa.” I answered. Yuffie was young when we had to flee Radiant Garden. So, she didn’t know that Bastions were typically magically sealed.

“Really? That’s the only reason you brought me?” Rinoa teased. She likes doing that. She says the face I make when she teases is me is hilarious, and truth be told, I can’t say I hate when she does it.

“Really.” I replied flatly. My best attempt at a poker face didn’t seem to convince her. She was right, of course, and before long I broke the façade and smiled back.

I thought I’d lost her for far too long to bother pretending to be above it all. I was just glad to see she was safe most days. The only reason I knew she was even alive was because of a letter she sent me not too long after you’d last left Radiant Garden. But, even if she hadn’t returned, we’d have thought of some way to get inside. After all Ultimecia’s Bastion should have been safe. There should have been no one inside.

“So, who was Ultimecia?” Yuffie asked as Rinoa got to work defusing the magic on the front door.

“She was a witch. She exceled at time magic but had a habit of abusing her powers on others.” I responded, recounting the few times I’d run into her.

“The preferred term is Sorceress, Squall.” Rinoa said. It wasn’t the first time she’d told me that. She didn’t like it when I called a Sorceress a witch.

“Hey, I agree with Leon.” Cid said. “As far as Sorceresses go, Ultimecia was the worst.” It wasn’t often that Cid would jump to my defense. Usually he’d be the first to line up and start finding a way under my skin. “One time back when Leon was still in training, she riled up one of his fellow cadets. He tried to demonstrate why she shouldn’t mess with him. So he charged and took a swing near her. He wasn’t trying to hurt her or anything. Hell, he purposefully missed by a wide margin! But she used some sort of spell and you’d never guess who appeared behind him!”

“Who?” Yuffie asked, fully absorbed in his story.

“It was himself!” Cid jumped to emphasis his point. “Or a copy of himself, rather. She replayed the event, so a copy of himself ended up cleaving himself from behind! It was pretty freaky to witness. Just one moment ago there was only one of him, the next there was another. With his ownblood on the blade!”

“Woah, that’s creepy.” Yuffie whispered, as if Cid had told her a ghost story by a campfire.

“I still don’t like you using that word.” Rinoa pouted. I couldn’t blame her. Witch was a loaded word in Radiant Garden and Traverse Town. More than a couple of fights have broken out because one person accused someone else of being a witch.

“…Fair enough. I’ll try not to say it again. Sorry.” I added the apology at the end, an attempt to make sure Rinoa knew I didn’t think of her as a witch.

Eventually Rinoa got the door open. Proudly, she pushed the door open, revealing the inside of the building to human eyes for the first time in nearly a decade.

There was something wrong with this place almost immediately. The place was spotless. It wouldn’t even need dusting let alone a restoration committee.

“What in the-?” Cid ran inside, examining the place for some kind of trick.

“This isn’t right.” I announced quietly to the group. I couldn’t understand what was going on.

“You guys said she was good with time magic, right?” Yuffie asked. “So maybe she made it so the inside of the Bastion doesn’t age?” It was a fair idea. But a spell like that would usually end a little while after the Sorceress had died.

“I don’t like this. But I also don’t like the idea of leaving after only just getting in here.” I told the group.

“How ‘bout we split into groups of two?” Cid suggested. “We can explore the place faster that way.”

The idea had merit, but it left me uneasy. But we came all this way, we might as well see what was inside. “Very well, but we meet back here in fifteen minutes. Yuffie, go with Cid and explore the East side of the Bastion. Rinoa and I will explore the west side. If anything out of the ordinary happens, even if you think there might be some ordinary explanation for it, you run back here and wait for us to get back.”

I guess I must have been lecturing again. Because Yuffie shot up to her feet, excited as ever, and practically exploded with energy. “Yeah, yeah. We get it Leon! C’mon Cid, Let’s go exploring!”

Cid laughed as she pulled him along “Hah! You sure you ain’t scared of running into the big bad Sorceress?”

“Nah, I ain’t afraid of some long dead spook!”

I had to force myself not to smile as they bounded down the East side hall together. I get envious of them sometimes. I don’t know how they can be so open all the time. How they can just laugh at themselves whenever the catch themselves acting dumb and not let it eat away at them.

“You ready, Squall?” Rinoa asked, pulling me away from my thoughts.

“Yeah, how about you?” I said, turning to face her.

She just flashed me a smile, “of course! Together we have nothing to fear.”

We walked down the hall together, checking each side room in the hall that we came across. Aside from the fact that all the rooms appeared to have been cleaned recently in an otherwise abandoned castle, everything appeared to be normal.

Then as we opened the door at the end of the hall. I saw something strange within. Inside this room was everyone, Cid, Yuffie, even Rinoa. I turned back towards the Rinoa behind me and gave her a confused look, hoping she’d confirm what I saw.

“What’s the matter, Squall?” She looked at me worriedly. Was I in the way? I pointed into the room. She followed my direction and looked in. I expected her to react with surprise, the same way I was. “Looks like another empty room to me. Is there something I’m missing?”

I looked back inside the room, it certainly wasn’t empty. Cid, Yuffie, and the other Rinoa were still inside. “Yuffie and Cid are in there. Can’t you see? What about the other person?” I was nervous about mentioning that the other person inside was Rinoa, I wasn’t sure how she’d respond to that.

“It’s an empty room, Squall.” Rinoa answered, she looked at me with such concern I almost wished I hadn’t said anything. “Do you recognize the other person?”

“No, it’s clearly not empty. Look, there they are!” I said, trying to avoid the question. I should have told her it was her in the room. I guess I was worried she wouldn’t believe me.

“Maybe we should go back…” It was the right thing to suggest, those were my orders after all. But something inside me told me I had to do something

“Hey! Yuffie, Cid! Look at me!” I shouted into the room. They didn’t even react, like they couldn’t hear me. “Damn it, don’t ignore me!” I shouted again. I had enough of this insanity, I was going to get to the bottom of this now.

I marched into the room. I had to know who these people really were, they couldn’t have been what they looked like. This hall didn’t curve far enough for it to have connected with the East wing yet, so it had to be some kind of trick. And marching right in there to get a closer look was might solve what was going on. Rinoa shouted my name as I walked into the room.

Cid was the first to notice me. Just as I crossed the door frame, he instantly jumped in shock. “Leon?! Where the hell have you been?! I looked around. Yuffie looked just as shocked as Cid. But the Rinoa in this room looked like she was on the verge of tears.

“What’s going on? Who are you people and why do you look like that?” I gripped my Gunblade just in case things got violent. Instead they looked even more surprised.

“What do you mean, who are we!?” The Yuffie look alike yelled at me, offended.

“Leon, we’ve been looking for you.” Cid looked me over as he said it. It was a pretty convincing display of concern. “Say, are you okay?” I almost believed it was really him, but the real Cid wasn’t so touchy feely.

I decided that now would be a good time to see how my Rinoa was reacting to all of this. I twisted around, hoping that she might be able to help figure out what was going on. But when I turned around, the door I had come from was closed.

I ripped the door open, hoping to find her behind it, but instead of the side of the hall I’d come from. It was the beginning of the hall Rinoa and I had started from. My blood ran cold. Looking back at the room I was currently in, it looked exactly like the entrance from when we first entered. I was worried I’d lost her. I made a quick promise to myself that I wouldn’t let that happen. Not again. I cupped my hands and shouted for Rinoa.

No response.

I prepared to do it again. But the Rinoa of this room wrapped her around me. I tried to shake her off, but she clung onto me.

“I’m right here, Squall. I thought I’d lost you!” I had no idea what she was talking about, so I tried to explain to them that illusions like them wouldn’t work on me. After all, that’s what they must have been, right? Some sort of trap left behind by Ultimecia before the Heatless got her.

“You’re not the real Rinoa! Let go of me!” She clung on to me as if I were a life preserver that she’d fallen overboard with. “She was right behind me when I came in here!”

“C’mon Leon, what happened to you?!” Yuffie asked.

“Nothing happened to me.” I responded.

“The hell you talkin’ about, Leon? You’ve been missing for two days.” Cid said, sounding offended enough to almost make me believe him. “These two have been worried sick about you.”

“Don’t you remember?” The Rinoa from this room asked, “You started talking about seeing people in a room at the end of the hall. Then when you walked in you disappeared.” She looked up at me, her eyes were glassy as she squeezed me again, as if to check I was really there. “I thought I lost you! And now you act like I’m a stranger!” The mix of anger and sadness in her voice certainly sounded genuine…

No! I couldn’t let her trick me! Somewhere in this Bastion was my Rinoa! “How do you know about that?! I yelled. “Have you been watching us?! You are not tricking me! I would know if I’ve been here overnight, much less two days!” I had to get this Rinoa off me. I tried to shake her off again, this time much more forcefully than before. She yelped as she fell to the ground. “I don’t know what’s going on here. But I’m not falling for your lies. I need to find the real Rinoa. So just tell who you all are before I get out of here! Are you some kind of illusion? Manifestations of Darkness trying to trick me?”

“We’re not an illusion! But you’re a jerk like always, Leon!” The Yuffie look alike yelled at me. “Why’d we even bother coming to find you if this was how you were going to treat us!”

I was so fed up with these ‘people’. If they were even that. I ran through the door I’d come from, leaving the three fakes behind. I had to find the others. The real others. Yuffie, Cid, and most importantly, Rinoa.

They shouted and chased after me. The one that looked and pretended to be Rinoa was the closest one behind me. But she was also the first to give up. She fell to her knees from what I assumed was exhaustion, or maybe whatever magic conjured her wouldn’t let her go too far from the room I’d found them in. After that, the other two quickly gave up on the chase as well.

I scoffed that those fakes had ever tried to trick me. Each of them, the real ones, could have run miles before needing a break. Well, maybe Cid would need a break. But regardless, I kept going until the slight curve in the hallway eventually obscured them from my sight.

Now that they were out of my sight, I allowed myself to slow down. I was surprised at just how heavily I was breathing. I walked slowly, catching my breath as I tried to make sense of everything that had just happened.

There was something strange about this Bastion, Sora. The unnatural cleanliness of it was one thing, but now this? Ultimecia might have left some spells and traps behind when the Heartless consumed this world, but surely most of them would have been sprung by now. Regardless of the cause of the strangeness to this place. I had to the Rinoa I left behind, the real Rinoa.

A thought occurred to me. What if those people who looked like Rinoa, Yuffie, and Cid weren’t the trap? I was so preoccupied with getting back to the Rinoa I left behind that I hadn’t considered that something else could have happened. Ultimecia specialized in time magic after all. Maybe somehow, I was thrown through time…

I leaned against the wall as I considered what to do next. Should I turn back and find the others I’d just run from? Maybe… But first, I had to return to the door at the end of the hall. If those others really were illusions or fakes or anything, then Rinoa might still be waiting by there. I began walking again when I heard a voice.

“How interesting… Two of them call you Leon. But one calls you Squall.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop as the words formed in the air. I searched the room, trying to find who was speaking. It sounded like a woman, but I couldn’t see anyone. “Who’s there?” I called back.

“Which is it, boy? Leon or Squall? Who are you?”

The voice’s tone sounded amused, but there was something dangerous about it too. It had an almost enchantingly threatening feel to it. “It’ Leon. Now it’s your turn. Who are you?”

A response didn’t come. Instead a door on the other side of the hall creaked open. I told myself I should leave. That I should run back to the others, apologize and get out of here. Something was going on here and I was convinced that being by them, real or not, was safer than staying separated. But curiosity got the better of me. I moved towards the open door and peeked inside.

Unlike the rest of the Bastion, this room was built primarily from brick, and, somehow, this room alone was exposed to the open air of a night sky. Millions of stars shone in the inky blackness overhead. It took me second before I realized where I was.

Somehow, I was back in Traverse Town. I looked back at the door I’d emerged from. The old Accessory Shop that Cid occasionally ran stood with a single door ajar. The room inside was not the usual one however. Somehow squeezed inside the Accessory Shop was the hallway I had been running through earlier.

I stared in confusion at the door, but also relieved to see that unlike last time I walked through a door here, this one wasn’t a one-way trip. I only turned around as I heared the sound of a high heel click against the pavement behind me.

Just down the steps of the Accessory Shop, standing in the middle of the square, was Rinoa. She stood alone watching the stars and wearing the same pale dress she’d once worn years ago

“Rinoa.” I spoke. But she didn’t seem to hear me. “What are you doing here?” Again, no response. I called out to her a few more times, all to the same effect, when a familiar voice drew both my and her attention behind me.

“The stars are beautiful tonight, aren’t they?” I couldn’t believe it. It was another me. Although he looked a deal younger than I was, most notably the scar on my face was missing from his.

“Did you see?” Rinoa asked, pointing at the sky. “There was a shooting star just a little while ago.”

“Is that a good sign?” The younger me asked as the two of them stood there smiling at each other.

Rinoa playfully hummed. “I like to think it is. You’re not usually the one staying behind while others go flying off to other worlds. But every time a Gummi Ship flies off, I always see a shooting star go by. And just before you land another shooting star will go by, like clockwork. I like to imagine that each one I see is you. Flying around amongst the worlds, helping save others from the Heartless.” Rinoa looked back up at the sky, searching for more moving stars. “Who knows, maybe that shooting star that just went by was another Gummi Ship piloted by someone else. Or maybe it was the worlds wishing us a safe journey.”

The younger me chuckled. I remembered thinking at that moment, that she was such a romantic. Expecting everything happening in the night sky to have some greater meaning to it. “Maybe you’re right.” The younger me then stepped forward and took her hand and began leading her in a silent dance.

The silence was short lived as, just before Rinoa could ask what he was doing, the younger me let loose a carefully rehearsed aero spell behind her. Moving the needle of an old phonograph he’d placed the day before, causing it to begin playing an old song from Rinoa’s home world.

I watched them whisper sweet words to each other. I couldn’t hear them, but I remembered them well-enough. If I could, I would’ve watched the two of us move to the song forever. It was nice to be able to relive this moment from the past. But the woman’s voice from before interrupted my watching of the past.

“How cute. A Sorceress and her Knight, sharing a dance under the stars.”

It was the same voice from before. Like before there was no one around who spoke the words. I turned back to see the two of us still holding each other and moving in a lazy circle to the song. Apparently, they hadn’t noticed the interruption. Well, I guess I would have remembered if there was an interruption from a disembodied voice at this moment.

“Tell me, Knight. What happens next? For such a happy moment, it is trapped under the shadow of the darkest part in your timeline. What makes this moment so dark to you?”

There was something… frightening about this voice. I couldn’t speak. It spoke with such malice. It didn’t speak with genuine interest or curiosity about what happened next. No, it relished each word, as if it took glee knowing that each word was a knife being thrust into my heart and each next word was just a twist of the blade. It knew that there was a reason why I didn’t think about this very often.

For a moment the voice spoke sweetly. “Speak, my dear child. Tell me what happened.” I still couldn’t bring myself to speak to it. Eventually it lost its patience. The voice broke into a commanding tone. “Do as I say! Or I will reveal it for myself.”

Finally, I found my voice. “I lost her.”

The voice returned to the mockingly sweet tone from before. “What happened?”

“She insisted on coming with me to another world. She’d become a Sorceress and wanted to come with me to make sure I’d be okay.”

“Would you like to see your final moments with her again?”

“Please no…”

“I suppose I could grant you that one request…”

I let out a sigh of relief knowing that I wouldn’t have to face that day again.

“Leon, I want to go with you.” Rinoa said to him. I gripped my chest as soon as I heard the words.

“Rinoa, it’s not safe on that world. The Heartless have been tearing it apart looking for the keyhole. We can’t save it. We can only get people off it before it’s too late.”

Rinoa pulled away from the dance. “C’mon Leon! You know I can take care of myself. I’ve been defending Traverse Town from the Heartless with Yuffie and Aerith when you guys are away.”

“And I need you to keep doing that and making sure they’re safe. As much as Yuffie thinks she’s some great ninja, she’s still little, and Aerith isn’t a fighter. She’s a great healer, but if they get separated, they could get hurt. You’re a sorceress, you have more than enough power to keep everyone safe.”

Rinoa rolled her eyes. “They’re just small fry,” She complained. “None of the Heartless are interested in taking the Heart of Traverse Town. Most days they don’t even show up.”

“Rinoa…” I tried to think of something to say that could convince her, but she cut me off before I could say anything.

“And besides, my powers are stronger when I’m near my Knight.” The mischievous grin spread across her face. It still had the same effect on me now as it did back then. Us two Leons matched her with a smile of our own.

“Why are you being so insistent this time?” He asked.

“You’re not the only one talking about how dangerous this world is. Everybody that’s going is nervous about this mission. Especially Brom, its his world that’s on the brink That’s why I want to come, to keep you safe. From now on, wherever we go, we’ll go together.”

“Is that a promise or a threat? Please don’t follow me into the bathroom just because we have to ‘go together’”

Rinoa’s attempt at seriousness broke as she giggled at my response. “Shut up, Leon! You know what I meant.” Rinoa took a moment to compose herself. She looked back at me with the seriousness she’d momentarily lost. “I lost my world, you know. I’m not going to lose you too.”

I watched myself sigh and rest his head in his hand. “Alright, alright. But I’m going to make a request too.”

She peered into the old me’s eyes, trying to guess what he was about to ask. “Alright what is it? Just know, that if I don’t like it I’m not going to do it, Leon.”

The other me looked directly into Rinoa’s eyes. “Call me Squall.”

“Huh?”

“My real name. It’s-”

“I know.” Rinoa interrupted.

“Huh?” I stifled a laugh as I watched the other me pull a confused face. I could finally see why Rinoa always liked to pull my leg. It was kind of a funny face.

“It’s not exactly your best kept secret.” Rinoa said with a wink. “Yuffie is always calling you that and Aerith explained where ‘Leon’ came from shortly after we started to spend time together.”

“Those two…” He groaned. “Listen, after we lost Radiant Garden it didn’t feel right that Squall Leonheart got to survive while so many others were lost. I was training to be a soldier, but I couldn’t save anyone. For a long time, I thought I should’ve done more, gotten someone else onboard, I should’ve just done something of use. So, I refused to be Squall. In my opinion, Squall died that night. But Rinoa, I want you to call me Squall. I want to hear the name come from you.” For moment she was quiet, I remembered worrying I’d said something wrong. I looked away for a moment, but when I turned back and saw her face, I knew I was alright.

I thought my line was sappy, but the face Rinoa was pulling was putting that to shame. “Oh Leon, would you like a little wine to go with all that cheese?”

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, Rinoa. But it’s Squall. Also, I’m pretty sure that line usually goes the other way around.”

This caught Rinoa’s attention. “Oh really? Does Squall Leonhart get told that a lot?”

“N-No. Listen this isn’t what I’m trying to talk about, okay?”

“I don’t know…” Rinoa smiled. “I think I’d like to meet this Squall. Were you a whiny kid?”

“I feel like I’m losing control of this conversation.”

Rinoa giggled again. “I bet you hate that feeling. Don’t you, Mr. Leader?” I watched myself press a palm against his face.

“And yet, it seems like everyone I know is constantly trying to make me feel that way.”

“That’s not true. You just make it so easy to push your buttons.”

“Alright, fine. I’ll talk to the other about brining you along. Just try to be careful okay?” The younger me finally relented.

“Yay!” Rinoa cheered. “Don’t worry, Squall. I’ll be careful.” We both looked so carefree at this moment. But I could feel my stomach tying into knots.

“Come on, we’ll go talk to the others about bringing you to Sleepy Hollow.” The knots in my stomach tightened as I heard my younger self say those words. I couldn’t take it anymore. I knew how this story would end. I screamed into the sky, hoping the voice following me would hear.

“That’s enough!” Silence followed, so I tried calling for it again. “Please let me out of here!”

“The exit is right behind you, Knight… If you want to leave this memory then all you must do, is leave.”

I ran through the doors of the Accessory Shop. I ran away from the scene behind me, I couldn’t bear to watch any further knowing what would happen next.

I stood bent over and panting outside of the room containing Traverse Town. I felt sick, like at any moment I throw up from what I’d witnessed. I hadn’t thought of that night in years. I tried not to think about it. Because of what happened the next day. What happened to her on that other world was my fault.

“I have to find the others…” I said between deep breaths. “Once I find the others we can get out of here.”

“You tried so hard to get in my Bastion and when I let you in further all you want to do is leave?”

“Your Bastion? Who are you!?”

“Quiet boy! If this is my Bastion and the Bastion belongs to Ultimecia, then you already know who I am!”

“Ultimecia? But you should be dead by now! The Heartless should have swarmed this place along with you nearly a decade ago!”

“Oh, they tried. They tried to enter uninvited, much like you… And you will share the same fate as those creatures did! You and everyone else who has entered here. I tried to be generous. I took their leader and allowed them to leave. But they returned, and now they must also pay. I will make them a part of my Bastion once I grow bored with them.”

“Let me explain!” I yelled into the air.

“I already know! You dare enter my home and try to steal from me, boy?”

The words dripped with malice. I looked all over the room hoping I’d find where they came from.

“This is my Bastion! Do not think for a moment that I will tolerate trespassers in here!”

I shouted at the walls. “Where are you!” The woman’s voice seemed to come from everywhere. As if I were trapped in the middle of a dark cave and the echo of her voice was closing in on me.

“Behind you, Knight.” The words whispered from where I couldn’t see. My heart stilled as I slowly turned around. For the first time in years, I saw Ultimecia. She stood there almost casually. “Of course, isn’t a Knight supposed to protect his Sorceress? You’re just a boy with a complex.”

“You Witch!” I screamed at her. I drew my Gunblade and ran at her, ready for a fight.

She didn’t say a word. She simply smirked at me, and with a snap of her fingers she vanished. A moment later I began to hear a voice. It was low and quiet at first but as it repeated it started to grow. It took me awhile to recognize it. But no doubt about it, it was Rinoa’s voice!

I still don’t like you using that word

It began again just as soon as it finished.

I still don’t like you using that word

It wouldn’t end! I covered my ears, I tried screaming. Nothing would drown it out. It couldn’t be drowned out because the sound wasn’t in the air. It was in my ears. Ultimecia had replayed on loop the moment I heard the words, it was my own eardrums constantly repeating that mantra to me. The moment they should have stopped, they looped in time and beat those words into my mind again

I still don’t like you using that word

It wouldn’t end. I apologized to the air. I begged for Rinoa’s forgiveness. I looked for Ultimecia to demand she make it stop, but she wasn’t there. She was gone, vanished into thin air.

I still don’t

like you

using that word

Through the noise I heard something behind me. It had to be Ultimecia! I couldn’t think straight. In that moment it could be nothing but that. Turning around I didn’t even register what was behind me as I swung. I heard my Gunblade cut through flesh between the brief pauses of the words. The words began to quiet down in my head. Feeling a bit calmer I finally opened my eyes, expecting to see the witch and my blade stuck in her.

But it wasn’t her. It was a male figure wearing black leather, with a pair of red angel wings embroidered on it. The words began to thunder in my head again.

like you

still don’t

using that word

Finally, it occurred to me what I was looking at. It was my back. It began to fade away just the realization occurred to me. A moment later, I felt my own Gunblade swing into my back, cut through the leather jacket I’d been looking at.

I stood there, not sure how to react. The words wouldn’t stop! I just wanted them to stop! After standing there for a while, I’m not sure how long, but just as I felt the sword in my body begin to fade from time. I heard the words once more. Low and distorted, a cruel parody of Rinoa’s voice with none of her personality or charm.

I STILL DON’T LIKE YOU USING THAT WORD

I fell to the ground after that. The words finally going silent. There was a sense of relief when they ended. A moment later I could hear footsteps approach me as I laid on the ground. My energy bled from me, stopping me from getting up to see who it was. But the voice was recognizably Ultimecia’s.

“An idea has occurred to me, boy. Perhaps I can still get more entertainment from you and your friends.” I didn’t say anything. The wound in my back was large and deep. “Don’t worry, boy. Your friends will find you. But will they recognize you?” Ultimecia laughed as she asked the question. “I will even let you see them again, but only if you can solve a little riddle for me.”

I could feel something changing. It’s difficult to describe. It was as if I was being slowly pulled away from my own body. I feared I was dying. I hoped that, if anything, I was somehow losing my Heart. At least I might have the chance to recomplete myself the same way you did, Sora. Fuse my Heart back with my body.

I started to lose consciousness as I bleed out and the Rinoa’s borrowed words began hammering in my head in my head again. I was growing numb to everything. The feeling on my skin, my worries, I even started to stop caring about the disappointed words in my head. In the distance, somehow piercing through the words Ultimecia forced me to listen to again and again, I heard an ear-piercing scream coming from Rinoa.

#Kingdom Hearts #final fantasy VIII #Fan Fiction #squall x rinoa #world building #Kingdom Hearts extended universe when?#Why isn't Rinoa in Kingdom Hearts yet?!#Squinoa #My Writing

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callumturncr · 6 years

Text

A Different Path [Sirius Black AU] - Part 4

Summary: Post-graduation AU in which the reader, Lily and The Marauders have just joined the Order of the Phoenix. As tensions are at its highest in the First Wizarding War, the reader, who likes Sirius Black more than she would like to admit, is framed for the murder of Marlene McKinnon.

Parts: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8

Author’s Note: Starting from next week, updates will be on Saturday/Sunday instead of Wednesday because my school starts Monday, sorry! I hope you guys enjoy this part. Please feel free to message me if you want to be added on the tag list!

Gif is not mine. Words: 1.5k

Almost three years had passed and Y/N still hadn’t gotten used to the blasting cold that surrounded Azkaban prison.

It was the bone chilling kind that made you numb with prolonged exposure and the striped prisoner uniforms did nothing to shield against it. The monotony of solitary confinement and the Dementors that lurked along the corridors weren’t much comfort either. This had inevitably taken its toll on Y/N, both mentally and physically but like with the cold, she could do nothing to make herself feel better. Any positive thought, no matter how tiny would surely be fed upon by the Dementors.

Her cell was small with a port-hole like window that sat high up one wall. Small, white markings stood out on the other one – little lines made with a shard of rock to count the days she’d spent as prisoner – facing the door. It swung open right as she thought of it and Y/N flinched, waiting for the cloaked figure to swoop inside. But it wasn’t a Dementor.

Alastor Moody stood at the doorway, but this recognition only dawned on Y/N after a good few minutes. His face was covered with numerous scars and a chunk of his nose was missing, but the most shocking was his fake eye that was currently swiveling around the length of the room. Spotting her huddled against a dark corner, he moved inside.

“Y/L/N.”

Not sure if she was dreaming or not, Y/N stared at him in awe. He walked a few steps forward to see her a bit more clearly before crouching.

“Still got your wits about you?”

Recovering from her shock, she merely nodded in reply. There were so many questions that she had for him but she didn’t ask any, not trusting her voice. Instead, she sat up straighter and hid her shaking hands.

“Dementors give you much trouble?”

It was very unlike Moody to make small talk but Y/N thought that he had probably never found himself in this situation before. She shrugged.

“Why have you come?” Her voice was ragged from disuse.

“Annual visit with the Ministry,” he answered. “Crouch thought it would be good to see what became of the convicted Death Eaters in here.” As soon as he’d said it, he cursed under his breath. He hadn’t meant to sound as if Y/N was included in that category but the insinuation stung all the same.

“Why have you come to see me?” Once, the mere thought of questioning Alastor Moody would’ve made Y/N shudder but the Dementors were so draining, that she found herself past caring if she offended him or not.

“Dumbledore told me to check this floor.” He offered no more explanation. The magical eye had stopped scanning the room and was now fixed on her, bright and unblinking.

“You’ve missed a fair amount,” Moody said after a while. She looked on curiously but had half a mind to stop him. As much as she wanted to hear about the world beyond the tiny one that had become hers, thinking about her friends was painful. “Evans and Potter are married now. Have a son. Made Black the Godfather, he was best man at their wedding too.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Despite her markings on the wall, the days spent in her cell had all blurred together at some point but now, she truly realized how long it had been. Lily and James had a son. Something faintly resembling a smile broke out on her face and she found herself once again speechless. Moody inclined his head and spoke softer.

“Black goes to visit your friend’s grave regularly. Took her loss quite hard. Didn’t show at meetings for some time.”

At the specific mention of Sirius, Y/N looked towards the floor. Sirius’ words to her that day had stung most of all. The look of hatred on his face haunted her when she was awake, when she was asleep, in her dreams. As did the moment of Marlene’s death – Y/N had relived that night more times than she could count, each time envisioning something different she could’ve done to prevent it. Shaking her head fiercely, she expelled the image of Marlene’s dead body from her mind.

She didn’t want to hear about Sirius either.

“Where did they bury her?”

“Godric’s Hollow. She’s with her family.”

Y/N cocked her head to the side in confusion, heart thudding in her chest.

“Voldemort went after the whole McKinnon family after Marlene. Wiped out all of them,” he was still speaking softly, like his words might shatter her if he said them too loudly. She bit her lip, roughly wiping at her eyes. An entire family gone just like that. While she’d been holed up in Azkaban, Voldemort had only grown stronger and stronger and the McKinnons had taken the brunt of his power.

“You asked why I’m here,” Moody continued. “The Potters are about to be next.”

Surely she’d heard him wrong.

“Wh– what?”

“There is a prophecy that a boy born at the end of July possesses the power to defeat the Dark Lord,” he stopped seeing the incredulous look on her face but continued on before she could stop him. “Lily gave birth at the end of July, last year.”

She stared at him, dumbstruck. “How can a child–”

“That’s not the point. Voldemort reportedly knows about this prophecy. This boy it referred to can either be Lily’s son or Alice Longbottom’s. You remember Alice?”

Y/N nodded. “She was an Auror. Her husband as well.”

“Professor Flitwick told Dumbledore that a Fidelius charm could be performed to keep James, Lily and the boy safe. Something about hiding them in a living soul. The person whose soul is chosen is referred to as the Secret Keeper.” Moody paused and let out a sigh before dealing the final blow.

“The Potters have chosen Peter Pettigrew to be that Secret Keeper.”

Y/N’s blood ran cold. His words made no sense at all.

“No,” she began, “Why him? Why not Sirius? James’ best friend is Sirius.”

“Actually, Black was the one who convinced them to choose Peter instead.”

The thought of Sirius secretly being Death Eater too played itself out in her head but she shook it away. Sirius would never, not in a million years, betray the Potters. Not James, who had given him a home and a family and his trust.

But hadn’t she thought the same about Peter once?

“Then why not Remus? Don’t tell me they’re still at odds.”

“They are not. Once Crouch sentenced you, Black believed he had it wrong from the beginning. Remus was not the spy to be wary of…” Moody trailed off. Y/N steeled her gaze.

“He thinks it was me all along,” she finished for him. Something bitter rose within her; it had taken her imprisonment for them to make up.

“He believes he and Lupin would be too predictable as choices for Secret Keeper. Voldemort would never think it would be Pettigrew,” Moody said grimly. “But Sirius doesn’t know what you know does he, Y/N?”

She gaped at him as her mind worked to decipher what he meant. At last, she understood why Moody was here.

He believed her. Believed that Peter had been the one to kill Marlene, the one betraying the Order’s secrets. Believed that given the chance, he would betray this secret too. Moody stood up as the realization crossed her face.

“Sirius will not change his mind. It’s Peter’s word against mine,” she couldn’t help the bitterness in her voice.

“Unfortunately that is true. So we show him.”

His wand was in his hand and he hobbled closer to her.

“He will not take your word for it either. Legilimency won’t work,” Y/N said.

“Right again. Legilimency will not convince anyone, which is why I need the exact memory,” Moody’s eye had spun again so he could watch the door in case anyone came in. His real eye was focused on her as she pieced it together.

Dumbledore told me to check this floor.

“The Pensieve,” she breathed. Y/N closed her eyes as he brought his wand to her temple. A thin wisp of silver floated out and directed by his wand, placed itself in a small vial. He made his way back just as several muffled voices rounded the corner, Dumbledore’s deep rumble among them. Opening the door, Moody spoke loudly as if he had only just come to her cell.

“The Ministry of Magic has agreed to your trial,” he began. Y/N blinked in surprise and his sheepish look told her that he’d nearly forgotten to say this. “You will stand before the Minister and the Wizengamot in two months and tell them exactly what happened that night.”

The voices were drawing nearer. Moody gave her one final nod and pocketed the vial, about to close the door when Y/N called out.

“What’s his name?” she asked. “Lily’s son?”

The door had almost shut but she heard his answer.

“Harry Potter.”

Tag List: @knowledgeisthebomb @siriusement @kendratheweird @emi-loser @i-think-i-am-adorable @avengersassemblee @movokepwc @blackloveangel13 @misunderstood-sinner @vvytran @all-throughthe-night @ashkuuuu @thepuffyeyedpuff @annino112

#sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black imagines #sirius black x reader #sirius black au #sirius x reader #sirius x you #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfictions #marauders era #marauders era imagine #marauders era imagines #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #harry potter fanfiction #my writing

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 5 years

Text

Snowball Fight

Hello, hello!

Welcome to the 2018 31 Days of Ficmas! List provided by the wonderful @doctorroseprompts. @timepetalscollective for 13xRose and therefore fulfilling multiple bingo slots (including wearing another regeneration’s clothing, though it’s Rose wearing it)

31 Days of Ficmas masterlist

Summary: Rose and the Doctor disagree about 13's level of responsibility when it came to the Death Eye Turtle Army. Deciding to settle it like adults, they split Team TARDIS down the middle - and wage the snowball war for the ages.

AO3

Three weeks onboard the TARDIS had done little to diminish Yaz’s wonder for her new surroundings. While Ryan preferred to spend his free time in the Entertainment Room playing 23rd century video games and Graham took advantage of the library, she opted to wander the halls, learning the layout of the spaceship. Two years of training as a police officer had drilled into her the importance of knowing her whereabouts in relation to where she needed to be.

Of course, her explorations had limited value; every morning a different path led to the galley, and a single path never took her to the same place twice. The TARDIS is alive, Yaz, the Doctor had said, and that was never more evident than in the changing floorplans.

She loved it.

Surprisingly for someone who liked to have control, it didn’t bother her that she was habitually lost. The few times she’d grown worried enough to call for help, within two minutes she’d either walked through a doorway into the console room or the Doctor had appeared, leading her back to where she’d been trying to go, babbling a hundred miles an hour the whole way. That only made her more confident in her investigations.

So far she’d found two pools, four squash courts, a garden, an art gallery, and several disused bedrooms. Today, she was on the hunt for a fitness center or exercise room. The Sheffield Constabulary had certain expectations of its officers, and running with the Doctor proved that endurance was key. She was doing well so far, able to keep up, but without a training regimen she was worried that might change.

Ryan had scoffed, dismissing her concerns, but a few days before she had stumbled across him in a mostly empty room practicing climbing a ladder, padded cushions on the ground in case he fell. She’d quietly backed out, letting him have his privacy, all the while fiercely proud of her friend.

Feminine voices ahead alerted Yaz that she was about to get sidetracked, but she wasn’t too bothered as the hallway spilled into the console room. Leaning against the doorway with her arms folded, she smirked as she watched the Doctor and her wife argue.

Despite heated tones and hands perched on hips, their stance and closeness suggested flirting more than anything, and it never failed to make Yaz smile. Her new friend carried the universe on her shoulders – and as strong as she was, she still needed someone to help lighten the load, and the other woman appeared to do so with ease.

“-which is why I’m absolutely right, and Yaz agrees. Don’t you Yaz?” The Doctor’s raised pitch invited her in, and letting her arms fall to her sides, she stepped further into the room.

“What trouble are you causing now?”

The Doctor’s indignant splutter was drowned out by her wife’s laughter.

“Oh, she’s got your number, love,” Rose sniggered, leaning back against the console. “And it only took three weeks. That might be record. Well done, Yaz.”

“Thanks,” she grinned at the slightly more petite blonde. The couple looked very similar, standing at nearly the same height with matching bottle-blonde hair and mischievous grins. The only way she could tell them apart the first few trips was the Doctor’s tigger-like energy and manner compared to Rose’s steady, laidback attitude, and their outfits – the Doctor only ever seemed to change her shirt whereas Rose was always in a new, cute outfit that made Yaz jealous of her closet and apparent budget.

“You didn’t answer my question, though,” Yaz prompted, raising her eyes at the now-pouting Time Lord.

“I’m not causing trouble,” the alien denied hotly. “I was just saying that the Death Eye Turtle Army was not my fault.”

“Ehhh…” Yaz grimaced, considering, before shrugging one shoulder. “To be fair, it wasn’t not your fault either.”

“Traitor!” the Doctor gasped, before turning a glare on Rose who was bent in half, howling with laughter as she clung to the console for support. “And you, Rose Tyler!”

“What?” she gasped, holding her sides.

“You- you- you impugn my honor!”

“Oh, I’m really glad you didn’t say belittle,” her wife sniggered, before bursting into giggles again.

Yaz’s nose wrinkled, slightly lost. The couple clearly had a rich history, if their frequent incoherent asides were any indication.

“Inside joke,” Rose explained briefly, confirming the theory. “If you ever meet a Sontaran, it’ll make perfect sense. Long story.”

“Well, we all came out of it safe and sound, so no harm no foul,” Yaz offered, giving the Doctor a tentative smile.

“Thank you, Yaz. Nice to see someone appreciates me.”

Rose rolled her eyes, grinning at Yaz as she directed at her wife, “I appreciate you more when you when you get us out of trouble than when you get us into it. And even moreso when we can have a nice day out without any trouble at all.”

“You love it.”

“Yeah, and I love chocolate cake, doesn’t mean I need to experience it every single day.”

Yaz coughed deliberately, trying to derail another bickering session at least long enough to get out of the room; it tended to get a bit too close to the line between flirty and foreplay for her to feel comfortable observing. Never mind that Rose was staring at the Doctor like she was chocolate cake. “Are we going anywhere today?”

“Yes,” the Doctor said decisively, moving towards the controls as if struck with inspiration and starting to throw switches and press buttons in a possibly-meaningful order. “We’re going to settle this disagreement like adults.”

Rose sighed deeply, the knowing exhale of a fondly exasperated spouse. Yaz heard it often when her father started on his conspiracy theories. “Somehow I doubt your idea of what qualifies as ‘adult’ is vastly different from mine.” Turning, she began manipulating the controls in front of her with a familiarity Yaz found fascinating. Nothing was labeled yet she never hesitated in her movements, graceful and efficient. Even the Doctor sometimes struggled with apparently new systems, and if she didn’t know better she’d think Rose was the original operator of the craft. Though the Doctor’s occasional jealous look was usually humorous.

“Rose! Not that kind of adult!”

“I didn’t- that wasn’t- shut up,” Rose groaned, stretching to flick a switch almost out of reach before swatting at her spouse. “I meant something along the lines of just letting it go, being the bigger person. Accepting responsibility.”

“Ah.” The Doctor’s nose crinkled, and she shook her head. “Nope, no thanks, not me.”

“Where are we going?” Yaz cut in, grabbing onto a holdbar as they careened through the Vortex, watching with awe as the couple flew around the console, giving happy laughs at every bit of turbulence.

“There’s this planet called Woman Wept,” the Doctor started, only for Rose to immediately cut in.

“-An’ it’s absolutely gorgeous. Once upon a time it was pretty much all water, only the sun died suddenly and everything flash-froze. ‘S called that because when you look at it from above, it looks like a woman crying. Now it’s all snow and ice.”

“And what does that have to do with settling your disagreement like adults?”

“Snowball fight,” the Doctor said brightly, as though it were perfectly reasonable and obvious.

Yaz just shook her head, capitalizing on her last few moments with the women as she could hear Ryan and Graham stumbling down the hall. “You’re gonna settle it with a snowball fight?” For just a moment, she remembered the last call she’d taken before stumbling across Ryan in the forest – two grown women needing supervision to resolve a parking dispute. These two were far more entertaining.

The boys burst in then, Ryan in front with Graham hot on his heels.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” They moved to their stations, taking hold for dear life just as they hit a nasty bit of turbulence.

“Snowball fight on an alien planet. You up for it?” The Doctor’s indefatigable adventuring spirit made them all grin, and Ryan was the first to agree.

“Hell yeah.”

“Why not?” Graham added, as the ship landed with a final shudder.

“Brilliant!” The Doctor leapt towards the door, throwing them open and revealing a tantalizing glimpse of white.

The companions made to follow, only turning back when Rose cleared her throat.

“It’s freezing out there. There’s hats, gloves, scarves, and coats in this closet,” she said, throwing open a door in the wall to reveal a multitude of wintery items in all shapes sizes and colors, selecting an absurdly long, multi-colored scarf for herself.

“Really? You’ll trip and die on that thing,” Yaz muttered as she pawed through the items to find a matching set.

Rose winked, still winding it around her neck. “Not before the Doctor dies of hearts failure.”

Suitably kitted out, the four humans (though Yaz still wasn’t fully convinced about Rose) stepped out to find a dozen snowmen of various sizes and incredible detail in the snow around the ship. Each had a different face and body type, or as much as a snowman could have, but they must have meant something to Rose because she giggled and went up to the fourth one from the ship and gave it her scarf.

“Wicked,” Ryan breathed, making Yaz look up – and gasp.

“Oh my…”

A sixty-foot frozen wave towered over them, glistening in the moonlight. Rose was right; it was spectacular. Similar shapes rose out of the darkness in the distance, giving the place an eerie but serene feel.

“Does anyone live here?” Graham asked, looking around, his face showing the same marvel as Ryan’s and her own.

“Not anymore. Planet died when the sun did,” the Doctor reported sadly, dropping the snowball she held, her wife wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“So, how are we splitting up the teams?” Ryan stepped closer to the Doctor, staring at the wave overhead in awe.

“Boys against girls?” Rose suggested, making Ryan and Graham frown at her.

“What, the two of us against the three of you? Nah, man, that’s not fair!” Ryan protested, crossing his arms.

“What? No, the two of you with me,” the Doctor said cheerfully, kissing Rose quickly before moving away. “Then Rose and Yaz.”

Graham didn’t seem assuaged, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I should sit out, keep score, that sort of thing. Make it even.”

“What? No!” The Doctor’s face fell as she wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “We’ve only barely got a chance the three of us.”

“And it’s not just two,” Rose smirked, disappearing through the TARDIS door only to return a moment later with Grace, who was grinning widely. “The TARDIS is a cheater, taking pity on the Doctor and not letting Grace know we’d landed.”

“Oh, you’re going down,” Ryan’s nan gloated, poking her husband in the chest. “You haven’t a prayer, love.”

“That’s not fair,” the Doctor whined, glaring at her wife. “You three’ll be too good.”

“All’s fair in love and war,” Rose retorted, “and this most certainly is war.”

“My dignity’s at stake!”

“What dignity?”

“Children, children,” Grace soothed, laughing, “three on three seems like a fair fight.”

“I heartily disagree-” the Doctor started, only to splutter at a sudden mouthful of snow as Rose shrieked with laughter and took off across the frozen tundra. “Saboteur! Come back here!”

The Doctor began chasing Rose as Grace, unseen by Graham, carefully packed a solid snowball, and with a wink to Yaz, lobbed it at her husband.

“Oi!” he yelped, before scooping up a ball as well and throwing at Yaz.

“Hey!”

And the war was on.

Twenty minutes later it had devolved into each of the married couples chasing their spouses around, fighting bitterly and taking no prisoners. Every so often someone would yelp or scream as snow was shoved unceremoniously down their shirtback, and Yaz and Ryan watched it all with a laugh.

“It’s nice to see them so happy,” Yaz commented, sipping at the hot chocolate the ship had provided. She and Ryan had easily declared a truce after the third snowball in a row she’d nailed him with, and they’d brought out a bench and pile of blankets to watch the ‘adults’ battle for supremacy play.

“Yeah. I think Nan loves this travelin’ more than the rest of us combined.”

“Definitely.” They shared a laugh, though Yaz’s smile slipped at the reminder of how closely they’d come to not having Grace with them. If Rose hadn’t been there to cushion her fall… Sure, both women hobbled away with bruised ribs and aching bodies, but they’d walked away.

“Hey, stop that,” Ryan chided, elbowing her in the side. “She’s fine, ‘s all good. What’s that Rose keeps saying, ‘Don’t borrow trouble’?”

Yaz nodded, forcing the thought from her mind as she nudged him back. “I think the TARDIS gave us a snowball gun – want to take them all down?”

“But the Doctor doesn’t like guns.” He gave her a wide-eyed, innocent look before he started laughing, throwing his head back and letting it ring out. “Hell. Yes. You pack, I’ll shoot.”

It didn’t take long to build a well-stocked cache, deciding that Ryan would aim and Yaz would load – part of the gun seemed to be an old automatic tennis ball launcher; all she had to do was feed the snowballs through as fast as she could, and Ryan would do the rest.

Within five minutes they were forevermore known as the undisputed Snowball Fight Champions.

#bbatcfic #doctorroseprompts #timepetalscollective #31 Days of Ficmas #ficandchips #Doctor Who #13xrose #13th doctor #rose tyler #snowball fight #yasmin khan #ryan sinclair #graham o'brien #grace o'brien #teamtardis

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prairiesongserial · 6 years

Text

4.3

Val hadn’t felt much like talking, ever since he and Friday had hit the road. Not only because his throat was scratchy from smoke inhalation (it was a wonder that Friday’s wasn’t), but because he felt sick to his stomach, knowing he’d sold John and Cody out to the very gang they’d been trying to escape from. He worried that the minute he said anything more than a few words to Friday, the whole story would come tumbling out, and she’d regret her decision to bring him along. Hell, she’d probably turn around and take him right back to Vegas, or leave him on the side of the road.

So he said nothing, or next to nothing, until they happened upon the town. Val hadn’t been outside of Vegas since he’d arrived there almost ten years ago, and most of his news from the outside world came from travelers who passed through the city, or the letters he exchanged with the sisters and postulants he’d grown up with in New Orleans. He felt bad for startling Friday, but the sight of another town was such a novelty that he hadn’t been able to keep from saying something.

“Wonder what town we’re in,” Friday said, sounding a little more upbeat, a little less nervous than before. Val felt a small pang of guilt that he’d done nothing to alleviate her anxiety when she’d communicated it to him - but at least it was better, now. Or so he hoped.

“Good question,” he said, carefully. He couldn’t be silent the whole time, he knew that, and now seemed like as good a time as any to start talking again. Especially since they might start encountering strangers on their way into town. His voice was a little hoarse, both from disuse and the smoke, but it didn’t seem to bother Friday much. “Doubt it’s big enough to be on the map.”

“Probably not,” she agreed. She was quiet for a moment, then glanced over her shoulder, briefly. “How’re you feeling, preacher?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me, Miss Friday,” Val said, with a wan smile. “Just keep your eyes on the road.”

The answer seemed to satisfy her well enough. They kept on the road, the corn fields turning into a blur on either side of them, until the fields turned back to tall grass, then to flat earth. It was clear that they were reaching the town proper, past whatever farms there were on the outskirts of it. There were buildings on the horizon, at least - the first of which was a small rest stop. A gaggle of people on motorbikes populated it, and Val felt a momentary chill down his spine as he thought of the Dead-Eyes.

“Oh, good,” Friday said. “We gotta stop for gas.”

“Here?” Val asked, his voice cracking. He must have sounded much more incredulous than he’d meant to, because Friday took the time to shoot him a glance over her shoulder again.

“You alright, preacher?”

She looked more worried than she really ought to have been, almost pitying, like she was handling him a little too delicately. Val felt the arms on his stomach squirm briefly against their bindings, and soured, frowning.

“Fine,” he said, trying to give his voice a harder edge. “I just don’t think we should stop.”

“Why?” Friday asked. “I’d rather get gas here then chance running out on the road. No tellin’ what might get us, if we break down out there.”

She had a point. Val frowned, uncertain.

“I just don’t know about those folks up the road. They could be anyone.”

“Who, the people at the rest stop? They’re just locals, Val.”

Friday sounded exasperated, and Val couldn’t find it in him to blame her. Maybe he was being too paranoid. The Dead-Eyes had to be long gone by now - no reason for them to hang around so relatively close to Vegas when they could have been hot on John and Cody’s heels.

But what if they were? What if they were waiting, to see if their threat had worked, or if he told someone what he’d done, like he’d told Friday? His palms throbbed with pain under the bandages, and Val flinched.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said, firmly. “We should fuel up somewhere where there’s no one else around.”

“You’re being paranoid, Val,” Friday retorted. The edge to her voice was a lot more plain, this time. “I get it, I do, but if we wait around for a rest stop where nobody else is around...well, we might be stranded in the plains by then.”

“I’d rather be stranded in the plains than get caught up with some gang,” Val said, trying his best to rein in his feelings, to argue with logic and not with something a little closer to the heart. If Friday thought he was just being hysterical, thought he was still just upset from the church burning down, nothing he said would make a real impression on her.

“Hey, gangs aren’t all bad,” she said, which was exactly what he hadn’t wanted to hear.

“But the one after Cody -”

“Is smart enough that they didn’t take this route, believe me. They probably took the same way I told John and Cody to take, and they’ve got more than a day’s head start on us.” The rest stop was rapidly approaching, and Friday had slowed the bike to a lazy pace as she spoke. “Those aren’t the Dead-Eyes, Val. They’re probably just normal townfolk out shootin’ the shit. Trust me.”

“I wish I could,” Val said under his breath. But there was no stopping Friday once she had an idea in her head, and there was no stopping their course once she’d veered off into the rest area.

“Howdy, folks,” she said, as she turned the bike off, braked it, and dismounted. Her wig had barely shifted on her head the whole time she’d been driving, Val noted - probably due to the scarf she’d tied it up in. That was clever. She was also raising her voice a register, the way Val noticed she did in mixed company, or with strangers. “Me and the preacher here are just about out of gasoline, and looking to buy as much as we can carry on our bike. I don’t suppose any of you are the owner of this establishment?”

“That’d be me, sweetheart,” a man near the back of the group spoke up. He was tall, probably around the same height as Val, and lean, with a tan and sun-bleached hair. He wore his shirt with the top few buttons open to expose collarbone, the hem untucked from his work jeans. “Name’s Macomber. I run just about everything in town.” He cocked his head, studying Friday and Val. “Ain’t had a priest around here in a while. Where’re you from?”

Val said nothing, but dismounted the bike. Friday elbowed him, probably hoping to make him talk, but he didn’t budge.

“He doesn’t say much, does he?” Macomber asked, with an amused smile.

“You’ll have to forgive the preacher, he’s having a rough couple of days,” Friday said. “We came out of Vegas. The Dead-Eyes set fire to three sections of the city, including his church.”

Macomber whistled. “Well now. Do you folks even have the money to pay for gas?”

“We’ve got enough money,” Friday answered, sounding more confident than Val thought she probably was.

“Interesting,” Macomber said. He sounded conversational, almost lazily so, but there was a sharpness about his eyes that Val didn’t like. He turned to the group he’d been talking to just a moment ago, still smiling. “Search them and their bike. Take any cash they’ve got on ‘em.”

“Hey, wait just a -” Friday started, then quickly swallowed the rest of the complaint as Macomber and his four friends all trained guns on her and Val. She went very still, then slowly raised her hands in front of her, palms out. Val took this as his cue to do the same.

“I’m really not one to say ‘I told you so’,” he murmured to her wryly, as Macomber’s men patted them both down, then swarmed the bike to dig through their packs. “But in this circumstance…”

“Val, you’re a good friend, but shut the fuck up,” Friday ground out through clenched teeth.

“Now then,” Macomber said, drawing both of their attention back to him. “Seems you ain’t got a way to pay for gas anymore. But, as it happens, we were all just talkin’ about how we could use an extra couple pairs of hands for the hunt we’re goin’ out on tonight. So how about we make a deal? You two go out with us, pull your weight on the hunt, and we’ll give you back enough coin and gas to get to the next town over and replenish your supplies.”

Val frowned. He’d never hunted in his life, though he hadn’t been lying when he’d told Friday he could shoot a gun. It had just been a while. But if he could do it competently enough for one night, they could make it out of this in one piece, with at least some of their money. It didn’t seem like a bad deal.

“Well, it’s not like we have a choice, do we?” Friday asked, answering for the both of them. Val didn’t mind - she had an easy way with seedy strangers that he didn’t, and it was starting to come in handy. “We’ll do it. What are we hunting?”

“Muties,” Macomber said, flashing his teeth in a broad grin. “What else?”

Val’s heart sank.

4.2 || 4.4

#story

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qeterqujll · 6 years

Text

Panic Room p.1

summary: when the end of the world arrives, you have a front row seat. mental institution/apocolypse au based on the music video for panic room by au/ra

characters: nurse!peter maximoff x patient!reader, doctor!charles xavier, nurse!logan howlett, patient!erik lehnsherr

warnings: angst, a hint of fluff, mental instability, cursing, mentions of death

a/n: au where mutants haven’t been researched as extensively as they are in the movies, so mutants are sent to mental institutions. also, mutant cases are more rare then they are in the movies.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

Hell raising, hair raising, I'm ready for the worst. So frightening, face whitening, fear that you can't reverse.

When you first started showing signs of being a mutant, your parents thought that maybe their child had been possessed. You don’t blame them, with the way mutants are demonized, and you’ll admit that it scared the hell out of you at first. You soon found, however, that your mutation was more helpful than you thought it would be. The ability to see into the future, whether it be near or far, came in handy with the additional bonus of telekinesis. Although, you didn’t come to that realization until about a year after the night your visions started.

You didn’t tell your parents anything when you figured out that the strange things happening to you were, in fact, your mutation, but you should have known that them finding out on their own was inevitable.

The main component of your mutation was seeing into the future, and visions of the future appeared to you in the form of dreams. The dreams you had been having about the future had been quite calm so far and you were still trying to make any sense out of them. Then, the nightmares started.

They were horrible, the screams and the flashing lights, making you wake up almost blind for a few moments before you could adjust your eyes back to the normal lighting of your room. You would often wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, shaking as you tried to rid your mind of the images that had plagued it only moments ago.

But those hopes were to no avail and the dreams only got worse. Pretty soon you were waking up screaming instead of crying and your parents would rush into the room, trying to find out what was happening. You had to tell them eventually.

Their first reaction still hurt even though you had seen it coming: disgust. How could they have created a mutant? How could they have created a monster?

After the initial phase of astonishment and fear, they decided that a hospital was the best place to take you. Most people across the country and even across the world had heard of Xavier’s Hospital for Mutants, a place where parents could take their children if they had a mutation. The truth of the matter was that most people feared mutants. There were even people who believed mutants were demons, children of the devil. Those people were nutty and most didn’t go as far as to say something like that, but no human would want to interact with a mutant.

“And why have you brought Ms. Y/L/N in today?”

Dr. Xavier stands in front of your parents, taking down information about you as they go on about their concern for your wellbeing. He’s heard it all before, from his own mother as well. “I don’t know how this happened.” “It doesn’t run in the family.” “Is there anyway to reverse it?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N, but I’m afraid mutations are irreversible. It’s in her genes and neither of you may have mutations, but some of your ancestors most definitely did.”

Your mother and father exchange a horrified look at the prospect of having even a scrap of mutant DNA running through their veins, and the looks on their faces are almost comical to him.

“I know this is quite the shock,” he tells them, although they seem to catch the insincerity of his words, but they don’t comment, “but I assure you, your daughter will be taken care of here.”

Charles doesn’t like to go through people’s minds often, but with some people he just can’t seem to help himself. Your parents happen to be two of the people he feels the need to flip through like a file, and the first thing he hears from your mother is, is this man a mutant? It’s funny how the people he decides to read are always the ignorant ones

“I am, actually, but that’s nothing for you to be worried about. The owner of this building is not a mutant and it’s his belief that mutants will get the best care from other mutants.”

Your mother looks at the doctor with a horrified expression, suddenly rethinking the idea to bring you here. But so many people have come here and said that the results were better then they ever could have asked, so she tries to ignore the fact that the man standing in front of her just read her mind and thinks about anything other than her concerns about him in fear that he’s still digging through her thoughts.

“Now,” Charles says, looking behind the couple to try and see his newest patient, “can I meet Y/N?”

“She’s...in the car,” your mother says quietly, leaving the building with a bit of a dazed expression on her face. Charles can’t really blame her. People like her and your father, who have such a limited understanding of mutants, are a bit overwhelmed having a civil conversation with one. He does understand it, it’s just the way most people were raised. With the idea that mutants aren’t human. He’s sure you were raised that way as well, and his goal for every mutant who is brought in by a pair of terrified parents is to help them learn that their mutation does not make them any less human than anyone else.

Charles sits in a somewhat awkward silence with your father as they wait for you, not sure whether or not the man will strike up a conversation or give him more information about the patient. As he expected, nothing.

When your mother walks back in with you by her side, the first thing Charles notes is that you look like you haven’t slept in days. From what he was told about you, you’ve been having visions of what you say are of the future, but that’s not what is concerning your parents. The last time they came in during one of your nightmares, everything in your room was levitating...including you. You have a mutation similar to one of his other patients, Jean Gray, but seeing the future is new to him. He’s never heard of anything like it, and with the right teaching you will be able to see danger from miles away.

He stands, as does your father, and everyone spends a moment looking at you. They all wait for you to say something, but you look like you’re in some sort of trance. Again, Charles doesn’t like to read minds, and he’s even more against reading yours then reading your parents. But he sees the expression on your face and thinks that, at this point, the only way to know what has you in this state is to go to the source.

“Thank you for coming in today,” he tells your parents, “is there anything else you’d like me to explain to you before you leave?”

He expected them to want to get out of the building as fast as possible, so he’s taken by surprise when they nod, asking if they can have a short meeting with him about the care you’ll be getting. He supposes that they may fear you now more than they did before, but you’re still their daughter and they still care about you.

“Peter,” Charles says to the passing nurse as he makes his rounds. He motions for Peter to come over and take you to one of the vacant rooms, taking you from your mother's arm and guiding you to Peter. He nods and puts a hand on your back to guide you upstairs.

“He’ll see that she’s taken to a room. We have plenty of open ones, you have nothing to worry about,” Charles smiles, seeing the couples’ obvious discomfort at having Peter, who had run over to them using his mutation, leading their daughter away from them.

“That boy,” you father points at Peter, “he’s a nurse?”

“That he is,” Charles nods, smiling at the two as they disappear down the hall, “one of the best we have. He gets where he needs to be.”

“Y/N, I’m a mutant as well,” Charles tells you. He had just come back from talking to your parents and felt it necessary to have a talk with you about your move here, “I have the ability to...read minds.”

As he expected, there is obvious fear in your eyes, and he hears you ask a silent question, has he been reading mine?

“I haven’t,” he tells you, and your eyes widen even further, but you remain silent, “but I was wondering if you would be okay with me looking at some of your dreams.”

You speak for the first time, and your voice is hoarse from what he’s guessing is disuse.

“Why?”

Charles leans forward, looking you in the eyes long enough that it would make most people shift in their seat, but you meet his gaze, unfazed. “Because I’ve never seen a mutation like yours. In all my years, I’ve seen a lot, but never someone with the ability to see the future. I want to know more so that I can give you the best care here.”

“You want to study me,” you state, looking into his eyes to read his reaction to your accusation.

Charles laughs shortly and shakes his head. “No, not at all. This isn’t a lab. Think of it more as...as a school.”

“School?”

Charles nods and points around the room, encouraging you to look where he’s pointing. “Look at where you are. Does this look like a room that would be in a mental hospital?”

You follow his finger, taking a moment to look around at the details of the room that you hadn't seen when you first walked in. There’s a small dresser with some books stacked on the top in the corner of the room. The walls and all of the furniture are wood, not white like you would expect from a hospital. And the sheets aren’t white either, they’re a light blue. All in all, the room is very colorful, not at all what you’d expect from a hospital.

“It doesn’t.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he repeats, meeting your gaze again. “I know what you think about mutants. You’ve been taught to fear us, and now yourself. But I can assure you that we’re just like everyone else. We just have a little...upgrade. Mutations aren’t dangerous if you know how to control them, and that’s what I teach at this school.”

“But...parents are happy with the results of the hos- of the school. If you’re not doing anything to stop people from using their powers, why do you get such good reviews?”

“Because by teaching mutants to control their powers, they can easily hide them.”

It’s a smart idea, teach people to contain what society doesn’t want to see, but you’re still having trouble getting past the fact that you’re basically going to school again. Except this time it’s because you have powers, and you’ll be surrounded by other mutants instead of normal people like you.

Well, not like you anymore.

“Now, about looking at those dreams of yours...”

You look at him, unsure of the proposal, but you know that the best way for him to teach you is to know exactly what he’s teaching. You nod and he smiles, telling you to relax and close your eyes, clearing your mind of any distracting thoughts. To focus solely on the dreams.

You can feel him in your mind, going through your memories and avoiding the ones that are irrelevant to his goal, skimming over ones that might be of use later. Finally, he finds what he’s looking for. The particular dream he finds is from a few nights ago, one of the worst you’ve had.

He takes a minute, but by the time he takes his hand off your forehead and tells you to open your eyes, you feel like no time has passed at all. It almost put you to sleep, the gentle feeling of the doctor digging through your memories. You guess that he’s had a lot of practice to make it feel that calming.

“That is...something,” he snaps your out of your thoughts.

“Did you see it?”

“It was fuzzy. Dreams aren’t like memories, they’re harder for me to see. It’s difficult to remember dreams exactly as they happened, so trying to see someone else’s is very difficult. But I saw fragments. I saw enough to get the big picture.”

You look at each other for a long moment before you can barely help from telling him what you think it means

“I know what it is,” you whisper, getting his attention away from his own thoughts, “it’s the end of the world.”

“I’d like you to keep an eye on her, “Charles says as he walks alongside Peter, who had been itching to get away from the doctor for just a minute to stretch his legs, but his day had been one of the busiest of the month and he figured his itch to run could wait until his shift ended.

“Who? Y/N?” Peter takes your file from Charles and flips through it, skimming through the notes Charles had taken about your dreams. You had been at the school only one night, and fortunately it had been free of nightmares. It was important to Charles that you have a good nights sleep your first night in the hospital. If your first night in an unfamiliar place had been taken over by a nightmare, it would have made adjusting to your new life that much harder.

“If she has an episode, someone needs to be there to wake her up. I don’t know how much harm she can do when she’s asleep, but I’d rather not find out.”

“Can’t someone who has a night shift do it?”

“I’m just trying to have you around her because you’re her age, she’ll trust you more. She wasn’t like you when you came in Peter, her parents view us as monsters and it will take her longer to adjust. And if she’s having an episode I’m not sure if having Logan burst in on her is the best idea.”

“Right,” Peter sighs, handing the file back, “so I’m a babysitter now?”

Charles chuckles and shakes his head. “I don’t think ‘babysitter’ is the right word for it.”

“Charles, I love it here, but I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“Trust me, Peter, neither do I.”

Trust is hard for you at a place like this. Charles’ suspicions about you not being too fond of mutants was right. Your parents had instilled the idea that mutants were nothing but poison to society into you from a young age. The idea was to keep you away from them, but those ideas didn’t help you adjust to becoming one of them.

Meeting them is far from what you expected. You’ve had yet to meet anyone in the hospital who has been anything but kind to you. Charles is probably the kindest person you’ve ever met, from the words of encouragement when you’re trying to learn to control your powers to the way he looks out for every one of his patients. Hank reminds you of a friend from sophomore year, so you’ve found yourself incapable of being intimidated by his appearance, and Jean reminds you a lot of yourself. Everyone in the hospital, whether they work there or they’re a patient, has been the opposite of your image of a mutant.

The only person you have yet to meet is the man in the room next to yours, Erik. According to Charles, he’s one of the more unstable patients with one of the more dangerous mutations. He thinks it’s better if Erik just stays in his room. You’ve found that you agree him.

Peter is who you spend the most time with, and he has become the person you go to for almost everything. Whether you’re bored or in need of someone to talk to, Peter is the first person you think of.

“Do they scare you?” he asks one day when the two of you are taking a walk through the courtyard. There’s not much to do in the hospital, but you’re content just walking outside with Peter and watching everyone play games or practice their powers.

“What? The dreams?” you raise your eyebrows, pursing your lips when he nods. “Yeah. I mean, it’s doesn’t make much sense. All I see are people running screaming and lights are flashing making it hard to make out anything, but I just feel so much pain and...and death.”

Peter listens carefully, knowing that he’ll have to write down what you’re saying when you go back inside. This seems like something Charles would want to know, seeing as how he’d taken a specific interest in you and your dreams. Peter has to admit, the possibility of you being able to see into the future is fascinating, but neither him nor Charles know if that’s what this is. There’s always the possibility that these are just nightmares and your only mutation is telekinesis.

“That must be horrible to see.”

You nod. “It feels like I’m just...watching the world end.”

Days pass and Peter sticks with you for most of them, coming and going when he can, helping give you tips about your power, and even showing you his own. You had finally met Erik, who, as it turns out, is Peter’s father. Apparently the man had been through more than anyone was willing to explain, but as Peter had put it, he had lost more than anyone else in the hospital.

“He has you, doesn’t he?”

Peter shrugs. “At this point, I’m not really enough.”

My phone has no signal, It's making my skin crawl, the silence is so loud. The lights spark and flicker with monsters much bigger than I can control now.

The night you had your first nightmare in the hospital was much later than anyone expected. It was on your fifth day staying in the hospital, and you were praying before then that they were ending. It had been months since the dreams had stopped for this long and it felt like the weight of the world was lifting off your shoulders.

Then tonight, it all fell back and the feeling of it was crushing.

This dream wasn’t unlike any of the others. Screams, lights, pain, death, the whole package. But this time things were a bit clearer. There were these...awful growls coming from every direction, like something was surrounding you. You could vaguely make out blurry forms of what looked like animals near you, and suddenly the overwhelming feeling of being absolutely powerless washed over you. That feeling, along with the familiar feeling of death seeping into your mind, was probably what triggered it this time.

When Peter ran into the room, calling Logan’s name along the way, the sight before him was something he hadn’t expected. You had explained to him what happened before and he thought he had a good picture of how bad the episodes would get, but he was wrong.

As you described before, everything in the room was levitating, still in the chaos of the room. Then right above your bed, you floated with your eyes squeezed shut, your blanket hanging off your waist messily. Your mouth was open in a silent scream and if he had to describe the sight in one word, he would have said it looked like you were having a seizure by the way your were shaking. But he knew better, and from what Charles told him the best thing to do at this point would be to wake you up.

“Y/N!” is the first thing he shouts, before he even comes in contact with you. Then he uses his speed to get to you, standing on the bed next to you but hesitating to touch you.

“What are you waiting for, kid?” Logan’s voice behind him startles him, “wake her up!”

He nods and focuses back on you, tapping your arm and breathing your name, getting nothing in response. He grabs onto your arm, giving it a soft shake, then a harder one, still getting no response.

“Y/N! Wake up, dammit!”

He shakes you harder and harder until it’s clear that you won’t wake up, so he yells for Logan to wake Charles and he backs away from you, looking around the room for anything that might be able to wake you up. You don’t have much with you, just some clothes and a couple books. There’s nothing that would help with his current situation.

“Peter,” he hears Charles’ voice behind him and he backs away, looking at the doctor with wide eyes. “I... I don’t know why she won’t wake up.”

Charles looks at your shaking form and stands next to Peter on the bed, closing his eyes and putting a hand to your forehead. Almost immediately, you fall back along with everything in the room and your body stills. Charles opens his eyes and looks at you, slowly starting to stir from the events.

“Please take her to the infirmary,” Charles tells Peter, “she’s burning up.”

Peter nods and lifts you up, getting you to the infirmary in seconds, startling the nurse working the night shift.

“Peter! I’ve told you not to do that,” she scolds him, her gaze then falling to you as Peter sets you down on the examination table, “is she our clairvoyant?”

“Her name is Y/N. She has a bad fever, Charles wanted me to bring her here.”

“What’s going on?” you mumble, catching their attention as you try to sit up from the table. Peter immediately catches your shoulder, gently pushing you back to lay down again.

“Take it easy,” he says, “you just had quite the dream.”

“Yeah, tell me about,” you mutter, sighing. “Thought I might’ve been home free this time.”

The treatment for dreams is pretty simple, as it turns out. The nurses weren’t really sure what to do besides give you medicine to help with the fever. No one in the hospital had seen a mutation like yours and they wondered how Charles would be able to teach you to control it. It seemed like he himself didn’t even know the answer to that question.

It took you two months to feel completely comfortable in the hospital, surrounded by people who you had been raised to fear. There were certain people who helped, like Jean, who you bonded with over your similar mutation, and Peter. Charles had been something of a role model for you over the months that you had been there, but you figured that everyone felt the same way. He’s definitely someone to look up to.

But it seemed that you were the only one who took a special interest in Peter, besides the other nurses who he had already befriended. Of course, he was very well liked around the hospital, but doing well on his rounds and being close with his patients are two very different things.

He’s told you multiple times that you’re one of the most compelling people he’s worked with, and although he admitted that Charles had been the one to ask him to spend time with you, it didn’t seem to matter after the first month. After the initial time it took to get used to living with mutants, Peter had already broken through your wall and made a home in your heart.

“It’s good here, you know,” he tells you at night, after you have a nightmare, “if you’re going to have a nightmare, it’s best if you have them with Charles here to help.”

Those small reassurances were what helped you adjust more then anything else. Thanks to Peter, you learned to disregard something your parents had been telling you your entire life in the span of three months.

The nightmares, although they were never any less severe then they had been to begin with, were less and less frequent, and that may have been due to the fact that Peter had begun to stay with you while you were falling asleep. It had started after one bad night when you woke up from a nightmare in something of a trance, dead to the outside world. It took until the next afternoon to get you back to the real world, and you were told that your episode had scared quite a few people. When you saw Peter that same afternoon he had wrapped you in an unexpected yet welcomed hug, telling you he was glad you were back with them.

Charles didn’t request that Peter do anything extra to help you through the night, but that night after your episode, he told you his concerns about leaving you alone. He was afraid that you may have a nightmare, but this time you won’t come out of the dream-like state that you were trapped in for nearly half a day.

So he stayed with you through the night, leaving early enough to start his shift that you weren’t awake yet.

The first few nights he stayed with you, he only laid under the covers next to you, making sure to keep at a comfortable distance in hopes that he wouldn’t trigger an episode, but as time went on you started feeling more comfortable with him there. Eventually, he would wake up wrapped around you, having moved during the night. It was nice, and he found that he enjoyed having you in his arms.

So he started to scoot closer to you before he went to sleep, every night closing the space between you more and more until eventually he would fall asleep with you already in his arms, both of you content to hold each other until he had to leave for his shift in the morning.

Your dreams became scarce with Peter there to keep you calm. Whenever he sensed you were having the beginning of a nightmare, he would immediately wake you up to make sure that it didn’t get any worse.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he tells you one night when you begin to shake against him, having just woken up from what he assumes was a particularly bad nightmare. “I’m here, it’s okay.”

“They’re coming,” you whisper, turning over to press your face into his chest. He pulls you closer and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“You’re okay, Y/N.”

You pull away from him and stand, going to the bathroom and splashing water over your face. They’re much clearer now, the monsters that always surround you in your dreams. The things that were causing all of the pain and all of the death.

Peter stays in bed, sitting up and running a hand over his face, wiping at his eyes in an attempt to wake up more. He looks up to see you still leaning over the sink, letting it run as you calm yourself down.

“Y/N,” he says quietly, “are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you say, your voice hoarse. You look up and meet his eyes in the mirror, but they widen when you see the same creature from your dreams standing next to the bed, slowing creeping towards you with it’s mouth open, a black abyss coming towards you.

You let out a gasp and turn around quickly, looking around the room for the creature. Peter’s eyes widen at your sudden movements and he moves towards you as you flip the light on, looking around frantically.

“It was there,” you say, covering your mouth with one hand. “It was right there.”

You slide down the wall and bury your face in your hands. You’re going insane, you can feel it. These dreams are taking a physical and mental toll on you, a toll that you won’t be able to handle if this goes on for much longer. You can still see the monster standing there, just staring at you.

“Hey, come here,” Peter puts his hands cautiously on your waist, waiting to see if you want him there or if you want space. When you shift closer to him, he sits next to you and pulls you towards him. He wraps his arms around you as you gasp for breath, trying to rid your mind of the images from your dream and from your apparent hallucinations.

“You’re safe here,” Peter whispers, although you both know that’s not true. There’s something coming, something that will show you no mercy.

Something is coming to kill you. All of you.

Welcome to the panic room, where all your darkest fears are gonna come for you, come for you. Welcome to the panic room, you'll know I wasn't joking when you see them too, see them too.

(x)

#peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff imagine #peter maximoff imagines #quicksilver x reader #quicksilver x you #quicksilver imagine #quicksilver imagines #xmen imagine #xmen imagines #marvel imagine #marvel imagines

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