#anyway I was thinking about those circumstances and what that's like (like packing funeral clothes when they weren't originally in the plan | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

riversofmars · 3 years

Note

Sometimes 13 just poses as a student and attends rivers lectures.

Hellooo! I’ve been saving this prompt for a long time cause I love it so much and now finally did something exciting with it! This is actually a little collaboration I did with @serawalkerwrites. She keeps getting asked to write for DW and never has, so we decided to do a little thing together! Basically, we took turns writing paragraphs! She's written the River bits and I wrote for 13. Really fun thing to do because our styles are quite different but it worked :D Apart from the fact that she made me write in present tense which I hate lmao! Also, if you like American Horror Story or Ratched, check out her stuff!

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2300

Read on AO3 or below

Like The First Time

“I might be younger and far prettier than the other Professors at this University, but that doesn't mean I don't expect the same level of good behaviour from my students,“ Professor River Song barks up the rows of lecture hall seating, slapping her papers on the desk. She tosses her bouncing curls of hair and brings her hands to her hips, watching the chatting students in the back row and waiting for them to take notice. That blonde girl seems to whispering at some speed, with enthusiastic hand gestures to boot. “That means you in the back row!“ She raises her voice again, finally getting the young blondes attention.

The Doctor hadn’t been able to stop herself. When River had started talking about the Venusian tomb she’d visited not long ago, it had been a perfect opportunity to tell the other students about the time she’d been invited to a funeral service there. It’s an incredibly stupid thing to do, of course. She isn’t meant to interact with anyone - as strictly speaking - she isn’t meant to be here. For a start she isn’t actually a student at Luna University; for another, she could very well be causing some damage to the fabric of space and time. Visiting her wife earlier in her timeline is risky… but she hasn’t been able to stay away. Sometimes, when the Doctor misses her a lot, she sits in on her lectures, right at the back. She knows River won’t recognise her and she never speaks to her… there’s no harm no foul is there? However, a slip up is bound to happen eventually.

Now, as she looks at River, who is shooting her piercing glare from the front of the auditorium, the Doctor realises she’s messed up. The Doctor looks left and right to the other students, hoping it’s one of them River is scolding.

“Yes you, don't act like I cant see you -“ River lifts her eyebrows at the petulant student. “Forget it, I’m not shouting at you from down here, stay behind after class. Then we’ll talk, and believe me you won’t like what I have to say.“ River rolls her eyes away, a taut huff tumbling from her lips to find her inner calm once again, before continuing. “Now where were we…“

The Doctor shrinks back in her seat, her neighbouring students giving her sympathetic smiles. Others just snicker and smirk. River has a reputation for strictness, no-one messes with her…The Doctor’s made a big mistake. She glances to the exit; she can still escape this situation. But if she does, she’ll never be able to come back. Perhaps it’s time to face her wife at last. She gnaws her bottom lip anxiously and tries her best to sit still for the remainder of the lecture.

As a shrill bell rings out, signalling the end of class and an end to the Doctors torture, River watches the troublemaker while she packs her things. Students rise to their feet, stuff their bags with books and file out in an eager swarm, heading into the midday sunshine. But not this student. She’s bouncing down the steps to the front, an epic grey coat and too-short trousers have her piquing River’s interest before they start talking. “Ah, good. At least you decided to be smart this time and not run-off out the doors. I would have found you,“ River informs the girl, whose swinging her arms and looking guilty. If this were any other circumstance, then River might have bought her a drink. But as it is, she's her student, however adorable she is. “Care to tell me what is so pressing you had to take time out of my lecture to talk about it?“

“Ah well, you know, the whole thing about the Venusian tomb, just brought back some memories to when I was learning Venusian aikido. There was this one time when I was invited to a funeral at one, which - you know - is a big deal for any outsider and…“ The Doctor starts rambling, unable to stop herself. A grin spreads across her features, hoping to entertain River with her story, as she had done so many times in the past. River always liked to listen to recounts of her adventures.

“Venusian Aikido?“ River folds her arms, skeptical. “They don’t teach that to just anyone. I happen to be a black belt myself.“

“Oh I know.“ The Doctor grins.

“It’s not on my resumé,“ River parries, her eyebrows lifting into an arch. “So someone told you. Perhaps at this funeral, you supposedly attended?“ River laughs doubting the girls claims. “No-one just gets invited to a Venusian funeral, or a wedding, or any kind of ceremony unless you’re a honoured noble. Which you clearly cannot be, no offence Sweetie but -“ River pauses. She stares at the blonde and her mismatched clothing, then bunches her lips. “What did you say your name was?“

The Doctor doesn’t answer immediately. This is it, the moment of truth. She could just tell her… surely there’s no harm in it. This is River Song after losing her parents in Manhattan, and before Darillium; there is no real reason to keep her identity from her. Apart from the fact that she isn't sure how she will react. They didn’t see each other for so long in between Manhattan and Darillium, enough for River to come to doubt if the Doctor had ever truly loved her. Her words still echo through the back of the Doctor’s mind now. The Doctor doesn’t and has never loved me. - But you are the woman who loves the Doctor. - Yes I am. I never denied it. But whoever said he loved me back? Those words still haunt the Doctor, even after spending 24 years with her in which she’d done everything she could to convince her of just the opposite.

“Jane Smith.“ The Doctor answers at last with a thin smile.

River lets out a loud chortle. “Jane Smith? Of course it is,“ River replies not believing her for a second. Who has the most standard name of all names like that? River postures a little, shuffles her papers around into a neat pile already thinking of the lunch that’s waiting for her in the refectory, because she's not getting any truth from this girl. “I don't recall your name on my student register; so…how about you tell me the truth.“ River hooks her bag over her shoulder and takes a long stride forward, claiming the podium as her space, the lecturer to the student. River examines her, because if she’s not her student, then who is she? All beautiful round eyes and choppy blonde hair, River certainly doesn't recognise her. Should she, recognise her? “Or you can come to my office and explain yourself there.“

“I uhh…“ The Doctor swallows hard. Of course she doesn’t believe her, people rarely do initially; but usually she can use her psychic paper to back up her identity. She knows River would see right through that if she tried it, so that isn’t an option. “Well, I’ve actually got somewhere else to be. A really very important…thing. A thing that can’t wait, so…it was really nice talking to you, brilliant lecture. Slightly exaggerated in some parts but - you know - got to keep the students engaged…“ Her eyes flick to the door. She’s parked her TARDIS in a supply closet, so it’s not far away.

“Are you calling my stories embellished?“ River trails after this Jane Smith towards the door, flabbergasted. She’s a bone fide time traveller, she knows her subject matter better than anyone in the known universe, except - “It’s not as though you can possible know better? How old are you anyway, twelve?“ She carries on trying to get under the girl’s skin, who is clearly hiding something. “Where on earth are you going? You realise that’s the closet.“

“Why are you following me?“ The Doctor had hoped to simply shake her but River seems to have different ideas. She doesn’t dare open the supply closet door, River would see the TARDIS and she would be done for. But where else could she possibly go? She looks around anxiously for a way out.

“Mmm it seems you might be trapped…“ River drops her voice to a knowing whisper. She smirks, delighting in watching the girl fret.

“I just… forgot which way I… uhh…“ The Doctor struggles for a response suddenly aware of how close River is getting to her. And that smirk… She knows it all too well. Like a lioness stalking her prey. She can’t even think of a credible lie to get her out of her predicament.

“Which way you meant to go?“ River bobs her finger on her lip pretending to think hard about it. “My office is this way, if you didn't get the hint earlier.“ River ghosts her hands over the girls hips, rubbing into her hipbones with her thumbs and sucking her lips and humming. “Jane Smith. I appreciate the code name. You can slip me your paper later, I’ll be sure to mark it up a grade, well, depending on your performance of course.“ River winks coyly.

“I…“ The Doctor’s mouth suddenly feels really dry, she can’t speak. Flirting and reading innuendo isn’t exactly her forte but River can’t possibly be more obvious with her advances. Is this what River is like when she isn’t around? The Doctor isn’t sure whether to be flattered or hurt. They’re not exactly exclusive but she doesn’t like her nose rubbed in it like this. But at the same time, perhaps this is an opportunity… She could be with River without having to reveal her identity… but is that something she wanted to do under false pretences?

“Good talk, come along!“ River grins and leads the way across the lecture hall to the staff door, and unlocks it with a quick key-twizzle, then presses the door open wide to wave ‚Jane‘ through. River uses the opportunity to loop her arm around Jane’s waist and scoops her in the right direction down the hall towards her office.

The Doctor doesn’t know what to do. Things are moving fast, River doesn’t even give her a chance to protest. Her hearts seem to skip their beats when River pulls her along.

Once inside, River tosses the door shut and wastes no time in pushing Jane against it, roaming her hands up and down her sides and snapping the elastic braces. “These are retro, but I can go with the flow, off they coooome…“ River sings as she yanks them off Jane’s shoulders, then the coat, and where is the edge of this t-shirt? River is keen to feel her hands up Jane’s abdomen, and the flush of her skin. River knows her hands are rough - years of archeological digs will do that to a girl - but Jane is young and sweet enough to need a little roughing up.

“River…“ The Doctor tries to protest, this was moving too fast. Her breath catches when River untucks her t-shirt. The Doctor is still getting used to this new body and she suddenly feels very hot.

“First names already? My my…“ River tosses her mane of hair out the way as she leans in to kiss Jane on the neck, biting her and enjoying teasing her far too much. “Sweetie you do give yourself away, even in this body,“ River tickles her teeth along the Doctor’s collarbone searching for the next spot to bite. “I mean, I like it darling, but give me a heads next time -“ River explores the Doctor’s petite body with enthusiasm. “My apparatus is your apparatus and all that, got to get my head around it.“

“You knew?!“ The Doctor blurts out and pushes her off, holds her at arms length. “And you just played along?!“ She’s breathless from River’s kisses but her outrage overshadows her arousal.

River unbuttons her shirt confidently, tearing the sides apart and presenting her body to the Doctor once again, even if it’s all new for the Doctor, River is still River. “Well what did you think? I do this with all my students, Jane Smith?“ She smiles a broad, proud River smile and holds her hands out for the Doctor to take. “I’m married, remember?“ Mutually exclusive is…a bit of stretch, there might be other husbands here and there, but there is only one Doctor. “So, wife, how about a little ride on the merry-go-round with this new body?“

The Doctor just stares at her for a moment. It’s been a while since Darillium but she still recalls every moment, and River is just as beautiful as she remembers. And just as much of a temptress. She bites her lip, suddenly feeling very insecure. It would be her first time in this body…and it’s her first time being a woman as far as she can remember. That’s a lot to be anxious about.

Softening the come-on, River takes the Doctors hands and steps closer to her, squeezing her hands in reassurance. “I knew it would happen eventually, a wife and not a husband. It’s okay, you know.“ River takes a deep breath, and kisses her wife properly for the first time. Her lips are thinner softer and taste of cinnamon, but she kisses back just like her husband did. Her Doctor. “I love you. This adorable new body is just a bonus,“ she says gently, then kisses her nose for extra effect.

The Doctor can’t help but chuckle as she looks up to her. This was new. She is shorter than her! Though only due to River’s ridiculously high heels.

“I love you, too.“ She whispers nuzzling into her crook of her neck as she wraps her arms around her. River smells exactly the way she remembers, like sunshine on a spring day. “I’ve missed you so much.“ She confesses.

#Doctor Who #fanfiction #collaboration #prompt #river song #thirteen #thirteenth doctor #river x thirteen #thirteen/river #space wives #teen #It's professor song to you #Jodie whittaker #Alex kingston #femslash #fluff #flirting #otp #yes this was the secret project lmao

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ya-boi-hawkeye · 6 years

Text

Second In Command

While the men prepared the base, Kane sat outside, watching the night sky as the stars circled overhead. A few of the men noticed and sat out with them, all waiting for the same thing, yet none of them speaking a word.

Kane knew Stela wouldn’t come, that there was no way for her to come. She didn’t know which base he had chosen, nor that this base had even existed. She had insisted she not know. In case Kylo Ren broke her.

Ren. Kane grit his teeth at the thought of what that monster did to Stela. He couldn’t stop his mind from trying to fill in the blanks, from trying to figure out what must have happened, or what was happening. Had Ren killed her outright, arcing his blade up and through her body, like a machete through a young vine? Had she been taken prisoner; could she still be alive?

Kane shook his head, trying not to think about it. Stela would die before she’d break, before she’d let herself be brought in like a prize. If she didn’t find them by dawn, then there was little doubt in Kane’s mind that his friend was dead. It had been a suicide mission from the very start, and they both knew it. Stela had given her life so that the militia could survive.

The night was tense, it was long, but Kane didn’t want it to end. So long as the sky was still dark, he could pretend that Stela was on her way. But when the sky turned orange, and the sun peaked up over the horizon, he couldn’t lie to himself anymore, and he stood up. Without Stela to lead them, it was up to him. It’s was his duty as her Second.

“What will you tell Martin?” One of the men asked, and Kane’s heart began to break all over again. First James and now Stela, and that meant he was all Martin had left in the world.

“I’ll think of something,” Kane said, before splitting off to go find the boy.

Martin, when Kane found him, was in one of the common areas, asleep on a small pile of blankets, with Victory curled around the boy like he was her own pup. Under any other circumstances it would have been a wonderful sight. But now all Kane could do was wonder if having the Vornskr with her would have spared Stela.

Shaking his head to try and clear that thought from it, Kane bent down and picked the child up, earning a huff from Victory and a whine from Martin.

“Martin,” he said quietly. “You need to wake up.”

“What about Mommy?” Martin asked, rubbing at his eyes. “Is she here yet?”

“No,” Kane said. “She’s…”

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t tell Martin what had happened to Stela, how his mother wouldn’t be coming. He knew Martin would find out one day, would learn what had become of his mother, but not yet. Kane wasn’t ready for that yet.

“She’s gonna meet us here,” Kane lied. “Later. She’s just finishing up at the old base. But if this one isn’t ready by the time she gets here, I’m gonna get in trouble.” Martin believed him, thankfully, though the boy still struggled to wake fully. When it became apparent that Martin was still very tired Kane resigned himself to just carrying the boy to his new room. If nothing else, it gave him something to focus on other than Stela.

———-

Three days passed, things were starting to get up and running again, yet there was still an atmosphere of grief hanging over the militia. The only life lost had been Stela’s but there wasn’t a single person in the Militia who hadn’t known and, if not respected, at least cared about her. Of everyone they could have lost, her death hit the hardest.

So really, Kane shouldn’t have been surprised when three men approached him, looking like they had business.

“Sir,” the first one said. “We would like to request your permission to search for the Commander’s body. It’s been a few days; the base is surely cleared. We…it’s not right to leave her there.”

Three days in the heat, with the bugs and scavengers. Kane wasn’t sure how much would be left of Stela’s body, if he’d even want to see it, and yet…he could understand their reasoning. She deserved a funeral at the very least.

“Be careful,” Kane said. “If you see anyone, retreat. Stela wouldn’t want you dying just to find her body. But…you have my blessing. Bring our girl home.”

“Yes sir,” the three said, before leaving on their mission.

When they returned, it was empty handed. Kane’s heart lurched; stupidly he had gotten his hopes up that he’d at least be able to bury his friend.

“Maybe…” one of the men started, before stopping, struggling to find his words. “Maybe they took her prisoner? She could still be alive?”

Oh, how Kane wanted to believe that. That Stela was off in some First Order cell, being grilled for intel yet still alive. Except he knew better, and he shook his head.

“They’ve been trying for her for years,” he said. “If they had her, they would have announced it. Made a spectacle of it.”

“Maybe she escaped?” Another suggested, and Kane’s hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“She would have met us if she had escaped,” he said. “No, they killed her, and then took her. Because that’s all they know how to do.” Killing her wasn’t enough, Ren couldn’t have even left them her body. Kane had heard stories, that the Knight liked to take trophies from his enemies, and there wasn’t an ounce of doubt in Kane’s mind that’s what had happened.

“We’ll build an altar for her,” Kane said. “Next Dia de los Muertos, we’ll do right by her.”

———-

“She brought it on herself.” Kane’s head snapped up at that, his blood starting to boil. He pushed himself up from the table and walked towards Mile and the group starting to form around him.

“Say that again,” Kane said, his fists clenching. “Say that again, because I must have misheard you. Because I know you didn’t just mean to imply that Stela deserved to die, Sol.” Miles scowled at that, standing tall to meet Kane’s challenge.

“Don’t you dare,” Miles said. “Don’t you kriffing dare, put words in my mouth. Stela didn’t deserve half the shit I’m sure that monster did to her, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t bring it on herself. Stela took a risk, she made a mistake, and it killed her.”

“Miles…” Kane whispered, going pale. Miles blinked and turned around, only to see Martin, who had been attracted by the yelling, standing there, tears starting to well in his pale eyes. Before any of the adults could say anything, he turned and ran.

“Martin,” Miles said, helpless. “Kane, I didn’t…” Kane grit his teeth, fighting the urge to punch the other man.

“I should have told him,” Kane finally admitted. “I should have told him, but I didn’t. I didn’t want…I don’t know what I wanted.” He sighed, slumping in defeat. “I’ll go talk to him.”

He found Martin in his quarters, sobbing into Victory’s side. The vornskr’s tail thumped gently against the ground, and she licked the boy every so often in an attempt to soothe him. Kane stepped forward, sat down on the ground beside the pair, and reached out to place a hand on Martin’s back.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have told you, but…your mama ain’t coming back.” He took Martin into his arms, holding the boy close as he cried.

“She said she’d come back,” Martin said. “She promised.”

“I know,” Kane said. “And it broke her heart to lie, but she had to keep you safe. Your mama loved you so much.” He closed his eyes, starting to cry himself. “I’m here, though. I promise I won’t leave you. And I mean it. I won’t.”

———-

The scout was panting and red faced when he reached base, struggling to regain his breath. That alone made Kane’s blood run cold, and he feared that the First Order, that Kylo Ren, had found them. That Stela had given her life in vain, because they were all doomed to be destroyed anyway.

But the scout was smiling, which didn’t match tone of Kane’s worst fears.

“Report,” Kane barked, growing impatient as well as anxious.

“The Commander,” the scout said. “I sighted her near the Northern edge of the lake. She’s alive!”

“You saw her?” Kane's heart stopped at that, the whole world slowing down to a grinding halt. “You can confirm?”

“Absolutely Sir.” The scout nodded. “Muñoz went to go assist, I came back as soon as I could to give word. She looks… she looks bad Sir.”

“Kriff.” Kane couldn't believe it.

Stela was alive.

“Get to medical!” It buzzed under his skin, the first wash of relief followed by the register of what the scout had said. “Tell them to prep!”

Kane watched the scout rush off, his brain running a mile a minute. The northern lake, that’s where he needed to be. He took off running in that direction, ignoring the folks he knocked out of his way, and their startled questions. Those he answered with an urgent wave, feet crossing the camp and bringing him towards the lake.

It was then that he saw her.

The sight of Stela hit Kane like a freight train; she was bloody, and covered in dirt, her clothes torn and her hair a crazy nest…

But she was alive.

Kane was struck by a strong urge then, either to hug her or choke her, he couldn’t be entirely sure. Both, probably?

“Stela!” She sagged her weight against him, one arm slung around his shoulder as her legs nearly gave out. “Damn girl, what the hell happened to you?”

Did Kylo Ren do this to you?

Kane couldn’t ask that question, not yet. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. Though… he couldn’t imagine that Kylo Ren would let her survive if he was able. Granted, the man had been in pretty rough shape, dehydrated and malnourished. It had been a week though, who knew what could have happened?

“Ran into some First Order patrols, a pack of vornskr.” She coughed, breath coming out in rough pants. “Fucking finding this place.”

“You told me to pick a spot you didn’t know.” Kane pointed out. “Stop talking for a second we need to get you to medical.”

There were a million questions that he wanted to ask, questions that he needed to ask, in terms of safety. But they would wait, they would wait until the medics could get a look at her. Make sure that there wasn’t anything serious. It looked bad, it all looked bad, and he could feel the strain of her trying to hold herself together.

“Kane.” She squeezed his shoulder, an urgent look in her eyes.

They were close, the techs running out to get to them, offering a helping hand. “I told you to stop talking.”

“Kane, where’s Martin?” There was an urgency in the question, wild eyed fright. “Where’s my son?”

Who’s Martin?

In all that time, that week where they didn’t know whether she had lived or died, hoping for the best but expecting the worst, it occurred to him. Stela didn’t know either. She didn’t know who’d survived, if anyone.

Whoever he is, I think I’ll kill him when I get loose.

She blamed herself, Kane didn’t need the Force to know that.

I think that you’re getting desperate; you and your men are going to slip up one of these days and when that happens I’ll make my escape. These binders won’t hold me forever and when I do get free—and I will—I won’t rest until I’ve collected all of the heads of your little Militia. I think I’ll arrange them in a nice pyramid and maybe I’ll put Martin’s at the top.

“He’s fine.” Kane assured her quickly. “He’s taking a nap, we’ve been keeping him busy a lot lately. Victory hasn’t left his side but, kriff, Stela, he’s gonna be so happy you’re back.”

“I want to see him Kane.” She leaned forward, almost immediately being gently pushed back by the attending.

“You might be my Commander, but right now you’re also my patient.” He scolded gently. “You don’t want it to be like this. Let us get you cleaned up first.”

“He’s safe?” Stela asked, allowing the medics to treat her wounds.

“He’s safe.” And likely Martin already knew.

He probably knew that Stela was back before any of them. It was a huge relief, to see her there, a little roughed up, sure, but still alive. Still surviving. It was like an immutable constant in a way, that Stela was always alive and always there and so long as she was, it was easier to believe that everything would be alright. Which was more than a little fucked up, putting that kind of pressure and those sorts of expectations on her he knew—but what about their situation wasn’t fucked up?

She relaxed at that, slumping back into the bed. “Go on, say it.”

Oh, he was going to say it.

“I told you this was a bad idea.” He snapped, moving out of the way as the others worked around him.

She looked worse than she was, he thought, looked better now that they were actually able to get her cleaned up. Which made him feel less bad about yelling her.

“I told you it would be better to just kill him and get it over with. We didn’t need the information that bad. And then you go and decide to face him by yourself!” Kane’s voice was raising, and he knew objectively that it wasn’t helping.

“What was I supposed to do, Kane? I couldn’t ask any of you to face him, you could have been killed.”

“So could you.” The words rang out between them like an accusation. “For kriff’s sake, girl, what part of that do you not understand? You’re so kriffing valuable to this militia, more than me, more than anyone else. You can’t just go throwing yourself at danger at every turn—I know that you want to fight for your home, and for all of us, but we need you to make sure you come back. I don’t want your damn job, and you can’t help anyone if you get yourself killed doing some reckless shit.”

“You’re right.” The words came out small, tired and almost defeated, and Kane didn’t know if that was worse than the arguing he’d expected.

“Fuck, you don’t. I thought I was going to die.” She shook her head, reaching out for him. “I was so scared, I thought this would be it, this would be the last time that I would get to see my son, or see you, again.”

“Stela.” He sighed, giving her hand a squeeze and pulling her into a gentle hug. “Damnit.”

“I know.” She gave him a small laugh, leaning against him. “I’m sorry. I really am. But I’ll do anything to keep you all safe.”

“You can do that better by staying alive.” He replied a little waspishly.

“I know.” She said again.

Kane let out a shaky breath, holding his best friend, letting himself feel that she was there and alive. “Your job sucks.”

That earned a laugh, and a gentle poke in his ribs. “And here I thought I might convince you to let me go into early retirement.”

“Not on your life, girl.” He said seriously. “We’ve already decided, I’m retiring, hiring a pool boy, and raising my rats in peace.”

“I didn’t consent to this—“

“Mommy!” And there was Martin, which really wasn’t much of a surprise, with Victory right on hand.

“Martin! Hey baby!” Stela brightened at that, shifting to the edge of the bed and opening her arms for him. “Oh, hi sweet boy.”

“I missed you! They thought you were dead but I knew you’d come back!” There were tears running down his face as he launched himself into her arms.

Kane knew he’d have to bring that up, he’d have to tell Stela about the disagreement between himself and Miles, and what Martin had overheard. It was a conversation for another day, tomorrow maybe, when they got the chance to settle back into a normal schedule.

Right now, he just wanted to sit here, and enjoy this moment between them.

#ren is a dick and stela needs a strong drink #everyone needs a hug #this just in folks they're all stressed out #kane loves his best friend #LOADed with Sin #theload #submission

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naireides · 7 years

Text

what’s the point of tragedy if i can’t kiss you through it?

(read the poem here)

freeform fic about these two crazy kids at the end of the world. it’s sappy and maybe a tiny bit angsty.

read on ao3

The end of the world occurs slowly and too fast all at once.

It jumped on them quick enough, barely giving them time to prepare, and now, when they’re all out of options and have resigned themselves that this is really it, it stops, Slowing, slinking, slithering. Like a cat playing with its prey in those final moments before it rips its head off.

The heat comes four days after the black rain, and he’s not sure which is worse.

They end up losing around eighteen people to the rain, and then several more are picked off by heatstroke. They don’t have enough drinkable water and they’re all dropping like flies. By the time they accept that this is it, the end is really here, they’ve lost forty three of their people while dozens more are symptomatic.

There are no more funerals. It’s hard to be poetic in the wake of death about people you knew when you’re burning bodies every morning and night.

Arkadia is grey and morose and as soon as there’s a glimmer of good enough weather, they leave, ferrying people across to Becca’s island in droves, a mass exodus. There’s nothing left for people to do, just sit and wait with their loved ones for the death wave.

Bellamy is amongst the last to leave, and it feels a bit like that day at the dropship. A failed trip to the ocean then, a successful one now.

The heat has started to creep back in and they run out of water before they hit the shore. He shrugs out of his jacket, has half the mind to shrug out of his shirt too, but the sun is stinging and it’s an honest to god toss up about whether perpetual stickiness or mild sunburn is worse. In the end he compromises by dribbling water over his head before boarding the boat that will take them away once and for all.

He only does the bare minimum of updating Kane on their status, instead feeling the weariness settle deep in his bones and letting it consume him. He only wakes up when the ride gets rough as they approach the dock.

He’s still half asleep, in a daze and everything feels like it’s underwater. He’s still trying to gather his bearings when a body crashes into him, almost sending them stumbling into the sand.

Bellamy always forgets just how small Clarke really is. She always makes herself known, her presence alone is enough to fill any room, but whenever he holds her like this, he realises. His arms cover the entire span of her back while her head slots neatly underneath his chin, and she must have taken a bath not too long ago because her hair is soft and clean.

Clarke Griffin is just a girl and sometimes even he forgets that.

“This is really happening,” she sniffs, lips brushing against his neck, “We’re all really going to die.”

Bellamy doesn’t know what to tell her and instead pulls her closer, screwing his eyes shut.

This is how they deal with the end of the world: by treating it as the most depressing party in all of fucking history.

During the day, people try to act fine. There’s access to clean water here, and the animals haven’t quite gone into hiding as yet. They’re clean and fed and rested and from an outsider’s point of view, it all seems fine.

And then it isn’t.

The house isn’t big enough to hold everyone, and they spill out onto the grounds living in tents. Some people have accepted their fate, some try to ignore it, some get drunk.

Bellamy sleeps in the house.

He didn’t plan too- he had a chem tent, and was fine roughing it outside, but Clarke, Clarke who hasn’t left his side since he got here, whose hand keeps brushing against his as they walk, shakes her head.

“You can share with me and Raven,” she says, resting her hand atop his. “There’s enough room.”

He blinks, staring down at her. “Clarke, I don’t know if-”

“Please,” she says, cutting him off. She’s looking up at him with wide beseeching eyes, head tilted, and how can any expect him to say no to this girl? “I just- If this really is the end I want to be close to you.”

And fuck, if he had doubts before, they’re certainly obliterated now.

Not for the first time he tastes those three little words on the back of his tongue. I love you seems far too insignificant for how he feels about her. How do you even tell someone who’s done so much for you, who’s brought you back from the brink more times than you count, how you feel about them? An I love you doesn’t seem to do it justice.

Instead, he swallows them back down, back to that little box he tries to keep them in. Bellamy has known that he has loved Clarke Griffin for a long time now, and one day that box will not be big enough to hold all his love. He used to think that one day, when they manage to sort themselves out, when they’re ready, it’ll all spill forth from his mouth, a never ending stream of ‘I love you’s, but now he’s not so sure.

“Alright,” he says, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, and lets her lead him up to the house.

Before he would have stopped in his steps to admire the grandiose of the place, but he is so tired. They both are, brought to their knees by the weight of the world on their shoulders.

“Go take a bath,” she tells him after they walk up to her room. She takes his pack and rifle from him, and then delicately rests his fraying Ark jacket over one of the arm chairs. “Go.”

He doesn’t even protest, stripping out of his sweaty t shirt as he walks towards the ensuite, and it’s quickly followed by his pants, both of which he leaves in a crumpled heap in the corner. There isn’t a door separating the ensuite from the bedroom; in fact the only thing that stands between them is the frosted glass of the shower which only vaguely warps things, but frankly, he doesn’t care as he steps under the spray.

It’s a lot warmer than he’s used to, but not uncomfortably so. It’s warm enough that he feels his muscles relaxing, and he takes his time, lathering up and scrubbing at his skin until there’s a dull flush beneath it. When he steps out, a thin towel knotted loosely around his waist, he finds a clean set of clothes folded on top of the toilet. Clarke must have sneaked in and put them there, his old blue shirt with the holes around the collar and a pair of soft pants. He doesn’t even think twice about the fact that she waltzed in here while he was in the shower as he pulls them on.

Outside, she’s sitting on the bed, back against the headboard, going through some papers. There’s a furrow between her brows that he aches to smooth over with his thumb, and she’s shrugged off her Henley, leaving her in a thin tank top.

For a moment, Bellamy just stares at her, imagining what it would be like if they had time. This could have been his reality, coming home to her curled up on their bed, and he wants it so bad that it aches.

“Thanks,” he says, breaking the moment and padding further into the room. “For the clothes I mean.”

Clarke’s eyes flicker up and she offers him a small smile. “C’mere,” she says, resting the papers haphazardly on the bedside table. “Raven practically lives in the lab. She’s not going to stop until she can save us.”

Her smile is brittle, and he knows how she feels. To give up now, even in the face of death, would break Raven more than anything ever could. If she wanted to spend her last days under the pretence that they could be saved, they will let her, just because it gives her some sort of peace.

“Let’s go to sleep,” she suggests, pushing back the covers for him to climb in beside her. It’s only mid afternoon but they are both tired. They are always tired and for once it seems that they might actually get some rest.

The bed is big enough for them to sprawl out without touching, but Clarke rolls into him anyway, tucking herself into his side. She is no longer the soft princess she was when they first came down, but a hardened warrior like the rest of them. Her skin is pockmarked with scars and he doesn’t realise that he’s tracing them until she flinches slightly as he runs his fingers over the silvery white scar that goes down her shoulder.

“Panther,” she says, and he nods, dropping his hand. She takes the opportunity to explore his own skin, his callouses and scars and everything in between.

He stops breathing when she touches the one above his lip, but she’s quick to move on, trailing her fingers down his arm until he hisses when she gets to the still raw acid burns on his forearms.

“Black rain,” he tells her, and watches as she lifts his wrist to press a dry kiss there.

It sends his heart into a gallop and he tries to school his expression into something neutral. Those words linger on his tongue again, and he fights them down.

Instead he sighs, fixing them until she half lay across his chest and presses a kiss to her temple. “Go to sleep Clarke.”

He slips into a dreamless sleep a few minutes after her breathing evens out, and when he wakes, night has fallen, the only light coming from the orange glow of the fireplace and the moonlight dripping through the open drapes.

Clarke is still fast asleep, drooling on his shirt, and it’s cute in a way that makes him smile.

It’s times like these, the quiet moments in between when they get the chance to breathe that he thinks about his love for her. All the fairytales he read as a child described it like this a gentle sort of thing that could make them float away. He didn’t expect to find love on the Ark, not in his circumstances, but he imagined that if he did, it would be this kind: pure and idealistic.

What he feels for Clarke Griffin is not that.

It’s also not quite that which is mentioned in myths either; that hot, all consuming, passionate affair that brings out the best and worst in equal parts.

What he feels for her is something else entirely, some mix of love and trust and devotion that absolutely terrifies him and thrills him at the same time.

Bellamy’s not sure how long he lies awake, just staring at the girl in his arms, but soon she starts to stir and he watches as she comes alive.

“Hey,” he says, smiling when she blearily blinks awake.

“Bellamy,” she sighs, cuddling closer, and there’s a ghost of touch against his collarbone that might be her lips, but he can’t be sure.

They don’t say anything for a while, the only sound to be heard is their soft breathing, but soon Clarke shifts out of his hold, angling her body so that she can see him properly.

“Are you scared?” she asks, voice small.

He takes a minute to contemplate the question before shaking his head. “No.” And then, after he reaches out to brush away a lock of hair from her face, “Are you?”

“A little bit,” she admits. “I don’t like not knowing things.”

“Not knowing things?”

“After we die,” she elaborates, “No one knows for sure what happens.”

It almost makes him laugh; here they are counting down until the last seconds and Clarke is out here asking the philosophical questions. It makes his heart burst with fondness.

On the Ark, they didn’t have any fixed sort of religion. Most of the original people believed in science more than anything else, but there were still a few different texts stored on the tablets. After a moment of worrying his lip he says, “Some Romans believed in reincarnation. A lot of people believed in that actually.”

“Do you?” she asks, inching closer to him.

Bellamy flashes her a wry smile. “You have to admit, it sounds way better than eternal damnation amongst the flames of hellfire.” She snorts out a laugh. “Of course, it does depend on what you do in this life.”

“This life is a mess,” she whispers, and he ducks his head letting it rest against her forehead.

“Yeah. I know. But maybe our souls will pay for that in the next life, and then in the one after that we might have absolution,” he says, running his knuckles against her cheekbone. He always gets a little mind drunk being around Clarke like this, so close that he can practically taste her, and she doesn’t help matters when she moves even closer, noses bumping.

“Leaving the mess for someone else to deal with, huh?” she asks, voice sounding huskier than normal, and her eyelashes brush against his skin when she lets her eyes flick down to look at his lips for half a second.

“It’s still you,” he murmurs, and their mouths are impossibly close to each others right now. “It’ll always still be you.”

Their lips stop just shy of brushing against each other’s and the universe itself holds its breath.

In the end, Clarke ends up turning her head just an infinitesimal amount, kissing him on the cheek and letting her lips linger. “When we die, I hope my soul finds you again, Bellamy Blake.”

She ends up tucking herself under his arm once more, and he links their fingers together. “And I you, Clarke Griffin,” he murmurs, before letting the pull of sleep drag him under once more.

In the morning, when a yellowish haze has dawned upon them, making his skin feel too tight, too itchy to the point where he’s scratching himself raw, Clarke turns in bed and kisses him.

It’s not a poetic sort of kiss, the kind that a first kiss should be.

No, it’s messy and wet and he feels her bottom lip tremble when he sucks on it. Their teeth clack, and he tastes blood, not sure if it’s his or hers, and he’s pretty certain she accidentally licks his chin at one point, but it feels like a fitting kiss for them.

Because they are not pretty and perfect and neither is their love. Their love is bitter and war-torn, leaving ash and dust in its wake. Their love has cleaved its way through their chests, leaving bloodied fingerprints on their hearts and breath stuttering in their lungs. Their love is not the gentle kind that people write about in books, but the one whispered about only in stories of heroes with bloody teeth and more bodies in their pasts than breaths taken.

And when Clarke pulls back, gasping and shivering, her arms tightening around his neck, Bellamy just draws her in close, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head and letting his tears mingle with hers. Because their love is not perfect and will never be perfect, but it is theirs, and that’s all that matters.

#bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #my writing #nai did a thing

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shootingstarcipher-blog · 7 years

Text

The Runaway (Chapter 1: State of Mind)

He was older now, but not as much as he felt. He stood there in front of the mirror one morning – the morning he woke up to find his whole world had collapsed around him, leaving him hopeless, alone, and ultimately broken – and decided there and then that he needed to get away. From within his mind there came a laugh – a cold, derisive giggle of megalomania – and he stared back at his reflection with contempt. You’ll never get away, his mind shrieked, and his hand instinctively flew up to cover his gleaming yellow eye which always made his other one seem so dull and lifeless. His right eye was always yellow now – yellow and with a tiny black slit for a pupil. His left remained a permanent hazel.

It took a while for the laughter to die down but when it did, he looked back at himself in the mirror and smiled (only a small smile, which for most people would have been barely passable as an expression of emotion at all, but that was all he could muster). “I will get away,” he said sternly, more to himself than the source of the shrill laughter inside his head. “From you, and from all of this.” He pictured himself raising an eyebrow – for it was something he had never managed to do and could only imagine finally being able to do it – and tilted his hat on top of his head as he spoke. Then, glancing back at the mirror one last time, he turned on his heel and started to pack.

All he wound up taking with him was a few spare changes of clothes, all the money he had, some books he must have read hundreds of times and some emergency food and drink for the journey.

He paused to consider which of his two hats to wear and which to pack. This may seem like an unnecessary hurdle which should have been easy to overcome but, given the circumstances, to Dipper Pines it was a troubling and arduous task to accomplish. The first was a blue and white trucker hat depicting a Pine Tree that was important to his life than perhaps he even he himself had yet to realise. The other was grey and dog-eared, but sentimentally priceless nonetheless.

Both of them, at some time or another, had belonged to Wendy Corduroy.

In the end, he chose to where neither and pack both. It was a decision he half-expected to regret in the days to come yet simultaneously assured himself he was making the right choice.

The last time he had journeyed to Gravity Falls, it hadn’t been a pleasant trip. He still went every summer, ever since his parents had forced him and Mabel to stay with their great uncle Stan four years prior. But the last time hadn’t been for a holiday or for a visit to his great uncles and the friends who lived there; the last time he had gone for a funeral.

The bus was late but that wasn’t surprising. It was late every year. This time, however, he was on his own. That made it so much worse.

Although he hadn’t initially intended on getting off as the bus passed through the town, when he eventually got there he felt he couldn’t let the opportunity slip through his fingers – not after last year, not now he knew how fleeting life really was. His uncles were both in their seventies and though he could barely imagine anything attacking Grunkle Stan and getting the better of him, or Ford making a simple yet costly mistake resulting in his demise, imagining how hurtful it would be to lose either of them without taking the chance to see them one last time proved to be an even more difficult task.

As a twelve year old boy taking his first look at the business belonging to the so-called “Mr Mystery”, he had once thought that the Mystery Shack was just that: a dilapidated, run-down shack (the mystery being why anyone bothered to visit it). And in spite of his initial impression of the decrepit shack that had since become a second home to him and his sister, he had hoped and hoped that it wouldn’t have changed at all since the first time he’d been (after all, it had been just the same the last time he’d visited).

Now, as he stood there in front of it again – eyes squinted and one hand coiled into a fist, the other grappling for the strap of his backpack – he felt like he was being taunted. The voice in his head was quiet for once, but the feeling of a presence hiding inside his mind remained.

It wasn’t at all like he’d imagined – or how he’d hoped. Even more derelict than usual, the Mystery Shack was definitely on its way out. If he had thought it had been on its last legs before, then now it must have lost one or two those, balancing precariously on the weakest pair of wooden support beams ever recorded. He wasn’t sure if the voice was telling him this or if he was coming up with it himself, but a terrifying thought suddenly flashed through his mind – only for a moment, but the message was clear and one that had immediately engraved itself into his mind. If this is how bad the Shack looks, then what about Stan and Ford? After all, they were even older than the Shack.

It must have been at least twenty minutes before he could force himself to enter the house. He didn’t bother knocking; he never did – not here. There was no need for it here.

The first few seconds he spent inside the Shack answered none of his questions and created a thousand more. The house was a complete mess – and not just in Stan’s usual untidy way. Cracks in the walls, deep holes in the floorboards, smashed glass and broken bottles littering the floor in every room. And there was more. Family photographs had been savagely torn up, Stan’s chair had been tipped over and seemingly attacked – with bitemarks and long, fierce scratches tearing it to shreds – and the television set lay shattered on the living room floor. If Dipper’s common sense had overridden his curiosity, he would have left there and then and never looked back.

But then he would have had no hope of finding out what had happened. And what’s more, he would have regretted every second he spent not knowing whether his uncles were dead or alive.

He couldn’t have been sure that they were alive and he certainly didn’t think they were safe even if they had managed to survive the attack on their home, but he was determined to protect them if he could. They would have done the same for him, after all – and in fact they had, many a time during his and Mabel’s first stay in Gravity Falls.

The basement was where he headed next. If they were still inside the Shack, that’s where they’d be; he was completely certain of that. And so he quickly arrived at the conclusion that they had already left – either by choice or by force – as the basement was completely void of human life. Something was different than he remembered it, however. The portal that Ford had built at his enemy’s instruction, the one that almost destroyed the entire world, the one Dipper had watched his uncle pick apart piece by piece and demolish… That portal was standing there in the centre of the room, looking as if it had been stood there forever – as if it had never been taken apart and destroyed.

Yet it had. He knew it had. He remembered it so clearly. It had been Grunkle Ford’s life’s work – the masterpiece that marked his place as one of the world’s greatest minds and stood as testament to his genius – and Dipper had watched him tear it to shreds, unpicking and unwinding every inch of his greatest mistake. And now – as if by magic – it was back.

Curiosity and longing drew him to stand at the very edge of where safety ended and the unknow began, whispering to him from the depths of his mind, tempting him to step forward and find out just where that portal would take him. But curiosity killed the cat – and quite possibly his two great uncles as well – and although satisfaction brought it back, logic told him that there was no guarantee that he would be brought back to life by whatever lay beyond the line drawn across the concrete floor of his uncle’s basement.

He wanted to get away, but not like that. He wasn’t yet at the point where he’d willingly put his own life on the line without reason. Or anybody else’s, for that matter. Sanity had not completely deserted him yet.

And so logic and reason drowned out the curiosity and the longing, bringing him back to the front door of the Mystery Shack, which he then stared at for a considerable amount of time before deciding to continue on his way. Stan and Ford would be rescued. But for the time being, he had somewhere to be – somewhere he’d have an awful lot of time to figure out what might have happened to them.

He didn’t take the bus this time. He walked instead. It wasn’t far, anyway, and the peace and quiet gave him ample opportunity to think. But thinking wasn’t good for him. Thinking allowed buried memories to resurface and taunting voices to haunt him. His uncles were gone, they told him. He’d never see either of them again. Just like her. Just like all of them.

“I will,” he snapped as he pushed drooping branch out of the way and trudged past it, glad that he was alone so that nobody heard him talking to himself. “And don’t you ever talk about her. Ever. You didn’t deserve to know her.”

“I didn’t know her – not as well as you, Pine Tree.”

That made him stop. It sounded different this time, like it wasn’t coming from inside his head anymore. Like it was real. He had accepted long ago that voices speaking to him from within his own mind were nothing more than hallucinations, his memories confusing themselves with the present reality and manifesting as calls from beyond the grave – because Bill Cipher was in fact dead.

But that nickname. The voice had never – not even once – called him that since Bill Cipher’s reign of terror and madness had come to an end. It had always sounded the same but simply uttering those two words immediately confirmed that the voice did indeed belong to the monster he had witnessed commit countless unforgiveable actions at the expense and suffering of his friends and family.

He whirled round the instant he heard it, expecting to find the demon floating in mid-air behind him as had been the case so many times just a few years prior. All that greeted him was silence and empty air. Maybe his sanity really was slipping away. Maybe he shouldn’t have been alone in the woods at all.

#billdip #angst #gravity falls #fanfiction

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