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alyssaallyrion · 3 years

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Title: Nothing short of a dream

Rating: T

Summary: In which Itachi has a nightmare, which may not be a nightmare at all.

Written for Shisuita Week 2021 Day 1 Prompt: Dream

ao3 link

“Shisui, no…” he hears a quiet whimper.

Instantly, Shisui opens his eyes. Pale moonlight, streaming through the small window, has painted the room haunting silver. Shisui glances to his right and sees Itachi lying in bed next to him, his long dark hair strewn across the pillow. He’s clearly asleep, but tears are streaming down his cheeks, and quiet sobs escape his lips, making Shisui’s heart clench. He sits up on the bed and reaches out, resting his hand lightly on Itachi’s shoulder.

“Itachi,” he calls out gently, “Itachi, wake up.”

Itachi shifts under Shisui’s touch, still in the grasp of sleep, but Shisui’s persistent – he calls Itachi’s name again, lightly shaking his shoulder.

“Shisui?” Itachi mumbles, waking up, eyes still bleary from sleep.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Shisui replies softly, “But you were crying in your sleep, and I was worried. Are you alright?”

Itachi doesn’t answer – instead, he sits up on the bed and pulls his legs close to his chest. Shisui remains quiet – he knows Itachi will speak when he’s ready.

“I…had a nightmare,” he says finally. Shisui sighs as he reaches over and pulls Itachi close against his side.

“It must have been terrifying,” he murmurs, gently running his fingers through Itachi’s hair, hoping to soothe him with the caress, “But it’s just a dream. Everything is ok.”

“I know,” Itachi bites his lip, not looking at Shisui, “But it felt so real.”

“I’ve had nightmares too when I was young,” Shisui replies, “And I’ve found that telling others about them made them far less scary. So, if you want to share, I’m here to listen.”

Itachi looks at him quietly for a moment as if weighing his words.

“It…was terrifying,” Itachi’s voice is barely louder than a whisper when he speaks, “You died and left me all alone.”

A sad smile blooms upon Shisui’s lips as he takes Itachi’s hand into his and presses soft kisses to his knuckles, “I’m sorry you had such an awful dream, but I’m right here, and I will never leave you.”

“In my dream,” Itachi continues, his voice shaky, “We were shinobi of the Village Hidden in the Leaves. Our clan decided to rebel against the village. You and I have tried stopping them, but we failed, and you…”

“What a strange dream,” Shisui murmurs quietly, worry rising in his chest. “You have entrusted the fate of the clan to me,” Itachi breathes out, “But I couldn’t do anything – and in the end, I had to kill everyone, including mother and father. Only Sasuke was left alive.”

A cold hand of anxiety clenches Shisui’s throat, but he smiles through it. Pulling Itachi closer, Shisui wraps his arms around him and presses soft kisses to his cheeks, wiping away the tears. He wants to reassure Itachi that he’ll always be by his side, that nothing will ever separate them - not again.

“Itachi, my love, that sounds awful,” he says softly.

“It was,” Itachi nods, glancing at Shisui, “But now that I have told you, I feel slightly better.”

“I’m happy I could help,” Shisui replies, pressing a light kiss to Itachi’s temple.

Silence falls upon them for a moment.

“Will you hold me while I fall asleep?” Itachi asks quietly, moving against Shisui, “I…just need to feel that you are here.”

“Of course,” Shisui murmurs.

They shift on the bed, Itachi facing away from him, as Shisui wraps his arm around Itachi’s middle, pulling him close to his chest. Itachi’s hand comes to rest atop of his, squeezing it ever so slightly.

“I was so scared,” he whispers.

Shisui lifts up on his elbow and leans forward to Itachi on the cheek.

“There is nothing to be scared of,” he says, “Shinobi lead the life of violence and often meet quite a brutal end. But you and I are simple innkeepers, and ours will be a long and happy life. I promise you that.”

“I love you, Shisui,” Itachi murmurs sleepily.

“And I love you,” Shisui replies.

He listens quietly in the dark until Itachi’s breathing steadies. Once Shisui knows that he’s deep in the grasp of slumber, he carefully pulls his hand away from Itachi’s and climbs out of bed.

When he had used Kotoamatsukami on Itachi and Sasuke – and the villagers – three years ago, he thought the plan fool-proof. It seems that he was wrong – apparently, Itachi’s memories have started to come back in the form of dreams.

Worry stirs in his chest, and Shisui feels a lump in his throat. As much as he hates himself for doing what he did, he knows it was necessary. The memories would have tormented Itachi, and Shisui couldn’t allow that. More than anyone, Itachi deserved to be happy. That was why Shisui took him away from Konoha, from the pain and violence of the shinobi world, and tried to give Itachi a chance at a new, happier life. He was too late, of course, and for that, Shisui would never forgive himself, but he did the best he could with the circumstances.

If only he had been stronger, if only he had never left Itachi in the first place…

He knew he made a mistake the moment he leaped of that cliff. Itachi needed him, and he was leaving him alone to deal with an utterly impossible problem – like a coward. Like a traitor. The realization burned – he swore to Itachi once that he’d never betray him, and there he was, doing just that. When the blinding pain pierced through his body once he hit the water, only one thought was left in Shisui’s mind – he needed to come back to Itachi.

Somehow, his prayers were answered. A man, who Shisui later learned was Orochimaru, had found him on the bank of Naka river and offered to help him.

“My experiment can heal you,” he said, “And, who knows, perhaps even restore your eyes. But it will be painful.”

Shisui scoffed – after what he’d gone through, he cared little about pain. Still, the offer was suspicious.

“Why would you help me?” he asked.

“I’m just looking for test subjects for my experiment,” the man replied calmly, “And, besides, letting you live might keep things…interesting.”

The man’s hand was on Shisui’s arm, hauling him up – his skin felt cold and slimy like that of a snake and sent a shudder through Shisui’s body. A part of him wanted to refuse the offer, but he steeled his heart – he had to return to Itachi.

The experiment worked, almost better than Orochimaru had expected – it took nearly a year, but Shisui’s eyes were restored with their full abilities. To Shisui’s surprise, Orochimaru let him go without much trouble.

“It was a pleasure,” the smile on Orochimaru’s lips was utterly unsettling, “I look forward to working with you in the future.”

Shisui didn’t dignify him with a response. There was only one thought burning in his mind – to get back to Konoha, to get back to Itachi.

He was too late. When Shisui saw Itachi, he was standing over red ruins of their clansmen’s corpses, grasping a sword in his hand, and, at his feet, was Sasuke’s lifeless body. Bile rose up in Shisui’s throat, and his head spun – this was all his fault. If he had never left Itachi, this would have never happened.

The broken sob that left Itachi’s lips upon seeing Shisui shattered his heart.

“Are you here to judge me?” Itachi asked, “You haven’t answered my prayers once, and now you choose to appear to me. Should I have done this earlier?”

He was laughing then, and Shisui felt paralyzed with fear. It was clear that whatever he had suffered through in the last year – whatever he had to do that night – was testing the limits of his sanity. And it was all his fault. It was his duty now to help Itachi, any way he could - to give him the life of peace he always wanted.

Kotoamatsukami allowed Shisui to erase the memories from Itachi – and Sasuke’s – mind. As if the massacre didn’t happen, as if they were never shinobi in the first place but rather simple innkeepers of a small tavern in a country far away from the Land of Fire. To ensure that their new life would not be disturbed, he used Kotoamatsukami on the other villagers too, making them forget Itachi and Sasuke, laying the blame for the murder of the clan exactly where it belonged – at Danzo’s feet. He hoped that whatever punishment Danzo suffered would be long and painful, and he deeply regretted not being there to see it.

It warmed his heart to see Itachi so unburdened, living the life of peace. He seemed so happy tending to the garden and the inn, going to the nearby river to swim or fish with Sasuke and Shisui, and spending quiet evenings reading on the porch. Perhaps, it wasn’t fair to take Itachi’s memories, but it was Shisui’s only chance to give him happiness – and he’d do anything to preserve it.

He wonders from time to time if death has changed him. Before, he wanted to do everything to keep the clan alive and at peace with the village, but now the only thing he regretted was that he wasn’t there to take on Itachi’s mission, to take away the burden from his soul.

Shisui walks into the small room on the first floor of the inn and lights the candle on the desk. Settling on the chair, he pulls one paper from the stack and picks up a pen, then pauses for a moment, musing how to start the letter – after all, he’d never thought that he’d have to contact Orochimaru again. But, perhaps, the time has come.

He hopes Itachi’s dream was just a fluke of his mind – that by the morning, Itachi won’t even remember what he’d seen – but Shisui knows that there is no such thing as being too careful. Especially not when it comes to Itachi’s well-being. And so, he writes the letter. There is no guarantee, of course, that Orochimaru knows enough about Kotoamatsukami or the Sharingan to be useful, but there is no one else who could help.

Shisui’s hands quickly form the necessary seals, and the paper in front of him disappears in the flicker of pale blue light. His heart feels heavy – he knows that Orochimaru’s help always comes with strings attached.

Whatever Orochimaru asks for will not cannot be too much – after all, Itachi’s happiness is worth everything.

#shisui uchiha #itachi uchiha #shisuita #shiita #shisuitaweek2021

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tagsecretsanta · 4 years

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From Onereyofstarlight

to @taylart-x

Secret Santa doesn’t own this piece, full credit to the author mentioned above

TW: Referenced Alcoholism, Stress, Depression

Title: Past That Point

“Scott, get dow–”

The transmission was hastily switched off with a flick of the wrist. Scott groaned from his position, huddled on his bed, as the incessant beeping of an International Rescue emergency pierced through the “Do Not Disturb” settings on his communicator.

Was twelve hours too much to ask for? he wondered dimly. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he slowly sat up. His vision swam in and out as the nausea struck him full force.

Bad idea, retreat, he thought, lowering himself back down again.

That damn beeping was still trying to invade his eardrums. Scott fuzzily wondered if he could convince John to jam all radio frequencies in his room. A clattering of footsteps outside his door shot straight to his head and he doubled over with a groan.

“Scott!” Alan’s voice was high and sharp. “Scott, wake up, there’s an emergency, John is pissed.”

“Don’ say piss,” slurred Scott. “’M on my way.”

“Are you sure Scott?” asked Alan, the worry evident in his tone. “You look like crap.”

“’M fine.”

Alan blindly reached for the light switch and it only took a split second for the lightbulb to imprint its energy into Scott’s head with a sharp pain.

Scott slammed his eyes closed but there were red spots flying behind his eyes, the change too much and too fast, and his body’s response was to make it all stop, to restore Scott to the last moment where all had been okay, when there was no alcohol in his system.

Alan could see better now with the lights on, could see the colour drain from Scott’s face, the shaking in his hands as he tried to draw the covers over his head and the clamminess of his skin. That was all the warning he got before Scott threw up.

“GRANDMA!”

A cry for Grandma was a cry for help, and it was no surprise that not only Grandma Tracy came running around the corner, but Virgil too.

The two of them sized up the situation quickly.

“You boys get going,” said Grandma Tracy grimly. “You’re needed elsewhere, I’ll look after him.”

Virgil pulled Alan away as Grandma Tracy crossed over to Scott’s bed and began to gently extract him from the sheets.

“Is Scott okay?” Alan asked Virgil as they made their way back downstairs. Virgil shook his head.

“Grandma will sort him out,” he replied, but the crease between his eyes only deepened as they entered the lounge room. Gordon sat on the arm of the couch, chewing anxiously on the corner of his thumbnail. He was avoiding John’s glare, one arm folded defensively across his chest. He looked up in relief when Virgil and Alan entered the room.

“Where the hell is he?” demanded John, his expression thunderous from his position hovering above them.

“He’s sick,” said Alan.

“Virgil?”

“I grounded him,” said Virgil, and Alan’s eyes flickered at the lie. “He shouldn’t be flying for a couple of days. He’s not in the air force anymore, can’t have him trying to push through anything he shouldn’t.” Alan only looked more confused but Gordon straightened a little beside him, his eyes widening a little. Virgil ignored his brothers in favour of looking John dead in the eye as he spoke.

John’s face twitched and then settled into the cool professionalism he reserved for when he was required to distance his personal reactions.

“Alan, you’re in Thunderbird One,” he said in a clipped voice.

“What?!” exclaimed Gordon.

“There’s a tsunami heading for the Philippines and Palau,” said John. “They’re evacuating but they still need us onsite ASAP, Thunderbird One has the most manoeuvrability to pick up the desperate cases before Thunderbird Two arrives, and Alan is our best pilot. He’s trained and he’s going.”

Alan nodded and left to prepare for the rescue.

John turned back to Gordon and Virgil when he was out of sight.

“Bullshit, Scott’s sick,” he said, scowling at the two of them. “I thought we were past this.”

“Not now, John,” said Virgil sharply. “Grandma has him, we can worry about him when we get back.”

“Alan’s going to notice,” said Gordon. “He’s not a kid anymore.”

“I’ll talk to Alan,” said Virgil. “But not before we talk to Scott. Let’s move it.”

“FAB,” said Gordon.

***

It was a pale and wan looking Scott who was waiting for them when Virgil, Gordon and Alan returned home, feet and hearts heavy. Alan collapsed onto the floor by Scott’s feet and reached up to pat his knee.

“Alan!”

“’M all good, Scott,” he said with a yawn. “Jus’ too tired t’ move.” He opened one eye and looked up at Scott. “And you?”

“I’m alright, kid,” said Scott softly. The corners of his lips drooped as he watched Alan, exhausted but filled with a spark of good cheer all the same.

“Sure Scotty,” said Gordon patting his shoulder. “Come on Alan, at least let’s get you to your own floor.”

The older brothers watched as Gordon hauled his younger brother out of the room. Virgil could see the look Gordon gave him as he glanced back, disguised by the pause to shift Alan’s weight across his shoulders, the look that he wore in the field that told Virgil that he needed to get his battle gear ready.

“John,” slurred Alan. “t’s John, guys. G’nigh’ John.”

“You got him?” came John’s quiet voice through the walls.

“Yeah,” said Gordon. “Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.”

They didn’t hear John’s response but they knew when he walked in, his presence settling over the lounge room like the stifling, humid air before a summer storm. Virgil watched in alarm at the dark anger looming in John’s narrowed eyes.

“John,” began Virgil, stepping up to intercept him, but John brushed past him without a second glance.

“What the hell, Scott,” he hissed, towering over him. “We needed you out there today, they needed you. How could you do that to us?”

Scott gave no indication that he had heard John, drawing his legs up and tucking the blanket under him. The dead expression on his face was beginning to spread like a disease, his body uncaring of the function it was to perform. Eyes that were unfocused and void of vitality, shoulders and a spine that refused support, hands relaxed when Scott should have been preparing for a fight.

“Are you listening to me?” demanded John. “People died, people we could have saved.”

Scott shrugged, avoiding John’s gaze. “Wouldn’t have made a difference.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“I suppose you’ve run all the simulations of every possible outcome of each rescue?” said John, the waspish tone further souring his speech. “Because I have. And you know something? In every trial where we don’t have to sit around waiting for you, International Rescue gets there before the first building is washed away. International Rescue is there when they are needed.”

John spat his words at Scott like a weapon, his voice the sharp point of a sword, each syllable a gunshot crack in the silence.

“People died because you fucked up, Scott.”

“John, stop,” commanded Virgil. Stepping forward and pulling himself to his full height, his voice rang with authority. His eyes showed the kind of calm certainty that John was used to seeing in his oldest brother, the kind that told him that reassured him that someone had seen the issue at hand. Electricity was still crackling about him as he looked sharply between his brothers, but he quietened under Virgil’s strong gaze and dropped onto a couch opposite.

“Scott, we’re worried,” said Virgil, slowly as he looked down at Scott. “We haven’t seen you like this since…” He trailed off, taking in the way his brother was already flinching away from him. He knew that Scott had never truly grown comfortable sharing his weaknesses with his younger brothers and even those short sentences had been enough to make Scott hunch over and fold his arms across his chest. He carefully sat down next to Scott and reached out a hand to his shoulder.

“I know it’s been a rough couple of months,” he said, choosing his words with care. “But you’ve never outright missed a rescue before.”

“It won’t happen again,” said Scott, looking past Virgil out the window. “It was just the one time and it was stupid.”

“Yeah, it was stupid,” said John with a snort. “This isn’t about a one-off event; this is about a pattern.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your response times for rescues has been steadily decreasing for the last eight months,” said Virgil. “You haven’t slept through a full night since January, and when you are at home, you’re just hiding away from us.”

Scott scoffed at the two of them. “So, what? You’re calling me out because I’m stressed and haven’t caught a break? I should never have given you permission to access my biometrics during downtime.”

“Scott, you skipped a rescue because you were too hungover to move this morning,” said Virgil, impatiently. “Are you seriously trying to wave this off as you just being stressed? Your BAC peaked at 160mg/dL last night, you don’t get that from a couple of beers to relax after work.”

“Yeah, well, I made a mistake,” said Scott. “It happens, you can’t pull me up on that.”

“We can’t afford mistakes like that,” said John, his hackles starting to rise again. “What part of our job being the difference between life and death are you not getting?”

“Easy for you to say,” said Scott, his own temper flaring. For the first time, a spark flashed in his eyes. “All the way up there, your AI ready to take over if you need to step away, what do you know?”

“EOS helps run simulations and filter calls; she doesn’t take over anything. Without her, we’d be out on rescues a lot more, and we’d lose at least 80% of the information I can get you.”

“More of that ‘we’,” spat Scott. “You don’t have a clue, John.”

“Is this an argument anyone can get in on?” asked Gordon with a slight drawl. “Or is it restricted to assholes over six foot two?” He dropped down to sit on the back of the couch beside John and nudged him with his foot. “John, stop making this personal, he’s just trying to distract you from the problem. Scott, shut the hell up, we’re trying to help you.”

“I don’t need help,” said Scott, turning on his brother. “You act like you’ve never been stressed before.”

“This has gone well beyond stressed, Scott,” said Virgil. “Talk to us.”

“About what?” The phrase burst from his lips and there was the look of a caged creature in his eyes. “What exactly do you want me to say?”

“I want you to explain what you meant when you said that what we do doesn’t make a difference.”

Virgil had a way of cutting to the core of any issue, be it with machinery or words.

“That’s not what I meant,” said Scott, irritably.

“No? Word for word, that’s what you said and you are not in the habit of saying things you don’t mean.”

“I don’t, that’s not,” Scott tugged his head down and groaned. “I didn’t mean you don’t make a difference.

“He means he doesn’t think he makes a difference,” said John, eyeing his brother sharply. “Not us.”

Scott shook his head trying to clear away the fog and cobwebs that seemed to have permanently taken up residence inside his brain.

“Look, I’ve done the math,” he said tiredly. “Rescues with me on board are five times more likely to involve a mission failure. And I guess I got tired of watching my efforts go to waste. It’s like you said, Johnny, what we do is life or death and if I can’t cut it, if people die because of the decisions I make?” He shook his head again. “That’s not something I can live with.”

“Okay,” said Virgil. “Okay.”

The brothers sat in silence for a moment.

“So, what do we do now?” asked Gordon, hesitant to take on the role of initiator in this conversation.

Virgil took in a deep breath, unwilling to say what they were all thinking.

“You ground me,” said Scott quietly. “I’m too big a risk, I can coordinate from the island.”

“What, no!” exclaimed Virgil over John’s angry noise of protest.

“Just like that, you’ve been replaced,” said Gordon, shoving John’s shoulder. Scott realised that with his muddled thought process, that was exactly what he had just suggested.

“I didn’t mean it like that, John,” he said.

“No, no, go ahead, my job is so much easier than yours,” said John, his lips twisting into a sardonic smile. “What was it you said? ‘An AI ready to take over if you need to step away?’ It’s a hard job for anyone to screw up, so it’ll be perfect for you.”

Scott flinched as John threw his words back at him.

“No-one is replacing anyone,” said Virgil, firmly. “This isn’t about being a hazard, this is about your health. Scott, you’re off active duty. That includes missions, that includes reports, that includes coordination of any kind. You’re not getting back in the air until you’ve worked this through.”

Scott looked away from Virgil. He had known what his brother would say, knew he was doing the right thing, but it still hurt. Irrational the thought may be, but the pronouncement smacked of distrust and being left behind.

“Look, Scott,” said Gordon, quietly. “You need a break. You don’t see how you’ve changed over these last few months.”

Scott didn’t respond, a hard stare on his face and a tectonic shift held inside with a tight jaw and clenched fists. His brow burrowed into his skin as he closed his eyes, mirrored by dark shadows that showcased his lack of sleep.

His brothers watched as his lips trembled. They watched as a tear escaped from beneath his eyelid. They watched as he folded his arms across his chest. They watched as he swallowed back a grimace and then a sob.

Virgil reached out, gathering his big brother into his arms, and with an awful shudder that ripped through his body, Scott collapsed inwardly upon himself.

Scott was hiding now, as much as he could from his brothers that weren’t so little anymore. He curled in upon himself, clasping his arms even tighter around himself. Virgil’s heart ached to see his big brother like this, horrified to find him at the end of himself and yet still so unwilling to reach out to them.

“We’ve got you, Scott,” said John, walking over and sinking to the floor. His anger had melted away at the sound of Scott’s sobs and he rested his head against Scott’s ankles. Scott couldn’t hear the rest of his murmured words, not even certain if John meant them for his ears.

Gordon squeezed into the space between the arm of the chair and his brother, his own eyes welling up with unshed tears as he watched over Scott.

Nothing, not misery, not anguish, not even despair, lasts forever and slowly Scott began to unfurl himself as his cries quietened with nothing more to lament. The sudden change was an act of submission, his hitching breaths and swollen eyes laying bare the complete exhaustion of Scott’s emotional reserves.

“Scott?”

Scott felt John jump against his leg at the uncertain call and Virgil instinctively tightened his grip around his shoulders.

“Alan.” It was Gordon who responded first, as Gordon often did. “Shit, uh, I mean…” His brother was panicking, Scott could hear it in his voice, torn between checking in on his younger brother and leaving Scott with a shred of dignity intact. Scott knows it’s not a fair choice, knows it’s time to be the oldest once again. After all, it’s Scott his youngest brother is asking for, not Gordon, not Virgil, not even John.

“Get over here, kid,” he said, cracking one eye open and shrugging away Virgil’s arms. “What’s up? Thought you were too tired to move?”

“I slept,” said Alan dismissively, in a manner Scott just knows he’s picked up from visiting John on Thunderbird Five.

He shuffled uncomfortably and Scott sat up with a frown.

“You’ve been crying,” said Alan, looking down at him.

“Scott chuckles, a thin and watery sound. “Yeah kid, I have.”

“You scared me. When you wouldn’t get out of bed.”

Scott winced a little at the blunt sincerity in Alan’s voice. None of his brothers had much cause for subterfuge in their emotions, but Alan was still unpractised in the art of softening the blows they could leave behind. Or maybe, he didn’t care.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really, really wish you hadn’t seen any of it.”

Alan was silent for a few moments. “I know you’re not gonna talk to me about it,” he said. “None of you ever will, not on purpose.”

“Can’t knock us off our pedestals,” quipped Gordon. “Far too traumatising for a teenager to deal with, much better to have four models of perfection to live up to.”

“Shut up Gordon,” Alan said, rolling his eyes at his brother. “Maybe I don’t want models of perfection. Maybe I just want my brothers. I want Scott to stop all this, and I want all of you to have time for me again.”

The thing about Alan is that sometimes there’s a selfish streak when he talks. It’s unintentional, the product of both youth and being the baby of their family, and they all let him get away with it. The way he demands things so easily for himself, thinking so little about how they happen and the sacrifices made to ensure their existence, doesn’t come naturally to Scott. Scott has lived his life from the opposite perspective, shouldering the responsibility and making the sacrifices willingly. If Alan wants his brothers back, Scott will make sure he gets them.

“We need a vacation,” announces Alan. “A real break, like a week at least. All of us together somewhere.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay, I can make that happen.”

“We can, Scotty,” said Gordon. “The whole point is we can.”

Scott watched in amusement as Gordon and Alan began to bicker over the proposed vacation; where they would go, what they should do. Virgil chimed in with his own ideas every now and again, his face breaking into a relieved smile with the return of more familiar territory, providing a buffer between them.

The only person who said nothing was John. Scott nudged him gently with his foot, but he was shaken off.

“I’m still mad at you,” he said and Scott winced. He opened his mouth to reply but John cut him off. “You scared me too.”

“I know,” said Scott. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

John pursed his lips together and looked firmly out the window. “Don’t make promises you don’t know you can keep, Scott.” He looked up at his brother and his eyes softened. “This won’t be the end. A holiday doesn’t just fix a year of self-neglect. You know that, right?”

Scott swallowed, his throat thick with emotion once more.

“Yeah Johnny, I do,” he said gruffly. “But it’ll be a start.”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #tag team secret santa #secret santa 2019 #Scott Tracy #John Tracy #alan tracy #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #tw: alcohol #tw: depression

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professorspork · 4 years

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Frozen 2: first impressions

Hello friends! As you know, Frozen was a HUGE part of my fandom life ~back in the day.~ So of course I saw the sequel opening night and of course I have thoughts after ruminating on it for 24 hours. I’m sure there will be many things I forget or don’t cover--after all, I’ve only seen it the once. And I make no guarantees that my thoughts are coherent or consistent. (If I contradict myself, I contradict myself-- I am large, I contain multitudes.) I’m also sure my opinions will evolve upon rewatch. Lord knows they did last time.

Is that enough disclaimer yet? OKAY. Some of my thoughts are negative! Some are positive! It’s a grab bag! Here we go!

Spoilers under the cut, pals.

IN SHORT: As an expansion on the world and the characters I adore, I pretty much loved it! As an extension of uh Big Capitalism and what it means in terms of real world ramifications... I have questions/comments/concerns!

IN LONG: I think I’ll start with what didn’t work for me and work my way around to fangirling at the end.

the meh

I feel like... part of it is that Disney has just gotten worse and power-grabbier in way more blatant ways in the last few years, and part of it is that I’m ever-more cognizant of these things. And the fine line they want to walk of “We can tell stories about progressive concepts! Princesses are woke now, actually!” without taking a single financial risk when it comes to alienating foreign markets, homophobes abroad or Nazis domestically is just a fundamentally untenable position to be in. You don’t get to retcon Elsa and Anna as being somehow less white than they clearly are and then try to tell a story about reparations in which no one actually gets reparations. You don’t get to get points for that. It’s in some ways admirable to want to try, but all you do when you’re coming at it from the position of being Disney when you tell this story is show the cracks in it.

I can see how, on a purely storytelling level, having Papa King Arendelle Agnarr be of Arendelle and Iduna be of the Northuldra and having their daughters be the bridge between the two communities is a really tempting, tidy, tie-a-bow-on-it narrative. And I also see how creating the backstory of the war and the mist neatly explains the absence of indigenous faces in the first film. But like... come on. Introducing an indigenous group like the Northuldra and then declaring that Elsa and Anna are a part of it is insulting. There’s no other way to say it. It just feels gross. I’m glad that Disney consulted with the Sámi on the movie, and I acknowledge that both real-life Sámi folks and the onscreen Northuldra come in a broad variety of skin tones and phenotypes. But even with the most generous possible reading of the choice-- that it’s well-intentioned, albeit misguided-- falls flat for me. It feels like Disney trying to have their cake and eat it too. And I don’t really see any way around that. It just... gives me tremendous pause, and it’s so core to so many of the things the movie chooses to be that it’s really disquieting and disappointing.

But then again, Disney being racist isn’t exactly news, and there’s still plenty of flaws to tackle even when we put this (massive) issue aside.

This movie is... weirdly allergic to stakes? It’s not like I wanted Elsa to stay dead, or that I expected Olaf to (more on that in a minute). But Anna’s decision to go full Thor Ragnarok and, as @theseerasures jokingly put it to me last night, “throw the first brick at Stonewall” and destroy Arendelle felt right. It felt appropriate to the story they were telling, and it would have had the film put its money where its mouth is re: how atoning for the sins of our forebears requires massive systemic change. So having Elsa charge to the rescue on her water-type Rapidash extremely queer steed daemon Gay Horse and save the city felt cheap. (Also, side note: is Arendelle really just... that one seaside port town and nothing else? Are there only like fifty people in Arendelle?) The citizens had already been taken to safety. The society would live on; they’d all get to rebuild. What was the point of saving the castle, just for saving the castle’s sake? To what end? I don’t see how that’s more inspiring or reassuring or worth it than watching the sisters lead their people from the ground up and starting anew. I don’t understand what they thought was worth protecting, when, again, all of the people were safe. Stories need stakes in order to have meaning! HTTYD has impact because Hiccup loses his leg in his attempt to save his dragon and his people. You know? You don’t get to just... keep everything the way it is and call that restorative justice, and the film clearly wants us to. And I don’t understand why. The only reason that makes any sense at all to me is that they thought it would scare little kids, but like. THIS COMPANY HAS PORTRAYED WAY MORE TRAUMATIZING THINGS THAN THAT. MANY TIMES.

Point in fact: Olaf’s death! Genuinely disturbing! Sad! For the most part I really liked the way it was handled, but it also felt very. Y’know. “Mister Stark, I don’t feel so good.” This is perhaps my most uncharitable nitpick, so I’ll keep it brief, but having Olaf drift away Snap-style just felt like an extremely synergistic, Disney+ nod at Infinity War instead of an organic decision. Which maybe isn’t fair, because it makes more sense for Olaf to become a flurry than for the Snap to make people dust! But nevertheless, the weird wink-and-a-nudge feeling of it totally pulled me out of what should have been an extremely poignant moment. Elsa’s revelation during “Show Yourself” felt similar--like. Not to take away from your moment, Elsa, but the call isn’t out there at all, it’s inside me was already covered by this larger canon, and in a more elegant and eloquent manner.

Which--tbh, the music overall was a bit of a letdown (though “Into the Unknown” slaps and a boyband of five joshes “Lost in the Woods” was perhaps the best sequence in the whole movie). I respect that they clearly wanted to give everyone a solo this time around in a deliberate way, but the songs felt perfunctory for the most part--describing moments instead of advancing them. This film was such a departure from how Disney normally makes sequels (mostly in a good way, actually) and I couldn’t help but wonder what it would have looked like to make a version of this movie where no one sang at all. It didn’t feel cohesive.

And, though it would kill me to get rid of “Lost in the Woods” because it’s perfect... I kinda wish Anna and Kristoff had gotten engaged at the end of act 1, as I think they pretty clearly did in the first draft of this script. Their relationship drama felt like a hat on top of a hat, and they could still have addressed their codependency/insecurities while being engaged. Leaving the proposal for the end just made it an anticlimax after everyone’s been brought back from the literal dead. And it maybe would have left them with more options than having Kristoff just vanish from the narrative for the entire back half of the second act.

Also Honeymaren should have had at least two more scenes. I can’t justify this on a narrative level; the movie didn’t actually need more of her. But like. If you’re going to go out of your way to keep Elsa carefully single, and even give KRISTOFF a new boyfriend, I feel like the least you can do is let us get to know the obvious throw-us-a-bone offering a little bit better. Like. Literally. the actual least you can do.

anyway. all of that said.

the yay!

I can’t tell you how gratifying it was to me, personally to open with a flashback of the girls that demonstrates as clear as day that Elsa is an ace lesbian and Anna is bi and polyamorous. Thank you, snow action figures.

And like. Overall the way the movie tackled the sisters and their relationship was pure *chef’s kiss.* (And I think for me, the strength in this particular bullet point probably outweighs all of my complaints and concerns from above, in the end. At least from an “I still derive enjoyment from this flawed thing” standpoint, though perhaps not from an “I’d recommend this to anyone without caveats” standpoint.) THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH. THEY WERE SO THEMSELVES. I do think part of the fear of any sequel where there’s been a significant amount of time since the last one and you were so emotionally invested in it the first go-around is like... what if everyone feels OOC? What if what I saw wasn’t what was really in them after all? What if they feel like strangers? What if they let me down? And there was none of that, even for a second, with this movie. Their parallel journeys were character-appropriate and impactful. Elsa finally gets the freedom she’s always been looking for. Anna finally gets the responsibility she’s always been ready for. Anna, the caretaker, is positioned to take care of everyone. Elsa, the lesbian, runs away to the forest to hang out with beautiful powerful women. Elsa, the force of nature, is finally allowed to commune with it. The scene at their parents’ ship truly anchors the whole movie in the best possible way. And also, like... this movie showed how fucking weird Elsa is, and I feel so vindicated. SHE’S SUCH A DORK. I can’t believe I never realized that Elsa would totally choose Charmander as her starter, and the way she talked to the fire salamander was literally the most charming thing I have ever seen. “They’re staring at us, aren’t they?” GOSH. [IMDb says the salamander’s name is Bruni, and I’m very sad they never spoke it aloud.] [Someone do a rotoscope of the Tangled short where Pascal and Max almost ruin Rapunzel and Eugene’s wedding by losing the rings but it’s Bruni and Sven at Kristoff and Anna’s wedding, thank]

Anyway. All of that goes double for Olaf, because I really wasn’t sure they could pull off the miracle of him not being annoying twice. And they did! Olaf’s grappling with his burgeoning maturity was adorable and profound in equal measure, and his plot reenactments were sublime. And when he realized to Anna for the first time that he was feeling angry, that he was capable of feeling angry... what a tremendous moment. (Actually, I’ll extend what I said about the boat scene to include the Earth Giants river sequence in total, because. Again. Wow.)

And I have to say... as much as I am given real pause by their execution of the concept, “you just do the next right thing” is such beautiful (*cough* Jewish *cough*) praxis. I love that. In the broader Disney Revival canon of Tiana’s work ethic and Rapunzel’s abuse narrative and how Wreck-It Ralph talked about PTSD and all of the myriad things the first Frozen did, I might love “the next right thing” most of all. What a simple, powerful, evocative message. It’s so lovely. A perfect gem.

Also worth acknowledging that the animation was straight-up stunning. Which I expected, generally, but the water droplets in the ship? The way Elsa just loses it sobbing when she sees her mother’s face in the ice? The tender, shattered way Anna pulls Olaf in closer to her as he fades? W.O.W. And, y’know, while I stand by what I said above about stakes, I will say that the moment we first see that Elsa is experiencing cold, that Elsa is freezing? Genuinely--and please forgive the pun--genuinely chilling.

I love Gail the Gale. I love Mattias and Yelana and Ryder and Honeymaren. But mostly I just... loved the dialogue and these characters and that I got to spend a little more time with them. And I’m sure I’ll do so at least two more times before it leaves theaters.

... apparently this is over 2k words now so that seems as good a place to leave it as any. Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

#does #anyone #use #tracked #tags #anymore?#either way #let's stay out of them #that should do it #frozen 2 #frozen 2 spoilers #frozen #frozen spoilers #spoilers

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maxwalkalot · 4 years

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A Tale from the Caverns of Thracia

So I was inspired to create a megadungeon open table game for dungeons and dragons. After reading through various posts on The Alexandrian about the style of play, I decided to give it a go. I had tried somewhat open table things in the past, though they failed through poor planning on my behalf. I also considered running a west marches game, but felt like a megadungeon would be better; rather than key a large hex map, I “only” keyed two levels of a dungeon. In addition, I decided to run the Caverns of Thracia, written by Jennell Jacquay for the judges guild, to save time on making a dungeon from scratch.

Armed with a key, random tables galore, and redrawn maps (complete with dynamic lighting for that dungy dungeon feel), I informed my d&d friends and organized a game. I have decided to keep a log of the various delves we go on, and perhaps I’ll go into more detail of some more behind the screen stuff too. But for now, the tale of our first delve into the Caverns of Thracia.

Delve 1

For the first expedition to the caverns, we had a party of three brave souls; Athoz the leonin fighter, Iados the aasimar monk, and the warlock Nieven (starting at 2nd level). Before leaving, they rolled up for rumours, with Athoz learning of bat nests in the caverns, so best keep light down not to startle them. He was also told to keep an eye out for strange flora, and an ear out as a strange and loud roar that was heard coming from the caves a few days ago. Iodas learnt that someone who called themselves “the Minotaur King” was leading the beastfolk, and minotaurs are occasionally seen amongst the ranks of lizardfolk and gnolls. They shared their rumours opening, and were ready to go exploring.

Reaching a large stone foundation where a temple or building complex once stood, they found a clay tablet written in a strange language. Unable to decipher it, they descended the wide steps into the caverns. They went without a light, which proved useful as they walked past the huge array of bats living in the starting rooms without disturbing them too much.

The wide entrance room had two exits, right and forward (a left passageway was blocked by a cave in). They went forward, careful not to slip on the inches of bat guano that had accumulated over time. They entered a pillared corridor, again full of bats, noticing a shattered statue at the far end as well as a fissure in the western wall. The fissure opened up to a cavern below, past the reach of their darkvision. As they were debating what to do to try and estimate the depth, Athoz and Iodas heard murmuring to the north; by the statue were a pair of doors, one spiked shut, the other one apparently with someone behind. Iodas listened carefully. While he couldn’t understand the language, they seemed cautious and were debating what to do next. They also sounded reptilian, meaning they were perhaps lizardfolk or similar.

Meanwhile, Athoz and Nieven removed the spike from the other door and had a look inside. It was a nest of large red centipedes, writhing around angry and hungry (4 swarms of insects to be precise, nothing to sneeze at for some level 2’s). Athoz debated spiking the door shut, but Nieven wanted a fight, so combat broke out. A casting of bonfire in the doorway kept the centipedes at bay as they released a volley of missiles into the horde, though eventually some braved the flames to reach food. Athoz was hit with a critical hit, taking 22 damage, his exact health (8d4 is a lot!).

As Iodas dragged away the fighter and restored him with magic (they are sun soul monk I believe), Nieven blasted away with an eldritch blast. The centipedes were emboldened by their success, and they braved the flames to flood the party. However a cone of fire from burning hands killed enough to send the survivors scattering. Those who could not escape into the fissure were finished off in the nest. And with that the room was cleared.

Meanwhile, the occupants of the other room were holding firm (a reaction roll came up as “passive”, so they were waiting to see what happened). They decided to search the nest and get out, rest up, and return later. Prodding through the nest dug up some trinkets; a brass flute, a box with a pair of copper figurines inside, and some sort of arcane stamp or symbol. Not much, but something. Spiking the other door shut, they left.

They rested for an hour outside, Athoz restoring his hit points and Nieven his spells. Iodas had a look at the other ruined buildings, well their foundations at least, and spotted a more intact structure off in the distance, some 60 or so feet from the main stairs. Investigating, it was a low stone building sealed with a thick wooden door, barred with bronze. The party convened to assess the door. No one had thieves’ tools and the lock was far too complex to dislodge with a claw or dagger. So they battered it down with crowbar and maul, and opened up a narrow staircase that led down.

The corridor was narrow, 5 feet to be precise, so they were forced into a single line. At a turn they could see that the corridor seemed to open up into a cave, though there was no floor as they seemed to be at the top end of it. Instead, a rope bridge led across to the rest of the corridor, where they could see a light and a guard, standing there in hoplite-like amour (toughened linen breastplate, spear, shield…). They called out, asking the party to state their business, and didn’t seem too amused at their response of adventurers/explorers. He called for reinforcement, and behind him a door opened up, revealing two more soldiers as well as two robed figures. As the party dithered on what to do (no one wanted to cross the rope bridge), the guard prepared to huck a javelin, though was halted by a robed man who called out to the party.

The man looked cleric-like, with long black robes, an amulet around his neck, and face painted somewhat pale and with dark rings around his eyes and black tears falling from them. He raised his tattooed hands and called out to the party with a certain cheer, announcing that the place was a sacred place of “the Dark One” and offered them safety if they wished to cross and learn more.

A quick religion check later revealed this Dark One to be some sort of god of death, fate, or mortality, worshipped by some of the local Thakian clans and petty kingdoms. They weren’t well known, and definitely not a formal religion in other parts of the world. They decided to reject the offer, and instead leave (with the priest calling “come back if you want to learn more and sate your curiosity!” at them as they left). Hopefully they won’t be too mad about the door.

Returning to the main staircase, they returned to the pair of doors and the centipede scuffle. The spiked door had been broken down, and whoever inside was gone. Inside were remains of a camp, and some of the centipede corpses had disappeared too. They decided to check out the room, namely the “ornate wall paintings” I described. Iodas found a marble head in the remains of a statue that was in remarkable door continuation, while Nieven discovered a secret door hidden behind a stone panel. He decided to blast it with an eldritch blast, failing, and Athoz stepped up to pry it open with a crowbar and some lifting.

It led to part way along a corridor. To the left, the corridor continued into darkness, though of more pressing concern was a gnoll warrior who, alerted by the loud banging of the blast, was growling at them. He was in front of a door, and others could be seen and heard behind them.

Randomness helped them here though, as while this standoff was happening, an alarm cry from further away followed by a “charge!” in Thakian. This kicked off a three way combat between the party, the gnoll guards, and a band of Thakian hoplites who had entered the caverns to drive off the gnolls. The Thakians seemed allied with the priests from earlier and, in a case of “the enemy of my enemy is my friend”, joined forces temporarily to take down the gnolls. Five gnoll warriors, two gnoll archers, five hoplites, and three adventurers. Athoz was downed at one point by arrows, and Nieven almost met the same fate was it not for a hellish rebuke that annihilated the offending archer. The hoplites protected Athoz while the gnolls were hacked down, the survivors surrendering as they were trapped in the guard room.

The sergeant leading the hoplites, a woman with the same black facial markings of the priests, spoke with the party on how to divide the spoils. She was not terribly happy to deal with adventurers, seeing the caverns as belonging to her people. Iodas and Nieven argued that they could be of use to each other, as the party could help them in fighting off the gnolls who had made their lair in the Thakians’ sacred places. She told them to speak to the priests if they wanted to work further with them, and hashed out a deal for the immediate spoils. The party could take the material loot, and she the captives (for the priests to interrogate). The party argued to take one of the captives, to ask them for information on the caverns and perhaps convince them to into joining them. The sergeant agreed, and healed Athoz to 1 hit point through some lay on hands. The hoplites left, the party hoovered up what trinkets and coins the gnolls had as well as all the weapons, and left the caverns.

While they didn’t level up, they are most of the way there. The marble head was worth the most, and the trinkets added up eventually. They also now have a captive gnoll, who Iodas is planning to treat well and try to convince into helping them navigate the caverns in the future. While the rolls haven’t been made yet, it’ll probably be likely if Iodas shows he is the stronger leader, and will reward them with gold for their service. I’m using hireling/companion morale rules and such, so they might start with a low morale, but the gnolls of the caverns are raiders and tend to follow the strongest. Those who follow the minotaur king have little concern over nations and family bonds. Other gnolls perhaps, though not these particular ones.

All in all, I’m really happy with how things went. It was my first time running for the open table, and while some streamlining could help (namely printing off all my random tables and dungeon key) I am excited to play again.

#dungeons & dragons #game journal #dungeon delving #write-up #d&d #caverns of thracia #open table

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sojellyfishperson · 4 years

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gouniquegladiatorcollectio-blog1 · 4 years

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universallyglitternerd-blog · 4 years

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realityhelixcreates · 5 years

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Lasabrjotr Chapter 32: Echinacea Purpurea

Chapters: 32/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: None Relationships: Loki x Reader (Someday) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Reader, Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Stress With No Outlet, Real Trials Are Boring, Ain’t Like TV, Botanical Gardens Are The Best, Iceland Sounds Like A Blessedly Quiet Place To Someone Who Lives Where The Trees Scream Several Months Out Of The Year Summary: Reader’s insecurities build up again, but at least this time there is a calm place to vent them.

You'd only eaten a light breakfast, but it sat like a brick in your belly. Saldis had reappeared in your room once morning came, to help you dress and make sure you were ready. You weren't ready.

You certainly looked ready. Your hair was fine and your dress was fine, simple, plain, and modest. Your insides however, were spinning in frantic circles. What if the jury decided not to convict the guy? What if they all hated you too? What if somehow it got all turned around, and it was Loki that got thrown in jail instead? How would you help your prince then? You would have to go to jail too in that case, to stay alive. Would they put you in the same cell? Next to each other? Or would they find the farthest distance you could be from one another, and force you to stay that far apart?

No, no, those kinds of things only happened in television dramas. You had to ignore everything you had seen in the media about court proceedings; they were only written like that so that they wouldn't bore the viewers. Your only purpose here, Loki's only purpose here, was to give testimony. No one was going to try to put Loki on trial here, nor you. No one was going to let that man hurt you either. He was going to be confined to a chair, with no weapons, and there would be a lot of security. Brunnhilde and Borgliot, and even Thor himself would be there. You would be safe, and Loki would be safe, and soon this would be over.

But in order for it to be over, It had to begin. It couldn't be over until you had gone through it.

And so it was that you arrived at the courthouse, to find yet more protesters on the steps. Again, you found yourself surrounded by a protective Asgardian wall, though, to your surprise, many of these protesters seemed to be there in support of you. They had nothing but scathing denouncements for Loki though, viciously scolding him for his many crimes against humanity in general, and you in specific.

You wanted to tell them that it wasn't like that, but you didn't think they would be able to hear over their own shouting.

Thankfully, they were not being allowed into the actual courthouse, and would not be able to disturb the proceedings, though they had managed to disturb you. You hadn't thought about the awful things Loki had done on Earth for a while now, not when he showed you such consideration. He was so gentle with you, so...almost normal. But he had killed people, potentially many people. However, due to the secretive nature of some of the organizations he had attacked, no one had anything but rough estimates for how many deaths he was responsible.

No. You were here for a human murderer, and you would see justice done in this case at least.

The bereft soldier, Adalheid, was already there. As the primary witness to the actual murder, she had come to the city a few weeks ago for the preliminary hearing, and now waited in what you were calling the Witness Room with a few of the victim's family members. You couldn't speak with her directly, but with Loki and Saldis there, everyone was able to communicate fairly effectively.

To your surprise, nobody seemed to blame you. You were the reason the killer had even come here in the first place, but everybody placed the blame squarely on his shoulders, where it belonged.

“You cannot take the blame.” The victim's sister told you. “All you did was leave home. This man, he came with violence in his heart.”

“I knew that he would die long before I did.” Adalheid said through Saldis. “But I thought we would have some decades yet. That I might make him happy for the time we did have.”

“You did, dear. He always wanted to go back to you.”

It could have been you. People sitting around a room, consoling themselves over your absence. But instead, it was some guy who was completely uninvolved. If people back home thought you had somehow betrayed them for Loki, then ultimately, you could understand why they would be angry. Maybe even why someone would try to kill you. Somehow, it was more offensive, more cruel, that a man was dead now, just because he liked to cuddle with an Asgardian soldier.

Well, you would get vengeance for him. With the power of law!

It was, thankfully, nowhere near as dramatic as any of the television or movie trials you had seen, although there was the somewhat surreal experience of having the undivided attention of a room full of people who could neither speak to, nor understand you. Oh, it was likely that a few people here knew English, but maybe not well enough that you could communicate with each other.

That was Saldis' true purpose here. Being fluent in both Icelandic and English, she translated back and forth, able to effectively express nuance that might have been lost otherwise.

They wanted to know fairly simple things from you. Did you know the defendant? Had you ever met before, in person or on social media? Had you ever heard of him? No to all.

Had you ever met the victim? Had you otherwise heard of him? Not exactly, but from the little love nest Loki had described to you, you had surmised that someone like him must exist. You personally had never seen the evidence.

What did you remember from the day you were attacked? If you never saw his face, how do you know this is the same man who attacked you? Because he had blatantly told you at the scene of the murder itself.

All questions you had heard before, safe, rehearsed. No unexpected game changers from out of left field, no trying to twist your words around. No blame.

They released you from the stand, your head swimming in unfulfilled anxiety. That had been so simple. Your part was over now, and it almost felt as if you hadn't done anything at all.

You made your way back to the Witness Room, still edgy. That had been actually boring! The killer hadn't even looked at you! No one had said anything else to you, other than the questions you knew they were going to ask. They hadn't even gotten mad when you couldn't bring yourself to swear on a bible. Thor had actually brought you Stormbreaker to place your hand on. He'd been asked politely but firmly to put it away and not bring it out again while he was within the city, but nobody had said anything to you about it.

That stunt would have gotten you killed socially and in the media back in the States. But things were different now. You took meals with gods, and slept in hotels with them. You held their hands and scolded them. You weren't the same now as you had been then.

Saldis tried to convince you to sit down and wait, but you were just too wound up to rest. You paced round and round, jumping as the door suddenly opened and Loki swept regally into the room.

“My dear.” He said. “You look troubled.”

You stopped pacing and hurried over to him. “I'm just...I don't know...”

“I think I do. Lucky for us, our presence is no longer necessary. We can go wherever we like now. Would you like food?”

“You said there was a botanical garden? Can we go there?”

“Certainly. We can spend the rest of the day there, if you wish.” He promised, taking your hand.

“Your Highness, will you require my services any further?” Saldis asked.

“Not for today, I think. You may go where you wish, but do not go alone. Enjoy your day.”

Saldis bowed. “Thank you, your Highness.”

Loki led you back to the steps of the courthouse, where the protesters still gathered. They began shouting again, their fervor rising as they noticed Loki still holding your hand. Several people started screaming about love conquering all, but others jumped forward trying to separate you, to 'liberate' you.

“Oh, definitely not.” Loki muttered. He swept you into his arms as security guards rushed to restore peace. With a wild laugh, he sprang from the stairs, landing as gracefully as a dancer. Cries of awe and fear rose up behind you, receding as Loki ran down the street, carrying you off like a princess.

“You crazy bastard!” You gasped. Loki set you on your feet, and you leaned against the nearest wall until your heart stopped thudding.

“Those are very inelegant words with which to describe your prince and savior.” He said with a fake scowl. “Never fear; I can provide better ones. Gallant, for starters. Noble, courageous, clever, devastatingly handsome. Take your pick.”

“What kind of stunt was that?” You exclaimed. “What if you'd dropped me?”

“Oh _____,” Loki said, trailing a finger down your cheek. “When would I ever do that?”

You needed to lean against the wall for a little longer.

People started to notice you, or rather, Loki. These seemed like the regular residents of the town, and they did not try to approach, but you saw an awful lot of cellphones out and pointed in your direction.

The stroll through town would have been quite pleasant, aside from that. The place was very clean, and there were many cute buildings with bright paint.

“Loki, I think there are people following us.” You whispered, clinging to his offered arm.

“I know.” He whispered back. “As long as they keep a respectful distance, let them take their pictures and videos. What will it show to the world, save you and I sharing a quiet day in peaceful accord?”

“Is that your version of PR?”

“Given that the majority of Earth's footage of me is rather unflattering, yes. Let your internet flood with videos of myself chivalrously escorting you around the city. I don't mind it in the least.”

Nobody followed you into the gardens themselves, but Loki's presence did cause a stir there, gathering stares and whispers as he charmed the receptionist into appointing another worker as a personal guide and security guard. The poor fellow tried his best to clear the area, chattering about the history of the place, which Loki helpfully translated for you.

According to your new guide, the gardens were initially built in the early twentieth century, by a group of ladies who wanted to bring a bit of beauty to their far northern city. Over time, it grew and grew, encompassing some of the oldest buildings in the city, and containing, not only many examples of the hardy native flora, but also foreign species, carefully tended to keep them healthy.

There were plants here of types you hadn't seen in months. How could it have been so long since you had seen roses? Sunflowers? All these blossoms, so common to the landscaping of home, yards and gardens. You spotted a bed of purple coneflowers and found yourself fighting to hold back tears. These grew wild along the roadsides, little pops of pale purple swaying in the sparse breeze of late summer. When you were younger, walking home from school, you used to gather bouquets of them, leaving them in a vase for your Nanna Beth to find when she got home. They had been decimated by the Event, along with everything else.

Endless cornfields, and endless sky, and endless stars, and endless roads. Hedgerows and wildflowers on the roadsides, remnants of forest and prairie. The wide, flat expanse of living things, with just the occasional town tucked here and there, hidden among the life-giving corn.

It was still wrong somehow. Something was missing. Something was too still.

No butterflies. Almost no insects at all, just some small flies, hovering around the blossoms. For the first time you realized how quiet Iceland was. All the chirping, buzzing, and song you had grown up with were silent here. No crickets, no hornets, no cicadas, frogs, or grasshoppers.

You felt Loki's hands cup your shoulders. He had been speaking to you, but you had been too enthralled in the world the coneflowers had taken you back to. You turned and buried your face in his chest, and though he stiffened, he didn't seem entirely unprepared for a sudden reaction from you, and merely crossed his arms loosely around you.

Home was gone. Every time you thought you had come to accept that, something happened to awaken that ache inside again. Something was there to remind you of how far away and lost you were, how much of a stranger. But Loki was too, and you could turn to him. You both lived here now, but had come from far away places, very different from your new home.

How did he cope? For him, everything would seem wrong. The animals, the people, the plants, even the stars.

“Let it out my dear, I know you've been stressed. You have spent the whole day nearly vibrating from it. It is over now. You are unlikely to be called back to witness again, and no matter the outcome, he is going away. He will be subject to justice, the only question left is the severity of his punishment.”

“I know, I know! It's okay, I know. I was just...Those flowers over there, they used to grow...”

You found a bench to sit on, and told him everything; how isolated you felt, how out of place, how lost.

“But it's got to be so much worse for you.” You said. “How do you deal with it?”

“Well...I may not actually have it all that much worse than you.” Loki mused. “After all, my people are here. I am surrounded by them, by my culture. I hear my own language every day, see and wear familiar clothing, hear songs that I know.

You may be on the same world, but Earth is so large that the people in another area can be so different as to be nearly unfathomable. Yes, they're also human, but can you speak with them? Do you live in the same way? The rules may be different for them, and they have no way to tell you that. There is no one to protect and succor you. That's true isolation; to be alone, even among your own species.

Yet, you don't even have that. You no longer live among other humans. Everyone you see in a day is technically an extraterrestrial. Some are Aesir. None are humans, no matter how similar we might look, and something in your instincts knows that. Only a handful of people there know your language, and all sound foreign to you. The clothing is different from yours, some of the food as well. The culture is different, the architecture, the stories and holidays.

There are many things that are unfamiliar to me here. The fact that I cannot reach the edge of this world. Time zones. Seismic activity. But I am facing all of these things with my brother at my side, and my people behind me. So I really couldn't say which of us has it worse.

“I do feel lost sometimes. The sky here does not act right. The animals and plants of this world are terribly strange. Do you know how insane the concept of a whale is to someone whose world had no ocean? I do feel like I do not belong here, and I feel the isolation as well, on a deeper level than I can explain right now. At least one very powerful nation absolutely despises me, and they are not without reason. They have the ability to influence others, and are continually attempting to do so, even here.”

He leaned back against the bench with a deep sigh. Your guide continued trying to shoo away people with their phones, and you couldn't help but wonder how flooded with pictures and videos of the two of you the internet was about to be.

“I honestly wouldn't fret about it all that much, if not for the trouble my enemies try to bring upon those who are not my enemies. My brother. My people. You. There are already casualties, and I wasn't even involved! This is another reason I do not try to stop these people from filming me. The more normalized I become, the less controversial a figure. The more people see me as a person, the fewer people will attempt to do what this man has done.”

“And I can ultimately help with that.” You concluded. “Just by existing. As long as I look happy and healthy, and stay by your side, the more you look like a friend.”

“Indubitably. That wasn't the initial plan. There was no plan. But now...well, if there is a plan, it's a very loose one, it's just that I keep finding new and valuable facets to your company. So, If you find yourself feeling lost, feel free to come to me. We can be lost together.”

You sighed as well, this time in fondness. “You're very good at grand proclamations, you know? Is that part of being raised as a political figure?”

“Would you prefer me to be more succinct?”

“I'd rather you just say what you feel.”

“Oh my dear,” Loki said with a grin. “I hope then, that you are prepared to hear many, many words.”

#lasabrjotr #loki x reader #loki (marvel)#marvel fanfiction

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it-was-so-human · 6 years

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From now on our troubles will be out of sight

A jonsaexchange for @alittlestardustcaught. I hope you have the happiest of holidays!

Her lips pink and soft. (And he wonders not for the first time, though it a terrible thing to wonder, how they must feel.) OR The Westeros version of your family bombarding you with relationship questions during the holidays.

He finds her standing on the battlement, looking over the walls of the castle. As if she was keeping guard over all of Winterfell by herself.

Without turning around, she addresses him, “The Harvest Feast traditionally takes place during the harvest season. There are lords who take the delay as a slight by the Throne.”

Jon knows this, he should have arrived well before the first snow had fallen. Had been kept busy by the Queen. His visit meant as a sign of goodwill to the North coming off more as an insult.

He knows this. But he does feel the desire to reprimanded by Sansa Stark.

But when she turns around, he sees there’s a small smile playing on her lips.

“I suppose the Dragon Queen is unwilling to be parted from you for long.”

He holds in an audible groan. His relationship with his Aunt had strained heavily during the Great War and the first blush of romance had given way to a tense dynamic. Now he is only her nephew and reluctant temporary heir.

“She rather I be out of her way as much as possible these days.”

Sansa shakes her head, “I hardly blame her.”

A broad grin spreads across his face.

She’s older since he’s seen her last. Her features more refined. The last traces of girlhood gone. A sophistication in their stead, transforming a pretty young lady into a beautiful woman.

And he realizes that she looks even more like her Lady Mother, an image of Catelyn Stark. He wonders if he should feel some pain or anger at her resemblance to a lady who shunned him. Or perhaps feel a resentment over her rightful claim to a title he desired his whole life.

But no, seeing her there with her strength and grace? The last of her family name?

Jon only felt a wave of pride. And affection.

She may look like her mother, or carry herself with the honor of her father. But Sansa is truly only herself.

Her auburn hair was covered in part by her cloak, and perfect snowflakes caught on her lashes and melted on her lips.

He feels his throat tighten from some other emotion he cared not to name.

She looked ethereal standing there. No. No, that was not it.

She looked so very real. Real enough to touch.

Her lips pink and soft. (And he wonders not for the first time, though it a terrible thing to wonder, how they must feel.)

“Winterfell looks almost fully restored. The improvements in winter town are impressive. Your ravens don’t do you justice.”

The ravens he receives with missives in her neat elegant handwriting. (Letter he covets, reads and rereads.)

((He’s missed her.))

Sansa seems pleased with his praise—a slight blushing on her cheeks—and nods in acknowledgement.

She seems to hesitate for a moment, before finally asking, “Did the Queen send a husband for me?”

He’s taken aback, that was a question he did not expect.

“A… a husband?”

“The lords and vessels are whispering. They fear they must act quickly.”

“To do what exactly?”

She gives him a soft smile, “To find a husband for Lady Stark, of course.”

“A what?” He’s repeating himself. He feels foolish, but he must have misheard her.

(She’s suffered through two marriages and many betrothals. How could any loyal Northerner ask this of her? Just as she’s regained herself.)

“A husband. A reliable Northern husband. Before the Queen picks a Southron lord to stake a claim.”

“No. You are my sister, under my protection. How dare anyone—“

“I am your cousin. And it is only practical. How long can a woman without an heir be able to wield control of the North?”

He hears himself let out a small growl in protest.

“Just because they are tired of fighting, doesn’t mean peace comes easily. They want security, Jon.”

“And you can marry—when you are ready. Someone of your choosing. A man you may love,” he manages.

“I am not upset by this; their concerns are legitimate. I have stopped dreaming of princes and love long ago.”

“Sansa…”

“After everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve lost? It’s an easy enough sacrifice to protect those we love.”

And he has no words so he opens his arms and she falls into them easily. Nestles closer him, and he holds her close.

“Welcome home, Jon.”

Home. The word was sweet.

He lets out a thin laugh. (He did not realize how tired he truly was until just then.)

- - -

The Harvest Feast felt so very much like… a Winterfell Harvest Feast. Despite the long winter and slow returns, it was a hearty and welcoming fare.

Sansa Stark was able to do the work of both the Warden of the North and lady of a great house.

The hall decked and alight with candles and the feast gave way to dancing. Not the level of opulence as King’s Landing with the elaborate musicians and foreign performers Sansa had dreamed of as a child.

But still Winterfell’s held a warmth all its own. (And the walls of Winterfell felt more alive than the keep in King’s Landing ever did to him.)

And to Jon’s surprise, he was welcomed back into the fold, not as a Targaryen but a Northern son.

But the whispers Sansa warned of rang through the room. It seemed to be the task the lords aimed to resolve this Harvest Festival.

And when he brought his concerns up to Davos, there was little help on his part.

“Aye, she does have to marry.”

At Jon’s protest the older man only shrugs, “Is it not the way of things for lords and ladies? You too will have to marry.”

He tries, and fails, not to choke on his ale.

The young Lady Mormont is sitting next to him and nods wisely, as if it obvious. “We were surprised you haven’t married your Queen, but I can’t imagine you won’t marry someone soon enough.”

And throughout the night his hands are fisted, knuckles white to keep from attacking the crude babbling he overhears. The disrespect falling from the lips of drunken noblemen.

“I pity the man who would marry her, she’s like steel.”

“Ahhh, but imagine being the one to bed her. Warm her up a bit?”

Sansa didn’t deserve a man who would be weary of her or one who would see her as a conquest merely or duty.

She should be… respected and cherished. Adored.

Just look at her.

She was standing cross the room from him and practically glowing. Her auburn hair sparkling in the candlelight. Thick eyelashes framing bright Tully-blue eyes. Long elegant fingers that during the war delicately stitched skin and knitted socks and tallied grain supplies and comforted the dying. She catches his eyes, and gives him a small nod. A barely notable wink directed at him, breaking her ladylike countenance.

(How could any man not love her?)

He wonders if he should ask her to dance. Wonders if he should save her from silly youths and scheming lords.

(Because perhaps he still wants to be the knight, wants to try his hand at saving a lady in distress.)

But as she smiles and accepts the hand of an elderly lord, he realizes doesn’t need him. Politicking and diplomacy is where she excels, not him.

So instead he resorts to glowering at the unworthy men in the hall.

(And he feels as sullen and broody now as he did as a child at his last feast in Winterfell, but there’s no helping it really.)

- - -

At Davos’ advice, he trudges through the snow towards the godswood to find Sansa. To ask her what decision she has made before the lords meet that evening.

The snow was swirling, flurries creating a blanket of all that was pure and possible.

He should be tired of the snow. Should relish the sweet long Southron summer. Be dreading the chill the goes straight to the bones. Should be sickened of cold winds and curse at drifting flakes.

But instead he finds them haunting his dreams.

He dreams of memories of laughter ringing through the halls of Winterfell. Of untainted crisp winter snow, full of possibilities and untarnished hope.

Of Robb and Theon and snowball fights before the advent of destiny and war and blood in their lives. Of Arya, Bran, Rickon, and Sansa with frost covered hair.

(Despite the cold, his childhood always felt warm.)

She’s standing there, but he doesn’t want to disturb her. Not until he finds the right words.

He reaches down and touches the snow, soft and powdery. The perfect consistency for a snowball.

He sees her straighten, she’s sensed him and is waiting.

His fingers itch to break the silence. To do… something.

No one would dare throw a snow at Lady Stark… and yet he feels his hands packing together the perfect snowball and sending it flying towards.

It splatters against her beautiful locks, and her recoil in response makes his stomach tighten. He should have known better. Should not have ever surprised her—

But she only shoots him a glare, a glint of excitement in her eyes.

And quickly collects snow before running away to a more strategic location.

The laughter that escapes him as he follows after her is… joyous. (When are the Lady of Winterfell and the Crown Prince allowed to just… be.)

And they bombard one another with snowballs and when he finally catches her she surprises him by rubbing a handful of snow in his hair

And she is laughing and her otherwise perfect porcelain skin is the brightest of reds and her hair mussed with wild strands escaping her braid and snow is everywhere and she looks absolutely beautiful.

He feels his hand move on its own accord yet again, and now he’s tracing the hollow of her cheek with his knuckles.

It hurt to remember the excitement in her eyes upon her betrothal to the bastard Baratheon boy now replaced with yesterday’s simple resignation and duty.

He will do whatever he can to protect her from even more heartbreak.

“Is there a man who will make you happy? One who may be worthy of you?”

And in response she only comes closer. And he can smell her soft floral scent and the crisp winter snow in her hair.

And she leans even closer, placing a kiss against the corner of his mouth. Her lips soft and warm and he feels the world go still.

And after a pause, as his lips meet hers (soft and warm and as perfect as he ever imagined) he understands.

The gentle unsure movement of her lips against his giving way to a slow exploration and the sweetest feeling he has ever known.

He feels her lips smiling against his, and it is simply… it is simply right.

She is his family and she is his home.

(And nothing could take him away again.)

- - -

Also on AO3.

#AHHHHHHHHH #guys you know #this is a thing that exists #jonsaexchange #jon and sansa #jonsa #actually jonsa #gahh I'll edit you again super soon!

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shafferangelina95 · 4 years

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setsunatama3 · 4 years

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Chapter 12: the date and troublesome meetings

Naruto met up with Weiss at the docks to the bullheads. He paused to take in her beauty... She was wearing a form-fitting sleeveless bodice that wrapped around her neck.and a ruffled skirt that had coattails that extended to her shins adorned with her crest on the tails. And a pair of opera gloves. And blue stockings and a pair of heels. All in hues of blue and white. "Weiss, you look amazing."

Smiling at the compliment she looked him up and down seeing that he had left the vest behind and now wore a black jacket with the sleeves rolled up and his chest on the right sleeve and a pair of orange pants with the same open-toed sandals. "so are we going to get on a bullhead Naruto?"

"Nah, I've got something better," Naruto said, pulling her to the side of the building. In a flash of light, they were gone. They reappeared in an alley a few blocks from the center of Vale's commercial district.

"Wow, just wow that was… a lot better than last time." Weiss said Stumbling slightly from the disorientation when naruto caught her by the arm. Left grasping for straws at trying to describe the sensation of her second teleportation.

"Yeah, you get used to it," Naruto said while holding her by the arm to keep her from falling.

"So where are we heading Naruto?"

"it's a surprise Weiss, Naruto said with a grin. As they started to walk down the street. Weiss started to notice the upscale buildings that they were passing. Until they turned the next corner. Weiss was stunned Pausing at the front door looking up at the letters on the signboard. It read LUX. As in one of Vale's most famous upscale restaurants. The same restaurant that had a year-long waitlist. Escorting her into the restaurant and walking up to the podium with the Maître d'. "can I get your name, sir?"

With a smile, naruto answered," it's Uzumaki."

Upon hearing the name, his eyes widened "right this way, sir," and the Maître d' immediately lead them to a private room in the back. With a table for two and a mini grill and prep tables.

After leading her to the table, Naruto took off his jacket and draped it over his chair. He reached into his back pouch, and grabbed two small scrolls, set them on the tables and grabbed the apron. Seeing all this Weiss was dying to get answers out of the blonde." naruto what is going on here?"

"Ah, right, I own this place. you would be surprised what you can afford to do once you set up an international information network and are an international bestselling author. After all you need to have several legitimate businesses." Rolling out the scrolls, he pulsed his chakra into them, unsealing his ingredients and a menu. "H-how," she questioned, unable to believe naruto.

Setting the menu on the table in front of her naruto gave his answer. "well smut sells Weiss. Also, I believe that I told you I'm old, far older than you. With age comes experience. I came to this world about two years ago. To hide and not draw attention to myself. Sarada and I almost literally took over the information apparatus of the world and for most of the organized crime in Vale and Mystral. In short, a lot of people answer to me."

Seeing the look on her face, he continued before she could start to speak." don't get me wrong I don't precisely control the organized crime in Vale like some kingpin I just set some ground rules to reduce crime and punish severely any who step out of line I really just act like an information broker. But they know that I can crush them anytime I want, so it's like I am a boogie-man to them."

Nodding in understanding, she gave her order." can I have the lobster risotto, beef wellington with potato puree, glazed root vegetables, red wine demi-glace."

Making his now-signature hand seal two clones popped into existence. And started to help cook within 4 minutes he had the appetizers ready than not long after that they were eating a full course meal paired with a finely aged wine. Making idle chatter and having a good time. "So princess tell me about the real Weiss Schnee."

"Well, I am the heiress of the Schnee dust company as many know. But what many don't know about me is while I want to take over the company. I want to restore the honor and reputation of my family's company." taking a pause to sip some wine to get her thoughts in order.

"I also like to sing. My greatest desire is to live up to my family's legacy and become a huntress," she said with a smile.

They were having a good time until a waiter came in a handed naruto a note. That read "need to meet soon its urgent. -R.T.- "

Sighing he incinerated the letter with I burst of fire chakra.

"Naruto is anything wrong?" Weiss asked worried about the look on his face.

"No, I just have a meeting I have to take care of later. Now, let's go do something fun," Naruto said with a grin on his face.

The pair soon left the restaurant with Weiss on his arm. Soon they were heading to the city gates when she quirked an eyebrow and asked." and just where are we going, mister?"

"Well, I'm going to show you how shinobi really date it's going to be fun."

"And just how are you going to show me that."

As soon as she asked the question. Naruto picked her in a bridal carry and took off out of the gates. It wasn't long before he began to pick up speed and took off like a rocket into the forest. Weiss holding on with a death grip.skidding to a stop once he made it into a clearing far from the city he set her down and crouched down." get on." he said motioning to his back. Complying Weiss climbed on. Standing up, he lept into a tree then started leaping from tree to tree. With a final jump they were consumed by a golden aura. Closing her eyes after the jump expecting to be falling blinked her eyes and had to do a double-take. Because they were flying.

Allowing the truth-seeking orbs to form with his cloak he positioned one under Weiss. Landing on top, he set her down. With a smug grin, he said," see this is fun right."

Weiss couldn't help but nod as they started to ascend higher and higher. Soon they broke through the clouds and could see the stars in the night sky. Stunned at the beauty of the night sky, Weiss couldn't help but utter," it's so beautiful."

"The only thing that makes it better is you, Weiss."

Hearing what naruto said she flushed red, making a lovely contrast to her hair. "I think it's time to get you home now Weiss it's almost time for curfew." naruto said and in a flash, they were gone and reappeared in her room. "I had a great time naruto." she then pulled him down for a chaste kiss blushing. And with the flash, he disappeared, leaving her there.

-]|[-

Reappearing in one of his flats on the outskirts of Vale. Naruto changed out of his outfit and walked over to his armory and started to put on his Anbu armor. Affixing a tanto to his back, he tapped on the Anbu tattoo on his shoulder with three quick pulses of chakra he sent a summons to Sarada. After putting on his kitsune mask, she soon appeared bleeding out of the shadows already in Anbu garb of her own with the Ryu mask and their hair shifted from blonde and black to red. Taping his tattoo twice, he sent out a message that they were on there way to the meet.

As soon as they left the building, they faded away into the night.

After scouting out the meeting place at the warehouse, the two listen in on the conversation." roman do tell me why we are here?" a sultry voice called out. "If you must know I called for a meeting with our 'benefactor'." the now-named roman said. Taping the ash from his cigar.

Noting his posture and the lack of utter fear that she instilled in the man when they first met. The sheer lack of respect he was showing angered her considerably. Cinder thought to herself that she would need to remind him that this benefactor of his could not save him. That by the end of this meeting, this so-called benefactor would be nothing but ash, and he would know his place as one of her pawns.

Noting the guards in the building naruto nodded to Sarada by his count there were sixteen of them not counting the skilled pair behind the woman called Cinder. Signing to Sarada to take them out non-lethally. She nodded, and she set to work while he dropped from the ceiling behind Cinder and her associates soundlessly. The only one to notice him immediately was neo who looked to him, and he motioned for her to play along. And she went back to her scroll. Signing to Kitsune, " fine but you owe me ice cream." naruto could only nod.

Standing there, he waited for them to notice the next to notice was roman due to his clear line of sight. Seeing the grin on Roman's face, he spoke up. "now roman why exactly did you call me? You know I don't like to be disturbed unless it's urgent."

Stunned that someone could sneak upon them, the trio turned to attack but found that they could not move. "What did you do," Cinder snarled despite the situation. His only response is to look down an action that they were forced to mimic. "You see that your shadows are connected to mine. It means I have complete control of your actions like this. I think that's all I am going to explain to you." he said to them.

"Now to business Roman."

"Yes, Boss."

"Roman," Kitsune growled.

Unperturbed by the killing intent sent his way Roman continued to speak.

"Let us be serious for a moment here.you may call yourself an information broker but for all intents and purposes you are the boss here.you just proved that with your entrance. Even if you don't take any of the proceeds from your ventures. I mean for me your the best boss I've ever had we can do what we want as long as we don't step out of line and break your rules. I mean there fairly simple no killing civilians. Don't attract the Grimm. maintain the status quo and the biggest one of all you have don't under any circumstances mess with Beacon."

After his little speech, Roman took a smooth drag from his cigar. Revealing in the fear coming off to the brats behind Cinder. With a smug grin, he knew now that all he had to do is wait and this metaphorical mess. With that bitch, Cinder would be cleaned up. Even if he would need to hire new minions to clean up the literal mess with a mop and bucket.

Looking to Cinder Kitsune freed her alone with an errant thought. As if to show just how powerless she is in the shinobi's presence. Kitsune walked over to the crate next to neo and sat down. Forcing the two bound by his jutsu to mimic to the best of their abilities. In this case, they walked over to the space parallel from him and fell on their collective asses.

After sitting, Kitsune directed his full attention to Cinder. "Explain now!" the shinobi sneered at her.

At this point, Cinder was absolutely furious with the man in front of her to the point that for the first time in a long time, she acted without thinking things clearly. And made to use her semblance to send a spike of glass into his chest. The only thing that stopped her was the blade at her throat. With some kind of energy flowing through it, making it vibrate and generate a slight ringing sound. But what really caused her to stop was the blade cut through her aura like it wasn't there. The blood blossoming from a small wound. She came to the revelation that the only reason she was not dead yet was because of the skill of the owner of this blade. Turning her head to come face to face with another masked individual with a dragon mask and armored similar to Kitsune.with hair as red as blood only long and flowing down her back.

"Ryu you can stand down for now," Kitsune said.

Nodding Ryu stepped away and faded into the shadows.

Taking the time to recompose herself, Cinder took the reprieve to run through all her plans. Coming to the realization that without her maiden powers. In all likelihood, she would never leave this warehouse alive. if it came to it and either way, she wouldn't make it out unscathed. Not wanting to reveal that trump card just yet. She knew that the best way out was with words. And hopefully, he could be persuaded to her side by the end of things. So a halve truth it is then she decided.

"Well, for now, my goal is to steal as much dust as I can. But that only part of it I want revenge on a particular man."

"Why?" naruto asked, now curious about her reasoning and taking note of her posture. She lacked the confidence she had earlier. And it was evident that there was something that she was hiding. Then her blatant desire for revenge and the willingness to do whatever it took to get that revenge. And based on what he had sensed. The excuse that this was all because she no longer wanted to be weak and desired power above all. Else was to him utterly false. This situation reminded naruto too much of Sasuke and Itachi for comfort.

Crossing her hands underneath her bust to emphasize her beauty and regain some confidence.

"He killed someone significant to me," was her short answer. But to Kitsune, it was very telling how she maintained this facade of superiority. The act of careless abandon towards her companions. Cinders posture said it all for him.even if it cost her life the two he had bound would be her first priority. They were not just simple pawns.

With his mind made up, Kitsune stood up, and the pair mimicked him, and he walked to stand parallel to Cinder. And released his control over the couple.

"Provided that you do not step out of line you won't meet me again, Cinder. If you require information, I expect you to go through roman. You will only receive this one warning if you have stepped out of line we won't be having a conversation am I clear...." after making his stance clear, naruto started to step back into the shadows when Cinder called out to him.

"Wait! Would you be willing to help me? is there anyway at all to get you to join me?"

As he slid back and into the shadows till only his face remained, he responded." at the moment no, the path you walk is very wrong. And your master will care not when you fall. It will only end in your death Cinder fall the next fall maiden." he slipped into the shadows and disappeared.

"So that was rather enlightening don't you think Cinder." Roman snarked to the stunned woman who was left speechless.

While all she could think was that this Kitsune and Ryu know everything. So stunned, she missed Romans last cutting remark as he left. "ha, you came here and tried to play with a stacked deck. And you forgot one simple rule the house always wins."

-]|[-

After making their way back to one of the flats to store their armor. Naruto and Sarada made their way back to beacon separately on his way to the dorms. Naruto was stopped by the headmaster. "Mr. Uzumaki a word if you would in private."

Following the headmaster up to his office, Naruto waited for the man to speak.

"Mr. Uzumaki Ever since you enrolled here at Beacon, you have gone above, and beyond my expectations, you have gained my attention. And I would like to know what do you know of fairy tales. More specifically, the story of the seasons."

Now more alert than ever naruto extended his senses to encompass all of Beacon in an instant. Before zeroing in on the headmaster after determining no one was listening in on their conversation.

"Headmaster, if this about some nonsensical story where four girls get an incompetent wizard to pass his responsibility to them. I think I'll have to pass."

Without being excused naruto turned to leave. But stopped with his hand on the door. "headmaster if you're wondering what I think about that story you should ask yourself why was a man of such great power in hiding in the first place."

Leaving Ozpin to question the further growing mystery that was Naruto Uzumaki.

-]|[-

Naruto slipped into his room and after shedding his clothes and putting on his nightwear. Shifting into his bed to find a shock of blonde hair and lilac eyes staring back at him. "yang, what are you doing here?"

"It was cold in my room."

…

"You could have turned up the temp."

"Naruto "

"Yea?"

"shut it, you have a hot girl willing to use you as a pillow. besides, I like to cuddle."

"You could have cuddled with blake."

"Your better."

"Whatever."

The two soon fell into a blissful sleep.

-]|[-

-Location atlas -

"Dr. Weller, how is project Gen: lock preceding?"

"Yes, general ironwood the project is having some success we just need candidates. However my variant project P.E.N.N.Y. is already operational honestly she is astounding and may surpass Gen: lock. As it stands, she is compatible with Gen: lock."

"Understood we shall begin a trial run on Penny while you look for candidates. I will have transport sent to the anvil."

Ending communication, the general turned his chair to look out the window of his flagship the Prydwen.thinking to himself over the information of three students of his. Pulling up the files on his display readout: Pyrrha Nikos possible candidate for Maiden inheritance, Sarada Uchiha likely candidate for Maiden succession pending further investigation, Naruto Uzumaki optional recruit allegiance unknown. "Damnit oz just what are you playing at ."

#the maelstrom of remnant #naruto #rwby #crossover #fanfiction

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drinkupthesunrise · 7 years

Note

Ok, so I know you're all about the WedgeLuke, but would you consider writing WedgeBodhi? For a prompt I would say, something like - Wedge gets put in charge of helping the newest defector transition into the Rebellion. He didn't expect to actually *like* the guy... Maybe?

I am a consummate multishipper, even if I do focus my writing mostly in one place :D So happy to oblige. This is definitely Wedge/Bodhi, but it is also some other things as well, because I got slightly carried away. (3.5k, also on ao3)

Thereare, in retrospect, a half dozen reasons why Wedge is the perfect manto help Bodhi Rook settle into the Alliance to Restore the Republic.

(He’san Imperial Defector himself; he spent six months out on injuryrelearning to walk; he knows exactly what it’s like to walk from abattle that left almost everyone else dead; to name a few.)

Thatdoesn’tmean that Wedge likesany of them.

He’salready spotted one eager, idiotic, headstrong pilot who needslooking after – Skywalker is youngand in desperate need of guidance – but Wedge is told that, no,Skywalker already has people in his corner. (To be the Last Princessof Alderaan, ready to martyr oneself for the Alliance, counts for farmore than a fool of a pilot who peeled off the Death Star run momentsbefore completion, apparently.) Instead, Wedge is asked to beresponsible for the hero of Scarif, thepilot, the only reason that any of them are still standing here atall.

Theorders come from Chancellor Mon Mothma herself, conveyed by HeraSyndulla, just before the evacuation of Yavin Base. It’sthe last words Hera says to Wedge. The Ghost does not appear at therendezvous point. Wedge is cast adrift, bitter and alone again –they’ve sent Luke off with that damned Corellian idiot and thePrincess, and Verlaine is now heading the Alderaanian contingent, andHobbie… Hobbie is in medical somewhere,where Wedge isn’tquite sure, but his status remains steady at aliveso Wedge doesn’tquestion it too much.

Sohe does about the only thing left to himself, and gets his ass downto the medbay. The med droids almost don’tlet him in, but Wedge’s orders came with a broad spectrumauthorisation that gets him past once he remembers to use it.

“Getthe fuck out,” are the words which Wedge is greeted with. He canonly see a back, and an arm – still bandaged heavily, which meansthe limited Bacta supplies didn’t help and it’ll scar. One legswings under the bed. The other one, Wedge knows from his briefglance at the medical report, was lost to the explosion that rockedRogueOne.

“I’dlove to,” Wedge shoots back. “But Chancellor’s orders. You’restuck with me until you can get an audience with her and convince heryou don’tneed babysitting, and good kriffing luck with that.”

Bodhi’shead turns, just enough to get a glance at Wedge. Half his head isshaved – medical intervention, Wedge guesses, or at least partof it is unintentional, because…well, it’s not a great look, and Rook doesn’t look used to it.His eyes are wide, almost too big for his face, and they’rehaunted, from stress and lack of sleep and who knows what besides. Inthat second, Bodhi looks almost ready to fight, to physically pushWedge out the medbay if he has to. But something stops him. “You’re…”Rook’s voice is low, worn thin, though Wedge thinks it might havebeen nice once. “You’re a pilot.”

Wedgenods. The bright orange of his comefind mesuit made that fairly clear. “Iwas on the Death Star run,” he says, hoping it will prove to Bodhithat he understands just a modicum of the hell that Bodhi’s beenthrough. That he has the potential to.

Bodhiconsiders this for a long moment. “Chancellor’sorders?”

“’Fraidso.” Wedge lets his mouth quirk into a smile.

“Well,come in. Two-one-bee will have a fitif you keep standing at the door, and I’mnever going to get released if I keep pissing them off.”

“Whatdo you actually doall day?”

Wedgekicks off, sliding his board out from under the low-level A-Wing he’stampering with, to see Bodhi looking down at him, curiosity all overhis face. Six weeks in, and Wedge would have thought that Bodhi wouldhave worked that out by now: Rook is smart enough.

Onthe other hand, it’sonly in the last week that he’s been fitted with a prosthetic, andonly in the last day or two has he actually been able to wander aboutthe ship, so it wouldn’t be the biggest surprise if he’d missedthe bleeding obvious.

“Work,”Wedge replies.

“Onwhat?” Bodhi asks. He kneels down, trying to work out what on earthWedge is doing. “You aren’t rated as a Starfighter mechanic, Ichecked.”

Hechecked?Wedge wheels himself a little further backwards, then props himselfup, so he can get a proper look at Bodhi instead of the half-upsidedown view he’dpreviously had. One of the medics has got at his hair, cutting itproperly – he’s got an undercut, Wedge notes, that wasintentional, and then the left side is shaved clean – that would bewhere the shrapnel got him in the head – and his remaining hair hasbeen pulled into tight braids across his scalp, gathered into aponytail. His scruff is steadily turning into a full-scale beard. Hismouth is set in a pursed line, his fingers – his hands are sittingacross his knees – are long and elegant.

(Wedgeis loathe to admit it, but Bodhi’sdamnpretty. But it’snot like any of Wedge’s attractions to the various pilots who havecrossed his path have actually come to anything, so he doesn’tdwell on it.)

“Doesn’tmean I can’t tinker a bit,” Wedge shrugs.

“Doesn’tanswer my question,” Bodhi retorts. He’s got a reputation on shipfor being hesitant, shy, nervous; not surprising, given everythinghe’s been through. Around Wedge, he burns with a fire and a witthat is sharp – even though Wedge can see the cracks in his psyche,damage done by unknown horrors before he even reached the Rebellion.

Wedgesighs. “Youreally wanna know?” Bodhi’s not going to like the answer, but henods anyway. “Look after you.”

Bodhi’seyes go even wider than they already are, naturally – somethingthat Wedge wasn’t sure was possible. “What—” Bodhi sputters,rocking back and forth on his heels. “That’s not a job! I don’t—”He glances around, eyes darting franticly, and there’s one of thebreaks that Wedge knows is there, the sort of thing that does meanthat Bodhi needs a full-time caretaker, at the moment at least.“You’re one of the heroes of Yavin, does this damn Alliance nothave a better use for you than me? You should be out there amongstthe stars flying,Wedge, not here on the ground with me, don’tthey realise that, you could be doing so much more.”

Thereare reasons Wedge isn’tout there flying, and the fact that Bodhi isn’t the only onecurrently failing his Psych Evals is one of them. Wedge isn’t readyto tell Bodhi that yet though. He will, eventually – it’ll help,someday, but at the moment there isn’t room for Bodhi to beconcerned about Wedge. Instead, Wedge pushes himself all the way up,and places his hands solidly on Bodhi’s knees, leaning weight onthe way he learnt from the medics, how to ground Bodhi when he’sstarting to panic. “It’s the way it goes. When they need me tofly, I’ll fly. For now, I’ll tinker and advise and pull shifts onthe bridge and do what Chancellor Mon Mothma told me to do, which isto make sure you’re alright.” Bodhi looks surprised at theferocity of Wedge’s instincts – almost like he’s surprised thathe is worth fighting for. “I’m quite content here with you. I’vebeen in enough battles I shouldn’t have survived at this point.”

Bodhitakes a ragged breath, trying to hold it and turn it into somethingdeep. “Okay,”he says. “Okay.” He covers one of Wedge’s hands with his own,and steadies himself in Wedge’s firm gaze.

Wedgetakes a sudden sharp breath. Shit,he thinks. Bodhi’shand is warm on his own, holding firm, and Wedge is almost dizzyunder Rook’s eyes, boring into his own. He does not need to fallfor the man he’s supposed to be looking after. That is a badidea.

Thankfully,Bodhi doesn’tnotice.

WhenBodhi is fully released from the medbay, Wedge is cognisant of hisgrowing crush on Bodhi enough that he knows he should probablyobject to the quartermaster’sinsistence on putting Bodhi in Wedge’s bunkroom. It’s a room forfour, currently only being occupied by Wedge and a recent Imperialdefector who’s awaiting a squadron assignment, once High Commandhave cleared him. There isn’t much of an argument for Wedge toactually make, and there are advantages to having Bodhi close to keepan eye on him.

Thefirst week passes without incident, and Wedge thinks that they’remaking progress on Bodhi’s many issues, and maybe a few of his own.One of them might actually see the inside of a Starfighter within theyear.

Then:

Wedgesits bolt upright in bed, breathing hard. Light continues to flash infront of his eyes as he blinks fast; his ship exploding over Yavin,Biggs’voice ringing in his ears. He digs his finger nails into his thigh,reminding himself that he is aliveand awakeand that he survived,and those are the consequences he has to live with.

Heflicks his gaze across and downwards, desperately hoping that hisnightmare didn’twake Bodhi up. But there’s no one in his bunk. The sheets aredisturbed; someone did sleep there. “Bodhi?” he asks, keeping hisvoice quiet.

“Iwas about to wake you.” The voice that comes back to his in returnis not Bodhi’s. Wedge peers over the edge of his bunk and isgreeted by Tycho Celchu looking up at him. “I heard the door go, Ithink he’s gone.”

“Shit!”Wedge shakes the last of sleep off himself, and vaults down theladder. He pulls on his boots and grabs his flight jacket, checkinghis pocket for his comm. “I’m gonna go find him, if he wandersback, let me know?” Tycho nods and then Wedge is dashing out thedoor.

Hetries to think where Bodhi might have gone. His own tired,nightmare-driven feet take him to the hangar, where a couple of techsconfirm no sightings of him. The mess hall is a dead end, althoughPrincess Leia is sitting in a corner of it, nursing a cup of caf andlooking like the world is coming down around her. Wedge hadn’teven known she was on ship. But he doesn’t have time for her now,so he leaves without even acknowledging her presence. After a littlewhile wandering corridors, Wedge suddenly realises – the medbay.

“Seemsyour charge escaped you,” Doctor Varin comments when Wedge dashesin the door. “He’s in with the Captain.”

Wedgenods. He calms himself – they won’tlet him through the door unless he’s calm. When his breath hassteadied, he walks through into the private, occupied room, and:there is Bodhi. Sitting on a chair by a bed, dark skin and dark hairand dark clothes a complete contrast against the stark white of thebed. Wedge taps his comm quickly, sending an all clear to Tycho.“Bodhi?” Wedge asks, keeping his voice soft.

Bodhikeens, a desperate wail that collapses into full blown sobs. Wedgewalks, steady across the room, to place a hand on Bodhi’sshoulder. Bodhi responds by wrapping his arms around Wedge’s waistand bawling into Wedge’s stomach. Helpless, Wedge strokes a handacross the back of Bodhi’s head and hopes to hell he’s providingsome comfort. There’s nothing he can say. Wedge’s demons areghosts, gone up in a fire of smoke and metal, and Bodhi’s lie infront of him.

Honestly,Wedge isn’tsure he could have done what Bodhi did. The man was blown up, and hemanaged to pull himself together just long enough to rewire thecontrols of the shuttle to get it airborne again. He picked up almosta dozen survivors, and then flew out. How he’d got past thesecurity gate and eluded the Imperial fleet was anyone’s guess –none of the survivors can remember. They’d limped back to Yavinjust after the Death Star had been destroyed. Including Bodhi, onlynine had survived the flight back.

Onlyeight of those are up and walking. Captain Cassian Andor is stilllying in the medbay, unconscious. The medics all agree he’snot brain-dead, but none of them know why he’s not woken up yet.Bodhi blames himself – if only he’d got back faster, then Cassianwould have received medical treatment sooner, and maybe he’d beawake right now.

Wedgewaits until Bodhi has cried himself out. “Comeon,” Wedge whispers, pulling Bodhi out of the chair and into anembrace. “You’re no good to him like this. Let’s get some sleepand we can see if the medics have made any progress tomorrow.”Bodhi nods against Wedge’s shoulder, and allows Wedge to take hishand and quietly escort him back to their quarters.

Tychois snoring away when they get back. Wedge is glad. He has his owndemons, too – he was an Alderaanian in Imperial Service whenAlderaan fell. That’senough to bear.

Wedgemanhandles Bodhi into bed. The man went out in just his sleep things,no shoes, so at least Wedge doesn’thave to undress him, just make sure he gets in his bunk and staysthere. Wedge tosses his flight jacket in the vague direction of hisfootlocker and wrestles his boots off, and then there’s a hand onhis wrist. He turns to see Bodhi looking up at him. “Stay?” Bodhiasks.

“Stay—?”Oh. Wedge swallows hard. Bodhi looks so vulnerable there in the bed,and it’s not like Wedge was looking forward to going back to hisown bunk, cold and lonely. He silently nods. Bodhi moves over, lyingon his side to leave just enough space for Wedge to clamber into abunk that really isn’t big enough for two people. Bodhi’s handsfall around Wedge’s waist. Wedge wraps an arm around Bodhi’sshoulders. In minutes, Bodhi is fast asleep on Wedge’s chest, andWedge… Wedge doesn’t have a kriffing clue what he’s doinganymore.

Theanniversary of Scarif draws closer, months turning into weeks andthen into days. Wedge gets his combat clearance back, and with it atacit acknowledgement that Bodhi is well enough to not need afull-time minder, because no one else is assigned to watch him. Wedgeflies with Luke again, the two of them natural counterpoints to eachother, blending together effortlessly. It makes Wedge wonder what itwould be like to fly with Bodhi, but that is still a way off.

JynErso trudges back to them. Wedge is worried when he spots her in thehangar. She was another who disappeared in the Yavin evacuation, anddespite Bodhi’sbest efforts to learn where she went, either the Alliance didn’tknow or it was classified far above their paygrade. From the rankpips on Erso’s collar, Wedge guesses the latter. Bodhi takes a longlook at her, and then they are hugging, weeping into each other’sembrace. Wedge breathes a little easier in that moment.

CassianAndor still sleeps in the medbay, and Wedge watches Erso’smelancholy grief as she and Bodhi hold a vigil at his bedside. Hefeels like an intruder, but Bodhi asks for him, and Erso smiles athim sadly, so he stands at the edge of the bed and prays that theCaptain wakes up.

Theday itself is ordinary. Wedge flies the CAP first shift, leavingBodhi to sleep in the bunk that they now share nightly. When hereturns, he finds Bodhi deep in the innards of a wrecked B-Wing, headducked alongside a radiant head of gold that can only belong to LukeSkywalker. The presence of the Falcon in the hangar would supportthat. There might have been a time when Wedge would be jealous – ofeither or both of them – but today, Wedge is just glad of thedistraction. And as the day wears on, a steady congregation of pilotsappears, forming a comforting circle around Bodhi and Jyn. Of thenine survivors of the ground battle, a year on, only five are stillalive. (Of the survivors of the air battle, most were killed in theBattle of Yavin. Some of the crew of the mid-level fighters survived,scattered to the winds, not wanting any acknowledgement of their partin it.)

ThePrincess appears, flanked by Solo – she looks worn and thin. It’sbeen a long year, and her own anniversary is coming up. She says somewords, and Luke – hero of Yavin, heir to the legacy of Scarif sayssome more. (Later in the evening, he approaches Wedge, with neworders from Commander Narra; a squadron perhaps, but Wedge brusheshim off. That conversation is for another day, a week and a half fromnow, when their grief has cleared.) Janson – who skirted death atYavin by nature of a flu virus, and Wedge has never been able to tellwhether he’s grateful to be alive or not – brings a tub ofmoonshine, and for once the Princess turns a blind eye as a number ofserving, on-duty pilots get roaringly drunk.

Lukeis telling a story, one about his misadventures on Tatooine, oneinvolving Biggs – and Wedge must be getting better, because hischest no longer aches at the mention of his name. Bodhi is drapedover his shoulder, head tucked into Wedge’sneck, hands roaming over Wedge’s thigh. Erso is giving them a tacitsmile, so Wedge just lets Bodhi continue, wrapping an arm around hisback.

Almosteveryone utters their thanks to Bodhi, to Jyn, as the party slowlybreaks up. In the end, it’sjust Wedge, Jyn, and Bodhi, sitting round. Jyn helps Wedge get Bodhito his feet – the man isn’t so much drunk as just tired.“Youalright with him?” Jyn asks, and Wedge nods. There’s a briefgoodbye between Bodhi and Jyn, and then Jyn leaves, in the directionof the medbay. Probably to spend another night at Cassian’s side.

Wedgeand Bodhi stagger back to their quarters. As Wedge inputs thekeycode, Bodhi says: “Thanks.”

“Forwhat?” Wedge asks back, pushing the door open.

“Foreverything,” Bodhi says, before kissing Wedge.

Wedgestumbles back in surprise, but Bodhi’shands are firm in Wedge’s shirt, his mouth soft and insistent, andWedge’s gasp merely turns the kiss open-mouthed. Wedge’s hands,initially uncertain, reach up for Bodhi’s hair, one side stilltufty and short from where he’s only just made the decision to growit back out again.

Whenthey break for air, Wedge has the sense to kick the door closedbehind them, before they gain an audience. Knowing the Rebellion,there’sa betting pool somewhere, and he’s in no haste to see it settledbefore he knows what’s going on himself.

Bodhi’seyes are sparkling, and there’s a smile tugging at his lips, and helooks … Wedge would say he looks like himself,only Wedge has never seen Bodhi like this. He looks unburdened, justin this moment. Maybe this is what he looked like, before everything.

“Iquite like you, you know,” Bodhi offers, almost shy.

Wedgetakes him in. “Iquite like you too,” he replies, following Bodhi’s wording, andnot daring to say that he thinks it’s a heck of a lot more thanthat. He pushes Bodhi against the bunk, and kisses him again, andthinks that he could do this forever.

Theyare awoken the next morning by banging on their door.

“Bodhi!”The voice that calls through, at what must be an ungodly hour –it’s gone 0700 by the chrono though – is Jyn Erso’s. She knocksagain, and repeats Bodhi’s name, loud enough that Bodhi rolls overWedge – they share a kiss on the way, Erso isn’t going to ruinall their morning fun – before gathering a sheet to make himselfdecent and opening the door.

“Whatis it Jyn?” he asks, bleary eyed in the face of the harsh corridorlights.

Erso’sface is lit up in wonder, her cheeks flushed, excitement pulsingthrough her veins. “It’s Cassian,” she says. “He woke up.”

#misskatieleigh #wedge antilles #bodhi rook #wedge/bodhi #swfic #myfic #ficlet #mine #star wars #rogue one #is there a standard ship tag I DON'T KNOW #anyway here have some musings about rebellion officers and their demons #there's probably more than one proper fic in here somewhere but finding it is work so here have this in the mean time

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noahromeroarchives · 7 years

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But even if we won't admit it to ourselves, We'll walk upon these streets and think of little else. [x]

Noah realized he hadn’t actually had a destination in mind when he and Lia had parted ways. His classes were over, and he was here with his knapsack, still in uniform. The chances of him visiting the common room in the next few hours were extremely slim-- Lia had been headed in that general direction, and he was hardly about to take the chance of appearing in the midst of whatever she was going through. His nerves were too shot to even consider starting on his class work, so he adjusted course from the library, which was across the castle from the Gryffindor Tower and made for the outdoors. Stuffing his robes into the bag, Noah found an empty courtyard and settled onto the stone steps there. He gave himself a moment to listen to the burbling of the fountain as he packed his cigarettes absently against his palm. This wasn’t sitting right with him. He hadn’t expected it to, but today’s wordless farewell had left him with a sense of apprehension he was unfamiliar with. The cigarette hung unlit from his lips for almost a full minute of mute reflection before he could be bothered to light it.

By the time Noah made his way into his dormitory after a few hours in solitude at the library, nearly all of Gryffindor was silent. Whatever was looming at the bottom of his bed gave him a moment’s pause, and he drew close to find a neat stack of sweaters. His sweaters. The quiet seemed to ring in Noah’s ears. Too-quiet. There was no note, no indication that she had even returned the clothing herself, but the finality of it seemed to hit Noah like a bludger to the chest. That was that, accounts were settled, there wasn’t a reason for him to contact her. He placed the sweaters into his trunk, unusually finicky about keeping them as pristine as he’d found them. Figuring it was too late now to put any real thought into it, he tried to get some sleep. Noah stared awake for hours instead, mind unhelpfully flashing through scenario after scenario. Himself apologizing as they stood outside Politics, time turning back in order to do so. Apologizing when he saw her next, or pointedly waiting for her in the common room tomorrow morning so they would have a chance to talk. Even have a blowout fight if they had to, just to clarify precisely what the return of his sweaters meant. He’d known even when he had pretended even to himself that this was just another squabble that would blow over. He knew what it meant when every breath seemed to ache.

Noah would have had to be blind in order to not notice the way his classmates had taken to watching his every move. The abrupt end of Noah and Lia was apparently far more interesting than anything else a fully-restored magical castle and surrounding grounds could possibly offer. There were one or two brave souls who attempted to coerce information out of Noah, though even he couldn’t see why. He had never been a conversationalist, and the fact that he stonewalled each and every question or wayward comment about Lia-- however indirect-- meant that people were quick to keep their inquiries and their opinions to themselves. Even after his own staunch refusal before, Noah found himself disturbing the unspoken seating chart of Politics. Lewis had moved to sit beside him next class, and Noah silently packed up his things and relocated. That sense of guilt last class had become some grim sense of deja vu, and Noah would be damned if he felt it ever again. Lewis seemed to pick up on his intentions, and although she still worked with him in class, didn’t attempt to sit with him again. No one had to ask why Noah felt the need to be left alone. He wasn’t entirely sure that he had an opinion on the matter to voice in the first place, only really identifying a restless sort of curiosity that had him taking note of everyone who was in a room when he entered it. It was partially hopeful, but another part really seemed to want to be miserable. The biggest change he noticed was how much quieter things were. He had time to study and even get in some extra play with the chess club. He tried to pretend it didn’t make him feel lonely. Grace had reached out once, businesslike. The brief conversation left Noah feeling simultaneously better and worse, which he figured sounded about right. His birthday was uneventful, but Noah wouldn’t have had it any other way. Rowan Goode had rather tartly informed him over breakfast one day that Lia was having a party for her birthday, and he could come if he so chose-- Lia certainly didn’t care. Noah had no choice but to accept that as a gracious invitation, but found himself staying in that night. His roommates stumbled home from the party, drunker than skunks. He told himself he’d made a good decision because of how much studying he was able to get done, but the reality that seeing Lia and being drunk seemed like such a lethal combination he was not yet ready to face. He was apparently not yet ready to face her at all, right up until their Defense exam. Halfway through his essay about the Patronus charm, he’d been letting his gaze wander throughout the hall as his mind groped desperately for some word when he settled on Lia. Her shoulders were hunched and she was scribbling furiously away at her own exam. They were seated a few desks apart, with Lia staggered forward. Her hair was up and it caught the sunshine that fell from the high windows. It was an unfortunate time to be reminded that he missed the way she smelled. She was angled just right, so that Noah’s eyes could follow the slope of her nose, the way her lips twisted thoughtfully to the side. The proctor cleared his throat and gave Noah a mistrustful look. Small favor that it wasn’t her who’d seen him just staring like an idiot. Feeling his neck generate enough heat to warm a muggle home all winter, Noah’s chin ducked and he returned to his own essay. He tried very hard not to make any sort of eye contact right up until he arrived at Kings Cross, although being home wasn’t exactly a reprieve.

He had been dreading coming home. Taking a chance on something that had been so uncertain really wasn’t his style and even mentioning a girlfriend to his parents didn’t seem like something Noah would ever do. Now there wasn’t a girlfriend in the picture, Noah still suspected that would be a conversation, too. He shouldn’t have worried. Noah had a new sister to meet, after all. There was a literal precious infant to draw attention from the fact that he was more reserved than usual. He had to suppose Piper was even cute in her own terrifying way. It took Noah nearly a full week to even attempt to hold her. The experience was one he considered on par with defusing a bomb-- you seemed to get used to it.He was convinced he’d given his parents the slip, until, of course, his father cornered him days before Noah was due at his mother’s. “You shouldn’t keep everything all tucked away inside you,” his father advised, guessing rather than being told just what had gone wrong. “Having someone around to open up to can’t be all bad, can it?” Noah, unsurprisingly, didn’t offer any sort of answer to that. By the time he got to his mother’s house, Noah sorely wished for something to do. Half the summer was over, and it really looked like no one was looking to hire seasonal workers mid-season. His was convinced the remainder of the holiday would be spent being largely bored out of his mind, until he was rather forcibly recruited by a cherubic librarian to shelve books at the library. The quiet suited him, and the Dewey Decimal System was straightforward, but didn’t leave him a lot of time to let his mind wander. No Head Boy badge arrived, just his supply list for seventh year, and the fact of it didn’t bother Noah as much as it would have a few months ago. His drive in that line of his life had tapered off significantly. It really wasn’t worth how much he would have had to give in order to show up Cheshire, and even now Noah wasn’t sure they were even still friends.

Noah couldn’t remember a time where he wasn’t excited to go back to school. This year packing his trunk did feel more like a chore than anything else. He told himself there were a multitude of factors involved. He had almost no new materials for his classes. Being halfway through his NEWTs, his classes had been finalized last year and most of the work was just continuing from where they’d stopped. He was already dreading both the courseload and the work that would be waiting for him as a prefect. The student body had quadrupled over the summer, meaning he’d be responsible for that many more patrols. There was nostalgia, too, since it would be his final year. It was hard to get excited about something drawing to an end, wasn’t it? His mother took him to Kings Cross, but only after a breakfast in town in lieu of walking him all the way to the train platform. Neither one of them was big on dramatic goodbyes, so this arrangement suited them both admirably. “Noah! Hi!” His head turned reflexively to the redhead who seemed to appear at his elbow. Dangerously close to it, Noah reflected absently as he thanked himself for not elbowing Lewis full in the face. That’d be a scene he didn’t need, no matter how many passersby were capable of a quick episkey. “Hey, Lewis. What’s up?” Noah asked, taking a step to the side to put the preferred amount of space between himself and the Ravenclaw. He scanned the teeming crowd as she answered, knowing exactly who he was looking for though he was hard-pressed to say why. “...Did you have a nice holiday? I wouldn’t know, since you didn’t call me.” Noah’s brows knit for a moment, focusing on Lewis only to find she had inched a bit closer again. Lia hadn’t been so far off the mark after all. That really sucked. He took another step back, starting the appropriate mental gymnastics to explain why he’d never bothered to call someone he had no interest in. And then his gaze hooked on that familiar face. A deep breath in didn’t do much to remedy the fact that the entire train station felt airless. Noah’s hand lifted to rub absently against his solar plexus. Not a physical ache, he knew, but he could try. Lia drew closer and he felt rather than saw his unwanted companion’s head tilt to assess Lia, and then him, and Lia again. Lewis began to address Lia with the confidence of someone who clearly didn’t care if they lived or died, only to be interrupted mid-greeting. “Piss off.” Noah stared impassively back as Lia strode past. Not surprising in the slightest, but still more subdued than he’d been expecting. He took the opportunity to offer a weak ‘what can you do?’ shrug as a farewell and put some distance between himself and Lewis. He was on the train for want of something to do, managing to direct a few startled looking first years before stowing his belongings in the Prefects’ car. It was fairly deserted-- everyone had people to see before being stowed away for a whole ride’s worth of meetings. Noah didn’t mind the quiet, having discovered he wasn’t in a sociable mood.

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araitsume · 4 years

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The Desire of Ages, pp. 809-817: Chapter (85) By the Sea Once More

This chapter is based on John 21:1-22.

Jesus had appointed to meet His disciples in Galilee; and soon after the Passover week was ended, they bent their steps thither. Their absence from Jerusalem during the feast would have been interpreted as disaffection and heresy, therefore they remained till its close; but this over, they gladly turned homeward to meet the Saviour as He had directed.

Seven of the disciples were in company. They were clad in the humble garb of fishermen; they were poor in worldly goods, but rich in the knowledge and practice of the truth, which in the sight of Heaven gave them the highest rank as teachers. They had not been students in the schools of the prophets, but for three years they had been taught by the greatest Educator the world has ever known. Under His instruction they had become elevated, intelligent, and refined, agents through whom men might be led to a knowledge of the truth.

Much of the time of Christ's ministry had been passed near the Sea of Galilee. As the disciples gathered in a place where they were not likely to be disturbed, they found themselves surrounded by reminders of Jesus and His mighty works. On this sea, when their hearts were filled with terror, and the fierce storm was hurrying them to destruction, Jesus had walked upon the billows to their rescue. Here the tempest had been hushed by His word. Within sight was the beach where above ten thousand persons had been fed from a few small loaves and fishes. Not far distant was Capernaum, the scene of so many miracles. As the disciples looked upon the scene, their minds were full of the words and deeds of their Saviour.

The evening was pleasant, and Peter, who still had much of his old love for boats and fishing, proposed that they should go out upon the sea and cast their nets. In this plan all were ready to join; they were in need of food and clothing, which the proceeds of a successful night's fishing would supply. So they went out in their boat, but they caught nothing. All night they toiled, without success. Through the weary hours they talked of their absent Lord, and recalled the wonderful events they had witnessed in His ministry beside the sea. They questioned as to their own future, and grew sad at the prospect before them.

All the while a lone watcher upon the shore followed them with His eye, while He Himself was unseen. At length the morning dawned. The boat was but a little way from the shore, and the disciples saw a stranger standing upon the beach, who accosted them with the question, “Children, have ye any meat?” When they answered, “No,” “He said unto them, Cast the net on the right side of the ship, and ye shall find. They cast therefore, and now they were not able to draw it for the multitude of fishes.”

John recognized the stranger, and exclaimed to Peter, “It is the Lord.” Peter was so elated and so glad that in his eagerness he cast himself into the water and was soon standing by the side of his Master. The other disciples came in their boat, dragging the net with fishes. “As soon then as they were come to land, they saw a fire of coals there, and fish laid thereon, and bread.”

They were too much amazed to question whence came the fire and the food. “Jesus saith unto them, Bring of the fish which ye have now caught.” Peter rushed for the net, which he had dropped, and helped his brethren drag it to the shore. After the work was done, and the preparation made, Jesus bade the disciples come and dine. He broke the food, and divided it among them, and was known and acknowledged by all the seven. The miracle of feeding the five thousand on the mountainside was now brought to their minds; but a mysterious awe was upon them, and in silence they gazed upon the risen Saviour.

Vividly they recalled the scene beside the sea when Jesus had bidden them follow Him. They remembered how, at His command, they had launched out into the deep, and had let down their net, and the catch had been so abundant as to fill the net, even to breaking. Then Jesus had called them to leave their fishing boats, and had promised to make them fishers of men. It was to bring this scene to their minds, and to deepen its impression, that He had again performed the miracle. His act was a renewal of the commission to the disciples. It showed them that the death of their Master had not lessened their obligation to do the work He had assigned them. Though they were to be deprived of His personal companionship, and of the means of support by their former employment, the risen Saviour would still have a care for them. While they were doing His work, He would provide for their needs. And Jesus had a purpose in bidding them cast their net on the right side of the ship. On that side He stood upon the shore. That was the side of faith. If they labored in connection with Him,—His divine power combining with their human effort,—they could not fail of success.

Another lesson Christ had to give, relating especially to Peter. Peter's denial of his Lord had been in shameful contrast to his former professions of loyalty. He had dishonored Christ, and had incurred the distrust of his brethren. They thought he would not be allowed to take his former position among them, and he himself felt that he had forfeited his trust. Before being called to take up again his apostolic work, he must before them all give evidence of his repentance. Without this, his sin, though repented of, might have destroyed his influence as a minister of Christ. The Saviour gave him opportunity to regain the confidence of his brethren, and, so far as possible, to remove the reproach he had brought upon the gospel.

Here is given a lesson for all Christ's followers. The gospel makes no compromise with evil. It cannot excuse sin. Secret sins are to be confessed in secret to God; but, for open sin, open confession is required. The reproach of the disciple's sin is cast upon Christ. It causes Satan to triumph, and wavering souls to stumble. By giving proof of repentance, the disciple, so far as lies in his power, is to remove this reproach.

While Christ and the disciples were eating together by the seaside, the Saviour said to Peter, “Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou Me more than these?” referring to his brethren. Peter had once declared, “Though all men shall be offended because of Thee, yet will I never be offended.” Matthew 26:33. But he now put a truer estimate upon himself. “Yea, Lord,” he said, “Thou knowest that I love Thee.” There is no vehement assurance that his love is greater than that of his brethren. He does not express his own opinion of his devotion. To Him who can read all the motives of the heart he appeals to judge as to his sincerity,—“Thou knowest that I love Thee.” And Jesus bids him, “Feed My lambs.”

Again Jesus applied the test to Peter, repeating His former words: “Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou Me?” This time He did not ask Peter whether he loved Him better than did his brethren. The second response was like the first, free from extravagant assurance: “Yea, Lord; Thou knowest that I love Thee.” Jesus said to him, “Feed My sheep.” Once more the Saviour put the trying question: “Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou Me?” Peter was grieved; he thought that Jesus doubted his love. He knew that his Lord had cause to distrust him, and with an aching heart he answered, “Lord, Thou knowest all things; Thou knowest that I love Thee.” Again Jesus said to him, “Feed My sheep.”

Three times Peter had openly denied his Lord, and three times Jesus drew from him the assurance of his love and loyalty, pressing home that pointed question, like a barbed arrow to his wounded heart. Before the assembled disciples Jesus revealed the depth of Peter's repentance, and showed how thoroughly humbled was the once boasting disciple.

Peter was naturally forward and impulsive, and Satan had taken advantage of these characteristics to overthrow him. Just before the fall of Peter, Jesus had said to him, “Satan hath desired to have you, that he may sift you as wheat: but I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not: and when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren.” Luke 22:31, 32. That time had now come, and the transformation in Peter was evident. The close, testing questions of the Lord had not called out one forward, self-sufficient reply; and because of his humiliation and repentance, Peter was better prepared than ever before to act as shepherd to the flock.

The first work that Christ entrusted to Peter on restoring him to the ministry was to feed the lambs. This was a work in which Peter had little experience. It would require great care and tenderness, much patience and perseverance. It called him to minister to those who were young in the faith, to teach the ignorant, to open the Scriptures to them, and to educate them for usefulness in Christ's service. Heretofore Peter had not been fitted to do this, or even to understand its importance. But this was the work which Jesus now called upon him to do. For this work his own experience of suffering and repentance had prepared him.

Before his fall, Peter was always speaking unadvisedly, from the impulse of the moment. He was always ready to correct others, and to express his mind, before he had a clear comprehension of himself or of what he had to say. But the converted Peter was very different. He retained his former fervor, but the grace of Christ regulated his zeal. He was no longer impetuous, self-confident, and self-exalted, but calm, self-possessed, and teachable. He could then feed the lambs as well as the sheep of Christ's flock.

The Saviour's manner of dealing with Peter had a lesson for him and for his brethren. It taught them to meet the transgressor with patience, sympathy, and forgiving love. Although Peter had denied his Lord, the love which Jesus bore him never faltered. Just such love should the undershepherd feel for the sheep and lambs committed to his care. Remembering his own weakness and failure, Peter was to deal with his flock as tenderly as Christ had dealt with him.

The question that Christ had put to Peter was significant. He mentioned only one condition of discipleship and service. “Lovest thou Me?” He said. This is the essential qualification. Though Peter might possess every other, yet without the love of Christ he could not be a faithful shepherd over the Lord's flock. Knowledge, benevolence, eloquence, gratitude, and zeal are all aids in the good work; but without the love of Jesus in the heart, the work of the Christian minister is a failure.

Jesus walked alone with Peter, for there was something which He wished to communicate to him only. Before His death, Jesus had said to him, “Whither I go, thou canst not follow Me now; but thou shalt follow Me afterwards.” To this Peter had replied, “Lord, why cannot I follow Thee now? I will lay down my life for Thy sake.” John 13:36, 37. When he said this, he little knew to what heights and depths Christ's feet would lead the way. Peter had failed when the test came, but again he was to have opportunity to prove his love for Christ. That he might be strengthened for the final test of his faith, the Saviour opened to him his future. He told him that after living a life of usefulness, when age was telling upon his strength, he would indeed follow his Lord. Jesus said, “When thou wast young, thou girdedst thyself, and walkedst whither thou wouldest: but when thou shalt be old, thou shalt stretch forth thy hands, and another shall gird thee, and carry thee whither thou wouldest not. This spake He, signifying by what death he should glorify God.”

Jesus thus made known to Peter the very manner of his death; He even foretold the stretching forth of his hands upon the cross. Again He bade His disciple, “Follow Me.” Peter was not disheartened by the revelation. He felt willing to suffer any death for his Lord.

Heretofore Peter had known Christ after the flesh, as many know Him now; but he was no more to be thus limited. He knew Him no more as he had known Him in his association with Him in humanity. He had loved Him as a man, as a heaven-sent teacher; he now loved Him as God. He had been learning the lesson that to him Christ was all in all. Now he was prepared to share in his Lord's mission of sacrifice. When at last brought to the cross, he was, at his own request, crucified with his head downward. He thought it too great an honor to suffer in the same way as his Master did.

To Peter the words “Follow Me” were full of instruction. Not only for his death, but for every step of his life, was the lesson given. Hitherto Peter had been inclined to act independently. He had tried to plan for the work of God, instead of waiting to follow out God's plan. But he could gain nothing by rushing on before the Lord. Jesus bids him, “Follow Me.” Do not run ahead of Me. Then you will not have the hosts of Satan to meet alone. Let Me go before you, and you will not be overcome by the enemy.

As Peter walked beside Jesus, he saw that John was following. A desire came over him to know his future, and he “saith to Jesus, Lord, and what shall this man do? Jesus saith unto him, If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee? follow thou Me.” Peter should have considered that his Lord would reveal to him all that it was best for him to know. It is the duty of everyone to follow Christ, without undue anxiety as to the work assigned to others. In saying of John, “If I will that he tarry till I come,” Jesus gave no assurance that this disciple should live until the Lord's second coming. He merely asserted His own supreme power, and that even if He should will this to be so, it would in no way affect Peter's work. The future of both John and Peter was in the hands of their Lord. Obedience in following Him was the duty required of each.

How many today are like Peter! They are interested in the affairs of others, and anxious to know their duty, while they are in danger of neglecting their own. It is our work to look to Christ and follow Him. We shall see mistakes in the lives of others, and defects in their character. Humanity is encompassed with infirmity. But in Christ we shall find perfection. Beholding Him, we shall become transformed.

John lived to be very aged. He witnessed the destruction of Jerusalem, and the ruin of the stately temple,—a symbol of the final ruin of the world. To his latest days John closely followed his Lord. The burden of his testimony to the churches was, “Beloved, let us love one another;” “he that dwelleth in love, dwelleth in God, and God in him.” 1 John 4:7, 16.

Peter had been restored to his apostleship, but the honor and authority he received from Christ had not given him supremacy over his brethren. This Christ had made plain when in answer to Peter's question, “What shall this man do?” He had said, “What is that to thee? follow thou Me.” Peter was not honored as the head of the church. The favor which Christ had shown him in forgiving his apostasy, and entrusting him with the feeding of the flock, and Peter's own faithfulness in following Christ, won for him the confidence of his brethren. He had much influence in the church. But the lesson which Christ had taught him by the Sea of Galilee Peter carried with him throughout his life. Writing by the Holy Spirit to the churches, he said:

“The elders which are among you I exhort, who am also an elder, and a witness of the sufferings of Christ, and also a partaker of the glory that shall be revealed: Feed the flock of God which is among you, taking the oversight thereof, not by constraint, but willingly; not for filthy lucre, but of a ready mind; neither as being lords over God's heritage, but being ensamples to the flock. And when the Chief Shepherd shall appear, ye shall receive a crown of glory that fadeth not away.” 1 Peter 5:1-4.

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itssmithricky · 4 years

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LUNA The Shadow Dust sea of games Oh man, OK, so… *Chuckles* stop and think for a minute: Uh, a great deal of his purposes behind utilizing virtualization, VMs and emulators and stuff, are the equivalent careful reasons I *don't* use them, and that is on the grounds that a portion of the things that you need to do on there, they simply don't work quite well. You get unusual little bugs similarly as video and sound glitches you can't do uh… AA and things like that, improvements you could on unique equipment. (At any rate not yet). But then, I thoroughly comprehend why he wouldn't like to waste time with old equipment. It is somewhat confining and… there is a period limit on this stuff, I mean, these things won't keep going forever. Furthermore, sure, there's a great deal of updates and uh fixes and kind of restorations that you can do to more seasoned equipment to make it last possibly for another couple of decades, yet… past that, I mean, I don't have the foggiest idea. There's-There's a ton of segments that *are* going to kick the bucket. Also, what's to come is really worried to me in light of the fact that the virtualization and copying scene isn't exactly adequate *at all* for things from around 1996 to 2002 or so on the PC, a great deal of those Windows games that are simply… totally failed, particularly those that are 3D quickened or depend on a type of peculiar LUNA The Shadow Dust igg games dirty tricks and a wide range of different things. It's a genuine torment, um, I mean, and something different that he additionally didn't make reference to is running these games on WINE. It's odd, a ton of Windows games, the most ideal approach to make them work these days is to run Linux. *Laughter* Um, as irritating as VMs and emulators can be to utilize, it's still less disturbing and tedious than unique equipment. 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Or on the other hand possibly it wasn't generally mass created and it was only sort of hurled out there. I don't have the foggiest idea, possibly this is uncommon, I can't generally tell. Albeit amusingly, similar to, the day after I got this at Goodwill I was glancing around on YouTube to check whether any other individual had posted anything about it, and there resembled, someone included just transferred it inside 24 hours. It was extremely weird planning. Whichever way however I trust that you appreciate this tape adaptation of Electronic Christmas Music by the celebrated craftsman, Unknown. Appreciate! *music plays for the following 14 minutes or so* Well that is it for Electronic Computer Christmas Music! In any event for the measure of stuff that I need to place right now. I wasn't going to play the whole thing in light of the fact that really these were only the features. A ton of it isn't that acceptable. Its great stuff is pretty darn acceptable, in that pleasantly mushy nostalgic way, yet then there's the remainder of it which just feels like a person got hold of a Roland synthesizer and just began slamming out certain things, squeezing each and every catch on there to get however many voices in as could reasonably be expected. Much the same as "Amazing, tune in to what number of things my synthesizer can reproduce!" *chuckles* It's a hit and miss tape that is without a doubt. In any case, in the event that you need to tune in to the remainder of the tracks I don't accuse you.

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