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inkinthequill · 11 months

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An Ant at the End of the Universe

A short-story done for a weekly Reedsy contest, for the prompt "Write a story where a character must continue to tell their tale to a listener to avoid unsavory consequences".

The universe was ending.

In truth, that phrasing may be a bit over dramatic– it wasn’t so much coming to an end in an explosive, bombastic fashion (though the supernova from the few stars left certainly made for a beautiful light show), as it was with a slow, sputtering gasp.

More aptly, it was dying.

In a fruitless pursuit to reverse the inevitable heat death of the universe, or really just anything in such a hopeless situation, a lone arthropod had fashioned a humble little spacecraft. Out of scraps of metal and splintered wood it was crafted, rusty nails and wood glue keeping the rattling junk heap fastened together. All signs of life in the universe his species could pick up were fizzling out into radio silence. There was one lone thing that his little radio was receiving now. The only thing left to receive. A ghastly howling of wind, and the quiet dripping of water at the very center of the whole, ever expanding expanse.

His crooked antennae twitched with grief as he witnessed the light of his own exploding star across the massive stretch of space behind him, the encouraging chatter from his in-ship radio descending into deafening silence.

They had been the closest sentient species to the center of the universe, but no one had ever dared to travel this far. Now, at the center of it all, he was the single living creature in the entirety of space and time to witness it in its full glory. A swirling, brilliant white vortex; shimmering, golden fractal patterns swirling out the center, spreading further and further into deep space with every passing second.

Its sheer size and magnificence was mystifying; the view of his planet behind him paled in comparison. Colors he had never seen rippled out in magnificent, concentric ribbons as he approached; all the while, the few stars he could see left blinked out into the all-consuming darkness around him.

This was it.

The last bastion left in space.

And there was no one left to tell how beautiful it was.

With a little chatter of his chitinous jaws, he pushed forward on the throttle, easing himself in slowly. Advancing further and further, the blinding white glow consumed everything he could see, bathing the interior of his ship in alabaster light.

Then, nothing.

He was still conscious– or at least, he could assume as much. He smelled… nothing. He couldn’t feel his mandibles nervously chattering, and neither of his compound eyes could make out anything but a massive, spinning shape shadowed in the blinding light. He could make out the shadow of multiple concentric rings, all whirling in different directions at a sickeningly rapid velocity.

“AND HOW HAVE YOU FOUND YOURSELF HERE, LITTLE INSECT?”

A voice, a voice! A sound! His exoskeleton trembled from the overwhelming bass the voice output– he imagined this must’ve been what it felt like being next to the tectonic plates on his home grinding across each other. He was surprised he could understand it… all his people were dead now.

All people were dead now.

Was he dead? Was this what was awaiting everyone else? A comforting thought, that he might not be alone here– if that was the case. His mandibles chattered with a bewildered mix of both dread and excitement, desperate to have a chat with this new entity.

[I came here on a ship! The universe is in quite a mess right now– and you seem to be all that’s left! Am I dead? Are we dead?]

There was a rumbling, and a violent wind so fierce it was as if a hundred dervishes were colliding into each other.

“YOU ARE IN A SPACE WHERE DEATH HAS NO HOLD. THE CONCEPT IS UNFATHOMABLE TO THOSE WHO DWELL HERE, AS ONLY THOSE WHO LIVE ON THE OUTSIDE WILL EXPERIENCE IT.”

The ant thought for a moment, shuffling his body to become as comfortable as he could make it. After all, what else was there to do?

[So, this is…. a heaven, of sorts?]

“A HEAVEN? NO. A HAVEN, YES. A PLACE BEYOND SPACE AND TIME– WHERE THE UNTHINKABLE IS THOUGHT, AND THE IMPOSSIBLE GIVEN SHAPE. THIS PLACE HAS EXISTED FAR BEFORE THE BIRTH OF YOUR UNIVERSE, AND WILL LIVE PAST ITS DEATH.”

[Ah, yes. That death part is happening currently, I believe. Or, I suppose, it has happened, hasn’t it?]

“IT HAS.”

[That’s a shame. I quite liked what I got to see of it.]

There was a pause. He could feel a hundred, titanic eyes staring at him– he couldn’t see it, but he could feel the gaze of this lone being casting a million curious glances down at him.

“THERE WERE EONS FOR ONE OF YOU TRANSITORY SENTIENTS TO FIND THIS PLACE. HOW ARE YOU THE ONLY ONE WHO MADE IT HERE?”

The ant thought for a moment.

[Well, I don’t know. I’m surprised I was the only one. I sort of assumed you were all knowing to some degree, can’t you tell me the answer?]

The fathomless being paused as well.

“WE ARE AT A CROSSROADS AT THE MOMENT. EVERYTHING THAT EVER WAS, IS SHUFFLING INTO EVERYTHING THAT WILL EVER BE. UNTIL WE SHAPE THE NEXT UNIVERSE, WE ARE NOT PERMITTED THE KNOWLEDGE OF WHAT HAS BEEN AND WHAT WILL COME OUTSIDE OF THIS HAVEN.”

[That seems so sad.]

“IT IS A FUNCTION. CONCEPTS OF EMOTION ARE MEANINGLESS FOR OUR ROLE IN THE UNIVERSAL CYCLE. WHAT WORTH WILL SUCH FLEETING CHEMICAL REACTIONS SERVE HERE, AT THE END OF EVERYTHING?”

[I happen to like them, thank you. Chemical as they are, they do have their worth and purpose!]

“IRRELEVANT. IT IS TIME FOR YOU TO CEASE TO BE, AND FREE YOUR ATOMS FOR USE IN THE NEXT UNIVERSE.”

The ant assumed a defensive pose with its six legs, shaking one of them toward the being.

[Now, just a moment! I came all this way, so I think I’ve at least earned the chance to say my piece! If you’re as old as you say you are, and I am but a momentary blink in this universe, it certainly wouldn’t hurt the schedule to let me speak, would it?]

There was another fierce gust, another terrible rumble.

“IT SERVES NO PURPOSE.”

[Ah, but knowledge always serves a purpose! Do you at least remember what happens in this little period between universes, so to speak?]

“WE DO.”

[Goody! Well, I’d like to talk about my race for just a moment, if it’s all the same to you. If everything that came before is going to go ‘poof’, it would be nice to talk about it all before I go. Do you mind postponing my nonexistence until I finish?]

“I MAKE NO PROMISES.”

The ant smoothed over his bent antennae, taking a moment to collect himself and gather his thoughts.

[Well, you see, my people haven’t been around for very long. In the grand scheme of things, we’re very young. That’s what all our scientists said, at least. In truth, we barely just learned space travel, and the ship I came here on was pretty slap-dash.]

“WE WITNESSED THE CRAFT, YES.”

[Yes, it’s a bit of a mess. The scientists among my people found out that all the stars were beginning to die, including our own– way ahead of what they initially envisioned. So, as the best space pilot we had, they sent me out to the signal in the center of the universe with the best thing we could put together. We put all our hopes in that little tin can.]

“YOUR UNIVERSE IS DEAD. YOUR PEOPLE ARE DEAD. WHAT USE DID SUCH AN ACT SERVE?”

[A mix of things. There were some that hoped whatever I found could save all of them. Some felt it was the only thing left to do, so why not give it a shot? For me, it was curiosity. If we had nothing to lose, why not go out with one last great discovery?]

“AND WHAT HAVE YOU DISCOVERED?”

The ant tilted his head.

[That space is as scary as it is beautiful. That the unknown is as terrifying as it is exciting. I saw a thousand colors of stars I could never imagine in my compound eyes. I saw swirling gas giants of every size, and moons carved with the most gorgeous patterns. More than that, I found you at the end of all things. On top of it all, I get to be there right before it all begins again!]

“YOU WON’T LIVE TO BE IN THE NEXT ONE. WHAT PURPOSE DOES KNOWING SUCH THINGS SERVE?”

[It makes me happy.]

“A PITTANCE. A FEELING AS FLEETING AS THE UNIVERSE ITSELF.”

[Perhaps, but what a wonderful pittance it is! I can find comfort in it– alongside one other thing, of course.]

“AND WHAT WOULD THAT BE, LITTLE CREATURE?”

[That you’ll remember our little talk. You’ll remember me, and you’ll remember my people. Can anything really be so fleeting, when we’ll exist in your thoughts and memories forever?]

There was a long silence. The rumbling quieted, and so did the wind. For a moment, it was peaceful.

“HOW DID YOUR SPECIES LIVE, LITTLE INSECT?”

[We built sprawling, complex colonies from dirt and sand. Every waking moment we helped each other, even if we had our spats and fights on occasion. We worked together to build wonders out of nothing, all the way until we could come here, to the great black sea– and found out the majesty we got to see on our own world was a drop of sand in the infinite beauty of this cosmos. Oh, the things I wish I could’ve seen! The things I could’ve shown you, friend. It was such a good life.]

There was another long silence, the air starting to ripple and shake. The ant could feel his existence falling apart like sands through an hourglass, relaxing as he began to drift away into nothingness.

“INSECT. THE TIME HAS COME. WE CAN PROLONG THIS NO LONGER.”

[I can feel that, yes.]

“IF YOU HAVE ANYTHING LEFT TO SAY– ANY REGRETS TO AIR, NOW IS THE TIME.”

The ant pondered one last time, as his physical form began to collapse to dust and wash away into nothing.

[No regrets… but…] he chattered, lifting his head and clicking his mandibles happily. [I hope there are lots of eager little explorers in the next one!]

With those final words, he was no more. His atoms scattered like ash in the wind. There was no living creature left. Just the massive being swirling above where the ant stood— alongside more coming to join them in the coming turn of the cosmic wheel.

The universe was entirely dead.

And an untold amount of time later— it burst forth from the smallest particle, spreading gorgeous stars and nebulae of every color across the canvas of the cosmos once more.

************************************************************************

A little girl dashed and rolled around a grassy field, her hair swaying around with every excited step she took. Her older brother chased close behind her, coming to a careening halt as the girl suddenly squatted down next to a muddy puddle.

“Oh no!” she said, “Look at all the ants that drowned…”

Her brother walked behind her, taking a look for himself.

“They are soaked…” he said, leaning down to take a closer look. “But they aren’t dead. Watch this.”

The young man reached down and scooped a bunch of them in his hands, pouring them onto a patch of dry dirt under the shade of a tree. “Take a close look, now….”

The girl walked over and got as close as she could, innocent eyes wide with amazement at what she saw. She watched an ant with bent antennae start to wriggle and move again with the rest of their fellows, flipping back onto its legs and scouting out his new location.

“I didn’t know they could survive in water!”

“Yeah, they’re sturdy little things.”

“Wow….” the girl said, looking up at her brother and beaming. “You think an ant could survive in space, too?”

“Hmm, I don’t know…” her brother said, “I think he’d need a little suit and rocket ship to go out there.”

“True…”

“C’mon, we gotta get back now, Sara. Mom’ll get worried if we’re not back before it’s dark.”

“Fine…” she grumbled, taking the open hand that was offered to her and walking alongside him.

“Maybe I’ll go to space, one day. And I’ll take all the ants with me, in their own tiny suits.”

“I bet you could,” her brother said. “You always were an explorer.”

#short story #science fiction #science fantasy #original writing #contest

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opineonionated · 1 year

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Proof Of Identity

mHz - Proof of Identity

ARTIST STATEMENT

More than a decade ago, I made a piece of beat-based electronic music and titled it "Middle Eastern IDM" for a course assignment. After listening to it in class, my professor asked what was Middle Eastern about it. It was only a year after I had left Iran to study in the US, and I didn't know that I could say "I am. I made the piece". So I went back and superimposed a sample of Egyptian protest chants on top of the piece, to make it "sufficiently Middle Eastern".

What prejudiced conservatism and performative liberalism share is gatekeeping practices that box one in a preconceived state of otherness. While the former overtly regards that otherness as inferior, the latter exoticises it through patronising paternalism. To me, it is especially troubling when exclusionary practices are driven by some form of overzealous "diversity and inclusion" agenda. If you don't fit the diversity box they've made for you, too bad. It's your fault for being "insufficiently diverse". "Poor thing, you've been colonised!", they tell you, as they claim ownership over a collection of frequencies and rhythms. When you look at who gets to decide if something's indigenous enough, you see how decolonisation itself has been colonised.

When you listen to this piece, I'm very happy for you to keep in mind that it was made by someone from Iran. But I might need to clarify that this piece has nothing to do with sufism and the whirling dervishes, the interweaving patterns of the Persian carpet, the poetry of Rumi, or Islamic architecture. And if you hear those moments of "non-western" sonorities, that is because I have constructed this piece from samples of a piece of Iranian traditional music – an overplayed piece that was all over TV and radio while I was growing up Iran, one that I never found particularly inspiring or interesting. Here, I have tried to make it more interesting by completely taking it apart and reconstructing it through my personal compositional techniques, aesthetic preferences, and a wide range of musical influences. So in short, while this piece might not sound like your archetypical Iranian music, I assure you that it is Iranian enough.

#mhz #sound art #experimental #bandcamp

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krispyweiss · 2 months

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Steep Canyon Rangers at Fairborn Bluegrass & Brew, Fairborn, Ohio, Aug. 2, 2024

Though they’re only kinda bluegrass - they have a Dobro-playing drummer and a dude who picks an electric banjo on occasion - Steep Canyon Rangers were ideal hosts of the 2024 Fairborn Bluegrass & Brew street party.

Perched on a makeshift bandstand near the corner of Grand Avenue and Main Street on Aug. 2, the Rangers did what they do - and were in top form - in front of a hometown audience of a few hundred (plus Sound Bites, who drove in from out of town) on an unseasonably comfortable Ohio night that dodged the threat of torrential storms.

Opening with a rambunctious instrumental that gave each musician an opportunity to shine, the sextet moved quickly to their “Sweet Spot,” providing Aaron Burdett (acoustic guitar), Barrett Smith (bass fiddle), Mike Ashworth (drums/Dobro) and Graham Sharp (acoustic and electric banjo/acoustic guitar) each a turn at the mic. The tone was thus set for the Rangers’ 15-song, 90-minute performance, where musicians and singers moved seamlessly between lead and support roles, masked fiddler and musical antagonist Nicky Sanders danced the two-step around his bandmates and mandolinist Mike Guggino played fiery solos and provided essential harmonies.

Burdett is the newest Ranger, having joined in 2022, and brings country (“Fruits of my Labor”) and rock (“Deep End”) elements to the group. But while the Rangers are evolving, they also nodded to their folk-’grass beginnings with such SCR standards as “Stand and Deliver” and “Tell the Ones I Love,” which closed the main set and found the band lined up behind the whirling dervish that was Sanders as the festivalgoers danced in the streets and on the sidewalks.

After the location-appropriate “Birds of Ohio,” with Shrap’s baritone and electric banjo at the fore, the group unplugged and spent five songs gathered around a single, old-fashioned mic. While the volume dipped considerably at this point, the musical excellence did not as Smith and Guggino’s tenors wrapped around each other on the coal-miners’ lament that is “Call the Captain” and soaring three- and five-part harmonies powered “Come Dance” and “Fare Thee Well, Carolina Gals,” respectively.

Those voice remained in peak shape as the band bid Fairborn adieu with “As I Go” and capped some four hours of music that also included a purely bluegrass set from the five-piece - guitar, mandolin, fiddle, banjo and bass - Joe Mullins & the Radio Ramblers and the Wayfarers.

It was a free gig. But a $50 ticket wouldn’t have been unreasonable.

Grade card: Steep Canyon Rangers at Fairborn Bluegrass & Brew - 8/2/24 - A

See more photos on Sound Bites’ Facebook page.

8/3/24

#steep canyon rangers #joe mullins and the radio rangers #2024 concerts #aaron burdett #nicky sanders #graham sharp #mike ashworth #mike guggino #barrett smith

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lamilanomagazine · 4 months

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Bari, al via la 19esima edizione della festa dei popoli: spettacoli, concerti, enogastronomia e tradizioni

Bari, al via la 19esima edizione della festa dei popoli: spettacoli, concerti, enogastronomia e tradizioni Torna a Bari dal 23 al 26 maggio la Festa dei Popoli, il Festival Interculturale che, giunto alla sua 19esima edizione, promuove l'incontro tra popoli e culture attraverso eventi, spettacoli, concerti e condivisione di enogastronomia e tradizioni popolari. Quattro giorni di vera e propria festa, con eventi gratuiti, musica, spettacoli, danze, artigianato e numerose attività pensate per i più piccoli. "Uomini e donne in cerca di pace" è il tema scelto per questa edizione della manifestazione, che si terrà nel Giardino Princigalli di Bari (quartiere Mungivacca, nei pressi del multisala Showville) ed è realizzata dal Centro Interculturale Abusuan, dai Missionari Comboniani e da Cgil, con la collaborazione del Comune di Bari, della Regione Puglia e di un'importante rete di associazioni, comunità straniere e istituti scolastici. L'evento è infatti frutto di un grande lavoro di rete e di relazioni intessute con le tantissime realtà associative del territorio che ogni anno si impegnano, tutte insieme, per creare e rafforzare legami e radici, per rendere la città di Bari una comunità sempre più interculturale. Tra le novità di quest'anno una masterclass di musica africana, per un massimo di 20 partecipanti a partire dagli 11 anni a cura della cantante franco-camerunense Valérie Èkoumè, che insegnerà l'importanza della lettura e della scrittura ritmica insieme alla tecnica vocale e delle percussioni; in secondo luogo, l'istituzione di un premio alla memoria di Giacomo Princigalli, promotore del dialogo interculturale e protagonista della vita politica locale e nazionale, a cui è intitolato il Giardino in cui si svolge la Festa. Il premio, istituito dall'omonima associazione Giacomo Princigalli e con cadenza annuale, sosterrà progetti musicali e/o associativi interculturali nei quali la musica e le arti si propongono come occasioni per l'incontro e il dialogo tra persone, popoli e culture che si affacciano sul Mare Mediterraneo. E ancora, la direzione sempre più ambientalista ed eco-sostenibile della manifestazione, grazie anche alla collaborazione con i volontari di Legambiente Bari, dell'associazione di volontariato Plastic Free e dell'associazione Seconda Chance, un ponte tra carceri e aziende per creare opportunità di reinserimento, che, nei giorni precedenti all'avvio della manifestazione, hanno effettuato un'operazione di clean-up del Giardino e che, per l'intera durata dell'evento, affiancheranno il pubblico presente nell'attività di corretto conferimento dei rifiuti all'interno dei contenitori preposti alla raccolta differenziata. Tra le realtà partecipanti anche Bistrot Ethnic Cook, progetto che promuove l'integrazione tra i migranti e la comunità ospitante, nonché marchio registrato come impresa sociale dall'associazione Origens. Ethnic Cook offre infatti formazione gratuita per l'introduzione nel mondo professionale della ristorazione e della panificazione, nonché numerosi tirocini professionalizzanti per donne rifugiate. Nel corso della Festa dei Popoli 2024 i referenti di Ethnic Cook saranno presenti con un proprio stand nel quale daranno vita ad un laboratorio di decorazione di biscotti con i più piccoli. Programma Si parte giovedì 23 maggio con un pomeriggio ricchissimo di appuntamenti: l'apertura della XIX edizione della Festa dei Popoli, alle ore 17.30, sarà dedicata al concerto che rappresenta la restituzione di un laboratorio che il compositore e musicista palestinese Ramzi Aburedwan, accompagnato dal suo ensemble musicale Dal'Ouna e dai musicisti baresi Fabrizio Piepoli, Nabil Bey (Radio Dervish) e Anna Rita Di Leo, ha svolto negli scorsi giorni a Bari, in collaborazione con gli studenti del Conservatorio e del Liceo Musicale, nonché delle scuole secondarie di I° Michelangelo di Bari e Capozzi-Galilei di Valenzano. Un'esibizione che spazierà dalle composizioni originali ad un ampio repertorio di musica araba e, in particolare, palestinese, classica e folkloristica: un vero e proprio viaggio attraverso un universo musicale originale e innovativo. Seguiranno alle ore 20.00, le performance de La Galleria della Danza, che presenta al pubblico, con il suo gruppo avanzato diretto da Antonella Serini, due coreografie hip hop dai titoli Energy e Beach Ball e, alle 20.25, del gruppo barese Fabularasa: un sound di chiara matrice jazz e fusion, con inserti ispirati alla musica etnica, in particolare mediterranea. Alle ore 21.00 spazio al progetto speciale italo-palestinese dal titolo"La musica tra i due mondi": un lavoro di residenza realizzato a Bari, negli scorsi giorni, dallo stesso artista internazionale Ramzi Aburedwan مزي أبورضوان e dal suo Ensemble Dal'Ouna – formato da Abo Gabo, Youssef Hbeisch dalla Palestina, e Ziad ben Youusef dalla Tunisia – con lo scopo fondamentale di dare rilancio, attualità e qualità alla musica dal mondo. Ramzi Aburedwan è, infatti, noto per la sua dedizione alla musica come strumento di resistenza e cambiamento sociale. Nato nel campo profughi di Al-Amari, Ramzi ha fondato l'associazione Al Kamandjâti, che si impegna a fornire educazione musicale ai bambini palestinesi, soprattutto a quelli che vivono sotto occupazione o in condizioni difficili. In particolare, durante la residenza artistica, i musicisti franco-palestinesi e italiani/pugliesi, Fabrizio Piepoli, Nabil Bey e Anna Rita Di Leo hanno realizzato una produzione inedita durante la residenza artistica, utilizzando strumenti particolari della tradizione araba, mediterranea, occidentale e mediorientale, con canti in italiano e arabo declinati in poesia. A partire dalle 21.55 sul palco il concerto del quartetto 4Troubles e, a seguire, sarà la volta delle Sister Queen: quattro donne dalle sonorità vocali differenti e ben assortite che entusiasmeranno il pubblico attraverso un viaggio sonoro che spazierà tra le influenze musicali internazionali degli anni '70, '80 e '90. Venerdì 24 maggio sarà un pomeriggio dedicato alle esibizioni delle scuole: a partire dalle 17.30, infatti, si alterneranno gli studenti degli istituti "Alessandro Leogrande", "Michelangelo", "Riccardo Monterisi", "Margherita", "Nicola Zingarelli-Anna Frank", "Amedeo d'Aosta". Alle 20.10 sarà la volta dell'esibizione musicale delle protagoniste dell'associazione di volontariato In...Canti di Donne, che presentano cinque brani della tradizione africana, italiana ed ebraica a che toccano i temi della pace, della coesione, dell'umanità. A seguire, si svolgerà un reading a cura di Alma Terra e Squola senza confini Penny Wirton. La serata musicale prosegue con il concerto di Perla Catucci in duo con Domenico Mercurio, che spazierà tra brani originali da lei stessa scritti e composti ai grandi successi della musica italiana (cover di famosi pezzi di Pino Daniele, Cesare Cremonini, Brunori Sas, Mina) e della musica internazionale (con successi di Lady Gaga, Jassie Glynne, Miguel Bosè). E ancora, si continuerà con l'esibizione dell'Associazione sportiva dilettantistica Samira Oriental Academy e si concluderà con il concerto del progetto CCM – Cantiere Comune Mediterraneo, un'orchestra e collettivo di sensibilizzazione e ricerca sul valore delle diversità disseminate nel nostro mare, che uniscono i popoli oltre i confini. Sabato 25 maggio inizierà con un evento al mattino: alle ore 11.00, infatti, nello stesso Giardino Princigalli si terrà una masterclass di musica africana, per un massimo di 20 partecipanti a partire dagli 11 anni (prenotazione obbligatoria all'indirizzo e-mail [email protected]) a cura della cantante franco-camerunense Valérie Èkoumè, che insegnerà l'importanza della lettura e della scrittura ritmica insieme alla tecnica vocale e delle percussioni. Seguirà, alle ore 17.00, il reading dal titolo "Uniti per l'Ucraina" e, alle ore 18.00, il flash mob di S-Confin-Arti. Il pomeriggio entrerà poi nel vivo alle 18.10 con la Conferenza sulla Pace alla quale prenderanno parte Monsignor Giovanni Ricchiuti, Presidente nazionale di Pax Christi, Alessandro Marescotti, presidente di Peacelink, introdotti e coordinati da Vito Micunco, Coordinatore della Rete dei Comitati per la Pace in Puglia. Seguiranno, poi, a partire dalle ore 20.00 e fino alle ore 23.30, le esibizioni a cura delle associazioni Alma Terra, Le Aquile di Sera – che porteranno nel Giardino Princigalli balli e canti tipici della terra albanese – e degli artisti I Maltesi, band pugliese in formazione acustica, Naib Abid – che si esibirà in una performance coinvolgente in cui il pubblico sarà chiamato ad imparare ed interpretare canti in italiano, inglese e spagnolo inerenti i temi dell'unità, dell'umanità della gentilezza , Valérie Èkoumè insieme al batterista e percussionista Guy Nwogang e Papa Buju & Dub Fevah Band, gruppo musicale nato a Bari alla fine del 2019 dall'incontro tra musicisti di diverse età e provenienze accomunati dalla passione per la musica reggae. L'ultima giornata della Festa dei Popoli 2024, domenica 26 maggio, partirà alle ore 17.00 con lo spazio dedicato all'esibizione musicale a cura dell'associazione Culture Organization of Bangladesh Debi e Sabana Suresh & Vidya, con musica, danza e animazione tipica del Bangladesh a cui seguiranno i reading a cura dell'Associazione di Promozione sociale Gianni Ballerio e della comunità Baha'i e Gep (Gruppo Educhiamoci alla Pace). Alle 19.15 sarà la volta di "Approdi – Danze in viaggio", esibizione di danza a cura di Artidea Cultura, che proporrà al pubblico presente danze tradizionali come occasione per conoscere altre culture, scoprendo che la danza etnica-popolare è danza collettiva, armonia di gesti, passi, espressioni, sorrisi, vicinanza che permette di sentirsi uniti. Seguirà, alle 19.40, l'esibizione di Darwish Dream, a cura dell'associazione culturale BandeRumorose: una profonda interpretazione vocale e strumentale delle più significative poesie del grande poeta palestinese Mahmoud Darwish. E ancora, Kabila, gruppo italo-libanese che propone una fusione di lingue (arabo, inglese e italiano) e sonorità, tra rock, elettronica, world music, progressive rock e pop, suoni e arrangiamenti e alle 21.05 il duo ucraino Masha Ruta & Tetiana Rohocha, che interpreteranno brani di racconto della bellezza della terra e del popolo ucraino, nonché della rinascita, della bellezza della vita e della forza d'animo dei popoli. A partire dalle 21.20 sul palco i progetti Let's Funk Under The Disco Sky, con un medley di canzoni funky e disco ispirate alla pace, Spiff Onyuku, musicista nigeriano che si pone l'obiettivo di coniugare la tradizione musicale africana con le sonorità dell'elettronica e Lu Rusciu Nosciu, gruppo di pizzica salentina con sonorità caratterizzate dal ritmo di tamburelli, insieme a colpi ritmici di percussioni etniche, chitarre e nacchere uniti a suoni melodici. Festa dei Popoli KIDS (attività̀ per bambini) - Venerdì, sabato e domenica pomeriggio, sul prato, a cura di "Help A.T.T.": laboratori manuali - Sabato pomeriggio, davanti al proprio stand, a cura di "Le Aquile di Seta": laboratorio ambientale - Sabato pomeriggio, all'interno del proprio stand, a cura di "Migrantes Arcidiocesi cattolica Bari-Bitonto": laboratorio sulla pace - Domenica pomeriggio, all'interno del proprio stand, a cura di "bistrot Ethnic Cook": laboratorio di decorazione di biscotti - Domenica pomeriggio, davanti al proprio stand, a cura di "Le Aquile di Seta": laboratorio sulla mondialità - Domenica pomeriggio, sul prato, a cura di "AGESCI Bari 18": attività ludiche "Ancora una volta, dopo ben diciannove anni, siamo orgogliosi ed entusiasti di proporre alla città di Bari la sua Festa dedicata all'integrazione e allo scambio interculturale – spiega Koblan Amissah, organizzatore della Festa dei Popoli –. Mai come in questo periodo di difficoltà e di scenari di guerra a livello internazionale, crediamo nell'importanza del dialogo tra le culture e le comunità che abitano, insieme, la nostra città. Questo evento, divenuto nel tempo un appuntamento ricorrente del panorama culturale barese, torna ogni anno a ricordarci che ogni differenza rappresenta una ricchezza e che, a prescindere dai contesti sociali, professionali, culturali che ciascuno di noi vive, il denominatore comune deve rimanere sempre l'umanità. Quella di uomini e donne che oggi, a Bari, si riuniscono in cerca di pace". "La Camera di Commercio di Bari ha voluto dedicare a Futurae – programma imprese migranti, uno stand nell'ambito della Festa dei Popoli, in coerenza con le attività già svolte per favorire la nascita di imprese di immigrati nel nostro territorio di competenza e nella certezza che sia il contenitore più giusto per favorire ulteriori adesioni alla seconda edizione tutt'ora in corso – ha dichiarato Luciana Di Bisceglie, presidente della Camera di Commercio di Bari –L'accordo di recente stipulato da Unioncamere nazionale con Banca Etica e PerMicro, che offre agli imprenditori migranti che partecipano al progetto la possibilità di richiedere finanziamenti per l'avvio dell'attività, è la conferma che siamo sulla strada giusta: per i benefici in termini di integrazione dei cittadini stranieri e di opportunità di crescita per l'intero sistema economico". Festa dei popoli è promossa e organizzata da :Centro Interculturale Abusuan, Missionari Comboniani, CGIL, Stop Border Violence. Associazioni partecipanti Afghanistan, A.I.B.A. (Costa d'Avorio), Alma Terra, APS Gianni Ballerio, ArtiDea cultura, Balasua, BANDERUMOROSE, Bari in jazz, Bari Sviluppo - Progetto Futurae 2, Brasile, C.A.M.A. - L.I.L.A, CAPS - Casa Shalom, Centro Missionario - Migrantes - Caritas Arcidiocesi cattolica di Bari-Bitonto, Communitas, Comunità baha'i di Bari, Comunità ortodossa di Etiopia, Comunità Palestinese di Puglia e Basilicata, CSV San Nicola, Culture organisations of Bangladesh - DEBI, Digiuno di Giustizia in solidarietà con i Migranti, Dioubo Diame Africa (Senegal), EMI - Editrice Missionaria Italiana, Equanima, bistrot Ethnic Cook, G.E.P. - Gruppo Educhiamoci alla Pace, Govinda (Mauritius), G.U.A.P. (Ghana), Help ATT, Iraq, Le Aquile di Seta (Albania), Legambiente, Nawa Wax (Senegal), Nazma's Kitchen (Bangladesh), Nigeriani di Bari e Puglia, PER.I.P.L.O, Plastic Free, Refugees Welcome, S-CONFIN-ARTI, Squola Senza Confini Penny Wirton, Stop Border Violence, Suore Missionarie Comboniane, Tessere di Solidarietà, Uniti per l'Ucraina, Unsolomondo Partner solidali Agriturismo "Al Verneto", Balafon Film Festival, Bistrot "Buò – crudo, cotto e mangiato", bar "Caffè portineria", boutique "Charity Chic", autofficina "Dentico", OdV "Eco Eventi", libreria "La Campus", libreria "Svoltastorie", APS "Teatro Osservatorio – ImprOfficina", società di consulenza "SAMO Security & Business Solutions" Scuole partecipanti S.S. 1° G. "Amedeo d'Aosta" - Bari, I. "Margherita" - Bari, I.C. "Michelangelo" - Bari, S.S.1° G. "Riccardo Monterisi" - Bisceglie, I.C. "Nicola Zingarelli - Anna Frank"- Bari, C.P.I.A. 1 "Alessandro Leogrande" - Bari... #notizie #news #breakingnews #cronaca #politica #eventi #sport #moda Read the full article

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mainscircles · 2 years

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Zona del silencio mexico

#Zona del silencio mexico driver#

#Zona del silencio mexico Patch#

#Zona del silencio mexico driver#

It seems that nearly every cab driver in Mexico has heard of La Zona del Silencio (though not of the MapimI Biosphere Reserve). The extent of the Zone’s influence is amazing. "Skeptoid #323: 8 Spooky Places, and Why They're Like That". People from the United States, France, Germany, Italy, Chile, and Uruguay arrived at the field station in 1989-1990. Guia Roji, México Tourist Atlas 2002, p. 70.Even so, some view these odd reports as deliberately invented to generate tourism and sold to the world via the mass media. "USAF Accidentally Launched Rocket into Mexico's Mapimi Desert 45 Years Ago". Near the UNESCO Mapim Biosphere Reserve in Mexico is a place known as La Zona Del Silencio (or the Zone of Silence). El Zona del Silencio is an electromagnetic void an anomaly, where compasses spin like dervishes and cell phone and radio signals are the definition of hit-and-miss. ^ a b c d Barclay, Michael (July 13, 2015).Este lugar esta lleno de historias y mitos que lo. En tiempos prehistricos este territorio estuvo sumergido bajo las aguas del llamado Mar de Thetis, es por eso que actualmente se pueden encontrar una gran diversidad de fsiles. Se ubica en la parte central del Bolsn de Mapim, en Durango. Two locals watch Americans recover the missile, but when they go in after them. La Zona del Silencio, un lugar fascinante. "Exploring Mexico's Zone of Silence, Where Radio Signals Fail and Meteorites Crash". In 1970, a missile veers off course and crashes inside the Zona del silencio. "The Zone Of Silence of northern Mexico: scientific marvel or just fiction?". Las especulaciones aumentaron de manera precipitada y pronto las personas quisieron saber ms de ella e incluso conocerla.

#Zona del silencio mexico Patch#

Archived from the original on 22 June 2008. Rpidamente se esparci la noticia: en el norte de Mxico exista un lugar en el que era imposible escuchar cualquier sonido. The Mapim Silent Zone (Spanish:La Zona del Silencio) is the popular name for a desert patch near the Bolsn de Mapim in Durango, Mexico, overlapping the. Legends include "strange magnetic anomalies that prevent radio transmission", mutations of flora and fauna, and extraterrestrial visitations, which have been used by locals to promote tourism in the region. Reportedly, a local resident hired to guard the crash debris during recovery operations helped spread these rumors. The Zone of Silence (Spanish: La Zona Del Silencio), also known as the Mapim Silent Zone, is the popular name for a desert patch near the Bolsn de Mapim. Near San Ignacio, Mexico is an area known as the Mexico Bermuda Triangle or Silent. Īs a result of the US Air Force recovery operation, a number of myths and legends relating to the area arose. La Zona del Silencio (Silent Zone) - Bolson de Mapimi, Ceballos, Mexico. Īs part of the cleanup effort, hundreds of tons of soil were removed from the impact site. When the rocket went off-course, it was carrying two small containers of cobalt 57, an isotope used in " salted bombs" to intentionally contaminate large areas of land. In July 1970, an Athena RTV test rocket launched from the Green River Launch Complex in Utah towards the White Sands Missile Range in New Mexico lost control and fell in the Mapimí Desert region. Explore a unique place located within the Bolsn de Mapim and learn about eerie local mysteries on our Silent Zone, Mapim & Ojuela: 2 or 3 Day Tour. Produced by in association with Juicy Falls.The area was once an ancient seabed in the Tethys Ocean, which left marine fossils and large salt deposits which are mined today. But were these tales of supernatural phenomina just cooked up to distract public attention away from the embarrassment of an American test missile with a radioactive payload being accidentally shot into a neighbouring country? Join Neil & Stu, as they discuss La Zona Del Silencio. Indeed, th area has drawn comparisons with the Bermuda Triangle. The 'Mapimi Silent Zone' lies in a remote part of Mexico, and attracts many visitors with tales of strange magnetic forces, and Extra-Terrestrial activity. This tour in Mexico is organized by Rotamundos Experiencias. In the meantime, Happy Holidays to all our listeners, as well as Happy New Year of course too. 2-Day Tour of Mapimi with Zona del Silencio and Ojuela. But fear not! They will be back disputing each other with fresh vigour in the New Year, with some amazing topics of discussion. IMPORTANT INFORMATION: Due to Neil & Stu being extremely busy with their normal work towards the end of the year, this will be the last episode of 2021 sadly. Check out all the various tiers and rewards at before picking the right one for you! El Bolsn de Mapim, est situado en la parte centro-norte del pas, a unos 180 Km. El enigmtico nombre es digno de un sinfn de mitos que han surgido en torno a la zona. You can get involved and help support us through our Patreon. Zonas de silencio Los muertos silenciados Comparamos la incidencia de homicidios en Mxico con la publicacin de notas periodsticas sobre esos mismos. En la parte central del Bolsn de Mapim se localiza un rea llamada la Zona del Silencio.

#Zona del silencio mexico

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day-of-the-plantsims · 3 years

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🎵🎵🎵

Do the music shuffle

Rules: We’re snooping in your playlist! Put your entire music library on shuffle and list the first 10 songs and then choose 10 people.

Tagged by @gumdropsimstop 💜 Ty for tagging meeee, wow I'm so late to these~ Hooo, boy.. Time for that awkward moment when my playlists out me for being a 90s/00s goth. It starts off pretty chill, but.. you'll see.

She's Not Real - Crystal Panes [link]

Janet Jackson - What Have You Done For Me Lately [link]

De/Vision- Dinner Without Grace (Radio Edit) [link]

Malice Mizer - Beast of Blood [link]

L'Âme Immortelle - Love Is Lost (DerVish Remix) [link]

The Retrosic - Maneater [link]

Perturbator - Retrogenesis [link]

Android Lust - Stained [link]

KMFDM - Skurk [link]

Trevor Something - The Touch of Your Skin [link] (This video is a bit strange, prolly don't watch in mixed company unless you feel like getting questioned, lol)

Yyyyep! I'm not gonna make any apologies for it. Does it make you feel any differently about me? 🤣 As for tags, I have no idea, so how about this- If you want to be tagged in asks like this, let me know in the replies and I'll tag you in future ones!

🌻🌻🌻

#ask #reply #tag game #nonsims #still a goth at heart 🖤#those were the days

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crones-trash · 2 years

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I chose to do some packing of lightweight items—my cd collection. Collectively, they weigh a ton but one at a time is effortless. After all I must decide if they are Keep, Sell, or Trash.

Anyway, I rediscovered my 2nd male celeb crush. I specify male because my very first crush was Shirley Temple then came Audrey Hepburn.

The first male was Paul McCartney. Then in 1978, Mike Oldfield dropped INCANTATIONS & I devoured everything he produced until the late '90s—26 albums in all that cover a wide spectrum of styles. When he put out VOYAGER in 1996, this image was fantasy fodder.

Here's Part 1 of 4. My young children & I used to stand in our living room, which had a high ceiling w/ wondrous acoustics, & chant along with the opening of this 19-minute track. And dance like dervishes until all of us were tired enough to take a nap.

youtube

Listening to it now makes me feel calm yet happy. It's an incredible auditory trip that builds a sense of expectation. A 5th Part was added later & is shorter (4:13) & maybe more accessible 44 years later.

youtube

In '82, he embraced his inner rocker & had his first hit on Pop radio.

youtube

I hope I've introduced you to something you'll like.

#Mike Oldfield #Incantations #Voyager #Family Man #Youtube

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scurvgirl · 3 years

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Can’t Fight the Moonlight

House Witch AU? In 2021? More likely than you think.

This is a plot point I was REALLY looking forward to getting to, but with the state of things, this may just be on its own.

Warnings for violence, discrimination, and mentions of past spousal abuse.

Selene and Felasel belong to @anyulavellan

Thenvunin belongs to @feynites

Rated: M

The first full moon following Ileth’s sixth birthday arrives in full force with a moon-restless six year old and familiar. Selene is busy with the twins and their…blessings, which leaves Serahlin on her own to manage her moon-blessed child’s energy. In the afternoon, Ileth becomes a whirling dervish of energy, running from room to room with his familiar, little motes of crackling magical energy emanating off of him. He eschews the stairs, instead opting for his gift to levitate up them instead. As the moon begins its ascent, Ileth grows worse. He cries to be outside with the moon, practically clawing at the window to be let out.

“Not tonight,” Serahlin tries to explain, “they’re watching us, da’len.” The Templars. Damned witch hunters have infested the town after Serahlin’s not so subtle performance at the police station (after they went to Ileth’s school and interviewed him without her permission, Serahlin tore into the department, her own magic cackling as she wore enchanted lipstick to make them obey her). She feels their eyes watching her house, and while they remain safe within its walls due to her wards, outside is another story. Ileth wants to dance and bask in the glow of the moon, which would only invite the hunters.

They can’t go outside, but they can't stay inside either.

A quick online search later and Serahlin has her solution.

“Get dressed, da’len, nice and warm,” she tells Ileth and he beams, relief clear on his little face. Ten minutes later, they are all in the car, including the familiars. Serahlin opens the sunroof, allowing the moonlight to fill the car. Ileth gasps and reaches up, mismatched eyes wide with happiness.

It’s a thirty minute drive, but for once, Ileth doesn’t complain. He hums a song Serahlin cannot place and stares at the moon. The cool night air fills the car and Serahlin feels some of the tension in her shoulders release as they speed down the roads, alone and quiet. It’s the nicest car ride they’ve had in a while.

Eventually, Serahlin makes a turn onto a dirt path, following signs for Bright Lights Drive-In Movies! Five minutes down the road and the light from the drive-in beckons them forward. Ileth shifts in his seat but doesn’t say anything, still watching the moon.

Serahlin pulls up to the box office and smiles at the teen working inside.

“One adult and one child for-

“Price is per car, ma’am. That’d be fifteen for one show, thirty for the night pass.” Serahlin hands over thirty in cash, fully aware they were not going home anytime soon. The gravel crunches under the wheels as she pulls into the drive-in theatre. The path angles down, following the gentle contour of a hill, leading to the flat open space before the towering screen. The open space allows for an unobstructed view of the moon, making Ileth gasp and strain against his seatbelt.

She glances in the rearview and worries her lip, “Wait just a little longer and I’ll unbuckle you.” Serahlin pulls into a space a little farther back and closer to the forest edge. Not an ideal spot for movie watching, but a better one for allowing her son some enjoyment of the moonlight.

She turns the radio to the station for the movie, some older black-and-white film that was rated to be child appropriate by the internet, then undoes her seatbelt. Ileth follows suit and immediately reaches up into the moon-roof.

“It’s so pretty, Memae.”

“It is, isn’t?” Serahlin answers as she directs her attention to drawing wards on the car’s dashboard.

“Ileth, come here, please. Good, now place your hand on top of mine. I want you to pay attention to my words and the magic in them - feel them deep inside you and make them heavy with importance.

Guard within from harm,

Locked and stocked,

Against those with arms.”

The wards flare to life under their hands and Ileth gasps as he feels the spill of magic from both of their hands. By lending his energized magic to the spell, it is stronger and will recognize him as a caster, thereby neutralizing any effect the ward would have against him.

“I liked that!” Ileth giggles and runs his hand across the ward, feeling the residual prickles of the casting.

Serahlin smiles. Despite Darris, despite the Templars, despite the shit that seems to pile up at their door, Ileth is coming into his own. The magic is part of him, within him, wanting to be used and embodied. He feels the moon in his soul and the magic in his heart. She is raising a witch and it brings her joy.

They spend over an hour in the car, moving every now and then to compensate for the restlessness. Ileth hops around and they play short games of I Spy and sing songs together. Serahlin tells him an old Dalish tale and despite the threat that lurks back home and the creeping exhaustion, she finds herself having a good time. When was the last time she got to just enjoy being a mother? To just be Ileth’s mom and to see him in his element? She isn’t sure, but she knows that her son will make a fine man some day.

Around midnight, Ileth sighs, “I’m hungry, Memae.”

Serahlin rummages throughout the car but alas, she forgot to bring snacks. She glances out a side window and sees a small concession stand at the base of the hill. Ileth’s stomach rumbles.

“I will go get snacks, you are to stay in the car no matter what, you understand?” Ileth nods at her instruction. She takes a deep breath and grabs her purse before leaving the car. Her familiar, Risin, jumps out to follow her but she shakes her head at him.

Stay with the car, alert me if anyone comes close to it.

Risin nods at her commands and slinks under the car.

The walk to the concession stand is not long, but the distance feels interminable. Each step ratchets up Serahlin’s anxiety, and she continually glances back to the car. She reaches the stand and picks out several snacks she and Ileth enjoy, as well as a couple of waters. They will have to figure out the bathroom situation, but that is a bridge they will cross when necessary.

She finishes paying the cashier when a tall, human man approaches the counter. He puts down a few bags of chips and looks at her from the corner of his eye.

“Can I get one of those ice-creams from the back?” He asks and the cashier nods before heading to the back. The man turns to Serahlin as she packs up her food and drinks.

“Better watch yourself. Your kind ain’t welcome here, this is a decent town.”

Serahlin freezes, her lips thinning into a staunch line as everything in her tenses. She wants to feel out with her magic if this man means her elven blood is not welcome or if he is truly a witch hunter, but she doesn’t dare. A witch hunter would feel her probe and potentially incite an incident. She can’t take the risk.

Instead, Serahlin finishes packing her things and heads out of the stand without a word. She is halfway to the car when a sapping feeling hits her. She stumbles as the magic inside of her feels temporarily drained. Her heart begins to race, she turns around trying to see who could be responsible for the attack. It’s useless, any of the cars here could be holding a Templar who could have sapped her magic. The man from the stand could have followed her, but she doesn’t see him. With her magic feeling low and the car still half a soccer field away, Serahlin braces grinds her teeth and straightens her shoulders.

She will make it. She has to.

Serahlin resumes her trek, walking straight to her car. She doesn’t make it two yards before a searing pain flares across her nerves where her magic ought to be.

“Ah!” She cries, tripping to the gravel. She looks up quickly and sees them this time, four burly looking men walking towards her, menacing in their gait and eyes.

Risin, to me, NOW. She mentally commands to her familiar before slowly rising. The men increase their pace. She turns and bolts for the woods. Her magic is distant, reminding her entirely too much of when Darris had kept her powerless all those years.

But she has Risin, she has her book, she has her coven.

Sorry Selene, she thinks before reaching through the bond that connects them. She yanks moon blessed magic into her, and it burns dark and deep into her soul. It is totally unlike her and Ileth’s magicks. It is heavy and fiery, and it knows it is not in its rightful host. She reaches the edge of the woods and lets the magic out:

“Silent steps unfollowable,

Form unsighted, unknowable.” She casts upon her person, Selene’s magic coursing over her in a fiery shadow turning her as silent and invisible as long as she draws no attention to herself. She disappears into the shadows of the woods, tucking herself against the closeness of the trees.

The men crash into the brush, “Find the witch!” They take out flashlights and she could very well let them pass by and return to her car. But that would leave them out there to hunt her and her own. She’s had enough of just hiding, just getting by. The hunters have threatened her child, her coven.

These men will die.

She watches them closely as they pass by her hiding spot. The man from the concession stand is there, taller than the rest, now wearing an obvious toolbelt with the old insignia. A sword’s scabbard rests on the belt, aside a pistol holster. He came prepared. The second man wears a similar toolbelt, but he has a dagger in his and a pump-action shotgun in hands. The third doesn’t wear a toolbelt, but gloves that send a chill down Serahlin’s spine. Those gloves are designed to hold a witch, somehow enchanted to neutralize any magic it touches. He could get into the car. He dies first. The fourth man isn’t really a man so much as a tall, gangly youth with a flashlight in his hand and sweat on his brow.

Creators, he’s just a kid. A kid who hunts witches.

Serahlin allows them to get slightly ahead of her before following. Risin finally catches up to her, silently stalking alongside her.

I need that man’s shotgun, she thinks.

I will distract them, Risin answers before disappearing into the brush. Serahlin quietly positions herself to be walking at the second man’s pace.

A branch breaks, the men freeze and turn away from Serahlin.

Now or never.

She runs forward and before they can react, she reaches up to the second man’s head and gives a hard twist.

Snap. Neck broken, the man falls to the ground and she grabs his shotgun. The first man shouts as she turns and fires a shot at the third man, but the shot goes wide.

The first man utters a quick chant and searing pain fills her again. She yells in pain and the gun drops from her hands.

Shit.

Her mind is a mess of pain and anger, her body doesn’t obey her. The man with the gloves grabs her and a wretched sob escapes her. These bastards will not see her cry, not matter how much it hurts. Her book is in her purse, strapped against her body, and there is enough magic in her to send out a message to Selene if needed.

“Your kind brings evil and disease to our communities, the Maker will cleanse our community of this filth,” First Man says. Serahlin glares at him but does not give him the satisfaction of a response. Her right to exist isn’t a debate, it is a fact that none of the men here will acknowledge.

Instead, she juts out her chin in defiance.

Another branch breaks. Risin, go, protect Ileth. It’s a useless command, her familiar dies with her.

That was not me.

She barely has time to register the information before a low growl rumbles through the night air. The first man turns around, pistol raised.

“What foul demon have you summoned, witch?” Gloved Man asks. She says nothing, only raises an eyebrow.

The first man takes a step forward. He flashes his light to the dark to see two large, golden eyes peering back at him. He fires a shot just as the creature’s mouth opens, revealing sharp, canine teeth.

Someone screams as the creature lunges forward, long claws and sharp teeth tearing into the first man. The gloved man lets go of Serahlin and reaches for the shotgun. He lifts it just in time for the creature to leap upon him with bloody jaws and claws.

Serahlin, still on her knees and dazed from the pain of having all of her magic stripped from her, watches in a daze as the creature, no, werewolf eviscerates the men who would have killed her. She turns from the gruesome sight, looking for the younger one - but all that is left is a fourth flashlight, abandoned in his flight.

She turns her gaze to the werewolf once more, astonished. Such rare creatures, werewolves are, and not native to this part of Orlais. Yet, here one is.

The werewolf, apparently satisfied with the deadness of the gloves man, lifts their head and looks straight at Serahlin. Their snout is long like a wolf’s, full of wonderful teeth that just saved her. Their eyes are a golden yellow, glowing brightly in the moon-light dark. Long arms and legs still in its humanoid - no, elfish shape but covered in brown fur. Long ears speaking of their elven heritage still curve back from their head.

Serahlin swallows, “Thank you.”

The werewolf tilts their head and takes a step forward, using all four limbs to slowly maneuver towards her. Their movements are smooth and purposeful, eyes fixed on her but there is no snarl or growl. Instead, they are incredibly quiet as they approach.

Serahlin leans instinctually back, her eyes taking in their form before catching on the red staining the fur at their shoulder.

“You’re hurt,” she breathes. The wolf sniffs but does not change course.

“This is the police!”

The wolf’s head snaps up at attention at the call before looking at her.

“Go,” they snarl before leaping away and taking off into the night.

Not one to wait, Serahlin rises and runs through the woods to wind around to her car. She hears the police exclaim at finding a body just as she reaches the parking lot. She slows her steps to a walk so as to not attract attention to herself.

At long last, Serahlin reaches her car.

“Memae, are you okay?” Ileth asks as she settles into the driver’s seat.

“Yes, baby, I’m okay.”

“Okay…did you get snacks?”

The next morning brings with it aches and what feels like the worst hangover ever. Serahlin’s phone is full of texts and voice messages from Selene and Thenvunin.

You okay??

What happened?

I’m coming over!!

Felasel says you’re ok a wolf helped?? What?

Right. After leaving the drive-in, she locked herself and Ileth in his room before passing out from exhaustion without thinking to call her coven to tell them what happened. She doesn’t know how Felasel knows what happened - those twins have far too many blessings to fully understand.

Still not entirely able to hold a conversation, Serahlin sends a group text.

We’re ok. Went to the drive-in theatre last night, encountered some hunters but am ok. Will explain more later.

She doesn’t read the follow up texts and instead focuses on getting Ileth ready for school.

She is looking raggedy when she pulls through the drop-off line. A teacher she does not recognize opens the door and she frowns.

“Where is Mr. Adannar?” Ileth asks and the teacher smiles.

“He wasn’t feeling well this morning, so he is staying home. It will just be Ms. Fleur today.”

“Oh, okay. I hope he feels better soon.” Ileth hops out of the car and Serahlin waves goodbye.

As she drives home, Serahlin’s tired brain comes to an odd realization that may not be accurate. But it is a feeling, and she has learned to not ignore those.

First, she heads home and puts all the ingredients needed for making chicken noodle soup into a pot. She uncorks a small healing tincture and pours it in as well, giving it a good stir to incorporate it. Then, she heads upstairs and gets ready properly with a quick shower and dressing in a warm dress.

When the soup is ready and Serahlin is looking like her regular self, she puts the soup into a safe container and heads back out to her car. A simple scrying spell later, and she has the address she needs. Thirty minutes following that, she arrives at a small, but charming home on the outskirts of town. A picket fence surrounds the front yard, while tall trees and hedges bracket the sides, obscuring the view of the backyard.

Serahlin turns off the car, grabs the tupperware full of soup, then walks down the stone path to the front door. She knocks. No answer. She knocks again. No answer.

“Mr. Adannar, I brought you soup to help you feel better,” she calls. A long pause stretches before her before she hears the telltale sound of locks releasing.

The door cracks open, “I appreciate the gesture, but I am really in no shape to see anyone. Good day.” He moves to close the door, but she wedges her foot between it and the jam.

“Mr. Adannar, I came all this way to give you soup. Please, at least take it.” Another long pause stretches between them before the door opens to reveal a rumpled, tired looking Adannar with a a bandage clearly wrapped around his shoulder - exactly where the bullet hit the werewolf from last night.

“As I said, I am in no state to-

“Thank you,” she breathes, meeting his lovely yellow eyes. He swallows.

“I…you’re welcome.”

Serahlin takes a step inside but he doesn’t protest. After she sets the soup down on a table next to the door, she reaches up to his bandaged shoulder. He winces but does not move away.

“Broken flesh and bone mend,

Be as you were before blood was shed.”

The magic slips past her fingers and sinks into his skin. His grimace of pain soon eases into one of relief. He takes the hand she had rested upon him into his own, much larger hand.

“I believe it is my turn to thank you.” He maintains eye contact as he leans down and brushes his lips against the back of her hand.

“There is no need, this was me thanking you.”

“So the soup was…?”

“An excuse, though it does have a healing tincture in it, just in case you wouldn’t open the door for me. You saved not only my life, but my son’s, last night. That…there is not enough thanks in the world that will ever be enough.”

“I could never let them harm you or Ileth,” he whispers.

“No?” She says quietly. He takes a step forward, leaning down.

“No.” He presses his lips gently against hers and she has just enough mind to close the door.

#house witch au #fic #serahlin #ileth #adannar #serannar #selene #writing tag

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sherala007 · 3 years

Text

Sharing some work I did for school.

Reblogging to share with new people.

WARNINGS: Please use caution when reading this as it is Very violent at the end and is about a paranormal encounter.

Tagging my niece @bunchesofoats24

The Cabin in the Cove

The perfume of the decaying leaves of the valley embraced me, holding me like a frightened old lady, while farther up the mountain, a fresher scent promised relief. Gnarled tree roots and drooping branches encroached on the trail, clutching at my head and feet as I trudged along, forcing me to dodge them. The weight of my gear shifted with my gracelessness, making me stumble into the rough bark of the closest mountain ash, scraping the heel of my hand.

My lower back twinged as I leaned forward, working my way up and out of the valley while trying to support the weight of my devious pack as it attempted to send me back down the hill. Complaining back and hand? What made me think I could go from weekend hikes to taking a full ten-day camping trip? I was a short, chubby, middle-aged office worker. I was not in shape for this at all. The next time I let a man piss me off this much, I'm just going to Florida!

Wheezing, I paused to appreciate where I stood. Boulders were scattered haphazardly as if tossed by playing giants. Colorful fall leaves waved on the trees, rustling in the breeze, some fluttering down, and sprinkled on the forest floor. The morning autumn sun scattered pale rays through the canopy, dappling the ground with shifting shadows. Clouds gathered, diluting the warmth of the sun. Wind whipped around trees, nipping at my skin like piranhas, sending fallen leaves into whirling dervishes.

The radio I carried warned of an approaching winter blast, but shouldn't arrive for a few days, but the air carried the ominous scent of burning wood and snow. There was no way that winter storm was going to hold off for a few more hours let alone a few more days. It was coming in and coming in fast. My three-season sleeping bag would be no protection against snow and my tent wouldn't bear the weight of snowfall. I had to find something more substantial – and soon.

Shrugging off my pack, I pulled out the map, GPS, and compass and tried to find the best place to go. About two miles up the trail, there was a cut off into Cades Cove National Park where there were cabins. At this point, I didn't care the park was closed for the season. I was aiming for the nearest cabin, fines be damned! Better yet, let one of the rangers find me on the grounds. Then I could get a lift back to civilization and go home to my nice warm bed, a hot shower, and delivery pizza. I tied my flashlight to the cord around my neck; tucked everything else back in the outer pouch; wriggled back into my pack and with a deep, determined breath, got moving.

An hour later I hit the plateau. I was making good time; tired and breathing hard, working up a healthy sweat, but moving well, all things considered. Almost numb from sore muscles from the neck down, I was not stopping. "Keep going, Moira. You can do this!" kept echoing in my head. Too soon, the snow started in small flakes, blowing fast on the unrelenting wind. I stopped again to check the map, making sure I was still on course; took a drink from my water bottle, geared up and shoved off again. Despite the aches and pains, I knew I couldn't slack my pace at all. The world around me had a drab cast to it. What was once colorful was now diluted and dingy. Everything seemed shadowy and somber on this stretch of trail. Trees loomed darker, more sinister like someone hid behind them at every turn. I was getting scared, beginning to feel as if I was being followed, or stalked. One foot in front of the other, I had to keep moving.

The snow morphed from jitterbugging flakes to thick, wet, clingy drops pelting me in the face. My hoodie was wet and my fingers were numb. I was so damn cold it made me angry. I begrudgingly admitted this was no small winter bluster but a full-blown blizzard. The trees thinned and I could just see what looked like a cabin at the edge of the tree line.

I sobbed out loud. "Please GOD, please let it be unlocked." I ran to the door facing the trees, joyful relief in my very grateful smile. I yanked it open only to feel it jerked out of my hand and slammed shut in my face.

"Oh no you fuckin' don't," I growled under my breath. My teeth chattered and hands violently shook with cold. I grabbed the handle with both hands, turned and yanked it again, pushing against the wind with what strength I had left, and forced my way inside. My pack hooked on the door jamb, spinning me around causing me to fall into the room. Finding myself disoriented on the floor, I tried to get up but the weight of my pack held me down. For a moment I couldn't move.

Shaking my head, I realized the wind and snow were no longer tormenting me. Looking around the room I saw the door was shut. The only light was from a small, grimy window in the front of the one, empty room. There was nothing of use. It was shelter and I was glad for it. In the dim of the interior, I tried to rise only to feel the pack jerk and shift, pulling me over, landing me painfully on my left side. I reached to unhook the waist belt of the pack, taking five tries to get my fingers wrapped around the end and feed it through the buckle, finally sliding it from my shoulders.

Knowing I had to quickly get out of my wet clothes, I propped the pack against the wall, pulling out my sleeping bag and a change of clothes. Relieved to find my packed clothes all dry, I attempted to change. Shaking, it took a bit to get my shoes off. The laces were covered in snow and matted together. Rid of them, I stood barefoot on the dirty floor and threw my wet clothes in a pile off to the side. Naked, I bent to start putting on my socks when I felt something on my bottom. Swatting, I felt nothing there. There was no welt from a bug bite. It almost felt like a pinch, but that was impossible. I was alone in here. I glanced over my shoulder just to be sure and felt the hairs on my arms start to rise.

I dressed quickly and laid my wet items out to dry as best I could, praying they wouldn't freeze. I picked up my flashlight and looked around the room. There was nothing in there but me, the dust, and whatever bugs were hiding in the crannies. I peeked out the window only to see quite a bit of snow piling up. I went back to my sleeping bag, propped it against the wall, stepped in, zipping it up the side and sat down. I pulled it over my head with a small opening for me to peek out and cocooned myself. Five minutes later, I was sound asleep.

Suddenly, I felt myself jerked to my left. My right shoulder felt as if it'd been hit. Shrugging out of the sleeping bag, I was on my feet bracing for anyone to come at me. My eyes adjusted to the dark and I saw nothing there. I grabbed the flashlight from around my neck and shone it around. Everything was where I'd left it. The front and back doors were still shut. Nothing was there.

Snuggling back into my bag, I kept the flashlight on. I was shaking from cold and fright and wide awake. I reached for the radio, thinking it might be a good idea to find out how long the storm would last, but there was nothing but static. Figuring the dial must have moved I tried to fine-tune it but still got nothing. I sat listening to static as it numbed my heart and hopes. How the hell was I going to get out of this mess? Static like white noise still playing from the radio I heard a guttural, masculine breath, "nnnooooo...."

"What the hell was that?" I dropped the radio on the floor, knocking the batteries loose. Silence filled the cabin. The pressure seemed to increase, my skin prickling up my arms and into my ears like stinging fire ants. I squirmed and slapped all over, feeling along my arms for bugs but found none. I scrambled out of my sleeping bag and began to pace. Surely, I'm hearing things. Ghosts don't exist. People just have overactive imaginations! I've had too much time alone and the current stress is getting to me. I need to get some sleep and get home ASAP. I couldn't let this get to me. I fixed the radio, made sure I was snug against the wall, hunkered down in my bag, and closed my eyes. Focused on deep breathing, I drifted back off to sleep.

The pressure returned with a vengeance, weighing me down as if I were under ten blankets. The air felt heavy like a Florida summer, but the cold, winter air shimmied with swirls of ice fog inside the cabin. It didn't feel like bugs this time. It felt as if someone were standing over me, painfully invading my personal space. There was no sound, just a weighty, dense atmosphere. The floorboards slightly vibrated as if someone was trying to creep around. Quietly I pulled the flashlight out, made sure it was facing away from me and clicked it on, shining it around the room. There was no one there. I could still feel the steps. Was there an animal on the roof causing it? I listened again but didn't hear the skittering of a critter.

STOMP STOMP STOMP

I jumped up and out of the blankets at lightning speed. The flashlight beam bounced erratically. I looked around again; nothing. This was crazy! There had to be a reasonable explanation. I peered out the window but there was nothing. I was in socks so there should have been no sound, but I heard footsteps come up behind me. There was no reflection in the window but my own. I clicked off the light, let my eyes adjust, and looked again. Nothing.

Someone grabbed my shoulders, fingers dimpling my skin. Spinning around, I faced nothing, but the smell of cherry tobacco wisped against my cheek. It felt so close I should be able to see someone but all I saw was my own breath on the air. This was crazy. I hadn't been alone on the trail long enough to lose my mind. The hands-on my shoulders moved to my hips, digging into my flesh so hard I knew I'd have bruises. I was yanked into what felt like the thick leg of a tall man slamming against my pelvis. I trembled at the suddenness of it all. One second someone was there, then gone, the pressure in the air left and all was still.

I stumbled back to my sleeping bag, legs giving way, and bundled up. I didn't try to think. I was just numb, shivering in fear. I didn't do up the sleeping bag, instead, I tucked my knees to my chest, arms wrapped tightly around me. I felt the bag move up over my arm and tuck itself under my chin, wrapping me so tightly I couldn't move. My eyes closed and I felt a hand touch my head, fingers squeezing the top of my skull, pinning me still. After that? Nothing.

I woke up a few hours later to pitch blackness silence. Hitting the button on my watch, it flashed two forty-five at me. I crawled out of my sleeping bag and walked to the window again. The snow had slowed to flurries, looking like cotton rain, my breath fogging up the window. I started to turn away when I saw finger swipes go through the fog, and heard nails dragging along the glass. I heard shuffling along the floor and turned around. Clicking on the flashlight I saw my clothes being moved violently to the edge of the room next to my pack, leaving smears in the grime on the floor.

"Who are you and why are you doing this," I demanded. "Who the hell do you think you are?" My shout echoed through the small space. My mind was beyond doubting anymore. The breath, the stomping, something touching me, I couldn't deny it. Someone, something, was here with me. I got no response. "Why are you trying to scare me?" I waited, fists balled, shoulders squared. Nothing. I walked around the cabin looking for a nameplate or anything inside. Still nothing. I knew they'd have one out near the road with the particulars of who used to live here but I wasn't about to go in the storm. Despite the cold inside, it was worse out there.

I sat back down and tried to think. There was a legend of sorts about a man who lived in the area when it was declared a national park by the feds. They evicted everyone and he refused to leave, putting up quite a fight. Was this cabin his? I strained, unable to remember details. There were snatches of memory; old landmarks, but none of it clicked Physical and mental exhaustion took their toll. I wasn't frightened anymore. I was angry!

I remembered a map of the Cove from my last trip to the park, putting the pieces together; the weathered barn, the old mill, the rustic visitor's center. The last cabin on the trail, there was something about it. Yes, the last cabin was small, one room only. This one fit that description. It was almost as old as the Primitive Baptist Church at the center of the park and built pre-Civil War. The gateways flew open. The Civil War! That had something to do with this cabin and the guy who built it. My mind began to race. I got up and began to pace back and forth, my fingers snapping.

His name had something to do with a president; or was it two presidents. Names, why would no names come to my mind? I paced quickly, "Dammit!" I stomped once. "Fine, I'll start from the beginning. George Wash…" Violence and fury rushed up at me, pushing me backward. I felt him standing an inch away, trying to invade every sense I had, from the scent of cherry tobacco to an ice-cold chill. The vibrating energy of his presence raised the hair on my arms. He was here. His presence was a powerful electrical charge in the air after a storm. Yes!

"GEORGE WASHINGTON CARTER SHIELDS!" I shouted to the darkness. There was nothing visible, but I knew he was there. "That's who you are," I defiantly declared standing in the room. I would not back down. "Why are you doing this to me? I had nothing to do with your troubles." I stepped to the left to walk around him and felt him shift, blocking my path. There was no physical body there, but every fiber of me said he was. I moved to the right with the same result. He would not let me back to my bag. I took a step back and felt his arms wrap around me, pinning me tight.

His invisible form pressed against me. He was a large man with thick muscles from the hard work, living off the land. His legs pressed against mine, thick from tramping these same woods. One giant hand held my back, fingers reaching from one shoulder blade to the other, his other hand had a vulgar grip on my bottom, covering the entire left cheek; fingers curving down indecently. His barrel chest pressed me. He felt to be every bit of six feet tall and just as wide compared to my short frame. He was now face to face with me, his nose brushing mine; not warm and living, but frigid with death.

"Are you trying to intimidate me," I questioned. "I'll only be here for the night. Can't you see the weather outside," I asked. "Why would that bother you?" I tried to raise my arms but couldn't. I couldn't turn my head. His energy vibrated through me like a wolf growl. I could feel his frustration by the way he held me; wrapped in solid iron bars, cold and frozen. Fear returned.

"Let me go, please," I whispered. "All I want to do is rest and stay warm until morning. It's freezing outside." In my heart I was scared but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing it. I looked where I thought his eyes would be and tried to keep my voice calm. "I promise. I will leave tomorrow and I won't come back. Please, let me go." I felt his arms loosen a little allowing me to shift in his grip. I shouldn't have moved.

I twisted a little to step away, but he didn't release me. Movement ground me against him, awakening a new desire. His arms tighten again, not to pin me, but to prevent me from walking away. His erection began to grow against me. Both hands were now cupping my backside, forcing me to lean back and grind my hips against him even more. He lifted me higher on his thigh, standing me on my tip-toes. I teetered bringing my numbed hands up to brace against his icy-hot chest.

His cheek brushed mine, our noses bumping, his lips grazing mine, but not to kiss me. The tip of his nose gently traced my cheek, moved along my forehead, and over to my ear. He followed my hairline, smelling me like a dog scents his prey. His exploration moved along my jaw, my ear, and onto my neck and I heard him whisper, "Mine now…" his breath causing my hair to float. His grip tightened and he bit into the curve of my neck making me scream in surprise and pain.

Blood dribbled down over my collarbone. His right hand came up, slamming my left cheek followed by a backhand to my right. Shielding my face with my arms did no good. He passed through them as he hit me repeatedly across the face. I tasted blood as my lips split and several teeth were knocked loose. My legs gave out beneath me. He grabbed me, lifting me and hurling me through the air, slamming me into the wall. Fireworks flashed behind my eyes as I hit and slid to the floor.

I tried to get up before he came at me again but wasn't fast enough. He kicked me in my stomach, again and again, lifting me with the force of the blows. I curled up into a fetal position trying to shield myself from him, visibly shaking in terror and pain, trying to make myself as small as I could but it was no use.

I felt his hand dig into my hair, grabbing a fist full, pulling me up. He pinned me to the wall with his body as his hands groped and pinched my breasts through my clothes. "STOP! Please no!" I tried in vain to push him away from me. It did no good as my hands just passed through the cold of him. I couldn't escape.

"How cowardly to rape a woman!" His anger boiled over to blind rage. I was thrown to the other side of the room, falling to the floor like a rag doll. His fury pursued me like a hurricane. He picked me up again, slamming me into the wall, bruising every part of me, and with each impact, new stars popped behind my eyes. I gave up all efforts of trying to defend myself. There was no escape.

Thrown back to the other side of the room, I fell in a heap face down on the floor. A booted foot stomped onto my back and hips sending fire burning through my spine. The cabin shook with his fury. I couldn't raise my arms. I couldn't move my head. I couldn't tell if my eyes were open or closed. I only felt agony. I couldn't breathe. Then I felt … nothing.

All movement stopped, but I could still feel his energy crackle around me. There was a gurgling sound coming from the floor next to me so I opened my eyes to look. Everything was grey, down to the grain of the wood. Seeing the reflection in the window, I wasn't alone.

There in the glass, stood the specter of George Washington Carter Shields. How was he visible? How could I move after all he did? He began to laugh. Oh my God! I realized I no longer felt hot or cold. I looked at him directly. "What is going on," I hissed. He raised his finger to point at the floor.

Crumpled like a pile of rags was my body; battered and broken. Blood ran from my mouth, nose, and the back of my head, pooling on the floor. My lower back was concaved, hips cocked at a strange angle. My right wrist was bent sideways. There were bruises over all my exposed skin. I was dead. The ghost had killed me.

~~~

A braided rope hung across the top step of the porch, preventing anyone from entering the one-room cabin and there was a historical plaque out front by the parking lot by the road. The doors were removed, replaced with Plexiglas so people could see inside. Once few were brave enough to visit; now many came to gawk. Unexplained murder will do that.

Everyone took pictures. Now and then an image would show in a rare photo; copies of which were sent to the visitor's center. Pictures would show a woman standing in the window, one hand on the glass. She always looked as if she were crying. Even rarer still would be a man behind her in the pictures, glaring at her. None of them were displayed. The Rangers were ordered not talk about what was found in that cabin one late autumn after a freak blizzard. They answered no questions of a supernatural nature. There was no such thing as ghosts.

But in town, you could hear stories of a woman found murdered in the little cabin at the end of the ring road in Cades Cove. It happened on the night of a blizzard, about four years ago. Her name was Moira Fuller and she was forty-four years old. She had only been in Tennessee for a few years after moving from Connecticut. Rumor had it she decided to take a camping trip after breaking up with her boyfriend. The storm came upon her quickly causing her to seek shelter but the only place she could find was in the Carter Shields' cabin. He was a Civil war veteran who hated Yankees. They took his land and he vowed to take it back. He never did. He wasn't even buried near the cabin where he was happiest. After he died, there were rumors of his ghost roaming. Any time a Yankee went in, something bad always happened to them. Moira didn't know that. She was found beaten to death in the cabin a week after the storm. The police thought her boyfriend might have followed her and killed her but he had an airtight alibi. They assumed that some random psycho hiker followed her and killed her. There was no trace of anyone else with her.

To this day her death is still unexplained.

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gingerteaonthetardis · 4 years

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Just for the sake of fluff, Rose dancing on Ten's feet? To some David Bowie song, perhaps?

i don’t know what’s up with me lately?? i’m turning angsty prompts fluffy and vice versa. this one landed somewhere in the middle. but i hope you enjoy this little scene!

𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕨𝕖 𝕜𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕, 𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕗𝕒𝕝𝕝

She felt high as she ran into the Doctor's arms, almost soaring when he hugged her so tight and lifted her up so that her feet swayed and kicked off the ground like a kid on a swing. For a moment, while she was suspended in his arms, it was like nothing—nothing else, nothing but him—could touch her. Not even death.

Even through the clunky spacesuit, his body felt familiar to her—long and firm and mobile, swinging with her to an unheard rhythm that always seemed to play between them. He bounced on the soles of his feet, and she relished the feeling of his smile pressed into her neck. And all was right with the world.

For a moment, at least.

He set her down and stripped out of his orange spacesuit and returned to the console, and she felt herself sagging beside him. The adrenaline was already fading, leaving her voice low and plaintive.

"What do you think it was, really?"

"I think," he hesitated, avoiding her eyes in favor of what she knew to be pointless fiddling, "we beat it. That's good enough for me."

Her stomach settled like lead. The Doctor was afraid. Of what?

"It said I was gonna die in battle," she pushed.

But the Doctor looked at her, then—brown eyes wide and earnest. "Then it lied."

She wanted to believe him. She wanted that lightness back, that feeling of pure joy that could exist unimpeded by predictions and danger and even gravity itself. So she put on her best smile as they wished the Sanctuary Base crew goodbye, and it held as the Doctor looked down at her, called her "The Stuff of Legend." She felt her jaw clench and wobble, and she kept smiling anyway.

When it was all over, she might have deflated like a week-old party balloon were it not for that smile and the way the Doctor caught it and—in a flash—returned it, times a thousand. One of those manic, megawatt smiles. It leapt through her system like lightning, and she felt the corners of her own mouth lifting higher. "What next?" she asked.

Suddenly, she was awake. Alert. Up for anything. Again. It was a talent he had, making her feel that way, no matter how many hours they'd spent awake.

But the Doctor laughed and fiddled with a few different knobs. She caught the sound of crackling static—the familiar racket of the TARDIS radio, searching for a fresh signal. Rose had no idea how it worked, but she also didn't particularly care; like the rest of the timeship she'd made a home in, it was a magnificent mystery to her.

After a few moments of fiddling, she caught a faint snatch of singing, and she squealed on impulse. "Yes!" she cried, grabbing the Doctor's hand, tugging him away from where he stood, rotating another knob to clear up the static. "Come on, come on," she urged, almost stumbling over her feet in the eagerness to dance.

"We can beat them," she sang enthusiastically. "Just for one day! We can be heroes, just for one day!" As David Bowie wailed away in partial static, her whole body swayed and twisted, and her voice echoed throughout the console room. And she lived for the curve of the Doctor's lips, the way he seemed content to be dragged around. He followed her rhythm, hands resting loosely on her hips. "I, I will be king… and you," she sang, pointing at him, "you will be queen. Though nothing will drive them away, we can be heroes! Just for one day!"

When the static started to clear—no doubt the TARDIS's doing—the Doctor joined in, and her sing-shouting turned to laughter.

And so they danced, a dervish in two separate but synced bodies. It reminded her, actually, of when they'd first danced together. Their bodies had been in tune, even when it felt like nothing else was. They only had a shared sense of rhythm, and an idea of the steps.

But now… things were so much more. Less tacit. More real, infused into every rocking motion that showed they'd done this a hundred times. Every day they'd spent together had fused them into this—this joyful, raucous entity that faced down gods and demons and laughed. Their audacity, their boldness, had only grown. Even with each other.

Together, they screamed, "And the guns… shot above our heads… (Over our heads!) And we kissed, as though nothing could fall!" As she sang those words, Rose let herself tilt in his arms, knowing he would catch her.

He did. The Doctor righted her in one swift arc, her hair whipping behind them, and set her solidly back on her feet. On his feet. The action brought her closer to his body, turned him into her center of gravity. She reached her arms around his neck, and let him move her. Pressed against his chest, she could feel him humming. Oh, we can beat them… forever and ever.

Then we could be heroes, just for one day.

And she just… let herself sway.

"Rose," the Doctor said, his voice barely audible over the thrumming guitar. Her eyes caught his; they were dark and open, almost black. "Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise."

She nodded. "I know," she answered. She believed him. She did.

And she kissed him. As though nothing could fall.

#ten x rose #tenrose #timepetals #this is why i was watching some bits of #the satan pit #dw #abbey.txt #ficlet #thanks for the prompt!#for anon #tenth doctor #rose tyler

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canonconspiracy · 4 years

Text

Past Tense I, 2, 3 (Pete White x Reader)

Fandom: Venture Bros

Pairing: Pete White x (Unspecified-ish) Reader

Word Count: 5,035

Cross Posted on Ao3 and Wattpad under rmorningstar21.

AN: I previously wrote a short One Shot of this months ago, and upon reviewing it, I decided to go through and rewrite it. Part 1 is under the old entry of it on both Wattpad and Ao3, while the other two parts are under new entries. I’m happy about this one, so I thought I’d share it on here as well. Feel free to check out my full collection either on Ao3 or Wattpad! I’m hoping to get back into writing for the fandom more often once more.

Funerals had never been your cup of tea, and yet, the moment you were informed of your buddy Mike Sorayama’s passing, you booked the next flight. Work was placed down, a sense of morbid nostalgia around the idea of attending the funeral for the man. Though you had been Leslie’s roommate in college, and close with the boys, you drifted after Rusty had left for his father’s funeral. Nothing had been the same between the group with himself and his freshman roommate gone, and you had only had Leslie for quite some time. No matter how many times you had passed red eyes in the hallway, or caught a glimpse of the snubbish brunette with the man slave, you could not recall another word spoken to anyone from the original group.

As one of the first people in the church, you sat on the right side of the pews, silently in your funeral garb to pay your respect. The room had been silent at first, a simple nod from the funeral director as you entered and took your seat. You clasped your hands together patiently, your gaze shifting from the picture of your old colleague to your own hands. In your own little world, you practically jumped as you felt a gentle hand tap your shoulder. Y/e/c orbs shifting upwards, for a moment your breath hitched in your throat.

“Y/N?” the white haired male questioned, a little shock in his tone as he glanced down upon you. A gentle, half smile tugged at his lips as he moved to take a seat beside you, taking the edge of the pew as he did. “I’m shocked to see you here.” His voice had been merely a whisper as he spoke, though it caused your heart to race the same childish way that it had back in college.

You merely nodded, hoping the blush that heated your cheeks hadn’t been visible as your gaze shifted back to the picture of your old friend. “I could say the same,” you whispered in reply, biting your lip as you spoke. Your heart held a mix of melancholy, atop a strange feeling that swirled in your gut as you sat beside the albino that you used to laugh and joke with. Though your voice had been soft, it had remained with an err of professionalism you never thought you’d speak to the male in.

“I, uh, well, it’s nice to see you,” he said, trying to force his lips upwards as his hand rested upon your folded hands for a moment, catching your attention once more. The touch had been brief, though the crimson in your cheeks darkened as your y/e/c gaze only met his red stare for a moment. “Under different circumstances would have been nicer.”

You allowed a hollow chuckle to escape your lips, though they did not turn upwards as you kept your gaze averted. “Yeah,” you replied, “funerals aren’t the best reunions, but it couldn’t be helped.” With that, you shrugged, your y/e/c orbs moving back to his red eyes as you forced your lips to curl upwards the slightest bit. “I…” Pausing for a moment, you tried to form your words around that sinking feeling in your chest. “It’s nice to see you again, too, Pete.”

His lips curled upwards the slightest bit at your words, though any words he thought to speak were quickly quelled by the more obnoxious entrance of two boys and two men. For a moment, you hadn’t even recognized the balded male as he practically threw his hands up in the air upon his gaze meeting your face. “Y/N, is that really you?!” he exclaimed, a little too loudly for a funeral. “God, how long has it been-? You look great. Oh, and you’re here too, White.”

You couldn’t help cringing at his loud words, Pete shooting a glare in his direction. Though his looks hadn’t sparked any sort of memory for you, the moment he opened his mouth, you knew exactly who it was. “I-uh,” you started uncomfortably, as the male had already moved to sit beside you, his sons sitting behind the three of you. Your voice had been a whisper, though your slight cringe had been evident by your facial expression. “Hey, Rust. Yeah, it’s been a while.”

As they had all finally sat down, the two sons of Rusty moving around much too frequently in the pews behind the four of you, the funeral director began his speech. Practically feeling the heat radiating off of Rusty, you shifted yourself to sit the slightest bit closer to Pete, unaware of the gentle upturn of his lips as you did. Allowing a soft, silent sigh to slip past your lips, your eyes had been fixated upon the picture of Mike as the funeral director spoke.

Behind you, you could already hear one of the boys speak in a shaken tone, “Funerals are creepy,” causing you to stiffen your lips the slightest bit.

“What’s the big deal?” the other replied nonchalantly. “You see dead guys all the time.”

“When?” the other exclaimed.

“Dude, just last week Brock killed two dervishes with a pillowcase full of cokes right in our own bedroom!” the other replied, perking your ears up the slightest bit.

You hadn’t originally recognized the other male who had journeyed in with Rusty, but now you were confirmed that the sense of familiarity had been from the fact that it was actually him. It was almost alarming, being so close to the old group, and yet melancholic that it had been at one of their funerals. It could have been any of us, you thought with a heavy heart, but I’m still shocked they all came.

“He just knocked them out,” the other boy replied, clearly a little shocked as he spoke.

The other allowed an aggravated exclamation to escape his lips as you could feel the gentle breeze of his hands going up to his head. “Oh, sing yourself another lullaby, baby Dean,” the boy exclaimed. “The police took them away in body bags!”

“Sleeping bags!” the one who was called Dean exclaimed, practically in your ear. “They were sleeping bags!”

As the boys continued, you visibly drew into yourself the slightest bit, irritation, yet melancholy against your features. You could feel the gentle hand of Pete against your thigh, causing your gaze to glance over to him for a moment. Meeting his sympathetic gaze, you sighed softly to yourself. Though it had only been a soft comfort, your cheeks began to heat once more with blush, no matter how much you attempted to suppress it.

“Hey pop,” the blonde said, leaning over to where you had to practically move yourself closer to Pete so he wouldn’t have been on top of you. “Are we like related to this guy? I mean, am I supposed to be all sad and stuff?”

“No, Hank,” Rusty said in reply, glancing back upon his son. “He’s someone your father knows from college.”

“Wow,” Dean replied, “Is that back when you had hair?”

Rusty sighed, turning back to face the front as his brows knit the slightest bit. “Yes, I had hair then, Dean,” he replied exhaustedly. Raising his eyebrow, his lips curled into the slightest smirk as he began to recall an old time back when he was in college, continuing in almost a dream-like tone. “Some say, too much.”

The point you had been involved in the first flashback, you and Pete had been turning the corner, almost walking into Rusty’s room. Rusty had been going on and on about how robots would be a dying field - simply a fad - to Mike Sorayama. Your ears had picked up about him talking about how Mike had been doing Leslie’s homework shortly as you were walking into the room, Pete by your side. Pete said, without couth, of course, “That’s cause he’s got a tiny chiney chubby for her!” As the two of you walked in, Pete raised his hand to wave, a smile against his braced teeth. “Hey fellas!”

You found yourself giggling at Pete’s words, though you held your own hand up as you rolled your eyes at his words. “Hey guys,” you said in greeting, before shoving Pete gently at the arm and glaring at him. Glancing over to Mike, you said with a smirk against your lips. “I could always just talk to her for you, Mikey, unless you want to do all her homework until graduation.”

“You were there too, Mr. White?” Dean said in shock. “And you, um…”

“Oh, yeah,” Pete replied quickly, a smile against his face. “I was the DJ for the college radio station.” He moved to wrap his arm right around you, taking you by surprise as you felt yourself pulled close to his lithe frame. “And Y/N here was my cohost.”

Though his arm did not stay on you for long, you felt blush rise in your cheeks at his words, your y/e/c gaze shifting to Pete for a moment as a brief smile slipped across your lips.

Unfortunately your moment was quickly trumped by the blond Venture asking, "What's a tiny Chiney chubby?"

"So, you, pop, and this dead guy were all, like, roommates?" Dean asked.

"No, no," Rusty replied hastily. "They just hung out in my room a lot. Y/N, too. My roommate was…" He went into another story, talking about how White, you, and Rusty were all in the room as you talked about the roommate that Rusty had a freshman as a roommate.

You could remember your college days as if they were merely yesterday, and yet they were so far from you. Lying back on Rusty’s bed, you stared up at the top bunk as you were beside Pete, whom had been sitting up straight. Neither of you said a word as you listened to Rusty walking around venting about the roommate that the university had assigned him.

“A freshman!” Rusty exclaimed, throwing his hands down as he stood, closer to Pete than yourself. You could practically hear his hand motions as he spoke, though you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing. “Can you believe that? That’s all I need, some kid tagging along, all wanting me to show him the ropes. It’s totally going to harsh the vibe of Casa de Venture.”

The point that he finished speaking, you moved to sit up beside Pete, practically leaning on him as you glanced over to Rusty. “I bet he’s a total spaz-case,” you hummed out, chuckling softly. “Hopefully he just has a different schedule than you.”

“So, Is he a spaz or what?” Pete chimed in, a smile brimming on his own features. “I’m sure Y/N would scare him off for ya if ya want.”

You glared at Pete, though you playfully pouted as well. “Yeah, I’m totally people-repellent,” you replied sarcastically.

“I don’t even know,” Rusty replied exhaustedly, motioning to the bags in the corner of the room. “He moved his stuff in when I wasn’t here. But, dig, his name is Brock Samson. Can you imagine? Ten bucks says he’s a fat kid.”

"Wait, you lived with Brock?" Hank asked excitedly. "That is so unbelievably cool."

"No wonder you guys are such super pals!" Dean chimed in, causing you to roll your eyes.

"Actually, back then we didn't see much of each other," Rusty explained to his boys. "We had very different schedules, always coming and going at different times."

You remember how the two of them actually interacted for the most part, especially since despite Brock being younger than all of you, he was definitely considered a jock. Despite you, the rest of them were beneath him. When he realized that he couldn't take you to bed in school, you were beneath him as well.

"Tell them who really won the roommate lottery that year," Pete said, causing you to laugh.

"Oh, god, don't remind me," Rusty said with a chuckle.

"Okay, so the university sticks me with this exchange student," Pete started, telling the boys the story.

You were sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Pete’s chair as Mike and Rusty were both sitting upon Rusty’s bed, listening to Pete talking about Verner, specifically about his new manservant. “You know what he got?” Pete exclaimed. “A personal slave! The poor guy sleeps in my closet.” Pausing, all attention was turned to the doorway as Verner was walking past. “Oh, speak of the dickweed. Hey, Verner!”

"Baron Underbheit!" Dean exclaimed quickly, interrupting Pete's flashback.

"Yeah," Pete said, deflated. "You told them?"

"No!" Dean exclaimed. "Baron Underbheit is right there!"

“Holy crap!” Hank exclaimed. “Brock, kick his butt!”

As the boy pointed, everyone's attention was brought to the broad shouldered, armor clad man as he walked to sit on the other side of the pews. You kind of spaced out as the boys were telling Brock to kick his ass, as you felt Pete unconsciously lean a little closer to you as he looked. Why after all these years you still felt the same effect you did back in college was beyond you, but in a sense, Pete was your first...and really, only love.

“Relax boys,” Brock replied in an exhausted tone. “He’s not going to do anything. It’s hallowed ground.”

"So, what was he like in the olden days?" Hank suddenly asked, causing your attention to be brought back to reality.

"Well, except for the metal jaw, pretty much the same total dick," Pete said quickly.

You scoffed with a smile, saying, "I swear that's an understatement."

“The tape was on the floor for a reason, Peter,” Verner fumed, the two of you standing in Rusty’s doorway as the man spoke. “Your things belong on your side of the room, and don’t think I haven’t noticed that you moved it to make your area larger! If you can’t obey the simplest of rules-”

“Let me stop you right there, buddy,” you chimed in, a smirk forming against your lips as your arms were folded over your chest. “I don’t know how things work in your far away, magical land, but you can’t impose your own stupid rules on him. Your not the prince of SU- here, you’re just a selfish bastard.”

“Yeah, you don’t make the rules, fella!” Pete said defiantly, standing beside you. “You may be a big-shot in your country, but over here you’re just the kid with the weirdest smelling lunch.”

Verner held his arms above him as he let out what seemed to be a roar, before his gaze shifted back to the two of you. Eyes narrowing upon you two, he spoke in a snippy tone. “Very well,” he said, drawing closer to Pete as he practically was on top of him. “Then you leave me no choice but to take this up to the R.A. at the next floor meeting.”

“Good luck,” you said rolling your eyes, before pulling Pete by the arm back into Rusty’s room, your eyes shifting to glare at Verner.

The last thing that Verner had said to the two of you, his eyes narrowed upon you, was, "Keep your albino slave on a tighter leash."

"How many times do I have to tell you, fella, I'm not a slave," Pete said, clearly aggravated by the accusation.

You simply placed your hand on Pete's shoulder, giving him a soft smile as you did. "No, you're not, but you can't let that dick get to you," you said soothingly as the two of you walked further into Rusty's dorm room, finally shutting the door on Verner.

“Who cuts his hair?” Rusty said laughing. “The incredible hulk?”

“What, did he walk into the barber shop and say what can you do to make me look more like Pete Rose?” Pete joked, his spirits the slightest bit lifted as he spoke.

You rolled your eyes, chuckling, as you said, “I’m sure he just asked to make sure he never got laid.”

“Hey!” Mike chimed in, a frown against his lips. “What’s wrong with his hair? I have like the same haircut.”

“Yeah, but you’re chinese,” Rusty replied, leaning over the back of his chair. “You people can’t be blamed for what your hair does.”

“I’m japanese, jerk-off,” Mike replied sharply, before shrugging. “But, yeah, so true. At least I don’t have his eyebrows.”

“You want to see eyebrows?” Rusty started, bringing up the Monarch in creative writing as an example.

"Okay, this is getting nuts," you heard Hank say quickly as the story came to its conclusion. "You are not going to tell me you went to college with the Monarch, too."

"He even hit on me in creative writing class," you said with a shudder, followed by a chuckle.

"Where did you guys go, super crazy, no way school?" Hank said, exasperated.

"It was Michael's last wish that he be escorted to his eternal resting place by those who were closest to him in life," the funeral director finally said. "T.S. Venture, Peter White, Y/N L/N, Verner Underbheit, Brock Sampson, if you would, please."

Lining up for the coffin carrying, you were positioned closer to Pete, with Verner behind you. Though it had initially been a struggle for the front to keep their side up, Rusty basically dropped the casket for the two of you to struggle to keep the rest of the front up for a moment. As the three of you managed to get the casket sturdied once more in the front, it took mere moments for the chains to extend from the casket itself. As the metal clamped down upon your wrist, a purple fume instantly made your vision go black.

***

As you woke from your comatose state, you could feel a strong, metal collar wrapped around your neck. The world became visible once more, and you realized you were seated beside Pete, with Verner on the other side of you. Across the room, Brock and Rusty were seated. "Well, this is not the kind of kinky I'm into," you muttered under your breath, trying to use humor to feel a little better about the whole situation. Frowning, you glanced over to Pete, before your attention was taken back quickly by Brock.

In a growl, Brock began standing as he practically lept towards Verner, exclaiming, "You did this. You did this, didn't you?"

As he fought against the restraints, Rusty was taken against the wall with his own restraints, choking as he gripped at the choker. Desperately, he attempted to be set free, all to no avail, as he flailed around. This had taken both yours and Pete’s attention for a few moments, until you were suddenly pulled back towards the wall sharply.

"As usual, your detective skills are impeccable, Sampson," Verner said, pulling the chain that the three of you were tied to as he stood. "You've succeeded in exposing my sinister plan to lock myself in a dungeon, chained to an albino and his puny master."

The cold stone hit your back hard as the metal collar tightened against your neck. In this moment, you could not even glance over to check on Pete, nor focus upon anything despite the tightening of your own restraint. Flailing yourself, you found yourself lacking breath and gasping for air.

As Brock realized what was going on, he returned back to his seat, Verner doing the same. Landing with a thud, you found yourself gasping for air as you glanced over to Pete to check on him as well. Rubbing your neck with your hand, you turned back to Verner with a glare. “Pete and I haven’t even spoken since college, Verner,” you spat venomously. “Could you give up the master and slave stiq?”

When Rusty was recovering, he spat to Brock as he rubbed his own neck, “Great, way to bodyguard,” sarcastically as he frowned. “Got any more super theories about who did this to us?”

"Oh hey, guys," you could hear Mike's voice say, "It's really you. I'm so glad you all made it. Son of a gun, you really surprised me. I didn't think you'd all show up to my funeral - especially Y/N. And now I get to return the favor." The five of you watched the screen with what looked like a healthy Mike Soryama. His voice nearly had humor to it, and yet deep inside of it was the true darkness, possibly of someone crazed from years of obsession. As he spoke your name, though, a shiver sent down your spine, something nearly twisted about it.

Before he was able to say anything else, the dungeon door opened with a loud thud. As it had, female robots began filing in, holding trays of what you could barely recognize as the old college meals you would get at SU. Each robot, totaling in 5, brought trays and set them beside each of you.

“Eat up, guys,” Mike said over the television once more, something almost sadistic about his words. “This is your last meal. I had it brought in special from the State University dining hall.”

“Mike, it’s nice to see you not dead and all,” Rusty started, after taking a glance to his food, and back to the screen before continuing, “but are you going to tell us why you’ve got us chained up in a dungeon?”

“Yeah, Pally, what the hell?” Pete chimed in.

Crossing your arms against your chest, you raised an eyebrow to the screen as you said, “Don’t tell me this is about her.”

The robots all said, “Enjoy,” in synchronization, before standing erect, getting ready to leave.

“Thank you, ladies,” Mike said, ignoring everyone’s comments.

“You’re welcome, Mike,” the robots replied. “We love you, Mike.”

As the robots left the room, Mike smiled as he spoke. “Aren’t my robots beautiful?” he said, almost dreamily, before his voice turned serious. “Notice anything familiar about them?”

“Yeah, I had that issue with heavy metal, too,” Rusty replied in a bored tone. “Now, will you quit screwing around, Mike, and tell us what this is all about?”

“They are what this is all about,” Mike replied. “Look closely at their faces.”

“Why don’t you just call her like a normal person?” you spat coldly, your glare apparent on your face. “Instead of chaining us up over a woman with her own free will? I offered you, how many times, that I could go and talk to her myself for you?”

“Wait, you made Leslie Cohen robots?” Brock chimed in, finally realizing exactly what the robots looked like.

“Yeah, I think I did a pretty good job,” Mike replied smugly. “And Y/N, that’s a lot coming from you.” A laugh escaped his lips as his gaze turned to you, a smirk stretching across his lips. “I loved her, and you should know more than anyone in this room how necessary this is!”

“I mean, I’d never go saw on my friends,” you replied adamantly. “Despite your little get together, I’ve put college behind me. You could let us all go and do the same.”

“No!” he exclaimed in frustration. “I need to make you all pay for what you did to me!”

“What did we do to you?” Verner replied in frustration.

“Funny you should ask, Verner,” Mike replied darkly. “I have a list, and you’re first.”

In the flashback, you had been the one to fake the oregano bit first. Taking a drag of the fake weed in the bong, you pretended as if you had been getting a high from it, laying your head on Pete’s lap as you handed the fake weed to Mike. You had the slightest bit of blush against your cheeks as you laid there, your eyes shifting over to Mike as the four of you watched him inhale a hit of the oregano.

“You like it?” Verner asked after a few moments, after Mike took his inhale. “Pure Underlandian sesame.”

“You’re right, Underbheit,” Mike said with a smile, glancing back at you who had already been pretending to relax after your supposed hit, before glancing at Verner. “This is some good stuff.”

It was hard to keep yourself from laughing, though you rolled your eyes as you glanced up to Pete, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips as you did. Your gaze met his red eyes for a moment, and you could feel your breath practically hitched in your throat. “You’re cute from this angle,” you smirked in jest, winking as you did. Though it hadn’t been a lie, any sort of compliment towards the albino had always been in jest, your own nerves not allowing yourself to admit your attraction.

“That must be that Underlandian sesame,” Pete jested in return, rolling his eyes as he glanced back over to the group.

“Hey, that rhymes-,” Mike continued, a smile still prominent against his lips. “Right, Underbheit.” It took mere seconds for Mike to start laughing, practically curled into a ball on the floor as he laughed. His laughter was long, uncontrollable, as he began rolling back and forth.

You moved to sit up, before the four of you all hovered over top of Mike. In unison, you exclaimed, “Psych!”

Verner quickly added in, “It’s oregano,” before the four of you started laughing. “You’ve been smoking a lie, you tiny fool.”

Mike began to cough as he was still curled up on the floor, causing Pete to chime in once more. “Come on, Mike,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You’re not high. Give it up.”

“Uh, Mike?” you questioned, quirking a brow as you leaned down to get a better look as he turned over. Your eyes immediately landed on his puffed out cheeks, something that had clearly been an allergic reaction.

“Allergic...oregano,” Mike confirmed as he was still holding himself tightly on the floor.

“It wasn’t funny,” Mike spoke seriously in real time. “I could have died, Verner. More importantly, I had to cancel my study date with Leslie.”

“That’s it!” Verner exclaimed in aggravation. “I will tolerate no more of this madness!” As he spoke, you felt your heart drop into your stomach, watching the male’s metal jaw fly off of his face, attempting to hit one of the Leslie bots. Within seconds, he had already been standing, the two of you gasping for air as he pulled the chain. It only took a few more seconds for him to be shocked by a Leslie bot, set back upon his ass as the two of you gasped for breath.

Pete moved his hand to your shoulder, causing your attention to shift back to him as you were still the slightest bit dizzy from being choked. “How are ya holding up?” he whispered to you, his red eyes filled with concern as his lips had been turned downward. His hand hadn’t moved from your shoulder as his eyes shifted to your collar, which had already made a noticeable red mark against your skin the last time you were brought upwards in the choke.

A pained chuckle escaped your lips as you forced them upwards into a half smile. “I’m fine, Pete, thanks,” you replied softly, a clear lie, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell the truth. You felt dizzy, pain clear in your throat, and you were chained down in a basement full of nostalgia. “Are you?”

Pete finally moved his hand from your shoulder, but instead of taking it back for himself, he moved to grab your hand in a comforting manner. Forcing a half smile upon his own face, he nodded, though his grip had been tight. He clearly was pulling for some sort of comfort out of you, while attempting to do the same for you, causing your heart to tighten in your chest.

Next on Mike’s list was Pete, and the memory he brought to life was the last day the two of you were hosting The White Room back in SU. You sat on Pete’s right side as the red light came on, signaling that the two of you had been on the air. Watching as his face read of excitement, you couldn’t help the smile against your own lips.

“You’re listening to the White Room,” he spoke into the intercom enthusiastically. “I’m your host, the ever popular Pete White, with my radiant cohost Y/N L/N.”

“Pete, smooth as always,” you jested, sending a wink in his direction as your cheeks heat up with the slightest tint of blush. “It looks like we have a cute submission today. Would you care to read it?”

“I would be delighted,” he replied, barely able to contain his laughter as you slipped him the card that he had written. For a second, he bit his lip to attempt to calm himself, glancing over to you with a smirk upon his face. “This next one’s a dedication to Leslie Cohen from her little buddy Mike Sorayama.” By this point, his lips were curled upwards so much, it had been hard for him to keep his composure, but you had your hand already clasped over your face to prevent yourself from laughing as your eyes watched Pete. “And he writes, Leslie, I masturbate furiously to your picture every night. Please notice me, Love, Mike.”

At the point that he finished that one, he quickly changed the station to some music as the two of you broke down laughing in the studio room. Though it hadn’t taken long for the campus security to burst into your studio and kick the two of you off of the air, the two of you laughed while it had lasted, grinning at one another as you did. As you remembered, being kicked off the air had been quite a kick to the two of your spirits.

“Hey, we got kicked off the air for that!” Pete snapped at Mike quickly. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Not by a long shot, Pete,” Mike replied darkly as Rusty had been laughing through the whole ordeal. “And you, Y/N, you could have stopped him. You encouraged him, and then you were laughing it up in your dorm room with Leslie afterwards.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes as your lips tightened. “Leslie was laughing about it,” you said sternly. “That in itself should be a good reason to let us off. She knew it was a joke, and she knew that it was something that we set up. We didn’t do anything bad.”

“But you, Y/N,” Mike replied darkly. “You taunted me for the same thing you couldn’t do, and then you left us all. You were the biggest hypocrite of them all.”

“Surely,” you replied with an eye roll. “But I wanted you to have what I couldn’t. Isn’t that what a friend is supposed to do?”

“What, you wanted Leslie, too?” Rusty said, now in a full burst of laughter. “I never pegged you for her type.”

“No, she didn’t want Leslie,” Mike said with a dark laugh. “And you’re next on my list, so shall we recall your blunder?”

“Oh, please don’t,” you said with a cringe, retracting your hand from Pete as you sunk further into your seat, your eyes closed.

“I’m sorry, Mike,” Leslie said uncomfortably as she stood beside you. “I have to postpone. This is important.”

“I-it’s okay, Leslie,” Mike replied, clearly disheartened as he shot a glare your way, watching the two of you retreating into your dorms. Though the two of you thought that he had left, he stood outside of the dorm room, his ear cupped to the door. He listened as the two of you shifted to sit upon the bed, his eyes widened.

Leslie was the first one to speak, sitting beside you with a concerned smile against her lips. “Y/N, you have to just tell him,” she said in a soft, sweet manner as her eyes glanced to you. “I’m not sure you have any real competition, but you can’t keep doing this to yourself. I see the way you look at him, and the way you look when you talk about him. Y/N, you love him.”

“I-,” you started, before you could already feel yourself starting to tear up. Your voice quickly turned more hesitant as tears stained your face. “If I do, I could lose him, Leslie. He just sees me as one of the guys. That’s all I’ll ever be.”

“Hey, no, no,” Leslie said in a comforting manner, placing her arm around your shoulder as she did. “You and I both know that you’re awesome. I don’t hang out with you guys. From the outside looking in, the two of you make a great couple.”

“It’s not that easy, Les,” you replied softly, wiping your eyes as the tears kept flowing. “If I tell him, I could ruin everything. I highly doubt you want me just chilling around you as I hide from the boys after embarrassing myself so much.”

“Well, I’m sure Mike wouldn’t be happy about that,” she replied with a laugh, “but you know, if it actually came down to that, I’m here for you. You know that. I still say the two of you would be cute together. Weird tastes, sure, but if you love him, you can’t keep yourself in the dark.”

“Leslie cancelled on me to talk to you, Y/N, and you never even did it, did you?” Mike said darkly, glancing over at you in a rage. “I listened to it all, you sitting there pouring your heart out to my Leslie and taking her time away from me.”

“I,” you started, your y/e/c eyes glaring at the screen as you sunk in your seat as far as you could without actually pulling the chains. “Yeah, okay, I was a coward, fantastic. You caught me. I wasted time, but so did you. You could have just approached her like a normal human being. It’s not like you were too close and were going to make things awkward by confessing to her.”

“Wait, who are you guys talking about?” Rusty said curiously, shifting his eyes between Y/N and the screen that held Mike’s image. “Y/N didn’t date anyone in college.”

“Actually, I did,” you replied softly, your arms crossed once more. “After I finally gave up the ghost, I dated a few assholes.”

“But no one was the same,” Mike said with a laugh. “You couldn’t get over him then, and ha, you aren’t even over him now, are you?”

“No, but if you’re done embarrassing me-,” you started, your eyes fixated darkly to your lap as your lips tightened.

Mike’s laughter was dark, nearly evil as you felt your heart sink into your stomach. “No, no, I’m not,” he said in a sadistic tone. “Tell him, now.”

“Wait, one of us?” Rusty chimed in with confusion.

Verner was the one to speak next, a slight chuckle to his tone. “Isn’t it obvious?” he said, motioning to Y/N as he spoke. “It was obvious in college, and it’s pretty obvious even today.”

“Y/N,” Pete said, quirking a brow as he moved to place a hand against your shoulder to get your attention. “I’m sure any of us would’a killed to date you in college. Who’s he talking about?”

Verner started laughing as you found your cheeks heated with blush, though your heart had sunk down to your stomach. Letting out a hard sigh, your y/e/c orbs glanced into red eyes. Forcing the words from your mouth, your lips were still turned downwards as you spoke. “It was you, Pete,” you said, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to lose what we had, and well, I did anyways, but I could never tell you.”

Before the two of you could even talk about it, your heart shattering all over again as you moved yourself back to your own space, Mike Sorayama had moved onto Rusty. Though he had moved to Rusty, there was not even enough time for him to get into a flashback before Brock had made his way to find Mike and end the nightmare the five of you had delved right into. Silence was simply filled with bloodshed as your eyes closed, simply listening to Brock taking out whomever and whatever had been outside of the dungeon.

***

You were not even sure how long the three of you had been chained to the wall without help, before someone finally managed to rescue the three of you. As you had been chained, you had been silent, reserved as you were chained to the man you loved and the asshole you loathed in college. Through time, you had even fallen asleep against the albino male, though you felt no words coming from your mouth to explain yourself. The two of you had simply been a mess of chain and exhaustion, his head against your head as you rested against his shoulder. At the point that the two of you realized your shackles had been broken, you practically fell to the floor, no longer restrained by Verner and half awake.

Rubbing your eyes, your hand immediately moved up to your throat, rubbing the spot that still held a red marking, already beginning to bruise. Everything about this situation had been melancholic, your y/e/c eyes shifting to Pete, who had still been asleep against the wall. A frown stretched your face as you reached hesitantly out to him, before retracting your hand. It was back in college, Y/N, you tried to convince yourself as your eyes trailed the handsome figure as he quietly slept. Nearly twenty years later, and you’re still just as pathetic as you were.

Sucking in a deep breath, you moved to Pete, knowing you could not simply carry his slumbering figure out of the dungeon on your own. Verner had already been gone, and you were not even sure how long the two of you had been free of your restraints by this point. The smell of blood in the next room caused your body to retract, death being something you wished to free yourself of by this point. You lived a normal life, yet this, this was not something you were familiar with at all.

“Hey, Pete,” you finally mustered to say, your voice gentle and timid despite your own discomfort. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Hu-,” he started, his hand moving to his face as he rubbed his red eyes, before blinking hard. “How are you free?” As he questioned it, he moved his hand to his own previous restraint, realizing that the collar had no longer been around his neck either. His lips had yet to curl upwards, but he had managed to stand to his feet as he glanced around. “Those jerks left us!”

You found yourself chuckling softly, though the scent of blood in your nostrils still reminded you that the two of you had not been completely free as of yet. Motioning to the open cell door, you said, “I’m sure they wanted to get out of here, and I’m shocked Verner even took off our collars.” Starting to walk towards the dungeon opening, you glanced back with melancholy in your eyes. “Let’s go figure out where we are, and get you home.”

He followed behind you, though he had a touch of concern in his own red eyes. No matter how much he wished to talk about what had happened in the dungeon, all the words that had been said, he found this to be the worst place to begin. “It smells like death in here,” he openly said, placing his hand over his face as he walked behind you.

You simply nodded, before practically pulling him to the exit that you had your eyes fixated upon. As you saw the brightness of the outdoors, you quickly slipped off your coat, handing it to him. “I’m sure you don’t have an umbrella on you, so take this,” you said uncomfortably, trying to force a smile against your lips as you did. “I know it’s not much, but I doubt we’re far from the church.”

He quickly took it, placing it over himself to block the sun with a smile against his lips. “Thanks, Y/N,” he said softly, though he could feel a tightness in his heart from the way you had been acting. After you had been so quick to open up to him again, the moment that you confessed in front of him, you closed right back off. It wasn’t hard for him to notice your hesitation, nor the pain against your features as the two of you barely spoke.

Once the two of you managed to get to the church, he chuckled sheepishly as he realized that his ride had likely left him as well. “Uh, Y/N,” he said with an uncomfortable laugh. “I could buy ya coffee if ya drive me home.”

Unlocking your car, you chuckled in a hollow way as you nodded. “Not necessary, but I can drive you home,” you said as you motioned for him to get in. You sat uncomfortably as you started your vehicle, simply glancing once to see that Pete had entered your car and buckled himself up before you began driving. “Where do you live now, anyways?”

“Over by Rusty’s lab,” he replied uncomfortably. “I really think we should, you know, talk, Y/N.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” you replied, biting your lip gently as you drove. “Mike made a fool out of me, and once I drop you off, we can both go back to our lives.”

“Y/N,” he started, before you quickly cut him off.

“Pete, we aren’t in college anymore,” you replied in a strained tone. “Just because seeing you brings it back, we’ve been out of college for what, twenty, twenty five years. What do you want out of it, an apology? I wasn’t going to tell you.”

“Why weren’t ya going to tell me, Y/N?” Pete questioned, his arms moving to press his point as his voice had exasperation laced in it. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Because we were so close, Pete,” you replied, your knuckles white from your grip on the steering wheel. “Because I didn’t want to lose you. I already did, and we already moved on with our own lives since college. Even so, it wasn’t easy to tell you. I’d rather have been the one to break down and say it than let Mike’s horror movie get too far.”

“Did you move on, Y/N?” he questioned, a quirked brow as he gazed upon you.

You bit your lip hard as you attempted not to cry, the feeling nearly overwhelming as you drove and drove. For a while, you didn’t even answer him, simply driving as you worked to get him back home. Through the time that you drove, though you had not answered his question, or simply refused to answer his question, he gave you little directions here and there to get him back home. It did not take too long of uncomfortable silence for you to end up outside of a trailer in the middle of nowhere.

As he silently went to leave the car, you finally whispered your answer. “I didn’t,” you said, your voice cracked as you spoke. You could feel your whole body shaking, but you attempted to keep yourself as calm as possible. “Just, so you know, I guess. Goodbye, Pete.”

At your words, Pete froze, though he removed his hand from the door. “Turn off the car, Y/N,” he said, his own voice cracked as he found himself biting his own lip. “Come inside with me.”

Though you had the easy option that you could have just forced him out of your car and driven off far, far away from him, never to see him again, you allowed a huff to escape your lips. Moving one of your sore knuckles to the key, you turned it off and obliged his request. “Why?” you asked as you moved to get out of your own car, walking up to the trailer with him. “I’m sure I’ve made enough of a fool of myself already, Pete.”

Once the door closed, he discarded the jacket that he was using to protect himself from the sun, and his red eyes met yours. It had been silent in the trailer, and he stared as you refused to meet his gaze. A slender hand moved underneath your chin, forcing you to glance up at him. “Stop being an idiot, Y/N,” he said with an eye roll, before he pressed his lips to your own.

The action took you aback, frozen in place as you felt your eyes wet with the tears that desperately wished to break the floodgates of your y/e/c orbs. Closing them, one or two escaped as you moved your lips in sync with his own, the flavor of morning breath and something that was simply his own tantalizing your senses. You were not even sure the point that your arms wrapped around his neck, sinking into his embrace as you kissed him.

One of his slender arms slipped around your waist as he pulled you flush to him, kissing you passionately as if this would be the first and last time you would ever connect. The ferocity of the kiss was astounding, though a little untrained as you both learned one another. After a while, you could feel your lungs burning with the need for oxygen, panted breaths as the two of you separated.

“I, um,” you started, a little bewildered as your y/e/c orbs were wide, staring up helplessly at the man you still loved so deeply.

“I love you, too,” Pete said, his lips curling upwards into a smile as he held you tighter, his red eyes gazing down upon you. “I don’t just want ya, ya know, running back out of my life.” A soft chuckle escaped his lips as his thumb moved to caress your cheek. “I never told you in college, either, and then you stopped hanging around.”

You found your lips curling upwards as you held him tightly, a warmth filling you as you heard his words. “See, now I wish I didn’t wait twenty some years,” you said with a laugh, “but I’m glad.”

“I bet Mike would be pissed if he knew that weird saw set up actually got us together,” Pete laughed as he rested his head against your own. “If you have some time, I could make us some coffee.”

“We’ve been in a dungeon for who knows how long, Pete,” you said with an eye roll, a smirk playing against your lips. “I have all the time in the world.”

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