Silver Wit: VI - To Look Within

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"Nature loads the gun, nurture pulls the trigger"

Silver Wit Masterlist Chapter VI on ao3 taglist: @silverzoomies, @quickandsilvers, @icannot3, @ancientseeker

a/n: hello yes i am back with another chapter, sorry it took longer than the previous ones! motivation took a hit but i still love this story and these characters so i’m not abandoning it anytime soon. btw, i am well aware that Moving Pictures as an album came out in 81’, but also walkmans didn’t exist until 1979, so everyone can shut up about my lack of accuracy with the timeline (jk). just roll with it, lads.

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“Omega level, I’d say,” the Professor says, rather calmly for the fact; he sets his fingers down, picks a fountain pen up and looks to Dr. McCoy, whose lips part in shock in turn.

“Are you sure?” He asks in disbelief.

Writing on a pad, Professor Xavier confirms, “Positively. She’s a psychoscope with no discernable upper limit to her abilities. There are some… complications as to how that manifests for contact with lifeforms.”

I swallow. He must have seen my father. “Professor, did you…?”

Only now do I notice the slightest shine to his eye. “Oh, my dear, I did. I normally would have avoided anything personal, but the wound is a little too fresh for those memories to stay hidden at all,” he exhales. “I’m so incredibly sorry, both for intruding on your privacy but also that that ever happened to you. For what it’s worth, nothing like that would ever happen to you here, I’m sure of it.”

“It’s alright, Professor. I wasn’t opposed to sharing that with you and Dr. McCoy anyway; besides, it’s the only instance of that power manifesting. There’s no way you could have missed it. I understand.”

“Hey, uh—I’m sorry to hear that something awful happened to you, even though I don’t really know what’s going on,” Dr. McCoy’s condolences are heartwarming. “For what it’s worth, I think your powers are going to be really useful in the lab. I’m sure the Professor already knew that when he suggested I take you in.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I would be glad to offer you whatever help I can. I’m looking forward to working with you—laboratory work has always been a dream of mine; if this power can be used for academic research, then at least there’s one good reason for all of this.”

Glancing at Dr. McCoy, Professor Xavier wheels himself over to me. “May I have one more look? In there?”

“Of course. For you, I’m an open book. Nothing to hide,” I say, briefly forgetting that I had ever been worried about my thoughts pertaining to Peter. Not to mention, it’s true; I don’t take any issue with sharing this tumult with the Professor. If anyone can understand this plight, it’d be him.

‘One good reason’—a Freudian slip. It’s been evident for a long while now that my relationship with and attitude towards my power has been complicated at best. What started off as an innocent excitement for knowledge became hubris, and now punishment. How warped, how corrupt! for the thing I adore the most to turn into fodder for nightmares. How wicked it’s been for me, that should this power devour me whole that I would lose the very fabric to my reason for living. Not only my capacity to understand would be corrupted, no—just how simple that would be. With this psychometric curse growing would come the devastation of everything I could hope to do. My contact with the world in all meanings of the word would be severed. All or nothing; know everything there is to or don’t at all. If this takes over me, how can I ever hold someone again? How could I love if to do so would be to intrude on their soul?

After a pause, he sets himself back as a tear buds at the corner of his eye. “My dear, nature loads the gun, nurture pulls the trigger. I know that this power feels like a curse to you - for the moment, I should say - but I want to assure you; with training, this power coupled with your extraordinary mind is certain to be a force to be reckoned with. As much hurt as you’ve been caused by having this ability, it’s a gift, truly. You can train it such that it wouldn’t cause others hurt the same way. These powers never feel like gifts at the beginning, but you’ll grow to develop it, hone it. It’ll be an instrument beyond any others that have come before it—for whom it is that you are, this power is perfect.”

I’d thought that for someone like me, so easily overwhelmed by the littlest things, having the sheer force of this psychometry was the worst possible thing that could have happened to me. Just touching any object sends a torrent of information strong enough to make one collapse just by bearing witness. Even the prospect of it being useful in any trivial way had been vastly overshadowed thus far; hearing it from the Professor changes so much within me. “That means so incredibly much to me, Professor. Thank you, truly.”

“No matter, I only speak the truth.”

Dr. McCoy moves to sit in the chair next to me. “He’s right, you know. Your mind and your psychometry together could make you one of the greatest researchers of the history of Science. No flattery. You have access to so much more information than anyone else ever could dream of. Your power is invaluable; I hope you’ll come to see that one day.”

At the Doctor’s encouragement, I can only smile in the comfort he offers. “I’ll try my best, Doctor. Thank you kindly.”

“Of course. Do you have any other secondary abilities? Mutants often do,” Dr. McCoy asks.

I look to the Professor for permission to demonstrate, and to me he grants it with a single nod. As I point at the pen he had used to write, it floats over to the pad and writes the words ‘Beta level telekinesis’ under ‘Omega level psychometry’; the top sheet of paper rips itself off the pad and slips into Dr. McCoys hands.

He grins. “I can’t wait to have you in the lab.”

“The pleasure will be all mine, Dr. McCoy. I’m excited to join you.”

“It’ll be great. Oh, any ideas for a codename? We do have good fun with them, but it’s also always helpful to have a shield of anonymity when we’re out in the field,” the Doctor asks.

Peter had mentioned that I would need one, though I hadn’t thought much of it at the time. A codename—seems almost fictional. All I am is a British teenager, I’m not MI6. “How would I go about deciding? What would I even base it off of?”

Professor Xavier hums. “Oftentimes our abilities, or sometimes, such as in Hank’s case here, appearance. For example, you’ve met Peter; he goes by Quicksilver, and it’s rather evident as to why. I’m Professor X, and Hank is the Beast.”

“I’m sorry, the Beast?” I query.

“Uh—you’ll understand when you see it,” Dr. McCoy states matter-of-factly. “Bad medication gave me some side effects.”

Sensing the trepidation, I leave it be. “Alright, I see. Well, I’m honestly quite lost; drawing a blank, as it were. Professor, I’m more than happy to receive a name from you. You’ve looked in here, after all,” I point to my head, “I trust you’ll come up with a good one.”

“I’d be honoured,” Professor Xavier’s smile is knowing—a soft smile much like the ones my father used to give me in my childhood, in the years before everything had gone awry. Where my father hates me for my mutation, this man before me will name me for it. A conflicting confusion of sentiments. It dawns on me: the Institution isn’t the sanctuary; the Professor is. His philosophy and his teaching—that’s what serves as the protection and nurturing on these grounds.

“With your psychometry and your intellect? I think we best name you Cognitia.”

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Peter had never been so forward before. Hell, he’d never been forward, ever. S’not like he was ever that serious about anyone before, so... sure, okay, if he was really being honest with himself? He’d occasionally find himself feeling a little attracted to someone he’d see passing by.

Dang, remember that one guy, the one with the sleeves always rolled up? His arms w—uh, no, his ripped jeans were hot. Peter didn't know what the hell he was doing on Xavier’s grounds that week, but he wasn’t complaining at the time at all. Still, it’s not like Peter ever really gave that much of a shit about any of the admittedly sorta-maybe-kinda-a-little-tiny-bit attractive folk he’d - okay, fine - had minor crushes on. It really didn’t mean anything, though, he swears on his life. Man, it was only just ‘cause they looked nice, y’know? That’s all there was to it. Unless he’d fooled around with them for a second, he never even actually bothered to talk to any of them—testament to how little it meant, he thinks. Even then, Peter was always the one to be hit on, and he would just roll with it. He’s never had it in him to really actively pursue anyone, really. Looking was plenty enough for Peter. The feelings would eventually pass pretty quickly anyway. That’s what he was always good at, right? Being quick and all. That was his thing.

Scarily, he isn’t so sure this feeling would eventually pass quickly. Worse, he isn't sure this feeling would pass at all, for the foreseeable future, anyway. He tries not to think about the implications too much. Some itching in his heart is refusing to let him deny that whatever is happening to him is different to the random and superficial infatuations he’d had before.

She’s the on–

What the actual fuck is wrong with Peter? He doesn’t even know her, not to mention, he didn’t even think he’d ever wanted anything seriously romantic before. Everything before was just ‘that guy is hot’, ‘that girl can get it’, but this is…

He has to stop this. This can’t happen.

She probably wouldn’t ever consider him that way. Peter’s pretty sure he saw she looked nervous whenever he had been a little flirty—what was up with the flirting, by the way? He didn’t even know he was capable of doing that; it was like he was in a trance, a perpetual state of internal panic whenever he had teased her. He’d just been witnessing his body go through the motions while he had alarms sounding, flashing red in his head the entire time. However nervous she was, Peter’s certain his nerves were tenfold. The fact that he didn’t explode is shocking.

Fuck, what if Peter actually freaked her out? What if she’d never want to actually talk to him again because of that stupid shit he pulled on the couch? That would be hell. Genuine torture. She had said earlier that she would, but Peter also had just ambushed her when she agreed. He doesn’t know what to believe anymore; it would be actual agony for Peter if she never wanted to speak to him again.

Weirdly, it wasn’t during the lighthearted joking around that Peter felt the most lucid. Instead, it was when they were being open, vulnerable, and emotional. That has to mean something, right? Why her? It hits him: he sees himself in her. What really gets him? is how real he felt while talking to her. He’d never felt that comfortable being honest about himself before. Every time he made a joke about how much he thought he was a loser, everyone else would just laugh it off. Speaking to this one British girl he’d only just met was the most genuine he had ever been other than with his sister and mother. To be fair, Wanda doesn’t count, though, he thinks. She can just look into his head whenever she wants, often regardless of whether Peter wants. This was him actually actively sharing parts of himself with someone else.

He just really, really wants to be her friend. After all, she’s really cool! he thinks.

She’s really prett—No.

She’s really smart! he thinks.

She was flirting bac—No. No.

She was really nice to me! he thinks.

It’s not like Peter thinks she’s pretty. Alright, fine, he thinks she’s beautiful, drop dead gorgeous, completely bewitching—sue him. Still, it’s not a big deal to him! He just thinks she’s really smart, and kind, and funny, and powerful. In a really platonic way. Super, super platonic; no romantic or sexual attraction anywhere as far as the eye can see. She doesn’t have Peter whipped at all. No, no way. Peter’s going to be fine. He’s going to be totally fine.

I want to be with he—

Oh, fuck.

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Holding the door open to my new quarters, Dr. McCoy allows the Professor and I to enter the room. There's a sweet full-circle from the Doctor letting me into the mansion, and now letting me into my new bedroom. My eyeline darts around the space, and it meets a bed, a desk, a closet. Clothes are set on the bed for me. Down are wooden floorboards matching the foyer, before is decor reminiscent of the common room. The room looks the part to be one in a mansion of this standing—somehow, the posh English privilege hasn’t left my life. This bedroom for me is my respite, my salvation, my gratitude.

Spinning his chair to face me, the Professor remarks, “Here we are, then. This wing is where some of our older students live. You’re seventeen, yes?”

“I am, that’s right.”

Professor Xavier nods, “That’s about the age range here. Mind, we only had this room left in this wing, so if you’d like to switch, we’ll have to see what we can do…”

My curiosity is piqued. “Oh no, I absolutely adore this room. I have no complaints in the slightest, and I’m so grateful and relieved to even have anywhere to stay. Why would I ever want to switch?”

With impeccable timing, my question is answered wordlessly. Cue a loud bang, followed by an ‘oh fuck!’, rounded off with the chimes and riffs of Rush’s YYZ. Faint is the Doppler effect’s familiar melody in whooshing gusts of air zipping to and fro across the hallway. It’s not at all slow to dawn on me—my neighbour immediately opposite the hallway is the speedster I’ve been desperately trying to ward out of my mind all this while.

Dr. McCoy sighs. “Peter.”

“Look now, I’m going to be candid; we’ve seen our fair share of Peter being a pain in the arse, but what happened earlier was an anomaly even for him,” Professor Xavier explains, to which my face reddens accordingly. “He’s normally a good young lad, but we don’t want to force you into an uncomfortable living situation if you wouldn’t feel at ease here.”

‘An anomaly even for him’? I suppose my suspicions that he was always that flirty are moot. “I think I’ll be fine, honest. I’ll let you both know if that isn’t the case, but it should be alright. I can handle my own,” I say, unsure of how convinced I am myself. “I promise I’ll voice it if I change my mind.”

“Good. Well, as long as you’re alright, we’re happy. We’ll leave you to get settled in then; you’ve had quite a long day, Cognitia,” Professor Xavier graces me with a smile.

Dr. McCoy opens the door and readies himself to leave after the Professor wheels himself out. “Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? We can go down to the lab after breakfast if you’re up for it.”

I can’t contain my excitement; to be surrounded by cutting edge apparatus and research with one of the most well respected academics in genomics? What a rush it’ll be! All I had wanted was somewhere to live, anything better than that cold London homelessness; and yet, it’s beginning to truly sink in—I’m to work with the Dr. Hank McCoy from tomorrow onwards. I may as well collapse from the sheer ridiculousness of the entire situation.

Laughing, I say, “I’m sure I’ll be up for it. Thank you both once again; I know I’ve repeated myself much but I genuinely don’t know how else to thank you. You’ve saved my life.”

“Don’t thank us, we’re doing our jobs is all. Protecting and caring for young mutants is all we can hope to do. We both look forward to having you be a fixture in the School and our R&D facility. Rest well, then,” Professor Xavier bids me good night as he and Dr. McCoy exit the room.

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As I pace about, taking everything in, my heart rate climbs ever so slightly. I look around the room in my lonesome, still hearing Rush playing through my door. Peter’s zipping around seems to have come to a conclusion, though I can’t say I know the reason as to why. A small part of me wonders if he isn’t alright, and an even smaller part is tempted to go over to check, but I dismiss it. The timing isn’t right.

Stopping at the foot of the bed, I look at the clothes in front of me; I rummage through them and find an appropriate set of a black t-shirt and some simple shorts for sleep. I notice a pair of gloves much cleaner and sleeker than the ones I currently adorn have been placed on the bedside table for me. How kind! of the Professor and Doctor to think of me so; my heart soars. I can’t wait to get out of this ridiculous hodgepodge of an outfit. Not to mention, I can’t wait to get out of being completely covered up. It is dreadfully uncomfortable in the Summer Heat.

Picking the clothes up and making my way to my en-suite - and I must say, how very delightful it is to have one - I can’t shake the nervousness. Peter lives directly opposite to me, and that notion is... conflicting. Quite obviously, I bear no grievances towards him and I really did enjoy his company, but I still have my worries. I’m not sure I can survive the emotional rollercoaster constantly being teased by him. If that moment on the sofa was anything to base my suspicions on, I may as well be pumping myself full of adrenaline shots on a daily basis. Who needs a cuppa when the mind reels so easily? Honestly, what have I become?

I enter the bathroom. It’s time then—to take these gloves off. Drenched in hesitance, I slide my old gloves off and place them on the bathroom countertop by the sink and the rest of my clothes follow. Nervously, I turn the shower on as quickly as possible; thankfully, I’m spared the hell of attempting to solve the impossible mystery of working out how to operate a shower with which one is not already familiar. Another good thing about these powers, I suppose.

As I wash myself off, I notice that the stream of water in this shower isn’t bothering me as much as the raindrops splattering themselves onto me when last I was at my family home. Perhaps the emotional state affects my psychometric experience? I wonder. That hypothesis will have to be tested—another study to add to the list of questions I want answered.

Drying myself off and stepping out of the shower, I’m met once again with Moving Pictures. Vital Signs; the humour of the aptness the lyrics are for me at this moment is hysterical. Unstable condition? A symptom of life in mental and environmental change? How very, very on the nose. I don’t mind the music at all, strangely. Maybe if it continues every night I might, but right now it soothes the loneliness away. With the music is the feeling that someone is right there—I know for a fact that I’m not living alone. Others are right by me, and I know that they’re like me too. Rather, I’m like them.

Once I’m changed, I make my way back into my new bedroom and sit on the bed. It doesn’t yet feel like home, but I cannot wait for the day that it does. Looking over, I see that I had left the clothes I had been going through in a messy pile. They were so kind to even give me clothes, and I made a mess of them immediately? What is the actual matter with me? Sighing, I collect the motivation to do anything about it; this is for the Professor and Dr. McCoy, I think to myself. Out of respect and gratitude for their help. At least pinning my obligation onto others helps in manifesting the guilt into doing basic tasks.

I hum along to Vital Signs as I start folding the clothes and moving back and forth between the bed and the new wardrobe. Finding new homes for all the clothes feels poignant given the circumstances. In the monotony, I lose myself to the music and sing along. “Everybody need reverse polarity—”

Immediately, a zoom and a knock at the door. It’s obviously Peter. We did agree that we would talk, I remember. Scanning the room, I decide it’s in a decent enough state for him to see. “Come in…?”

The door opens a touch, and his head pokes in through the narrow gap. “Everybody got mixed feelings?” He shyly continues the lyrics.

Huffing, my eyes shut closed. “God, truer words have never been spoken…” I mutter. “Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry. Just blanked for a second. You can come in, Peter.”

Walking into the room, his tongue briefly darts out and he ruffles his hair. “Hey, sorry for barging in. So uh, you know Rush?”

“Yeah, I do,” I laugh. “Thanks for playing the music. It’s nice to hear other people around.”

He shifts his weight and points at the chair, and I nod for him to sit. “Oh, yeah, sorry about that too. Since this room was empty for ages, I’ve gotten kinda used to just blasting my music out loud when I’m in my own room. The other rooms are further down the hallway,” he explains, and I flush at my own inferences. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my Walkman, but sometimes I don’t wanna have the earpieces on, y’know?”

“No yeah, I understand. No worries at all mate, I don’t mind. Just let me pick out what we listen to sometimes, yeah?” I giggle. “I had a lot of music back home but I couldn’t bring it over. So many LPs and cassettes just wasted…”

Upon my words, Peter grins widely in enthusiasm. “Wow, really? That’s great though, y’know, the others around here aren’t so big into music like I am. Another thing we have in common then, huh? And don’t worry about it, we’ll get you new music in no time. I’m a decent pickpocket, I can get you whatever you want easily.”

“That sounds great,” I grin back. “And hey, the music’ll sound great too.”

“Pfft. Yeah, no shit, that’s sorta what it’s for,” The corner of his mouth quirks in amusement.

I fold my arms. “Alright, smartarse. Thank you for that; and by the way, I’m a good pickpocket. I’m better than good. Everything you saw me wearing earlier was stolen.”

Peter’s eyes widen impossibly large. “No way. Also, you’re one to call me a smartass.”

Waving my hand in dismissal, I explain, “Yeah, I didn’t have a choice. I had to leave with nothing, so all I could do was take whatever I could since I didn’t have any money either,” I huff. “Thanks to my father, anyway.”

He nods. “I get it. Don’t blame you at all. Also, I get the whole shitty dad thing, I’ll tell you about it some time, but uh—that’s not what I came in here to talk about. Sorry if that ruins the vibe but I… yeah. We said we would, right?”

Gulping, I reply, “That we did. We did say that. Yes. Let’s… do that.”

“Hey hey hey, if you don’t wanna right now, that’s fine! Seriously, we can go back to talking about the music crap or I could go back to my room, I get it. I’ll even switch to talking about my crappy father if you want that for some reason. It’s been a long day for you, y’know? I don’t mi—” He dramatically punctuates each clause in gesture.

Shaking my head, I interrupt him, “No, it’s fine. It’s good, actually. I want to talk about it, you don’t have to leave. I’m just a little antsy.”

“Oh. Great, thanks. So I wanted to say that I—oh hey, the gloves are off, huh?” Peter notes.

I double back and notice how uncovered I am. Compared to how Peter saw me covered head to toe, my arms and legs are now relatively bare as I sit across from him cross legged on my bed. In embarrassment I redden slightly, but notice that Peter’s shirt is tucked in a tad awkwardly into his shorts in one spot. The boy must have rushed to change before knocking on my door. Rushed… Rush. Hilarious. I wonder for a moment what Peter in a superspeed rush looks like. Must be a complete blur if at all visible. I retort in snark, “I mean, yeah, If I was in a t-shirt and shorts but still had the gloves on, I think the purpose would be sort of defeated.”

“Good point. I’m not complaining about the view, though,” he smirks, but quite immediately, it drops and he smacks himself in the forehead and buries his fingers into his silver hair. “Fuck, sorry. I need to stop. That’s literally what I came in here to apologise for. I dunno why but I can't help myself from fl—uh, I mean, teasing you.”

I blink. So apparently he was flirting. Does that mean anything? Was it just playful? What are the consequences? What is he thinking? How is he feeling? What are his feelings? Yeah, this is mint. Absolutely sound. Very much so. I am, at this moment, the pinnacle of calm. I’m merciful enough to spare him the embarrassment by harping on it, despite my own nerves. “It’s fine, Peter. It really is. It was alright! I was just a little bit thrown off because I wasn’t expecting it, but I didn’t mind.”

“No, no, it’s not alright. You’ve been so fun and nice to talk to and we were laughing and being honest and all that, and I just… God, I dunno. I’m sorry man, it wasn’t cool o’ me,” he purses his lips. “I’m really sorry. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable. I wanna be friends and I don’t want whatever bullshit I pulled earlier to ruin that before we even actually get to know each other.”

Frowning, I tilt my head. “Peter, you asked me if I was alright—you didn’t overstep in the slightest. Additionally, we both admitted we could be really open with each other. I think it’s safe to say we’re friends. I genuinely don’t know what you’re on about ‘ruining’ anything, mate.”

Almost as if he’s deflating, he breathes a sigh of relief. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that. Friends?” He extends his hand out towards me from his chair. I whip around and grab my new gloves, I slide them on shivering with the influx of information, and I take his hand in mine.

“Most definitely,” I grin, and he does the same back at me. Barely noticeable is the whisper in the back of my mind wondering if friends are all we’ll ever be.

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𝙲𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝙲𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝙳𝚘𝚎𝚜

Tags: fluff, cute shit Cove does, ooc cove slightly?

Synopsis: basically, Cove doing things that gets you flustered and fall in love with him deeper

Word Count: 1073

Characters: Cove x GN! Reader

Leaning over and buckling your seatbelt

▸Cove huffs whenever you forget to buckle yourself in. Of course, he’s not upset, in fact he loves leaning over and doing it for you. Totally not using that as a reason to steal a smooch from you.

▸He also cares about safety; anything can happen, and he doesn’t want to see you hurt. Like what if a helicopter suddenly falls on top of your car? Or what if he breaks too hard and you fly out the window??

▸He always makes sure you’re buckled in first before he does so himself and starts the car. Even if you’re in a rush. Safety first!

▸And he totally doesn’t grumble in displeasure whenever you beat him in buckling your seatbelt first.

“I wanted to buckle you in… what? I didn’t say anything?”

Zipping up your jacket

▸Whenever you both decide to go out whenever it’s cold, you always toss on a jacket and not zip it up. Cove will and aways zip it up for you, not caring of your whining.

▸He doesn’t want you to get sick! If you do, he won’t be able to kiss you until you feel better and even though he has good patience, he doesn’t want to wait too long.

▸And once he reaches the maximum level, he just dives in and smothers you in kisses despite your protests, next thing you know, you’re both sick.

▸But hey! What’s a better time to spend with your partner than being sick together? He doesn’t care if he misses work, he’s happy enough to spend this time with you.

▸Unfortunately, you can’t be angry with him for too long because look at that face! He’s really sorry but he’ll make it up to you once you both get better.

“I’m sorry (Name) for not listening... But at least we get to be sick together!”

Holding your hand before crossing the street

▸Again, a safety thing, but he loves holding your hand and uses this as an excuse to hold yours. And to show off to others that ‘hey look! we’re holding hands so that means we’re dating! so back off!’. Especially in front of the cars you’re walking past, Cove giving the poor drivers a scare from his intense staring.

▸Y'know that one Tik Tok audio clip from Chowder that basically goes like “Hold my hand NOW”. Yeah, that’s Cove, but he would never yell or use force on you to hold his hand. He instead pouts and gives you the puppy look so you can hold his hand. Which you do because he looks adorable.

▸Always, without missing a beat, always kisses your hand. He loves bringing up your intertwined hands to his lips and plant a kiss, letting his lips linger for a bit before bringing your hands down and swinging them gently, a skip in his step.

▸The warmth seeping from your palms brings Cove a sense of calmness. Just being near you calms his mind from any negative thoughts that spring up randomly.

“Oh, we’re about to cross the street, (Name)! Hold my hand before we cross!”

Tying your shoes

▸Sometimes we leave the house in a rush and forget the most important thing. Tying our shoes! But with our trusty boyfriend, Cove, he always does it for you! He would stop you, kneel down and tap his knee, signaling you to put your foot on it so he could tie your shoes properly.

▸He always checks if you tie your shoes or not. Cove doesn’t want you to trip and fall for other people. See what I did there?? No? Okay anyway if you do fall for some reason, he’ll be there to sweep you off your feet.

▸Whenever he finishes tying your shoes, Cove would stand back up and look into your eyes with a shiny smile. You question him and he points at his cheek, blue eyes shining even brighter.

▸He wants a reward from saving you from any falls you could’ve had in the future! Cove wants a kiss. From you. Either on the lips or cheek, he’s not a picky person.

“Here, let me tie your shoes for you.”

Always offering you food

▸Even though Cove loves shoving food in his mouth and swallowing it in one go, he never forgets to offer you some. Doesn’t matter if the snack is small and it’s not enough to feed two people, Cove will walk over and ask if you want a bite.

▸If you offer him food, he’ll be floored and open his mouth as you spoon feed him your meal. He’ll be happy with whatever you feed him a tiny crumb, a vegetable he doesn’t like, reluctantly, he’ll eat that.

▸Drinks! Drinks are included in the equation.

▸Even though Cove wants to sip on the refreshing slurpy, he will make sure you have the first zip without fail.

▸Cove blushes at the thought of the indirect kiss whenever you put your lips on any of his utensils he eats with. Even though y’all are already dating. He still gets flutters from you.

“Want a bite, (Name)?”

Forehead goodbye kisses

▸Whenever you or Cove are running late or have to leave for a few hours, Cove will pull you towards him and plant a kiss on your forehead.

▸Has become a routine for you both to never leave without you receiving Cove’s kiss before heading out to work. Honestly, it’s the best way to start off the day and he hopes that it never changes.

▸But when you’re in a rush, you sometimes forget to receive that kiss and that brings down Cove’s morning. He pouts and waits for you to return so you can pepper your face with kisses to make up for the one you missed in the morning.

▸You’re sorry but you can’t complain from the kiss onslaught so it’s a win-win

“Oh, you’re leaving right now? Let me kiss your forehead!”

“I miss you...” texts throughout the day

▸This kinda goes with the ‘goodbye kisses’

▸Cove texts you throughout the day that he misses you. He sends one not even a minute of you leaving the house you both lived in.

▸He’ll send a text saying that he ‘craves to cuddle you’ when you leave to take a shit.

▸It’s really cute until he starts spamming you while you’re in a meeting, your embarrassed face sputtering out apologies towards your workers.

“Heyy, i miss u :(“

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

A/N: Heyy ya'll I got another one for you hehe but I kinda rushed at the end because its late and im tired

Like my work? Buy me a ko-fi!

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ancientseeker

1 week ago

Wildlight Chronicles ending

inspired by Springtime by Pierre Auguste Cot 1873

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ancientseeker

9 months ago

Xavier came home ⭐️

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ancientseeker

1 year ago

Fanart of Spectra dying in a gluetrap

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ancientseeker

1 year ago

Silver Wit: IV - Let Barricades Be Bygones

══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══

'“Cool, cool. Great, even,” Peter hums his approval. Leaning in impossibly closer, somehow taking care not to touch me, he whispers into my ear.

“So– we’ll just have to get to know each other better, then.”"

Silver Wit Masterlist Silver Wit on ao3 taglist: @silverzoomies, @quickandsilvers, @icannot3

tw: more adhd coded trauma and vulnerability, not sure it warrants a tw

a/n: i cannot believe it and i apologise deeply for doing this, but i wrote another entire fucking chapter of this first conversation between speaker and peter. i promise this is the last one - their conversation ends at the end of this chapter i am baffled that i ever intended on having their first interaction be a couple of minutes. even a few seconds. wtf also idk how i keep churning out these chapters so im not sure if the quality of the writing is being maintained - i'm still very impulsive, though, so i'm publishing them as i go anyway. i have no beta so please forgive me

Silver Wit: IV - Let Barricades Be Bygones

══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══

The two of us bathe in silence for a moment that to me – feels simultaneously both like eternity and nary a trice. Calling this ‘perplexing’ would be a gross understatement.

I wonder how long this moment is for Peter.

My god, how easily the flutters in my chest from only moments ago had turned into aches, so much like thunderstorms buried deep within my chest; bitter storms not unlike the London rains that punished me not long ago. At my heartstrings is Aphrodite pulling, breaking, tearing away with forces unattainable by any of us mortals, but she has absolutely no need. Whatever the higher powers may do upon me would be in vain; I would feel this deeply for Peter regardless of anything that tried to stop me.

I can’t bear holding my words back anymore. “Peter…” I whisper, my voice breaking, a tremble, a tremolo.

“Yeah?” From his eyes being fixated on the floor, back to me they flicker in an instant. I can just about see wells of stifled sorrow threatening to spill from them; only a dam he’s been building for years is stopping the flood. His mask of jocular self-deprecation is cracking.

It’s difficult to read his expression, but he can’t read mine either.

In the few years of my life, admittedly so far short - living as whatever it is that I am - I’ve learned that in silence readily comes doubt. The mind panics as it reels, from a self-loathing spiral to desperately attempting to console itself; often, with little to no success. If in Peter I see myself, perhaps he’s the same way.

A small part of me hopes he sees me in himself too.

“I think I understand… I get what you meant now. How you told me that what I was saying felt like it was straight out of your head?” I confess.

The unreadable look on his face turns into that same sombre smile I saw from before. He shakily nods as he takes in a breath, shallow.

“Maybe you’re afraid - that those people who’ve already gotten to know you as Quicksilver - wouldn’t like to see you change – no, not change; open up. That you don’t want to upset the equilibrium that’s already been established?”

I’m making sure to look him in the eyes. He needs to know whatever I’m saying is the truth and nothing but the truth. “But the person I met here was you, Peter. I didn’t meet ‘Quicksilver’,” I say slowly, such that he has the time to ingest every single word that I’m saying to him.

Peter swallows and hums an affirmation, his head dipping before he nods.

I continue, “I… can’t even explain how much I understand being afraid of being honest. Being authentic. But from what I’ve seen, whoever ‘Peter’ is? He’s hilarious, he’s kind, and he’s insightful. He’s loveable. Even from the little while we’ve sat here together, I know for a fact that there’s more to you than meets the eye. You don’t have to keep hiding. We already have to do enough hiding as it is.”

“Thank you… seriously,” Peter whispers, choking. He takes another breath in, lets it out, and closes his eyes. “I’m sorry, I– I need a second. It’s not that I’m not thankful that you’re being so nice. I am, really. You’re being so understanding and I– I just… gotta process everything. I’m good, promise.”

I nod and internally smack myself in the head once I realise he can’t see it. You absolute pillock. “Of course. Take whatever time you need.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, relieved. Through the look on his face, I can see clearly how quickly his mind is racing. As he props his head up in his hands, elbows on his knees, his eyes remain closed. The outside has to be shut out – inside is chaos enough. It doesn’t matter that I’m growing anxious waiting for him to respond. He needs this respite.

Peter finally opens his eyes and returns his gaze to meet mine with a timid smile. “Sorry about that,” he breathes. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear what you said. I worry about it so much, but I just can’t tell anyone, y’know? Like, that’s the entire problem. It’s a fucked up paradox.”

Shaking my head, I say, “Mm-mm, it’s alright. I think I do understand, now. I mean– it wouldn’t be fair to say that I know exactly what you feel,” I glance up at the clock above the fireplace. “After all, we did just meet for the first time only half an hour ago.”

“Wow… Half an hour? Man… it feels like I’ve known you for ages. Or that you’ve known me for ages, anyway…” Peter murmurs in disbelief.

“I know. It’s… strange. I– I will never know what it’s like to be you, that’s impossible, and I’ll never try nor claim to. But… I just can’t shake this feeling. Somehow I feel like we’re–” I catch myself before I say something daft. What the hell are you thinking?

“Don’t overthink it,” Peter interjects. Silently, I thank the Fates for saving me from impulsively humiliating myself. “I feel it too, man. I mean, yeah. We’re not the same person, obviously. You have your own personality and I have mine, but…” He stops for a second, his face turning pink once more. “I’ve never ever met someone else who’s so much like me– At least, someone else who’s… I don’t know what you would even call it, but… different; and I’m not talking about being a mutant.”

Peter stills for a breath. “Like, fine, sure, we just met. Doesn’t mean it’s not true. I’ve been more myself around you than I have anyone else in years.” It’s a relief to see how quickly he’s bounced back.

What Peter just said doesn’t register immediately, but my eyes fly wide open the moment it does. The blush I’ve been trying so hard to force back down decides to bend to my rule no longer. My heartbeat is drumming against my ribs. Pursing my lips in my completely flustered state, I turn away to hide whatever idiocy is emanating from my entire being.

Without meeting his eyes, I say, “I’m glad you said it and not me, because I think I might have died if you hadn’t agreed. And… I agree– about never meeting someone else like me before. I don’t know how else to say this, but it’s really comforting knowing I’m not the only one who’s… like this. Whatever ‘this’ is.”

He sniffs then chuckles; the sound of it sends reverberations saccharine straight into my heartbeat. “You aren’t the only one, and now I finally know I’m not either, so, thank you; and seriously, thanks for saying what you said. I never thought I’d ever hear anyone tell me what you just did.”

“I meant all of it,” I say sincerely.

He tries to suppress that smug smirk I’d seen so many times before. “All of it? So… Loveable, huh?” he finally says.

Fuck.

══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══

Mission abort. Mission abort. Turn around now before you can never go back.

“Oi! You know what I mean, stop poking fun at me. I was trying to be nice and you just take it as an opportunity to take the piss out of me? You’re such a prat,” I swat at him as I joke.

“I know, I know. I’m just making a little fun. What’s a prat? Also... taking the piss? Does that mean what I think it means?” Peter asks, a sly grin plastered across his face.

I sigh loudly. “Oh come on, you can get these from context, can’t you?” I say, exaggeratedly exasperated. Inwardly, I’m tickled pink.

“Oh, the genius can’t take the time to teach the idiot about one little thing?” He feigns a fainting spell in despair, much like those so common in tragic theatricals. Charming.

“Hey, you’re not an idiot. But seriously, do you actually want me to sit you down so that I can teach you British slang? Learning is my entire thing, and even I have to say that that sounds like a dreadful class,” I cock my head to the side, raising an eyebrow dubiously.

Peter beams coyly, tousles his hair, and bounces his leg. “If I get to listen to you talk the whole time? Yeah, man, I’d take a whole course. I know you said that you think Slavic languages sound pretty, but your accent is real pretty, y’know? It’ll probably get even stronger if you start talking about all of your English stuff. Come on, I can’t miss that.”

I blink. Did not expect that response, at all. I did think to myself that I would eventually educate him on British slang, but I didn’t think he’d actually want to sit down and learn about any of it.

“You’re… probably right, actually. I imagine my accent would start getting even more painfully British if I actually focused on talking about… well, Britain. Still though, I truly don’t believe you’ll enjoy sitting through me lecturing you about our weird insults and euphemisms.”

“Try me,” Peter taunts me, a coy smirk lacing his tone with mirth. “Hell, I’ll even speak some Russian to you in exchange.”

“Really?” I ask, doubtful. I can’t lie, getting to hear Peter speak in Russian does seem really appealing. Not because it’s Peter, I tell myself. It’s just getting to hear a Slavic language for the first time. I’ve always wanted that, right?

Peter nods.

“Don’t complain when I come back with a three hour lesson plan, then,” I jokingly warn him. The teasing is starting to grow on me. I can see why he’s been doing it to me so much now.

He grins, pleased. “I’ll ace this class. You don’t even know, man. I try not to brag about it–”

I point a finger at him accusingly. “You try not to brag?” I interject rhetorically. “That’s definitely not consistent with whatever I’ve seen so far.”

“Hey! That’s just about my powers. I’m a totally badass speedster and I’m not afraid to show it. If that means I’m bragging, then fine,” Peter harrumphs, defensively denying whatever I insinuated, and I snicker. “Anyway, like I was saying - before someone rudely interrupted me…” Peter looks at me pointedly, to which I disapprovingly raise my eyebrows in response.

He continues, “I try not to brag about it, since I’ve been maintaining this whole class clown schtick I have going on? But I’m actually a pretty good student. Only when I want to be, though. I’m not good at the actual studying bit.”

“I’m honestly not surprised, Peter,” I say, and I genuinely mean it.

It’s not like he had tried to be overtly intellectual while we’d been getting acquainted with one another, but he did carry himself with an intelligence – admittedly, an intelligence that might have gone unnoticed to some if they hadn’t paid attention. It takes brains to consistently pretend not to have them. “And also, you really don’t have to dumb yourself down for me. Please don’t. I actually actively dislike it when people do.”

Peter tilts his head side to side. “Oh, so the little genius wants me to get on her level? Challenge accepted, I’ll do it, just you wait,” he chaffs.

For all of my worries that I’d be treated differently for being slapped in the face with the ‘genius’ label, Peter’s nonchalance about it really eases my spirits. Hell, the boy was even incorporating it into his banter. I’ve been so afraid that it would make people think that if I was honest about it, that I was being haughty, ‘holier-than-thou’. To Peter, it’s as if it’s just another regular thing about me– it doesn’t make me an outsider, and he doesn't think I need to be placed on a pedestal. I can finally breathe again.

Still, I don’t want him to get the impression that I’m just an arrogant arsehole. “Oi, bugger off. I don’t think I’m better than you or anything like that. I’m just saying; you shouldn’t have to pretend to be someone else, right? Like we were literally saying just a moment ago? Especially if being ‘someone else’ means you have to hide your strengths,” I clarify.

Peter squints as he looks off into the middle distance, calculating something in his head. “Hey… I couldn’t impress you by breaking into the actual Pentagon, right?”

I frown. “I never said that.”

Peter touches his hand to his heart, shaking his head. “Didn’t have to– heard you loud and clear, man. It wasn’t good enough for you, that’s fine,” he showily gestures and huffs with finality.

I roll my eyes at the melodrama. “Again, never said that, but sure mate, whatever you say,” I concede with a sigh.

“Listen, I made a vow to myself that I’d impress you. Fine, the superhero stuff doesn’t cut it for you. And y’know, I gotta say, I was kinda expecting that the whole superhero thing would impress girls by default. You’re gonna be a challenge, but Peter Maximoff will not be defeated. So… Maybe I just have to take the intellectual route with ya’, huh?” he ribs at me, ruffling his hair.

Teasing Peter is fun, but being teased by him is mortifying.

I can maintain my calm. I can be smooth. “Alright, sure then, if you insist,” I fold my arms and press myself back into the cushions behind me. “I don’t know why you’re so hellbent on trying to win my admiration, but it’ll be entertaining to watch your many attempts. What do you have for me?”

Peter bubbles his lips with a loud pop. He looks at me warningly. “I know I said I only brag about my powers, but fuck it, I’ll boast about this– And hey, before you complain, you invited me to.”

“Fair enough, fair enough. Go on, the floor is yours,” I motion for him to proceed.

“Yeah so, no one would expect it, but I get top marks all round, baby. Only the teachers know that, ‘cause I wanna keep things on the down low, yeah? But hey, you’ll find out for yourself soon, right? I’m gonna take this class o’ yours, and I’ll turn in assignments, I’ll go to every class, I’ll do all of your required reading—” Peter rattles on.

“Really?” I interrupt to ask dubiously, bringing my hand up to my chin, “What about the recommended reading?” No one does the recommended reading. This has to be a joke, right?

Peter clicks his tongue and winks. “Hey, if it’ll get me in with the teacher, I’d do all the reading and more. I can totally be a teacher’s pet. You just wait and see.”

Let me implode right now.

══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══

“But uh, seriously, joking aside,” Turning sincere again, Peter clears his throat again and adjusts his seating position on the sofa to face me better. Thank god, he was joking. “I know I can get carried away trying to joke about things and all? But what you said before that means a lot to me.”

Right. That.

“Oh, uh– Don’t worry about it, yeah?” I’m getting embarrassed again remembering what I’d said. I was so caught up in the moment, I called Peter loveable? I know we brushed it off, but this is a nightmare. Why did I have to be reminded of that?

I find myself unable to stop over-elaborating in an attempt to cover up my awkwardness, “I just think you should start being more yourself, Peter. Since that’s what you want, right? Maybe break out of your shell? Oh, god, that’s too much of a cliche– uh, live more authentically? Be who you really are? Ugh, no, now I sound like some counsellor. How do I even say this? I… just hope that you can feel comfortable being yourself some day.”

“Hey, you don’t needa freak out. I get what you’re saying, and uh… thanks. Thank you, I mean. Don’t wanna make you think I’m not appreciative or whatever,” Peter begins twisting a silver lock between his fingers. “And uh… I hope you get to take them off one day, if you want. The gloves, I mean.”

The gloves – I’m caught off guard. I try to look down at my hands but I don’t see them. All I do see is the leather gloves covering them, separating me from the rest of the world. There are a few biological mutations that propelled humans into becoming the complex lifeforms that we are today. Overdeveloped brains, larynxes capable of complex speech, bipedalism. Our hands. Our capacity for fine motor control, for heightened kinesthetic sensitivity in the pads of our fingers, grip with the opposable thumb. It can easily be argued that our hands are one of the core ways in which we as people can interact with the world around us.

Mine are covered. “I do want to. I hope I can.”

Peter smiles ever so slightly, and lets out a breath of relief. I didn’t even realise he was holding his breath. Tension leaves his frame, and he relaxes. Just how worried was he for me, exactly? Was it just as much as I was worried for him?

“Good, good. I’m glad,” he tilts his head slightly to meet my eyes. They’re looking into me, bittersweet. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but…”

“It’s alright. Go on,” I encourage him.

Peter takes a sharp breath and looks around - I don’t think at anything in particular - and brings his hand to cup the side of his face, fingers twisting the hairs that frame it. Looking away, he asks, “Do you think you’ll ever be okay touching somebody else again?”

My body trembles at the thought — what if I can never take the gloves off? All I’ve been thinking for the last few days since leaving my parents was to cover, protect, shield. Of course, I covered myself up after that first attack. How could I even think to let myself be vulnerable to that kind of torment again?

It was like Hades himself had personally devised for me some tortuous punishment. I didn’t even know what I was being punished for. My heart is sinking at the realisation; this buffer between my skin and the external world wouldn't be my safety if it was for forever. It would be my own prison. The harrowing reality is that I have no idea if I can ever let myself escape it.

I blink slowly, swallowing, and try to hold the tears back. “I want… to be able to.”

The gloom in the air is blatant and palpable. Whatever Peter’s thinking, he’s giving me no indication whatsoever as to what it is that’s going on in his mind. “This might sound a little insane–” he hesitates, a flurry of anxiety in his eyes.

“No, say whatever it is you want to say. I’ll hear you out.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “I’m just proposing this, so it’s totally fine if you don’t like the idea. Wouldn’t blame ya at all, no hard feelings. But, y’know - only if you want - whenever you think you’re ready to… take the gloves off? I don’t mind being your test subject. I can be your lab rat.”

Shock doesn’t begin to describe this. My heart catches a beat. My jaw slacks. My stomach twists. My eyes widen. The butterflies come back. I squash them down.

“Peter, I don’t think you understand what you’re offering to me,” I whisper.

Before I can make out his expression, he looks away. “It’s okay, if you don’t wanna. You don’t have to justify it.”

“No, no, it’s really not that. I’m honoured and so grateful that you’d even offer, but… I really don’t think you would if you understood what it meant,” I try to explain.

He nods, and I go on, “You’d be letting me into everything. I could see your whole life, know every thought you’ve ever had, feel every emotion you’ve ever felt. I could know everything there is to know about you. You don’t have to give me all of that. It’s not even about how we just met. No one should have to give me that, and I’ll never ask for it.”

“... Oh.”

“... Yeah. I don’t think you really want to be my ‘lab rat’.”

Peter presses his hand into his jaw, his forehead tenses and his eyes frantically dart around. He blows a puff of air out into his hand and it escapes with a hiss.

“Okay… do you wanna make a pact, then?” he eventually asks.

With much hesitance, I ask back, “What kind of a pact?”

“I try to stop hiding myself from everyone, you try to stop hiding your skin. I’ll already be trying to be real, authentic, right? Share myself with everyone and all? And… If I’m already doing that…” he trails off, beginning to himself. “Then maybe it won’t be so different if you actually touch me.”

For once, I truly don’t know what to say back. Peter cuts into the silence, “Shit, that’s not what I meant. You know that, right? I don’t mean touch me like tha–”

“Peter, I know that’s not what you meant,” I interject in his panic. God, it’s like looking into a mirror.

He stops talking, taking in my words. “Okay, uh– good. Good.”

Sighing, I say, “I don’t know, Peter, we barely know each other. I don’t want you to impulsively promise to let me in like that. If we were already really close - like childhood friends for years, or, I don’t know, if it wasn’t literally the first time we’d ever spoken to each other? Maybe things would be different. It’s not because I don’t like you or anything, honest to god. I just… You shouldn’t. You would stand to lose everything in this pact. I can’t do that to you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Peter rustles his hair, shoots me an oddly confident smirk for the context, and he shifts. Biting the inside of his cheek, he begins shuffling his way over to my side of the sofa. What in the actual fuck is happening?

Processing the sight of Peter edging closer and closer towards me feels… unreal. It’s as if I’m an audience member watching a scene play out before me on a screen. My heart is a furnace whose fires crackle raucously in my ears, head-splitting. There’s simply no possibility that I’m here on this plane of existence, at this moment in the temporal line. He’s dangerously close now – teetering on the line between the platonic and… something more.

I just know my face is red.

In a pace so slow it almost kills me, he slinks his arm behind me to rest on the back of the sofa. In a dulcet tone most incongruous with his demeanour, he softly asks, “Is this okay?”

Whether I nod or only tremble out of how flustered he’s getting me is almost unknowable. Taking in a breath, deep, so deep it nearly feels like I’m not breathing at all, I attempt to desperately cling onto whatever sanity is left within me. I give him a nod with more certainty.

“Cool, cool. Great, even,” Peter hums his approval. Leaning in impossibly closer, somehow taking care not to touch me, he whispers into my ear.

“So– we’ll just have to get to know each other better, then.”

══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══

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ancientseeker

1 year ago

writers and artists will go "this isn't good enough." my brother in christ, you're creating something new out of nothing and expressing yourself creatively. your productivity and unrealistic standards of perfection do not define you or the worth of your art. you're doing great.

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ancientseeker

3 years ago

I'm okay, I promise

Pretending to be Okay when your really not is like smiling when your lips are dry. And I mean really dry. Dry to the point where they crack and bleed when you open you mouth all the way. Dry to the point where you can feel them stretch and break with every movement of your mouth. Dry to the point where it hurts to eat or drink anthing because it stings you lips and seeps into the cuts like salt. Dry to the point where you can feel you pulse in them and they almost burn with fever. Dry to the point that your whole face goes numb when you move them to much. But you smile anyway. Because it's temporary right? Drink some water and I'll be fine. Because all your friends are smiling and it would be weird if you didn't. You smile and you laugh even though it is torture and all you can feel is the pain in your lips. The pain as they just crack more. It's the same feeling when you tell people you are okay when you want to break down, or panic, or stop everything. Except it isn't your lips that hurt. It's everything. So it's okay to be messed up. To want things to stop. To say that you need help. To say that you just can't smile right now. So get up, go get yourself some mental vasoline (whatever that may be) and heal. You can do it. You dont have to break you lips to smile. And You dont have to break you mind to say "I'm okay, I promise."

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