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fangurk · 3 years

Text

Puppy Love (The Cullen Family x Child! Werewolf! Reader)

Key:

Y/n - Your Name

Y/h/c - Your Hair Color

Y/e/c - Your Eye Color

Y/f/c - Your Favorite Color

Y/f/f - Your Favorite Flavor

Prompt (given to me by @inrice): but could you do something along the lines of the cullens (mainly alice) takes upon the job of raising a werewolf!reader? who's a child of course.

Summary: Alice Cullen stumbles upon a very strange, very lonely child while out on a hunt and, in true Cullen fashion, decides to take them home. Nobody knows how to take care of a werewolf or a child, but when they put in a collective effort (and bring in the help of Bella) things start getting easier...

Warning: Is this kidnapping? It might be kidnapping, fluff, slightly angsty at some parts, AU because Caius is cruel, and potentially odd genderless terms of endearment.

A/n: family fic makes the brain go brrr. so like i didn't really know how to handle the whole werewolf thing because the twilight lore is so... bare... and i wanted to write more on the family parts so it's not like a real focus but it is mentioned quite a bit. I hope that's okay! /gen

Word Count: 1.2k+

Alice wasn’t able to foresee you.

She simply stumbled across you one day on a hunt, your tiny body curled up at the base of a tree. You smelled so much of dog she almost mistook you for one, and then you looked up at her with big y/e/c eyes and she knew.

Carlisle wasn’t very happy when she brought you home.

“The Volturi will have a field day with this.” He says as he repacks his doctor bag. “The child is dangerous to have around.”

“But they're all alone, Carlisle. You said it yourself, they looked like they were out there for days— and I waited there with them until nightfall, no one came…”

Her shoulders fall and she looks at the door separating them from the rest of the family.

“Oh please just let them stay, we’ll all take care of them— if anything we’re better suited for it than anyone!”

Carlisle opens his mouth to protest but is interrupted by Esme opening the door, you asleep in her arms. All of his hesitance melts away at the sight, and at the sound of your small snores.

He sighs. “Fine, the child can stay— but we have to be careful.”

Alice nearly erupts with her joy, and Carlisle tries to hide a smile.

──────────────────

They give you a nice bedroom.

Rosalie, Alice, and Esme take an entire day to shop, nearly clearing out three children’s stores in the process. They build you furniture and they paint the walls a pretty shade of y/f/c; you now own more toys and clothes than a kid can possibly comprehend.

You spend the day with Emmett, the only Cullen boy who’s comfortable getting close to you, and he introduces you to the wide range of children’s cartoons. Your browsing ended with Crashbox, something that had the big man far more into it than you, but it was fun nonetheless.

“Want to see your room, Y/n?” Rosalie hums, poking her head around the corner and flashing you a dazzling smile.

The ladies let you wander around the new space, excitement brightening your features.

Emmett is still enraptured by the TV long after you’re put to bed.

──────────────────

Most days are good days.

Even if two of the family members seem a little afraid of you, you’re happy. You’re fed and clothed and loved.

But then there are bad days.

You wouldn’t eat. Nothing Esme made you was satisfactory and you were too upset and overwhelmed to let anyone know what you wanted; everyone tries to comfort you, even Jasper with his powers, but none of it really seems to work.

And then Edward comes home.

He left at some point during the crying and everyone figured that he was just bailing ship like he usually does when it comes to you. But, in reality, he somehow managed to get a cohesive reading of your mind and immediately went to someone who could help him.

“I brought Bella.” He says, gesturing awkwardly at his equally awkward girlfriend when five sets of frustrated eyes land on him.

“And I brought chicken nuggets…” The brunette human raises the bag up with a smile.

Everyone watches in confusion as you perk up a bit.

“Uh, here.” Bella crosses the room and places the bag down in front of you.

You open the bag and immediately start eating, sniffling but no longer upset. Every Cullen is reeling in shock.

“Well. What do you have to say to Bella?” Alice clears her throat, giving you an encouraging smile.

“Thank you, Bella.” You mumble, mouth full of food.

“Oh- it was actually Edward’s idea.”

You turn and thank him, beaming, and he gives you a crooked smile in return.

Afterward, Edward doesn’t really avoid you anymore.

──────────────────

‘Children of the Moon’ don’t pass their lycanthropy onto their offspring.

Alice doesn’t like to think about it, but sometimes the implication that someone bit and infected you consumes her mind and it makes her want to cry.

──────────────────

On the days they go to school, you do too.

They figure it’s good for you to spend time with other kids your age, and it seems to be. You always come home with crazy stories of playtime adventures and smelling of paint and crayons; the teachers love you, or more so the bright little woman who picks you up from school.

“Draw your family.” The teacher encourages one day.

You draw the Cullens.

When you proudly hand it to Alice when she picks you up from school, she lifts you up in a hug. Jasper frames your little drawing and puts it up next to all of their graduation caps.

──────────────────

The full moon is pretty horrific.

In order to keep everyone safe from your tiny claws, they keep you in the basement. For hours before the transformation, you just lie down there and wail-- you’re only little, it’s only fair.

Alice sits outside and talks to you the whole time, her voice wavering and her hands shaking.

She doesn’t move after the wails turn into howls, even if it would be safer to do so.

──────────────────

“Does Jasper hate me?”

You’re wrapped up in bandages, sitting on the picnic blanket with your adoptive mother and eating a sandwich too big for you as her husband pretends to do something down by the water. Alice is completely blindsided. They’ve sort of explained what they are to you, and you’ve kind of filled in blank spaces to the best of your ability, but she’s still unsure how to explain Jasper’s hesitance.

She doesn’t wind up having to.

“No,” He says, sitting down next to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “I don’t. I’m actually quite fond of you darlin’.”

That alone seems to satisfy you and, over time, he loosens up a bit.

Jasper seems happier than he has in a while, listening to you talk about things little kids talk about, and Alice watches fondly with a smile.

──────────────────

One of them reads a story and tucks you into bed every night.

Most times it’s Alice, sometimes Jasper joins in.

Tonight is one of those nights. You’re clean and showered, dressed in a cute little pajama set, and nestled under the covers; she’s lying down next to you, Goodnight Moon open in her hands, and he’s in a chair next to the bed.

“... goodnight noises everywhere.” She finishes, smiling at your drooping eyes and lulling head.

Carefully, she unwinds herself from you and, with the help of her husband tucks the blanket under your sides. You tug your favorite stuffed animal close to your chest, y/e/c eyes closed, and a smile on your little face.

“Goodnight, y/n.” “Night, kid.” They each say, Alice bending down to kiss your head and Jasper opting to stand there and smile.

“G’night mom and dad.”

Jasper’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head and he turns to face his wife quickly.

Alice Cullen, the girl who forgot half of her life, never felt more whole than she did standing in your room, holding her mate’s hand, and turning off the light as the hushed sound of a cricket’s song filled the big house...

tag list:

@batmanunicorns523

#alice cullen x reader #jasper hale x reader #alice cullen imagine #jasper hale imagine #the cullens x reader #the cullens #twilight imagines #twilight saga #twilight #emmett cullen #rosalie hale #edward cullen #bella swan #carlisle cullen #esme cullen

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thewildwaffle · 4 years

Text

Allergies

Requested by mytasteinmusic on Ao3

The humans were throwing food. Why? Well, Kahpi sighed, it was anyone’s guess really. For whatever reason, they were making some sort of game out of it. One human would grab a small piece of food and toss it high up into the air and another human would attempt to catch it in their mouths and eat it. For the cleaning team’s sake, she was glad all the foods that were being thrown seemed to be fairly self-contained and held together well even after being thrown. The foods in question started out as colorful candies the humans had brought along with them from Earth. They had been searched and scanned for possible allergens and dangers they could pose to other races that would be on the ship. Kahpi, as head Food Safety Inspector, had overseen the process herself. Some human food could, after all, cause anything from slight to severe damage and trauma to digestive and respiratory tracts of different species that also worked on the ship. This meant that foods that were only safe for human consumption had to be stored and prepared separately from other food supplies, or if they were exceptionally dangerous, banned altogether. The colorful candies being thrown around now, for instance, were safe to be on the ship, but under the multi-colored exteriors was a concoction that contained theobromine and caffeine. The humans called it chocolate. They loved the stuff and used it in a wide array of foods. It was safe for them in modest amounts, and as long as they kept it to themselves, they were allowed to have it. Once the colorful candies were all consumed, and dropped pieces taken care of, the humans moved on to throwing other foods. Pretty much whatever they had in their meal: diced fruit, ripped bits of bread crusts, chunks of vegetables, etc.

Kahpi kept her eyes on their antics as she also made her rounds in the ship’s cafeteria. As boisterous as they could be, their games were no reason for her to fall behind in her own duties. It was, as the saying goes, not her spilled bucket of eesaling to guard. If they wanted to goof off on their own time, that wasn’t her business. As long as it didn’t cause harm to anyone else. Usually by sharing their food with other races without clearance or supervision, they were fine. In any case, it seemed that their food throwing gag was starting to die down. They returned to eating their meals normally, laughing and joking around loudly with each other as was the norm. Kahpi was thankful that few of the crewmembers that regularly spent their time with the humans were not of races that could boast similar skill of great aim and power while throwing. That would help deter others to pick up the food-throwing in the future. Just as Kahpi was wrapping up and about to leave, she overheard a disturbance from the humans. They all started speaking or shouting at once. “Dude! What the- what’s happening to your face?” “Oh my gosh!“ "What’s going on? I think I’m going to throw up!” “Carlton, you’re breaking out!” Kahpi looked over to the humans were now starting to rise from their seats, onsets of panic starting to creep into their body language. “Are you allergic to something?” “I don’t think so?” “What is it? What have you eaten?” “I don’t know, I’ve never had allergies before!” “Oh frewan, some of the m&ms had peanuts! Are you allergic to nuts?” “I don’t know! I used to eat peanut butter all the time as a kid!” “Could it be the nuts?” “I don’t know, I don’t know what else it could have been!” “Chris, you have allergies, right? What do we do?!” Alarmed by the humans’ reaction, Kahpi, as well as several others that were in the cafeteria, approached cautiously to see if any aid could be given. Whatever could spook a group of humans so badly must be dealt with quickly and conclusively. As she approached, one of the humans, Chris, ran off and disappeared down a nearby corridor. She paused. Was he fleeing? And if so, what from? Should she flee as well? The other humans weren’t running, at least not yet. Instead, they were gathering around Human Carlton, who, now that Kahpi had gotten closer and could see more clearly, did not look like he was well. His skin, usually the color of a richly tanned deygbah hide, looked splotchy and red. His eyes were unusually watery and swollen. In fact, everything about him was starting to look just a little bit swollen in parts. Kahpi’s second stomach dropped. Carlton was going to die! “Come on guys, back up a bit, give him some room!” Human Macy, the newest human to the crew, had everyone shuffle back so Carlton could lie down. Kahpi was just about to bolt down one of the corridors nearby that she knew would lead her to the med bay, in her panic forgetting that she had her comm device, when Chris returned from where he’d run off to, carrying a short cylindrical container tightly in his fist. Everyone parted in the small gathering crowd to let him in. He slid on his knees and stopped right next to Carlton who was now lying on his back. With a pull at the wider, blue-colored end, Chris plunged the device into his companion’s thigh. Kahpi could hear a small click and Chris held the device firmly in place for a few tiks. As he pulled the device away, Chris looked up and his eyes met with Kahpi’s. “Get a medic here now,” He said calmly but with an intensity that snapped Kaphi out of her trance. Within a few moortiks, Medics Jeebarul and Minti were loading Carlton onto a stretcher and taking him back to the med bay, Chris and Kahpi were allowed to follow. Later, after a discussion with the humans, medics, and the captain, Kahpi learned that it was indeed a food allergy that had caused this whole mess. The colorful candies that had been okayed for human consumption were to blame, particularly the ones that contained an Earth food called “peanuts.” Alarmed at the news, Kahpi pulled up the files she had access to on the humans. Compared to other species on the ship, and throughout the entire galaxy for that matter, humans had a relatively short list of known allergens. Of the humans on the ship, her records only stated that Humans Chris and Ricardo had allergies. Shellfish and animal dander, respectively. Worried that she had failed in her duty of food safety, she scanned Carlton’s files over and over. “I don’t understand,” her voice trembled slightly as the captain frowned at her, “There’s nothing here. No known allergens.” The captain’s fins pulled back tightly against his face. “Then what happened? What was all that?” Chris, who had returned from helping the medics get Carlton settled, responded, “We’re pretty sure it was the peanuts. It’s the only thing that makes sense.” “But my records-” “Say that he doesn’t have a peanut allergy, yeah,” Chris interrupted, “but that just means he hasn’t been tested for it. He’s had no need to. He didn’t know. He didn’t use to be allergic to peanuts, but now as an adult, he is. Somehow, he hasn’t eaten anything with peanuts or peanut oil or whatever for years, so unluckily, he had no idea he was allergic.” He paused. “Or maybe it was lucky? I mean, we had an epipen on hand and he’s okay now, and now he knows so… I guess it was kind of lucky?” “What do you mean he wasn’t allergic before?” Kahpi sputtered. “That doesn’t make sense! How is he allergic now?” Chris shrugged. “It happens sometimes. You can develop an allergy to something later in life that used to be okay. No one really knows why.” Both Kahpi and the captain stared at him for a moment. The captain was the first to regain composure. “Well, I suppose it was fortunate that the medics had a supply of these… ‘epi-pens’ stocked.” He hesitated a moment in thought and then nodded to the cylinder that was still in Chris’ hand. “I suppose we better request more of those, just in case. What exactly do they do?” Chris lifted the ‘epipen’ up for better observation. “It’s got a dose of epinephrine in it. It’s adrenaline, so it constricts blood vessels and speeds up the heart so blood pressure rises and it helps relax muscles in your airway so you can breathe again.” They both stared at him. After an uncomfortable silence, Chris added, “It’s not very fun. But it keeps you alive until doctors can help.” The captain had a few more questions, both for Chris and for the medics when they came back out. All the while, Kahpi had time to try to ponder on and digest all the new information and implications this would bring to her job. Allergens were a thing among many species, yes. That’s why she had the job she had. However, few, if any that she could think of right now, had allergies that were caused by foods FROM THEIR OWN PLANET OF ORIGIN! Not only that, but some allergens were safe to eat for one human, but not another?! Where is the reason for that? What evolutionary purpose could that possibly serve for a species? Or was it just some weird fluke, one of so so many, that humans just came with? She buried her face in her hands. Well, this whole thing was going to throw a bit more complications to her job now. Apparently even human food wasn’t always safe for humans. Go. Flargin’. Figure.

#humans are weird #i learned so much about epipens #allergies are weird though #humans are space orcs #aliens #space #epipens #allergies #writeblr #original writing

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disastermages · 3 years

Text

[read it on ao3]

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Wen Qing isn’t in the kitchen by the time Meng Yao walks back in, though her voice does call out to him when he passes by a door that’s always been previously closed. He doesn’t expect her white coat, nor does he expect the way it makes him feel smaller than her, though she sits in a chair, one leg crossed over the other. Her jeans and boots ruin the picture of her as a doctor, but she’s pulled her hair back, making her look professional from the knee up.

“Can I help you, Miss Wen?” Meng Yao won’t let the confusion sound in his voice, though he still holds onto the doorway. Wen Qing looks meaningfully at the chair across from her, but Meng Yao won’t take the bait until she asks him to. For a long few seconds, Wen Qing seems content to wait him out too, studying her short, unpainted nails and writing things down on the clipboard she balances on her knees.

“Mrs. Yu asks that every member of the household undergo a monthly check up. I’m not doing this for fun.” Wen Qing says finally, clicking her pen once, twice, three times while she frowns up at Meng Yao, “Please have a seat so we can get the questionnaire done.” Meng Yao sits down across from her without further fight, but he doesn’t stop himself from looking around.

“Why have I never seen this room before?”

“Because you aren’t Wei Wuxian and you don’t insist on climbing every tree you can find.” Wen Qing answers, but doesn’t look up from where she’s printing his name onto the form, her hand heavy and sure as it carves out the letters. “You have your office upstairs, and I have mine down here.”

At second glance, Meng Yao sees the piles of books laying just behind a cluster of mugs and glasses, though no plates lay in the office. There’s no examination table to be found, and Meng Yao is grateful for it. “Your birth date and year, please.”

“February 20th, 1964.” Meng Yao answers easily, his hands sit carefully on his own knees, but his fingers still want to tighten and pull at his pants. His chair was already uncomfortable.

“Can you tell me what today’s date is and where you are?”

“The date is May 16th, 1988, and I am at Jiang Manor.” The questions were simple ones, Wen Qing even nods approvingly to herself, but Meng Yao can guess what’s coming. Doctors always asked for complete patient histories, though nothing Meng Yao told her would leave the office, he’d shut the door behind him after he’d finally come in. She would ask eventually, and Meng Yao would have to answer her. He couldn’t lie completely, just in case she already had his records, but he could tell the same lies that were already in those records.

Still, she asks all the questions she should, moving down a list as if he were sitting down inside of an actual doctor’s office. No, he does not smoke, nor does he drink more than the occasional glass of wine. No, to his knowledge, heart disease does not run in his family.Yes, he is sexually active. Yes, he is using protection.

Meng Yao hadn’t missed the flicker of amusement in Wen Qing’s eye when she’d asked the last two questions, but she’s still playing at being professional, so Meng Yao will play along. “Why does Mrs. Yu ask that we do this?”

“Hypochondria by proxy.” Wen Qing says it with a snort, but then her eyes widen and snap up to Meng Yao’s face, her mouth growing hard for a moment before she sighs and sets the clipboard aside. “Don’t repeat what I said, it’s not even an official diagnosis.” Wen Qing pinches the bridge of her nose between two fingers and when she takes her hand away, the spot between her eyes is pink and irritated. “Yanli’s illness is autoimmune, but that doesn’t stop Mrs. Yu from worrying that we’re all going to bring in something that’s going to kill her. She’s getting better.”

Meng Yao isn’t sure who Wen Qing means. The whole house had been treating Jiang Yanli delicately since her fainting spell, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t feeling better. If Yu Ziyuan were getting better, why would she still mandate his check up? He doesn’t ask, he’d have to wait and see.

They go back to playing professionals after that, with Wen Qing shining a flashlight in his eyes and knocking a plastic hammer against his knee caps. She doesn’t ask him to test his grip strength on her fingers.

“You have a broken wrist and three broken ribs on your file, following a fall down a flight of stairs, could I see the flexibility in that wrist? I’ll want to take a look at your ribs, too.” His wrist only ached when it was cold, Meng Yao tells her as he bends it back and forth and rolls it easily. There’s still a clicking sound, but the pain of it has long since faded.

“I’ll be quick about this.” Wen Qing promises as Meng Yao removes his button down and then his undershirt, pressing her cold fingers into his ribs harder than Meng Yao deems necessary. “How did you fall?” The question is neutral, and Wen Qing’s voice is calm, but the voice of the triage nurse had also been calm while she took down his information. He hadn’t been able to write it down himself, he’d driven himself to the emergency room one handed.

“I was at my father’s house, I tripped.” Meng Yao chooses the words carefully, just like he had the night it happened. The doctors and nurses at the hospital had been willing to take his word for it then, but when he glances down at Wen Qing, he sees something hard and cold in her eyes. It doesn’t fade as she sits back into her chair, giving him room to dress again.

“You’ve healed well.” Wen Qing offers it up without roughness or warmth, as if she already knew the truth and she could accept his lie as some sort of gift. It was a gift Meng Yao is willing to take, though, better the gift of acceptance than the charity of pity.

Her examination is complete, but Wen Qing still doesn’t set Meng Yao free, her small, pale hands coming to rest in her own lap as she sets the clipboard aside for good. “You have to understand, Meng Yao, that Yanli has grown very attached to you, very quickly. She’s friendly with everyone, but even with me, she didn’t share everything right away.” Wen Qing does not touch him, but she looks as though she’s thinking about it, her eyes going dark and still, “She considers you a friend, please don’t make her regret that choice.”

There were a dozen things Meng Yao could say to defend himself, but when he opens his mouth and Wen Qing looks up at him again. He realizes then that she’s asking him for a favor, and he nods along with it, swallowing thickly.

“Something else before I let you go, Meng Yao,” Wen Qing nods and looks away from him, pulling herself back together while she wrestles an envelope from the stack of papers on her desk, “my uncle has found out that you’re here, he’s asked me to pass along his letter of recommendation to you, should you ever need it.” For a long moment, the letter hangs between them, and Meng Yao’s mouth hangs open like a fish.

Wen Ruohan and both of his sons were supposed to be in three separate maximum security prisons, Meng Yao had only worked for them for a year when the offices and three of the houses had been raided. Meng Yao had been spared implication by eight months. Misfortune had reached for him and grabbed Wen Ruohan and his sons by the collars instead.

“I thought…”

“He’s still allowed to write to family, Meng Yao, but I wouldn’t doubt they check his letters.”

No matter how badly he wants to, Meng Yao won’t tear the letter open in front of Wen Qing, instead, he nods his head once more and turns to leave, listening to the scratching of Wen Qing’s pen as the door nearly shuts behind him.

“You’ll find a shoe box full of condoms in the third drawer of my filing cabinet, should you need them. Mrs. Yu makes me keep those, too.”

Wen Qing tosses it over her shoulder as if it means nothing, but Meng Yao feels his cheeks color as he hurries away from her office as quickly as he can without running. He’s grateful that she doesn’t like him enough to ask him for details. Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian either didn’t know, or didn’t care, and Jiang Yanli was too kind to ask, she only hinted and grinned when Meng Yao’s cheeks colored, when she wasn’t passing along gifts from Wen Qing’s hands.

Still, part of him wants to tell someone, so it’s more real than the small, cold square of his bedroom or stolen kisses in the woods while Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian ran ahead of them to push each other into the river. Part of him wants to know if Lan Xichen would mind such a thing, or if he intended on keeping what lay between him and Meng Yao more of a secret than it already was.

Bile and worry rise up in his throat, but Meng Yao chokes them down. He wouldn’t go there. Lan Xichen hadn’t given him any kind of indication that he wanted to keep what’s between them the kind of secret one keeps locked in the basement or in a closet with skeletons, he’d only told Meng Yao to be careful of Yu Ziyuan, that she wouldn’t fire either of them, that she would just plant herself between them if she saw them getting too close. Lan Xichen didn’t strike him as cruel, so he couldn’t be. He’d always been kind, even when he stole into Meng Yao’s room, even when he was forced to wrangle Wei Wuxian or Jiang Wanyin.

Lan Xichen is kind. Meng Yao would allow him to be.

The taste of something bitter and cruel is just leaving Meng Yao’s mouth when he sees him, the same boy from the woods, wearing the same clothes and lingering at the edge of the Jiang’s property line, one hand resting on a tree, while the other holds a knife, an amused smile on his face, even as Meng Yao turns and hurries back to the kitchen, uncaring if anyone hears him run now.

Jiang Yanli whirls around with a knife still held in her hands when Meng Yao scrambles into the kitchen, an apron protects the gray-white of her dress from whatever it is she’s cooking. “Do you see him?” Meng Yao asks, turning the lock on the back door and latching it.

For a moment, Jiang Yanli only looks at Meng Yao, before she turns to look out the window, and then she pales further. “Xue Yang.” Her voice doesn’t climb above a whisper as she backs away from the window, the knife still held in one hand while the other grabs onto Meng Yao’s elbow, holding him tight as they both back out into the dining room. “You have to go get A-Xian and A-Cheng.” Jiang Yanli’s voice is tight as she gives her orders, her grip tightening still, “He’s tried to hurt A-Xian before, but A-Cheng’s temper… I don’t want either of them going out there. Where is Wen Qing?” It doesn’t feel as though Jiang Yanli is going to let him go long enough for Meng Yao to collect her brothers, but he still backs her further away, until he’s sure she’s out of sight from any of the kitchen windows.

They both back into the same chair, but Jiang Yanli is the one who threatens it with her knife, her shoulders high and tight.

It takes Meng Yao nearly five minutes to guide Jiang Yanli back to Wen Qing’s office, but the door is locked when they get there. Meng Yao doesn’t stop himself from pounding on it with the flat of his hand. He doesn’t see the boy, Xue Yang when he dares to glance at the window, but that meant nothing at all, not when Wen Qing still hadn’t answered them.

Meng Yao’s hand almost meets her nose when she finally opens the door with a jerk, a question already halfway out of her mouth when she sees the knife in Jiang Yanli’s hand, for the first time, Meng Yao sees that there’s still broccoli stuck to the blade. Wen Qing insists on calling the police after she’s gotten Jiang Yanli to sit down in the same chair that Meng Yao had occupied earlier, but the knife lays on the desk, just within her reach as Meng Yao turns to try and call Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin down, but he gets no response.

Licking his lips, Meng Yao glances back once, his eyes meeting Wen Qing’s while she stays on the line, one of her hands has already found its way onto Jiang Yanli’s cheek, one show of affection already bigger than what Meng Yao had already seen. Without a word, she frowns and nods, wedging the phone between her shoulder and ear to wave him out of the room.

He didn’t have to ask her to lock the door, and she didn’t have to tell him she was going to. Jiang Yanli would be safe with Wen Qing, at least until he could find her younger brothers and herd them into Wen Qing’s office too.

Meng Yao keeps clear of the windows, calling them again, even as he starts down his short flight of stairs. Wei Wuxian’s workshop was mostly soundproofed, they might not have heard him call because they were in there with the door closed, but when Meng Yao opens the door without knocking, everything is still and dark. It makes Meng Yao’s skin prickle, Wei Wuxian’s workshop wasn’t meant to be still, Meng Yao knows that much.

“Jiang Wanyin! Wei Wuxian!” Meng Yao doesn’t shout for them, but he lets his voice become sharp as he climbs the stairs two at a time. He should have grabbed something. There were knives to spare in the kitchen, but Jiang Yanli wouldn’t forgive him if he lost one or damaged it, it was better to leave them where they lay in their drawers. “Your sister and Miss Wen want the both of you downstairs.”

Meng Yao isn’t foolish enough to pretend he has any authority over them, if Lan Xichen had been present, Meng Yao might have invoked his name too, but Lan Xichen would be home with his family by now. What would they do with them when they did get them downstairs and herded into Wen Qing’s office? They couldn’t stay there all day and night, there’d hardly been enough room for Meng Yao, Jiang Yanli, and Wen Qing in the office. Five people would be unforgivably tight and nervous while they were stalked by Xue Yang in the yard.

Meng Yao should have grabbed something, even if it were just the fire poker, like Yu Ziyuan had done. It would have been a constant in his hands. It might have done something.

He opens the doors without care now, stopping for only a handful of seconds to look before he moves on again, anxiety climbing up his throat and bringing that bitter-sick taste back into his mouth.

Calling again, Meng Yao rounds the corner that leads to the west wing of the house without realizing it until the chill surrounds him. He doesn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around himself, he won’t acknowledge that he can see his own breath, not now, not until he finds Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian.

“I won’t ask again, come out and come downstairs with me!” Finally, Meng Yao allows his voice to become stern, though who knows if they’d think anything of it, if they did hear him. He’s just about to turn around and start searching downstairs when the creaking of a door makes Meng Yao walk too quickly towards it, his hand catching the knob and pushing inside before he can think better of it.

“Your sister wants you downstairs, the police are on their way, please come down with me now, before she starts to worry.” Frustration had kept him blind for a moment, but when Meng Yao looks, the room is empty and colder than the hallway had been. His breath is clinging to his lips in steady, white clouds now, and his hand leaves the doorknob.

The door wastes no time in slamming shut the second his back is turned, the knob refusing to turn no matter how many times Meng Yao rattles it or tries with all his strength. “Let me out.” Meng Yao tries to gather what’s left of the sternness before, but his throat is starting to feel thick. “Jiang Wanyin, Wei Wuxian, now isn’t the time for pranks, let me out and I won’t tell Miss Jiang what you’ve done.” He’s not pleading, Meng Yao tells himself, he’s bargaining. If he bargains, they might let him out with the cruel laughter only teenage boys are capable of.

Meng Yao pounds one fist against the door now, the other still rattling the doorknob, as if someone might hear him and let him out from the outside, shivering all the while. He doesn’t dare glance behind himself, even as he hears another door in the room swing open. He tries to tell himself that he’s imagining the fingers curling around his neck, his voice raising as he finally lets himself plead to be let out, but no answer ever comes. No cruel laughter ever echoes through the halls and no footfalls of Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian ever sound as Meng Yao squeezes his eyes shut.

A voice Meng Yao has never heard before calls out to him, and air, still colder than before, nags at his ear and at his upper arms while the voice pleads for him to turn around, to turn around and look. He won’t pretend he can’t hear the grin in that voice, it makes him too sick to ignore. Laughter rings out around him, changing the voice from high pitched and grating to something lower and closer, but madder all the same, the hands at his throat squeezing tight once more before they’re gone and the door swings open, dropping him onto the hallway floor while Meng Yao coughs and sputters.

His vision is still blurry when two shapes come running to him, both of them dropping down to their knees and calling out to a third, smaller shape behind them. He has to blink and cough a while longer before his eyes focus on the faces of Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian, even as Jiang Yanli comes to kneel between the two of them, her face wild and afraid.

“Where were they?” Meng Yao asks Jiang Yanli instead of either of her brothers, his throat still feeling rough, but he doesn’t dare reach for it, Jiang Yanli’s hands are already on his shoulders, stopping Meng Yao from trying to stand up on his own.

“A-Xian and A-Cheng were in the downstairs west wing,” Jiang Yanli says calmly, trying hard to control her face, even as both of her brothers sit back and look away, or at each other, “they said they heard a door slam and someone start screaming right above their heads.” Meng Yao wouldn’t call what he’d done screaming, but he still swallows and nods, though his throat aches. “What happened?”

Jiang Yanli’s voice isn’t accusatory, but she does look over Meng Yao’s head and into the room, a frown on her face and her hands holding Meng Yao tighter. “The door was open, I thought your brothers might be in there, but when I went in to look, the door slammed shut and wouldn’t open again.” Meng Yao doesn’t tell her about the hands, or the laughter, not yet, not in front of the other two.

“It gets drafty up here.” Jiang Wanyin supplies weakly, and Jiang Yanli shakes her head.

“You know that’s not what it was, A-Cheng.” One hand leaves Meng Yao’s shoulder and presses against Jiang Wanyin’s cheek, tilting his head up from where he’d lowered it. Jiang Yanli does not smile, but she nods her head and strokes her thumb underneath her brother’s eye. “A-Yao, the police are searching the woods right now, and Wen Qing is waiting on the porch for them, I’d like to get you downstairs where we can look at your neck.”

Meng Yao knows the tone that Jiang Yanli is using now, he’d heard her use it dozens of times with both of her brothers, and even more rarely, with her mother or Wen Qing. She’s plying him with a sweet tone of voice, and Meng Yao lets her, though he insists on getting up on his own.

All three Jiang Siblings clump around him on the stairs, keeping him safe in the middle, with Jiang Yanli leading and Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian bringing up the rear.

Meng Yao lets it be.

For now.

#the untamed #mdzs #mdzs fic #xiyao #untamed fic #jin guangyao #wen qing #jiang yanli #jgy #jyl #wq #this chapter is dedicated to my cats who waited until i was working on the spooky parts to start knocking stuff over in the next room

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fanfalc-616 · 3 years

Text

Okay I have a new AU!! It’s called...

The Rights Of A Nindroid

This is chapter one!

Thanks to @occasionalincorrectquotes ,@321bluegalaxy , @ablackswansweet , and @akwardalienbean for giving me ideas (:<

When Zane wakes up that morning, the Bounty is quiet- likely because he gets up about an hour before the others usually do.

After checking the refrigerator, he decides to pick up some groceries for the team, despite it being Cole’s turn- the black ninja typically comes back with a surplus of junk food and relatively little amounts of healthy ingredients, no matter what Zane puts on the actual shopping list.

Messaging the others in order to inform them that he’ll be back shortly after their normal breakfast time, he heads out to the store, enjoying the quietness of the early morning.

He only makes it a few blocks away before a cop car pulls up beside him. Frowning, he pauses. Is there some kind of criminal roaming around here? Perhaps he could help apprehend them.

Two cops get out of the car, and Zane decides to voice the idea. “Is there a problem, officers?” He prompts. “Do you need assistance with it?”

The first cop- a brunet only just shorter than Zane- starts to speak. “I’m sorry about this, but we’re going to need-“

The second cop- a short blond- glares at the first as he interupts. “Actually, yeah, we could use your help. You’re the white ninja, right? Zane? It would be great if we could have your help with a government… “ He pauses a moment. “...project.”

The pause is somewhat concerning, but likely not a real issue. “I would be happy to assist.” He smiles. “If you tell we the location, I could have my teammates join us and also-“

“It would be better if it was just you.” The brunet interrupts.

The other cop nods. “It’s a low profile thing.” He agrees. “And no offense to your teammates, but they usually grab a lot of attention.”

With a small chuckle, Zane nods. “That they do. If it is low profile, would it be better for me to ride with you? Or should I get a vehicle of my own?”

The brunet starts heading back to the car. “It would be better if you rode with us.” He decides.

So Zane gets in the back of the car, letting the two cops take charge of directions. Unsure of what level of volume would be appropriate, he elects to remain silent to avoid a possibly uncomfortable situation.

Soon enough, they reach an odd-looking facility that appears to belong to the government- and strangely enough, a quick GPS check shows that the site is non-existent, implying that it is a top-secret base of some sort.

Getting out of the car, Zane lets himself be led into the facility, warily eyeing the large number of security guards swarming the area.

“May I have more information on what this ‘project’ is?” He prompts, hand coming down to brush against one of his shurikens.

“We can talk more inside.” The taller cop tells him as they go up the doors. In order to get inside, he uses three complex key patterns, a vocal recognition pattern sensor, and a form of facial recognition scanner.

“That is quite elaborate.” Zane notes. “I take it this project is important.”

But he doesn’t say anything more on the matter when he’s taken back, nor when they insist on confiscating his weapons. The shurikens don’t matter all that much anyway, he is well versed in multiple martial arts.

As he’s led through the halls, he could almost swear that he can hear distant muffled screaming. But no one else seems to be affected, so he brushes it off as some distorted echo. After all, this is a government facility. It would be highly unlikely for something illegal enough to cause that much pain to be happening in a place like this.

Once taken into a medium-sized room- a room that has a mirror that is likely actually of one way glass- he is instructed to sit at a table, directly across from a government official.

“Hello, Zane.” The woman smiles. “I’m going to ask you a few questions. It’s going to be important for you to answer truthfully.”

Zane nods his confirmation, accompanying it with a verbal one. “I will answer them to the best of my ability.” After a moment of thought, he decides that it would be best to wait on asking his own queries until after they have asked theirs.

“Thank you. What was your creator’s full name?”

“Doctor Julien.” Zane answers the question without pause.

The woman shakes her head. “His full, legal name.” She corrects, glancing over at the mirror. The minor action confirms that it is, in fact, one way glass.

With a blink of surprise, Zane answers the question. He’s asked several more, all about his father and any possible relatives he may have. The second piece is negatory; his father was an only child and far too old for any immediate family members to be alive.

After six minutes and nine seconds, the woman smiles again. “Thank you, Zane. Someone will be back with you shortly.”

With that, she gets up and heads out, leaving Zane behind.

Puzzled by the questions and events, Zane attempts to send a message to his boyfriends in order to inform them that he will be later than he had expected- but strangely enough, it doesn’t go through. Frowning, he tries a second time, but he once again fails.

That’s mildly concerning, but likely has a logical explanation. Perhaps no one here can send messages as a way to increase the difficulty of hacking. Given the secrecy he has already seen, that would be reasonable.

So he waits patiently at the table, occasionally sneaking stealthy glances at the one way glass. Something about this situation seems suspicious, but there’s likely no real cause to it. Perhaps he has adopted part of Jay’s paranoid nature.

A smile finds him at the humorous thought, but before he has the chance to think on it further, the door to the room opens, and a new official walks in.

“Zane, it’s… nice to meet you. I’m going to need you to fill out some papers.” The man tells him in a rather rude tone.

Zane chooses not to comment on his unpleasant mannerisms. “I would be happy to.” He gives a friendly smile, hoping that staying composed and being affable may help with what is bothering the official.

He begins to fill out the papers he was given, but as he goes on, the questions seem to grow more and more invasive, until he finds himself pausing.

Zane looks up from the paper, setting his pencil down. “My apologies, but I am not comfortable answering these questions. The way my systems work is rather a personal matter.”

“Yes, well, I need you to answer them anyway.” The man’s smile is tight and forced, not expressing happiness in the slightest.

“I’m not comfortable with that.” Zane repeats, a note of annoyance creeping into his voice. He stares the official down, making sure he knows that he will not be backing down on this matter.

“I didn’t ask if you were comfortable.” The man’s eyes express sharp malice as his false smile drops. “I told you to fill out the papers.”

“And I told you no.” Zane stands up abruptly, still holding cold eye contact. “I’ll be leaving now.”

A spark of anger lights in the man’s eyes. “No, you won’t.” He stands up as well, annoyance and hatred on his face. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I don’t believe that’s your call to make.” Zane doesn’t blink and doesn’t back down- but he does refrain from allowing the temperature to drop from his powers.

“It is, actually.” The official insists. Does he genuinely believe that?

This is not a debate that he’s willing to be having, so it is time to end the discussion. “Is that so?”

“Sit down, nindroid.” He says the final word as though it’s an insult rather than a descriptor. “This isn’t up to your programming.”

“My progr- just what, exactly, are you trying to imply?” Zane knows he should simply walk out the door, but at the moment, he is completely floored by the implications of his words.

Is he truly under the impression that-

His attention is grabbed by the door being opened, and his eyes widen in surprise when he sees a large group of security guards entering, all wielding laser guns not unlike the ones Cyrus Borg had designed.

Zane quick backs away, narrowing his eyes. So they plan to hold him hostage? “I must warn you that even unarmed, I am still a trained ninja. I recommend that you stand down.”

The guns are aimed at him, all centered on non-vital parts of his body- though any shots that hit would likely give them enough time to restrain him.

Then he must not get hit. And for that, he should make the first move.

Zane takes a step forward, attempting to blast a shield of ice to block off any possible shots. But much to his dismay, he discovers that his elemental powers are not working, and a quick scan confirms that the entire building is lined with vengestone in the walls.

This is… quite the situation.

A few shots are fired at him, and he quickly ducks, flipping backwards to avoid getting injured. Unfortunately, he discovers only a moment too late that they were expecting that, and a shot was fired to where he had dodged, leading to a laser blast grazing his right calf, making him stumble.

They must have analyzed his fighting style before he arrived in order to predict his movements!

This brief lapse in balance is all it takes for them to completely surround him. With narrowed eyes, he begins to start making the moves of spinjitzu, but his damaged leg causes him to fall. His failure to combat them with the tactic gives them the opportunity to handcuff him, as well as manhandle him onto his knees.

Zane glares up at the official. “I do not know what you have planned, but I must warn you that such an illegal action will have consequences, even for an official such as yourself. I-“

The man shakes his head. “Take it away.” He orders.

Zane finds himself being dragged along, unable to effectively resist the guards. Eventually, he’s taken to a new room with a set of rectangular locker-like cubbies.

With wide eyes, a sudden realization strikes him as he looks at the lockers, and he resumes his struggling.

These lockers are just large enough to fit a person inside. Or more accurately for this circumstance, a nindroid.

“I want my phone call.” He demands as he’s forcibly dragged closer.

One of the guards scoffs. “You don’t get one.” He sounds almost insulted by the idea.

Zane manages to resist some, buying himself some time to continue speaking. “Legally you are required to-“

A different guard incredulously asks, “Do you- do you actually think you have the rights of a human?”

Zane pauses a few moments, confused by the words. “Yes? I thought that-“

He’s unable to continue due to the way he’s roughly manhandled into the cubby, and as he's about to argue, the door is slammed in his face.

Despite the way he struggles against it, the exit is firmly blocked off, leaving him quite effectively contained.

After a few minutes of struggling, he concludes that he will have to wait until they reopen it to make his escape.

With a sigh, he leans back against the wall, shifting uncomfortably in the small space. There is less than an inch of space surrounding him on all sides, leading to a rather cramped arrangement.

“What just happened?” He murmurs softly to himself, listening as the booted footsteps of the guards fade away. These events had occurred so suddenly that his processor is stuck playing catch up.

Closing his eyes, he decides to go into sleep-mode for a while, though he keeps his senses dialed high enough that any nearby noise will wake him.

He can make his escape when they return.

#zane julien #ninjago zangst #zangst #ninjago fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #the rights of a nindroid #psychological torture #torture #trauma

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thanksjro · 3 years

Text

More Than Meets the Eye #28- I Sure Hope Y’all Like Megatron

“Dark Cybertron” is finally over! Woohoo!

Who’s ready for a return to hijinks and mild peril?

I know this guy is!

Hold on a second-

We start our foray into Season 2 of MTMTE with a little meta-humor-

-and then it’s right into the swing of things, as Brainstorm uses the thin, fragile wine glass of faction-based morality to hold his personal need to make instruments of violence. Nautica disapproves, but then why wouldn’t she? She’s not been steeped in the militant ideologies of the Autobots for millions of years.

It’s six months after the convoluted events of “Dark Cybertron”, and our beloved ship, the Lost Light, is back on track for the Knight Quest. Nautica’s joined the crew, which is neat, but there are far more interesting things going on.

Like Rung actually doing his fucking job for once.

Wow, look at that little creamsicle man go.

It would seem that in the last half-year (by Earth standards) Megatron’s somehow gotten himself into the esteemed position of Captain of the Lost Light. This likely means that Rodimus has been defeated in battle, or perhaps fucked off on yet another space yacht to run away from his responsibilities. I suppose the narrative will have to fill us in on just what exactly happened.

Or, at least, I hope it does. Wouldn’t be a terribly good story if I had to guess on how exactly this dude’s in charge of a whole-ass Autobot crew.

Yes, yes, I know he switched sides, but goddammit, it takes a little more than saying sorry and changing your wardrobe to excuse the murder of half of NYC.

I mean, we can do both. Both is an option. I’ll break out The Communist Manifesto right now, let’s fuckin’ gooooooooo-

Six months prior to Megatron’s therapy appointment, Rodimus is ready to high-tail it off of Cybertron yet again. This is because, as established in previous posts, Cybertron kinda sucks butt. He bursts into the meeting Optimus Prime called- even though he’s really not leader of anything anymore, Starscream is- bids everyone farewell, and is about to run back out of the room when he’s stopped.

Turns out that the populace of Cybertron want Megatron to stand trial. That makes sense, given what all he’s done. Of course, the Autobot pals we’ve got in the room want to skip due process and go straight to the part where Megatron pays through the nose for the last four million years.

Which doesn’t feel terribly heroic or good guy-ish, but I think by this point you’ve probably caught on to the fact that everyone in IDW Transformers is morally gray at BEST.

Because Megatron’s had a rough time the last few years, in relation to his bodily integrity, spark extraction- that thing that High Command lied about in relation to Overlord- isn’t an option. It would just kill him dead.

Uh, excuse me? Optimus Prime, sir? Monsieur Premier?

Guess Optimus hasn’t been keeping up with exRiD.

Anyway, yeah, since Tyrest fucked off in “The Sound of Breaking Glass” and also tried to commit a genocide, we’re gonna need someone to cast judgement.

Course, a military trial isn’t exactly ideal, but as long as it’s open to the public, it should be fine.

Probably.

Anyway, Prowl’s also going to help. Ultra Magnus has been assigned the task of representing Megatron in court, a job which he’s positively delighted to have, if his face is any indication.

The gang breaks for lunch, and Rodimus and Optimus touch base on how the Knight Quest is going.

Because Rodimus’ half of the Matrix had the map for finding the Knights of Cybertron in it, they’re gonna have to go with Plan B.

Oh fuck yes, I love Plan B!

Unfortunately, finding the ideal romantic partner for all Cybertronians is going to have to wait until after the trial, because Optimus really wants Rodimus here for this. Though perhaps there’s a way to make things move a little faster…

Back in the present, Megatron’s had just about enough of Rung being a psychiatry joke, and is about to walk out of his appointment. Ravage is here, which is neat. Rung asks Megatron about the three most important people in his life, and how he met them. One of these people is, funnily enough, Rung.

Rung, if you’ll recall, was thrown into Megatron and Impactor’s table at Maccadams waaaaaay back in The Transformers #22, the first issue of the IDW run that Roberts wrote solo. It would seem that getting arrested and subjected to police brutality ruined his once-idealistic worldview. This is just a lightning-round recap of the events of the “Chaos Theory” storyline.

Being reminded of how hard he got dunked on makes Rung break out his copy of Megatron’s autobiography, Towards Peace. Of course, Megatron has to be “that guy”, and makes it out to be far more than it actually is. My dude, you used your writing to tell all your proto-Decepticon buddies to go beat up Whirl in prison. Let’s not make things sound more grandiose than they are.

Anyway, it turns out that Rung is actually just as much a nerd as he looks, as he reveals that he’s in possession of one of the only few copies of the original version of Towards Peace. And then he takes off his glasses and the fans go bonkers, even though he’s just got that Milne Same-Face going on, just like everyone else.

There you are, you animals.

Rung discusses Revisionism, I’m reminded that the first publication of Eugenesis had a dedication to Roberts’ son of all people, and we get the question of who Terminus is to Megatron.

But alas! The X-ray vision’s been turned on, and it’s time to see… nude robots? An in-depth anatomy lesson?

Robots are confusing sometimes. Anyways, major props to Milne for drawing all that detail. Dude does the technical stuff with a ferocity that must be awe-inspiring to behold.

Megatron’s decided that it’s time for lunch, and then he’s going to do captain stuff.

Because he’s captain of the Lost Light.

I’m convinced Rodimus is dead. That’s the only way this is happening.

Six months ago, Swerve was being awful Swerve-like, with his new buddy Crosscut- guess he finally learned the guy’s name- and Riptide, who we’ll get to a little later on. These three wonderful lads are holding a sort of “crew try-outs”, and it looks like the requirements needed for entry on Megatron’s Lost Light are stiff.

Still, maybe our new friend Nautica will make the cut.

Oh, you are simply delightful!

Despite Nautica having interest in nearly every topic in the universe, on top of having impeccable taste in booze, she just misses the cut. It’s at this point that Nightbeat bursts into the room to stop this farce from going any further. The fact that nobody mentioned anything prior to this is surprising, given that portmanteaus don’t really seem the type of thing Ultra Magnus would approve of.

Back six months ago, we see what Optimus Prime’s super great idea was to expedite the judicial process- Chromedome. It’s always Chromedome. He’s gonna do that thing he promised his late husband he’d stop doing. I suppose it’s a good thing- for Rewind, anyway- that Megatron is wholly against the idea of having his memories torn out of his head. Guess we’re gonna have to do the trial the normal, non brain-pokey way.

Optimus leaves the cell, because I suppose he’s remembered that there’s a conflict of interests here, but Rodimus stays behind to let Megatron know he deserves everything that’s coming his way.

Then Megatron breaks out the puzzle-box from Hellraiser.

In the present, Chromedome isn’t so much spiraling in his depression as he is circling the drain. Nightbeat doesn’t give a shit about that though- he’s more concerned with the fact that one of the numbers on the door to Chromedome’s room is missing. But I’m sure it’s fine.

It’s fiiiiiiiiiiine.

While Nightbeat’s busy being insensitive to his fellow man’s distress, Megatron’s arrived to his room to find his door’s been vandalized by a bunch of idiots who must have just discovered what a thesaurus is. Then he gets shot in the fucking hand with an arrow.

As you do.

Whirl’s gotten ahold of a bow, and he fully intends to use it for Megatron-directed violence. And also his fists. His very pointy fists. He punches Megatron through the fucking floor into the fuel furnace, and they fall what’s probably a good 200 feet to the ground below. Whirl yells about evening the score between the two of them, and then knees Megatron in the dick.

Turns out, Megatron remembers Whirl even better than originally thought, having gone so far as to order his forces to not kill Whirl, because, in a way, he was grateful for the lesson he learned back before the war in Rodion.

Oh man, I hope Rung’s somehow listening in on this. Like, eavesdropping is obviously bad medicine, but we’ve already established that he sucks as a professional, and he needs what few advantages he can get.

Whirl, enraged by the implication that he’s been fighting fixed battles for the last four million years, punches Megatron in the gut… and his arm gets swallowed up by an errant portal leftover from all of Shockwave’s tampering. Since you can’t really fight with only one arm, Megatron wanders off to do captainy things.

Walking back the timeline slightly, we revisit Megatron leaving Rung’s office, and the idea of personal revisionism, the conversation becoming parallel with the strange happenings going on within the ship, as Rewind’s final message is altered so as not to end with “I love you” but instead a blood-curdling scream. Chromedome is, understandably, upset by this turn of events.

Over with Whirl, it’s revealed that the little fight we saw was intentionally set up. For what purpose, or by whom, is left a mystery.

Please see a doctor.

One last flashback to the trial, as Prowl lists off everything that’s standing in the way of our Sympathetic Megatron Redemption Arc.

Good fuckin’ luck, James.

Back in the present, Megatron’s slapped a bandaid on the hole in his torso, as he checks to see what’s happening on the bridge. It would appear there’s a coffin floating around in space.

Pretty fucked up.

#transformers #jro #MTMTE #world shut your mouth #issue 28 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #overthinking about robots #comic script writing

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sithsecrets · 4 years

Text

The Littlest Princess

A chronicle of sorts, centered around the pregnancy of Kylo Ren’s lover (and the birth of the galaxy’s littlest princess).

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3.1k words

Mentions: sex (not explicitly), pregnancy, childbirth

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When the nurse tells you that you’re pregnant, you make her say so twice, just to be sure.

“You’re pregnant, miss,” she repeats, rubbing your arm in a comforting manner. The nurse must be able to sense the panic spiking in you, because she reaches out to hold your hand as well.

She knows who you are, obviously, you can tell by the look on her face. Anyone who doesn’t live under a rock knows that you’re the Supreme Leaders beloved, and this nurse must know the implications of the news she’s just given you.

“You can’t tell anyone,” you say to her, and you pray that she understands why.

“Of course,” the nurse affirms, nodding and rubbing your arm again. “I would be fired from my job immediately if I revealed anyone of my patients’ medical histories to another person.”

You nod at that, still rather shocked by the notion that you’re carrying Kylo Ren’s child at this very moment. Gripping the edges of the examination table, you try to steady yourself, knowing that you need to go to your quarters and gather your thoughts as all of this washes over you.

“Would you like to make another appointment?” the nurse asks you, helping you down off the table as you begin rushing to leave. The meaning of her question isn’t clear, and you’re sure that’s not by accident. You appreciate that, though, the choice that she’s giving you.

“Not right now,” you say, doing up the last few buttons on your dress.

As you go to leave, the nurse calls out to you. “If you ever need guidance, or help, or if you decide to start prenatal care, please don’t hesitate to call.”

You nod quickly and smile politely, wanting nothing more than to just leave and think about all of this. Before the woman can speak again, you duck out into the corridor, walking as quickly as you can without breaking into a run as you leave the medbay.

The whole walk back to your rooms, your head swims with a million thoughts. You feel drunk, almost, dazed by the revelation that you’re pregnant. This was far from planned, but you can pinpoint a time a few weeks ago where you forgot to take a couple of your contraceptive pills. That must have been the time you conceived, it had to have been, because you and Kylo have been careful every other time you’ve been intimate together.

Stars, Kylo. As you burst into your quarters, panic burns in your chest at the notion of telling your lover that you’re carrying his baby. You and Kylo are fully committed to one another and very open about your relationship, but still— the two of you haven’t been together all that long, and neither one of you has ever started a dialogue about children. You know that Kylo loves you, he tells you all the time, but will he love you like this?

You sit on the bed you share with Kylo, forcing yourself to breathe and think rationally. Quickly, you dispel ideas of terminating the pregnancy as they come to you. You have no problem with women taking control of their own bodies in such a fashion, but it takes you only a moment to recognize that this baby is something you want, no matter how Kylo feels about it. All your life, you’ve thought about being a mother, and now your opportunity is here.

After about ten minutes of breathing deeply and thinking clearly, the panic you felt mellows out into a steady thrum of curiosity and excitement. You’re still nervous about telling Kylo, of course, but the feeling is glossed over by a deep desire to know everything you can. You begin to wonder about so many aspects of gestation, musing on what your baby might look like inside you right now, in this moment. It must be small, smaller than the eye can see, but you wonder nonetheless if it has a heartbeat. Is it a boy? A girl? You have so many questions, and the prospect of even one of them being answered in the near future makes you want to weep with joy.

You come to stand in front of the large, floor-length mirror propped against one wall of the ‘fresher, the marble floor cold on your bare feet as you strip off every last bit of your clothing. Studying your body in the mirror, you turn this way and that, trying to imagine yourself swollen and heavy with child. Your stomach will grow, obviously, but what will your breasts look like as they become ready to nurse? Which parts of you will become softer, plumper, as the baby grows and develops within you? Suddenly, you find yourself mesmerized by thoughts of your pregnancy. It’s not vanity that has you fixating on your body, though, not at all. You and the baby will change and grow together, it seems, and the thought of that has you grinning and crying at the same time.

---

Kylo comes bursting into your shared quarters that evening in a swirl of dark cloak, mask tucked under his arm. You’ve been waiting for him, perched in a chair in the living room, and a whole new wave of nervousness washes over you at the sight of your lover’s face.

Kylo’s smiling tiredly as he comes to you, leaning down for a long kiss.

“How was your meeting with the Knights?” you ask, laughing lightly as Kylo gives you a deadpan look to indicate his feelings on the briefing he just came from.

As you listen to Kylo change in the other room, every fiber of your being wants to scream out to him, I’m pregnant, I’m pregnant, I’m pregnant! But that’s no way to tell Kylo that you’re carrying his child, so you make yourself focus on guarding your mind.

“I’m starving,” Kylo announces as he putters about, putting his things away neatly. “Have you ordered dinner?”

You stand, meeting him halfway as he walks back into the living room to be with you. “Darling,” you say softly, tentatively.

“Yes, my love?” Kylo asks easily, going in for another kiss. You push him off gently though, taking a step back. You’re trying to work up the courage to just say it.

“Kylo.”

“Are you alright?” Kylo’s regarding you with a questioning gaze now, obviously confused by your behavior.

You draw in a deep breath, steadying yourself. Still, the words stick in your throat as you finally say, “I… I’m pregnant, Kylo.”

Kylo’s whole expressions shifts to one of utter and complete shock. He says nothing in response, just stares straight at you as if he cannot fathom the idea of what you’ve just told him.

Panic spiking, you fight back tears as one of your hands clutches weakly at your stomach. No, at your womb—

“Kylo,” you say softly, voice breaking. He just keeps staring and staring at you, and your anxiety snowballs. “Kylo, are you upset?”

Suddenly, Kylo is on his knees, falling to the floor with a dull thud. He reaches for you, eyes still fixed on your face in shock. “Come here,” your lover commands, arms outstretched, reaching for you almost like he needs you.

“I know we didn’t plan this, but you don’t—”

“Baby, please come here,” Kylo begs, and you finally walk into his waiting arms, jarred by how Kylo grips your middle and clings to you as if you’re something sacred.

“Do you mean it?’ Kylo asks you. “Are you really pregnant? With my child?”

You stare down at Kylo, bewildered by his behavior but overjoyed nonetheless because, yes, yes you are.

“Yes, darling,” you tell him. “I found out today.”

“Oh,” Kylo breathes, awed, nuzzling his face against your abdomen gently. “Oh, stars.”

For the first time, you allow yourself to relax, to enjoy this joyous news. You drape your arms across Kylo’s shoulders, rubbing his back gently.

“I know,” you laugh, crying openly now, “that’s how I felt when I found out, too.”

Kylo gazes up at you again, tears sliding down his cheeks as he grins. “You’re going to be the most beautiful mother,” your lover tells you, reverent and seemingly consumed by adoration for you.

All you can do is laugh and look down at the father of your child, excited and afraid all at the same time.

---

“What do you think the baby will look like?” Kylo asks you that night, whispering in the darkness of your bedroom. Like you, he has a million questions, and the two of you have been up all night talking.

“If we’re lucky, they’ll look like their daddy,” you say sweetly, reaching out to cup Kylo’s cheek. He snuggles against your hand, obviously flattered.

Kylo pulls you towards him, rolling you gently so that your back presses against his chest. One strong arm circles your middle, and his hand comes to rest on your stomach, right where the baby is supposed to be.

“Marry me,” Kylo murmurs, talking right in your ear, and all you can think to do is close your hand over his.

---

Peering attentively at the screen before her, a doctor scans the image of you and Kylo’s baby, looking for imperfections and signs of healthy development. Yourself and Kylo watch her carefully, trying to make sense of the image as well. The baby sits suspended in amniotic fluid, and you can make out the outline of the child’s body. It all looks good to you, but then again, you’re not a doctor.

“Well,” the doctor finally proclaims, turning away from the machine she had been fiddling with, “would you like to know the sex?”

You nod quickly, grinning at Kylo. He’s trying to play it cool, being the Supreme Leader and all, but you can see the excitement shining in his eyes.

“It’s a girl,” the doctor says after a moment, and you grab for Kylo’s arm, ecstatic.

“A girl!” you exclaim, giggling as tears well up in your eyes. Kylo kisses your forehead, cracking a smile now, and the doctor looks on at the two of you with a content expression.

She leaves you alone briefly so that you may redress and have a moment with your boyfriend, and Kylo cannot stop chattering as he helps you back into your clothes.

---

Having always been partial to relaxing in the tub, you find yourself in the bath more and more often as your pregnancy progresses. There is the smallest, sweetest little swell in your stomach now, and every appointment and imaging session affirms that your baby girl is developing just as she should be. Soaking in warm water calms you these days, soothing any aches or pains that you may be feeling. None of them are too bad yet, but you’ve definitely felt a change in your body as you approach the halfway point of your second trimester.

Your eyes slip close as you sink down further into the water, steam wafting around you. But just as quickly as you relax, a slightly, fluttery sort of sensation in your stomach has you sitting right back up again. Breathless, you pause, waiting for confirmation that what you’ve just felt is what you think that it is. And then it’s there again, the fluttering low in your abdomen, and you feel as though you could cry.

“Kylo!” you shout, excitement thrumming through you as you feel another little movement in your womb.

Kylo is barging into the ‘fresher in an instant, seemingly panicked. He falls to his knees beside the bathtub, already looking you over.

“What happened?” he asks quickly, stricken by the notion of you being harmed. He’s been like this since you found out about the baby, so protective, always fussing over you. But you’re too distracted to calm him down, too excited, so you just grab one of his hands and press it against the swell of your belly.

“Feel,” you breathe, smiling big enough to make your cheeks ache.

Everything is so still and quiet, and then the baby kicks again.

“Whoa,” Kylo says softly, and it’s like he’s not even aware of the fact that his sleeve is soaking wet.

---

As it turns out, Kylo was serious when he asked you to marry him all those weeks ago. Tomorrow, just before sunset, the two of you are to be married in front of nearly every important person in the galaxy. You lost count after the guestlist tallied north of three hundred, and the number of gifts yourself and Kylo have already received is almost unfathomable. Tomorrow, you will be swathed in the finest fabrics and surrounded by luxury unlike anyone has ever known. You will receive guests, and dance, and be made over by everyone in your presence.

But tonight? Tonight is just for you and the love of your life.

Kylo was the one who insisted that the two of you actually be married the night before your decadent, opulent wedding. “I want to enjoy you,” he had told you.“The wedding is for everyone else, really. I want something that’s just for you and I.”

(And really, you should have expected it— Kylo’s always hated parties.)

So that’s why now, under the cover of darkness, you and Kylo stand with your hands clasped, reciting your vows to one another in front of an officiant. Your first kiss as husband and wife is lit by nothing more than moonlight, but it is the sweetest one you’ve ever shared.

The officiant walks down the beach after all is said and done, leaving you and Kylo to enjoy your first moment together as newlyweds. You take Kylo’s arm as the two of you begin making your way back to your accommodations, not at all in a hurry to be back inside. The resort chosen for your wedding is settled on the most beautiful tropical planet, and the warm breeze feels heavenly on your skin.

It’s late when you get back to your rooms, but you let Kylo undress you anyway. He’s so gentle as he lays you down and parts your legs, murmuring sweet little things about how beautiful his wife looks laid out underneath him. Kylo’s always so soft and tender with you these days, always so concerned about harming you when the two of you make love now. You miss the rougher stuff sometimes, if you’re being honest, but being handled like something sacred is an excellent consolation prize.

Later, when the two of you are finished, the crash of the waves outside lulls you to sleep as Kylo drifts off in your arms.

---

Your labor is long, and the baby does not come easily. Kylo is by your side for all of it, the pushing and the cussing and the panting. But finally, after many hours of trying, you deliver your baby girl. And stars, is she beautiful, an absolute vision with wisps of dark hair and light eyes that you’re sure will darken with time.

After you and the baby are bathed, cleared to leave the medbay, and dressed in fresh clothes, your new little family migrates to your normal quarters. Kylo tells you to rest once he has you settled in bed, and you’re more than happy to close your eyes for a few minutes. There will be plenty of time for you to fuss over your perfect little daughter when you’ve recovered a bit, and besides— it looks like Kylo’s got it for now.

It’s such a dream to watch your husband hold your new baby in his arms. He’s so gentle with her, so sweet, shushing the little bundle of blankets softly when she makes a discontent noise. You drift in and out as you watch Kylo walk about the room, showing your sweet little baby things you know she can’t see, like her bassinet and the couch in the living room. Still, Kylo gives her a complete tour of your quarters, and you supposed it would be comical to watch your rather large husband cradle your little girl in his arms if it didn’t make your heart swell so much. You had no idea that Kylo could speak so softly, that he could handle another person with so much care. He’s come close to it with you, of course, always so loving from the very beginning, but this is a different level of tenderness.

Later, when you’re feeling a bit better, a few visitors come by to see the galaxy’s littlest princess. It’s only a handful of people, really, and you’re only a bit surprised to see Chancellor Hux amongst them. You know good and well that he and Kylo have a history that’s punctuated with animosity, but you’ve always suspected that they liked one another a bit more than either of them was willing to let on. They respect each other, Kylo and Hux, and they’re secretly friends in their own strange sort of way.

Hux greets your graciously, bowing deeply and smiling as he looks down at you and your child. “Empress,” he says, tone shifting as he addresses your little girl. “And Princess!” Hux exclaims, still speaking rather softly. He fusses over the baby for a few seconds, more than happy to accept your invitation to hold the squirming bundle of blankets in his arms.

Yourself and Kylo share a pleasantly yet rather bewildered look behind Hux’s back as he makes over your little girl, surprisingly skilled and warmer than you’ve ever seen him to be towards well, anybody. As Hux walks the length of the bedroom, bouncing your baby girl gently as he goes, Kylo comes and sits beside you on the edge of the bed.

The two of your share a gentle, private smile, and though you’re tired, though your head is spinning with a million thoughts and worries about the baby, and nursing, and being a good parent, you cannot help but feel completely content in this moment. You have everything you want— a loving husband, a healthy child, and even friends that are willing to love your little girl like their own— and you cannot fathom what would make you even happier.

“Again?” Kylo asks, cutting his eyes towards the bundle of blankets in the Chancellor’s arms. He’s mostly joking, you can tell, but there’s also something serious in his tone.

You huff, exasperated. “At least give me some time to forget how long my labor with this one was, darling,” you plead. You’re sort of joking, too, but only sort of.

Kylo and Hux both laugh at that, and you can’t help but crack a wry smile.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #star wars #star wars imagine #my writing #tw: pregnancy #tw: childbirth #pregnancy #childbirth

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regenderate-fic · 2 years

Text

Runaway

Fandom: Doctor Who Characters: Yasmin Khan, Angstrom, Thirteenth Doctor, Ryan Sinclair, Graham O'Brien, Epzo Rating: Teen Warnings: Mentioned/implied suicide. Nothing graphic or explicit. Word Count: 1,485 Crossposted from AO3. Originally posted on 13 February 2020. Link to original.

Summary: Stuck on a deadly planet with no way out, Yaz is trying to handle the consequences. (Slight redo of the Ghost Monument with the events of Can You Hear Me in mind. CW for mentions/implications of suicide.)

NOTES: wrote this right after can you hear me came out. i think yaz's storyline in that episode would've felt more realistic if they'd signaled some of her past earlier in the series, and one way to do that would've been to have her get a bit freaked out in ghost monument because she thinks she won't get home and she'll just disappear again.

Yaz is floating in space.

She blinks.

She wakes up in a strange white chamber.

It’s almost a cubicle. Barely big enough for her, certainly not big enough for the massive panic attack she’s about to have if she’s not careful. She kicks a bit, and a panel slides open. She steps out of the chamber and into a dingy metal corridor— it’s jarring after the bright white of the chamber. She hears crashing and shouting to her left, and she’s pretty sure one of the voices belongs to the Doctor, so she takes a deep breath, swallows her panic, and follows the sound.

The Doctor is yelling at a strange man. He looks a little scruffy, not entirely groomed, maybe a little exhausted. Mostly, though, he looks annoyed, which makes some sense given that the Doctor seems to be telling him how to fly his own ship. As Yaz comes in, the Doctor tries to push her back towards the chamber, which apparently is a “medi-pod” (is she sick?), but she refuses, choosing instead to watch the scene unfold.

The Doctor (with help from Yaz and the ship’s original pilot) manages to land the ship, although it almost hits Ryan and Graham and a woman who seems much nicer than the man Yaz and the Doctor got stuck with, if a little hardened. Apparently, there’s some kind of race going on, and Yaz and the others are stuck near the end of it. They’re “bonuses,” maybe, or maybe not, but either way it feels sort of weird, like they don’t really count as people. The hologram guy who’s running the whole operation basically says as much. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, but it really makes Yaz’s skin crawl.

It’s all quite a lot for Yaz, really. This planet is a desert, apparently completely deadly. The suns are too bright, and they walk for a long time, and they’re thousands of light years away from Earth and there’s a really high chance they’re all going to die here. It’s a miracle they didn’t die suspended in space, and every moment they survive is even more of a miracle.

Despite all that, Yaz doesn’t complain. This has to be overwhelming for everyone, after all, and not just her.

It’s just when they’re sitting along the riverbank, waiting for Graham and Ryan and the Doctor to fix the boat, and Yaz starts trying to get to know Angstrom that she really starts to panic. She’s asked Angstrom where she was from, mostly as a distraction for them both, but it’s backfired, because Angstrom talking about her home makes Yaz think about Sheffield, and her family, and what they’ll think if she doesn’t come back.

Fortunately, the boat is fixed just then, which provides a welcome distraction, but still, Yaz’s knee is bouncing with worry all the way until she falls asleep, and when she dozes off, she dreams about Sonya, telling her parents what might have happened. What had happened. What could still happen. In the dreams, Yaz is hovering just above, yelling, “I’m okay! I’m right here!”

Sonya doesn’t look up.

Yaz jolts awake.

By the time they get off the boat and into the mysterious fortress, Yaz is ready to explode. With each step, she takes a deep breath, and she just barely masks her fear. She knows it’s going to come up eventually— she’s just trying to save it for the next time she’s alone. No one else seems nearly as bothered. Ryan is running around trying to shoot robots with their own guns and no training, which checks out with Yaz’s memories from primary school. The Doctor seems concerned but not as much as Yaz thinks she should be, and Graham is just quiet. Yaz wonders whether it’s from worry or grief or something else.

She doesn’t have much time to wonder before everything starts happening at once. Deadly robots. Epzo in danger. Getting the oxygen cut off. In a funny sort of way, all the running around and worrying helps. Yaz is too full of adrenaline from the immediate threat to think about the big-picture “I might never see my family again” threat.

But then the immediate threat is over.

The big-picture one might be near its close, too. That’s not nearly as comforting. Yaz trails behind the group as they walk the final stretch. Every step she takes makes the fear worse until she can barely walk— no one’s noticed, they’re all too far ahead. Or that's what Yaz thinks right up until Angstrom falls behind.

“You all right, there?” She looks concerned. Her face is soft, even. Yaz remembers what she said about having a family. A wife. Is this what she was like with them, before everything went downhill?

“I’m fine,” Yaz says. She's practiced for years throwing her defenses up at a moment's notice. This moment is no exception, her eyes shooting a hard glare Angstrom's way, her voice inflexible.

“Don’t look fine.”

Yaz scoffs. “Aren’t you going to fall behind? You want to win this thing, don’t you?”

“I’m a good sprinter.” Angstrom sighs. “Look, Yaz, you seem nice, and there’s clearly something on your mind. If you want to talk, talk. If you don’t, don’t. But you’re not going to walk alone, all right?”

“Thanks,” Yaz says. She pauses. “How long have you been doing this?”

“This race?” Angstrom asks.

“Running around space like this.”

“My whole life, feels like,” Angstrom says. “My mum taught me how to pilot. It’s part of the industry where I’m from. Comes in handy, doesn’t it?”

“I’ve never done this before,” Yaz says. And then in her mind’s eye she sees an empty stretch of road, a police car in the distance. “I mean, not like this. I didn’t even mean to this time.”

“Oh yeah?”

“And my sister’s going to think—” Yaz can barely get the words out. “She’s going to think I’ve gone and offed myself, or run away or something, just when I’ve finally got my life together.”

“This the same sister who wants your bedroom?”

“She’s annoying, but she cares.” Yaz shrugs. “The Doctor says she has this amazing ship that can get us right back home. But we’re lightyears away. I mean, you haven’t even heard of it.”

“Well, I’ve never been great with geography.”

“You’re a pilot.”

Angstrom laughs. “Yeah, you got me. Lying to make you feel better.”

Yaz almost smiles. “I just can’t believe I did it again,” she says. “Not even on purpose. I mean, sure I’m bored on the force, but I’m not miserable. Not even half what it used to be. And, you know, I have hope for the future and all. I didn’t always even want a future, you know? And now it’s just going to get taken right away from me.”

“Tell you what,” Angstrom says. “I win this race, get teleported out, I’ll come right back here and pick you up.”

“Thanks.” Yaz glances at her. “You better pick up the Doctor and Ryan and Graham too.”

“’Course,” Angstrom says. “Look. The Doctor seems to know what she’s doing. You’re going to see your family again.”

“You don’t know that,” Yaz insists, but she feels a little better. Angstrom’s come this far, after all. If she can do that, surely Yaz can handle this.

The mood lasts until they get to the end of the race and Angstrom and Epzo declare a dual win, leaving Yaz stranded with Ryan, Graham, and the Doctor on a planet literally called Desolation. She doesn’t know what to do, what to say. She can’t fall apart, not with everyone there, not with the Doctor looking so dejected.

Out of nowhere, a strange noise reaches her ears. It’s not like anything Yaz has ever heard. It’s sort of a grinding crossed with a wheeze. She doesn’t understand, but the Doctor’s face looks like she’s just seen some kind of god, so Yaz pays attention, watches the sand dune until a little blue box wavers in her line of sight. The Doctor’s babbling and pointing her sonic, and for the first time, Yaz allows herself to hope.

It almost makes the anxiety worse.

Being so close, and still not making it— that would be the worst fate imaginable. She doesn’t know if she really believes the Doctor can take her home. But she’s seen a lot of impossible things today, and the Doctor’s strange bigger-on-the-inside box is only the next thing on what might turn out to be an endless list. It’s amazing, really, and she allows herself to submit to that awe, the blue-and-golden glow of the walls washing over her.

Maybe it’ll all be okay.

Maybe running away is okay sometimes.

Maybe Sonya won’t have to say anything to her parents.

“You can get us there? Really?” Yaz asks.

The Doctor grins.

“Start believing.”

Yaz breathes a sigh of relief.

#doctor who #fanfiction #yasmin khan #thirteenth doctor #ryan sinclair #graham o'brien #angstrom #epzo #my fic #short

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florvinhara · 3 years

Note

“ i can stay, if you want. ” for luna + A! ❤️ -nataliehsewell

aaaa thank you!!! <3 really got to showcase luna’s range from sad clown to failed comedian clown in this one so buckle in folks ;)

---

Luna has been pacing the length of the hallway for what feels like hours but could just as easily be minutes now, waiting for the doctor’s okay to see Ava.

She’s been alternating between cleaning imaginary smudges from her glasses and braiding, then unbraiding, the same strand of hair, filled with so much nervous energy and guilt she feels like an unsupervised pot boiling over.

Because for the second time in as many months, Ava is incapacitated because of her. The events of the night replay in graphic flashes in Luna’s mind; the Trappers, the Volts, the blood. And all of it is her fault; not that she has more than a few scrapes to show for it, thanks to... Ava. Ava who shouldn’t even have to be in Wayhaven, much less stuck keeping watch over Luna, who was only in the line of fire because of the extensive list of people after Luna’s blood, who told her she needed to learn how to fight but she had refused and therefore been completely useless and now Ava is hurt again and she is still useless, just standing in this hallway like a-

“Detective?” Dr. Tuft emerges from Ava’s room, interrupting Luna’s rapidly swirling thoughts. She nods her head at the door. “You can go in now.”

Luna’s heart skips a beat. “How is she?”

The doctor frowns. “Impossible.” She rakes her eyes over Luna, who must really be a sight because her silvery eyes soften and she adds, “But I’ve given her a sedative and she should be back on her feet by tomorrow. As long as she rests.” This last part is delivered with a stern look.

“I’ll be quick,” Luna promises, and Dr. Tuft nods, heading down the hallway. Luna faces the door, her stomach twisting anxiously, and she only just remembers to untangle the piece of half-braided hair before she enters Ava’s room.

It’s the second time she’s been in here, and it’s just as she remembers- void of color and decoration, everything purely functional. But Luna’s focus is instantly drawn to where Ava lies bandaged and pale, green eyes tracking her as she walks over to the side of the bed.

Part of Luna wants to collapse right there, apologizing for everything she’s done and everything she hasn’t, for being the reason Ava’s hurt right now, but dimly she recognizes that it wouldn’t be fair of her to burden the agent with her guilt on top of everything else, so instead she tries for a winning smile. “So I guess it did hurt when you fell from heaven,” she jokes, then immediately grimaces because what the HELL was that you complete buffoon that doesn’t even make sense?! Ava scoffs out a short laugh regardless, and that is enough to encourage Luna to perch on the edge of the bed.

The levity is short-lived as Luna takes in the full extent of Ava’s injuries and then, unable to bear it, drops her gaze to the grey bed sheets with a frown.

“What is it?” Ava asks in a surprisingly gentle voice. And the fact that right now, of all times, Ava is concerned for her well-being, is so ridiculous that Luna almost laughs, but instead looks back up at her with a disbelieving stare.

“You’re hurt,” Luna says, and Ava sits up a little, a stubborn glint in her eyes.

“Hardly,” she scoffs. “If I were not confined to this bed, I would be fully recovered by now.” It would be more convincing if her face wasn’t tense with pain.

Luna shakes her head in exasperation. “I think if you weren’t confined to this bed you’d be passed out in a hallway somewhere,” she counters, making Ava scowl and slump back against the pillows. “I’m sorry,” Luna adds in a rush, suddenly unable to help herself.

“What for?” Ava peers at her.

“It was me they were after, I should have distracted them or done something to get them away-”

Ava interrupts suddenly, voice sharp. “Absolutely not. Your safety is of paramount importance and I…” She seems to waver, hands tightening into fists as if to stop herself from reaching out. “I could not risk harm befalling you.”

There’s an implication there that Luna isn’t quite sure how to interpret, but it steals the words from her throat nonetheless, and a tense silence descends on the room as the two of them watch each other closely, waiting to see who will make the next move.

Ava blinks drowsily, ending their impromptu staring match, and Luna remembers with horror that she promised to be quick so Ava could rest and heal. She stands quickly, gesturing at the door. “So I guess I should-”

“Would you-” Ava starts at the same time, before both of them stop, looking at the other expectantly.

“Well, I can-”

“If you need-”

An entirely different kind of silence settles heavily over them as Ava smooths her hand over the sheets in an uncharacteristically awkward manner and Luna nervously adjusts her glasses. Several long seconds later, Ava looks up, gesturing for Luna to speak first.

“Just, um. I can stay. If you want.” What is she doing! Of course she doesn’t want that, Luna thinks furiously to herself, this is all my fault and she’s supposed to be resting and it’s not like we’re-

Ava cuts off the spiral early, as she so often does. “I would like that,” she murmurs, eyes starting to flutter shut.

“Okay,” Luna says, feeling suddenly shy even though this was her idea in the first place. She sits down on the bed again, slouching into a half-sitting, half-reclining position with her back resting against the headboard. Ava watches her move with a surprising intensity. The bed is large enough for there to be plenty of room between them, but somehow by the time Luna gets comfortable Ava’s hand is close enough to graze her own. Hesitant, Luna moves to let her fingers cover Ava’s, and with a soft exhale the agent’s eyes fall closed as she drifts into sleep.

Now that she’s in Ava’s presence and the fear from the night’s events is slowly abating, Luna realizes she’s completely exhausted, and the fact that she’s in a bed doesn’t help. She should probably go, but she really doesn’t want to leave, not when Ava is so close and looking more at peace than Luna’s ever seen before. She decides to close her heavy eyes for just a second...

Sunlight poking through the curtains rouses Luna from a heavy slumber, and she narrows her eyes to inspect a room that, although admittedly very blurry, she’s pretty sure is not her own. Blindly, she waves an arm at what looks like a bedside table, accidentally smacking the drawer open, until she locates her glasses and shoves them on. Confusion gives way to panic as Luna realizes she must have fallen asleep in Ava’s room, although she certainly doesn’t remember taking off her glasses or getting under the covers.

Ava must have woken up a while ago and gone, hopefully with medical permission; the side of the bed she was sleeping on is cold and made with extreme precision. Luna considers the tangled sheets she’s laying in and quickly gets up, flapping ineffectually at them until they look… well. Sort of neat.

Backing up to survey the bed, Luna rams into the drawer she’d accidentally opened, and with a pained curse turns to close it- and then freezes, her heart leaping into her throat. The drawer is empty except for a phone charger and a photograph, one she recognizes, one she’s in. The ground seems to shift beneath her as Luna stares in disbelief at the picture the two of them had taken at the carnival, and maybe that is why she doesn’t register the sound of Ava’s footsteps until they’re right behind her.

#upside down smiley face emoji #twc #the wayhaven chronicles #ava du mortain #ava x detective #twc fic #zephwriting

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dreamerwriternstargazer · 3 years

Note

Everyone needs a distraction sometimes, so open the gates of soliloquy, step out, stare up at the starry skies and tell me: what does Doctor Who mean to you ?

I quite literally did stare up at the stars for a little bit today so I could answer this XD What does Doctor Who mean to me....the short answer, the best one, the most poetic one: the evergrowing expanse of fantasies, of kindness, and of love. Consider that to be the core idea, the thesis statement, to my soliloquy though, since you asked for one. When I was a little girl one of the first memories I have is of being in my grandparents house and seeing Rose and 10 on TV, I remember being a little obsessed with those two actually because of the adoring way he looked at her, and because of how powerful I thought Rose was. She’s far from my favourite companion now but her and 10 hold a special place in my heart as the first faces I remember watching on TV. When I got a bit older, maybe 7? I saw a bit of the Christmas Invasion, the whole time I was waiting for Rose to appear but then the Raknos spider lady scared me and I never finished it, I couldn’t sleep for weeks and my mum banned me from ever watching the show (I wasn’t really allowed to watch it in the first place). I was quite alright with that, but I eventually got round to watching the show again. This time, an episode from Martha’s era, New New York the rerun, and I loved it, saw The Eleventh Hour as well and I loved that, but I was still too frightened of any monsters there were so I avoided the show. It wasn’t until 2013, the anniversary episode, that I finally properly sat down and fell in love with the show. What made me fall in love with it, what did it mean to me? As I said, the fantasy, the kindness, and the love held in it. I think I fell in love with it way back when I first saw it, I just needed some time to grow into it. Whatever it was that interested me all those years ago, that dormant fascination I had, awoke the second I saw Clara and 11 onscreen and their unbeatable chemistry (or so I thought at the time). Not only the chemistry between them, the best friends, the Impossible Girl and the Impossible Doctor, but the sheer....ethereality and at times ridicule of the story, the perfect blend of emotional, and humorous. You’re giggling over 10 and 11 bantering and messing with War, then you’re depressed because “how many children were on Gallifrey that day?”. You’re impressed and empowered (I was at least) by Clara’s confidence, her courage even when in grave danger, her dry wit towards the boys as they “show off” and then deeply touched at those big brown eyes and the sorrowful compassion she holds in them, as she tells the Doctor, reminds him, of the standard he holds himself to. “You told me what your name meant once”. The moment I realised that the Doctor was a girl as well, and she was a Doctor that day, as she always has been. Everyone has one Doctor that is theirs and while I would definitely name 12 as my Doctor, I think Clara came first. She was the reason I kept watching after 11 became 12, because of course I was deeply saddened by that, but in time, came around again because of Clara, and stayed for...Whouffaldi. Whouffaldi does have the greatest claim on my love for Doctor Who because they, as a story, embody everything I love about the show. The extreme kindness that the Doctor is, and should be, the love that is held in every act he commits for the universe. There’s losses, of course, but there’s this unbound idealism to their time in the TARDIS together. “If you have 2 choices and you don’t like either of them, make a 3rd choice” - a concept I think that is held throughout the entirety of Clara’s run, the standard she holds him to, but it’s never shown quite as blatantly as the both of them standing at the end of the universe, and all she needs to do is clasp his hand in hers, and ask him to stop. The fantasy aspect is not only the various and illuminating worlds they travel to, the dangers they face and tackle (if it was, then well apparently London is a fantasy since one of my favourite 2 parters is the Zygon Invasion/Zygon Inversion, for the beautiful and heart wrenching analogy for war that plays like a faint symphony in the

background right until the climax where it rises to an unforgettable crescendo) but the way they tackle it, the hope at the heart of every adventure. Whouffaldi is a romantic fantasy, a completely equal and loving relationship, the woman uplifted as far as she is to growing into his true equal as no other has, and in some ways better because of the power of compassion she holds and holds him to, however the fantasy element of the show is just the sheer idea of....the everyday ordinary person getting to run off into space, and do the most daring things, finding the bravery in themselves that they never knew they had, and equally, finding the extreme capacity for human kindness that they hold in their hearts. There’s a great deal of difference between RTD and Moffat era companions, with the most distinct one being that Moffat companions more overtly teach the Doctor of their humanity and this is conveyed through Moffat’s brilliant framing of the everyday as the ethereal, but at its core it is always this mad and entrancing alien who is made his best by the humans he love, by his Companions. Companions, such an archaic term don’t you think, for a friend? The show could easily call them his friends, they are, but they choose to stick with Companion in canon as well as out of it. And one could argue it’s due to the legacy of the show, but I prefer to think of the implications narratively, it’s a romanticism, there’s a connotation of a deep bond to the title of Companion. They keep him company, they are his comfort, they ground him as nothing else does, these “mayflies living for a day”. Companion is the one word summary, the one word answer, to this question, because the strength and weight of the stories are given by the companion, because we see it all anew with every new soul who enters those big blue doors, we are risen to courage and kindness with each new character who rises under each adventure. Whether it’s the Girl In The Shop and the Last Of The Time Lords, the Girl Who Waited and her Raggedy Man, The Impossible Girl and her Daft Old Man, whether it’s only to cross paths for a day or to be bound together til the end of time (or as can be the case with this very topsy turvey show, both), whether platonic or romantic, as caretaker, imaginary friend, lover, husband or teacher, the unrelenting power and commonality to every adventure, every story, is the Companion, is us, living the fantasy of fantasies. The dream of the impossible, of being ordinary and daring to run through space and time being as brave and kind as possible, seeing all the wonders over and over again, never the same because nothing is ever the same, and doing the best they can to make some kind of difference in the universe, without even realising they’re doing it, finding that ordinary is a special sort of extraordinary. If the Doctor offers the whole universe, within those doors, the Companion offers their soul in the humanity they teach him, in the moment they love the Doctor and take his hand, and their face is “seared into [his] hearts”. The universe and the soul. The exact fantasy that a lonely little girl who was afraid of her own shadow needed. “Never be cruel, never be cowardly, and if you are, always make amends.”

#doctor who #whouffaldi #clara oswald #12th Doctor #11th doctor #rose tyler #asks answered #star speaks

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queerconfusionthings · 4 years

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Tension

Thirteenth doctor x reader

I combined some asks again for this, but the main one was from @oster-hagen which involved the reader being infected by some species of plant and twisting her morals x

Not sure I enjoyed writing this, nor did I proof read it honestly

Taglist - @psychobitchtess @dykecious @lostshadow12 @phantomlupinblackloverrumbelle @thejinxmaster @bitemealiienboy @ellacannotdance @hcney-lemon @im-tired-24-7 @sweetlittlesoufflegirl @truthbehindthemysteries @startrekkingaroundasgard

You were so incomprehensibly angry. Fists clenched, shoulders tensed to the point of aching, it simmered in hot bursts beneath the skin, and god you needed to exude it in some way. The trees passing by on the trek to the military base seemed suddenly and strangely punchable, the snapping of the twigs underneath anyone's feet was insurmountanly frustrating, and the Doctor's warnings and chides?

"Oh, forgot to mention, don't touch any of the plant life. Brilliant ecosystem, but very dangerous."

"Did I tell you about the intergration of ecology into the life of locals?"

"This is proper brilliant fam, this right here- "

There was no discernable reason to want to punch anyone, let alone the Doctor in this moment, and yet all the blood was rushing to your head, adrenaline pumping, the need to connect your fist with her nose unreasonably prominent. The indents in your palms were getting closer and closer to breaking the skin at that constantly repeating thought.

Even walking just felt heavy, despite the buzzing energy leaping to be let go, the buzzing energy that had you twitching with sheer annoyance. The longer you trekked through the forest passageway, the three suns obnoxiously bright, incessant chatter eminating from behind you, the more you felt the need for violence.

Even the scream for help didn't seem to help, nor did the tempory relief of commencing a run, that run in question the one time you easily surpassed the Doctor. The only comment had been "You're fast today," because she didn't seem to do one and one interactions anymore. No, that would be too difficult with her conceited moral code and god complex.

Your chest felt as though it was constricting. Faster and faster and fucking faster.

The military base was bleek, a simple line of defence for a largely peaceful planet, littered with corridors and maybe a virtually untouched gun here and there. None of you had recieved any message about what the distress call had regarded, because why would anyone have said anything? No, leave it until you all walk into the holding point for those infected, those bloody infected carrying a quite frankly brutal contagion.

Oh, oh, and the best part? None of you could leave now. The general area had been vacated, which she should have picked up on given her incessent knowledge of the planet. "Can't risk the possibility of it getting out- what was it? - Doctor."

"That's alright, we're up to help."

The more you looked at the wall, the more you thought 'oh, wouldn't that look nice with a dent.' Even better, the more someone asked you if you were okay, the more you wanted to scream out. Quite frankly, this was more self restraint than you'd ever harboured.

"Yaz, really, I'm fine," despite it being near to mumbled, it was still sharper than your tone was used to.

"You don't seem fine. And you know, the Doctor said- "

"Please don't repeat her bullshit," you practically spat. "'M fine, and I don't need anyone, especially the Doctor and her words of wisdom, wading in."

You didn't bother watching her expression, you couldn't even comprehend it. Instead, you opted for leaning back against the wall, arms folded, hands gripping forarms so tight it almost seemed to halt the bloodflow, while the Doctor discussed 'logistics' with- oh, who knew, the medical officer? - while the others lingered around.

Clenching eyes shut, two fingers pinching the bridge of your nose, jaw tightening and untightening, you only barely caught the footsteps treading towards you. By then it was too late to note how close the Doctor was. If she was there to scold you, grave smiles and all, you doubted you'd be able to resist that urge to bash in her face. At this stage, you were more than ready to tackle her.

"Is everything okay?" The slight sincerity, for whatever reason, had you reeling. "Yaz mentioned you didn't seem too great- " Of course she had. "And I haven't heard from you since the beginning of the trip."

"The trip?" You asked incredulously.

She furrowed her eyebrows at that, tilting her head.

"No, no, doesn't matter." The growl that took an undertone in your words definitely didn't go unnoticed.

The discussion had resumed, the Doctor having dragged you into it this time. A brush from her elbow brought about pure infuriation, the sensation rising up to land as a lump in your throat.

Every time Ryan looked at you, every time Yaz looked at you, every time Graham looked at you, there was this sort of desire to smash down on the nearest surface. It was actually hurting now, the fury presenting itself in a dull ache.

"The first infected, seemingly the source of such an infection, was held here. He's much further gone in the process, and we're not sure we can do much for hi- "

"What do you mean 'was'?" You interjected quite suddenly, chin leaning in hand, lips pursed, tone on the verge of dropping off on account of how purely bored you sounded.

You were staring ahead at the wall again, attempting to throw off the lingering gazes of everyone in the fucking room. Even after a beat of the silence, the Doctor was there with, "That's a good point. What do you mean 'was'?"

The medical officer, now particularly tense, ran his tongue over bottom lip, suddenly quite jittery. "Well, I mean that he's not- we don't have him anymore."

"So find him," you said.

"It's not that simple, at this stage, we wouldn't know how to safely handle him so we could get him ba- "

"Didn't say bring him back, did I?"

That was it. An awful silence collapsed into the room at that comment, the implication going unsaid in favour of keeping quiet. Even the Doctor seemed taken aback for words, which was quite a lovely occurence indeed.

It was broken quite swiftly by a simultaneous "What?" from the woman herself, and Graham's, "Have you had a hit to the head?" The Doctor's was substantially more heated.

"Well, kill hi- "

"No no no, don't you dare finish that sentence."

You gave an incredulous scoff, leaning up to see features all folded in on themselves, lips held in a grave line, jaw held high.

"That is not an option, that has never been an option. I don't know what's gotten into you, but I won't have it."

"You won't have it?" Came your laugh. "Oh that is brilliant. What is this talking now then? Your pompous and twisted morals, or the god complex?"

The medical officer was cringing in on himself, while Ryan was the one to attempt to reach out this time. "Hey, Y/N, come on n- "

"Say that again," the Doctor interjected, unnervingly close now.

"Losing your hearing in old age?"

She shifted her tongue in her mouth for a moment. "Outside, Y/N, now."

"I'm pretty good here. Apart from the deadly infection, but, hey, oh well I guess," you retorted, leaning an arm onto the surface.

"Doctor," Yaz said, "I really don't think- "

"But by all means, feel free to flaunt around elsewhere."

The Doctor was paying attention to no one but you, and yet, couldn't quite seem to see the obvious. "Doctor!" That snapped her out of it, at least for one blissful moment. "Just look!" It was then that Yaz marched up and seemed to think it would be okay if she yanked up the sleeve of your shirt. Purple-ish veins, maybe more of a violet, layered the surface of your skin, looking not dissimilar to vines in appearance.

Now that definitely snapped the Doctor out of it. "Ohhh, oh that's not good." The sonic was waved out in an instant, flashing before your face with perhaps the most irritating whirr you'd ever had the misfortune of being forced to endure. Right after that singular thought, a rather dramatic thought, you found yourself falling.

You were burdened with an immediate awareness of what had happened upon waking up. Waking up. You had thrashed yourself into consciousness, head panging, hairline harbouring beads of sweat.

The Doctor was there, sitting in the chair adjacent to your bed, lounging quite uncomfortably in your room. She'd jolted to life at the mere rustling of the sheets, jumping to her feet with the sonic in hand.

Oh, you hadn't anticipated the guilt that dawned as soon as you saw her face.

"How long have I- "

"Not too long," she interupted. "You must have been pricked by a tryline plant."

"A what?"

"A tryline plant. It, uh, well in humans, it boosts emotion to very heightened levels. Specifically, anger. Had to drain it out of your system." You noted the plaster on your wrist, neon green, and fell back a little with a frown. "All fine now though."

"Sorry," you blurted out quietly.

Her head shot up at that, which only felt more awkward.

"Probably should have been more careful, and I didn't mean anything I said to you, obviously. Can't remember half of it to be hones- "

"You have nothing to apologise for." It was quite a hurried response, punctuated by the bed sinking down under her weight. Somehow, you'd only just noticed the absence of the Doctor's coat, a very notable absence given the fact that her sleeves were rolled up. "I knew the ecosystem was tricky, but it slipped my mind to check the effects for humans."

It was very wrong that you only seemed to be looking at her forearms. Get it together. "'S okay. What actually happened though?""

She seemed much more grave at that. "Story for another time. You were out for a while."

"You just said I wasn- "

"Lied, sorry."

A small nod, not that you were paying much attention anymore. God, your body ached. And her forear- "Was everyone okay in the end?"

The Doctor turned her head back away from you. "The fam are fine."

"Yeah, no that's great, but I mean- "

Her hand landed on top of yours, which brought about an unreasonable amount of relief as you sunk back against the pillows. You went deadly still against the contact, practically needing to savour it, even in spite of the not so fun situation. "Later," her lips drew into a line as she stood up, shaking off any dreariness in turn for her usual cheery composure. "I'll get you some food. Plenty of biscuits, of course, and water! You," she punctuated with a wave of her arm, "Need to stay hydrated."

With that, she was gone again. She seemed as guilty as you, you supposed, quite happy to escape the room for even a second. It did give you a moment to at least ponder the day. Well, it must have been substantially longer than a day. You should probably be thankful to have not been a part of it.

You leaned your head back on the headboard and let out a small sigh. "Fucking hell."

#doctor who #13th doctor #thirteenth doctor #13th doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor x reader #jodie whittaker x reader #jodie whittaker imagine #jodie whittaker #doctor who imagine #13th doctor imagine #thirteenth doctor imagine #doctor who x reader #dw #dw series 12 #dw x reader #dw imagine #doctor who fanfic

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treatian · 3 years

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The Chronicles of the Dark One: Magical Loopholes

Chapter 42: House Call

He didn't particularly want to leave the shop that day. He had hardly left at all in the week since Belle had been gone. He'd made his stop at home for a shower and fresh change of clothes, but given that it was the second night of the full moon, he had no plans to be far away from the library. Night one had gone well, but he never made assumptions when it came to safety. He wanted to be close by if Belle needed him.

But then, that morning, before lunch, he received a call from Regina on his cell phone. He ignored it. He had no interest in speaking to the woman, at least not until she called back again. He sighed as he looked down at the screen of his phone, irritation and curiosity rising. Once was an inquiry. Twice was either desperation or an emergency. Damn his curiosity.

"You have one sentence to convince me this is worth my while," he threatened.

"Just hear me out…I know I'm the last person that should be asking this of you, but…I need a favor."

"A favor…those are expensive, Your Majesty."

"I'm aware," she snapped back quietly. Her voice was hushed, as if she was trying to be secretive about something, which meant that she was not, for once, hiding out alone in her home. What on earth had dragged her out into the town? "But this is for Henry."

Ah, yes…that might get her out of her house.

"Henry?"

"Listen…I'm at Mary Margaret's apartment-"

"As a guest or as an intruder?"

He heard her huff angrily on the other end. "Not that it's any of your business, but for your information, David asked me to be here," she drawled. "He had to leave early to take care of some business, Henry was still asleep, and…he's having nightmares," her voice got even quieter then. Henry must have been nearby. She must not have wanted to panic him.

"Well, if you'll forgive me, your Majesty, it sounds like you need to be calling Archie Hopper for nightmares. Not me."

"This isn't something for Dr. Hopper. David warned me about them before he left, but Henry just woke up screaming and after seeing them myself…I don't think they're nightmares. And I'd like an expert opinion."

"An expert in what, exactly?"

"Magic."

"And if I recall, you are rather exceptional in that field yourself, are you not?"

"But not as good as you, as you so keenly like to remind me," she sighed unhappily. "I need your help on this one, Rumple. It's for Henry, and if these are nightmares, then…there are side effects I've never seen in any parenting book I've ever read."

He took a deep breath as he scowled. His jaw was so tight suddenly it was giving him a headache. He didn't want to leave the shop today. He wanted to be here, ready in case something went wrong on the full moon, in case Belle needed him. But…he supposed that there was no danger until the moon came up after dark. And he was trying to be on his best behavior, knowing full well that little jobs like this might get back to Belle, that she might see he was trying to work some good in the world and take that step to come back to him. This helpful deed, in particular, could be good for that. Do something good for Henry, and word would get to David, David would tell Ruby, Ruby would tell Belle…he had more to gain from going than he did from staying. Fine.

"I'll be over," he growled before hanging up.

He summoned his black bag into his hand, appreciating for the first time just how much it looked like a doctor's bag, one that might make house calls just like this. He imagined that a doctor using this sort of bag might be a bit more thrilled at getting to use it. It wasn't that he didn't like Henry; he did. In fact, if it wasn't for Henry, he probably would have hung up the phone after Regina's first sentence. No, what had him irritated before he even knocked on the door was Regina. It was the first time he was seeing her since he'd marked her in the jail cell, since he'd gotten Belle back and tried to kill her for it. He still hadn't forgotten what she'd done to him and was more than happy to punish her for it, but not using Henry. Besides, if this was what he suspected it was, then he owed it to the boy to go.

But it was smart of Regina to send him to answer the door when he knocked.

"Morning, Henry," he smiled down at the boy who was still in his pajamas, hair messy and unkempt as if he'd just woken up. Regina, on the other hand, was dressed as if she was planning on going to work after all this was over. Odd, considering he didn't think she had a job at the moment. Last he'd heard, she'd been asked to leave as mayor.

"Hello, Mr…" Henry paused mid-sentence and glanced over at Regina, who was standing at the sink, then looked back to him. "What do I call you? Now?"

He let out a small huff and smiled at the implications of that question. Rumpelstiltskin or Mr. Gold. The only person in town at the moment who wasn't from the Enchanted Forest, and even he knew who he was. He rather liked that.

"How about you call me whatever you are comfortable with. Now, your mother mentioned that you were having Nightmares."

Henry nodded as he closed the door and went to sit down opposite the sink next to Regina. "Yeah, just one nightmare. It's a red room with fire all around it. No windows, no doors."

He glanced at Regina. That sounded familiar, very familiar. Too familiar and obvious for it to need an "expert opinion." She didn't know what this was?

"Well, nightmares are normal for a boy your age. But your mother mentioned some other side effects, perhaps something more up my alley?" he prompted.

Henry looked at Regina. She nodded. "You can show him, Henry. He's here to help."

Henry held his hand up for him to see, and there it was, stretching from his pinking finger down toward his wrist; it was a burn. Not a terrible one, probably only first or second degree, not nearly as bad as actually putting one's hand inside a flame, but bad enough. And it would get worse if not taken care of. Regina should have known what it was, what it meant, but even if she did, he doubted she was strong enough to do what needed to be done to fix it. Lucky for her, there had been a time when he'd worried about someone else potentially suffering from these "side effects" and had prepared for a potential deal. That deal had never come to fruition, but he still had what he needed in his black bag.

"Oh, yes. You were quite right to call me," he confirmed easily.

"So y-you can help?" Henry asked tentatively. "It was just a dream."

"Well, what you're describing's certainly not a dream," he informed the boy, who seemed just as scared as he'd sounded insistent. That was understandable. The unknown could have that effect on children…just as much as parents.

"Then, what was it?" Regina snapped beside him.

"A side effect," he snapped back, using her own word. She might not have known what caused this, but he had a feeling that she suspected what it was, or at least what it might have been. It wasn't the side effect of a nightmare, but rather something she had done. "You know, it's remarkable you'd cast a curse you know so little about."

"My victims are not supposed to wake up," she sneered, catching onto his train of thought so quickly that she confirmed his theory. She knew what caused this. And he turned back to his bag, so he didn't have to hear any more of her excuses for her poor choices. "That's why I certainly never cared what happened to them after…until now."

He sighed as he searched through his bag, pulling out the various items he needed and working his magic as he explained.

"When people fall under a sleeping curse…"

A fabric purse with a special necklace, a talisman, inside of it, capable of holding onto a potion. The talisman was an extraordinary enchanted object with the ability to channel whatever potion it held into the person wearing it. Quite useful.

"The soul travels to a Netherworld, where it resides until awoken…"

Conscious Awareness Potion, to help the mind retain focus, to keep it from thinking that it was in a dream and realize the reality. Once the reality was acknowledged, the fear should disappear. Henry should be able to control the reality, fight the fire…until the aftereffects of the Sleeping Curse wore off.

"Now, this world is between life and death, and it's very real."

With a dropper, he filled the empty space of the necklace with the Awareness potion.

"However, even when the curse is broken, sometimes, in sleep, the victims find their way back to that world. Victims like you."

Henry appeared at his side, watching him work, and Regina soon made her way over as well. "This other world is tormenting my son every time he sleeps. I want you to give him something that will keep him from going there," she insisted.

"Well, I'm afraid that's not possible," he answered, fighting back an irritated eye roll. It was one more reason she should have studied up on exactly what she'd created before actually creating it, but he held that particular stray thought in by sealing the necklace and putting his potion back in his bag. "I can, however, provide you with something that will allow him to control his actions whilst in that world. And once one controls something, one no longer need fear it."

He held the necklace out to Henry, whose gaze shifted from curiosity and uncertainty to boyish disgust. "A necklace?"

"You wear this while you're sleeping. Once you control the journey, fear will stop. And then, you can come and go as you please."

Henry reached out to take it, but Regina quickly stepped forward and stopped him.

"Everything comes at a price with you. What do you want for this?"

"For a house call? You couldn't afford it. But this is for Henry," he urged, looking down at the boy and offering him the pendant again. "This one's on me."

In a manner of speaking, at least. In truth, the spell was bought and paid for because he remembered his deals and honored them. No, he couldn't actually locate August Booth at the moment, the boy who could take him to his Baelfire, but before Booth had gone missing, they'd made a deal. When Booth had called Henry and told him to go see Emma, knowing full well that the boy might come out under a Sleeping Curse, he'd promised that he'd do everything he could for the boy to see that he woke up and recovered if Booth would take him to his son. The way he saw it, this fell under making sure Henry recovered. When he managed to break through whatever spell or magic Booth was using to protect him, he wanted there to be no doubt that he owed him the information he possessed.

The boy pulled it out of his hand and looked it over. There was still a bit of that boyish disgust there, but now there was also curiosity as well. Good.

"Be sure to get lots of rest, Henry. One of the side effects of this potion can be feeling a bit tired. When the mind is denied restfulness, there's always that risk."

"Thank you…Mr. Gold."

He nodded. "I'll see myself out."

"Be careful out there, Rumple!" Regina called when he stood outside the apartment. Her arm was around Henry's shoulders, the necklace already around his neck. "There's a wolf running around if you haven't heard. Wouldn't want you or someone you love to become puppy chow."

He smirked at her from the door. The words came out sinisterly, but he could hear the intended warning in them. Unfortunately for her, it wasn't enough to salvage their relationship, to make him forget what she'd tried to do to Belle.

"I'm well aware of the cycle of the moon, Your Majesty. Be sure to keep you and yours safe," he warned back.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Mr. Gold #henry mills #Regina mills #Evil Queen #Ruby Lucas #Red Riding Hood #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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impalementation · 4 years

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Hi! I always love your analysis of the show, and there are two things I’ve been thinking about that I think it’d be interesting to hear your take on. Do you think there’s any significance to Doc being the one to bleed Dawn, or to any of his other appearances? And what’s your opinion on Willow’s arc in season seven? I always look forward to hearing your answers on things

Hi, I appreciate you wanting to hear my takes! That’s a good question about Doc, and one I hadn’t really thought to answer before. I do suspect that part of the reason they used Doc in The Gift was just them being hyped to have Joel Grey, and wanting to make the most of it. And also them wanting to surprise the audience. So simple story machinery reasons.

But if I were to make a thematic connection, I think it’s probably significant that Doc first appears in Forever. He’s the person that helped Dawn try to bring back her mother. He showed up in the episode that was all about how hard it is to continue on in the aftermath of loss, and told Dawn how to cheat at that. And one of the points of the episode was that things like life and death and grief can’t really be cheated. Doc also tries to cheat death himself, since he comes back even though it seemed like Xander and Spike had killed him. So the fact that Doc, this person associated with cheating death, starts the ritual and then gets tossed aside, brings up those ideas around whether one can avoid the realities of mortal existence. I find it significant that Spike, the other person that helped Dawn with the resurrection spell in Forever (and who happens to be immortal too), also gets tossed from the tower. I think you could say that Doc showing up is meant to give you that same Forever feeling of nope, you’re not getting out of this one. You can’t escape mortality. Someone is coming out of this ritual and episode dead.

So symbolically—and yeah this might be reading too much into things but we’ll go with it—Doc and Spike both falling from the tower means that things like immortality, cheating, and romanticism fall. Illusions of childhood. Which fits, since The Gift is a big old symbolic death of childhood in general. Doc, Spike, and Dawn all took the immature approach to mortality in Forever. But in The Gift, Buffy will take the mature one. Unlike Doc and Spike, she gives her blood willingly instead of giving her sister’s, and she dives from the tower deliberately instead of falling by accident. She takes ownership of her mortality. So to put this another way, the point of Doc bleeding Dawn is to be in contrast to Buffy. The demonic response to mortality versus the heroic one. Similarly, he venerates Glory—read: venerates glory—and Spike also has the word “glory” associated with him in Fool For Love (“there’s death, there’s glory, and sod all else right? I was young”, “his strength, his vision, his glory”). Both of these demonic characters have done things “for glory” whereas Buffy does things for love, especially her most “glorious” things like self-sacrifice. And that’s what makes her the hero.

(Obviously by The Gift Spike has evolved somewhat from his youthful Fool For Love self and is perhaps somewhere between Buffy and Doc on the demonic-heroic axis, but he’s still not the kind of hero that Buffy is. He still has illusions. So he falls.)

Also of note: Doc is one of the only male characters on the show who is coded as genuinely old (if in a spry way), as opposed to the middle-aged authority of the Mayor or Quentin Travers. He’s an old man but also a demon, which informs my read of him as “demonic mortality.” Lastly, in a season with a lot of doctors in it, I can’t help but see his name as a reference to that. Doctors in season five try to prevent Joyce’s death in a legitimate way. Whereas Doc tries to revert it in a supernatural way.

As for Willow in season seven, I’m going to leave that one for now, since I have another post I’m planning to eventually finish on her. But I can share an excerpt from my draft for that post that mentions season seven. Under the cut just to break things up:

one of the things that first stood out to me about willow is the fact that she’s friends with xander at all. maybe the writers thought through the implications of that, and maybe they didn’t. but regardless, i always thought it was interesting that willow would be best friends with someone who is as silly and non-booksmart as xander. and not once does willow seem to look down on him for that. i tend to think more about how cute it is that buffy adopts willow and xander, but it’s actually just as interesting that someone as brilliant as willow is drawn to people like buffy and xander too. between her affection for them and later oz and tara, and in contrast to her frequent antagonism towards anya, cordelia and faith, willow seems to really crave a warmheartedness in people. unlike xander, who is very much drawn to abrasive forthrightness, or the general powerfulness that buffy and faith possess. also unlike buffy, who although she deeply values goodness, finds herself compelled by people like angel, spike, and faith—people who, whether or not they’re evil at any given moment, have morally complicated natures and lack a bubbly scooby personality. as for why willow craves warmheartedness…one could debate about that, and i do think it’s notable that willow sometimes comments on buffy being less smart than her, but for now i’ll just identify the trait.

[…]

the reason that i think people hate willow’s relationship with kennedy in season 7 is not just because kennedy isn’t tara, but because kennedy is a break from the pattern that i noted in the season 1 section. kennedy doesn’t fit the warm-hearted type that willow has been drawn to in the past. but i actually think there’s something that works in that idea, at least in theory if not in execution. by the time season 7 rolls around, willow has confronted her darker nature, articulated her insecurities, and lost the person most important to her. she doesn’t need to hide behind a partner’s sweetness or coolness anymore. i see her feeling distant from sweetness in general. in previous seasons willow is afraid of what people will think of her, but in season 7 she’s afraid of herself. those are two very different fears. the interesting thing about kennedy to me is that, like tara and oz, she thinks willow is cool and fascinating, but this time around, instead of craving that sort of approval, willow is terrified of it. she takes no glee or joy in it, but instead is afraid that kennedy is missing or dismissing the flaws that willow thinks she needs to work on.

#s5 #s7 #willow #thanks for asking! hope any of this was of interest

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 3 years

Text

The Royal Snow Day

Day 1 of 2020′s 31 Days of Ficmas. Thanks to @doctorroseprompts for the list!

Prompt: Snowed in

Rating: M (nsfw)

Pairing: 12xRose AU; part of the Queen of Hearts universe

Summary: Rose’s first snowfall in Gallifrey exceeds her wildest dreams, as her royal fairytale continues. The ensuing snow day leads to an unexpected, melancholy conversation.

2020 31 Days of Ficmas masterlist | Queen of Hearts masterlist

AO3

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Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Oh, c’mon,” Rose whined, reaching out blindly to swat at the alarm. “Fuckoff.”

Ian’s answering snicker said he was already awake, the sheets rustling as he spooned up behind her. “Good morning.”

“Too early.” Still, she snuggled back into his arms, reveling in his warmth. “Mhmm.”

“Has it snowed, since you’ve been here?” The kisses he pressed against her neck were thoroughly distracting, so much so she almost missed the question.

“No, why?”

Her husband merely chuckled, the arm around her waist squeezing her. “Open your eyes.”

It took her a long moment to overpower the urge to curl into him and drift back to sleep, but when she finally did as he said, she was so glad she did.

“Oh!”

When they’d gone to bed the night before the sky had been clear, with trees as far as the eye could see, the Alps rising majestically in the distance. When the leaves had started falling a month before, Rose had understood for the first time how drastically the elevation could change in her new home; for quite a ways into the distance the trees were bare, their leaves having changed and fallen, but behind them were evergreens, sloping up the side of the Alps until they stopped abruptly; past that point was nothing but whiteness climbing towards the sky.

Now, though- now, the sky was full of clouds, and the grounds looked like a winter wonderland. Everything was covered in snow, bright and cheerful despite the grey sky, and even as she watched, the flakes continued to fall.

It was spectacular, almost out of a movie, and she was surprised at the tears pricking her eyes. “You live like this?” she breathed in awe. “Is this normal?”

The breath of Ian’s laugh was hot against her neck. “Sometimes. More so in years past… Definitely when I was a kid. Used to be able to ice skate on the lake, even. But d’you know what the best part of this is?”

“Oooh, snowball fight? Please say snowball fight!”

“No- I mean, sure, we can do that- but actually, until it stops and they’ve had time to start the cleanup, we’re stuck here.”

That was enough to tear Rose’s gaze from the window, and she twisted around to face him. “We’re snowed in?”

He nodded, pushing some loose hair out of her face. “For the time being. No engagements with our public today, I’m afraid. And since that was our whole schedule…” One of his knees nudged at her own, and she obligingly lifted her top leg to let his slide between. “Our day is wide open. How would you like to spend it?”

“Honestly?” When he nodded, she glanced back over her shoulder. “I’ve never seen so much snow in one place at one time. I’d love to just… go out and play in it. Snow angels, snowball fights… You know, like you see in films. Bet Sophia and Sebastian would like that- they’re still young enough I think.”

“That sounds like fun,” he agreed, smiling. “When, now?”

Rose rolled onto her back, looking first towards the window and the picture-perfect snow, then to her husband, warm and naked beside her. “Depends,” she said coyly. “Is it better to sort of pre-warm up before we go out, or to wait until we come back in?”

“Hmmm…” Ian settled himself above her, so close they were almost touching, but far enough away to mostly be a tease. “Well, in my professional opinion as a doctor-” he paused to suck at her pulse point, “I would recommend both. Some pre-activity to… get the blood flowing as it were, then once you’re back inside, a hot shower, maybe a soak in a steaming tub…”

“Is that so?” she drawled, letting her legs fall apart before tugging on his hips, encouraging him to lay flush against her. “And would you recommend these as solo activities?”

The corners of his mouth turned up, but he hid it by kissing his way across her decolletage to the other side of her neck. “Oh, no. It’s very important to always have a buddy with you,” he said earnestly. “Someone to keep an eye on you… check for hypothermia, that sort of thing.”

Rose nodded, scraping her nails lightly along his spine, smirking when his hips jumped. “Whatever you say, Doctor.”

He dipped his head, kissing her deeply, and she arched up against him in response. Even after six months together she still got the same giddy feeling in her stomach, heart soaring at the merest taste of him, her very universe narrowing down to where they touched, the rest of the world be damned. It didn’t hurt knowing that he was equally affected by her, the evidence hot and throbbing against her thigh.

Yet the picture-perfect scene playing out on the other side of the glass called to her too, and though she tried to hide it, her husband knew her well enough at this point to sense her distraction. To his credit, though, he was chuckling as he pulled back.

“Do you want to stop to watch the window?”

Biting her lip, Rose gave him a sheepish smile. “No, I want you…” She ran her hands down his back to his arse, squeezing for emphasis. “But, maybe a change of position? D’you mind?”

“Of course not.” He backed away, sitting on his heels. “And we don’t have to- I promise I’m just as happy holding you and watching the snow fall.”

Sitting up herself, she took a moment to look around before nodding decisively. “Right.” Nudging him out of the way, she positioned herself on her hands and knees in front of the window, before glancing back at him over her shoulder. “Does this work?”

Ian was already slotting himself between her knees, one hand rubbing at her hip and thigh as the other brushed against her slit. “Uh huh.” He met her eye as one long finger probed her opening. “You’re supposed to be watching the snow.”

“Git.” Facing forward again, she marveled at how the storm seemed to be picking up. “I’m going to remember this.”

By the time they collapsed in a sweaty, sated pile, the view was a whiteout and second to the heat between them.

“This is absurd.”

Hands on his hips, Ian stared out the ballroom doors to the patio incredulously – or attempted to, given that their view consisted solely of snow. Heavy, packed snow that covered the doors so thoroughly he wasn’t sure anything truly existed past them.

“It seems to be a snow drift, Your Majesties,” Jabe shrugged. The manager of the grounds, it would be her team’s job to clear the snow, and he made a mental note to ensure they all got fat bonuses in their next check. “It’s not nearly so bad along the sides of the Palace, or necessarily the front, but it may take several days to clear the lakefront side or the drive. In these conditions, we cannot even begin until it stops, and though it has slowed, we do not want to be caught out in it if it increases again. As it is, we will need to dig our way from the sides.”

“We’re really snowed in,” Rose breathed. “I mean, this is… Wow.”

Their hands tangled together, and even as Ian worried for his subjects, her childlike wonder warmed his heart more than he could say. “The Queen would like to go out in it for a bit. How do you recommend we do so?”

“Over my dead body, to start.”

He turned to see his aunt striding towards them, bundled in a thick jumper, eyes narrowed in their direction.

“I’m afraid she’s correct,” Jabe said, apologetic. “At least, in her implication – it’s simply too dangerous at this time. Several of my braver groundskeepers attempted to go out the front, and suffice it to say it did not go well. The worst injury was a sprained wrist, and several bruised prides, but it was enough. We cannot risk Your Majesties’ health or safety.”

“What about- and maybe this is stupid, I don’t have much experience with heavy snow- but like… climbing out a first-floor window? It wouldn’t be too far down…” Rose trailed off as they stared at her. “Never mind, just a thought.”

Ian smiled kindly at his wife. “Perhaps if we were twenty, but I think we- or at least I- am too old for that. And there’s no way of knowing how far you might sink into the drift. I don’t want to have to call your mother and explain you drowned in snow.”

“Fair enough,” she agreed easily, squeezing his hand. “Though, personally, I’d be more afraid of Donna.”

He shivered dramatically at the idea, making her giggle. “Ooh, don’t make me think about it. Very well, we surrender to our house arrest. Is there any support we can offer to Arcadia, or the rest of the country?”

“No, not now.” Sarah shook her head. “When I saw the storm start last night I reached out to the Roadworks Department, but they were on top of the situation. We’ll likely need to cut them a check for overtime as they certainly hadn’t budgeted for all this, expecially not as a one-time dumping at the start of the season, but that was all the support they need- at least for now. The worst of it is here, along the lake- once you get a kilometer or so inland it’s not nearly so heavy.”

“That’s good,” Ian and Rose said in unison, before grinning at each other.

“Have you spoken to Donna?” he continued. “I suppose this means they’ll need to extend their trip.”

Sarah nodded. “She’s heartbroken at the delay of course,” she said dryly, “but will soldier through. The children are thrilled to have another few days with their grandparents.”

Rose tensed next to him, but other than shooting her a curious look, he ignored it for the moment. “All right, I’ll give her a call in a bit. Thanks for the update. We’ll be up in our suite. A hearty soup or stew is sufficient for dinner tonight, I think- something simple. I don’t see a need for anything non-essential to be done today, but I’ll leave it to your discretion.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The women curtseyed as Ian turned to leave, tugging Rose along with him.

They walked in silence until they reached their bedroom, where he helped her out of her warm outerwear they’d optimistically put on.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Rose sank onto their couch, curling up in the corner and staring blankly at the fireplace. “I’m fine.”

Biting back a sigh, he settled next to her, careful not to touch her. “Rose.”

“I just… realized something I hadn’t thought about before. It’s no biggie.”

“If you’re sure.” He didn’t believe her, but didn’t want to push, knowing she would come to him when she was ready. “Want another log on the fire?”

She didn’t answer but he did it anyway, enjoying the burst of sparks as the new log caught and started to burn. She didn’t say anything when he draped the throw from the back of the couch over their laps, and she still didn’t speak as they watched the fire crackle and occasionally leap.

“My mum’s the only grandparent our children will know.”

He started at the sound of her voice, having been nearly hypnotized by the silence and the flames, and turned to look at her. “Yes, she is,” he agreed cautiously. “And I have no intention of trying to keep her from them, if that’s where this is going.”

“No, I know that, it’s just… I guess, I always thought I’d marry something with parents- someone who could give my kids a grandfather, someone who could… could almost be a father to me. I say always, but it’s only really in the last decade or so once I got off the estate, but still.”

“I had a similar epiphany when my father died,” he shared tentatively. “In amongst all the things I’d officially lost- never really had, I suppose- like my career and my freedom, I realized that… because I’d been concerned with my own wants, I missed out on the opportunity for my future wife and children to know my parents, and for them to know, well, you. And our children. To make them proud. They were proud of my career, that I was helping people even if it wasn’t in the way they wanted- they thought I should have spent time learning how to rule at my father’s side- but… they wanted me to settle down, have a family. I’m sorry they didn’t get the chance to see that, though I suppose if they had it wouldn’t have been with you, and that I cannot regret. My point being- I know how you feel.”

Rose shifted on the couch, moving curl into his side. “The real problem with all of this,” she sighed as she rested her head against his shoulder, “is that she’ll feel the need to make up for being the only one, and spoil our kids absolutely rotten. I mean, at least your parents had Donna and knew the twins, but I’m all Mum’s got, so our family will be the sole focus of her grandmotherly love.”

He couldn’t help but smile stupidly at the idea. “That’s all right, I suppose. We’ll just have to have many children, to spread out the attention.”

Rose took his hand, lacing their fingers together. “Depending on your definition of ‘many’, I agree. But for now…”

“Yes?” He watched her stand, taking a moment to admire her; the glow of the fire behind her made her seem ethereal, like some sort of goddess too good for the world blessing him with her presence.

She tugged on their joined hands, smiling coyly. “I could use some warming up. And this doctor I know says that body heat transmitted bare skin to bare skin is the most efficient way.”

“Well, if you insist…”

#bbatcfic #doctorroseprompts #31 Days of Ficmas #31 Days of Ficmas 2020 #ficandchips #Doctor Who #12xRose #12th Doctor #Rose Tyler #The Royal Snow Day #AU #Queen of Hearts #royalty AU

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certifiedskywalker · 5 years

Text

The Person I Love - Klaus Hargreeves

Ever since you met Klaus Hargreeves, you knew you were in it for the long haul. You didn’t care about his past or his powers; you only wanted him. But when drugs begin to consume him, you’re left with a choice. Get him the help he needs and miss him or watching him kill himself slowly. You love him too much to watch him suffer.

AN: Okay, she’s a long one!. Any feedback/suggestions you have would be greatly appreciated!

Warnings: Angst, cursing, drug abuse (it comes with the territory), and slight sexual joke/implication(?)not really though

You had never known a sober version of Klaus. As much as you hated to dwell on the thought, you were certain he was high when he met you. How could someone like him smile at you like he did without being influenced by chemicals coursing through his veins. Perhaps it was meeting you, speaking to you, that upturned the corners of his mouth, but the rational part of you denied that as fact. However, in your darkest moments, you liked to think that smile was unaltered by any sort of pill. It was what made the nights less difficult and the days not so long. That thought made it all worth it when you woke up next to him, that same smile on his lips as he reclined in the hospital bed.

“Does this gown make me look fat?” “Never,” you say, smiling right back at him. The smile fades for a moment as you rub at sleep still clouding your eyes. By now, you were used to falling asleep in uncomfortable chairs; however, despite your experience, your body retained each ache. “You didn’t have to stay,” Klaus says softly, eyes taking in your tired expression. You slumped in the chair, turning your head to stare at him with an all too loving gaze. “You know that I do,” you hum in reply, “wouldn’t have it any other way.” It was a lie. Both of you knew that. You would love to have Klaus sober, to know that he was safe with the temptation of drugs behind him and the threat of death a far off cry. “Careful,” Klaus tsked, “grow any more honorable and you’ll turn into Luther.” You smile at the mention of his brother. You hadn’t actually met the man but, from what Klaus told you, his overbearing sense of morality was stupefying.

“So, what happened this time?” Your question prompted silence from the man before you. He tore his green eyes away from your face and fiddled with his hands that rested in his lap. The IV stuck into his hand shifted with each movement and you wondered if Klaus had grown too comfortable with the feeling of needles under his skin.

“Ya know, the usual,” he brushed off your worry with practiced ease, “overdid it. You know I was never any good with fractions and conversions.” Klaus chuckled, hoping his laughter would coax a grin your lips again. When it didn’t, Klaus knew something within you had been altered by this hospital stay. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” You ask, eyes widening now with shock. “Klaus, what’s wrong is that the nurses here are on a friendly, first name basis with you. What’s wrong is that we have had more sleep overs in this room than we have had at our own homes.” You were standing now, trying to distract yourself from the tears that were beginning to gather in your eyes.

“Y/N,” Klaus started to speak, but for the first time in his life, no words came to mind. You frowned at his new found quiet and continued. You stepped up to the foot of the bed so you could look directly at him as you spoke.

“This is the fifth time you’ve told me you ‘overdid it’ and I’m starting to…” you bit your lip at the thought and Klaus sat up in his bed. You turned your gaze back to him, taking in his wild mess of chocolate curls and the guilty concern written across his face. “I’m starting to think that maybe you’re doing it on purpose.”

Klaus’ jaw snapped shut and any words he had gathered died on the tip of his tongue. His eyes took in your form, from your baggy clothes that told him that, when the doctor called you, you had been ready for bed, and to the bags under your shining eyes. All signs of your worry and lack of true rest; a privilege you lost when you put your name down as Klaus’ emergency contact. You never told him that you did that, or how it felt more like a marriage certificate as you signed your very soul over to him and his bad choices. What hurt him, hurt you in ways he could never fathom. Not even now.

You sniffled and the sound filled the air around you. Still stuck in stunned silence, Klaus could only watch as you strode over to the chair. Fishing under the cushion, you pulled out pamphlets from the check in desk and the papers you had been given. You handed them out to him, your hands shaking when his fingers brushed against yours to grab them.

“That’s the doctor’s recommended treatment plan,” you murmured as Klaus trailed his gaze over the papers. His eyes caught the title of one of the foldables you had stole from the desk, reading ‘Steady Oaks Rehabilitation Center’. It was then he turned his head to look at you again. Green eyes become glassy as he stared up at you.

“I don’t-”

“It’s just something to consider, Klaus,” you said softly, too tired to be any louder than a whisper. “Let me know what you decide.” You leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. His skin felt cold when it brushed against your lips and you couldn’t tell if that was the cause of the shiver down your spine or the overwhelming love you felt for him shooting through your body.

“I’ll call you,” Klaus said swiftly, as if he were frightened that you were going to leave before he could give you any semblance of reassurance. You gave him a half-hearted smile and nodded.

“I’ll be waiting,” you replied before slipping out of his hospital room, the image of that first smile dancing in front of your eyes. He watched you go, eyelids fluttering in a vain attempt to quell the tears in gathering in his eyes. With the hopes of distracting himself Klaus opened the pamphlet for the rehabilitation center. A pen fell from it’s folds and into his lap.

Looking from where it fell, Klaus saw a blue header underlined in dark ink. ‘Coping with a Loved One’s Addiction’, bolded in it’s print. A sudden and violent sob shook Klaus’ body. His shoulder sagged and his face contorted in pain. Now he knew; he knew just how much his hurt had hurt you. Not even Ben had to tell him.

Klaus didn’t call for a while. You waited nonetheless, loyal as a dog and never not consistent. Whenever you were home you’d spare glances at the phone hung on the wall of your apartment, just waiting. When you woke and the receiver was flashing you’d be sent into a panic. You’d listen to every message, waiting for the familiar, lyrical tones of Klaus’ voice asking what you were up to and if you wanted any company.

Not once did you hear his recorded greeting and when you tried to call him, the line beeped once until it cut off. Silently, you prayed to any and all powerful beings that Klaus was only behind on phone bills not, like his landline, dead. The only shred of hope you clung to was that the hospitals had not called you either. However, that one solace did nothing to dull the ache in your heart. You missed Klaus dearly and desperately.

On one particularly rain-ridden day, your longing was nearing the point of madness. Worried had plagued your heart for close to three weeks now. While it wasn’t unusual for Klaus to disappear for long stretches of time, he always called. Always. You were about to call the police, the hospital, even some of his family members when your phone rang.

Rushing towards it, you saw that the number was unknown. A strange combination of numbers that was foreign to you ran across the caller ID. A new wave of anguish washed over you. You picked up the phone, pressing it to your ear in the hopes that whoever was on the other end had something good to tell you.

“Hello?” You asked bitterly, unable to hide your disappointment. A few long moments of silence passed as you heard muffled shuffling noises on the other end. “Hello?”

“H-Hey you.” The voice was unmistakable and it made your whole being tremble with shocks of emotion. “Sorry I haven’t called. These piss-hats don’t allow phone calls until ‘the patient shows a growing sense of responsibility and stability’. What morons, right?”

“Klaus!” You said, tears flowing from your eyes and you giggled at his impression. He chuckled on the other end and you could almost hear that smile of his.

“Y/N!”

“I’ve missed you,” you gushed into the phone, leaning your shoulder up against the wall. You twirled the coiled cord between your fingers as you sank into the sound of Klaus’ voice. “So you checked yourself in?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah, I did, I just,” Klaus mumbled the rest, making it hard for you to pick up.

“What?”

“I checked myself in, yeah.” He said quickly and you noted the slight panic in his tone.

“What did you say after that?” You pressed, the phone against your ear became your life line as you waited for his reply. All you could think of was Klaus, standing against the wall of the center he was in, smiling like he did. You missed that smile.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you hearing things, Y/N? I sure hope not, because that’s my thing.” You giggled softly, shaking your head at his humor.

“Klaus,” you groaned teasingly, your back fully resting on the wall of your apartment. You heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end, the kind that told you that what you said shocked your friend somehow. “Klaus?”

“Say it again, please,” his voice was almost a whimper. The sound of it made your heart ache while goosebumps simultaneously rose along your arms.

“Klaus,” you repeat, in a lower whisper this time. He sighed on the other end and you could almost feel his breath tickling your neck like how it did when he whispered a joke in your ear.

“I miss you,” he keened, “so much, I didn’t know it was possible.” Your breath caught in your throat at his words and you longed to be with him in the moment. To see him, not in your mind, but in reality; be able to reach out and touch him, give him comfort.

“I miss you too,” you murmur and that’s enough for him. It has to be. His phone call time is running out, the woman in her uniform tapping her wrist with a scowl.

“Keep missing me,” he begged, “I have to go Y/N. I’ll call you again when I can.”

“Klaus, wait,” you begin but he keeps going.

“Oh and tell my landlord to suck a dick, okay?” You stifle a laugh.

“Okay, but hold on,” you start again but he stops you once more.

“I gotta go, Y/N,” he says quickly, but he pauses after a split second before adding, “I love you.” Your mouth opened but no words came out, only his name again. Like a prayer, it fell from your lips, a promise that rang in both of your ears.

“Klaus,” your voice is low, quiet, timid from his admittance.

“I know,” he replied, pressing his forehead to the wall next to him. He liked to imagine you were doing the same in your apartment. Maybe you were even wearing one of the shirts he had left there from a long ago stay on your couch. He hated that couch.

“I lov-” The line went dead before you could finish and you felt your very life force drain. Angrily, you hung the phone up on the receiver with tears welling up in your eyes. “I love you too,” you whispered with a sad smile, “I love you too.”

On the other end, Klaus was staring daggers at the woman who had plucked the phone from his grasp. He opened his mouth, a sense of rage he saved mostly towards his father threatening to spill out from his lips. The woman only huffed at his expression, raising an eyebrow in wait. Klaus bit his tongue, knowing that if he acted out now they could keep him here longer.

“Well,” he said once he had taken a few breaths, “that was quite rude.” The woman grumbled something under her breath before pushing him along. As they walked down the narrow hallway, Klaus’ mind exchanged the blue painted walls for those of your apartment. If he tried hard enough he could see you in your kitchen, swaying slightly to the beat of the music playing from the nearby record player.

It was a sight he had seen many times before. On those nights where he had stayed over, back pressed to the couch in your cramped living room, he would pretend to still be sleeping. His eyes would be barely open, just enough to catch your movements in tune with the music. The image brought a smile to Klaus’ lips as he was led back to his room. As his door shut behind him, he silently hoped you were smiling because you loved him too.

It was cold the day Klaus was to be released. Nonetheless, you stood outside the rehab center, nervously picking at your nails. It was a habit that you had adopted from Klaus. Now you knew the action spawned from his symptoms of withdrawal. Puzzles pieces of his life started to fall together before you, amplified by his time away.

In your waking hours, thoughts of Klaus consumed you. You thought back to any and every memory you had of him in between hoping he was eating and wishing he were with you. The phones calls were all too rare and much too brief for your mind to cease thinking about his occupation of your heart. What made it all the more wonderfully worse was that the calls didn’t end with the same longing ‘I love you’ as the first one had.

You had rationalized that Klaus said it by mistake, caught up in the heat of the moment, or meant in a way that was purely platonic. From the moment you had met him, you knew Klaus was full of undying compassion. His loyalty went without question and was nothing but constant; unless the hunger for his next high rendered him powerless. So it wouldn’t surprise you if he had meant his words without the punctuation of romance. For, from the moment you had met him, Klaus was never in a relationship for very long.

It was that alone that held you back from telling Klaus how you truly felt about him. You didn’t want to lose him in the same way so many others had. Instead, you made yourself comfortable as a dear friend, the friend that gave Klaus a place to stay when his newest partner told him to get lost. It was similar to the present moment. Once he emerged from the rehabilitation center, Klaus was going to call your couch home for a while.

The thought of having him around again made you smile to yourself, warming your cheeks against the Autumn chill that had taken over New York. It was clear things would be different, Klaus would need extra attention, but you were willing to give him that. Hell, you were eager to. You peered at the clock, biting at the inside of your cheek as you calculated just how much longer it would be until Klaus was by your side again.

Your brows furrowed as you did the math, wondering if perhaps the clock was a few minutes too fast. A few people washed out onto the sidewalk you stood upon, blocking your view slightly. With a groan, you craned your neck until you could see the time again. Five minutes until you could see him again. Could that be right?

“And I thought I was bad with time, ha!” Klaus’ voice made you spin so quickly on your heels that you reached out for him to stabilize yourself. “Whoa, easy!”

His long fingers wrap around your wrists, holding you still as you take him in. The sight of him fills your soul like air in your lungs, like you need him. His bright green eyes scan over your features, that signature smile playing on his pink lips. One of your hands lifts from his arm and trails up to grasp his chin. The facial hair he had been growing out was styled, making him look older than he did when you last laid eyes on him.

“I like this,” you said, rubbing your thumb over the hair on his chin. Klaus let out a breathy chuckle so light he matched the tone of his eyes.

“Hoped that you would,” he teased, his teeth curling his bottom lip a moment as he took in your face. Cheeks and nose rosy from the breeze, your neck wrapped in a scarf he had stolen for you long ago. It had been too long. “You’re the only one worth looking good for.”

Silence rests between your bodies, everything you both want to say read like poems in your eyes. You feel stinging behind your eyes as you peer into Klaus’ green ones. Carefully, as if he were broken glass, you skirt your thumb across his cheek. His breath hitches for a moment and he feels that pulling in his heart; that same feeling he left whenever you left the room.

“I’ve missed you,” you say at the same time, prompting a mess of laughing sobs from your throats. You only shake your head, wrapping your arms over his shoulder and leaning into his frame. Instinct falls over Klaus as his arms find their places on your waist. He presses his face into the crook of your neck, closing his eyes when the smell of your soap and the feeling of your body on his overwhelms his senses.

You held each other for a while. People gawked at the sight of you two as they passed by. The sidewalk seems to grow more crowded as Klaus clung to you tightly. A few more minutes go by until Klaus pulls away from you. Despite the smile playing on his plush lips, the glimmer that had shone in his eyes seemed to fade.

“I am absolutely starved,” he groans, patting his stomach to emphasize it’s emptiness. You grin at him, having missed his childish demeanor. He smiles at the sight of yours and extends his hand to you. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” you play along, taking his cold hand in yours. His finger’s intertwine with yours as if it was where they were meant to be. As you start to walk, Klaus recalls the wonderful and colorful people had he met. While he talks, you spare a glance up at him. His curls bounce with each step and the lines in his face deepen as he tries to impersonate one of the other patients he had met. He was still your Klaus only, hopefully, sober.

When you don’t laugh at his sorry attempt of a baritone voice, Klaus turns his gaze on you. His smile holds true even as he stares at you with slight confusion. Lips parted and eyes, with slightly dilated pupils, appear more like a soft, yellow-green in the sunlight. You swear you had seen a puppy in the park one day with the same expression.

“What?” He asked, nudging his shoulder against your as you both continue to walk. He lifts a hand to pull his eyelid away from one of his eyes, a twisted grin on his features. “Is there something in my eye?”

You stifle a laugh, shaking your head at the goof of a man beside you. “No, just good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back,” Klaus agrees, his tone falling into one more serious as he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. You both round the corner of the street and soon, Griddy’s Donuts comes into your line of sight.

“I don’t see why we had to come home to have tea. Don’t they have tea at Griddy’s?” You ask, reaching into your cupboard for the stash of tea you had kept. Finding the right brew, you pulled two mugs down as well, setting it all out on the counter. You glance over at Klaus who, despite being in your apartment before, wandered about your small living room like a weary traveler.

He liked the way you had said ‘home’, as if it was shared. As if you had both lived there together for years and, in a sense, Klaus could argue that you had. Nights he spent sprawled out on your couch, whining about everything and anything while you listened. You always listened. Home, he thought, he could get used to that.

“They do,” Klaus says finally, turning away from your book shelf to smile at you. “But I wouldn’t wish that rat poison on my worst enemy. Tea shouldn’t smell like monkey shit.” You giggle as you pour water into the kettle. Klaus didn’t realize how much he had missed the sound of your laughter.

“Good to know,” you muse. Setting the kettle on the stove, you start a low flame beneath it. As you waited to see some steam, Klaus turned his attention back to your bookshelf. His eyes skimmed over the titles of works he was horribly unfamiliar with. It wasn’t until he reached the few bottom shelves when he felt more knowledgeable.

“Your vinyl’s are as dusty as my father’s closet,” Klaus teased, pulling at a few of the cardboard sleeves to read the artist’s name. “I should know,” he added, “I spent a lot of time in closets.”

“I haven’t used it in a while,” you explained. You strode out of your tiny kitchen and over to where Klaus had crouched down. His fur coat brushed the hardwood floor of your apartment, nearly concealing his sneakers from your view. He looked so small as you stood over him.

“Why ever not? There’s always time for music!” He exclaimed, standing with a record in his hand. You didn’t get a chance to look at the title or tell him that, ever since he had checked himself into rehab and out of your life, all the music had bled from your life. Any song you had dared to listen to reminded you of his smile and brought you to tears. You had cried enough with just the crushing feeling of missing Klaus, so you figured it was best to give music a rest until he returned.

“I was just busy, I guess,” you mumble as Klaus slid the record from it’s sleeve. With nimble fingers, he placed the disk on the player and set the needle. When he faces you again, the side of his mouth is quirked upwards in a shy smile that was only reserved for you.

“Too busy to spare a dance?” He extends his hand to you as the first few notes of Elton John’s ‘Rocketman’ crackled on the record player. “I’ll lead,” he added, “if that helps.”

“Says the man with two left feet,” you joked before taking his hand. Klaus chuckled, pulling you to the middle of your living room so you would both had more space.

“You only say that ‘cause you’re jealous.” As he spoke, Klaus intertwined your fingers with his once more and rested his other hand just above your hip. Even through your clothes, you could feel the coldness of his fingertips.

“Hm, me jealous? I don’t think so,” you jeered back, placing your own hand on his upper arm as Klaus began to waltz. Your bodies moved together as if they were never parted. Klaus smiled at you wickedly and dared to take a sneaky step closer to you. Your face went pink at the action, his proximity to you making your heart beat even faster.

“Then why do you look so flustered, my dear?” Klaus’ tone drips with smugness when the pet name slips over his lips. He only called you ‘dear’ when he wanted something. You could remember the first time it had happened a few months into your friendship. Klaus had pulled you to a parade of some sort in the city in July. The sun was beating down on everyone and you were taking a drink from your water bottle when he spoke up.

“Can I steal a sip, my dear?” The name had sent the butterflies nesting in your stomach into a frenzy. You couldn’t remember now if you had even replied to his question. All you did recall is handing him the bottle and Klaus throwing a skinny arm over your shoulders.

That was the same day you realized you were falling for your friend. Klaus looked so carefree as he danced down the street, following the brightly colored floats with music blaring from their speakers. He had asked you to dance then too. Both of you had made absolute fools of yourselves but even when he wasn’t trying, Klaus made it look graceful, easy. It was so easy to be with him.

“Where’d you go?” Klaus’ new question pulled you back from your reflection. His dark brows were knitted in slight concern and you felt the hand he had your hip rub against your side in an attempt to bring you back to the present.

“No where,” you said, giving him a smile, “I was just thinking.” Klaus huffed, his expression losing it’s rare face of worriment.

“That’s awfully dangerous.” You nodded, biting your lower lip as you debated in your mind to tell him. To tell him how much you had thought about him while he was gone, how much you really loved him and ask if he loved you.

“Yeah,” you murmured, “it is sometimes.” Klaus must have sensed the change of mood because he dropped his hand from yours. Soon it found its place on your other hip and was pulling you even closer to him. To press away any space between your bodies, you wrapped your arms over his shoulders and around his slim neck. Your head now rested against his chest and you could hear the quick, steady beat of his heart.

“Then don’t think,” Klaus murmured, his breath stirring strands of your hair.

“That’s easier said than it is done,” you replied with a sigh. Hoping to hide from your own thoughts and Klaus’ field of vision, you pressed your face deeper against his chest.

“Drugs help,” he said, so nonchalantly it scared you. You pulled away and gave him a look of fear. Klaus took in your wide eyes and parted lips, realizing he had gone too far. Before he could apologize you spoke up.

“Are you still using?” You didn’t know if you wanted him to tell you quickly or slowly. If he had to think it over, he was using, but if he answered too fast he could be lying. Every idea tormented your brain in a barrage of guilt and annoyance. All you wanted was a moment, untainted, with him.

“Y/N,” Klaus started, stepping close to you once more with his hands reaching for you waist. You hadn’t realized you had pushed yourself so far away from him. “I’m not using.”

“So it’s just you?” You asked, leaning into his renewed touch.

“Well, you’re gonna have to be more specific on that.” You cocked your head to the side and Klaus smiled at your confusion. “Ben is here. Luckily this place isn’t haunted.” You sighed and pinched his shoulder before falling against his chest again.

“Hi Ben,” you said softly, eyes skirting around your living room as if by chance, you could see his spectral form. Klaus laughed suddenly and you felt him shake his head.

“He says ‘hi’ too,” he mumbled something afterwards, directed towards Ben, and you smiled.

“And something else, I presume?” Klaus exhaled through his nose and glanced down you in his arms. Swaying to the sound of Elton John’s voice, you looked so soft. Klaus nodded to your question before sinking into your warmth and the lyrics that filled the room.

“What did he say?”

“Oh you know,” Klaus scoffed, trailing off in the hopes you would drop the topic. Klaus peered over his shoulder and his eyes found Ben. He stood in your kitchen, shaking his head at the sight of you both. Klaus lifted a hand from the small of your back and gestured for his brother to go away. Ben sighed and walked down the hallway of your apartment.

“I actually don’t know,” you teased, “that’s why you’re here.”

“Here to act as the conduit in which you flirt with my dead brother? I knew it,” Klaus said, his voice sad, over-dramatically so. “And here I thought you truly loved me. Y/N, you’re cold hearted.”

“I do,” you said quietly, with a tone of voice that dripped with a sincerity that cut through Klaus’ playful show.

“What?” He sounded genuinely confused at your words and looked the part too when you pulled yourself away from his chest to look into his eyes. The vibrant green was darker now in the low light of your apartment.

The question hovered between the two of you for a while longer. Your mind was racing, wandering through every possible outcome that your next few words could bring about. Klaus, on the other hand, wasn’t thinking at all. One of his hands trailed up from your waist to your cheek. The skin was soft to the touch and it took every ounce of will power Klaus had in him not to kiss you then and there. He wanted to kiss you so desperately but, for once in his life, he was ready to wait.

“I do, love you,” you breathed out, as if the words flowed straight from your heart and through your mouth. Klaus’ green eyes seemed to sparkle at your words and the smile that graced his lips sent a wave of adoration over the entirety of your being.

“I love you too,” he said, his voice quiet. It was as if he were a child on the playground, telling his best friend a long kept secret. “Over the phone I meant it. I couldn’t stand not seeing you when I wanted to. I wanted to see the person I love,” he brushed his fingers over your cheek, “and now I can.”

��So poetic, was that Keats? No, wait. It was Dickinson, wasn’t it?” You ask teasingly, prompting Klaus to chuckle. You had never heard him lay it on so thickly before; at least not when the subject of his affections was you.

“You know I never paid attention in literature class,” he leaned a little closer to you. “I always thought, why read poetry when you can make it yourself.” His body was now flush with your own, his hand holding your jaw now. His words melted you into his touch and you found yourself leaning up towards him.

“You should share more often,” you vex, pleased with the sudden mask of confidence that now rested on your features. You weren’t entirely sure where it came from, but you were happy with the results nonetheless. “Maybe I will,” Klaus beamed, his forehead now resting against your own. A few stray brown curls tickled your skin, but you didn’t pay much mind to them. You only hum in response as the music began to fill the quiet between you. Eager, you craned your neck upwards, silently granting Klaus the permission he had been waiting for.

Full of want and unhindered passion, Klaus pressed his lips to yours roughly. You expected nothing less than the rawness that made up his existence. He was himself with you, no drugs required. Your hands slipped into his hair, tugging lightly at the strands as Klaus held your close to him. His lips were soft, softer than you ever imagined.

Testing the waters, Klaus grazed the tip of his tongue against your bottom lip. Bending to his will, your mouth parted and the kiss deepened. His hand on your cheek traveled back down to your waist, the other squeezed at your hip. Just as Elton John’s voice faded out, the whistling of the kettle on the stove reached your ears.

“Fuck the tea,” Klaus mumbled against your lips as you started to pull away. His green eyes were dark and lips more of a red color after the bruising kiss you had shared. His gaze danced across your features and he could feel every fiber of his body screaming for you. “Better yet, fuck m-” Klaus began but you pecked his lips again to quiet him.

“You’re the one who wanted the tea,” you pointed out. Klaus watched at you pulled away from his lips, a smile resting on your features. He could only imagine he wore the same expression, if not more dopey and messy.

“I actually want you, the tea was simply a diversion,” he explained, following you into your cramped kitchenette. He studied you as you turned the stove off and prepared the tea bags to steep. The domestic sight sent a shiver down Klaus’ spine. It was a scene he could grow used to seeing. He heard a cough suddenly and he peered down the hallway.

“I actually wanted the tea,” Ben grumbled, but he gave his brother a thumbs up. Ben had done the same thing the day Klaus had met you. Klaus could remember Ben poking at his stunted courage, trying to get him to go up and speak to you. He was glad in that moment, happy for the curse that his father had called a gift. Now, Klaus smiled at his brother. Turning his gaze back to you, Klaus saw a glimmer of possibility shining in your eyes.

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