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sixx-writes · 2 years ago

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Mother II

Second Form/Semi-Perfect Cell x Reader

Word Count: 4,121

cw: noncon, lactation, drug/toxin use, cunnilingus, overstimulation, breastfeeding, rough sex

AO3 Version | Masterlist

Summary: AU where reader finds Cell’s egg in the woods and he’s just an alien instead of an android. (AKA my idea for Cell if he used a particular human as a surrogate ‘mother’ instead of eating people to reach his other forms). Meant to be scary/creepy so heed the tags for stuff you’re not comfy with but it is Cell after all so I hope I do it justice :D (chapters are in the same order as Cell’s forms.)

Pt. 1 | 2 | 3

18+ ONLY NSFW BELOW THE CUT

It's been a little over a month since the encounter with the alien and you had made good on your decision to sell your old house.

You had given it some time to see if you would be able to sleep normally in your room and even on the living room couch but every little noise and shadow glimpsed from the corner of your eye made you paranoid. You simply couldn't relax knowing that Cell was still out there somewhere especially after his ominous final words. You had made up a lie saying that a bear had tried to get into the house if anyone asked, even though there were no signs that anything was broken, and moved into an apartment on the outskirts of the city closer to your mother's house much to her delight.

It was over a hundred miles away from your old place but even a thousand didn't feel like it would have been enough.

You had also made the decision to buy a gun and keep it in the nightstand next to the bed at all times for a little extra security.

The changes to your body had faded by the time you had awakened that night after Cell was finished with you, all that remained was the sticky evidence of what had happened, most of the tenderness in your breasts had vanished. You had sat on the floor of the shower afterwards with the images of Cell between your legs replaying over and over and you hated that you still felt aroused just remembering it. His pale pink stare lingered behind your eyelids every time you closed your eyes and you refused to give in to any sort of urges you felt even if it meant being kept up all night with panties that were so soaked by morning you started to change them twice a day.

You had turned into a zombie on auto pilot going through the motions while your mind was still in your old bedroom feeling Cell's tongue inside you forcing you to orgasm.

You didn't know if you needed a boyfriend or a therapist more.

⛧

You jumped to your feet, startling your mom, and knocking over your tea when you felt something wet on your leg underneath the kitchen table.

"Y/n? What on earth?"

It was your scheduled monthly dinner date and you had started to space out again while she mentioned how sickly you looked for at least the tenth time since you'd walked through the door. Naked panic was on your face when you checked underneath and found that it was only her golden retriever sniffing your leg curiously now wearing the same confused expression as your mother.

You laughed it off as best you could, "I'm sorry mom, you're right, I don't feel too good. I think I'm going to go home and take a nap. I might be coming down with that bug everyone is getting at work and I don't want to make you sick."

"Oh. Okay, well call me if you want me to bring you some soup."

She didn't bother hiding her disappointment that you were already leaving but you couldn't get back in your apartment with the door locked and reunited with your gun fast enough.

You checked and made sure it was loaded before sighing and sliding under the blankets starting to thumb through your phone mindlessly. Taylor hadn't tried contacting you since that less than well executed date and you were both grateful and a little sad. He wasn't really your type but you didn't want to be alone even more than before. Partially out of fear and partially out of the unrelenting ache that stayed between your legs.

You couldn't touch yourself knowing where your mind would go if you did.

So you chose to stay miserable and unsatisfied as some sort of petty revenge against Cell even if it felt more like you were the one being punished.

⛧

It seemed that fate was giving you a second chance after all when you received a notice from your office saying that there was going to be a birthday party for your boss and everyone was invited.

If someone else ends up fucking my brains out then it's fine, right? As long as I don't have to think about Cell..

The boss' birthday party always had copious amounts of alcohol and you had known a secretary that had gotten pregnant after going to one of them. It made you confident that you would see some activity if you were determined enough.

Sure enough on the day of the party after your head was pleasantly fuzzy from the wine you were chatting up some hottie from upper management who definitely seemed interested if the way his eyes kept darting to your cleavage was any indication. You'd intentionally left the top two buttons undone on your blouse just to up the odds and it had been the right decision it seemed.

You were living on borrowed confidence and for once you didn't see Cell's reptilian gaze staring back at you from the shadows. All you could picture was having this guy's cock in your mouth and your hands threading through his immaculately trimmed lilac hair while he fucked the stress out of you. His cheeks took on a faint pink tinge when you brushed your hair back over your shoulder invitingly showing off the column of your neck.

"Do you want to go somewhere?" he asked a little shyly. It was endearing and made your chest flutter.

"Mhm," you said biting your lip in the most sexy way you could manage, "Let's go back to mine?"

"My place is ten minutes away if that's alright?"

You nodded.

That was how you ended up in his car, your hand massaging his growing erection over his pants, while you gave little nips and kisses along the side of his neck and ear. You were acting overly sexually aggressive because you were drunk, not usually one to take the lead, combined with how you hadn't so much as masturbated in over a month. You let what was happening fill your head so you didn't have to think anymore just enjoying the moment and the scent of his cologne.

You would have given him head right there if not for the short trip made even shorter by how fast he was driving.

You saw that his apartment was much nicer than your own in the brief few seconds you had to take it in before you were slammed against the door, his hard on grinding against your core tantalizingly, while he shoved his tongue in your mouth in a drunken make out session. You sighed contentedly feeling yourself getting wetter until his hand was under your skirt starting to rub at your panties.

"Bed," he said.

You only let out a soft moan in response.

No arguments here.

The two of you continued to make out while you undid the buttons of his shirt starting to move downwards, pleasantly surprised at how muscular he was underneath, placing kisses on your journey to his waistband. You had just pulled his zipper down when a noise caught your attention from overhead. You shot back upright only to find that your potential lover had fallen asleep already snoring softly.

"Hey," you said, "Wake up-"

I don't even know his name.

You slapped his chest trying to get his attention but he only groaned and threw his arm across his eyes completely out of it.

"You've got to be fucking joking."

Indeed even his hard on had gone soft leaving you in a very awkward position. You'd came here in his car which meant you would have to do the walk of shame back to the party to get your own. It was tempting to just call a cab and sleep it off at your apartment before going back but the idea of someone you knew calling and asking why your car was still at work was the least appealing. That would lead to even more awkward questions you didn't want to deal with.

You rolled off of him and stared up at the ceiling hating your life and the fact that you were still somehow left sexually frustrated despite everything playing out exactly how you wanted.

⛧

In your overly excited exit you hadn't even grabbed your coat and now you were freezing in the chilly autumn air desperately rubbing at your own arms for warmth. There were practically no cars or people around at this hour, much later than you thought, and the moon hung fat and bloated over head. It started to make your mind wander to places that it shouldn't, remembering how it had reflected in Cell's eyes from the window.

Like blood mixed with water.

You slapped your own cheeks trying to bring yourself out of the weird morbid place you were rapidly sinking into. Your failure at getting laid had put you in a shit mood and that wasn't helping.

You decided to take a shortcut through the park near the pond starting to feel a little worried about the wrong person seeing you in your skimpy outfit alone. You'd worn a near dangerously short skirt for your mission that just showed the tops of your thigh highs when you moved. It had made you feel sexy in your bedroom but now you just felt humiliated. You kicked a rock into the water with a loud splash and then stopped to grab another and another throwing them angrily into the pond.

You hoped there weren't any homeless weirdos nearby to witness your mental breakdown.

You didn't stop until you couldn't find anything else to throw, finally falling back onto your ass into the dirt, letting out a growl.

"I thought I told you not to go far, human?"

Cell's voice rang out and you scrambled to your feet, nearly falling again from how unsteady you were, wildly checking around yourself. There was no one that you could see hidden amidst the trees and the many shadows they cast. That didn't make you feel any better.

Was I imagining it?

You were starting to sober up a little, a cold sweat breaking out all over your skin, and you splashed your face with pond water trying not to think about how much rotten bread and duck shit was floating in it. It only served to cause all the things you were trying to forget to come back in full force.

Cell's stinger sliding through soft flesh.

Cell's tongue wriggling deep inside.

Cell greedily sucking at your red swollen nipples not letting a single drop go to waste.

You whimpered trying to plug the burst dam in your head feeling yourself starting to leak onto your thighs beneath your skirt.

Need to get home.

You stumble ran the rest of the way across the park, taking off your heels to move faster, and still tripping a few times along the way. You threw a nervous glance back over your shoulder every time expecting Cell to be there but each time there was nothing.

The drive home was just as tense, partially out of fear and partially because you were still too drunk for it to be considered an exactly 'legal' experience, with the added danger of your eyes being everywhere but on the road expecting to see Cell any second. Upon finally reaching your apartment building, you heaved a deep sigh of relief, nearly falling out onto the pavement. You were annoyed that you had ruined your favorite pair of stockings seeing how they both ended up with runs all over them from your little jog through the park.

It was the final stretch; you just needed to get into your apartment building and you would be home safe. Heels in hand you hobble walked as fast as you could fumbling with your keys as you went and trying not to hyperventilate.

"You've been a bad girl, haven't you?" the back of your skirt was lifted off of your bare ass cheeks thanks to the lacy thong you had elected to wear, "How should I punish you? First, you don't listen to what I tell you and then you run away from me so that I have to go out of my way to chase you. Twice now I've had to chase you."

Your foot was on the top step, you hadn't even made it to the door this time, and your ass was still uncovered presumably being inspected. That didn't last long until you felt a sharp blow connect across your buttocks making you cry out and fall to all fours. The keys slipped from your hand and hit the bottom of the door frame with a soft jingle that may as well have been your death knell.

You clumsily rolled over onto your back with the intention of kicking out in a pathetic final act of self defense but froze when you saw the monstrosity before you. Cell had gone through another metamorphosis since the last time you'd seen him and was hardly recognizable. He was much larger than before, built like a fucking refrigerator, and disturbingly more human.

He watched you while you gaped at him in open shock; his newly acquired lips twisting into a proper smirk.

Most disturbing of all was how he was hovering above the ground making him seem that much more intimidating from his elevated position over you. You noticed how his shockingly blue eyes slipped down between your legs where your skirt had ridden up giving him an unobstructed view of your panties. You slammed your legs shut and he tsked disapprovingly.

"Stay away from me," you hissed.

"Hmm. No. Also, I don't appreciate this attitude when I've gone out of my way to be reasonable with you."

"Reasonable?! You shot me up with some fucking alien aphrodisiac and all I can think about is-"

Cell's brow was furrowed, "I think there's been a misunderstanding. The effects of my venom last around two or three hours. Just long enough to complete the feeding process. Anything you've experienced since then has nothing to do with me. Unless," he grinned in the most evil way you'd ever seen, "You've been imagining me fucking you, haven't you?"

Your started to protest but your flushed face gave you away as you decided that one of the cars in the parking lot was more interesting than you making eye contact right then.

Cell began to laugh so obnoxiously loud that it nearly hurt your ears and you had to wonder why no one was looking out of their window to witness a nine foot tall bug man floating outside. Once recovered he gave you the most unnerving predatory look and you knew you were in for it, "So that's how it is. If you enjoyed my first form so much I can't wait to see how you'll react once I've attained Perfection."

You had no idea what he was talking about but he was already starting to move in closer to you sending your mind and body into conflict. Your common sense was telling you to run like hell while your pussy was already getting wetter just from the sound of his voice. Even in this repulsive form it did nothing to quell how badly you wanted him inside you again. His tail closed the distance first, lightly trailing along your calf until it reached your inner thigh and started to tease the bottom of your skirt. You couldn't help how your legs naturally parted just the tiniest bit in anticipation.

Cell noticed this and his smile got wider, "My, what a shameless little kitten you are. I've never seen prey so eager to be devoured."

The endearment sent an involuntary shudder through you.

"Just shut up and do it already," you mumbled out not really knowing what you were asking for.

Cell stopped, "Do what?"

"Fuck me," it was nearly shocking how easy it was for you to say when you'd spent the past month not even so much as allowing yourself to masturbate. You just needed to be put out of your misery already.

"No."

You blinked.

"No?"

"No," he repeated, "It isn't possible at this stage. And I think you're forgetting that you defied me twice now so I still need to punish you I'm afraid."

The familiar feeling of fear fell down into your stomach like a coin dropping into the black depths of a well. Too late you realized you'd squandered your only chance at escape, if it had ever existed at all. Cell must have noticed the panic on your face because he suddenly grabbed you in one of those too fast to follow moves of his and tucked you under his arm. You were carried upwards in a blur before being dumped into the alley next to the apartment complex.

A locked privacy fence caged you in on both ends so there was no way you were getting out if you tried to run. Not that Cell needed any extra precautions to stop you.

"Put your hands on the wall."

You hesitated and he sighed, "Do you really want to make it three times?"

You didn't - so you did as he asked.

You were trembling not just from the cold when you felt him move behind you, his massive hands going to your waist and back to bend you more to his liking. Your heart hammered like crazy when he lifted your skirt out of the way exposing your ass. You hated that you had practically gift wrapped yourself for him like this in your sluttiest skirt and panties. If only your potential fuck of the evening could handle his alcohol better you would still be sleeping off an orgasm or two.

Cell hummed appreciatively and something stroked between your legs across where your thong had ridden up between glistening lips.

He pressed his hips against your backside grinding against you suggestively, "Do you want it so badly? Such a strange little human you are getting off on something like this," his stinger was beneath your ear stroking against your pulse like before, "Did you imagine me feeding from you, too? All of this time?"

You had, although, you would never admit it out loud and never to him. You couldn't say much of anything at the moment, feeling lightheaded, it took all of your willpower to hold yourself up. Cell's hand was on your breast then and you shuddered beneath his rough touch that you had tried to replicate in moments of weakness when you were alone in bed or the shower. It was the most fucked up part of it for you. You had enjoyed the unique feeling of leaking from your tits and the pleasurable relief it had given you and this monster to drain you dry.

It was foolish how you weren't trying to fight him with how easily he could break you if he truly wanted. He settled for popping all the buttons off your blouse snaking his tail underneath and tearing it open from the inside. The sound you made was horrendously embarrassing and you tried not think about it too much when your bra met the same fate.

If this keeps happening I won't have any bras left..

Cell's stinger was at your inner thigh, nearly touching your pussy, and you gasped when he pressed in just hard enough to leave a thin scratch behind, "Do you want it inside you? Hmm?"

You wanted to say no, that was one of your most tender areas, but you only mewled in the most pathetic way while grinding into him, nearly cutting yourself deeper in the process. Cell was entertained by your eagerness; you were just as excited as you had been while under the influence of his toxin. Maybe even more so. It seemed he had chosen well for his surrogate.

Although he would have, admittedly, appreciated a little more fight than this.

Cell penetrated you and your eyes rolled back from a twisted amalgam of pain and ecstasy as those blistering waves of heat spread through your blood. It wasn't as agonizing as before, in fact, it was nearly euphoric and you wondered if it was because his venom had undergone changes just like his physical form. It made sense that he would need a different formula produced from your body for the next stage and that was why the effects from the first feeding were temporary.

"God," you whimpered. Your nipples were already starting to tingle and your breasts felt full.

"Not yet. But very soon," Cell purred next to your ear, "It's a strange thing but I'm actually looking forward to fucking you, human. You should feel honored to have my cock when the time comes."

Cell toyed with one of your nipples encouraging it to leak milk through his fingers. Or whatever weird shit he was making your body create as sustenance - you didn't fully understand it and weren't sure if you wanted to. He popped them into his mouth sucking them dry with the same insatiable hunger as before. His chest rumbled against your back as a sign he was getting more excited coupled with how he held back less in the way he handled you.

Unexpectedly, he flipped you around and looped your legs around his waist, the size difference between you having never been more apparent with you pinned against the wall.

The end of his tail came up underneath you and you felt a cold chill of fear with the sharp end so close to your cunt. You thought he may actually stick it inside you when he altered the shape of it, having more control over it's form that you originally believed, it now closely resembled a phallic shape. It was a very minimalist idea of a cock with a mushroom head and widening ridges along it's length. You wondered if it was modeled after his own.

There was no warning, no preparation, not that you needed it, when he brutally slammed it inside you ripping through your panties in the process. You threw your head back in a wild scream of blissful pain that made you forget your own name feeling a line of drool coming from the corner of your lips. Cell growled and silenced you with the most filthy kiss you had ever experienced, his wide tongue invading your smaller mouth, and you could taste your own milk. It was oddly sweet and you sought more of it sucking at the invading muscle which seemed to make Cell even more feral.

His tail rammed at you from below through the hole in your panties soaking the fabric with your juices while you flopped helplessly against him. Your breasts bounced and leaked droplets all over his chest. That seemed to remind him of his hunger so he lifted you higher and took your breast into his mouth enveloping the entire globe while he sloppily sucked never breaking the rhythm of fucking you. All you could do was ride it out, one of your hands going to the back of his head in encouragement to take from you.

Cell hummed against your skin forcing the end of his tail all the way in hitting against your cervix and bringing fresh tears to your eyes.

Heaven and hell collided in your body as you had the most blindingly painful orgasm of your life, the pleasurable contractions offset by the awful uncomfortable feeling behind your stomach of having your cervix abused at the same time. He didn't stop this time when you came, just kept fucking you through it, the sounds of your body turning wetter and louder where you were connected. It was a troubling sort of pleasure not knowing how much damage he was doing to you at the same time. You quickly understood Cell intended to make you suffer by the sadistic glint in those blue eyes and the machine like way he never slowed no matter how many times you came.

Indeed you were a broken thing by the time he dropped you back on the stairs of your apartment you were crawling unable to stand trying to find your keys with the insides of your thighs coated in what you hoped was only your cum.

"I would suggest there isn't another incident like this one. I'll find you when the time is right so be sure to wait like a good girl," Cell said from somewhere behind and above you.

By the time you turned around he was already gone.

So much for buying a gun.

#perfect cell x reader #semi-perfect cell x reader #imperfect cell x reader #semi-perfect cell #perfect cell #imperfect cell #dragon ball #jesus too many fucking cells #namely the ones in my brain dying after writing something so nasty

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mrleopard25 · 2 years ago

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Doctor Who Regeneration Series Revisited: The Tenth Regeneration

youtube

Rose: “You’re not making sense.” The Ninth Doctor: “I might never make sense again. I might have two heads, or no head. Imagine me with no head – and don’t say that’s an improvement. It’s a bit dodgy, this process. You never know what you’ll end up with." Rose: “Doctor!” The Ninth Doctor: “Stay away!” Rose: “Doctor, tell me what’s going on.” The Ninth Doctor: “I absorbed all the energy of the time vortex and no one’s meant to do that. Every cell in my body’s dying.” Rose: “Can’t you do something?” The Ninth Doctor: “Yeah, I’m doing it now. Time Lords have this little trick; sort of a way of cheating death.”

Story (from “Bad Wolf”, “The Parting of the Ways”, the 2005 Children In Need special, and “The Christmas Invasion”):

The Doctor, Rose, and Captain Jack are kidnapped from the TARDIS and forced to play reality game shows in the far future, where the penalty for losing is death. The Doctor breaks out and discovers that the whole network of game shows are situated in a space station, and that the network controller kidnapped him in the hopes of using him to defeat her masters, who are revealed to be the Daleks.

The Doctor is astounded that the Daleks survived the Time War, and the Emperor Dalek reveals himself. His ship was the lone survivor of a cataclysmic event (The Moment, as stated in the last entry), and fell through time to the outer reaches of Earth’s solar system. Over several hundred years the Emperor harvested humans to slowly rebuild his Dalek army and was driven mad by his isolation, deluding himself to believe he was a god.

The Daleks now intend to invade Earth, totally complacent in its mindless entertainment, and from there build the empire up to conquer the galaxy. The Doctor realizes the only way he can stop them is to build a Delta wave emitter using the transmitter of the station, but there’s not enough time to refine it. As such any Delta wave emitted would not just kill the Daleks but the population of the Earth as well.

The Doctor tricks Rose into staying in the TARDIS, and he remotely sends it back to her own time, locking the controls. Rose is furious and while back in her own time sees the words “Bad Wolf” all around her, which she had seen all through her adventures with the Doctor as if the words were following her through time. She realizes that it is a message and breaks into the TARDIS’ telepathic circuits. The TARDIS console opens and floods her mind with the energy of the time vortex.

The Daleks confront the Doctor and he admits that he can not bring himself to commit genocide (again). Just as the Daleks approach to exterminate him, the TARDIS arrives. Rose steps out, teeming with the energy of the time vortex, now omnipotent. She annihilates the Dalek fleet with a wave of her hand and resurrects Captain Jack, who had been killed earlier. But the Doctor pleads with her that not only is it wrong for her to stay like this but the energies will destroy her. She can not give up the power she now has, so the Doctor kisses her and absorbs all the energy into himself, before quickly breathing it back into the TARDIS.

After setting off into flight Rose awakens with amnesia of the events and the Doctor warns her of his impending regeneration due to the burn out caused by the energies. After a paranoid rambling he regenerates and immediately notices new teeth. Inspecting himself he notices all the changes in the regeneration and wants Rose’s opinion.

She denies that he could be the Doctor, instead suspecting a plot of some kind. He tries to convince her he’s the same man but she’s still suspicious. He asks her if she wants to leave and she’s undecided. The Doctor sets the TARDIS controls back to her home at Christmas time but then succumbs to the effects of post-regeneration trauma, lapsing into a manic craze.

The TARDIS crashes onto the street and the Doctor wishes Rose’s mom Jackie and Mickey a Merry Christmas before collapsing into a coma. While recuperating the Doctor becomes a target for robots dressed in Santa costumes. Meanwhile the invading force of the Sycorax has arrived, and Rose finds she may be Earth’s only hope.

Production:

As stated in the seventh regeneration article the viewing figures for the 1996 Doctor Who tv movie were very high in the UK. While the audio dramas and novels were in full swing it was also apparent the audience for the program never really left. Producer Mel Young approached the then-current BBC One Controller Peter Salmon about relaunching the series and through them writer and Doctor Who enthusiast Russell T Davies was brought on board for contributions. However this fell through and Davies went on to work on a little unknown series called “Queer as Folk”.

By 2003 Davies had attracted enough attention as a writer to be brought back to the new Doctor Who project. By this point the new BBC One Controller Lorraine Heggessey had completely cleared up any rights issues – as remember with the television movie, Universal, Fox, and BBC Worldwide had all been on the production. But by now BBC television had the authority to pursue a series with no difficulty, opting to produce it with BBC Wales and the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (the CBC).

Davies was to be not only the head writer but the executive producer as well. Also producing were Phil Collinson and BBC Wales Head of Drama Julie Gardner. Those principal three would be the main creative driving force behind the new series. Casting calls were held for who would play the Doctor and the team settled with Christopher Eccleston, a man who had never been a fan of the series in the past. In fact Eccleston would criticize the old series for its “wobbly sets”, although admitted he found the concept of regeneration fascinating.

No one was sure if the series would even take off, so they settled on making one season before committing any further. However when ratings pulled in 10.5 million viewers for the first episode “Rose” a second season was commissioned, and everyone signed up.

Except Chris Eccleston. He wasn’t too keen on the atmosphere of the set and had fears of being typecast, so he wished to go after the first season. It was originally intended to be a surprise to the audience, since they were announced for another season, but the BBC accidentally released this information early against Eccleston’s contract. Everyone was a little incensed and to this day Eccleston isn’t happy with how the BBC handled his departure. Nevertheless Eccleston still to this day is proud of his time in the role and adores the fans of the series.

Casted to replace him was 30 year old Doctor Who fan David Tennant. Tennant had already done roles in many of the radio dramas and was thrilled at the opportunity to play his childhood hero.

You may have noticed the citing of many episodes for the story. That’s because even though the new series format was to have standalone episodes, unlike the multi-episode story arcs of the past, Davies enjoys having plot points work their way through an entire season. In this case Davies had written in references to the “Bad Wolf” in almost every episode, some of which barely noticeable. The Children In Need special listed above was a seven minute charity piece that was a short dialogue scene as the Doctor feels his new body out before going manic.

As for the regeneration scene, a straight video morph effect with lights and energy were used. Relatively simple but flashy enough to inspire those who had never seen a regeneration before. And by setting it up with dialogue beforehand, the hope was that audiences wouldn’t feel alienated.

Analysis:

First off, I love Eccleston’s portrayal of the Doctor. He’s a quirky guy totally unlike anyone else he’s every played in the past. But he also shows a pain and a rage beneath that humour. And as much as I loved Tennant’s performance I really do wish Eccleston would have hung around for one more season.

Nevertheless I was still pretty psyched at seeing a new regeneration. After the effects of the last series, which were inconsistent, I was eager to see how much better this one would be. The budget was significantly better and we as an audience were far more emotionally invested in the event.

Okay so in regards to this “Bad Wolf” entity Rose becomes, it’s an interesting plot device and it would have seemed like a cop-out, if not for the how we’ve been seeing its effects through almost the whole season. So I’m okay with it. One might be wondering why Rose didn’t die from absorbing it while the Doctor did. To this I say that it makes sense that while the Doctor was imbued with its energies he reversed any damage to Rose before putting the energy back into the heart of the TARDIS. One wonders about those continents the Daleks fried before they were stopped. Rose brought Captain Jack back, what about all those people? Who knows.

Back to the heart of the TARDIS, this was a concept that has been around a long time. The first reference goes back to the First Doctor in a 1964 story arc that has been retroactively titled “The Edge of Destruction.” The TARDIS is being plunged back to Event One and will be destroyed. However the Doctor and his companions don’t realize this so the TARDIS tries to warn them. From that point on in the series it is explicitly understood that the TARDIS has a degree of sentience.

We even saw the TARDIS use these energies to revive Grace and Chang Lee in the TV movie, based on sentimentality. And then in “Boom Town” when Blaine is trying to commandeer the TARDIS by holding Rose hostage she is exposed to the heart which rejuvenates her until she is an egg, giving her a second chance at life. So undoubtedly when Rose and the TARDIS communicated, it gave her the power it needed to resolve the situation because of compassion for the Doctor.

For most of the Tenth Doctor’s first story “The Christmas Invasion,” the Doctor is near comatose, expressing the regeneration had gone wrong. So no Zero Room this time? I’m actually of the opinion that it’s another example of the post-regeneration trauma manifesting itself as paranoia. I honestly enjoyed how it was the smell of herbal tea that healed his stressed synapses and allowed him to recover. I also enjoyed the scene in which the Sycorax suddenly seem to be speaking English as soon as it’s apparent the Doctor has recuperated. From that point on Tennant owns the episode, silencing those who doubted if he had the character to pull off the role.

No too much to say on this one, other than I really enjoyed Doctor Who coming back and the regeneration was very well done. And with David Tennant taking over the reins, the series would see even greater ratings and an entirely new audience.

And Another Thing...

I really wish they’d go somewhere else besides Earth. They’ve got the whole universe to explore!

The Tenth Doctor: “Now then, what do I look like? No no no no no no no no no – don’t tell me. Let’s see. Two legs, two arms, two hands, slight weakness in the dorsal tendon. Hair! I’m not bald! Ooooh, big hair. Sideburns, I’ve got sideburns! Or really bad skin. Little bit thinner, that’s weird, give me time and I’ll get used to it. I have got a mole. I can feel it. Between the shoulder blades is a mole. That’s all right. Love the mole. Go ahead, tell me, what do you think?” Rose: “Who are you?” The Tenth Doctor: “I’m the Doctor!”

#doctor who #christopher eccleston #david tennant #Regeneration #review #TARDIS #the christmas invasion #the parting of the ways #bad wolf

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regenderate-fic · 2 years ago

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Calling Into the Void

Fandom: Doctor Who Ships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Characters: Rose Tyler, Donna Noble, Tenth Doctor Rating: General Series: Stay With Me. Hold My Hand. Word Count: 11,676 Other Tags: Episode: Doomsday, Episode: The Runaway Bride, Rose Stays, Bad Wolf Rose, Bad Wolf as Disability, Canon Divergence

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Summary: The Doctor falls into the void at the end of Doomsday. Rose Tyler immediately begins searching for a way to get him back. She manages to make one jump in the TARDIS before Donna Noble, transported from her own wedding, appears in front of her. Navigating her newly awakened connection to time itself, Rose has to figure out what happened to Donna and how to keep her and her family safe, all while desperate to find the Doctor (and battling a massive headache to boot).

First in a (planned) series.

NOTES: so ages ago i was like "so i really like the idea of aus where rose stays on the show, but i don't often like the execution. i wonder if i could do it in a way that i liked." and that is the birth of this au. i'm planning on making it a series, and i'll probably write bits and pieces out of order-- but my main goal is to really consider how each episode and as such the canon of the entire show would be different if rose had been there. in runaway bride, i've also changed a few plot details. series title from mitski i will because. surprise! of course it is. also in future fics i AM going to let rose kiss women just so you all know. doctor who is all about polycules so jot that down.

Rose was clinging to the handle, her hair blowing around her face, her own grip the only thing between herself and what might as well have been Hell. She squinted across the hall to the Doctor, whose lips were pulled back in a grimace as he struggled against the void. He caught Rose’s eye, and for a second his grimace became a grin. Rose tried her best to return it. Even here, in the heart of danger, the Doctor’s smile made Rose feel just the tiniest bit safer.

But it didn’t last. Over the roar of the wind and the Cybermen and Daleks screaming, the sound of electricity sparking. “Offline.” The detached voice came from speakers in the ceiling, filling the room Eyes wide, Rose followed the Doctor’s gaze to—

Her heart sank.

The lever on the Doctor’s side of the room had come loose. It was no longer locked, and now it drifted towards its “off” position.

The suction from the void was already dying down, the flow of Cybermen and Daleks slowing, and there was only one way to fix it.

“Doctor, no!” Rose yelled, but she was too late. The Doctor was already reaching towards the lever, straining with the effort. He caught it, leaping from the clamp to the lever, and yelled something Rose couldn’t quite make out over all the other noises. She watched, horrified, as he wrestled the lever back to its upright position.

“Online and locked.” The voice’s pleasant tone mocked Rose. The void continued to be open, the suction returning to full force, but now the Doctor wasn’t safely attached to a Magnaclamp; he was clutching at the thin metal lever, his body parallel to the ground as he struggled to regain his grip.

“No!” Rose yelled again.

“Rose!” She heard him loud and clear this time, yelling her name. It took everything in her to not let go of her own Magnaclamp in a desperate attempt at rescue: it wouldn’t do any good for them both to get sucked into the void, but Rose felt a part of herself break as she watched one of the Doctor’s hands fly off the lever, then the other. She could only watch as he flew through the air, calling out to her, disappearing into the white expanse.

“No!” Rose yelled one more time. She stared at the empty spot where the Doctor had just been. There had to be a mistake— he couldn’t just be gone . It wasn’t possible. He was the Doctor, her Doctor. He was nine hundred years old. He’d survived the Time War, outlived his species, regenerated time and time again— and now he was gone?

It couldn’t be. And yet as the wind died down, as the last few Daleks were sucked into the void, the Doctor continued to not be there. The shimmering, shifting hole at the end of the room crumpled in onitself, and then there was silence.

For a second, the moment played out in Rose’s mind as if the Doctor had been there. He would’ve pushed off the wall and loped over to her with a huge grin on his face, pulled her into a huge hug, and she would’ve returned the hug in full force, and then they would’ve gone back to the TARDIS together, ready for their next adventure. She wanted that so badly she could feel it—

But it wasn’t like that. It was much, much lonelier.

Rose’s footsteps echoed as she stepped away from her Magnaclamp, wobbling a little as she regained her balance. It was hard to believe that a moment ago a million Daleks and Cybermen had passed through here: as Rose approached the wall they had gone through, she kept expecting it to change, to shift back into the void and suck her in. But it didn’t, not even when she laid a hand on it. It was solid as ever, painted a glossy white and smooth to the touch.

Rose took a deep breath, and suddenly she was sobbing. She collapsed into the wall as tears flowed down her face, tears not only for the Doctor but also for her mum and Mickey, still alive but still lost to Rose forever. And her parallel dad, too, even though she wasn’t his daughter, not really— she had lost everyone who mattered to her in one fell swoop. Where was she supposed to go from here?

She didn’t know how long she spent slumped against the wall. It felt like hours, but when she heard footsteps behind her, it was too soon. She straightened up and made an attempt at wiping away her tears. Her makeup was sure to be horribly smudged, but there was nothing she could do about that. She turned around to see a Torchwood scientist walking towards her. He was a gangly young thing— but then again, he was probably older than Rose. It was just that she felt so, so old.

“Is it safe now?” he asked.

Rose nodded. “Should be,” she said. “Void’s closed.”

The scientist looked around the room. Rose took stock: the back wall was completely gone. Sunlight was streaming in, and the papers strewn all over the floor were blowing in the summer breeze. The glass that had once been dividing the main space from an observation area had shattered, and as the scientist stepped closer, he had to walk carefully to avoid the sharp pieces.

“What happened to the man you were with?” he asked. “The Doctor?”

Rose shook her head, swallowing the lump in her throat. “He’s gone. Got sucked in.”

“Oh.” The scientist hesitated. “Is there anything we can—”

“I’m all right.” Rose tried to force a smile. “We should probably get out of here, yeah? Place seems about to crumble.”

For a moment, the scientist was still, indecision on his face, and Rose was sure he was about to ask her more questions. But he didn’t. He just nodded and said, “The Doctor’s ship is still downstairs, I think.”

“Thanks.” Rose walked past the scientist and into the stairwell. She still didn’t feel entirely real, like maybe she was just dreaming and soon she’d wake up in the TARDIS and wander into the kitchen to see the Doctor fiddling with something he found in his pockets.

But she wouldn’t. This was real.

Rose had made it out, and the Doctor hadn’t.

The stairs were mostly empty. A few Torchwood employees were going up and down, and as Rose got closer to the bottom, she saw paramedics in bright green vests: they had just started to arrive and spread through the building. Two were standing in the hall outside the stairwell, and one of them waved Rose over.

“Miss, are you hurt?” he asked.

“I’m all right,” Rose heard herself say. She felt so separate from this— these people, doing their jobs. They could never know what she had lost. The Doctor wouldn’t even come up on lists of the missing— he wasn’t, strictly speaking, a citizen.

The paramedic looked her up and down. “You sure?”

“Yeah, promise.” Rose tried to force a smile. “Bad day, is all.” Her hair was still a mess, and the tears on her face had barely dried. But she hadn’t broken any bones, and what had been broken wasn’t anything the rescue team was going to fix.

“Can we get your name?” his colleague asked. She was holding a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other, looking at Rose expectantly.

“Oh, it’s Rose.” Rose hesitated. “Rose Tyler.”

“That’s spelled T-Y-L-E-R?” the paramedic asked. Rose nodded, and the paramedic marked it down.

“You ought to get out of here,” said the one who’d first spoken. “This building isn’t safe. Do you need an escort?”

“No, I’m all right,” Rose said, trying not to think what would happen once the list of the survivors was out and Jackie Tyler’s name wasn’t on it. She tilted her head towards the door behind which she knew the TARDIS was waiting. “Just got to get back to my— car. Thanks, though.”

It was only a few steps from there until Rose opened the door to the storage room that held the TARDIS. She spotted it immediately, sitting exactly where she’d left it, a soft glow behind the windows. Seeing it almost brought her to tears again, but she managed to hold off until she actually stepped into the console room. It was like nothing had changed: she was still bathed in a warm amber light, the central column bobbing up and down like always with the TARDIS gurgling in the background. She had expected something to be different: everything was wrong , after all, and surely the TARDIS had picked up on it. But everything was the same. Right down to her shirt on the rail, exactly where she’d tossed it days before. Rose walked to the console, trying not to think about how strange it was to be in the console room without the Doctor next to her, babbling about something or other, suggesting places to go next.

“What am I going to do now?” she wondered aloud, looking up at the central column. The TARDIS gurgled. Rose sighed. “Silly of me, really, to talk to you.” She laid a hand on the console. “Although, I don’t know, the Doctor always talked like you were alive. I’d believe it. You know, if you were.” The TARDIS didn’t respond, and Rose shook her head. “Suppose I’ll have to figure out how to get him back. Can’t leave him in the void, after all.” She stared at the console. The Doctor had taught her some of the basics when it came to piloting, but he’d always been there , guiding her through the movements, pointing out which buttons to press, helping her find her footing. Co-piloting the TARDIS with him had always been exuberant and warm. And now the memory just ached in Rose’s chest.

“What would you do, Doctor?” she whispered to herself. Of course, the Doctor wouldn’t have been in this situation, because he knew how to pilot the TARDIS— he would’ve found forty-two different ways to rescue Rose before she’d even had a chance to blink. Rose sighed. Well, she was stuck on Earth with no Doctor, no mum, and next to no hope. All she had was the TARDIS— and all the time in the world to figure out how to pilot it. And once she figured that out, she could figure out how to get the Doctor back.

Rose straightened up, looking at the console with a new focus. She had a goal now: that was a step in the right direction. She was grateful now for the Doctor’s TARDIS piloting lessons; nothing he told her even came close to “how to get the man you love out of the void between universes,” of course, but he’d covered the basic navigational principles (and a few cheap tricks). And there had to be some kind of manual somewhere, or even just a book about time and space and parallel universes… if Rose gathered some knowledge and experimented a little, surely she could figure out how to get the Doctor back. She’d done it before, after all.

She left the console room. She would start in the library: that’s where most of the books were, after all, and Rose knew the Doctor well enough to know that if a TARDIS manual existed, he would’ve lost it years ago, and it was likely to be shoved on a random shelf in between a book about farming and a book about custard.

At least, that’s what she assumed. But when she wound through the corridors, trusting the TARDIS to lead her where she wanted to go, the library kept evading her. She passed a lab, a workshop, an indoor garden, an outdoor garden (how had the TARDIS managed that?), and at least six different closets until she finally came upon an open door.

This wasn’t the library, though. Rose peeked in. The room was small and warmly lit, with wood-paneled walls. There was just enough space for a bed, a desk, and a bookshelf. The bed was neatly made, with blue curtains drawn closed next to it— Rose had similar in her own room, where the TARDIS had simulated a window for her. The desk was cluttered with papers, and the bookshelf was absolutely overflowing, with books stacked and shoved in every which way. And when Rose looked up, she saw a ceiling full of stars.

“What is this?” she wondered aloud. “Why did you bring me here?”

And then it hit her.

“This is the Doctor’s room, isn’t it?” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t be here.”

She tried to step back, but the hallway lights flashed white.

“All right, all right!” Rose shook her head. “Fine.” She moved to the bookshelf. “Just going to find what I need, and then I’m gone.” She scanned the titles. Many of them were in the strange circular language she recognized from the TARDIS’s monitor: she’d asked the Doctor about it once. He’d gotten very quiet for a moment, but then he’d explained that it was Gallifreyan, the language he’d grown up with, before promptly changing the subject. Rose didn’t know how to read it. She skimmed past the Gallifreyan titles, her eyes resting on the English— or more likely, the ones in languages the TARDIS translation circuits were equipped for. Most didn’t look useful, but there was one about the idea of a multiverse that looked promising, and another about relativity and time. Rose was no physicist, but she’d picked up a certain amount of know-how traveling with the Doctor: she could figure it out. And if she couldn’t— well, there was no “couldn’t.” She would learn. She pulled those two books out of the shelf and scanned the titles again, looking for anything she might’ve missed.

“No manual, then?” she asked the TARDIS. “Suppose that’s to be expected. I’ll have to play it by ear.” She straightened up and tucked the books under her arm. “Anything else I need to see?”

A light flashed on above the desk.

“That’s his stuff,” Rose protested. But— desperate times called for desperate measures, and the TARDIS was showing her exactly where to go. She’d be sure to apologize profusely to the Doctor if— when— she got him back. She took a step towards the desk and bent down, examining the papers scattered across. A few were written in Gallifreyan, and a few others in messily scrawled English script. Rose shifted the Gallifreyan ones aside and found what she was looking for: diagrams of the TARDIS console. They appeared to be plans for maintenance, repair, and upgrade, some labeled in Gallifreyan, but some in English, laden with phrases like “dimensional storage calibration” and “vortex shield repair.” Rose gathered together all the diagrams and tucked them between the two books she was already holding. There was a cup of pens sitting at the edge of the desk, and Rose clipped two into the pocket of her jeans, just in case she needed to take notes. And then she was done: she had everything she needed.

She took one last look at the room and tried not to think too much about the Doctor spending his nights at the desk, scribbling away at plans for the TARDIS, reading his books in the dim lamplight… Rose felt a pang of sadness. It had only been an hour, and she already missed the Doctor an unbearable amount.

She stepped out and wound her way back to the console room, where she sat right down on the floor and spread the papers out around her in order to examine them by the cool light of the central column. She knew there was a wheel the Doctor spun to select a specific time— she could manage that, she thought. And she knew the lever to pull to launch the TARDIS into the vortex, as well as a few of the controls that would decide where they landed. She also knew the Doctor had a telepathic link to the TARDIS, which she had long suspected was what he really used to pilot it, but she didn’t have that advantage: she would have to make do with mechanics.

She shuffled the papers. What she really needed was a way to get into the void between universes— which she was sure she could find a hint to in one of the two very thick books she’d pulled from the Doctor’s room. She sighed. She’d never been much of a reader. But still, she picked up the book on the multiverse and stretched herself across the console room bench to read, trying not to think about the way a mere few hours earlier she’d been sitting in the same spot with the Doctor’s arm around her shoulder.

The next thing she knew, she was waking up, her face smashed against the book. It took her a moment to remember where she was and what she was doing: for a full moment, she was in a world where the Doctor had never fallen into the void, a world where he would come bounding into the console room any second, suggesting faraway places for their next trip.

And then she remembered.

She dragged herself off the bench, brushing her hair out of her eyes. Every movement was difficult: she felt like somebody had carved a hole inside her, like where once she had had lungs and a heart and a stomach she now had nothing. But she couldn’t dwell on that. She couldn’t let it stop her. Somewhere, the Doctor was suffering, and Rose had to get him back. She needed a plan. She needed to learn how to pilot the TARDIS, and she needed to learn as much as she could about what had happened to the Doctor.

Piloting the TARDIS seemed like the best place to start, Rose decided, stumbling to the console— if only to stop lingering Torchwood employees from getting any ideas. First she could try a short jump, maybe just a day or two into the future, to test out her abilities. After all, she had never tried to fly the TARDIS without the Doctor, and she wasn’t exactly keen on her first trip being across universes. Tentative, she rested a hand on the wheel that set the time. After a moment of hesitation, she pushed it slightly upwards: just enough, she hoped, to put her a day in the future. And then she walked around the console, took a deep breath, and threw the lever to launch the ship.

The effect was immediate. The TARDIS started its groaning noise, and the room tilted, sending the Doctor’s papers scattering. Rose yelped in surprise, scrambling to stay on her feet, until the room tilted the other way and she fell. When she managed to stand again, she grabbed the console to hold her up. Suddenly, piloting the TARDIS by herself seemed like a huge mistake: who could say where she would end up? She shuddered as the room tilted again, slamming her hip into the console. She ignored the pain, racking her brain to think what might help. Stabilizers. Weren’t there stabilizers? She stared at the controls. There it was! A button flashing white. Hoping against hope that this was the TARDIS’s way of helping her out, Rose slammed it— and the room righted itself. Rose nearly fell to the ground in relief.

“Thank you,” she whispered to the TARDIS. The Doctor always talked to the TARDIS like it was a human, like it could really understand, and Rose was beginning to get why.

She looked around. The papers were scattered all over the console room. She kicked herself for not thinking to gather them up before taking off. Everything else looked blessedly normal: the huge coral supports reaching up to the ceiling, the dingy metal walls, the central column bobbing up and down.

“All right, then,” she murmured. “Suppose I’d better go outside and see the damage, yeah?”

The TARDIS made a gurgling noise. Rose almost smiled.

“I’ll be back soon, promise. Just want to see where we wound up.” She patted the console— another one of the Doctor’s habits she was starting to understand— and walked outside.

The first thing she noticed was that it was cold. The day she’d left had been in July, but unless Britain was seeing the coldest summer on record, this was definitely not July. The second thing she noticed was that the TARDIS had moved in space as well as time, albeit not by much: she was surrounded by the gray concrete of the Powell Estate. Her old home, and her mum’s. She glanced back at the TARDIS. It looked so unassuming. Just a little blue phone booth at the edge of a patch of concrete. But it had to have brought her here on purpose: what were the odds that out of all of London, all of England, all of Earth , she would’ve wound up here?

Rose moved towards her building, shoving her hands in her pockets to keep them warm. She didn’t know how long it had been, in Earth time, since the battle at Torchwood— everything could have changed since she was last here, or it could all have stayed exactly the same. She tried to remember how she’d left her bedroom: her bed messy, probably, with clothes strewn all over the place. They’d only been back a half hour or so before leaving again to go to Torchwood. Rose had thought they’d have more time after. She hadn’t expected to be the only one of her, her mum, and the Doctor to remain in the universe after all was said and done.

As she climbed the steps to her flat, she noticed festive wreaths on a couple doors. Was it Christmastime? She shuddered, remembering the previous Christmas: the new Doctor, the Sycorax, the spaceship. It felt like so long ago now, even though in Rose’s personal timeline it had only been six or seven months. She’d never thought, standing next to the TARDIS with the Doctor’s hand in hers as they decided which star to visit next, that she would ever be separate from him, and yet here she was without him, without her mum, without anyone .

She was at the landing before her flat before she heard someone calling out, “Is that Rose Tyler?”

Rose jumped: she’d been lost in thought. She turned around to see her neighbor Doris, an older woman with a puffy coat and a cane in one hand, coming up the stairs behind her.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Rose tried a friendly smile, but it felt stilted. “Nice to see you.”

“What are you doing here?” Doris had reached the landing and was now standing next to Rose. “I thought you left when your poor mum died, rest her soul.”

“She didn’t—” Rose stopped herself. Of course her mum had been written off as dead. “Yeah. Couldn’t bear to come back until now.”

“Oh, you poor dear.” That was Doris— she had always been the mother hen type. “Your mum was a good woman.”

Rose nodded, unsure of what to say. There wasn’t really a social script for, You think my mother is dead, but she’s alive, but I can never see her again, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?

“The family in your flat now isn’t nearly as friendly,” Doris added.

“Yeah?” Suddenly there was a lump in Rose’s throat. She swallowed. “There’s a new family?”

“Well, your mum was dead, and you were nowhere to be found! Disappeared, didn’t you?” Doris shook her head. “They had to move someone else in.”

Rose gave a humorless chuckle. “Suppose I did disappear.” She shifted her weight. “I’d better go, then— say hi to Bill for me?” Bill was Doris’s husband. He was always at home watching telly while Doris went on her walks around London, and somehow that seemed to work out for the both of them.

“Of course I will.” Doris patted Rose on the arm, clumsy in her mittens. “You take good care of yourself now, will you? And don’t be a stranger!”

“‘Course.” Rose gave another empty smile. “See you around.”

Doris moved past Rose and continued up the stairs, and Rose turned and leaned against the railing. She could see it all from here, her entire world growing up: the other Powell Estate building, the walkway where some kids were running around. Rose had been one of those kids once, playing tag and crying for her mum when she fell and scraped her knees on the concrete, and then later a teenager loitering with her school friends, slouching against the wall in a clump.

She wondered what had happened to her things when the new people moved in. Probably they’d been thrown away, or maybe donated to a charity shop— her pink bedspread she’d gotten when she was fifteen and immediately gotten hair bleach on, the pictures she’d taped all over her walls, the alarm clock she’d gotten when she was a little kid: all gone. Rose hadn’t really been living at home for a while now, but home had always been there , a place for her to go back to if she needed it, with everything she’d had since she was a child.

Well. Everyone had to grow up eventually.

Rose pushed off the railing. There was no sense in lingering: every second she spent here was a second she wasn’t spending trying to get the Doctor back, and a second longer he would suffer in the void. She turned to go.

And then suddenly Rose felt an itchy warmth all across her skin. It felt— not quite like her skin was on fire, but like maybe she had a rash. She glanced at her hands: there was no redness. She took a step forward, but a gold light flashed in front of her and she stumbled back. She blinked, and the gold light cleared to reveal— a woman? In a wedding dress?

“Who the hell are you?” Rose asked, startled into rudeness.

“Who the hell are you ?” the woman snarled. “And where the hell am I?”

Rose took a moment to regain her composure. “You’re at the Powell Estate.”

“The what ?”

“The Powell Estate. In London, England, on Earth.”

“Of course I’m on Earth!” the woman snarled. “Why wouldn’t I be on Earth?”

Rose shrugged. “Dunno. Stranger things have happened.” She looked the woman up and down. “Real question is, how did you get here?”

“You tell me.” The woman was glaring at Rose. “I was just walking down the aisle, as one does , and all of a sudden I find myself in a totally different part of London, kidnapped !” Every word was pointed.

Rose put her hands up. “Hey, I’m not kidnapping you. Promise.” She nodded towards the stairwell. “We’re outside. If you want to go, just go. But I know a thing or two about stuff like this.” Not as much as she would’ve liked, but she didn’t say that. “If you stick with me, I can help you figure out why it happened.”

The woman looked at her like she was crazy. “ Why ? I don’t care why! I just want to get back to my wedding!” She shook her head. “I swear, if Nerys put you up to this—”

“No one put me up to anything,” Rose said. “Trust me. I don’t have anything like what it would’ve taken to teleport you like that.”

“ Teleport ? Like some kind of sci-fi novel ?” The woman shook her head. “Nah, I’m leaving. I’m getting married, whatever you say.” She turned and began stomping down the stairs.

“How’re you going to get there?” Rose called after her.

“No thanks to you!” the woman yelled over her shoulder.

Rose shook her head. “If you need help,” she called, “I’ll be in the blue box across the way.”

She didn’t get a response. Instead, she watched as the woman strode across the cement walkway and disappeared around the corner. Still baffled, Rose took her time walking down the stairs. What had she just witnessed? The woman had just appeared out of nowhere, in a state of total confusion— and what was with Rose’s skin itching?

It still wasn’t fully making sense when Rose stepped into the TARDIS— but then something shifted.

Nothing was different about the TARDIS, exactly. The interior was exactly as Rose had left it, right down to the papers all over the floor. But there was something else— an added dimension— and Rose blinked, and suddenly she could feel a sort of thrum coming from all sides, and new emotions— emotions that didn’t quite seem like hers— were surging in the back of her mind. Welcome, love, sorrow, care — Rose closed her eyes against the intensity.

And then the timelines hit her. She could feel— she could feel everything. Too much. She couldn’t even put words to it: all she had was that some of what she was feeling was related to the exact time and place the TARDIS was parked, the Powell Estate in the 21st century, and some of it was totally separate, related to— the past, maybe, or the future. She opened her eyes, but the feeling didn’t go away. If anything, it intensified: she could feel branches, erasures, shifts. It was a sensation she’d never felt before. Or— she’d never felt it except—

Except.

A long time ago, Rose Tyler had opened the heart of the TARDIS and become the Bad Wolf. She had taken all of time and space into her. She had used it to rewrite a story: she had killed the Daleks, resurrected Jack Harkness, and saved the Doctor’s life.

And then the Doctor kissed her, and the Bad Wolf left Rose Tyler behind.

Until—

Rose closed her eyes again. She was coming to a conclusion, but it was slippery, so slippery, powerless against the wave of new sensations taking over her mind.

The Bad Wolf had never quite left.

Rose pressed her palms against her eyelids. It couldn’t be— she was just Rose Tyler. A regular human. But there was no other explanation. The Bad Wolf had never left her, and now whatever had just happened had triggered— something— and now Rose Tyler could feel time.

She could feel it, but she couldn’t make sense of it. It was all occupying her brain, giving her a bit of a headache, really, with no rhyme or reason. Was this how babies felt, opening their eyes for the first time? No wonder they cried, Rose thought ruefully.

She opened her eyes again. The console room looked exactly the same, and yet somehow so, so different. Those new emotions— the love, sorrow, care— hadn’t left her mind, and with a start she realized that those emotions came from the TARDIS. She could feel what the TARDIS felt. The Doctor had talked about a telepathic link— was this what it felt like? A rush of warmth appeared in her mind, and she took that for a yes. Well, that was one positive of this situation, then— she was sure to have an easier time getting the Doctor back if she was telepathically connected to the TARDIS. Even with everything else that was going on.

And then she heard a knock on the door.

It was all too much. Time was still swirling in Rose’s head, steadfastly refusing to coalesce into something that made sense, and she was still missing the Doctor, and she knew her hair and face probably looked a mess— but… she’d told the strange woman that she’d be in the blue box. And whoever the woman was, she clearly needed help, and Rose liked to make a habit of helping people. She turned and cracked the door open, sticking her head out.

“D’you really shut yourself in that little box?” the woman asked.

“It’s bigger than it looks,” Rose said. She shook her head, trying to clear it. “Er, I thought you’d gone?”

“Couldn’t pay the cab fare,” the woman griped. “Didn’t think I’d need it, on my wedding day . I mean, who has pockets in their wedding dress ?”

“Beats me.” Rose cracked the door a little wider. “Look, um, what’s your name?”

“Donna Noble.”

“Look, Donna, why don’t you come in here for a second.” Rose glanced back into the TARDIS. She could probably get Donna to the wedding hall, right? With her newfound telepathic TARDIS link? She closed her eyes. She didn’t even want to think about that right now, much less use it under pressure.

“You want me to come into that box?” Donna asked, her eyebrows dangerously close to her hairline. “With you? What, is this some kind of— thing for you?”

“It’s not—” Rose shook her head. “Just look.” She pulled the door open all the way, revealing the full extent of the console room.

Donna stared. “What?” She stepped back, then ran out of Rose’s view before reappearing seconds later from the other side. “How’d you do that?” she demanded, peering into the TARDIS. “Is this some sort of— magic trick? If I go in there, am I going to get sawn in half?”

“It’s sort of a magic trick.” Rose hesitated. How did the Doctor always explain the TARDIS? She couldn’t think of it. “Not the kind that saws you in half.”

Donna didn’t look convinced.

Rose took a few steps towards the console. “See?” she prodded. “Bigger on the inside.” She paused. “It’s sort of a spaceship.”

“A spaceship,” Donna scoffed. “Really.”

“You don’t have to believe it,” Rose said. “If you don’t want to take your chances with me, I’m sure I’ve got a few pounds somewhere that you could have for a taxi.” She shrugged. “It’s not even my ship, really. I’m sort of borrowing it.”

“How do you borrow a space ship ?” Donna shook her head. “You’re mad, I swear.”

“It’s my friend’s— he—” Rose couldn’t finish the sentence. She fished her wallet out of her back pocket and took out a ten-pound note. She held it out to Donna. “This should cover you a cab to the wedding, then.” She hesitated, backing up. “And hold on a second, I’ll give you my number.” She plucked one of the Doctor’s diagrams off the floor and tore off a bit from the bottom.

“Oh, ‘cause you’re so sure you can help me.” Rose could practically hear Donna rolling her eyes.

“I’ve no clue whether I can help you,” Rose said distractedly, feeling in her front pocket for one of the pens she’d taken from the Doctor’s desk. “Honestly. If my friend were here—” She trailed off again as she braced the scrap of paper against her palm and used her mouth to uncap the pen. “But if something weird is going on, you’ve got a better chance with me than without,” she continued, speaking around the cap in her mouth as she scrawled out her number. She capped the pen and continued, “And I don’t think it’s a coincidence you showed up right where I was, either.” She tried to think what it could all mean, but nothing came up, so she handed the scrap of paper to Donna instead of trying to explain further.

“How am I supposed to keep this?” Donna asked, waving the scrap in Rose’s face. “No pockets!”

“Oh.” Rose stared for a moment, trying to push past the chaos in her mind. “Didn’t think of that.”

“Never mind.” Donna tucked the paper into her neckline. “This bra’ll just have to prove its worth.”

That startled a laugh out of Rose. “Looks secure enough.” She nodded at the door. “Go on, then, you’ve got a wedding to get to!”

“Yeah, if they haven’t finished it without me.” Donna’s tone was bitter. She held up the ten pound note. “Thanks for the cab fare, er—” She tilted her head to the side. “Sorry, did I get your name?”

“Oh, it’s Rose. Rose Tyler.”

“Thanks for the cab fare, Rose.”

“Anytime.”

And with that, Donna turned and walked away. Rose watched until Donna rounded the corner and disappeared, and then she moved back to the console, her head spinning. Some part of her was worried that she’d handled the interaction badly, that she’d missed something, that Donna was going off into grave danger— but she couldn’t hold the train of thought. Just having the conversation with Donna had taken all of her focus, and now she had no choice but to curl up on the console room bench with her eyes closed, trying to make sense of everything.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when her cell phone rang. Her head had settled a bit— not nearly enough, but at least she was able to sit up and pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

She was met with an ear-splitting scream.

“Donna, is that you?” Rose was already up and at the TARDIS console. “Where are you?”

“How’m I supposed to know?” Donna yelled. “I’ve been kidnapped!”

“Well, look!” Rose was staring at the console, trying to push past the fog in her head to comprehend the controls. “Any landmarks?”

“We’re on a road—”

“That’s helpful—”

“Shut up!”

Rose rolled her eyes. “What about the landmarks? Does anything stick out? Literally anything.”

“I don’t know!”

Rose looked around wildly. There had to be something in the TARDIS that could help. What would the Doctor do, in this situation? And then she saw it.

“Don’t hang up!” she yelled into the phone. She ripped it from her ear and slammed it into a slot in the TARDIS console. “Please work,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut and running a hand along the console.

There was a zap of warmth amidst her headache, and the TARDIS gurgled. Rose took that as a good sign. She threw the lever for takeoff, and sure enough, the central column rose and fell, the sound of the TARDIS reverberating in Rose’s skull. She lurched to the side, clinging to the console— her head was spinning, all of a sudden, forcing her to lean on the console or risk falling to the floor.

The TARDIS sound stopped, but the tilting and rocking of the floor didn’t: Rose stumbled to the door anyway, pulling it open, stopping short when she felt wind whipping at her hair.

The TARDIS was flying.

Rose hadn’t known it could do that.

She’d have to marvel at it later. Right now, she had a job to do. The TARDIS was bucking and lurching in the air, keeping pace with a black taxi, and through the window Rose could see Donna Noble’s terrified face.

“Donna!” she yelled. “Get the door open!”

“What?” Donna’s shouts were muffled through the window.

“The door!” Rose shouted, louder this time.

“I can’t!” Donna yelled back. “It’s locked!”

Rose sighed. Of course it was. “Hang on!” This would’ve been when the Doctor brought out his sonic screwdriver, but Rose didn’t have a sonic screwdriver, nor would she have known how to use one. So she ran back into the TARDIS, desperately hoping that there would be something that could help. She made it halfway to the console before she remembered that the floor panels lifted, and then she spent precious seconds prying one up. She was rewarded, though, when she reached in and her hand instantly wrapped around the handle of a hefty axe. She took it in both hands, careful to keep the sharp bits facing away from her, and ran back to the open door.

“Cover your head!” she yelled.

“What?”

“ Cover your head! ” Rose raised the axe, and she saw Donna slide away from the door, her hands coming up to cover her face. Rose lifted the axe over her head, ignoring her arms’ protests, and flung it right at the crack between the door and body of the car.

It was a lucky shot.

The axe hit the crack. It bounced off, falling to the pavement, but not before leaving a dent in the car. The door popped open.

“All right,” Rose called, ignoring how weak her arms felt from the throw. “Now jump!”

Donna had moved closer to the open door, but now she was staring at Rose in shock.

“I’m not jumping on a motorway!”

“Oh, so you’d rather get kidnapped?” Rose shook her head. Her headache worsened. “There aren’t exactly any good options here!”

“I’m in my wedding dress!”

“I know! Come on!” Rose reached out. Her arms still felt weak, but she was sure she could keep herself together long enough to get Donna safely into the TARDIS. She was close enough now that she could lower her voice a bit, inject some empathy into it. “Donna, I’m sorry. But you’ve got to jump.”

She could see the moment Donna started to believe her. She could see in Donna’s eyes as she steeled herself, gained resolve— Rose stepped back, her arms out, bracing herself to catch— and when Donna jumped, Rose grabbed her around the waist, wedding dress and all, and they both fell to the ground of the TARDIS.

Donna rolled off Rose and got up right away, but Rose stayed on the ground for a moment. Everything hurt: her head, her arms, her back. She let herself lie with her eyes shut for one second, then two, and then she forced herself to get up and go over to the console.

“Where was that church again?” she asked.

Donna gave her the address, and Rose plugged it into the TARDIS. She was fairly sure she heard something popping and breaking, but she didn’t care: she just needed the TARDIS to do this one jump, and then she could figure out what was wrong, and how she was going to fix it, and how she could get the Doctor back.

Just thinking about it all overwhelmed her. She forced herself to focus on just the one jump. It was a little one, simple— except the Doctor had said to her once that the little jumps were actually the hardest for the TARDIS to make. Something about the precision required for such a temporally vast ship to shift so minutely within the fabric of spacetime.

Still. It was just one jump.

She set the coordinates, pulled the lever, listened as the TARDIS launched itself into the void.

There was a thud as it landed, flinging Rose to the ground.

Everything was quiet.

Rose took a deep breath. It didn’t feel like it filled her lungs— she tried again, deeper, longer, and this one went in. She tried to assess her physical sensations: her head still throbbed, and now her arms and legs hurt too. She was still dazed, disoriented, and she felt like she could sleep for months on end.

But she couldn’t do that.

For one thing, Donna was still there. For another, she was dimly aware of flames at the edge of her field of vision, which meant something really had broken within the TARDIS, and Donna wasn’t going to know where the fire extinguisher was.

Thank goodness the floor panel was still open from when Rose had gotten the axe.

She dragged herself to the edge and reached in, hefting the fire extinguisher and managing to get to her feet so she could spray the console.

“We’d better get out of here,” she said over her shoulder, distinctly grateful the words came out coherently and in the right order. She stumbled to the door, and Donna followed.

They emerged onto a quiet street. Too quiet, for a place that was meant to be hosting a wedding.

“Did we miss it?” Rose asked.

“Yeah.” Donna stared at the church.

“I’m sorry.” Rose swallowed. “Still don’t really know what I’m doing.” She glanced at Donna. “You all right?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“‘Course it does.”

Donna looked at her. “Are you all right? Looked half-dead in there.”

Rose looked down. “Didn’t realize you were paying attention.”

Donna didn’t respond.

“I—” Rose shook her head. “I’m having a bit of a bad day, I suppose.” She sighed. “We probably shouldn’t try to get back into the TARDIS for a bit. She usually fixes herself, but it’ll take time.”

“Right.” Donna was staring at the church again. “Wish we had a time machine. Could go back and get it right.”

“Nah,” Rose said. She still had timelines swirling in her head, pounding at the walls of her skull. “Can’t go back on things that have already happened. Found that out the hard way.”

“What?”

Rose tilted her head back towards the TARDIS. “It’s not just a spaceship.”

Donna’s eyes became wide. “No way.”

Rose nodded. “But it’s not much use to us now. We’d be better off trying to find where your family’s gone.” Although her head was still pounding, and her body still hurt, and the longer she was standing up, the dizzier she got. She felt herself sway.

“Yeah, I’m not sure you’re going anywhere,” Donna said, looking her up and down.

“You go on, then,” Rose said. “Honestly. I’ll be fine.”

“Not a chance. Someone’s going to have to get you to the A&E if you pass out.”

“Not sure they can help me,” Rose replied. She took a deep breath, willing the dizziness to settle. “Suppose we should probably figure out why the pilotfish are trying to kidnap you, anyway.”

“Pilotfish?” Donna asked.

Rose shook her head. “Don’t think it’s what they’re actually called. Just what we called them last Christmas. The Santa robots.”

“Last Christmas?”

“Er—” Rose closed her eyes. The pain in her head was building again. “Sorry, can we find somewhere to sit down? My head is killing me.”

“Yeah, all right. Think there’s a bus stop down this way.” Donna led Rose half a block down the street. Every step felt like a marathon, but eventually Rose was sitting on a bench, her knees drawn up to her chest, Donna sitting next to her.

“Sorry,” Rose said again. “Wish the Doctor was here. He knows more about— well, all of this. He’d know what questions to ask.”

“The Doctor,” Donna repeated. “Is that— your friend?”

Rose nodded. “He—” She swallowed. “I’m looking for him,” she finally said. “He’s—” She broke off. “It’s his ship. And he would understand what happened earlier, with the teleport, and why people are after you.” She took a deep breath. “I really want to help you, Donna. Whatever’s going on— if the Doctor were here, he’d help. We both would. But I don’t have all the information he does. I can stay with you, deal with anything that comes up, but—” She shook her head. “I dunno. I’m so limited.”

“That’s all right,” Donna said. “You’ve already saved me from that creepy robot cab driver. That’s more than enough.”

Rose managed a laugh. “Yeah, suppose so.” She glanced at Donna. “Tell me about this guy you’re marrying. What’s he like?”

Donna launched into an explanation of how she and her husband— Lance— had met at work. Rose tried her hardest to pay attention. It was difficult, with everything else going on inside her head, but she got the gist of it. Sounded like a pretty simple office love story, although you never knew for sure, once you got teleportation and robot aliens involved.

“And then,” Donna finished, “we were supposed to get married, and instead I find myself on some council estate with you.”

“Sorry about that,” Rose said. “Still not sure why that happened.” She frowned. “Although—” New thoughts were coming together, rising to the top of the cloud of pain and confusion in her mind. “Suppose whatever did that to you could be connected to the TARDIS, somehow.”

“How do you mean?”

“The TARDIS runs on all this energy,” Rose explained. “Artron energy. Vortex energy. It’s— oh, I don’t understand it. Not sure even the Doctor does. But at the center of the TARDIS, there’s all this— time energy, I guess. And I looked into it, a while back, trying to save the Doctor. I guess some of it must’ve been left over.” She glanced at Donna. “So if you’ve got some of the same energy, it might’ve— I don’t know. Come to me, I guess. When I landed at the Powell Estate.”

“That’s mad,” Donna said. “Honestly. Is your whole life like this?”

Rose considered. “Sort of. A lot of weird stuff happens around the Doctor.” She shrugged. “Guess it’s rubbed off on me.”

“No kidding.” Donna shook her head. “Right. Suppose I probably should go find everyone.” She glanced at Rose. “I’d say I’d be making you explain it, but I’m not sure I could bear to do that to you.”

Rose laughed. “Nah, I’ll come with you. Still got a bit until the TARDIS is ready, anyway.” She raised her eyebrows at Donna. “Just don’t call an ambulance if I keel over.”

“You’d better not keel over, then,” Donna replied. “‘Cause I am not equipped for that situation.”

“All right, deal.”

Donna and Rose walked together to the reception hall. It was a block away from the church, but in the other direction, so they walked a block and a half to get there, Rose’s head pounding more with every step.

She didn’t know what to expect when they stepped inside, but it wasn’t this. The room was dim, with a disco ball scattering patches of light across a crowd of dancing people. A Christmas song was blasting through the speakers. People around the edges of the dance floor were talking and laughing. None of it did anything positive for Rose’s headache.

And then the music stopped, and the dancers stilled, and everyone was staring at Donna.

“You had the reception without me?” Donna yelled.

A tall man in a suit stepped forward. Donna’s groom, Rose assumed.

“Donna, what happened to you?” he asked.

“You had the reception without me?” Donna repeated. She looked at Rose. “They had the reception without me!”

“Er—” Rose wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Well, it was all paid for,” said a blonde woman just behind the groom.

Donna gave her a look that would have killed a lesser mortal. “Thank you, Nerys.”

And then an older woman with a blonde bob stepped forward. “Well, what were we supposed to do? I got your silly little message in the end. I’m in London . Very funny. What the hell happened?”

Rose didn’t let her finish. She grabbed Donna’s arm.

“Come on,” she said into Donna’s ear. “You can do better than this lot.” She marched out of the reception hall, pulling Donna with her. They got back out onto the street.

“What are you doing?” Donna asked.

“Sorry,” Rose said. “You can go back in there if you want. Just—” She shook her head. “The way they talk to you. D’you really want the people in your life talking to you like that?”

“Suppose not.” Donna shrugged. “But they’re my family, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Rose said. “But that doesn’t mean you’ve got to put up with it.” She glanced at the door of the reception hall. “And I’d guess you’ve got about two seconds before they start coming after you again. But if you want, we can go back to the TARDIS and figure out what to do from there.”

There was only half a second of hesitation.

“Yeah,” Donna said. “All right. Suppose we can do that.”

They started walking. But they barely made it halfway down the block before Rose heard metallic footsteps.

She stopped cold.

“Donna,” she hissed.

“What?”

Rose shut her eyes. She wasn’t sure she could run. But— Donna definitely could. She pulled the key to the TARDIS from around her neck.

“Get to the TARDIS. This key should open it. Run . I’ll come after.”

“What? Not a chance.”

Rose looked Donna in the eyes. “You've got to. Please.”

Donna hesitated for another moment. Rose could hear the footsteps coming closer. Internally, she prayed: Please. Just take the key .

Donna took it.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice low and urgent.

And then she ran.

For half a second, Rose tried to follow— but then she stumbled, and she decided she would do better to turn around. If she was going to go down, she was going to go down swinging. With whatever energy she could muster.

It wasn't much. Even at full strength, she wouldn't have had a chance against these robots. Not in these numbers, obstinately marching towards her. As it was, she was spending most of her focus on remaining standing. But she managed to keep her head up, jutting out her chin as the robots approached.

They came closer, a squadron of shining metal.

And closer.

One of them reached out a hand.

Cool metal pressed against Rose’s neck.

Everything went dark.

She woke up trapped.

Her arms were pinned to her body, her legs stuck together. She was wrapped up in something, a too-warm casing: she could already feel the sweat gathering on her skin, rolling down her forehead. There was an unpleasant sticky quality to whatever was holding her, too, dragging at the bare skin on her hands and ankles. She seemed to be suspended in the air, too: she was face-down, her head attached by that same sticky substance to whatever was above her, and there was nothing underneath her face, no cushion or floor. Just warm air moving past her, and the clanging echoes of metal against metal.

And of course her head was still killing her.

All she wanted was to go back to the TARDIS and curl up on the jump seat, maybe with a mug of tea, definitely with the Doctor. She wanted to sleep for about a week, letting chamomile and paracetamol chase away the headache, never to return. She wanted to get back reading in the safety of the console room, trying to figure out how to get the Doctor out of the void.

That wasn’t an option. Instead, she forced herself to open her eyes.

She was in some kind of basement. Or, it felt like a basement, with its lack of windows and utilitarian appearance. It sort of reminded her of her old job, actually, the basement where she’d met the Doctor to begin with. Except the basement at her old job hadn’t been covered in giant spiderwebs, nor had it had a giant glowing hole in the floor.

There was a creature next to the hole, a giant spider, her face and torso oddly humanoid. Her skin was red, and on her head was a multi-pointed crest, featuring more eyes than any creature rightly should have. She was staring into the glowing pit, clicking and hissing: she didn’t seem to have noticed Rose yet.

“What the hell is this?” came a voice right next to Rose, and that was when the spider-creature looked up.

Rose turned her head. “Donna?” Sure enough, Donna was hanging next to her, entangled in the same sticky spiderweb.

“I’m sorry,” Donna said. “I didn’t get back in time. These robots came up, and they grabbed me—”

“It’s all right.” It wasn’t, really, but it wasn’t Donna’s fault. Rose scanned the room, looking for a way out.

The spider-creature had advanced to stand right underneath them, staring up with menace in her eyes. “Ah, yes,” she said. “You are awake.”

“Where are we?” Rose called down, injecting as much anger into her voice as she could manage. “Why have you brought us here?”

“All in good time.” Her eyes seemed to glitter as she stared up. She extended one long pincer towards Rose. “You… you are the key.”

“The key to what?” Rose asked, hurling down her words. “C’mon, it’s not like we’re going anywhere. You might as well tell us.”

The spider-creature hissed. She might’ve been about to say something else, but Rose didn’t hear it: something in her headache had just changed, become sharper, pulling her attention to—

The pit. Its glow had increased, intensified— it seemed to be beckoning Rose, calling to her.

“Rose?” It was Donna’s voice, next to her.

Rose turned her head. Donna seemed far away, viewed through a strange gold tint—

“You’re glowing,” Donna said.

Oh.

Rose blinked. The gold tint— for a second, she was stepping out of the TARDIS on a space station thousands of years in the future, waving a hand and rearranging the universe. She blinked again, and she was back here, on Earth, in the 21st century, trying to push through a massive headache and a haze of golden light.

“I think—” she said, and then lost the thread. She fumbled for it again, amidst her swirling and churning thoughts. “I think I’ve got to go down there.”

“You’ve what ?”

Rose yelled down to the spider-creature. “Is that right? Am I meant to go down there? What’s in there?”

“My people!” the spider-creature screeched. “Lost to the void for so long, but recently… I have had an opportunity I could never dream of. You, golden child, you will rescue my people.”

“You’re not half dramatic,” Rose muttered. But— the void. The void . That pit— it went to the void. Where the Doctor was trapped. Where Rose had thought she had barely a chance at penetrating. Her heart leapt. She tried to keep the hope off her face.

“I thought I would have to settle for a human ,” the spider-creature hissed. She snarled up at Donna. “Thought I was going to have to grow the key myself. But no…” Her head turned mechanically to look once again at Rose. “She led me right to you . And now I have a key and a snack.”

“No!” Rose yelled. She hadn’t thought to be afraid: there had been too much else going on. But now, now she knew she was supposed to jump into the void between universes with Donna’s life on the line, now she was afraid. “No, you can’t—” She took a deep breath. “Look. I’ll go into the void for you. I’ll get back your people or— or whatever.” She paused. “But you can’t kill Donna. All right? I want her here when I get back. Or else—” She floundered, searching for a threat. “Or else I’m going to use all my time powers to make it like you never even existed. Got it?” She probably wasn’t actually capable of destroying anyone so completely, but the spider-creature didn’t need to know that. She also wasn’t sure what she was going to do about the new race of humanoid person-eating spider-creatures that she was about to bring to Earth, but that was a bridge she would cross when she got to it. This was, of course, how she and the Doctor got into high-stakes predicaments every three minutes, but at least they usually managed to get out of them.

The spider-creature drew back, her teeth bared. For a moment, Rose feared an attack, but when the creature raised her arms, it was not to slash at Donna or Rose, but to slice through the silk trapping Rose. Slowly, some of the silk came away from the ceiling, unrolling, lowering Rose to the floor.

“Not doing much for the headache,” she muttered, climbing to her feet. The silk still clung to her clothes, draping her in white strings. She glanced at the glowing pit next to her. “Right. If I’m going in there, I’m going to need a way back.”

The spider-creature clicked. “Already done.” She walked past Rose, eight legs moving her powerfully across the room, until she lifted up what Rose realized was a thick cord of silk. “This will keep you anchored.”

Rose eyed the cord. It looked sturdy enough— she had no doubts that the silk could hold, considering how well it had held her to the ceiling. But— “Is that thing going to stay anchored? What’s stopping me from falling in?”” She saw too vividly in her mind’s eye herself, being lowered slowly into the void on the silk rope, only to lose her grip and be sucked in forever.

Well. At least she’d be with the Doctor.

“It has been charged with Huon particles,” the spider-creature hissed. “It will hold.”

“Right.” Rose stepped closer. She picked up the cord and grimaced: it was the same unnervingly sticky substance as the rest of the silk. Still, the stickiness would work in her favor. She wrapped the end of the cord around her waist, fumbling to tie a knot with the thick and sticky rope. Once secure, she wrapped the rope around one of her arms, grabbing it in her hand. She’d seen how easy it had been for the Doctor to fall into the void. She was trying for a reversal of that fate, not a repetition.

“Right,” she said. “What am I looking for?”

“You’ll know it when you see it,” hissed the spider-creature.

“Big spider-people?” Rose guessed. “Yeah, I probably will.” She stepped up to the edge of the pit. The feeling in her head intensified— it had shifted away from pain and more to an indescribable and instinctive wrongness. “Right,” she said again. “No snacking while I’m gone.” She stepped back, away from the pit, both hands on the rope— and with a running start— she leapt into the light.

The world shifted.

Nothing—

and everything.

Rose, scattered

across

time

space

universes

a screaming

wind

and—

there he is.

The Doctor.

Her Doctor.

Calling out—

Rose.

Rose crashed against the concrete floor, a warm weight falling on top of her. She blinked, trying to remember what had just happened. It all felt like a haze. Her mind couldn’t process it— couldn’t fold it up into the ordinary range of human experience, and now Rose was left on the floor, confused, strangely empty. Her headache was still there, pulsing away, but less, like she was further from it.

And then she stopped trying to process what had just happened, and she started trying to process what was happening now , and she realized—

“Doctor!” she cried, flinging her arms around him. One arm was still tangled in the spider silk, but Rose didn’t care, because it was him , he was back, after she was worried she’d never see him again— she could’ve cried. She would’ve cried, if she’d had time. She managed to pull them both into a sitting position, next to each other on the ground, and a moment later his arm was around her waist.

“Rose,” he said. “We— what— where are we?”

Rose looked around. “I’m not sure, actually.” She turned back to look at him, properly now she’d gotten her excitement out of the way. His face was inches from hers, looking completely lost. He looked so young, with that look in his eyes: Rose couldn’t stand it. “Basement somewhere, probably. I don’t know. You sort of missed a lot.”

“Oh.” He still looked lost. “Er—”

“You did not bring me my people!”

Rose turned, breaking away from the Doctor. The spider-creature was advancing, menacing clicks and all.

“You tricked me,” the spider-creature added. “Now I will eat you and your friends!”

“Like hell you will!” Donna yelled.

Rose looked up. Donna . “You all right?” she yelled.

“As long as no one eats me!” Donna yelled back.

Right. Rose looked around. The spider-creature was still advancing, clicking her pincers— the Doctor was still on the ground— Donna was still hanging from the ceiling— and the pit was still open, sending bright light into the room.

Slowly, Rose formulated a plan.

She got to her feet, backing away from the spider-creature. There was a set of stairs to the exit— that could work in her favor. She turned and ran, ignoring the spider-creature’s sibilant laugh behind her: “You run,” she cackled, “but you forget! You are still tethered to my creation! You won’t get far.”

Rose was too out of breath to respond. But if she could pull this off— she ran up the stairs, the spider-creature still charging after her. And then she turned— scanned the room, with the position of the spider-creature, the pit, the Doctor, Donna.

She closed her eyes. Took a deep breath.

She jumped.

The spider silk held fast, and Rose swung straight into the spider-creature, feet-first. She screwed her eyes shut as she kicked, and the sound of the creature’s yells cutting off abruptly was all the evidence she needed that her blow had landed. The rope swung across the pit and then back, depositing Rose right in front of the stairs, and for a moment, she stumbled. By the time she’d regained her balance, the light in the pit had died.

“Is she gone?” Rose asked, taking a wobbly step forward.

“Yeah,” Donna called down. “You sent the spider to the Underworld. Now can someone get me down from here?”

“Er—” Rose looked around wildly for something that could help cut Donna down. There was an axe, lying on the ground— maybe if she stood at the top of the stairs and reached, the axe would reach Donna. But that was too risky. The chances of it hurting Donna were too high.

Rose was so busy trying to find another option that she almost didn’t notice the familiar buzzing sound coming from across the room.

The Doctor, still sitting on the floor, was holding up the sonic, its blue glow pointed towards Donna. He was smart: he broke all the threads but one, and Donna swung towards the ground. Rose stepped in the path of her swing, and Donna barrelled into her, sending them both to the ground.

“Right,” Rose muttered. “Think all of us could do with a good bath.” She got to her feet, cataloguing every ache and pain until she realized there were too many to count. She made her way slowly over to the Doctor, who had lowered the screwdriver and was now turning it over in his hands, looking at it as if he’d never seen it before. “Doctor,” she said quietly, kneeling next to him. “Are you all right?”

The Doctor looked up at her, that same lost confusion in his eyes. “Rose, I— I don’t know what happened.”

“Let’s get you back to the TARDIS,” Rose said. “C’mon, up you get.”

She helped the Doctor to his feet, and they leaned on each other as they made their way back to Donna.

“Now, are you going to explain anything that just happened?” Donna asked.

“I—” Rose glanced at the Doctor. “I’m not sure I understand it myself.” She hesitated. “Where are we, even?”

“Only one way to know, I think,” Donna replied.

Together, painstakingly slowly, the three of them walked up the stairs: Rose’s entire body still hurt, and the Doctor was in no shape to move, and Donna didn’t really seem to be either.

“I can call my grandad to drive us back to your ship,” Donna offered as they got to the basement’s exit. “He’ll believe me.”

“Soon as we figure out where we are,” Rose noted.

They stepped out into a hallway. It was mostly dim and empty, barring a few doors, but then Rose noticed a familiar logo.

She stopped in her tracks, pointing to the offending door. “Is that— the Torchwood logo?” It was on a laminated bit of paper that had been attached to the door, with text underneath it.

Donna glanced over. “Oh, you know Torchwood? They own my company, technically.”

“Yeah,” Rose murmured.

Donna looked around. “Actually, this might be my company. Looks bloody familiar, doesn’t it?”

“Might explain how you got mixed up in all this,” Rose added.

Sure enough, as they climbed up to the ground floor, Donna recognized more and more— until finally they were in an expansive lobby with a sign behind the reception desk featuring the logo for a company called HC Clements.

“At least we know where we are,” Donna said. “Rose, can I borrow your mobile?”

Rose passed it over. Donna dialed a number and put the phone to her ear, and Rose turned back to the Doctor.

“We’ll be back to the TARDIS in a second, all right?”

He nodded. “Was that— a Racnoss, back there?”

“I’ve absolutely no idea,” Rose said, completely honestly.

“Looked like a Racnoss.”

Donna turned back to them, passing the mobile back to Rose. “Ten minutes.”

“Thanks.” Rose dropped the phone in her pocket. She took the Doctor’s hand, comforted by its solid warmth. It felt just the same as always: so familiar, so completely Doctor.

They spent the ten minutes in relative silence, peppered with mutters from the Doctor and concerned questions from Rose. Donna’s grandad pulled up to the entrance, his headlights flashing through the windows, and Donna, Rose, and the Doctor piled into the car, Donna in front, Rose and the Doctor in the back. Rose kept her hand in the Doctor’s as Donna directed her grandad to the TARDIS; he tried to ask what had happened and where Donna had met Rose and the Doctor, but Donna managed to give him clipped answers that invited no further questioning.

When they got to the TARDIS, Donna got out of the car with Rose and the Doctor to say her goodbye.

“If you need anything,” Rose said to her, her voice quiet, “you’ve got my number, yeah? Or even if you just want to go on an outer space adventure.” She glanced at the Doctor. “When we’ve got our strength back, anyway.”

Donna nodded. “Thank you,” she said.

“Thank you ,” Rose replied. She pulled Donna in for a hug. “Stay in touch, all right?”

Donna nodded again.

“We’ll be seeing you.”

“Goodbye, then.” Donna slid back into the car, gathering up her dress. Rose watched for a moment as Donna’s grandad pulled away, and then she turned to the Doctor.

“C’mon,” she said, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Let’s get you inside.”

Together once more, they entered the TARDIS.

#fanfiction #my fic #doctor who #tenrose #ten x rose #rose tyler #donna noble #tenth doctor #stay with me. hold my hand.#long #episode: doomsday #episode: the runaway bride #bad wolf rose #bad wolf as disability #canon divergence

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oftarotandnoodledragons · 2 years ago

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Sixty-Nine: XIX The Sun (Reversed)

Zen masters use the word satori to describe a flash of insight, a moment of no-mind and total presence. Although satori is not a lasting transformation, be grateful when it comes, for it gives you a taste of enlightenment. You may, indeed, have experienced it many times without knowing what it is and realizing its importance. -Eckhart Tolle, A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose

...[B]e not afraid of greatness: some men are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em. -William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

The most solid advice for a writer is this, I think: Try to learn to breathe deeply, really to taste food when you eat, and when you sleep really to sleep. Try as much as possible to be wholly alive with all your might, and when you laugh, laugh like hell. And when you get angry, get good and angry. Try to be alive. You will be dead soon enough. -William Saroyan, The Daring Young Man on the Flying Trapeze

Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something – your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life. -Steve Jobs

I've had this card on the go for a while as I've tried to discern its energies. When I drew it at the end of last year (yeah, I know, it's a cliché, but let me get it out of the way), I certainly did not felt radiant. I was varying degrees of unwell over December, mixed in with the shortest and coldest days of the year. I did not find as much joy in the things around me, despite the Christmas season; my presents from Australia to me remained unwrapped until almost the New Year.

As for these entries, writing them has also slowed down, partially because I'm finding it quite difficult to find an "in", that spark of inspiration that sends me down the road to finish writing. I think part of that has been a lingering fear of what the remaining cards could signpost, too; but otherwise, I'm having trouble seeing what the signs are pointing to. The Sun is considered to be the most positive card in the entire Tarot; and yet I'm finding difficulty in working out what that positive energy is. A Reversal on this card is still typically seen in a good light (unless you're like Mr Doom-And-Gloom Thirteen). Therefore, what is the lesson here? Is it really just the feeling unwell and malaise that I had? Have I lost my touch when it comes to the Tarot?

I feel that much has been said about The Sun and I'm not going to add much to that body of work, like I can only communicate a tenth of the positive energy of this card and even that is a generous assessment. With that, let's go merrily down the Bunning path and dissect her themes since I feel that's the core to understanding this card. She recommends that the querent feels like a sun god and asks what they would do. That's some pretty powerful stuff and while I don't think I would necessarily go that far, it helps frame her four themes of "enlightenment", "greatness", "vitality" and "assurance". These are some extremely positive themes - this is not a card for the meek and retiring, she says. She goes on to suggest that the card's energy is that of light, its power and glory, that a room is illuminated by light just as a mind is en-light-ened, to find and see and comprehend the truth. And then it also reflects (another light word) the moment of achieving prominence, being joyful and enthusiastic and healthy, and being totally confident without cockiness and trusting in one's abilities. Looking at Colman Smith's imagery, one cannot help but see this repeated over and over with elements of purity and passion; Paschkis has a young child riding a rooster rather than a horse, but still has a blazing sun above them (I'm surprised there's no sunflowers given the other botanical themes of this deck). Fairchild, for once, has a similar rosy view of the energies of this card: personal growth through self-expression and saying what one feels when one feels it, to accept criticism and admit mistakes, to be enthusiastic and self-assured, and even suggesting a promotion (more on that later).

Jumping over to Esselmont, she speaks of a warm, radiant energy coming from within that draws others, that provides strength, and also is a portent that difficulties will soon pass and one can feel confident because things will work themselves out. This is much in line with what Bunning says, but it's Thirteen who summarises everything into one helpful phrase: "the Apollian ideal". Yet another sun god in reference, but a good framework to describe the energies he identifies as "young, healthy, new and fresh". Of course, the milk is slightly sour with him: he suggests that one could go as far as to have "too much sun", ignoring the shadows, being too rational, and even getting sunstroke from one's own radiance. This is actually one of Esselmont's Reversed themes, to which she adds too much enthusiasm and unrealistic expectations. Despite this, that Apollian ideal thought could be seen as the seed that grows into Bunning's themes: the Page of the Sun compared to the King.

So all is well and good and peachy under The Sun's gaze. But what if The Sun is at the bottom? Well then, the first place to go to is Thirteen, where the sky is falling and chaos and disorder reign. Well, not that extreme, but he suggests that poor logic and bad reasoning could prevail, and there is a disorder of things falling into place incorrectly. Or, that The Sun is setting, reason and logic are rejected, one's youthful energy cannot be recaptured – Esselmont relatedly chimes in and suggests getting in touch with one's inner child – and things prefer to stay in the shadows. Furthering that shadowy theme, we then have what he defines as a Blockage, where things are illogical and make no sense, enharmony is disharmony, and even suggests problems with getting on with children. He calls that an "eclipse", and it makes sense; but I feel like Thirteen's dogmatic strictures of Opposite/Blockage/Reversed Imagery are too limiting, and yet it's what I immediately go to. Then I remember the expanded Blockages and realise that nascent energy is one of them. Esselmont says that The Sun is never negative, so things may just take a little longer. The time was not yet right. An eclipse is only temporary.

When I drew the card in December, things were in a dip. But now, the eclipse has passed. I've received my promotion and I'm taking on the new responsibilities with caution but enthusiastically. My work hours mean that my finances are on the up. On a more spiritual side, I'm starting to explore the I Ching and Tao Te Ching, hoping to add this to my repertoire of divination. And, I return here to my journey through Tarot. The Sun has come out from behind the clouds.

Nine cards remain. I feel there's a vital energy to draw on, and I feel I may need it as the Reversed Queen of Swords shows her face...

#the sun

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kerra-and-company · 2 years ago

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Thanks to me having a birthday yesterday, I was thinking about Kerra and birthdays--she’s not the most fussed in the world about celebrating them, but a lot of them happen to occur when she’s in the Middle of things xD

Under cut for assorted story spoilers! (For...basically the entire thing!)

The first birthday she ever has is pretty much immediately after Zhaitan’s defeat. It should be celebratory, but she’s just figured out that defeating Zhaitan was not, in fact, her Wyld Hunt, and so she’s gone off entirely on her own. She’s taking on odd jobs, and if you look at the renown hearts that we complete in-game, the couple months or so that she spends solo is the time frame in which she completes a Whole Lot of them. She probably spends most of that birthday walking—and to be honest, barely, if at all, remembers that it’s significant.

Her second birthday is a couple days At Most after Scarlet’s death. She’s on edge and isn’t sure why—she’s never been able to pin down what, exactly, Scarlet’s motivations were, and now she might never get the chance. But the threat’s gone, or so she thinks. It doesn’t help. During the celebration that she and the other future Dragon’s Watch members have a few days/maybe a week later, her age comes up in conversation, and that party is declared to be an impromptu birthday party as well. She’s not the most familiar in the world with birthday traditions, but her friends make her laugh and make sure she has cake. She’s still on edge by the end of it, but she’s a lot happier.

Her third birthday is forgotten even more than her first was. It’s tangled up with memory seeds and key revelations and the crash of the Pact fleet, and she’s not even sure which things happened before it and after it. She wasn’t in Maguuma until afterwards. (She was fighting the Shadow of the Dragon on her birthday. She killed it on her birthday. She does not know this.)

Her fourth birthday is happier in some ways and sadder in others. It’s after a lot of loss, but she’s in a relationship now and able to spend the time with them, and it kicks off the year in which Aurene hatches. It also kicks off the year in which she argues very badly with both her brothers, though, and the year in which Balthazar starts being a problem, so…mixed bag! But the actual day-of is lovely.

Birthday number five sees her and Nisha on an airship heading to Elona, and ends up with a lot of fighting, a reunion, and plenty of new friends. She marks it off—this one she does remember—but she doesn’t really do anything for it, aside of exploring some of Amnoon for a few hours with her partners.

Birthday number six is, timeline-wise, either a little while before or immediately after Joko’s death, so it’s another checking-off-the-date instance. Taimi makes sure that she has cookies.

Number seven is in 1332, which, in my timeline, is the year in which Kerra gets the most rest, so there’s actually a celebration this year, courtesy of Dragon’s Watch. Kralkatorrik’s death and Aurene’s ascension occurred towards the end of 1331, and Rhi (the first of the sprout kids) awakens around April/May 1332, so this is a really good year for her.

Number eight is in 1333, and there’s a small celebration, this time specifically because Rhi wants to do something fun for their mother’s birthday and can’t be talked down (not that anyone tries very hard to talk them down, haha). They get their own first birthday celebration a few months later, and a bit after that, Kerra gets the invitation to the All-Legion Rally.

Her ninth birthday is nearly at the end of the Icebrood Saga. No celebration outside of noting the date, though a couple of her friends (and her partners/kids) do get her small things. The twins (Tev and Ia), the last of Kerra’s kids, awaken in September/October of this year.

Her tenth birthday happens while she’s unconscious in a cell in Seitung Province, with Rhi and Gorrik anxiously waiting for her to wake up.

#gw2 #kerralind #kai speaks #putting that tag since i feel like i'm just rambling here alsdjk;fadf but here y'all go #technically she's eleven now since i think it's 1326 in-game #but we don't have set story for what comes next so i'm not setting that birthday in stone just yet #it Will Be A Chill Day Though l;ajsdfadf #she needs one

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hanibalistic · 4 years ago

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#59091D | LEE FELIX.

genre | angst, faint fluff, friends au

word count | 1684

warning | injury, blood, domestic abuse, suicidal ideation / dead dove do not eat

note | i have been meaning to write this for a long while, after i realized where my fascination with being alone in the bathroom came from. it has been a while since i was in a situation like this.

you finally got yourself a breather when you locked yourself in the bathroom.

there had been no hands around your neck this time, thankfully, but there may as well have been considering the lack of air you inhaled during the long consequences of your father's unreasonable and short temper.

you grew up learning not to cry. you were conditioned to not show a single hint of discomfort whenever you were met with the unfortunate results of your father's ill behavior, but also never forget to be scared! that was what he wanted—for you to cower, for you to be timid, for you to be afraid so he could loom over you like the devil himself and feel the authority consume him.

you learned all that for the past sixteen years; crying makes you annoying, being annoying gives you red cheeks and choked necks and big purple bruises, so never cry. not being scared makes you bratty, being bratty makes your legs give away and your body flinch and your nose bleed, so always be scared.

condemn yourself enough to feel the horrid of hell, but never cry for mercy in the face of the devil because you will get none, because you deserve none, because everything that happens to you is your fault.

sitting on the cold marble floor of the small bathroom, the bright light flickering and dimming because of your clear yet in-and-out consciousness, you extended your legs until your feet touched the bathtub and you leaned against the lower cabinet to rest your battered torso.

your nose was bleeding.

you knew the first time when your mother gasped but did not dare to interfere; it was ironic, it was hopeless, and it was infuriating that she didn't try harder to save you, but you understood why she couldn't. you watched her from the wall you were pinned against, her face distorted with tearful concern, and she stayed where she was while your father never let go of you.

you knew for the second time because you could feel it dripping down your cupid's bow, and when it got down to your lips you could taste it between your teeth.

you cared not for it. you just wanted to rest. maybe you would finally bleed out this time, and it would because you deserved it.

because you shouldn't have clipped your toenails away from the trash can, and you shouldn't have coughed too loudly when your father was on the phone, and you shouldn't have expressed your opinion when you aren't asked to and not expressing enough when you are asked to, and you shouldn't have dropped the doll in the living room floor when you are just making your way back to your room—why did you drop the doll? if your fingers are that useless, maybe you should just cut them off for good.

the empty bathroom made your thoughts spiral into a headspace nobody could enter. if you were less unhinged, you would have realized it was not the place for you to be loving it so much that you could find peace next to the toilet.

but it was a safe space, it had always been a safe space where you could bleed dry and nobody would say a word to you. the lights sent in by the gods through the window shone on you every time and you could simply sit and let yourself be.

"[name]? are you okay?"

you blinked up urgently at felix's concerned voice.

"i... i heard glass shatter from my room... i thought maybe–please let me in."

he found your hiding place.

you carefully stood up, your legs still bruised but you managed. you pondered if you wanted him to see you like this—weak, useless, humiliated. but there was truly nobody else you would rather see than him at this vulnerable moment.

he would understand. you knew he would. you have made mistakes in trusting someone on their ability to hold back judgment, but he would understand. he always has.

you unlocked the door and opened it slowly, revealing felix in his pajama standing just outside.

"hey," you greeted casually as you reached up to wipe your nose, smearing the blood across your cheek.

he breathed out a sharp gasp when the light-flooded onto your face. it was horrendous. you looked horrendous! he has never known messy red like this!

careful not to awaken anyone's senses, sparing a fearful glance at the closed hallway door, he immediately but gently pushed you back into the bathroom. he shut and locked the door behind him before he urged you to sit on the toilet.

"oh... oh, um, okay, uh... tissues, i need tissues."

he scrambled about, opening drawers and cabinets in hopes to find something he could use to treat your bleeding nose. from the looks of it, with his shaky movement and teary voice, he was even more concerned about your injury than you were.

"okay, okay, water," felix muttered to himself as he placed the curled tissue under the faucet and rinsed it with running water, then he turned to you.

he got on his knees, his neck arched up at you and his hand reached up to your face. hesitant could be felt in his movement when he got closer to your face, but even then you flinched when the cold water touched your burning cheek where you carelessly rubbed the blood over.

"what happened?" he asked.

"you knew what happened," you replied, and he shut up for the rest of the procedure.

he cleaned you up carefully. he wiped away the blood and helped to stop the bleeding. it took more tissue papers than expected, and he grimaced at the bloody pile in the trashcan before he closed the lid by letting off his feet against the lever.

"how did you get in here, felix?" you asked when he sat down on the ground.

"i climbed over to your balcony when i heard the noises, but it took me a while to pick the lock of your balcony door," he replied as he looked up at you, panting as if he just ran a mile.

his heart sure has, though. seeing you the way you were a second ago, he swore he could whisk you out of this house and keep you with him forever so he could properly protect you. but, like always, he was left with the broken pieces to deal with when he wanted to keep the pieces unshattered in the first place.

"you do know this is the tenth floor, right?" you said, nudging his thigh. "i know our balconies are super close, but you will die if you slip and drop."

"you would do it for me," he whispered. "you would do it for me if i was in your position."

you shrugged. "maybe."

he eyed you carefully, unsure what he should proceed with. he wondered if he should send you to sleep; he could tuck you in bed and wait until he feels that you would be safe for the night before he leaves. but there was something else he also wanted to talk about, something he was probably not qualified to handle but wanted to chat with you about as a concerned friend.

"but you are very keen on dying, so maybe you would drop before you get to my room," he commented, "and that would probably be more of a choice than chance."

you gazed down at him. felix was never one to be so straightforward. he was too considerate to be honest with people, and he knew a handful of people who couldn't handle the truth unless it was gentle. he was one of them.

but not all truths can be gentle. no matter how easily you lay them down, they'll still cause an earthquake somehow. and nobody should have to hold the tremors in their body to save somebody else.

sometimes you have to ensure tragedy to understand.

"it would, but i won't," you said. "i won't die. i am afraid of it."

he frowned. "you're not convincing. you were letting yourself bleed and not doing anything."

his frown engraved even further into his face when you laughed. there was nothing funny about the situation, but if anybody got to laugh about it, it should be you.

"you just came a little early! i do clean myself up after a while, i'm too scared to let myself bleed out in a bathroom," you explained, waving your hand dismissively before leaning back against the cold toilet.

"you think for a second you want to, but when it might actually happen, you get second thoughts about it. if i'm going to be numb about the world, i want it to come from me, not death."

that way at least you chose to be numb, not because death yanked the tear ducts out of you.

"that's..." felix exhaled a big, exhausted sigh. he covered his face with his hands, trying to will his frustration away. it wasn't his place to be. "that's fucked up."

you smiled. "it is. there is nothing i can do about it."

he nodded. he understood. you both were all too young; rebelling was not an option, neither was running away. all you two could have was time, endurance, and each other.

"i just wish i could help more," he uttered out under his breath.

you could hear the tears in his eyes. felix always sounded like he was going to cry when he was, he does nothing to hide his fragility. you loved that about him.

sliding down the toilet, the skin of your legs hitting the soft fabric of his pajama. you sat close to him, borderline on top of him, and you leaned yourself against his body. he accepted you, his hands placing themselves on your ankle and knee.

"i let you in my hiding place." you only said.

and felix knew that was enough. that was all he could become—a person you let into your hiding place, and that was more than enough.

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natsuya-enthusiast · 4 years ago

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Baby me!

Natsuya Kirishima x female reader

Dedicated to: @makeusfreefromthisfandom 💞

I don't think I've ever posted any story here, sooo dhjsjdj

Hi! I'm Gaby and I'm absolutely in love with Natsuya Kirishima, so I wrote this a while ago and posted it on Instagram, but I deleted it soon after. I hope someone likes it <3

Warnings: kinda nsfw implied? Maybe? But still sfw.

Waking up slowly and confused, she soon managed to distinguish the source of her awakening: the clash of plates and vases against one another in the kitchen, as apparently someone was doing the dishes under running water. Noticing the cold, empty space next to her in bed, she also deduced who the culprit was.

Deciding to sleep a little bit more in that chilly morning –since it seemed breakfast had already been taken care of– she rolled over and covered herself with the blankets again... only to be interrupted minutes after.

"Babe?"

"Hmmm?" she turned her head around slightly, noticing Natsuya standing by the door.

"Time to get up! Breakfast's ready!" He said cheerfully, turning around and leaving the room, the brightness from outside blinding her for some moments.

In all honesty, she was so drained of energy that she could not even muster the strength to get up. It was actually his fault that she wasn't able to sleep enough during the night, so she was going to make him take responsibility.

"Natsuuuu!"

"Yes?"

"Come here for a second!" she heard his steps coming closer, so she turned her body completely around to face him and lifted her arms to him.

"Carry me!" she demanded with a pout.

Natsuya was incredulous at first, but only laughed it off as he got closer and lifted her up. She clinged like a koala to his body, burying her face into his neck, and noticed his damp hair as they made their way to the dinning table.

"Did you already go to train?"

"Yep, just got back around half an hour ago"

"Wait! What time is it then?" She asked confused as Natsuya lowered her down to sit on a chair.

"I believe almost 10 am" He laughed at her expression of disbelief and then continued. "I guess someone's pretty tired..." He sat down in front of her, breakfast served in each plate.

"Yeah, and guess who's fault it is?" She picked up the juice and took a sip. Natsuya laughed again, aware of his guilt. He took her hand over the table.

"Then, isn't this breakfast enough to make it up to you?"

"Nope! I haven't slept properly in over two weeks because of you, so you'll have to do more to make it up to me..." She trailed off, looking in another direction to avoid his flirty gaze.

"Fine, I'll do it. What do you want?"

Turning to look into his enchanting amber eyes, she stated without doubt:

"Baby me! For the whole day, no less!" A small blush apparead on her face, and Natsuya giggled for the tenth time that morning.

"Okay, I will" He then stood up and moved to sit next to her, bringing his plate as well. He deposited a kiss on her nose as he took the fork she was eating with. Grabbing a good piece of pancakes from her plate, he started feeding her, and while she chewed and swallowed he ate from his own.

They continued like that during the whole breakfast, and when she attempted to grab something on her own, Natsuya would inmediatly grab it for her. He was taking this task seriously, and she was genuinly surprised at his commitment. When she was done eating, she watched Natsuya attentively, mesmerized by the combination of his unrealistic good looks and his ever growing loving side. He noticed her staring.

"Do you want anything else, babe?" She leaned closer and kissed the corner of his lips as he was still eating, making him stop in surprise.

"No... I was just wondering how I got lucky enough to have the most perfect man that has ever existed only for me" He smiled softly and leaned in so that their foreheads were touching, lost into her eyes for some moments before answering.

"Thanks babe, but I'm not perfect at all. I think the real question here is how I got the most perfect girl that has ever existed only for me"

"Yes, you're perfect. I'm not" she sulked. Natsuya kissed her lightly.

"Yes you are. And you're also the cutest stubborn baby"

"No I'm not!"

"Yes you are"

"No"

"Yes"...

---------------------------

Cheesy, I know. No, I'm not sorry

Also sorry for any mistakes. I may have been speaking English for many years, but it's not my mother language.

#free!#free! dive to the future #kirishima natsuya #free! natsuya #natsuya x reader #natsuya kirishima #free! road to the world #free! x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years ago

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the webs we weave

For @jitsukawaa as requested for a Raffle prize!

Warnings: noncon/dubcon elements (oral, intercourse)

This is dark! (aged up) Peter Parker x Reader and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: The reader is a journalist at The Bugle but she finds not all her co-workers are what they seem.

Note: This is a bit of a long one but I got a bit carried away. I tried to fit the request as much as I could. Anyway, hope y’all enjoy. Leave some feedback, like and reblog if you can <3

Another late night. Those were common as of late. Early mornings, too.

Given the content of your days, the stories, it was expected you’d be sleepless. A string of assaults across the city. All of them women. The perpetrator, according to the limited input of the police and the hesitant interviews of the victims; a man, masked, faceless. The descriptions varied, skewed by fear, by trauma. Neither you or the authorities had a concise picture of the suspect.

The first few incidents were reported by a senior report, Colin Rusk. But once the novelty ran dry, Editor-in-Chief Jameson, redirected Rusk to ‘more pressing’ stories and dropped the serial assaulter in your lap.

You were new with little more under your belt than lifestyle articles and the occasional fluff piece on fleeting fads. Your inexperience made it difficult, if not impossible, to say no. And despite your resilience, your ongoing investigation, the cases would likely go cold and be shoved to the back of the paper until there was no room left for them. Your singular goal was to prevent that cynical end. Making your name as a reporter was secondary.

That morning, you raced down to the latest crime scene. A woman, blonde like most of the others, sat with her legs hanging out of a police car as she gave her statement. Visibly shaken and with bruises on her face, she was just the latest in a string. You’d not be permitted to speak with her until the police took her to the station and filed their report. For the time, you documented the scene as it was.

You were pulled back to your desk. It was almost as if you could still feel the dampness in your bones. It rained overnight and the streets had been slick and shiny in the afterglow. You pored over your notes, the little diagram you’d drawn of the alley way. The minimal details gleaned from the officers on sight. It was all so grim. And sadly familiar.

The attacker had a pattern; a demographic. Lone women, unsuspecting, vulnerable. Blonde, or light brunettes, small enough to be overpowered. You sighed and rubbed your eyes. There were thousands of women fitting that description in the city. Impossible to predict the perpetrator’s next move when it could happen anywhere.

You closed your eyes and leaned back. If the police couldn’t solve this, you surely couldn’t. But that didn’t mean you stopped. It didn’t mean you quieted the voices of the victims as so many others had. No, you kept going. Kept writing their stories down.

You were jolted as a folder slapped across your desk. Your eyes shot open and you looked up into the warm brown eyes before you. Peter mirrored your fright and gave a nervous smile. He pulled his hand away from the folder he’d just laid before you.

“Sorry, I thought you heard me,” He said. “I figured I’d give you a print of the photos I got this morning.”

“Really?” You reached for the folder and peeked inside at the glossy paper. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He preened. “Jameson won’t want them anyway. Just the ones of the fire on the next block.”

You nodded and set the folder down with your notes. You ran into Peter by chance. He was passing by on his way to his own assignment. He stopped and snapped a few shots, made his usual awkward small talk, and moved along. He’d only been full-time at the Bugle for a year; before he’d been a freelancer throughout his schooling. He was a kid, even compared to you.

“Jameson doesn’t even want this,” You scoffed at your messy desk. “I swear, he’s just trying to force me out. I mean, I guess it’s better than writing about the mayor’s new wallpaper.”

“Jameson’s an idiot but you’re a good reporter. Besides, the Bugle is just your beginning. I know it.” He smiled. He was always so optimistic. It made you feel old.

“Easy for you to say,” You shook your head. “I’m almost thirty and just starting out. You’re still a kid and...Sorry, Peter. I’m just frustrated.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I might be young, but I know how you feel.” He leaned on your desk. “You know, everyone thinks I’m a kid and they just don’t take me seriously but I’m not, you know, a kid. Age is just a number, not a deadline.”

“Peter, I didn’t--”

“I know you didn’t mean it like that. You’re not one of them.” He shrugged and pushed himself straight. “Not like Rusk.”

“Rusk?” You wondered aloud.

The man was stern, business-minded. A tenured writer. But you’d never had much issue with him yourself. In fact, he’d been most helpful in your early days at the Bugle. You might be picking up his scraps but it was far better than writing a tenth of a page on a dog show.

“Yeah,” Peter blinked at you. His smile changed, as if he knew something you didn’t. “Oh, alright.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Peter.”

“Well, I...you’re not that naive, are you?” He asked.

“Am I? What do you mean?”

“Rusk never worked for his job, he’s the son of an old friend of Jameson’s. He came on full-time with top billing from the start.” Peter lowered his voice, cautious even though the office was empty.

“Oh, but...I mean, he’s still a good reporter.”

“Good but not entirely...professional.” Peter scoffed.

“Do I sense jealousy?” You teased.

“Me? Jealous of him? No.” Peter’s smile fell. “I’m doing just fine and the Bugle definitely isn’t it for me. I’m starting school next year and then one day, I’m out of here. I don’t wanna be a camera jockey forever.”

“I don’t know, this might be it for me.” You said. “A little late to be starting over a third time.”

“It’s never too late. Just don’t let yourself get sucked in by Rusk and his cronies.” Peter urged. “They’re no good.”

“Thanks, Peter.” You said lightly.

“Really,” His face darkened. “I mean it. He has...a record in this office. With the women. And I’ve seen how helpful he is with you.”

“Peter, it’s not--”

“I know, I know, I’m young, clueless,” He raised his hands defensively. “I get it. Just...advice. You don’t have to take it but it’s there.”

You nodded and tapped your fingers on the folder. You thought for a moment on your work with Rusk; his insistence that you take over his story; the way he offered to proofread your back page drivel. Peter might be young, but he was smarter than his age belied. There was nothing wrong with being cautious.

“Thanks, Peter,” You flicked the corner of the folder as you looked up at him. “These will help a lot.”

“Really, it’s nothing.” His smile resumed. “Let me know if you ever need a lens. I’d be more than happy to help.”

“You’re too sweet.” You said.

“And you’re too humble.” He tucked his hands in his pockets. “And it’s late so...I’ll leave ya to it and see ya tomorrow, maybe?”

“Yeah, maybe,” You chimed. “See ya, Peter.”

“See ya.” He slowly backed away. “Oh, and let me know if Rusk gives ya any trouble.” He gave a comical flex. “I got your back, newbie.”

You laughed and he did too before he turned away entirely. You turned back to your desk and sighed. How was it that he made you feel young and old all at once? You shook off the cloudlike feeling and grabbed the folder. You’d go through the photos and call it a night. Hopefully, the morning wouldn’t bring a new victim.

🕷️

Your door was open. The chain was snapped and the lock busted in. Worse, you hadn’t even heard the disturbance. Hadn’t even sensed the intruder as you slept in the next room. A rude awakening as you got up and found the door ajar but your apartment otherwise undisturbed.

You called the police and waited in the hall. When they arrived, they asked you their usual questions, the same they asked the women you’d been documenting. Then they investigated you apartment. Nothing was out of place; nothing taken or moved. It was all very peculiar. Almost, the insinuated, as if nothing happened.

When they left, your landlord arrived. You stood by as he called the maintenance man and a locksmith. By the late afternoon, your door was repaired but your wits were fractured. Weeks spent tailing a monster had you paranoid. In your overwrought mind, you wondered if perhaps their attention had turned on you. It all felt too circumstantial. Too farfetched.

You locked yourself inside and submitted your write-up from home. You spent the night on the couch, sleepless, listening for any movement from the other side of the door. Nothing. Exhausted and nervous, you fixed your coffee and dressed. You set off for the day, though the sound of your lock sliding into place gave you no reassurance.

There was another assault. You spent five minutes at the office before you were back out on the street. This one happened only a block from your building. Was that another clue? A confirmation of your outlandish suspicions. You shrugged it off as you came upon the police tape; the scene all too familiar.

You went through your usual routine. Rebuffed by the police as you examined the sight for any clue. Listening to any morsel that slipped carelessly from officers and onlookers alike. You finished your notes and tucked them in your bag. You took one last look at the dumpster, the shadowy fire escape, and the cracked pavement. The image was burned in your mind. An omen of your new fear.

When you returned to the office, you were shaking. You didn’t realize it until you were sat at your desk with your bag in your lap, staring at a dead screen. The voices and typing all around you buzzed in your ears and you shuddered as you hugged you leather bag to your chest. The bright fluorescent bulbs burned your eyes and it felt as if they were watering.

“Hey,” You snapped your head up as Peter greeted you. His face was creased with concern. “You okay?”

“Ye-yeah,” You stuttered and let your bag slip to the floor. You kicked it under the desk and hit the power button of your computer. “Just...thinking.”

He didn’t look convinced. “I didn’t see you yesterday.”

“I...had to take a personal day.” You signed in and shuffled through the papers on your desk. “I’m here now, though.”

“Are you?” He asked. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Fine, just...it’s a heavy story, ya know? Starting to get old.” You bent down to reach into your bag blindly, awkwardly craning your head up above the desk as you fished around.

“Hey,” A voice had you sitting up quickly. Peter’s eyes narrowed as you turned to Rusk. He wore his usual striped button up and skinny tie. “You rushed out this morning. I didn’t get a chance to ask you how you were?”

“Hmm, I’m f-fine.” You stuttered. “Just fine.”

“Yeah? Heard about the break-in. Scary stuff.” He put his hands on his hips. “You need anything, to talk, an escort, let me know.”

“Really, I’m fine.” You insisted. You glanced between Rusk and Peter; the latter watched you closely. “It was nothing.”

“Well, just know, I’m here for you. Whatever you need.” Rusk winked before he turned away and you watched him stroll back to his office.

You sighed and looked to Peter. His eyes were on Rusk’s door. You’d never seen him anything close to angry but he scowled dangerously after the writer.

“Break-in?” He said as his eyes drifted back to you. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I...I don’t even know how he found out,” You sniffed. “Really, the police didn’t even take it seriously. There was nothing stolen, they didn’t touch me. I don’t --they think it was a drunk or something.”

“It doesn’t matter. You should be safe.” Peter insisted. “Look, I don’t blame you for turning away his offer, guy’s kinda a skeez, but let me walk you home.”

“I take the subway.”

“Then let me ride with you.” He said. “I know I don’t look like much but it’s better than being alone.”

“Peter, you don’t have to--”

“I want to.” He asserted. “Just humour me.”

“Why?”

“Because...we’re friends, aren’t we?” He asked. “Haven’t got many of those around here.”

You considered him and leaned on the arm of your chair. “Yeah, we are, Peter.” You grabbed your mouse and looked to your screen. “I hope you don’t mind staying late.”

“I’m a night owl,” He assured you. “Have to be in this line of work.”

🕷️

Peter was true to his word and waited for you until well after office hours. You were quiet as he walked you to the station and sat with you on the train. He didn’t hide his glances over his shoulders and his fleeting eyes, as if he expected to catch your intruder then and there. It was almost endearing.

You were tired. You needed sleep and were ready to doze on the train. Peter nudged you awake at your stop and followed you out onto the platform. He let you lead him up the steps to the street and you stopped at the corner.

“I think I can handle it from here,” You said. “Building’s just across the street.”

“No, I insist. For my peace of mind, please.”

“Peter.”

“What’s a few more steps?” He prodded.

“What if I’m worried about you getting home?” You teased.

“I don’t live far.”

“Still. It’s late.” You chided. “You didn’t have to come all this way.”

“I did.” He said. “I’ve been out much later than this.”

“Ah yes, I forget. Youths.”

“I’m not much younger than you.” He insisted.

“Young enough.” You remarked.

The street light glared in his eyes. For a moment, you were taken aback. The way the shadows cast his face. The innocent boy looked almost sinister.

“I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.” He said. “So let me walk you to your door.”

“Alright,” You relented. His tone was disconcerting. So unlike the carefree upstart. “Come on.”

He walked with you across the street and you bit your lip. You could feel the tension rising off of him. Was he mad at you?

“Peter,” You turned to him just in front of your building. “I’m sorry if I--”

“Sorry?” He looked genuinely confused. “For what?”

“Uh, nothing.” You shook your head. “I’m tired. I thought--Thank you. Really, I feel a little better.”

“Not at all,” He smiled. “You good?”

“Yeah,” You replied. “Good night, Peter.”

“Night,” He said sweetly. “Just…” He hesitated before he could step away. “...remember that you’re not alone.”

“Yeah, thanks,” You nodded and took your keys from your pocket. “See ya.”

You listened to his light footsteps recede as you unlocked the front door. Inside, the elevator bore a staunch out of order sign. You grumbled and headed for the stairs. Ten floors up and you were out of breath and even more exhausted.

Your lock was still in place. That was slightly reassuring. Inside, it was dark and you didn't bother to flip the light. Too tired despite your paranoia. You dropped your bag as you neared the bedroom. There, you flipped the light switch and felt an unusual breeze across your front.

The window was open. The curtains stirred as the air washed in and your heart clutched. You rushed over and slammed down the window with a defeaning bang. You twisted the lock into place and turned back to the room.

Your top drawer hung precariously from your dresser. Your panties were messed, as if they'd been rifled through, and you felt the bile in your throat.

You ran back into the front room and turned on all the lights. Nothing else had been touched. It all stood as you left it and no other sign of your intruder remained. Not a speck of dust out of place.

You searched high and low; in each closet, beneath the furniture, even behind the shower curtain. Nothing. You were alone, but you didn't feel it.

Should you call the police again? Let them laugh at your paranoia? As it was, you were certain they'd tossed away their last report.

You went to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. You sat on the couch and pulled your knees to your chest. You hugged them as your eyes flitted nervously at each shadow. The knife shook against your leg as you counted the minutes until daylight.

🕷️

The morning saw you at the office, bleary-eyed and baffled. The night seemed a haze to you; dreamlike and distant. Before you was the final draft of your latest article on the city's terrorizer. The words were real, the events real, and the letters read bolder than before.

Your habit of spacing out at your desk once more had you jumping in your skin. Colin Rusk stood beside you. His grey-blue eyes peered down at you as he clicked a pen casually in his hand.

"You got a moment? Need to see you in my office." He asked but it wasn't a question.

"Sure," You stood and he reached past you. He leaned so close you could smell his cologne as he snatched the article off your desk.

"I'll take this." He spun with the papers in hand and led you across the office.

You glanced around as you walked between desks. Peter's brows were high on his forehead as he watched. He frowned and you turned away to follow Rusk into his office.

He closed the door after you. He waited for you to sit before he did. When he faced you, he was nonchalant. He dropped your article on his desk and smirked.

"You've done some good work." He said. "You should really be proud of yourself."

"Uh, thank you." You gripped the arms of the chair. Tired. Ready to keel over.

"Really. You're coverage is thorough and compelling. Riveting…" He huffed as he smiled piteously at you. "You're a good writer but this story isn't going anywhere."

"No…" You breathed weakly.

"Jameson wants it cut. Three months and no leads. Police are close-lipped as nuns."

You frowned. You couldn't help your disappointment.

"But I've got you a new assignment." He announced. "A grassroots movement in the ghetto. Silent protests. Real underground."

"Really?"

"As long as you don't mind sharing. It's kinda my story but I could use a hand." He offered. "That sound okay?"

"Y-yeah." You smiled. "I'd love--"

His phone chirped and his brow arched. He grabbed it and checked the screen. He shook his head and slowly stood.

"Pardon me. Jameson." He waved his phone. "Right back."

He rounded his desk and passed you. You watched him go then sat awkwardly in his office wringing your hands. Your eyes bounced from corner to corner. Awards framed on the wall, a plaque on his desk, fancy pens and a leather folder.

His bag sat on the table against the wall. Unzipped and on its side. Papers threatened to spill out and a shock of cornflower blue. You tilted your head at the familiar shade.

You peeked over your shoulder. The door was open a crack but you saw no movement on the other side of the frosted glass. You stood and cautiously neared the table. You looked again. Nothing.

You lifted the bag to peer inside and ripped your hand away. It was as if you'd been bit. Those were yours, at least they looked like yours. You shook and heard footsteps near the door. You lifted your head and pretended to read the framed certificate on the wall as Rusk entered behind you.

"That was my first year here," He preened as he neared. "I'm sure you'll have one of your own soon enough."

"Uh, yeah," You stepped away from him slowly. "Um, can I... think about it?"

"Huh?"

"Sharing the assignment."

"Sure. Only a day though. I, rather we, have a deadline," He reached out and pulled a string loose from your sweater. "That enough, sweetheart?"

You watched his hand a nodded. You bristled on the nickname and backed away. "Anyway, I'll let you get back to work." You sidled along to the door. "Thanks."

"No problem," He purred. "This could be it, you know? You're big break. Your name next to mine."

"Mhmm," You skirted out quickly and closed the door behind you.

Peter was at your desk. You didn't notice at first and stopped yourself from sitting in his lap. He watched you curiously. You held back a yawn and leaned against the desk.

"Peter." You crossed your arms.

"What was that about?" He asked.

"Just…my assignment got pulled."

"Oh?"

"But Rusk offered me a new one. Dunno if I should take it." You played with your mouse.

"Sorry, I'm in your seat." He made to stand.

"No, no, it's fine." You waved him off. "I don't really have anything pressing, do I?"

He considered you a moment as he swiveled in your chair. He stopped and sat up. "You okay?"

You blinked. After a moment, you nodded. You pushed yourself off the desk and rubbed your forehead. "I gotta use the restroom."

You walked away hurriedly and almost tripped over the loose laces of your heeled oxfords. You quickly hid yourself inside the restroom and tried to rein in your reeling nerves. You were crazy, you had to be.

Rusk definitely hadn’t broken into your apartment. That was ludicrous. Maybe it was a pocket square or a random sock. It wasn’t your panties. That was just...creepy. You were just paranoid.

You couldn’t believe entirely in your own delusion but you had to push it aside. You had work to do, albeit not much. You breathed shakily and swallowed down your anxiety. Just be normal. Just relax. Act like it was nothing and it would be.

You pulled open the door. You almost crashed into Peter as you stepped into the small hall between the restrooms and the office. You caught yourself against the wall.

“Woah.” You squeaked.

“Sorry, I...just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m...just disappointed.”

He narrowed his eyes. He didn’t look so innocent anymore. He looked as if he could see right through you. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing.”

“I know you think I’m blind but I can tell when you’re upset.” He prodded. “I swear, mum’s the word.”

You sighed and looked out into the office. You turned back to him and pointed down the hall. You sidled along with him and lowered your head. Your stomach flurried wildly as you mustered the words. How could you say this? You’d sound crazy.

“I think you were right about Rusk,” You kept your voice soft. “He...He offered me to share an assignment but I don’t think he really cares about the story.”

Peter blinked. An exaggerated bat of his long lashes as he huffed. “I won’t say it.”

“I know, you told me so, but Peter…” You looked over your shoulder before you continued. “Peter, weird things have been happening. Last night, after you left, I went upstairs and...my window was wide open and...I don’t know. My dresser-- someone was there. Someone broke in again.”

“Did you call the cops?” He asked.

“No, I-I was embarrassed. I thought...when I called them the first time, they were laughing at me. They thought I broke the lock myself, I know it.”

“You should’ve called them.”

“Why? So they can mock me?” You caught yourself before you could raise your voice. “Look, that doesn’t matter what matters is...I think it was Rusk. I mean, it’s stupid but, I think he has...something of mine. Something that would connect him to the break-ins.” You gulped. “The more I think of it, the more I think of how he passed this story off on me about all these attacks, I wonder…”

“You don’t think it’s him?” Peter asked.

“Of course not. I just think, maybe, he...might have gotten an idea or two.”

Peter’s eyes were wide. He looked as frightened as you felt. “Can you confirm that what you saw, that what he has is really what you think it is?”

“I didn’t notice it missing but I didn’t really look. I was too scared.” You confessed.

Peter’s jaw set and his eyes darted down the hall. “I’ll walk you home again and we’ll see if you’re right.”

“You don’t have--”

“I do. Don’t you realize how dangerous this all is? How do you know you won’t walk in and catch him in the act? Or maybe he decides to visit while you’re home?” He gently touched your elbow. “You’re leaving on time tonight and I’m going with you.”

You scratched your head and looked away. You were embarrassed. You were being comforted, protected even, by this boy. Well, maybe you should drop the ruse. He was braver than most men you knew. And he was technically an adult and you really weren’t that much older. That became even more obvious when he was with you.

🕷️

The subway ride was long. Silent and tense. You fidgeted beside Peter, embarrassed and reassured by his presence all at once. He sent you small glances; stifled smiles meant to calm you. But they only served to remind you of why he was there.

Up the concrete steps and across the rush hour street, you had to stop at the front door of your building to catch your breath. Your chest felt as if it was being crushed.

Peter patted your shoulder and said softly, “It’s okay,” and you carried on.

Your apartment door still bore signs of the previous break in. The new lock was shiny against the flaked paint and torn wood. You slid your key in and turned. You opened it slowly as you peeked inside, certain you’d find your tormentor within. Nothing.

Peter followed you in and chained the door behind him as if to assuage you. You looked away ashamed. “I’m crazy, aren’t I?”

“No.” He said. “I don’t think so. Just scared, and why wouldn’t you be?”

You nodded and turned away from him. Warily you walked across the front room and glanced around. Nothing seemed out of place. Peter followed closely as you neared the short hall that led to your bedroom. You spun back to him.

“I’ll go see if--if I was right.” You stopped him. “Wait here.”

“Wait here? Shouldn’t I--”

“I’ll scream if I need you.” You replied. “Okay?”

“Of course,” He relented. “I’ll be here.”

You left him there, a concerned furrow in his brow. You entered the bedroom, the dresser drawer was still open but the window was locked and in place. The sight reassured you. You slowly walked across the room and stopped before the drawer.

You sifted through the messy contents, your hands growing frantic as the cornflower panties were nowhere to be found. Next you checked the hamper, maybe you’d worn them that week. They weren’t there.

You stumbled back out to the hall numbly. You felt hollow and worn. You caught yourself on the wall before your legs could give out.

Peter was by the coffee table. You watched as he reached for the knife you’d left there and he lifted it to the dim light peeking in through the windows. He turned to you with a question curled in his lips.

“It’s not there...he took it.” You pushed yourself straight and stepped fully into the room. “I can’t believe--It can’t be, Peter.”

“But you do believe,” He said and he turned the knife in his fingers. “You must. I mean--” He gestured to the blade. “You wouldn’t be so scared if you didn’t believe.”

“Should I call the cops now?”

“You could but...You’ve corrupted the scene, right? It’s been what? A day?” He set down the knife and sighed.

“So what do I do? I--Jesus, why am I asking you? You shouldn’t be dealing with all this.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to deal with it.” He assured you as he neared you. “There’s only one thing you can do. You have to wait for him to try again.”

“What?” You reeled. “What if--”

“With me.” He gently reached out and took your hand. He squeezed it as he spoke. “You can’t stay here. Not alone. So either you come stay with me or I’m staying here, but I can’t let you be alone.”

“Peter, you’re too nice. You shouldn’t--”

“But I am, so I’m either going to settle in or you’re going to pack a bag.” His grip tightened on your hand before he released you suddenly, as if recalling that he was touching you.

“It’s too much.”

“Anyone would do it. Anyone who cared.” He shrugged. “So what’s it gonna be?”

“I can’t sleep here.” You said.

“Alright,” His jaw set determinedly. “So, grab a change of clothes and let’s go.”

You nodded shyly and let your leather shoulder bag fall to your elbow. Your lips parted to ask if he was sure and he tilted his head sternly.

“Come on,” He intoned. “I’m hungry. Once we’re outta here we can grab something.”

“O-okay,” You gave a weak smile and he mirrored it.

You turned away and dragged your feet back to the bedroom. Every time you entered, you were reminded of the open window, the ghastly breeze, and the stab of fear deep in your gut. You went to your dresser and blindly grabbed for a set of clothes to shove in your shoulder bag. A night away from this place would be good; safe.

🕷️

Peter’s apartment was small but cozy. Lived in but neat. It was almost endearing. The Playstation controller on the coffee table, the throw still curled in the shape of his body on the couch, posters of his favourite comics on the walls. He apologized for the mess but you assured him, you seen worse from men older than him.

He was courteous. He took your bag and led you to the bedroom. He insisted on taking the couch. He dug out his second set of sheets from his closet and placed the piled neatly atop with a promise to fix up the bed after you ate. He didn’t listen to your protests, merely brushed you back through to the living room.

You sat beside him on the couch. You felt welcome but uneasy. You always found it awkward to be in anothers space. Peter pulled out his phone and tapped the screen with his thumb.

“Sorry, I’m not much of a cook.” He chuckled. “You like pizza? Chinese?”

“I’m not picky,” You replied.

“Easy to please?” He ventured playfully.

“In certain ways,” You squinted at him. “How about Mexican?”

“Sure,” He scrolled on the screen and turned the phone to you. “Here. Pick something.”

You took his phone and browsed the menu. You realized you hadn’t eaten since the day before; nothing more than your usual morning coffee. Your stomach growled and you restrained yourself to a vegetarian dish. Overdo it and you’d wake up in agony. Thirty loomed closer every day.

You handed his phone back and he quickly picked his own dish and hit confirm. You rubbed your hands together nervously. You looked around his small apartment. It reminded you of college; of the useless degree hidden in the back of your closet.

“I’ll send you the money.” You offered.

“You won’t. My treat.” He insisted.

“But...you’ve already done so much.”

“What’s a couple bucks?” He shrugged. “So, you like video games? I got a second controller around here somewhere.”

“Does Tetris count?” You teased.

“I have Tetris,” He smirked.

“I was kidding.” You took the controller from him as he handed it to you. “But no, I don’t play very much.”

“That’s okay.” He grabbed his own controller and switched on the t.v. “I’ll take it easy on you.”

“Oh yeah?” You challenged. “You wouldn’t be talking shit if we were playing Tetris.”

“We’ll see who’s talking shit at the end of the night.” He jibed as he sat beside you.

You shook your head and laughed at him. You could almost forget that he was the upstart kid with his oversized camera. Or the break-ins. Or that you were here hiding. The fear seemed to dissipate when faced with his perennial optimism.

🕷️

After you ate, you found yourself even more tired than before. You didn’t recall dozing but Peter woke you with a nudge and helped you up. He showed you to the bedroom where he’d made up the bed for you. You thanked him groggily, your fatigue catching up to you, and he left you with lingering good night.

When the door closed, you grabbed your bag and clumsily pulled out the loose tee and pair of booty shorts. You changed and draped your worn clothes over the bag and shoved it aside. You got up to turn off the light and stumbled back to the mattress, landing stomach first across it. You hugged the pillow as sleep beckoned you forth.

It hit you all once. You slept so deeply your head felt full of sand. Your body too. Your mind was murky. Shadows rose from the depths but never fully formed. You forgot your existence, the open window, the missing panties, and Rusk’s open bag. Hours passed like seconds and eternity felt possible.

You awoke to fingertips on your cheek. Gentle as they coaxed you back to the surface. As you emerged from the depths, your chest clutched. Your eyes fluttered open, your lids heavy and lashes sharp. There was a dim light in the room, soft and eerie. A shadow laid beside you, its fingers traced the line of your jaw as it watched you awake.

Your vision cleared a little at a time. You recognized Peter through the haze. His warm brown eyes were dilated and dark. You reached up and caught his hand as he pressed his body against yours.

“What are you doing?” Your tongue was thick and your words awkward.

“Shh, it’s okay,” He pulled his hand away and dragged his fingers over your lips as he leaned in to smell your hair.

“P-Peter,” You grabbed for his wrist. “Stop.”

Your hand missed his and hit his shoulder instead. You shoved against him but he didn’t flinch. He was stronger than he looked. You tried to sit up but he caught your neck and held you to the pillow.

How long had you been asleep? How long had he been there?

“Peter, please,” You reached for his hand as it stretched across your throat. “What--”

“I won’t hurt you. I only want to keep you safe.” His breath was hot against your cheek as his lips brushed your skin. “Don’t you want to be safe?”

“Let me go, Peter,” You squeezed his wrist. “Please, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m scaring you?” His hand didn’t move but he pulled back to look you in the eye. “I’m protecting you.”

Your hand trembled as you pleaded again. His name died in the air.

“From the city.” He breathed. “From Rusk.”

“You-you are,” You rasped. “You’ve kept me safe, but...this...don’t you want me to feel safe. This isn’t--”

“You can’t see it. You aren’t safe. This city is dangerous and you need me.”

“I do need you, okay?” You bartered. “Of course I do, Peter, but...I need sleep, too. I’m very tired.”

“You don’t have to be afraid of me.” He shifted closer and your body tensed. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Peter--”

“Let me take care of you.” He moved lithely over you as he pulled your hand from his. He framed your face with his fingers and held your head in place. “Why won’t you let me take care of you?”

“Peter,” You exclaimed as the tears threatened to rise. This felt like some horrid nightmare. “W-We’re fr-friend, aren’t we? Friends don’t do this.”

He blinked. He glared at you and his face slowly softened. “Friends...no, we’re more than that.”

“Wh-what?”

“You’re mine. We’re meant to be. Can’t you see that?” His thumbs ran along your cheeks as his breath glossed over your lips. “In a city this big, to be brought together, it’s fate.”

You stared at him. Stunned, horrified. You didn’t know what to say.

“I’m not like him.” He hissed as his eyes turned dark. He focused on your lips hungrily. “I won’t use you, like him. Manipulate you.” You gulped as his lips hovered just above yours. “Violate you. Invade your space...steal from you.”

He pressed his mouth to yours and you squirmed beneath him. Your hands were caught under him. His torso was bare and the heat of his body shrouded you. You struggled to breathe as he kissed your forcefully, as he crushed himself against you. You felt his arousal as it poked you and your eyes rounded desperately.

He pulled away at last. His lips made a trail along your cheeks as he spoke between little pecks. “Can’t you see how much better I am than him? Than anyone?”

You wriggled under him but it only seemed to encourage him. You slipped your arms from beneath him and pushed against his sides. He drew his hands away from your face and caught your wrists. He pulled them up beside your head and pushed himself up as he pinned them to the mattress.

“Who does that, hmm? I’m better than him. I’d never...take your panties like some pervert. I’d never--”

“Panties?” You croaked and his eyes flashed. “How do you--Peter?”

“He’s just a pervert, don’t you understand? But I love you. I love all of you. I want all of you.”

He squeezed your wrists and you watched the muscles of his arms draw taut. His chest was broader than you imagined and his torso was finely lined. You stopped your eyes before they could venture further. He was naked.

“If you love me, Peter, you’ll wait. Wait for me, won’t you?” You cooed.

“Wait? I’ve waited.” He sneered. “I’ve watched you fawn after Rusk and I’m done waiting.”

“Peter, I don’t care about Rusk, I swear, but I’m not ready. I’m tired. I need... sleep. Can’t you wait for me…” You stared up into his dark eyes. “I-I--” Your nerves flurried wildly. You’d never been so afraid. “I love you, too.” You lied. “So won’t you wait?”

He exhaled and his lips parted. He blinked and a smile crawled across his lips. “You--Say it again.”

“I-I love you,” You whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He bent and kissed you again. This time harder, deeper. He didn’t stop until you were out of breath. Until your eyes were damp with tears. He sat back and straddled you between his thick thighs. You quickly looked away from his hard cock. He let go of your wrists but you didn’t move. You were too afraid.

He lifted himself slightly as he tugged the hem of your shirt free. He inched it up, his fingers feeling along your skin as he did. Your strength returned and you caught his hands before he could bare your chest. You were shaking.

“I want to wait, Peter.” You begged. “Don’t you love me?”

“I do, I do,” He rocked atop you, almost frantic. “I do but I can’t. I can’t wait. I need you. I love you so much.”

You whimpered as he twisted his hands away from you. His thighs pressed against you and reminded you of his strength. You closed your eyes as your arms fell to the mattress. You were so weak. So afraid. And you could do nothing.

He shoved your shirt over your chest and you heard the gasp fall from him. He pulled the fabric past your head and tossed it aside. He bent over you as he cupped your tits, his thumb circled your nipples. “Beautiful,” He groaned as nuzzled your skin.

His lips tickled along your cleave and the curve of your chest. His tongue teased your bud as his fingers played with the other. He closed his mouth around your nipple and teethed it softly. He purred and you bit your lip.

His touch stoked something within you. It wasn’t him, just the basest of your instincts. A carnal reaction long withheld.

He kneaded your flesh with hand and mouth. He tended to you as if you were delicate and yet so firmly you could not resist. You couldn’t think to. Was it fear? Was it weakness? Was it a latent desire you refused to accept?

Then he moved lower. His lips and teeth made the treacherous crawl along your stomach. The dread built as he moved further and further, as he lifted himself from your waist and his fingers tickled you. As he slid your shorts down your thighs and legs. As you let him.

You still didn’t move. You pressed your legs together but he easily wrenched them apart. Another confirmation of your helplessness.

His nose brushed along your vee and his warm breath crested your pelvis. His hands slipped up and he pressed his thumbs to your hip bones as he settled between your legs. You closed your legs around his head in an effort to keep him away but you only welcomed him closer. You looked down at him, eyes sparkling as he gazed back. Then slowly his focus descended.

He dipped his head and you writhed. Tried to get away but it was just as futile. He rubbed the tip of his nose along your pussy and his tongue followed shyly. He dragged it slowly along your lips then back down. He pushed between them and flicked over your clit.

You spasmed and his hands squeezed your hips. He repeated the motion and you cried out in surprise. His tongue was cool against your warm folds. It felt good even when your head told you it shouldn’t. He swirled around your bud and pressed his lips around it. He sucked and lapped then slipped his tongue down again. He drank you in and savoured your taste.

You covered your face as your other hand clawed at the blanket below. You whined, weak and wretched. You felt the rise. The ripple as it rolled along your spine. The buzzing in your thighs. The pulsing of your core. Every nerve wound together and his tongue untangled them all at once.

You rocked your pelvis into his face as you came. Wanting him to stop but not. You needed more. The release was overwhelming and left you dizzy. And he kept on. He teased your overly sensitive clit so that you squirmed. Until another climax rose and you bit into your hand to keep from screaming. And still he kept on.

You were breathless and baffled when he finally lifted his head. Your sight was blurry as you shyly looked down at him. His lips glistened as they came into focus and he crawled over you. He kissed you; wet and warm. You could taste your sweetness as he forced his tongue against yours.

He snaked his arms up under your back and hooked his hands around your shoulders. He pushed his thighs to yours as he lifted you. He sat up with you against him. You hung from his grasp as his lips wrestled with yours. He kept you aloft with one arm as he felt around between you.

You flinched as you felt his tip against you. He grazed your clit and you twitched. He pressed along your folds and stopped at your entrance. He pulled away from your lips and looked into your eyes as he pushed his head inside of you. You grabbed his shoulders and tired to shove yourself away from him. His arm clung to you tightly.

He eased into you until he bottomed out. He sighed and his hand grasped your hip. He began to rock you against him, his own pelvis tilting with yours. He hummed and kissed your jaw, nibbled along your neck, and bit into the flesh of your throat. He sucked as he moved you against him. And you were horrified as you let him.

He felt good. He shouldn’t, but he did. You slung your arms over his shoulders without thinking and chased the peak before you. He moved you faster, harder against him. You felt your juices spreading between your bodies. His hand slid down your back and he stretched his fingers across your ass. He guided your body and you followed his lead.

You were panting, desperate for another orgasm. Your clit rubbed against him with each rock of your hips. With each thrust, you moved faster, eager to reach the pinnacle. You gasped and groaned. A voice told you it was wrong but it didn’t feel wrong.

Peter buried his head in your chest. He hummed as he took a nipple in his mouth and bounced you against him. Your fingers dug into the muscles of his back and you threw your head back. You came with a sharp cry. Your body shook against his and the world dissembled. The worries in the back of your mind drowned beneath the waves.

He fell forward until your back was to the mattress. He thrust into you as your legs curled around him. His hand was at your chin again, cradling your face as he lifted his lips to yours. He kissed you, consumed you.

He moaned into your mouth and his hips stammered. His motion turned erratic and he lifted his head to grit back a roar. The tension squared his jaw and drained from him all at once. He sank into you as deep as he could go, long soft strokes as he came.

He dropped down over you, his head beside yours as he panted. He shuddered and groaned. His body went limp atop you, his fingers lazily caressed your cheek. The glow sloughed away and the room grew darker. The lines were bolder, the shadows more sinister, the colours greyed.

You pulled your arms back and pushed on his shoulder. He didn’t move. Didn’t even react. You tried again and slowly he lifted his head. He pushed himself into you as deep as he could go and you whimpered.

“Can’t you feel how much I love you?” He didn’t relent. Didn’t pull back as your walls strained around him. “Can’t you?”

You nodded, unable to speak. He was stabbing your cervix painfully and you just wanted him away from you.

“I can feel your love.” He thrust and poked you again. You squeaked. “You love me.” He began to move steadily. “You love me.” He repeated with each tilt of his hips. “You love me.” You closed your eyes as the mantra filled the room. “You love me.”

“I love you,” You croaked through your tears. “I love you.”

But he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t.

You were trapped in the spider’s web. Live prey paralysed as he wrapped his legs around you. As he devoured you entirely.

🕷️ 🕷️ 🕷️

#peter parker #dark peter parker #dark peter parker x reader #dark!peter parker #dark!peter parker x reader #spider-man #mcu #marvel #fic #dark!fic #raffle #raffle fic #dark fic #dark!verse #aged-up peter #darkverse #au

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grailfinders · 4 years ago

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Fate and Phantasms #74: Nursery Rhyme

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re making a hero of the children, Nursery Rhyme! You might think being a book would make adventuring difficult, but it actually makes it much easier (for you, not the person carrying you). Just make sure you skip ahead if things get too scary, getting pages torn out hurts.

Check out the build breakdown below the cut, or book it here to see her character sheet!

Race and Background

You might not have noticed, but ‘living book’ isn’t a race in D&D, so this will technically be more of an Alice build (or Lewis Carrol?) than Nursery Rhyme. Don’t worry, the star of the show will pop up soon enough. We’re starting off as a Human though, giving you and Nursery Rhyme +1 to all stats. You’re also a Cloistered Scholar, thanks to literally being a book. This gives you proficiency in History and Nature.

Stats

You might be a kid, but you’re also a book, so your Intelligence should be pretty high. Also, you might be a book but you’re also a kid, so your Charisma should be next. Books aren’t known for being hard to kill, so you’ll want your Dexterity to be high to get out of the way of attacks. After that is Constitution; I know what I just said, but you’re still a servant. Your Wisdom is a bit low-”practical” knowledge isn’t your forte. Finally, dump Strength. You’re a child, book, and caster. None of those things are that strong.

Class Levels

1. If we want to make a living book, we’ll have to be pretty clever at magic, so we’re a Wizard. This gives you proficiency in Intelligence and Wisdom saves, as well as two wizard skills; you’re literally a reflection of other people’s minds, so your Insight is pretty good. You’re also literally made out of magic, so you should know your Arcana.

First level wizards learn Spells that use their Intelligence to cast and prepare. You also get Arcane Recovery, letting you recover half your wizard level, rounded up, in total spell levels on a short rest. You’re made of magic, so running out is a bad idea.

Wizards get a lot of spells, especially at first level, so forgive me for being brief here. You get Minor Illusion (get creative with it), Gust, and Frostbite (Wind and Ice magic are a little bit your thing) for your cantrips. For first level spells, Magic Missile and Mage Armor are classics at this point, Feather Fall is another way to use wind to your advantage, Disguise Self will help you transform, Sleep will help you lull kids to nap, and finally, you get Fog Cloud thanks to your connection to the London Singularity.

2. Second level wizards pick a school of magic, and the Order of Scribes will help you make a sentient spellbook, which is pretty important for this build. When you pick this subclass, you learn how to make a Wizardly Quill as a bonus action. It reduces the time needed to copy spells, and you can use your bonus action to erase anything you’ve written with it that’s within 5′ of you. You can also make an Awakened Spellbook. It’s sentient, can be used as your casting focus, allows you to replace one spell’s damage type with another if they share a spell level, and you can ignore the additional time caused by ritual casting once per long rest. You can only have one at a time, but it can be replaced over a short rest, using your wizardly quill and a blank book or attuned spellbook.

For your spells, Color Spray creates a dazzling display that can blind creatures in its area of effect. You can also cast Comprehend Languages to help translate yourself.

3. Third level wizards get second level spells. Alter Self properly changes your form instead of relying on an illusion, and Gust of Wind gives you a stronger wind attack. Not actually damaging, but stronger.

4. Use your first Ability Score Improvement to bump up your Intelligence for stronger spells. Speaking of, you learn to make Friends, and can use Invisibility to be awesome at hide and seek. You also get Enlarge/Reduce, which will make more sense in a bit.

5. Fifth level wizards get third level spells. Fire isn’t really your thing, but thanks to your awakened spellbook, that doesn’t matter and you can get Fireball anyway! Your Nameless Forest also starts to grow at this level, allowing you to Slow down enemies.

6. You can finally ascend to your second stage thanks to Manifest Mind at sixth level. As long as your Awakened Spellbook is on your person, you can use a bonus action to create a tiny glowing construct. The Mind is intangible, so you only have to worry for Alice’s health if an enemy know Dispel Magic. It has 60′ of darkvision, and you can use an action to see through it for as long as you maintain concentration. You can cast spells through it as well, a number of times per long rest equal to your proficiency modifier. It uses your bonus action to move 30′ per round, and can pass through creatures, but not objects. Also, it has to stay within 300′ of you.

You can manifest a mind this way once per long rest, or by burning spell slots.

Remember how we got Enlarge/Reduce earlier? This is why. If you want to be child sized, you’ll have to spend your concentration doing so.

You can now Summon Fey Spirit to bring the Jabberwock down on your enemies, or use a Hypnotic Pattern for a more effective Nameless Forest that stops people entirely. Also, Summon Fey Spirit is complicated, so check the character sheet for all its abilities.

7. Seventh level wizard, meet fourth level spells! Confusion is another mind melting spell, with the added benefit that it doesn’t end on taking damage. Fabricate will help you bring your wonderland a bit more to life, as long as you have raw materials on hand.

8. Use your next ASI to become an Elemental Adept, ignoring resistance to Cold damage and causing every damage die you roll that does cold damage to be at least 2. We’d grab this again for wind magic too, but bludgeoning isn’t an option.

For your spells, Hallucinatory Terrain will help you make an actual forest if you want it, and Ice Storm is a big ol’ storm of ice. Or whatever else you want it to be, right now it could be force, fire, or just pure bludgeoning damage too.

9. Another two levels has passed, so you’ve got fifth level spells! Animate Objects literally brings your wonderland to life to attack enemies, and Creation will help you make whatever you need, so long at it fits in a 5′ cube and isn’t a spell component. Now you can literally make candy out of nothing, awesome!

10. At tenth level you become a Master Scrivener, allowing you to copy a level 1 or 2 spell onto a blank sheet of paper or parchment, creating a spell scroll only you can read at the end of a long rest. It has to take an action to cast, but when you do it casts at one level higher than its base. It can be used once, and lasts until the end of your next long rest. You also only use half the cost and time to make normal spell scrolls.

For spells, Message and Dream are good ways to tell stories or other information without being overheard. You can also Control Winds, slowing down enemies, preventing flying creatures from flying, or making an updraft to prevent falling damage and add to your vertical jump.

11. You know the drill by now. Eleventh level of wizard, sixth level of spells. You can now turn your Nameless Forest into a Mental Prison, locking one creature in place if it fails an intelligence save. Making the intelligence save or being forced out of the prison also causes psychic damage, so that’s fun. We’ll also pick up an upgrade for the Jabberwock while we’re here, turning it into a fiend with Summon Fiendish Spirit. It’s similar to Fey Spirit, but there’s different abilities available, so check that out in the character sheet too.

12. Use this ASI to maximize your Intelligence to make a wonderland that even fewer people will want to leave.

You can also Detect Thoughts because you are someone’s thoughts, or you can make a Sleet Storm for hilarious pratfalls and to ruin someone’s concentration.

13. At this level, you get seventh level spells, like Mirage Arcane which lets you make even more realistic landscapes and Simulacrum to make yourself a slightly more permanent body.

14. Fourteenth level scribes are One with the Word, giving you advantage on all arcana checks while holding your storybook. When you take damage with Alice out and about, you can prevent all that damage by killing her instead and temporarily losing spells from your book with a total level equal to 3d6. If there aren’t enough spells to cover that cost, you instantly drop to 0 hp instead. Until you finish 1d6 long rests, you can’t cast them again. Also, you can only use this reaction once per long rest.

You also grab Whirlwind for your first truly damaging wind spell, and Polymorph for further shapeshifting shenanigans.

15. For your eighth level spells, grab Feeblemind to finish the effects of Nameless Forest, destroying a creature’s intelligence and charisma scores. You also get Telepathy, because frankly wizards have too many spells.

16. Use this ASI to round up your Constitution and Charisma so you can get hit a bit more and so people want to hit you a bit less. You also learn how to Modify Memory to ‘help’ people play in your Nameless Forest forever, and Stinking Cloud because that’s the closest we’ve got to demonic fog.

17. You finally have ninth level spells, giving you Wish for the truly powerful parts of your noble phantasms, and Gate to travel to other stories.

18. Eighteenth level wizards have Spell Mastery, giving you a first and second level spell you can cast for free. I’d pick Fog Cloud for a permanent London mist and Enlarge/Reduce so you can always be child-sized, but you do you- this is a guide, not a mandate.

You also get even more spells; Greater Invisibility and Fly will help you enter your spirit form for when you don’t want to deal with something.

19. Use your last ASI to improve your Dexterity so you get hit less. You also learn Cone of Cold for one last icy blast, and Counterspell to prevent anyone from ending your fun early.

20. Your capstone level of wizard gives you two Signature Spells, third level spells you can cast once per day for free. I picked Hypnotic Pattern and Summon Fey Spirit so you can keep your NPs at the ready.

For your final spells, grab Scrying to help you find new stories and Investiture of Wind for one of the few wind spells that actually does damage.

Pros:

Your Awakened Spellbook means your magical damage is very flexible. You can play to your strengths with cold damage when it’s convenient, but you can always fall back on a Forceball when up against anything that is immune. This also gives you great opportunity to flavor your spells to go the extra mile at the table, which could net you some DM points in the long run. Maybe.

You’re a solid support caster, able to spy on targets and relay information to the rest of the team with spells, slow down enemies, or control the battlefield through wind and ice.

Finally, your life is tied to your spellbook, meaning you can die a lot before it actually takes. That probably isn’t good for you, but living is always better than being dead.

Cons:

If you plan to die a lot, it’s probably going to happen, because both you and Nursery Rhyme have very low health. Yours is just barely above 100, and hers isn’t even past 30 unless you use a simulacrum. I know the construct is flavorful, but you should probably just be yourself.

Summoning and charming both use Concentration, so you’ll have to be careful with your Noble Phantasms. Also, your concentration isn’t that good to begin with, but that’s to be expected of a kid.

Also, while your spell attacks are flexible, it takes a while for you to get them. Until level 5, your only attacks are magic missile and frostbite, so be prepared to lean on the rest of the party if a fight breaks out at low levels.

Next up: Another child! A lot of children, actually...

#fgo #fate grand order #D&D 5e #Nursery Rhyme #Fate and Phantasms

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eunoiaflow3r · 5 years ago

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Thin Lines and Butterflies - Cesar Diaz (Part 3)

PART ONE + PART TWO

A/N: series part 3, title change lol, will have some mistakes.

Warnings: language, angst, fluff. No Cesar x Monse history, Female reader. Set during the first season. fem!reader.

Summary: Y/N is new to town. Well not really. Her brother sent her away last year in hopes to get her away from the gang life that he is a part of. Now she’s back, and ready to get back to how it used to be. She reunites with Spooky’s little brother Cesar and quickly becomes friends with his crew. When it comes to Cesar though - that line that defines whether they are friends - is getting thinner and thinner.

Word Count: 3.0k

~~~~

Monse and Olivia were convinced that high school dances were just a playground for molestation and baby-making. You, on the other hand, were excited to go, and asked Olivia for advice on what to wear. Before school, she went through your closet and helped you pick out the perfect outfit.

At lunch, you decided to sit with Jasmine. You just didn’t want to be around Cesar after all of his mixed signals. Did he like you or not? Why would he hold your hand if he didn’t? Why would he deny wanting to “bone,” you if he did? It just didn’t make any sense. Maybe he was leading you on. Would he do that? Was playing with your feelings some kind of sick game to him?

Boy were you happy you sat next to Jasmine instead of across from Cesar like you usually did.

Well…almost happy.

Jasmine has been talking your ear off, and now you were half-convinced you should have just sat with your friends.

As if the gods were listening, Olivia and Monse came over to sit next to you, clearly pissed off.

“Hold up, what’s up wit’, you guys?” Jasmine asks.

“Boys.” They sneer.

You and Jasmine break out in giggles as you turn around to look at the three of them who sat there utterly confused.

Taking one last bite of your muffin, you decided you were done with the food, so you took it over to the trash can. Cesar caught your eyes on your way over, and he gave you a questioning look - he knows you’re ignoring him now by the way you rolled your eyes and quickly looked away.

He slumped down in his seat again, now even more confused. What had he done now?

As you were throwing your things away though, a cute tenth grader - named Kamery - you think approached you.

“Hey,” he says. “Y/N, right?”

“Right.”

“You going to the dance?” He asks, smiling down at you.

He was cute, you have to admit. He’s never talked to you before, but you’re kind of glad he was now. Maybe he’s just what you need to get over Cesar.

“I am.” You smiled back.

“You in need of a date?”

You were going to answer, but before you could, Cesar did instead. When did he even -

“No. She’s got one.”

Kamery’s eyes went up with surprise, and he murmured a quick “Uh, sorry,” before walking away and back to his circle of friends.

How dare he - ooh you were ready to strangle Cesar. The first time a guy notices you, here he comes ruining it and for what? You turn around to face Cesar, who looks mad. What the hell was he mad for, you were the one who should be mad!

You crossed your arms, and again he looks down at you with that dumb confused face like he had no idea what he did wrong.

“What the hell was that?!”

“Y/N I -”

You were gone. If you were around him any longer, you were sure to smack him in his face.

After you were done getting ready, you met the gang at Monse’s house.

When you were done there and done hearing Monse complain about what she was going to wear, you, her, Olivia, and Ruby all walked to the high school only to find out the dance was canceled because someone pulled out a gun.

Jasmine was furious.

Cesar arrived and asked you what happened, but you ignored him and Ruby answered instead. He tried to get your attention multiple times, but you kept ignoring him. Who was he to scare off a guy that had nothing to do with him? Was he jealous? Is that why he was doing it? No..

“Hey, Monse!” Jasmine yelled. “Didn’t you say your dad wouldn’t be home?”

“Yeah but, -”

“Party at Monse’s!!” Someone yelled, and then everyone ran to Monse’s house dragging her along with them.

Once everyone was there, drinks were passed around, and music shot through some speakers that were around the rooms. Jasmine dragged a worried-looking Ruby with her to a couch, Monse was arguing with some girl from your second period, and Cesar was trying to talk to you.

Before he could get to you, you grabbed the nearest boy’s hand and asked him to dance with you. He instantly obliged.

Cesar on the other hand, stopped dead in his tracks and scowled at the boy in front of him who had his hands on your hips.

“Y/N, c’mon we need to talk.” You could hear the anger in his voice, but he had no reason to be so you just ignored him and instead continued dancing with the guy you definitely didn’t know the name of.

“Y/N.” He was impatient now, and wanted to punch this guy in his face for even thinking he could move his hands any lower….

“Yo, back off dude. She’s not interested.” The guy says, pulling you closer.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Cesar says walking towards the two of you, an enraged look on his face.

The guy let go of you and turned towards Cesar, looking just as threatening as him.

You huffed and got in the middle of them pushing Cesar away. He looked down at you and then back at the guy,

“I’m sorry.” You told him before you grabbed Cesar’s hand and led him to Monse’s room.

‘’Again!” you began. “What the hell was that?”

He looked at you - a mixture of emotions you couldn’t recognize - and then at the ground, avoiding your angry eyes.

“Well?” You asked.

“I was protecting you.” He told you, looking you in your eyes, and not away this time.

“From what?!” You practically yelled - you walked closer to him so that you were only about a foot away.

He was silent, but he wouldn’t break eye contact.

“Protecting me is not your job Cesar.” You sigh. “I’m not some damsel that you need to -”

Cesar pulled you to him with one hand, and the other rested on the side of your face. When his lips pressed to yours, he could taste nothing but your chapstick, and he felt like he might pass out. His heart was beating a thousand miles a minute, and when he felt you kiss him back, it was beating a million miles more. He didn’t know if it was the tension between you or the way you looked so pretty worked up that made him kiss you, but now that he was, he didn’t want to stop,

He felt so soft against you, that the warmth in itself made those butterflies rise and go into a frenzy. It seemed as though they wouldn’t calm down. When he pulled you closer and you wrapped your arms around his neck, you were sure those butterflies might just explode.

When the door creaked open, you pulled away from each other abruptly.

“Oh my God!” Jamal screamed covering his eyes.

‘Oh my God’ you thought. You just kissed Cesar!

You pushed Cesar away from you and walked past Jamal in the doorway angrily.

“Nothing happened, which means you saw nothing. Right, Jamal?”

“Right.” He squeaked.

You said goodbye to Monse, Ruby, and Olivia before leaving the house. How could you kiss Cesar? How could he kiss you? Does he know how much trouble he could get the two of you in? Nevermind the fact that Jamal saw, and everyone knows he can’t keep a secret.

The worst part about all this was that no matter how much you tried to convince yourself you did, you didn’t regret kissing him. You just hope he didn’t either.

No! This isn’t about him and his feelings, he shouldn’t have been playing with yours. He can’t just scare guys away from you and then just kiss you like his life depended on it out of nowhere.

“Y/N!” You heard your name being called from behind you, of course it was Cesar.

Again, you ignored him.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?”

You turned around abruptly almost making him bump into you.

“For?”

“For…tonight, I don’t know!”

“Right.” You huffed, turning around to walk home.

“What do you want me to say?” He asked, catching up to you so that now he was walking beside you. “You want me to say sorry for kissing you, ‘cause I’m not. I’m not sorry for kissing you.”

“Well,” you sighed, “maybe you should be.”

“I’m not gonna lie to myself about how I feel Y/N, maybe you should try it sometime.”

“Me? Oh right, ‘cause going from flirting with me to holding to my hand, to saying you don’t wanna bone me to pushing guys away and kissing me isn’t lying or confusing at all.”

He jumps in front of you so that you were face to face and no longer walking.

“And I’m sorry for that, I just I -“ He stops talking and starts running his fingers through his hair - obviously stressed out. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry for pushing those guys away and stuff, but I don’t regret kissing you, and I’m not gonna apologize for it. It wasn’t a crime.”

If and when Lorenzo finds out, it will be.

Later that night, Jamal called you. He told you about Rollerworld, and the clues he had so far. He also asked if you and Cesar were secretly dating or something, but you told him no, and that you never would.

All night you thought about Cesar and what his lips felt like against yours. What his hair felt like between your fingers, what his warm body felt like against yours. You laid down anxious - you were worried about running into Cesar tomorrow, and you also couldn’t stop thinking about those butterflies that seemed to awaken whenever you were around him.

All day at school you had managed to ignore Cesar and his perfect lips, and get Jamal to not blab about what he saw.

When you got home from school, Lorenzo was there waiting for you - which was unusual considering he was usually at Spooky’s.

“What’s up lil girl?”

“I’m not little anymore Lorenzo.”

“Damn right you not. Got puta’s lookin at you and everything.” He inhaled the smoke from his blunt. “Yeah don’t think I haven’t noticed and shit. Spooky noticed it too.”

“Yeah, well I haven’t so it’s not a problem.” You just wanted to get away from the conversation and fast before he brought up Cesar. If Spooky thinks you two are sneaking around late at night, he’s definitely told your brother.

“And when you’re gone? Where you at?”

You huff, clearly annoyed at his accusations. “I’m gonna need you to be a little more specific. I feel like you’re trying to hint at something when you could just straight out and say it.”

“You fucking Cesar?”

“No.” You didn’t want to have this conversation. Never again did you want to have this talk - with anyone.

“Thought about it?” He exhales the smoke.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“Do you want me to fuck him or not? I’m getting mixed signals here.”

“You been going out with him a lot lately,” he pauses, “I’m just asking.”

“We never hang out alone if that’s what you’re going for. The only time we’re by ourselves is when he walks me home, and I’m sure you don’t want me out at night alone.”

Lorenzo pissed you off. Who was he to question you like that? He was not your father. He would have an entirely different reaction if you were the one asking him about all his hynas and one night stands. You get it to a certain extent - he’s trying to play that overprotective brother card, but you were annoyed. He made it clear by the end of the night that your relationship with Cesar should be strictly platonic, so you had no intentions of letting him know that you two had kissed. If this was his reaction to you hanging out with him, there was no way he could know about any romantic interactions.

On top of that, Lorenzo has made no attempt to hang out with you like he used to, so you had no idea why your love life was so interesting to him. You thought that after your whole dad situation, he would want to spend as much time with you as he could, but it almost seemed like he was avoiding you, and the only times he wasn’t was when he interrogated you about Cesar.

Later that night, when Lorenzo left to go run errands with Spooky, Cesar called you. Surprisingly, you answered.

“You’ve been ignoring me hermosa.”

You said nothing.

“It’s because I kissed you.” he stated.

Again, nothing.

“Look out your window.” And you get up to do so, your heart dropping to your stomach. Would you need a taser? Would you need your brother? You opened your blinds, ready to scream, only to see Cesar smiling at you on the other side.

You push the window, open and push the blinds aside so that you could see him clearly. “What are you doing?”

“We gotta talk. Not on the phone.” Those butterflies were doing backflips in your stomach right now. He came to see you. You. A boy was outside of your window, ready to climb in, to talk to you. Your heart felt like it was pounding a million times a minute.

When he finally climbed through, he walked off over to your bed and sat down, bag of cookies in hand.

“So what do you want Cesar?”

He didn’t look at you and instead picked up your television remote.

“You wanna watch a movie?” he asks, clearly changing the subject.

Did he not hear you? Had he suddenly had a lobotomy you weren’t aware of, or he just stopped listening? Obviously because now he had turned on your tv, and was now scrolling through movies and tv shows like he lived there. You rolled your eyes in defeat, and just locked your door in case Lorenzo decided to burst in your room at any given moment although he probably wasn’t even home anyway.

Once he picked a movie and was satisfied, he took off his shoes and got even more comfortable on the side of your bed that you didn’t sleep on.

You laid next to him, eyes on the screen as well.

“So what, did you not hear me?”

“No, I heard you.”

“So what, you’re just not gonna answer me?”

And he didn’t. He didn’t answer you. Didn’t even look at you. His response seemed to be just to put the bag of cookies in between the two of you so you could reach them too. You rolled your eyes annoyed but reached for one anyway.

After about half an hour into the movie, you decided to go into the kitchen for something to drink. You asked Cesar if he wanted anything, but he said no. Once you were in the kitchen, you looked for your favorite cup, which was on the highest shelf - Lorenzo’s doing.

You climbed on the counter to grab it, and once you had it, you just decided to sit there since the tap was right next to you anyway. Why had Cesar come over in the first place? Why didn’t he just talk to you on the phone if he was only going to ignore you anyway?

When you were laying next to him, you hated how good it felt. How those butterflies seemed to roam freely, and how all you wanted to do was pull him closer, and kiss him like you did at the party.

But no. That’s not your reality.

You looked up to Cesar walking in the kitchen, standing in front of you. “Remember when we first met Olivia?” he asked.

Oh, you remember. Boy, do you remember.

“And I was flirting with her? I knew you were watching. I hoped you were watching. I wished it was you. And in the grocery store - when I held your hand, that felt good, did it not? I feel something, and I know you feel it too.”

“You asked Spooky who would ever want to bone me.”

“And you told him we wouldn’t be sleeping together.”

“Yeah ‘cause they don’t want us together.”

“And the kiss? Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it as much as I did.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you croak as he was closer now, and you almost couldn’t control what was coming out of your mouth. “We’re just friends. That’s all we can be.”

You were way past that line now. What even was Cesar to you? He could never just be your friend, you knew that. You couldn’t lie to yourself - you knew those lines would be cut, torn, or crossed somehow, but you couldn’t picture him as your boyfriend…is that even what he wanted?

He moved even closer so that now he stood in between your legs, and his hands rested on your thighs. “Friends don’t know the way you taste.”

And he kissed you. He grabbed the sides of your face and pressed your lips to his feverishly. You did the same to him, and in the kiss laid all the anxiety you’ve been feeling, all those worries drifted away, and those lines seemed almost invisible now.

You ran your fingers through his head of hair that you’ve thought so much about, and his hands fell to your waist.

You weren’t thinking. Your brain had shut down, and now it was just you and Cesar, and the lips between you. You both were pulling at each other’s clothes and when his tongue went across your lips, you saw no reason to not let him in. As he deepened the kiss, the more heated it got. His shirt was off and -

No what were you doing? You’d get into so much trouble if your brother’s found out. And what about the gang -

You couldn’t -

But he was pulling you closer, and kissing you harder, and finally he encouraged you to wrap your legs around him so that he could carry you to your room.

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grimmjagger · 5 years ago

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Hello and welcome to Tumblr! I'm glad to see another Bleach blog. :) May I request a scenario in which Grimmjow falling for a shinigami girl who was taken prisoner in Hueco Mundo? Maybe she helps him during the time after his arm is cut off and also helps heal him after his final battle with Ichigo. Sorry if this is weird or too specific! Also, good luck with this blog !!!

Not weird or specific at all! We love Grimmjow requests in this household.

Also just a heads up, I’m rewatching Bleach right now and it’s been awhile since I’ve seen the show so if I get anything factually incorrect please let me know!

Also I have NO idea why the spacing is so weird in this scenario. Tumblr is strange, sigh.

★彡

Grimmjow lost. He lost, all because of that damn Nnoitra. The thought of it boiled his blood; he wanted nothing more than to go after the bastard and kill him for taking such a cheap shot at him like that. He couldn’t move, though. It was over, and he was sure he was going to die where he lay. The coarse grains of sand chafed his bruised and battered cheek, embedding themselves into the various open wounds on his body, grating into him like sandpaper, blood pooling from his body onto the white sands around him. He really lost. Unable to even ball a fist or groan without feeling as if shards of glass were etching themselves into his deep wounds, all Grimmjow could do was wait. Wait for death, he assumed. ‘Damnit,’ he thought. ‘So this is how I die.’ He was confident he could have taken Nnoitra if it hadn’t been for the element of surprise, but none of that mattered now. He tried to scoff, but his lungs felt raw and weak, the strength leaving his body along with the steady flow of blood. ‘Damnit.’

“Grimmjow!”

The voice was distant, so faint that he thought maybe he imagined it. However the voice rang out again, this time closer and accompanied with the sound of footsteps sliding through the glistening sands. “Grimmjow!” That voice, it sounded familiar. At this point his pesky thoughts were growing hazy. Grimmjow couldn’t quite point the voice out.

“Grimmjow?!” Delicate hands grabbed his rugged shoulders and pushed him over onto his back, a shaky hiss of pain croaking through Grimmjow’s chapped, sandy lips. He could make out a figure, although it was blurry. A woman for sure, by the sound of her voice. He blinked once, twice. She was speaking hastily but he couldn’t make out the words that she was frantically saying. He blinked again, three times in rapid succession this time. Just barely he could make out the color of her soft strands of hair, the worry etched into the middle of her eyebrows, her big, doe-like eyes that looked panicked. Ah, it was that Shinigami. ‘What a weird woman,’ Grimmjow thought, to be looking so distressed over him, one of her captives. He couldn’t understand it. It didn’t matter, though, as the edges of his vision began to fade to black. This was it, the end of the King, fallen so ungracefully from his throne, weak and pathetic in a pool of his own blood. His last thoughts cursed that damn Nnoitra, as well as the strange Shinigami girl who was still frantically speaking as if he could even respond to her if he wanted to. ‘Damn them all.’

๑๑๑

The waiting was torture. No matter how hard you tried to take your mind off of things, off of him, you always found yourself right back at his bedside, waiting for him to wake up. The vibrant, electric blue hair was stark in comparison to the white walls, floors, and bed in which he lay. His face was scarred and bruised, and even while unconscious held a distinctive, angry scowl on it. You weren’t completely sure why you cared so much about whether the man lived or died. When you had escaped the fortress of Las Noches amidst all the chaos caused by your Shinigami friends you had expected to be free, to reunite with everyone and return to Soul Society. However, to escape and see that same vibrant, electric blue head of hair, surrounded by crimson staining the pearly sands around him, you had found yourself unable to walk away. Perhaps you would have been back home by now if you had left him there to die, but you couldn’t. Every string in your body pulled you right towards the violent man, knowing that you had to help him. And so you did. Now, once again, you were confined to the bleak walls within the citadel known as Las Noches, waiting to see if the man would awaken.

Gripping the edge of his bedsheets, you leaned over the unconscious man and watched his steady breathing. A small, tentative hand reached out to brush a piece of hair away from his forehead. You paused, waiting for a reaction. Nothing. With a sigh you settled back into the chair in which you sat, creaking beneath your shift in weight, crossing your legs in an attempt to make yourself more comfortable. “Please,” you mumbled, unsure of whether you were talking more to yourself or the man which lay in front of you. “Wake up already.” Pause. Nothing. You sighed again. Just as you began to stand from your chair to find something within the walls of your captivity to free your mind from worry, even for just a moment, before inevitably returning to sit and wait by Grimmjow’s side once again, a hand jolted out and grabbed you by the wrist. The suddenness caused you to jump, the grip on your wrist weak in strength, calluses rubbing against the softness of your own skin.

Grimmjow groaned, his hand falling from your wrist. You choked out a gasp and suppressed the urge to shake him by his shoulders and berate him with questions. Instead, you opted for a simple, “How are you feeling?”

Grimmjow grunted as he tried to sit up, with you quickly attempting to help him, much to the man’s irritation. Unfortunately he was still too weak to pull away from you. “Like shit,” his voice cracked, dry and scratchy from his long sleep. It had been three days since his battle with Ichigo. Three days since his loss. The thought made him ball his hands into fists and grimace at the bed sheets. “I’m going to kill that bastard.” You grabbed the glass of water sitting on a nearby table and handed it to the clearly quenched male, Grimmjow snatching the glass from your hand contentiously and chugging the water, droplets dripping down his chin. Not that he cared. You almost snorted, but refrained, knowing that would probably only further upset him.

You waited for a moment for Grimmjow to get his fill of water before tentatively saying, “I’m glad you’re okay. I thought you were dead when I first saw you.” Shifting slightly in your seat, somewhat embarrassed by yourself, you avoided the side-eye contact that Grimmjow was sending your way. Why did a Shinigami care if an Arrancar lived or died? You weren’t so sure of that answer yourself, but over the couple of weeks that you had been imprisoned in Las Noches you had found yourself intrigued by the bluenette, and you figured he must have felt somewhat the same as he hadn’t killed you—or tried to—yet. In fact, he had even saved your ass once from an enraged Yammy, something that he had no obligation to do. You weren’t sure if he had done it for you or if he had just wanted to pick a fight with the tenth Espada, but nonetheless you felt like you owed him for that. Fidgeting with your fingers in your lap, still avoiding those cerulean eyes boring straight through you, you stood from your chair and sighed. “Well then, now that you’re awake-“

“Don’t expect me to thank you,” he snapped, looking away to glower at the wall. You knew better than to think that he was mad at you in regards to his gruff behavior, rather that he was still bitter over his loss. Knowing better than to push it any further, you flashed him a small smile, one that he didn’t return.

“Well, now we’re even then, alright?” Turning to make your leave, you gave a little wave over your shoulder. “You should rest now. I’ll be around.”

Grimmjow huffed. Weird ass Shinigami. He wouldn’t admit it, but maybe she wasn’t too bad. Maybe.

๑๑๑

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” you warned, knowing it wouldn’t make a difference to the Arrancar. Grimmjow stretched and rolled his shoulders, muscles stiff and bones cracking after spending the last several days confined to a bed, finally standing on his own two feet for the first time since his defeat. If it hadn’t been for the nagging Shinigami he would’ve been out of there way sooner. “Shut it,” he snapped, although it didn’t phase you in the slightest by now, far too used to his attitude at this point. “Don’t treat me like I’m some wounded kitten.” You could have made a retort at that comment, being that he very much was like wounded kitten, but you figured that might end in your death, surely.

“Just trying to help.” You sighed. He truly wasn’t lying when he said not to expect a thank you.

“I don’t need your help. I’m going to kill that damn Nnoitra, then Ichigo next.”

Your eyebrows raised, “Huh? Nnoitra is dead, Grimmjow.” He whipped around at your revelation, his expression a mixture of shock and anger. “He was defeated by a Shinigami captain.” An eerie silence rang out throughout all of Hueco Mundo, a silence that indicated a halt in battle. That is, for the time being, at least. The silence scratched at Grimmjow, a strange feeling for sure. The lack of fighting only indicated a moment of rest before the real war began. It was only a matter of time. Grimmjow itched to be back out there, to fight the substitute Shinigami named Kurosaki Ichigo. Soon, he promised himself. Soon.

A frown etched itself onto your features. It wasn’t hard to tell that Grimmjow was thirsting to fight this war, however you knew if he fought so soon after his near death that he would surely die this time. “Maybe...” you teetered, shifting your weight onto your other leg and peeking at Grimmjow to gauge his reaction. “You should sit this battle out. If you fight so soon, you’ll surely die.” A low growl echoed throughout the room, bouncing off the blank walls and reverberating through your body. He sounded like a beast. Although, that’s what an Arrancar was, right? Somehow you began to have your doubts. Could a Shinigami really, in good faith, help out an Arrancar? The enemy? You were sure if Soul Society ever found out what you had done that you would be locked away in the Repentance Cell for your crimes. For some reason, the thought didn’t bother you, though, at least not enough. A glare bore through your skull, a thoughtful glare. You could tell that he knew you were right. Seeing as he hadn’t killed you for your comment, you ventured further, “I can help you. At least until this battle with Aizen is over.“

Grimmjow seemed to seriously be considering the suggestion, or at least not outright refusing. He knew that if he died carelessly while not at his full strength yet, he would never have the chance to defeat Kurosaki. And anyway, maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to have the cute Shinigami in front of him hang around for a little while longer. Not that he would be admitting to that. Yet. “Tch.” He gave the back of his neck a scratch, looking away from the eager eyes watching him for an answer. Grimmjow was stubborn, though. “I don’t need anybody’s damn help.”

You frowned. “Sure looked like you needed my help when you were dying in the sands of Hueco Mundo.” Now you were getting a little brave, but hey, he hadn’t killed you yet. There must have been a reason for that. Grimmjow looked as if he was about to retort back but instead clamped his mouth shut, jaw tight and eyebrows knitted. You got him with that one. “Sounds to me like you’re just looking for excuses to hang around me a little longer,” he tantalized with a smirk, the small blush dusting your cheeks not going unrecognized by the man before you.

“Maybe I am.”

Well, that caught Grimmjow off guard. The semi-surprised look on his face made you snicker. Weird ass Shinigami, for sure. “Do whatever the hell you want,” he replied, cocking his head to the side, eyes regarding you like a wild animal observing his prey. He stuffed his fists into the pockets of his uniform, that signature, cocky grin returning once again. “If you wanna follow me, I’m not gonna stop you. Just don’t get in my way.” The Arrancar made long strides past you and through the bedroom doorway, making his way down the hallways of Las Noches. He was leaving. You watched his retreating figure for a moment before jogging to catch up with him.

“Well, where are we going?”

He glanced back at you, his expression one of boredom, but you could see the glint of titillation in his eyes. The ‘we’ didn’t go unnoticed. “Anywhere but here.” So it was as you thought, he wasn’t that loyal to Aizen. You had to walk at a brisk pace to keep up with Grimmjow’s long legs. Did you really want to turn your back on your Shinigami allies to help this man out? Even if you wanted to, should you? Your steps faltered before you stopped completely, watching Grimmjow continue to walk away, not even giving the slightest look back at you. If you wanted to follow him, good for you, if not, he wasn’t going to be bothered by it. As his figure continued to grow farther away, you wondered, ‘Is this really what I want?’ Your memories of Soul Society and your friends there floated through your mind. Memories of food and laughter and battle. Memories of home. A deep-gutted feeling of heaviness anchored itself to the bottom of your stomach. The steady beat of your heart thrummed in your ears. Was it worth it, leaving everything and everyone you’ve always known behind? For an Arrancar? Grimmjow finally gave a harsh sigh and stopped, turning around and giving you a rather impatient look. Of course he didn’t care if you were coming or not, so why was he waiting for you? “You coming or not?”

“Aw hell,” you mumbled, heart skipping a beat, maybe two. Yeah, you really wanted to follow that stubborn man, even if he ended up leading you to hell and back, you really did want to follow him. The heaviness and uncertainty deep in your gut evaporated in seconds with just one look from those beautiful, blue eyes. With a huff of resignation, you trotted to catch back up to the smug man, rolling your eyes at the cockiness emanating from him as he practically puffed his chest out. “Of course I am. Someone needs to keep you out of trouble.”

Maybe he wouldn’t mind having you by his side, Grimmjow thought. Maybe.

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louiserandom · 5 years ago

Note

I hear someone is taking prompts! How about MadaTobi, for whatever reason is most hilarious to you, getting stuck in a bathtub together.

creativity in times of crisis

Rating: M

Summary: Madara and Tobirama are stuck in a bathtub together.

It’s all their stupid brothers’ fault.

Read on AO3 or under the cut :3

“This,” Madara hisses, “is all your brother’s fault.”

“And your brother’s idea,” Tobirama points out. “Mine just provided the means to carry it out.”

“Nothing you say is going to keep me from killing him with fire and then decapitating him,” Madara growls, testing the restraints, again, though it was pretty obvious after their tenth attempt that they weren’t going to get out of this unless they explicitly complied with Hashirama’s wishes. “And Izuna, for that matter. Who needs brothers anyway.”

Normally, Tobirama would roll his eyes at Madara’s dramatics and jest about the inherent stupidity and crudeness of his statement. Normally, though, he wasn’t tied to Madara with thick, apparently semi-conscious Mokuton vines keeping them back-to-back in a godsdamned bathtub as Izuna’s idea of putting him and Madara in a corner to think about what they’ve done.

They’ve literally done nothing—except shout for a bit, and possibly hit each other a few times, and maybe lead to the partial destruction of the central market with a couple of overpowered jutsu. Such things happen, though, and are easily fixable, as Tobirama knows all too well from his frequent lab accidents. But no, Izuna had to propose locking them up together until they apologized to each other, and Hashirama had to take it one step further and render them motionless.

In a bathtub.

Honestly, Hashirama’s overreaction is bordering on impolite and as such, Tobirama allows himself a bit of self-indulgence.

“Agreed,” he says, “and I’m not trying to quell your homicidal tendencies for once but do leave Anija to me.” Were the Mokuton vines not suppressing his chakra, Tobirama would have flooded the room with killing intent, but for now has to contend with vivid imagery of Hashirama’s suffering as a satisfying anticipation of vengeance. “What I don’t get is the redundancy of cremation and decapitation done in succession.”

“Hm. You’re right,” Madara actually agrees with him. Truly, an event worthy of the history books. “I’ll decapitate him, then burn him with my Majestic Destroyer Flame,” he says cheerfully. “Izuna, I mean. You can have the overgrown tree.”

As if in answer, the Mokuton squeezes them tighter, making them almost wheeze, before returning to its previous state.

“Dumbass Senju!” Madara bellows, as Tobirama utters a heartfelt, “Fuck you, Anija.”

A spark of what feels like derision radiates from the Mokuton before quickly flickering away.

Madara and Tobirama both groan.

“Maybe the Hiraishin can work?” Madara pleads.

“We’ve established that this thing blocks everything save for our sensing,” Tobirama says, sighing in frustration. “Besides, I’ve tried every which way to activate it. Anija is sneaky. He’s an idiot but still a shinobi.”

Tobirama feels the pangs of Madara’s anger as he broods for a few torturous minutes before blurting out,

“I’m still not apologizing first, because that was a dick move that you pulled, and you owe me one.”

“What a ‘dick move,’ Madara,” Tobirama’s voice leaks sarcasm, “to imply that you harbor affection for cats.”

“You didn’t imply shit.” Unable to learn his lesson, Madara thrashes against their bonds once more in an attempt to physically assault Tobirama, apparently. “You all but fucking cooed over me and made fun of me in public, Senju, and you compared me to a godsdamned kitten!”

Tobirama turns out for a part of the ensuing rant, wondering whether this talent of Madara’s to shout continuously for extended periods of time—all in a single breath, too—is an ability inherent to all Uchiha, or just him.

Probably the latter.

“My hair is nothing like that messy, spiky monstrosity on that fucking fluffball,” Madara goes on shrieking, “and I am not cute!”

That marks the end of his rant, and really, Tobirama would take offence if only at the fact that Madara dared call a perfectly adorable kitten a monstrosity.

“Did you really have to resort to fistfights and fireballs to argue that point, koibito?”

“Yes, and don’t you call me that until you beg for my forgiveness,” Madara grumbles, blessedly quieter this time.

Tobirama scoffs. “Deal with it however you wish, Uchiha, I stand by my words.”

Madara growls. “If anything, I am handsome.”

“Yes.”

There’s a pause.

“And beautiful, some might say,” Madara goes on, tone cautious.

“Of course, Madara.” Tobirama wouldn’t dream of arguing; he’s reminded of that fact every day as he awakens to Madara’s lovely smile.

“And… uhm… physically appealing—”

“Just say sexy, Madara. And yes, you are.”

“And,” Madara says, trying to shift against him but only making them tilt stiffly towards the wall, “definitely not cute. Just admit that, Senju, and it’ll do. And—ugh—I can’t glare at you. But know I am, in fact, glaring at you. With extreme disapproval.”

Tobirama can’t hold back a chuckle. “Fine, Madara, you aren’t cute,” he concedes, waiting just enough to hear Madara’s contented hum before saying, “you’re mind-meltingly adorable.”

“FUCK YOU, SENJU!” Madara’s peak volume is music to Tobirama’s ears. “I HATE YOU, YOU MASSIVE DICK!”

Tobirama can only do so much to keep his chuckles from turning into full-fledged laughter, and this finally breaks him. It’s a testament to how truly peaceful their lives have become in this village they’ve build, that they’re an hour into a ridiculous lockdown arguing about the level of Madara’s cuteness—or lack thereof.

Just two years ago, when the interclan war was still raging, this would have seemed impossible.

And yet, here they are.

“Mine’s getting hard,” Tobirama makes for a diversion. “You know it turns me on when you’re pissed off.”

“W-wh-what?”

Tobirama can only imagine the expression on Madara’s face. Priceless.

“I said—”

“I heard what you said, Senju!” Madara moves them an incremental bit again before sagging and giving up with an explosive sigh. “Not. The time.”

“Calmed you down, didn’t it?” Tobirama smirks.

“Fuck you.”

“I’d rather you do that.”

“Then apologize.”

And because Tobirama is never going to apologize for the truth, they both fall into belligerent silence.

“We’ll be stuck here forever, then,” Madara says some time later. “Dick.”

Because Tobirama is a man of his word, he stays silent, knowing his Anija would never actually let them die without food and water, at least. Too bad boredom might kill them far, far sooner.

“D’you think they’ve figured out,” Madara says suddenly, “that we realized we’ve been mistaking sexual tension for killing intent and aren’t seriously trying to maim each other these days?”

Tobirama attempts to shrug, unsuccessfully. “We’ve been careful. And the notion of fighting and liking each other at the same is definitely not something Anija can comprehend,” he laments. “Izuna may suspect something. After all, it would have been more logical to suggest locking us up separately, so we’d cool down quicker.”

“That bastard,” Madara mutters.

“Your brother,” Tobirama reminds him.

“And look what yours did!” Madara accuses in turn, making them sway a little. “I hate everything.”

Something clicks in Tobirama’s head.

“You know what,” he says, “you’re right. I should apologize.”

Ignoring Madara’s confused spluttering, Tobirama looks down to the vines wrapped around his arms and body, focusing all his attention and thoughts on them in hopes to convey what he wants.

“Uh, Anija’s Mokuton?” he starts, noting how the roots seem to stiffen as if in attention. “I’ve decided to apologize to Madara, and I believe it more productive to the, uh, apology process if I am able to do it face-to-face.” Tobirama praises himself for making it sound sincere. “As friends,” he adds.

The Mokuton vibrates with minute pulses of energy, as if considering his words, before unfurling a bit, even as it still keeps their limbs in its chakra-suppressing clutches and rearranges them so they’re sitting cross-legged facing each other.

The shock on Madara’s face is glorious to behold. As is the godawful (but still somehow appealing) tangled mess his mane had become from their scuffles.

“How?” Madara asks.

Tobirama has finally regained his ability to shrug. “Anija did say it’s partially sentient,” he says. The Mokuton sprouts another thin vine that pokes him in the chest, as if to remind him of his earlier decision. “Yeah, yeah, I remember,” Tobirama grumbles, swatting the vine away with his shoulder.

“Do you even realize,” Madara whispers, “how freaky that is?”

“Don’t insult it,” Tobirama chastises him, giving their restraints a worried glance and an apologetic smile. “Anyway, in the spirit of… the Magical Power of Hugs,” Tobirama invokes Hashirama’s sappy notion, “I would also love to be able to hug my.” He swallows heavily. “Friend.”

The Mokuton takes a longer time to think this time. Madara mouths, “Will this seriously work?” and Tobirama shushes him with a glare. Oblivious to the exchange, the Mokuton unceremoniously pushes them together into an awkward embrace.

Then, Tobirama seizes his chance and captures Madara’s lips with his.

They’re already pressed together with almost no space between them, blood still running hot from their fight, and enough hours have passed since their last bout of lovemaking for Tobirama’s arousal to ratchet up to aching in a matter of seconds. By the way Madara moans into the kiss, sliding his hands under Tobirama’s shirt and pulling him impossibly closer, he seems to be in a similar state.

Perfect, Tobirama thinks. Now he has to do is to wait for the Mokuton to process this…

Madara pulls away, almost forcefully withdrawing his hands to grip Tobirama’s shoulders, movements still somewhat restrained by the vines.

…but first, get Madara back on the right track.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Madara demands, breathing heavy and eyes glazed over.

“What does it look like?” Tobirama says, offering a smirk in place of an annoyed scowl. “Apologizing the best way I know how.”

“B-but,” Madara breathes, as Tobirama trails his fingers down his chest, down to palm the obvious bulge in his pants. “Uh. What.”

Tobirama huffs out a laugh. This ability to render his lover incoherent with a simple touch has long since become second nature. Granted, it works both ways, but Madara is, for some reason, much more prone to surprise attacks by seduction.

“Just trust me,” Tobirama says, leaning down to place a lingering, open-mouthed kiss on his lover’s neck, wrangling out a drawn-out whimper Madara would probably never admit to. “If you’d like me to stop, just say so, koibito.”

Madara doesn’t object to the endearment this time, and Tobirama counts that as a clear victory.

Tobirama shifts to place another kiss on the underside of his jaw, making quick work of divesting Madara of his pants so he can give his cock a firm stroke. This earns him a breathless moan from his lover—and no further complaints.

Good.

Madara drags him by the collar into another kiss, biting and sucking on Tobirama’s bottom lip as he fucks into his hand, getting just as lost in the pleasure as Tobirama feels. Hands, hot and demanding, run over Tobirama’s body, tugging at his clothes insistently, soon bordering on desperate. Madara’s cock grows rock hard under his touch, an enticing prize that makes Tobirama’s mouth water. It takes a monumental effort to keep track of the Mokuton that’s still twitching and twisting around their limbs with confused agitation, its grip getting weaker and weaker until—

Madara is busy sucking on one of Tobirama’s nipples, fingers toying with the other, when the vines grow stiff, then totally slack, and yank themselves away to all but fly over to the opposite corner. The motion throws them both off-balance, and Madara ends up sprawled on top of Tobirama as they scramble to untangle their limbs and get into a more or less comfortable position.

“What the—”

“It worked,” Tobirama says, smirking wider as the sound of Hashirama’s wail resounds through every single wall of the mansion.

“MADARA,” the idiot shrieks from somewhere in the distance, “NOT MY LITTLE BROTHER!”

Before Madara has the chance to yell back his retort, Tobirama Hiraishins them both to land on the softness of the futon back home, reeling Madara in to distract him from the ordeal with fervent kisses and wandering hands. Madara doesn’t seem to mind.

He shifts his weight from hands to elbows, cradling them both with his hair, and deepens the kiss, it seems, with the sole intent of driving Tobirama mad with want. Madara moves with him, cock rubbing against his thigh as Tobirama thrusts back, chasing the delicious friction, his pants too tight, skin too hot, Madara’s touch not nearly enough.

“Good creative thinking back there,” Madara says as they break away for air before meeting once more for another bruising kiss.

“Do I get a reward then?” Tobirama asks, shivering with pleasure as Madara moves to mouth at his collarbone, sucking on the sensitive skin there.

“Oh yes,” Madara drawls, dragging his mouth down Tobirama’s chest to his hipbone with just the slightest hint of teeth. Finally, Madara frees his length, lips hovering over it, teasing, barely touching. Tobirama can’t quite hold back a groan. “I’ll show you how creative I can be.”

#madatobi #lou writes #founders bs #madara #tobirama #izuna #hashirama #IDIOTS IN LOVE #THESE TWO ARE IDIOTS AND THEIR BROS AIN'T MUCH BETTER #this is peak ridiculous i swear #ahem #camp nano april 2020 #AND I'M HALFWAY TO MY WORD COUNT GOAL YEASSSSS

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narutsuart · 5 years ago

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Updated Three Houses Top 10 Females List:

Just in time for International Women’s Day! I’ve been working on revising my list as much as possible in light of revisiting Three Houses, playing Ashen Wolves, and rethinking my love for each female character I put on my last list. I will this time do the my list from Tenth place to First place. Just a heads up my # 1 one spot has not changed so don’t expect some crazy surprise there.

Disclaimer: please don’t flame me or comment about how “WRONG” I am it’s just my personal opinion or preference. BE NICE! and maybe reblog or comment your favorite list if you’d like?

#10: Shamir:

My opinion Shamir literally has not changed. She is just a cool character, I love how despite her debt to Rhea she isn’t kissing Rhea’s ass like Catherine or Ciril. Did I mention I really don’t like them lol? She’s badass and she has an excellent character design. Perfect blend of sexy and badass.

#9. Bernadetta:

Bernie dropped another spot going from 8th to 9th. I still have an abundance of love for Bernie, and I want to protect her at all cost. I still hold the opinion that while she’s an absolutely hilarious character, she can still get repetitive and stale pretty fast upon replays. That being said when I was thinking of characters that might potentially drop to below my top ten I couldn’t reasonably see myself dropping her out of my top 10, as Bernie is still a genuinely enjoyable character, and I do have a soft spot for her.

#8. Sothis:

Unfortunately Sothis dropped down a bit no fault of her own, simply because I enjoy the ladies above her more. That being said I really do enjoy Sothis. Even though our time is brief with her, I really do love the snarky little goddess. It’s funny, last time I made this list I had gotten her Christmas altand expressed my excitement, but I didn’t have her Mythic version(aka original version). I just recently I finally got lucky, and pulled her Mythic version!

#7 Dorothea:

AHHH THE PITCH FORKS!! I’M SO SORRY!! I know! I know! WTF?! I honestly any think of a perfectly justifiable reason as to why Dorothea has dropped so low on my list. She went from 4th place to 7th place for those that don’t remember. I honestly feel disgusting for putting her so low....I absolutely adore her character, her design is absolutely stunning, and I still enjoy most of her supports, but honestly I can’t justify putting her any higher than the women above her on this list. Like many who have dropped lower in placement it’s of no fault of her own. I just happened to realize I love the women above her more. I still believe deserves all the happiness, love and care that she desires!

#6. Hapi:

Hapi is such a fucking gem, I don’t know if it’s just the dub but Hapi’s dialogue is just so ahead of its time period and I love it so much lol. She has some of the funniest quotes and her habit for nicknaming everyone is hilarious. I’m aware that it’s not a trait unique to her, but I’m of the opinion that her nicknames far surpasses Dorothea’s nicknames. Now if we we’re talking strictly design Hapi would place 4th out of entire female cast for me, and that’s impressive feat since Three Houses has an abundance of amazing designs. In fact if I was strictly talking design a lot of the placements on this list would actually change. For example Hapi would actually rank above Constance for me in terms of design, but is trumped by Constance in terms of character. I might do a separate list for “best” designs in the near future.

#5. Rhea:

I KNOW ITS BLASPHEMY I STILL have both Edelgard and Rhea in my top 5?!! As those who saw my last list can see Rhea’s placement has not changed. I love Rhea so much is because she’s the perfect foil to Edelgard. Rhea is an excellenty written character with a lot of emotional depth. She acts as a perfect foil for Edelgard’s character they are so similar yet so different. It also makes sense that she and Edelgard’s ideals would come to clash. I’m of the opinion that if Edelgard and Rhea just talked about their views it still would still not end well. Rhea sage guarded her fabricated history of Fódlan for a thousand years and would not just tell the truth because Edelgard called her out. She would’ve branded Edelgard a heretic and have her executed. That type of tranquil furry is honestly unsettling and I LOVE it. Btw the only reason she tells the truth in CS and VW is because in CS she doesn’t think she has much time left, and in VW she doesn’t have much time left and chaos is marching on Fódlan’s door. Likewise Edelgard would sympathize with Rhea’s past if she told the truth, but would insist that Rhea step down from power or tell the truth to the world which would still lead to conflict. I personally agree with Edelgard vision for Fodlan more, and personally think Rhea is unstable, and worst SOLE leader for Fodlan, but neither are evil people and I can empathize with their motives and reasons for doing the morally grey things they do. Neither of them “do nothing wrong” like people claim and in fact do a LOT wrong. It’s those wrong things they do that makes them intriguing characters, and more relatable. They also both have the potential to do so many good things for Fódlan depending on the route.

#4. Constance:

GOOD LORD Costance is truly a one of a kind. I was pro Constance since her design was first revealed in the Cindered Shadows DLC trailer. That being said never did I envision loving her THIS much! Her motivations are easily understandable, and her fall from grace makes even more sad when you realize that haughty attitude that she almost always has on display is due to her compensating for her lack of status. Constance is one of the funniest characters in the game to me and she came out AFTER the game lol. She’s an incredibly intelligent prodigy when it comes to all things magic yet she has this naivety that people are able to exploit like Yuri with the “bootlicking nobles” phrase. She takes it so literal that she tries it out for her self, and tries to make a way for the boots to taste better making it easier to lick their boots......I CANT EVEN!!... honestly Constance could top this list if it weren’t for her split personality..... don’t get me wrong her split personality when in sunlight can be funny every now and then, but honestly it does more harm to her character then helps it in my opinion. Her change in personality when in sunlight is implied that to be because of the trauma of the fall of House Nuevelle, but we never get any real explanation for it or anything implying she can overcome it. Its not expanded upon, and never treated seriously. In fact it’s played for laughs and it’s something people just accept as Constance just being Constance. I honestly felt Constance C rank support with Ferdinand was done so well. She calls him out for his usually insensitive comments about status and makes him regret his words immediately. I had so much respect for her in that moment, come the b-rank support she acts all submissive and praises the ground he walks on....which ruined the c-rank support for me tbh. That being said, as you can see based off her placement this trait of hers doesn’t ruin the character for me, just keeps her from being higher.

#3. Petra:

On a much lighter note, Petra is my 3rd favorite! If you notice she has dropped down from my second favorite spot. This is due to no fault of her own I, just happened to realize that I loved my number 2 spot more. With that being said Petra has still gotten the victory! Like I mentioned in my first list, Petra is just a delight. I love how she’s so dedicated, and always willing to learn. Funnily enough my initial expectation for Petra’s character pre-release was vastly different then what her actual character ended up being. She’s one of those character’s who’s design got revealed MUCH earlier than any details about her personality and her design gave me the impression that she was the aloof, intimidating, and serious type that doesn’t have time for making friends or fun. I don’t know if anyone else got this impression, but obviously I was wrong! Petra truly does remind me a lot of Starfire from the original 2003 Teen Titans tv show and kinda re-awakens that childhood cartoon crush in me lol. Petra is just awesome there’s not a single support I don’t like of her.

#2. Marianne

Now if you saw my old list you probably noticed that Marianne moved up a bit. Naturally I still love her design(I’m a sucker for light blue hair I think lol), but upon revisiting Three Houses I realized that leaving Marianne at 3rd place somehow didn’t feel adequate. Funnily enough she was technically the first person I S-ranked in Three Houses due to locking myself out of the Crimson Flower Route on accident. Honestly she has become my favorite character to S-rank in Three Houses even more so than my number one spot! Anyway my love for Marianne is very different for most character’s as she is one I feel can really relate to on very personal and emotional level. I’m gonna get real for a minute. I honestly I had been in bad place in my life recently. I had been feeling like the world has been crashing down on me. I have plenty of things to be happy for yet I often felt depressed. I’d often had “friends” call me out, saying I have no reason to be depressed, or that I have been blessed with so many things, and while I agree I’m very blessed, they couldn’t understand how I felt, as all they could provide was the view of an outsider looking in. While the action of suicide was something I never considered, I’d had been contemplating the value of my life or if it was really worth living. First want to clarify that I’m in MUCH better headspace than I was then. I definitely feel like I’m getting better. I have my ups and downs, but I’m currently making better friendships, I’m actively getting the help I need! I’ve always sympathized with Marianne, but now I can say that I really empathize with Marianne. When we take things at face value she seemingly had everything going for her, being brought up into the nobility, trained for success, and even having an extremely rare crest. By all means to an outsider looking in she had every reason to be happy. Of course while all these things sound nice especially in the context of the story they are in actuality a source for her depression. In her C-rank support with Ferdinand we see his confusion as to why Marianne dislikes being a part of the nobility. This support is one of the few times she expresses real anger, and is when expresses she never got to have what she saw as a normal life, she never wanted to be a part of the nobility and the weight and the expectations of being nobility was crushing her, as she had to adhere to standards of those around her. She was also taught to fear her crest as curse, so the blessing many commoners would be estatic to receive was thing she deemed as a curse. Over the course of the story and through her supports, Marianne begins to learn how to be more accepting of herself and gain more self-confidence. Naturally her timeskip appearance reflects this. She looks well-rested, expressive, and she genuinely seems more happy. I will never forget In her A-support with Byleth, that over the course of 5 years she had abandoned her depression and suicidal thoughts thanks to the genuine and long lasting friendship‘s she’s made and that she managed to uncover the truth of her heritage, and overcome the fear and hatred of her Crest. Her character arc is a very powerful thing to me, and is also example of what makes the 5 year timeskip so great. In addition to her character arc Marianne is just so cute, don’t get me stated on how adorable her habit of talking to animals is! Marianne is a fucking fantastic character and I love her so much.

EDIT: So I wanted to clarify that if I’m being honest Marianne and #1 spot are technically both tied as #1 me, and are so for very different reasons. For the sake of creating a Top 10 and to avoid a cop out list I chose to put her at second. To me Marianne is “BEST GIRL”. She’s my favorite female character to marry, she’s most endearing to me, she has like my third favorite female character design in all of Fire Emblem, and I relate to her on an emotional level. That being said this next character is “BEST CHARACTER” I like more for her role in the story, how her character is written, and how she was designed. Despite this I do not marry her NEARLY as often as Marianne. While I ship her with F! Byleth(OTP!) she’s not someone I personally would persue romantically. In other words Marianne is more my type and I tend to be biased with her while this next character is female character that I feel is the BEST WRITTEN and the female character I respect the most out of the cast.

#1. Edelgard:

Upon revisiting Fire Emblem Three Houses story as well as playing the Cindered Shadows DLC, nothing has changed, in fact my love and resolve for Edelgard has only been strengthened. I made a huge in depth posts for Edelgard a while back explaining her past, motives, and reasons for what she does. The posts had spanned multiple reblogs of details and clarification and I went over the typing limit in every single one. I won’t divulge further into all that. Like I mentioned last time I created my top ten list, aside from her being IN MY OPINION one of the best written female protagonists in Fire Emblem history, I absolutely love her design, its probably one of my favorite designs in all of Fire Emblem. That being said, If I had to say while she’s definitely close, she doesn’t have my all time number one favorite design, that spot goes to Azura from Fire Emblem Fates. Edelgard will always be my favorite Three Houses female character no matter what and I’m so happy she was brought into existence!

Well that’s my revised list, I had a lot of fun writing this list and I hope it was enjoyable for you guys to read as well! I would really love it if you guys comment or reblog with your own list of favorite Three House females! Y’know what?! Comment or reblog with your list of favorite females in the entire Fire Emblem franchise if you’d like! I’m very interested in seeing your lists Happy International Women’s Day!

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem three houses cindered shadows #international women's day #edelgard fire emblem #fire emblem marianne #petra fire emblem #fire emblem constance #fire emblem rhea #fire emblem hapi #fire emblem dorothea #fire emblem women

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