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deathofacupid · 11 months ago

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weighing scale

tw: eating disorder (purging, not eating), bodyshaming, ed shaming

btw, if it's requested, i can turn drabbles into full oneshots!!!!!!!!!!!!!

you guys are beautiful the way you are, and nothing anybody ever says or does will ever change that. remember that gaining weight is totally normal, and you can always lose weight, too, but please, do it in a healthy way. if you ever need anyone to talk to, and this isn't just for eds, i'm here, and you can reach out. if not, there are people who care about you and love you.

you're amazing you beautiful mfs

(also i'm sorry if this might not be correct for you, everyone has different experiences with eds)

(also, also, i did 1st person ... and this is just the way i thought when i was going thru this so i kinda made it relate w/ me??)

100.

98.

96.

she watched as the numbers went down, satisfied despite the fact that it was only one pound less yesterday.

90.

88.

even if it meant that she'd always be cold, or that her hair would fall out. it was a small price to pay to be beautiful. to be skinny. to be like all the other girls that peter liked.

y/n kept telling herself that. and it was enough to keep her going.

{four weeks prior}

(first person)

they had little packets for us to take home, like forms. something along the lines of "annual health check-up." the form was just... well, it wasn't a form, really, but more of an opt-out. the paper said they'd just check weight, height, and some other things, like make sure you didn't have scoliosis.

honestly?

i was just happy to be missing a good chunk of math.

everyone got called down to the gym by period, and mine was 5th period, right before lunch.

our class was waiting for them to call us down, so mr. callen just let us do whatever until then. i glanced over to see liz, kayla, and chloe in the corner of the classroom, giggling and pointing towards some of the boys, and eventually, mr. callen.

he was one of the youngest members on faculty, fresh out of college. and i'll admit, he's not bad looking. in fact, he's hotter than most of the guys. and if it wasn't peter that had my heart, maybe i'd think about someone else.

not that the whole peter thing was going great anyways, he seemed interested in liz. so maybe that was my hint to move on. but i don't know. i've just liked him forever, it'd feel wrong to stop now.

i'm just really loyal, i guess.

or maybe this is some weird first love/crush thing, because no matter what, i keep finding myself coming back to him.

it took me second to realize that i'd been staring at the same spot for a while now, so i probably looked funny. i re-adjusted my position and looked at the clock, noting there there was just a few minutes until we'd have to go down.

i looked by at the girls, then at the teacher. did they not realize that he had an engagement ring on? or where they just dense?

because honestly, i'm having a hard time figuring out which one it is.

liz pushed chloe over to the desk, giggling like a manic.

chloe bit her lip, trying to hold in laughter. "hiiii, cal. you know, like, cupid's day is coming?"

me, personally, i didn't really believe in the whole dumb blonde thing, but chloe was changing my aspect on this.

cupid's day was on valentine's day, and you could pay a dollar to have a rose delivered to someone. normally, the freshmen girls did most of the planning. freshmen girls were annoying. they were always together, and i didn't remember a time i'd seen one alone.

i didn't get any on my first year here. last year i got three. but it didn't really count, because mj got me one and betty did. i was hoping that i'd figure out who the third person was, but three weeks into that investigation, i kinda gave up. if they hadn't revealed themselves to me at that point, i'd figured that they probably wouldn't.

maybe junior year will go better.

if you were popular popular, you got at least seven, so it was kind of embarrasing to only get one. and it was probably even more embarrasing to only have, like, one friend. which was betty. but she hadn't hung around me that often since she started dating ned.

mj was an observer, and i knew that much. it was probably the only reason she got me a rose, because she felt bad. but then again, anyone could see how pathetic it was.

peter and i used to be pretty close, but then he met ned, so the attention he gave me got halved.

i would have tried to be friends with ned, because i know he's really nice, but i stressed out too much about it for some reason and gave up. social anxiety, perhaps? it didn't matter, it was too late to do anything about it now.

after that, peter started hanging around liz and some of the other popular kids, and entirely forgot about me.

did forget about ned, though. maybe beacuse i was a girl, and so peter got called "gay" a lot for that. i didn't have much of a chance compared to liz, so i just admired him from afar. it's not that we didn't talk, because we did sometimes, but... actually, i don't know what.

if peter wanted to, he would have.

and it's fairly obvious, but i'm delusional and chose to ignore that.

the intercom snapped me out of whatever zoning out i'd gone back to, "block d, block d. i-is this on? oh, it is? i- yes, block d down to the gym."

everyone got up and pushed their way out the door, i didn't have that type of energy, so i just waited for everyone to get their butts outta the way and then went myself. i followed them down to the hall, staying behind a little. when i finally got over there, i ended up last, right behind chloe, kayla, then liz.

for the most part, it only took a minute or two for each person, so the line didn't take that long.

well, i suppose that's subjective.

it took 15 minutes, but whatever.

when liz was inside, she didn't take care to close the door all the way, leaving it a couple inches open. that's on her.

that's on her for being irresponsible, so it's not really my fault if i accidently hear. i leaned in a little, suddenly very interested in the wall, with all it's cracks... and... paint, and...

"and step on the scale, please... that is," she paused, and you could hear scribbling of a pen.

"121.3 pounds. perfectly healthy. that's actually the average weight for girls your age," another pause, "make sure to give this form to your parents. have a nice day."

liz said something in return and i stepped back, done admiring the wall. "next!" the lady called in.

i stepped inside the room, and it smelt strongly of hand-sanitizer. "okay, honey, step up against the wall... height is... alrightly. now the scale, please."

i did as she asked, keeping my eyes trained on the numbers.

149.7 pounds. basically 150. that was more than liz's, right?

"149, okay, you're good to go-"

"is that around average weight?" i asked, and it was impulsive, i didn't even think.

"well, it's somewhere around that. you're perfectly healthy."

the intercom came on again, signaling my time was over, and the lady thought the same thing, because she ushered me out.

as i walked back to the classroom, i couldn't help but think;

149? no, 150? around average? so basically, i was above average. 30 pounds heavier than liz? no wonder peter likes liz better.

god, that's disgusting. i'm disgusting.

i trudged back to class, unable to stop thinking about it. and suddenly, an idea popped into my mind; why not lose weight? if i lost a little, maybe peter would care about me again.

that's genius. god, i'm a genius.

yeah. i lose a little weight.

when i got back, he'd already started the lesson, not that i cared. i spent the rest of that class figuring out the kinks, like how many calories i'm allowed to eat per day.

i settled on 800.

it seemed like a decent number if i wanted to actually make an impact with weight loss.

stupid kale smoothies weren't gonna get me anywhere, nor idiotic influencer workout routines.

before i knew it, the bell rung and kids were hustling through the hallways. i was kind of on autopilot as i walked to lunch, not really watching where i was going. i'd by mistake shouldered some people, and they gave me dirty looks. i shot them right back.

i couldn't help but silently, in my mind, judge everyone's body that i saw. and not just their body, but other physical features, too. it was automatic, i didn't even mean to. but i couldn't help it.

she's really fat. the gym exists for a reason.

how is she so skinny? i know she's anorexic.

and it just went on and on.

i didn't know what was going on. why this mattered to me all of a sudden.

it was like i didn't notice these things before, i wasn't looking for them, but now that i knew they were there, i couldn't help it.

i couldn't help a lot of things.

when i walked into the lunchroom, i saw peter sitting by himself, writing on some piece of paper, and if i knew him, he wasn't doing the homework due tomorrow.

he was doing yesterday's.

it didn't seem like i'd be bothering him if i went to go talk to him, so that's what i did. i figured since we hadn't talked in while, it would be great to now.

and it'd be a great distraction, too.

i sat down across from him, "hi, peter."

he looked up slowly, a smile rising on his face. "uh, hey, y/n/n," peter paused, "what, um, what did you need?"

"huh? oh, i didn't need anything. just thought i'd come by and annoy the hell out of you."

"just like old times," peter snorted.

"math homework?"

"yep. i have math-"

"-next period," i realized my mistake after i made it. "um, 'cause i see you when i'm walking to class."

in repsonse, he nodded like he was considering it.

i didn't notice i was hungry until my stomach growled, but something inside of me made the thought of getting food and eating it repulsive. i hesitated before grabbing on of peter's fries and popping it in my mouth. he didn't say anything, or really even care, and i didn't know if i liked that or not.

"okay. you have chem next, yeah?"

i blushed at the fact he knew.

"uh, yep," i snagged some more fries, feeling myself loosen up.

and then i realized, that's what this was; i was just in need of some time with actual people who weren't my parents.

i liked this. i liked talking to peter. it was easy. this was easy.

we laughed about some other things, like flash's new donkey haircut.

and i stole more fries. ned, betty, and mj (who normally sat two seats away) came over. the topic of cupid's day came up.

"how many do you think you'll get?" betty asked.

i looked up, "roses?"

"uh-huh."

ned spoke up, "you won't need to worry, bet, i'll get you a whole bouquet." he looked proud of himself.

"i'm not worried," she giggled, like the lovesick fool she was. it was gross. and yes i admit, it was slightly because i was jealous, but whatever. betty didn't have to act so idiotic and desperate.

betty's skinny, too.

"what about you, y/n?" peter said, locking eyes with me.

"i dunno. i never really get any."

something changed in peter's expression, but as soon as it was there, it was gone.

i took another fry. they were really good, for some reason.

"fattie," peter laughed, pulling his lunch tray back, "and then you complain about not getting roses!"

that caused a round of laughs in the small group, but my heart dropped to my feet.

i was right. i was overweight. even peter noticed.

freaking peter noticed.

god, i was ugly and fat, and even peter saw that.

of course he liked liz. he'd be crazy not to. she was curvy and skinny and petite and pretty and skinny.

she was skinny.

i didn't have her hourglass figure.

never did i ever want out of my own skin more.

"y/n?" pete frowned. "i-i'm sorry, it was a joke, i didn't-"

"no, no, not that. i, uh, i... forgot i was supposed to meet with a teacher. sorry. i have to go."

i didn't go to any teachers.

i did go to the bathroom.

and i hid in the handicapped stall. i didn't cry, or sob, or weep or whatever it was stupid girls did in hallmark movies or stuff.

i stood in front of the mirror and picked out everything i hated, making a mental list in my head.

i didn't finish that list, not even after 30 minutes when the bell rung.

the rest of the day flew by rather quickly, it seemed. i felt like i was trapped in a warm haze, but not the fuzzy, happy warmth. i didn't like the way i was thinking. it's like i wanted my brain to turn off, these intruding, ugly thoughts were taking up too much room.

i felt icky.

when i got home, i didn't have my normal after-school snack like i usually did. i went straight upstairs and did homework.

i finished two essays (one that wasn't due until two weeks, and one that was due two days from now), my math homework and studied for my math test, started my science project, and did my french flashcards (and studied them a bit).

i must have been locked in my room for hours, because by the time i got up, it was dark outside.

i wasn't a studious person, and the only reason i did any of this was to forget for a little while. to snap out of it. and for a while, it worked.

"y/n, honey!" my mom screamed from downstairs, and as i glanced at the clock, i realized it was time to have dinner.

but i wasn't hungry.

well, i was.

let me rephrase that; i didn't want to eat.

however, i didn't want my mother yelling at me, so i went down anyways. not that i was planning to eat.

"mom?"

"oh, hey. i already set the table, you seemed like you were working hard and i didn't wanna bother you. dad's working late. go sit down-"

"not hungry."

she frowned. "well, you have to eat something."

"but i'm not hungry," i said, hating how sharply it came out.

my mom gave me warning look. "look, i've had a long day, so don't start with me."

"mommmm," i whined.

"sit."

so i did. i felt bad about bothering her.

i ate. small, tentative bites, forcing it all down. we didn't talk.

silently, i put my dish in the sink, before heading upstairs. the food sat at the bottom of my stomach, like a pile of heavy rocks. i wanted them out.

so i turned on the shower and locked the bathroom door, kneeling in front of the toilet. i pressed my fingers to the back of my throat and kept them there for a second. at first, all i got was bile.

but then i threw up.

peter and i started talking more again. i think he got in a fight with liz.

i asked him if they were dating, and he said no.

i think he started hanging out with me again because i got skinny. i know for a fact that i'm skinnier than liz. i weigh less then her now.

the numbers told me that.

but i didn't listen.

i didn't stop, and how could i? when i'd gotten this far?

we got in a fight. not the yelling kind, though. well, kind of. i yelled a bit.

i thought he was complimenting me. he said i looked skinny, so i thanked him.

"no... i-" he paused, trying to get his thoughts together, "you look skinny, yes, but not in a good way."

"what? what do you mean? like, there's only a good way," i laughed, slightly nervous.

peter ingnored that. "have you been eating enough, angel?" his voice was soft, but there was worry in it. why was he worried? this is the best i've ever been.

"do you ask liz that, too?"

"i- what?"

"liz is skinny. you don't ask her that."

"that- that is different. y-you haven't been eating, have you? is-"

"god, parker! stop! it's none of your business!" maybe if i hadn't been so flustered, i'd have come up with a better comeback.

i was hunched over the toilet, but nothing was coming out. everything hurt.

my head. my stomach.

my throat was scratchy and raw.

i didn't hear the knocking on the door.

i don't really remember peter coming in. i thought i locked it. what was he doing at my house? i couldn't remember.

i wanted to sleep.

i think i was crying. i don't know. i only vaguely remember the hot tears.

i slightly remember him pulling me away from the toilet and into his arms. there were lots of holes in my memory for that day.

he stayed with me, though. one thing i'm sure about is that peter never left my side. i can recall bright lights. tubes. i was laying on something. white walls. white sheets.

what was engraved into my head was peter whispering "i love you" over and over again. in the bathroom. in the car. was it a car? as they hooked me up to cables.

all that mattered, though, was that i was skinny now. just the thought made me feel light and airy.

to think that all it took was a little motivation and a weighing scale.

#reader discretion advised #tw ed #tom holland x reader #spiderman #tom holland #peter parker #peter parker x you

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rainytrashh · 6 months ago

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Stop worrying so fucking much

Fic type-> Hurt/ comfort + angst

Warnings*-> Anxiety/ panic attack, PTSD

Word Count-> 1931, a short story

Please check out my other drabbles either on here or on my AO3, the link is at the end <3

~Masterlist~ | Most popular post

*I’ve written Marc’s anxiety/panic attack off of mine that I’ve had in the past but I don’t have PTSD so if there’s anything I wrote wrong please tell me so I can fix it and improve my own understanding of it, thx and enjoy!

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You and Marc were working in the museum together, just chatting, not doing much of anything really. Well except when Donna was watching, which was more or less every five minutes or so because no matter how much you two tried to convince her that you were, in fact, cleaning the floors she just wouldn’t fuck off.

“Steven!”

They haven’t told her about their DID, they don’t think she’d react too well. They’re also glad she hasn’t been bothered to ask about the occasional shift in accents; she hasn’t cared enough to ask anyways.

“Donna-“

“Steven…”

“Donna, I’m cleaning you’re watching me do it.”

Daggers, right into his eyes. You can practically see them.

“Ma- Steven has the mop in his hand?”

-Is your attempt at defending him.

“Really?”

-Is her sarcastic reply.

You turn to Marc and give him a downwards smile, he side-eyes you pretending not to see but he can’t manage to suppress a grin of his own.

“And- I don’t see any mop in yours!”

She snaps, putting her hands on her hips.

“Don’t forget to do the bathroom, y’know the one someone managed to fuckin’ implode-“

“Yes, ok Donna.”

“Water literally everywhere! How does someone even-“

“We’ll. Be. Right. On it. Donna.”

You say stiffly cutting her off once more knowing their sensitivity around the subject, around what happened that day. Wouldn’t you still be a little freaked out if a massive demon dog chased after your alter and left you both just a little shook afterwards; finally making that alter finally aware of you? You know, big plot point in someone’s life to be honest.

Of course him and Steven are cool now, the whole ‘protecting the travellers of the night’ thing being over helps too. What doesn’t help is being able to remember all the bloody, action-packed, I’m-gonna-die moments that came along with it.

You give her the best ‘I’m being as polite as I can to you right now given that you’re my boss and I need this job, desperately’ smile that you have before she slowly turns and walks off.

“Could she’ve gone any earlier?”

“Yes, definitely.”

You catch his gaze after he glanced behind him in the direction of the bathroom.

“You… want me to do the bathroom?”

“No, no you don’t have to. I’ll help just like I’m helping now.”

You smile softly at him.

“Ok, I’ll take the mop. Do you wanna get the rag and spray bottle?”

He hands you the mop, swiping it from him letting the wheelie bucket it’s in trail behind.

“I’ll be back.”

He walks off to the cleaner’s closet.

You make your idle way over to the bathroom, fumbling a bit with your wired earbuds and phone to blast some music while you clean.

—

You see Marc in the corner of your eye, not being able to hear what he’s saying while waving frantically to get your attention. Taking one earbud out, you put the mop in the bucket and turn to face him.

“Sorry what?”

“I’ve got the rag and shit.”

He holds them up so you can see, he’s also oddly far away.

“Oh, ok yea. Just be careful the floor’s wet still. You… good?”

You glance down noticing he hasn’t stepped fully into the bathroom yet.

“Yea, of course.”

Your gaze clings to him worriedly before putting your earbud back in continuing to clean. You know better than to not trust his own judgement, who are you to tell him he’s not ok when he says he is…?

—

Alright Marc, time to do Steven’s job some more.

“You insisted on fronting today!”

As if on cue, an annoyed Steven from the back of his mind.

“I just wanted to talk to Y/n, I didn’t want to do your damn job.”

Marc snaps back almost instantly.

He looks up from the counter he’s wiping down and sees Steven looking back at him, he seems uneasy. A glance is shot in your direction to check you didn’t hear his sudden outburst.

“Marc…”

“What, Steven?”

“Your hands are… all trembly, maybe you should… take a step back from the situation mate.”

He sighs shakily, gripping the rag tighter in hopes to stop the shaking.

“I’m fine, stop worrying so fucking much.”

Steven scoffs. He throws his arms out and furrows his eyebrows obviously confused at how stubborn Marc’s being.

“I can quite literally read your bloody mind, you’re not fine!”

In turn Marc just hangs his head, closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths blatantly ignoring Steven. Eventually, he pries his eyes open and turns his head to face you, happily bobbing your head to your music trying to get a particularly stubborn mark out the floor- completely oblivious, as you should be.

He tries to focus on you, on grounding himself, as memories of that night weave their way into his head.

“It wasn’t nice for me either, please at least just tell them?”

There’s a sense of urgency to Steven’s voice now.

“Shut- shut the… shut up Steven.”

They both notice his voice beginning to falter despite Marc’s efforts to hide it. Him in particular notices it’s getting harder to speak because of his throat starting to close up, stupid adrenaline.

“Marc, you can’t be in here any longer…”

A plea from Steven- ever so soft, ever so tender, ever so endearing.

He tries to reply but nothing comes out, he ends up just pitifully mouthing Steven’s name. Everything is going so fast somehow, his breathing is getting heavier, sounds seem oddly muffled, and his body feels like it could topple over any second.

“Tell them.”

Marc tries to swallow but can’t get it down, he leans over the sink resting his forearms on the counter. He simply shakes his head and rests it in his hands.

As if Steven had managed to tell you from the mirror something was wrong, you turn around to see how Marc’s doing. Not so well obviously.

“Shit Marc, you ok?”

No reply although you see his shoulders tense up.

You yank your earbuds out and let them hang down from your pocket, the loud music swiftly reduced to a faint hum in the background. Jogging over to him you lean down a bit to try and see his face. He looks so… vulnerable like this. Your nerves begin to build up rapidly as you hear his raspy breathing.

“Marc? Please talk to me are you alright?”

He reluctantly turns his head just so he can see you out the corner of his eye, he’s crying now as you see tears drip down into the sink from his nose. He opens his mouth trying to speak again.

“Ok… come on, let’s get outside, give you some fresh air.”

He takes short gasps of air trying to catch his breath, and half the stuff you’re saying is getting drowned out by his heartbeat rapidly drumming in his ears.

You put a hand on his back as you pry him away from the sinks and lead him out the bathroom and through a backdoor, you have to hold onto him to keep his knees from giving out.

He immediately sits himself down against the wall with your help, you can feel his hands shaking against you.

“It’s gonna be over soon, just hang in there and… do what you need to do.”

You sit down next to him, God you really hope he’s gonna work himself through this. You know he will. You just care about him, a whole lot, and can’t help when you get scared for him whether he likes it or not. Seeing him like this is just so out of character, he’s always so confident and… shielded.

You start to pick your nails anxiously, glancing over at him regularly hoping for any kind of signal that he wants you to help more, that he’ll let you help more. In these situations you know he wants to be left alone, so even though you don’t feel like it you’re doing everything you possibly can.

He brings his knees up and rests his forehead on them, he digs his nails into the back of his head as he tries to calm his breathing down like Steven’s telling him.

“Focus on my voice Marc, don’t think just focus on my voice I’m here ok?”

“Breathe in, breathe out…”

“Don’t think about it think about what’s around you. What can you see, what can you hear, what can you smell…“

He’s trying, he’s really trying and so is Marc but he doesn’t seem to be calming down any time soon. His heart’s getting louder, his breathing’s getting choppier and everything is way more blurry than it was a few minutes ago. He doesn’t know what to do, and everything’s getting worse.

After what feels like forever you check your phone and see it’s barely been two minutes, while doing this you pause your music having forgotten completely about it letting it turn to white noise.

You let your head fall back onto the brick wall behind you. You sigh trying to calm yourself down now, you let the crisp wind hit your features and fill your lungs.

Unexpectedly you hear Marc’s breathing slow down, you whip your head around to face him and watch the grip on his hair let up.

“Marc?”

After a few tense moments you watch as he raises his head and faces you, tear stained face and red puffy eyes meet yours.

“Marc…?”

You furrow your eyebrows confused at his sudden shift in demeanour.

He shakes his head and gives weary smile, he taps his name badge- Steven.

“Oh…”

You nod your head, giving him a weak smile of your own.

“Well, you two good?”

He signals to his throat and nods instead.

Ah, it’s clicked in your head, they may have switched but all the physical things going on with the body would stay the same.

“Good…”

You both sit in a comfortable silence for a while, just letting the tension settle down. Ultimately one of you speaks up.

“Sorry-“

He clears his throat and stretches his legs out on the concrete staring down at his feet.

“Sorry you had to be around for that…”

“No don’t say you’re sorry, it’s not your fault.”

“But, we could’ve prevented it, easily!”

“It’s not Marc’s fault either Steven-“

“No no that’s not what I meant- I just… I could’ve done something. Take control of the legs or something and walked us right out of there, I didn’t. I don’t know why I didn’t, was I scared? Why was I scared to if I was scared? I just don’t bloody understand-“

“Steven.”

Your eyes meet, the calm in yours seeps into his before you look away. You reach to his hand and caress his knuckles comfortingly, oddly rough for someone who should be working in a museum.

“It’s ok now, what’s happened has happened, so try not to think about all these would’ves, could’ves, and should’ves. Just, think about what you’re gonna do about it in the future. Even better, focus on the now.”

Steven exhales weightily and lets his lead fall limp on your shoulder.

“You should tell Marc that.”

—

“Steven! Y/n! Where were you? No, I don’t want to hear it. You’re both getting inventory duty for a week. Yes a week, starting fucking today. Now finish cleaning that sodding bathroom, how long does that take you anyways I’d have it done in half this time already. No, I told you, I don’t want to hear it I’ve got more important things to do—“

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My AO3

#moon knight #moon knight mcu #steven grant #marc spector #this can be read as romantic or platonic between you and marc or steven #y/n #panic attack #anxiety attack #ptsd #please criticise my work it really helps #constrictive criticism tho #don’t be rude 😭#donna 🙄#hurt/comfort

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nonclassyparty · 1 year ago

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friday, 01:56 (j.wy)

title; now shut your dirty mouth, if I could burn this town, i wouldn't hesitate to smile while you suffocate and die

summary; wooyoung is your sworn enemy but hooking up with him becomes a habit you just can't seem to quit (gen v au)

notes; part one of a drabble series called 'rule of thumb' set in the gen v universe where y/n is a bigender superhero and wooyoung is a blood bender (yea it's jordan & marie inspired but hear me out because there's less gore and massacres and more fucking and fluff okay). all credits for the superpowers and world building go to gen v writers, i'm just here to give some cute wooyoung drabbles also there's no update schedule for this, i'll just be writing it whenever i feel like i want to write some wooyo stuff

playlist // my main masterlist // click to donate to palestine

you met jung wooyoung a year and some months ago and from the first second your eyes connected - you knew peace will never be an option with him.

"cool shirt, you steal it from a middle schooler? why'd you guys bring a freshman over, we aren't tutoring anyone during lunch." was the first thing jung wooyoung uttered towards you, skipping the introduction completely as he eyes your scooby-doo shirt with apparent distaste and he plops down in the seat next to seonghwa who nervously twitches as he watches for your reaction. maybe seonghwa expected you to jump over the table and wring jung wooyoung's pretty neck.

you have no idea where he got the idea you could ever do something like that.

anyways, was the scooby-doo shirt embarrassing and a little bit ugly? yes. did you have a right to wear it nonetheless without being judged for it? fuck yes.

so fuck jung wooyoung, it's not like he dressed any better no matter how good he looked in just about anything. he didn't have any fashion sense whatsoever, he was just handsome - there was a difference.

if it ended there with jung wooyoung, you would've gotten over the little fashion quip and maybe, dare you say, you could've been friends. you would've liked that even.

you hate to say this and you would never admit it to anyone but before you got to know jung wooyoung, before you even started your freshman year at godolkin university that, you were an admirer.

because jung wooyoung, just a year older than you, was somewhat of a legend already on the god u campus by the time you were a freshman. a star student at the school of crimefighting that cleared several homicide cases in his first year and was climbing the ranks at super speed and reaching the top ten by winter break of his first year.

he was smart, dedicated, driven but more importantly, he was insufferable about it. always teasing you, poking fun at you for just the pleasure of getting a rise out of you. it might not even be considered that bad if you didn't allow for him to piss you off with the most innocent of comments.

you don't know how you ended up in his circle in your first year at godolkin, you were a bit of a hermit that avoided socializing and spent the better half of your freshman year training and discovering just how far your powers went for the first time.

by the time you felt comfortable with shifting into your male form and started getting the hang of controlling the powers that came with that form, you caught the attention of hongjoong and seonghwa who decided to, what they call, adopt you into their equally unhinged yet somehow popular clique. occupying the first eight spots of the rankings with san being first and wooyoung a close second, they were the campus elite.

the guys were cool, maybe a bit shallow sometimes, but that was to be expected when you go to college under a huge spotlight like they do. it's all-consuming.

they were your friends. the only problem was jung wooyoung.

on paper, there isn't a reason you two shouldn't get along. you have the same friends and share so many interests that it's kind of laughable but something about wooyoung just grates your nerves. his ability to get under your skin is astounding and he can infuriate you with nothing more than a single know-it-all grin.

tonight is no different.

in the club, that you snuck off of campus for, yunho serves as a barrier between the two of you but it doesn't stop wooyoung's teasing comments and pokes even when you're on the dance floor.

what's worse is that you start indulging him and, you'll blame it on the alcohol and plethora of drugs although you've learnt a long time ago they barely have any effect on your body thanks to the concoction cursing through your bloodstream since you were a baby, your hands keep straying towards him, drawn like magnets. it's infuriating. how much you want him.

a couple of fleeting moments later where your fingers brush subtly enough for it to be deemed as accidental, one moment between another and yunho is suddenly gone and wooyoung's hands reach out to be placed on your hips, the pretenses are gone.

you're both chest to chest, breaths mingling and noses brushing but still, you can't do it. not here, under these awful lights with all these people watching.

you push him away with your hands on his chest and for a second wooyoung looks worried before it melts into an annoying smirk after you grab him by the hand and start dragging him towards the bathrooms.

you think it got a bit too real for you out there on the dance floor, because the moment you're alone in the semi-clean looking bathroom of the club, you decide to start an argument with him. if nothing but to bring a sense of normalcy back between the two of you.

"what the fuck is your problem with me?" you hiss, blood rushing to your cheeks as wooyoung's eyebrows jump in faint surprise before you see him suppress a smile.

"my problem with you?" he asks, head tilted to the side and looking at you as if he knows what's going on in your head, like he knows that you're only starting a fight to deflect from whatever the hell that was on the dance floor and why you dragged him in here. which he doesn't, mind reading isn't in his superpower description, you checked! he smiles and it's a pretty smile, pretty fucking annoying. "i don't have a problem with you."

you frown, "wooyoung, stop messing around with me. i'll kill you."

he has the balls to laugh at that and it's only then you realize why. you didn't even notice that you basically have him pressed up against the sink. so close to putting your hands on him again. wooyoung leans in;

"look at you. you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look fucking stupid." he whispers, hooded eyes grazing over your face before the corners of his mouth perk up again and he licks his lower lip, tongue just barely brushing the devastating beauty mark residing there, "you’re probably saying you wanna kill me just so you can have an excuse to touch me."

you feel like you can breathe for the first time in too long when you kiss him, your hand wrapped around the nape of his neck to pull him closer. it's messy and rushed but it's exactly what you need to feel like your entire nervous system is set alight, as the tension between the two of you finally snaps.

the small moan that escapes him has the ability to drive you insane and you cradle his face with both hands, licking at his bottom lip until he lets out a whine before parting his mouth open and allowing your tongues to meet.

you hate this. hate the thrill of pleasure that shoots through you when wooyoung's fingers dig into the material of the jeans wrapped around your hips. hate that you have absolutely no excuse to be kissing him in a dingy bathroom of a nightclub. absolutely hate how much you further want him.

his soft gasp makes you part away from him as you look down at his face that's sporting wide eyes and parted glossy lips.

you're confused for only a moment until you notice the problem. you're looking down at him.

your eyes connect with your reflection in the mirror over wooyoung's shoulder and you blush in mortification when you come face to face with your male form that you unconsciously shifted to somewhere in the middle of the kiss.

with red cheeks, you look at wooyoung again as your hands immediately leave his cheeks and you turn to take a step back not wanting to make him further uncomfortable, "i'm sorry, i di-"

wooyoung doesn't even say a word, it's just a sound that leaves his throat aching to a whine as his fingers latch onto your shirt and pull you back into him, sealing his lips over yours into another messy kiss that makes your blood sing. you don't know if it has something to do with the fact that wooyoung is a blood bender or that he doesn't mind kissing you like this either.

it's exhilarating. too much and definitely not enough at the same time. you want to see jung wooyoung unravel in front of you. because he's been pissing you off all night and now, you just want him to shut him up and kiss the life out of him.

you clumsily fumble with the button on his jeans, slipping a hand inside to palm him over his underwear. wooyoung moans softly, forehead leaning against your own and his hand comes up to the back of your neck before he pulls you into another kiss.

"please." he rasps out, parted lips brushing over your cheek and that's all the confirmation you need before dropping to your knees.

wooyoung rushes to shove his clothes out of the way and if you weren't so turned on, you would've found it funny. you don't laugh because you're straining against your own jeans and you have a task to get to as you stare right into wooyoung's eyes and open your mouth, waiting.

so, you let jung wooyoung fuck your mouth. you let him grab you by the back of your head, fingers weaving through your short hair. you let him rub the tip against your lips, you let him tell you that he likes you a lot better when you're too busy sucking him off to run your mouth.

of course, you respond that it's not a smart idea to be an annoying piece of shit to someone while their teeth are so close to his dick. it shuts him up immediately.

but it's all worth it because wooyoung's honey skin looks flawless even under the shitty lights of the bathroom and his moans bouncing off the walls are ridiculously sweet just like you knew they would be. god, you must be some kind of masochist.

there is no other reason that would explain why you're here with jung fucking wooyoung of all people. it's bad enough that he's wooyoung, the most annoying person on planet earth that has spent the last year doing nothing but teasing you but it's still worse that he's straight.

you can defend yourself however you like but even you have to admit that no normal, well-adjusted person that has spent their teenage years agonizing over their gender identity and suppressing their own powers because the implications that they're also a boy and not just a girl felt awfully too big and something their parents could never be proud of, finally coming to terms with their powers and accepting themselves for what they are - only to go out and make their first hook-up post that revelation, a straight boy that made it a mission to piss them off daily.

"you're so sweet actually." wooyoung pants, thumb gliding under your eye to wipe the tears away.

you wish he'd stop talking.

you wish you weren't enjoying this so much.

wooyoung's head thuds against the mirror hanging above the sink he's currently leaning on and his hand tightens in your hair, so you know he's close. you double down on your efforts, swirling your tongue around the head and hollowing out your cheeks. your eyes fall shut as all you hear are wooyoung's soft grunts and the wet sounds of him fucking your mouth before he's coming with a low groan into your open mouth.

"fuck." wooyoung sighs, hands slipping from your hair and falling to grip the sink.

your knees ache as the hard tiled floor was unforgiving to them but you still stand up and quickly walk into one of the stalls to spit into the toilet and wipe at your eyes as subtly as you can, so you don't actually look like you just had your face fucked.

"yeah." you nod, voice hoarse as you tug on your oversized shirt. it's sort of crazy that you think you hate wooyoung a little less than you did twenty minutes ago. you hope it lasts long enough to get out of here without wanting to rip his head from his shoulders.

unfortunately, wooyoung is still....wooyoung and the five seconds you give him with your back turned towards him as you fix yourself up is enough for him to shatter any blissful fantasy of not feeling anything but hate and dislike towards him.

"i can still be straight even if i liked you sucking me off, right? since you're not...you know...." you're frozen and it feels like you're watching a car crash. you faintly wonder how can someone so brilliant, so smart, be so fucking stupid and insensitive at the same time.

you want to interrupt him but you're stuck in one place bound to watch the crash and burn. of course, after you stay quiet, wooyoung continues;

"you know, you're you."

"that's an astounding observation wooyoung, truly. i'm me."

"you know what i mean."

the tissue you used to wipe off the last bits of your make-up gets balled up in your hand and you refuse to look at him as you shift back to your female form so the boner in your pants wouldn't be visible.

"frankly, i don't give a fuck how you choose to label yourself but i think it's worth noting that you liked having someone who you know wasn't a girl suck your dick."

you don't look at him again, swearing that you were completely done with him after tonight as you push past him and head for the exit door.

the resolve lasts for almost as long as wooyoung did with his dick down your throat, which if you are being honest - wasn't very long.

#wooyoung fluff #wooyoung x reader #ateez x reader #ateez angst #wooyoung imagine #wooyoung smut

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dazzling-raven · 7 months ago

Text

This got way out of hand. 'Oh, I should write a little drabble to go along with the drawing I'm working on! Ittl be fun!' 6,000 words later and here we are. It was fun, I don't have regrets, but oh my gosh. Massive thank you to Inky Clawz on wofa for being my beta reader/editor. If anyone actually reads through the whole thing thank you for reading about my little guys ^^

It all started with a letter. A single letter. It was a pale yellow in color. Small, and unassuming. It didn’t even have a wax seal. “It’s from your mother. She understands if you don’t open it, but in my opinion it would be best if you did.” The messenger had said, then backed away. At first Chip had been confused as to how she had even found his address, but then he remembered that he and his husband ran what could probably be considered two of the most popular shops in the SkyWing kingdom. Dragons came from all over to try Chip’s wonderfully unique pastries or get cleverly crafted tattoos done by his husband’s talons. Some just came to look at them and talk. It wasn’t every day you saw a SeaWing in the Sky Kingdom, much less an ivory white and orange one. His husband was no different- he was an ‘illusive’ NightWing, and a good looking one at that. If they weren’t head turners already, jaws would drop to the ground once dragons caught sight of their wedding bands. Word of mouth travels faster than any advertisement could, after all.

Chip found himself avoiding the letter for days- he had even considered tearing the letter into little shreds on more than one occasion. However, his husband, Voyant, had noticed that Chip had been acting off as of late. Because of course he did. He had known ever since meeting him that fateful day that NightWing powers were all a lie, but he might as well have been a mind reader with how quickly he was able to catch on to Chip’s emotions. After tucking their adorable little dragonet into bed (and reading ‘The Ten Little Scavengers’ to him for the tenth time) he had trotted into the living room where a fire was already waiting for him. His heart melted at the sight of his husband, who had been curled upon their rug. He had been sketching out a new design, his black, forked tongue poked out between his fangs in concentration.

His black scales gleamed in the firelight, and if you angled your head just right you could see a faint purple shine dance across them. His pearl white underbelly rose and fell with each breath, and the dual crescent shaped silver scales behind his eyes glimmered softly. “See something you like?” His husband asked with a coy smile, stretching out slightly and resting the pencil on the floor.

“Just admiring a work of art.” Chip replied smoothly, walking over to him with a grin. He bent down and gently bonked his husband’s head with his own, then curled into his side. Voyant’s tail immediately intertwined with his, and Chip felt his husband drape his wing over his smaller form. The two sat there for a while, and for a moment Chip let himself go. He felt so comfortable and safe in his husband’s embrace, and he never wanted this moment to end. He listened to his husband talk about his day, but he felt his gaze wandering back to the piece of paper sitting on their countertop. Still unopened.

“Is it about the letter?” Voyant asked abruptly, having followed Chip’s stare. The SeaWing immediately felt like trash for not giving his husband his full attention, but he nodded.

“Yeah. M’sorry about not saying anything sooner, but…” he hesitated, his claws fiddling with the red bandanna still tied around his husband’s neck.

“It’s been hard? Scary, even? Not knowing what’s inside?” Bingo. Voyant always knew how to word things better than he ever could have. The SeaWing nodded, almost wishing he could curl up into a ball and disappear. He didn’t though, instead focusing on his husband’s slow, even breaths as he steadied his nerves.

“I know, it’s silly. We fought in countless battles, rescued Solaris from the talons of Scarlet herself, and I got my legs *burnt by lava* and I can’t even handle a few words written on a scroll.” Chip growled, clenching his talons in anger.

“I don’t think so. We both know what she did and how she treated you. Sometimes words can hurt more than the sharpest of swords or the hottest fires. It’s ultimately your choice, but running away from the ink on that paper and not knowing what she wrote could eat away at you later down the line.” The NightWing said, taking Chip’s talons in his own and rubbed them to get them to relax.

Chip felt the rage seep away from his scales as he took in Voyant’s words. Then he smiled. “Wow, I never knew you were a wordsmith. Hey, which ghost in the room possessed my husband this time? I'd like him back, please! We’re trying to have a serious and emotional conversation here!” Chip said, grinning as his husband’s face went from serious, to confused, and finally mock offense as the SeaWing looked around the room, smiling like an idiot.

“Well Ex-CUSE me, your majesty. If you don’t want my help I'll just pack my things and take our son for a nice vacation. I think the SandWing kingdom is looking for some new visitors. I’ve heard that they fancy poetry that you simply don’t appreciate.” The NightWing said in a faux snobby voice, standing up in a semi graceful movement and walking a few paces away.

“Wait, I- pfft- I’m sorry-” Chip said, his quick apology interrupted by gasps of laughter as he stumbled to his feet like a drunken idiot.

“Nope! You’ve officially missed your chance, Mr. Seastar. Come back next year when the almighty and powerful Voyant is back in town. Then, and only then, you may even THINK kissing his talons and winning back his heart.” The NightWing said, smiling as he lifted a paw into the air and pretended to admire the imaginary jewelry on his claws.

“Mr. Voyant, please! Just one more chance? I promise I’ll make it up to you!” Chip pleaded with a grin, finally steadying himself as he giggled to himself.

Voyant paused as if considering Chip’s plea, then nodded. “All right, SeaWing. What’s in it for me?”

“This,” Chip said, closing the gap between them. He held a talon to Voyant’s face, and guided him in for a kiss. It was clunky and awkward with how the both of them were giggling, but that’s what made it special. “That work for you, Voyant the great and powerful?” He smirked, relishing in his husband’s surprise.

Voyant snorted and rolled his eyes, but nodded all the same. “Fine, I could get used to this.” He said definitively. “Consider yourself forgiven,” Chip grinned, giving him a quick kiss as a little bonus for putting up with his tomfoolery.

The two of them quieted their giggles and sobered up after a bit, sitting right there on their polished wooden floor. They lingered in the comfortable silence for a while, before Chip decided to break it. “I’m going to read it. Do you think you could… stay with me?” He asked, looking at his husband with hope.

“Of course. Let’s go back to the rug.” The NightWing said, standing up and trotting over to their previous spot. Chip nodded, grabbing the letter and following after him. He easily snuggled into his husband’s side, resuming the position they had been in previously. Chip paused as he looked at the scroll in his talons, but unraveled it as his husband gently nudged him with his head.

“My dearest dragonet

Dear Seastar,

I apologize that this letter has only been spurred on by recent events. As your mother, I should have done more to try and reach out to you sooner to rekindle our decaying relationship. I would also like to take this moment to apologize for everything I have ever done to wrong you. As a parent, It should have been my duty to protect and guide you through life. Instead, you ended up taking care of me. I snapped, and you were banished with me by my own fault. It wasn’t right. I have no idea where you are in life. Are you happy? Are you sad? Are you married? Do I have grandchildren? I may never know the answers to those questions, and you have all the rights to keep that knowledge from me. However, as stated above, I am writing to you now to inform you that I don’t have very much time left on this continent. I am fading due to an injury I received near the end of the war. I hadn’t realized how bad it was until it was too late, and I’ve been using my final months to reflect on past events. Funny, how dying makes you think. I would like to talk and apologize to you in person. I’m aware that apologizing to you via scroll isn’t the best way to handle things, but I doubt you’re ready to see my face and I don’t think I could make the journey anyways. If you are willing to visit, I am staying at The Hearthstone Haven in the SandWing Kingdom. It’s in a quaint little village near the coast. I understand if you’d rather stay as far away as possible, however. It is entirely your choice.

Wishing you all the best in your future years, your mother”

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, digesting what they had just read. Chip hadn’t realized he had been shaking or crying until his talons began to crease the page and his tears dropped onto the paper. Voyant’s eyes widened in surprise and he gently took the note from him. “She makes me so *angry*, Voyant. And the worst part is that I know she’s being completely genuine.” He growled, snuggling further into Voyant’s side and hiding his face in the crook of his husband’s shoulder. He hated when Voyant saw him cry, but he didn’t know what to feel. He was angry. Sad. Regretful. Hopeful. Did he want to even see her again? Yes! …No. It was complicated. Chip was thankful that Voyant let him hide away until he was ready to look at him again. When he was, he took a shuddering breath and gave his husband a gentle nudge. “Can we leave this for another day? It’s late and we both need rest.”

His husband’s eyes widened a bit, clearly expecting him to say something else, but agreed nonetheless. “Let’s. You look exhausted, and I bet I don’t look much better.”

Chip snorted, agreeing with that statement. They both stood up and stretched, then walked off to their shared bedroom. Voyant placed the scroll on the simple nightstand that was next to their bed, and they both snuggled up for the third time that night. This time, however, they both managed to drift into dreamland.

Chip hummed to himself as he made everyone breakfast. He had purchased salmon for himself and Voyant that morning, and was now cooking it over their fire. It wasn’t very often that he was able to have fish, and he had jumped at the chance when he found a traveling SeaWing merchant that had been selling them. Keeping an eye on Voyant’s fish (he preferred his raw), he trotted back over to their open kitchen. He wandered around their island to get to their water basin, dipping his talons in to wash them. Once he finished, he plodded over to where he had left his son’s breakfast. He picked up the knife from the cutting board and began chopping up grapes, strawberries, cantaloupe, and other various fruits and scraped it into a smooth wooden bowl. Fruit was also fairly uncommon, but he was friends with one of the few SkyWings that sold it in the sky kingdom. He was always willing (and thankfully able) to pay a little extra to give his son the food he preferred, though he usually got his at a cheeky little discount.

“Daddy!” Speak of the devil and he shall appear. His son bounded over to him, his scales a bright, vibrant gold mixed in with his usual forest green. “OOh, what’s that? OHMYGOSH, is it FRUIT?!” He asked, spotting the colorful food as he jumped onto Chip’s back.

“Woah! Hey, Morning to you, too, kid! Careful, I’ve got a knife. Hey, why don’t you go wake up your Pappa for me? Sneak attack style, like how I taught you.” Chip said, laughing as he put the knife back onto the cutting board. “Once you’ve done that, I’ve got a special question for you. Ok?” He asked, grinning as he tried to turn around and look at his kid.

“Ooo, Ok! I’ll do it! I’ll do it!” the little RainWing nodded, orange and purple now bursting through his scales like fireworks. He began to breathe calmly, the color sliding from his scales like water as he faded seamlessly into the background. His feet were even the colors of Chip’s scales. “Like this?” He whispered, and Chip grinned and nodded. Gold burst through random patches of air before they disappeared again, and Chip felt a weight lift from his back. The only thing that gave him away was the quiet sounds of giggling. Chip felt a strong sense of pride and adoration as he looked at where he thought his son was, then remembered the now quite done salmon on the fire and quickly rushed to get it on a plate. It wasn’t burnt, but it was definitely quite smokey. Chip sighed in relief, walking over to the low mahogany table and set Voyant’s plate down. He’d forgive him for what was about to happen after he saw what was for breakfast.

“BOO!”

“YEOWCH! Ok, message received! I’m up, I’m up! No claws, you little monster. Hey! Ohh, I’m gonna get you for that one!” Chip heard Voyant shout, quickly followed by a streak of gold-yellow as the little RainWing shot out of their bedroom. “You’ve awakened the big, bad Darkstalker! He’s come for you and your soul! He’s going to put you in a stew and gobble you up! ROARGH!” Voyant shouted, grinning as he stampeded over to their son.

“NO! Go ‘way! Can’t catch me!” Their son yelled gleefully, flapping his little wings to gain momentum as he leapt onto the countertop.

“Watermelon, no countertops!” Chip chided, smiling as he watched his free morning entertainment.

“No! I have the high ground!” His son retorted, balancing on his hind legs to make himself look taller. “Go back to the darkness from where you came, you evil beast!” he commanded, stumbling slightly as he pointed at his husband with a small, light gray claw.

“Never! Simple words do not work on the Darkstalker, little boy! Only a true hero can defeat him! ROAR!” Voyant shouted again, grabbing his son by the underarms and bringing him close with a quick movement. “Prepare to be stew!”

“No! Pappa- Staph-” Watermelon said, shrieking with laughter as he tried to push Voyant’s head away from him to no avail. Voyant made an ‘om nom nom’ kind of noise as he pretended to feast on their son, his shoulders shaking with barely concealed laughter.

“Ok, you two. Before The Darkstalker gets full on little RainWing, does he perhaps want to see what’s actually for breakfast?” Chip asked, gesturing to the table with his wing.

“Perhaps he does. Alright, little child. Consider yourself spared and the victory yours. I’ve tortured you enough.” Voyant said, laughing as he settled their son down.

“HA! That’s right! Now go back and give me back my Papa!” Their son ordered, spreading his red wings and puffing out his light gray underbelly with pride. Voyant, a good natured father, rolled his eyes. He followed his son's demands and retreated to his bedroom once more. As he did, Chip snuck around their son’s small frame and grabbed their breakfasts. His husband stayed in their room just long enough for him to be able to set them on the table. “What happened?” He asked, faking being delirious as he looked around the room.

“Pappa! You were possessed by the Darkstalker! You were going to turn me into stew, but me an’ Daddy saved you before you could eat me!” Watermelon cried, running over to the NightWing and doing his best to hug his forearm.

“Did you now? Well, aren’t you a brave little hero?” He asked, rubbing his son’s back before looking over to Chip with a fond smile.

“Yeah! The bestest ever! I’m gonna save the world one day!” The RainWing proclaimed, grinning proudly.

“Well, heroes can’t survive on moxie and pride alone, can they? They need nutrition to get themselves through battles. Like Ironheart, remember? He would want you to let go of your Papa’s leg and get big and strong.” Chip said, chuckling as his son’s eyes sparkled at the mention of his favorite NightWing hero.

“Ohmygosh, yeah! Fruit for breakfast!” His son cheered, releasing Voyant’s leg and scrambling over to the table. He was just barely tall enough to peek his head over the wooden surface, so Voyant went and retrieved the dragonet’s stool for him to sit on. He hopped onto the stool with glee, then dragged the bowl close to him. As the two adults sat down at the head and tail of the table, Watermelon began to do his best to organize the fruit in the bowl before eating it. Chip smiled at this, thankful that his son remembered not to put the sticky fruit on the wood this time. He shouldn’t have been playing with his food at all, but at least this was an improvement.

He looked at Voyant, who just smiled and rolled his eyes before eating his salmon. Chip, though previously excited for this meal, could only poke and pick at it as his thoughts began to wander back to the letter. Noticing this, Chip’s husband looked concerned and tilted his head. “Letter.” Chip mouthed to him, and Voyant nodded in understanding. Chip hesitated before nodding to his son, who was happily sticking the blueberries onto his claws and eating them off one by one. Voyant gave him an uncertain look, but shrugged as if to say ‘up to you.’ Chip sat for a few moments, eyeing his son as he began to pretend his fruit was a bunch of tiny scavengers that he was going to eat and destroy. “Watermelon” he said, his son’s head snapping towards him with wide eyes. “Do you remember the special question that I wanted to ask you?”

The dragonet relaxed immediately before an orange purple mix burst through his scales again. “Yeah! I do!” He exclaimed, nodding vigorously.

“If you had a family member that you had never heard of or seen before, would you still want to meet them? Even if they have no knowledge of you, either?” Chip asked, getting straight to the point. He knew that Watermelon was young, but he was a perceptive little dragonet. He would always surprise Chip and his husband with thoughtful answers or observations when they thought he wasn’t even paying attention.

Watermelon looked thoughtful, humming briefly and forgetting the fruit on the table. “I think so. I could get to know them and we could be best friends!” He chirped happily, then went quiet. “Is this about Nanna?” He asked, blue and a darkish purple overtaking most of his scales. “I heard you talking about her last night.” He clarified when he and Voyant shared surprised glances.

“Yes, this is about Nanna. It’s ok that you heard us, I’m sorry if we woke you. Would you still like to see her? You can say no if you really don’t want to.” Chip said after a brief hesitation.

“I wanna meet her. Even if it won’t be for very long, I still want her to know me.” His dragonet said quietly, suddenly finding the table to be very interesting.

“All right. We’ll figure something out. Why don’t you finish your breakfast? Then we can go play with Tor once you’re done.” Chip said, smiling as gold overtook the unhappy colors on his son’s scales.

“YAY! Ok!” His son agreed heartily, gobbling up the remainder of the fruit before dashing into his room.

“Are you sure about this?” Voyant asked simply, finishing his breakfast.

“Yes. Even if I don’t really want to see her myself, I want to show her you two and what a family should actually look like. Not whatever the hell my childhood was.” Chip said, finishing his own breakfast. Even if he wasn’t hungry anymore, it was still good food that he didn’t want to waste.

Voyant sighed, but relented. “Ok. I’ll be with you every step of the way”

The odd little family stood at the entrance of The Hearthstone Haven. It had taken them a while to get here, with Chip leaving his bakery in the trustworthy talons of one of his squadmates and Voyant’s head manager taking over his shop. They didn’t really know how long they were going to stay - weeks? A day? An hour? So they had taken preparations to make sure everything was taken care of back home. Chip had written to his mother to let her know that they indeed were coming to visit, but not for how long. It was a terse letter, but it had gotten his point across. “All right. Let’s do this.” Chip said, using the pushing open the large twin doors.

The three of them walked the short distance to the receptionist’s desk, coming face to face with a bored looking SandWing.“Hi, we’re here to see Acropora?” Chip said, though it sounded more like a question than a statement.

The SandWing’s eyes narrowed as he took the group in, his black, soulless eyes staring each of them down. Chip could feel Voyant step closer to him, and his son stayed firmly behind him. “Seastar?” The SandWing eventually asked, his voice sounding slow and nasally as he worded out each syllable of his name.

“Yes, that’s me.” Chip said, nodding.

“The others?” The SandWing asked, his gaze flickering to the two unannounced dragons.

“My son, Watermelon, and my husband, Voyant.” Chip said, giving the dragon the most winning smile he could.

The older dragon only sighed, rolling his eyes. “Down the hall and to the left. Her room will have a nameplate. If you need anything from me, no you don’t.” The SandWing stated firmly, promptly going back to his work.

‘Squid brain’ Chip thought, frowning at the dragon before realizing what he was doing. “Yes, thank you!” he said, switching to his much more polite customer service voice before ushering his family in the direction the receptionist had vaguely given them.

“If I ever get like that, please force me into a home and don’t look back. Ever.” Voyant said once they were out of earshot, and Chip let out a surprised laugh.

“Voyant!” He scolded, smacking him over the head with his wing.

“Yeah, Pappa! Stop being mean!” Their son chimed in, his previously light green scales fading back to forest green and the occasional random bursts of gold.

“Me? He looked like he was going to stab us with his eyes! And you think I’m being mean?” Voyant squawked, groaning as his son just laughed at him. “All right, fine. You win! You always win.” The Nightwing said, smiling as he scooped his giggling son up and put him on his back. Chip and his son shared twin grins before he noticed his mother’s nameplate on one of the doors. His smile faded as he took in the sight of the simple oak. It wasn’t anything impressive, but he still felt intimidated by it. He hadn’t thought of what he was going to say until now. Would they cry? Would she sweep him into her wings and never let go? Or would he snap at her, ask her why she betrayed the trust of him? Their Ex-Queen? If it weren’t for him, she would have gotten herself and the two guards just trying to do their jobs killed that night. “Do you need us to go in with you?” his husband asked, standing beside him and brushing his wing with Chip’s own.

Chip jumped a little, having forgotten that they were there, but shook his head. “Knowing you two are out here is enough for me.” He said, smiling as he leaned his head against Voyant’s before taking a deep breath. “Wish me luck?” He asked, claw on the doorknob.

“Good luck Daddy!” His son chimed, scrambling off his husband’s back to give Chip a hug. Chip hugged him back, and Voyant joined them.

After a beat or two, Chip backed out of the hug to take another breath. “Stay out here with your Papa, ok? I’ll let you know if you can come in.” His son nodded, stepping back as Chip finally opened the door. He had to blink to get his eyes to adjust to the light of the room, but when he did one of the first things he saw was his mother. She had her back turned to him, so he hadn’t been noticed yet. The room she was staying in was small, but three medium sized dragons could move about comfortably if they kept their wings and tails to themselves. The room was mostly bare aside from the black carpeted floor and the white walls. His mother was standing at a desk facing the window, reading something on a scroll. Some plants hung on the walls in an attempt to bring some energy to the place, and it did help a little. They were bright and vibrant with life. “Mother?” Chip called, stepping through and closing the door behind him.

His mother jumped in surprise, nearly knocking the scroll off of her desk as she turned around. “By all the whales, does no one know how to knock in this moons-blasted building? Who the- ah.” She said, cutting herself off once she realized who it was. The two of them stood quietly for a moment, neither really sure what to say. For the most part, his mother looked the same as the day he had left her. Same light blue scales. Her underbelly was still the same color of finely ground, pure sand. Her wings were still a quiet shade of gray-blue. Her aquatic markings were slightly darker than the rest of her scales, and her horns were still the color of a cloudy day. The only noticeably different things about her were the blue glasses that rested on her snout, curling elegantly around her horns, and the bandages that were wrapped around her chest, protecting her heart. It wasn’t much, but still something to keep things from getting any worse. “I’m surprised you actually showed up. I know you wrote back, but still. It’s… nice to see you in person.” She said, moving closer before stopping herself. Chip said nothing.

“You’re right. I should not have done what I did, nor said what I spoke. I am owed nothing from you. I was not in the best of places that day, though that is not an excuse. Then you stepped in and threw everything away for me. I should have died in that throne room, but you defended me. You could have just stood by and let it happen, but you didn’t. Ever since he left us, it was a downward spiral for me. I miss him every day, and he makes me angry for your sake. Then we were in the desert. You were handling everything better than most would have, despite everything. But I couldn’t hold it in anymore. It was all just too much, and I wrongly lashed out at you. For that, Seastar, I am truly sorry.” His mother said, sitting down. Her tail curled around her talons, and they were both quiet as Chip processed what his mother had said.

“It’s Chip.” He finally said, stepping away from the door and closer to her.

“What?” She asked, looking incredibly confused.

“What I prefer to be called. I haven’t used the name Seastar since getting put into my squad.” He informed her, smiling a little. He moved to sit down next to her.

“Oh. Ok, Chip.” She nodded, accepting the change as it came.

“I don’t forgive you. At least, not yet. You made everything incredibly difficult. I never wanted to fight for Burn. I wanted to fight for Coral and my tribe. But I do have to thank you. I realize that if everything was perfect, I would have never achieved all my accomplishments. I would have never met my husband, or adopted my dragonet. I’m only here because they wanted to know you. If not for them, I would have torn that letter to shreds without opening it. It will take time, but maybe, just maybe, we can at least make things work.” Chip said, watching his mother’s expression change from understanding to surprise and joy as she processed what she had just heard.

“Husband? Dragonet? Sea- Chip, when did this happen?” She asked, excitedly grabbing his talons before she realized what she was doing.

Chip grunted in surprise as all of his weight was suddenly shifted onto his bad legs, but he quickly masked the strained expression he had made with a laugh and a smile. His mother quickly apologized to him, setting his talons down again. “A while ago. Would you like to meet them? I think it would be best if they heard everything from you and if we shared our story together.”

“That would be wonderful.” His mother said, her dark blue eyes bright with excitement.

Chip stood up with a smile, then walked over to the door to let his family in. “Ok, It’s go time.” He said, and Voyant walked in, their son close behind him. “This is Voyant, and this kiddo here is Watermelon.” He said, introducing both dragons in turn.

“A NightWing! And a good looking one at that. How did you manage to snatch this one up?” His mother asked, a teasing grin on her snout.

“His charm.” Voyant answered simply, sitting down next to him.

“Um. Hi Nanna! I’m Watermelon!” His son introduced himself again, his scales a combination of light green and gold as he bounded up to her.

“Watermelon! Hey, kiddo! You’re so big! How old are you?” His mother asked excitedly, easily matching his enthusiasm.

“I’m two an’ a half!” He squeaked, grinning proudly.

“Wow, that’s amazing! I know where you got your good looks from, too.” Chip’s mother said, gleefully watching her grandson’s scales quickly turn to a light violet.

“Oh! Nanna, look what I can do! It’s really cool!” he said enthusiastically, then concentrated as he studied Chip’s mother for a brief moment. Suddenly, light blue scales washed over their son like a waterfall, and a miniature version of Chip’s mother was standing before them. He was an exact copy of her.

“That’s incredible! A little freaky, but incredible.” Chip’s mother said, sending a stunned glance to Chip and his husband. Both parents just looked proudly at their son.

After a few minutes of watching the two of them interact, Chip finally decided to clear his throat to get their attention. “All right, we can pick this up at a later time. Why don’t I get us something to eat and we’ll talk over dinner?” He asked,and his mother nodded.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” His mother said, nodding. “I know the cutest little places to eat, but I was thinking that I could treat the three of you. You came all this way, after all. Is that all right?” She asked, tilting her head.

Chip perked up in surprise, and after sharing a glance with his husband, nodded. “All right, show us the way”

The four of them talked throughout dinner. Then some more. Then they got kicked out by the grouchy restaurant owner who just wanted to close up for the night and head home. Chip and Voyant talked, and both of them decided it would be good for them and his mother to stay and help take care of her. There were high days, and there were low days. But Chip could tell that his mother really was trying, and he genuinely appreciated it. In turn, Chip tried as well. While it would never be the same as it was before, it was something new. Maybe that was for the better.

He could tell, however, that she didn’t have much left in her. They all could, even Watermelon. That’s why they made every day an adventure. Something fun. Even when it rained and no one wanted to go out, there they were. A family of oddballs dancing in the rain and splashing in puddles. Then they would all go back and dry off, curl up together, and read a cozy book.

“Chip,” His mother said one day, when it was just him and her. When he looked at her, she continued. “I want to thank you. You’ve made the past few months amazing for me. Some part of me was afraid that I would have no one in the end, but here you are. You’ve given me the chance to have a family again. I thought I had lost that forever when we were separated by Burn. I am eternally thankful that you decided to give me a second chance and not give up on me.”

“I definitely had to sit on your letter for a while. But Voyant and Watermelon convinced me to see you, so you should really be thanking them. But I am glad to be here, and I can tell everyone else is, too. What’s this about?” He asked, tilting his head.

“The drawer. Open it, and you’ll find your answer.” Chip did as he was told, and his heat sank. But then he kind of chuckled to himself as he continued.

“I see. Are you sure you want to be set on fire though?” Chip asked with a grin, and his mother nodded.

“Going out in a blaze of glory. I think the dragons of old had some pretty neat traditions, and that’s how I want to be remembered. Forget being buried, this is way cooler.” Chip’s mother said, matching her son’s smile.

“Ok, I’ll see what I can do.”

Chip sat on the beach, tears dripping down his snout. His mother had passed away hours prior, and his heart was tearing itself to shreds. He had forgiven her a long time ago, but he had only told her on her deathbed. He watched the ‘boat’ sail away, Voyant’s flames blazing brightly. His mother had wanted a warrior’s burial. She had read in old scrolls that there was once a tradition amongst one of the tribes to send their dragons out to sea and a family member would light the boat on fire. Their soul would rise with the flames, and their body would reunite with the ocean. Obviously Chip was unable to do so, but Voyant had complied at his mother’s request.

Even though he had known this would happen, it still hurt. Perhaps it would have hurt less if he hadn’t showed up at all, instead choosing to stay home and continue running his business like there was nothing wrong. But Voyant would have been right. The letter would have eaten him up from the inside if he hadn’t even touched it. His son would have never gotten to meet his Nanna. Even though he hated seeing the blue on his son’s scales, he could still see patches of gold in them. He was upset, but enamored by the sight in front of them and comforted by the memories they had made. Voyant was sitting beside him, watching the flames eat away at the odd structure.

Ultimately, Chip was glad he had opened the letter.

#wings of fire fanart #wings of fire #wof art #wof oc #wof #wof ocs #wof fanart #wof seawing #wof nightwing #wof rainwing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing #raven's art

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hearthouses · 11 months ago

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top 4 works of 2023

I was tagged by @nameslikeguns and also @preseriesdean was an inspiration, but I modified it to four because I'm not super proud of any of my edits this year and I wasn't able to squeeze out another fic before the end of the year, so we're going with top four! I am also not going to rank them, but list them in chronological order from their posting date.

This year was a better year than the last two in terms of writing output, I had a rough 2021 and posted nothing, and only posted one fic in 2022, so four is a massive improvement, even if it feels miniscule compared of other people's outputs. The Fall was when I was most productive and I am very proud of what I wrote then, exploring concepts I was particularly interested in, even if it's not the most popular and putting myslf out there regardless.

I think I would have continued that streak had I not gotten covid, then 2+ months of complications from covid, but I am trying to drag myself out of that funk. I am hoping to write more in 2024 as I have so many WIPs I want to get to and finish.

Anyway, here's the list:

1. when you're smiling and astride me

This was the first work I posted this year. It felt good to write it, but it also came with some challenges because I wrote it for an exchange and I was very nervous with some of the concepts and how they would go over. But the exchange itself was based on the idea of freeing your id and going wild, so I eventually just went with it and this was the result. I really love exploring Dean's feelings about his body and gender expression, and how Sam helps with it, and my only regret is I wish it was longer.

2. you say, go fast (i say, hold on tight)

This was written in a haze of early Fall because of another exchange that created a level of freedom that unlocked something in my brain that kept me from second guessing myself. It sprang from a concept fanvid and I came up with the idea wholesale from some mental images and let the story happen. I'm very fond of the result, even if it feels saccharine and too sweet and romantic for some. I really love the vibes and the imagery, plus how in love Sam and Dean are.

3. the landscape after cruelty

The process for this fic was grueling. No idea was working the way I wanted, so I needed to come up with a new idea altogether and at times, I almost didn't finish this fic. I have no playlist because I needed quiet to work on this. None of my usual preparations for writing fic worked for this one. The subject matter was daunting and I'm still unsure if I accomplished what I set out to, but I am proud of it. It's not very popular and I wonder if I hit the wrong notes often, but I'm also very protective of it. It's a weird fic that I'm not sure how I feel about the end result 100%, but I had to at least try and explore my feelings around the subject matter.

4. we could live forever in each other’s faces

This fic was written during the height of my illness. It wasn't supposed to be the fic I wrote because I had bigger plans (longer, more complicated fics), so I needed to scale them down to something more managable. How I did that was I chose to write the scenes in a series of drabbles, double drabbles, and triple drabbles, so I could focus on the preciseness of the word count. While this style of writing might feels limiting, it helps me to focus. I really love the dreamy, fairytale-like result of this. I still want to write a longer fic about these themes, but I am glad I wrote this all the same.

#end of the year works list #wincest #sam x dean #masterlist #of sorts?#idk what to tag this as

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rockwgooglyeyes · 3 months ago

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yayayay potential nyx and asa reunion ! ( somersaults around the room before front flipping out of it )

Yeas!!! Wahoo!! Honestly this ask has made me think many thoughts which is. . . why it has taken me so long to get to it *wheezes in cry-laughter* If Nyx is 20 during the current Alien Stage season (39), he probably had Asahi when he was like 13-14? (I have been thinking about aging him up? but honestly. it wouldn't really be that much better if he was sixteen or seventeen). Most likely, she would be five or six years old . . . meaning that it hasn't been that long since they were separated. Which would be all the more heartrending in my opinion because she probably hasn't forgiven him, yet.

writing drabble underneath the read more!! (trigger warning for referenced death, gun violence, panic attacks, some implied SA)

Nyx didn't expect to be sent back to Anakt but he supposes there are stranger leaps in logic. At graduation, four years ago now, he thought to himself, "This will be the last time I ever set foot inside of these walls," and it was a freeing thought, a kind one he could tell himself over and over, to soothe the parts of him that woke up during the dark of the night and screamed.

He'd been wrong; here he is, standing amidst artificial grasses, staring up at a digital blue sky that flickers and spits if you look at it long enough. He'd been wrong; Rosca is breathing, alive. He doesn't know how he messed that up, blinked and missed it, but maybe it was all the blood, the gunshots, and the way that Vera drew his focus off of the stage. He hasn't seen Vera since that day, before Round 13, where Jae remained standing on the stage with dead, dead eyes and Vii was shot dead, a new corpse on the floor. Vera is on the run, now, officially. She told him that she only did it on her owner's orders and in a horrible, twisted way, it made sense. Why else would she kill the one she loved, the one whose heartbeat was the same as hers? Ellie may not have loved Vera back but that was no reason to kill her. Not a reason for Vera, anyways.

Back underneath the flickering sky, surrounded by the whisper of false wind and sticky grass, Nyx finds himself going a little bit stir-crazy. Maybe it's that he's back in what he could call his childhood home, having spent more time here than he did with his first owner, even, or maybe it's the fact that he knows his baby girl is in the class set to graduate next. After all, Cas saw Cinnabar and dragged Nyx away, sobbing into Nyx's shoulder in a hallway while on stage, Cinnabar sang. Cas got in trouble for disappearing, too. They both knew it was worth it. Cas would've been in worse shape if he'd been there to hear Cinnabar's voice echo through the room, her name branded into his mind as whatever lyrics went in one ear and out the other. He wouldn't have even been listening and he would've been asked to comment and critique? Knowing that was his biological daughter? Well. It would've probably gone to pot right then and there.

Nyx didn't tell Cas that he was almost excited to see his daughter.

She should be what, five winters old, now? Six? Nyx has always measured her age in winters, rather than summers, because she was born in November. At least, he thinks she was.

Rubbing at his head, he lets out a sigh and walks into the shade of a nearby tree. His memory has been getting worse, lately, with all of the stress around the competition and Oryon getting what performances they can out of him before he dies in his round. He's thrust into the center stage from his dimly-lit lounges and small, intimate stages. He'd never been popular like Oryon's other pets, not in the same way, not loud enough, not bright and peppy enough, Oryon could get Nyx to act a certain way but he couldn't ever get Nyx to act that way with genuine emotion behind his eyes, a beautiful mask on his face. Nyx would play the part but he wouldn't pretend as though he was happy to be there and Oryon had yet to find a way to make him do that. He could simper all Oryon wanted, crawl onto someone's lap, trail a finger down the side of their face and whisper sweet nothings in their ear, but Oryon couldn't make him mean it.

No one could make him mean it.

It's later that day that he finds his daughter laying back in a field of flowers, staring up at the clouds moving in their set patterns in the digitized sky. He doesn't have the heart to tell her that they're not real.

"Asahi?" He says, trying to keep his voice from shaking too much. He's never been good at approaching people but how else is he supposed to do this? He doesn't think she'll want to talk to him, not unless he walks up to her and asks her to. She wasn't exactly a timid kid but she was quiet, solitary, like he'd been before the attack. Her pink-gold irises flicker to him and her eyes widen. Her hair's been straightened, he realizes absently. Before, it had curled in a mess of cowlicks. Even if it made the space behind his eyes burn a little bit, he swallows down the tears. They have no place here, after all. She looks at him for a long moment before her eyes get glassy, big tears starting to roll down her round cheeks.

"Papa?" She asks, pushing herself up into a sitting position.

"Yes, my sunrise, it's me," he answers. She sits for another moment before standing and clinging to his legs, crying into his stomach. He runs his fingers through her hair, bending over to give the impression that he's hugging her back because he can't actually, she's holding on too tightly and she's less than half his height. "Oh, baby, I missed you," he tells her, wishing that he could press a kiss to her hair. She wails louder, something he didn't really think possible, and he decides to just bite the bullet, scooping her up into his arms. She presses her face into his neck and he doesn't really know how long she hiccups into his ear but he can lean his cheek on the top of her head and listen to the warbling sound of her breathing, which is all he needed.

(ocs mentioned are Rosca (@sotogalmo), Vera (@bittersweet-adagio), Jae (@kofeedoggo), Vii (@starry-skiez) and Cas (@lookatmysillies). Otherwise, Cinnabar belongs to you, Apri, as does Asahi!)

#alnst #alien stage #alnst oc #alnst ocs #alnst fan season #alnst season 39 #alnst season 40 #alnst oc: onyx #alnst oc: rosca #alnst oc: vera #alnst oc: jae #alnst oc: vii #alnst oc: castor #alnst oc: cinnabar #alnst oc: asahi #rockwrites #apriciticreveries

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theawkwardterrier · 11 months ago

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2023 fic roundup

MCU

Year by Year

Academic Antagonism, Scholastic Strife

Working Women

Have Yourself a Scheming Little Christmas

Outlander

Unexpected Gifts**

Pure Heart, Clean Hands*

Bake On

Bad Roommates; or, Stocking on the Door*

The Envy of Care*

Better Broken Hearts Than Broken Bodies**

The Intimidation Game**

Nature and Nurture*

What We Have, What We Keep*

First Gifts**

What We Have, What We Lose**

Reflections*

On the Road (Too Far, Too Long)*

A Particular Habit*

In Care Of*

Awakenings*

Not Alone**

Four Thoughts During a Separation*

In the Act**

After the War Is Over (Will There Be Any Home Sweet Home?)

Never Leaves You**

Polyglot Pride*

Bits and Pieces**

Sword and Shield*

Make History*

Soon, the Sight of You*

Baby Proof*

S5 Series, cont.*

Slow, Someday Sisters*

No Matter How Far*

Roots and Wings

Over Matter*

Small Joys*

Future Tense*

Healing Hearts*

Enough? Enough*

Connections*

Comes Around*

All Illuminated*

Genesis*

Dialogues*

One Last Time*

Fathering*

Side by Steadfast Side*

In His Multitudes*

By Heart*

Living Up*

Beyond Keepsakes*

Are and Become*

Marching On*

Family Means*

Far and Ahead*

Forever in Peace*

As Houses*

All Tied Up**

Hope’s Smallest Seeds*

Only in Dreams*

Parenting and Partnership**

All the Ways Home

Home and Away*

Vine and Fig Tree*

Familial Peas**

In the Light and the Shadows*

Gifts*

In the Operating Room*

All the Shattered Pieces*

Moments of Thanksgiving*

Anchors in Absence*

Relation**

Let the Circle Be Unbroken*

Morning Moments**

A Reception**

A Slow-Motion Storytime*

Particular Prescriptions*

Always Been Forever*

* drabble

** Laird’s Room ‘verse

1. Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d predicted?:

As I continue my journey to not caring about this stuff: who knows?! What I will say is that I wouldn't have necessarily predicted that I wouldn't participate in certain fandom events that I traditionally have over the years, but that my list is super lengthy because I have kept up with my weekly drabbles and I've also transitioned to doing more chapter fic than I have in the past.

2. What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January?:

No real surprises this year, but I did do quite a variety of drabble POVs rather than sticking to my single ship, plus it might be somewhat unexpected to see that I wrote kid!Natasha + kid!Sharon Carter dual POV.

3. What’s your own favorite story of the year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you happiest?

Muscle Memory was technically still posting in this year, and I'm super proud of a lot of that story, but I also have quite a fondness for a lot of the character work and family/feelsy moments in All the Ways Home.

4. Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

Posting Roots and Wings!! I think that what I learned is that I'm allowed to just post what's interesting to me and what I want without thinking about reception, but also and perhaps contradictorily that sometimes the things that I like and want to experiment with will also appeal to people.

5. Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the New Year?

Finish and post the Great Depression fic

Keep up with my Wednesday 100 drabbles

See if it feels good to go back to some additional fandom events or to start working with some new fandoms/ships - generally use what feels positive to me as the gauge for what I should do rather than expectations or the desire for recognition in some way

6. From my past year of writing, what was…

Story Most Underappreciated by the Universe:

There are easy reasons and explanations for this (it's short and really recent and potentially a little weird) but probably Have Yourself a Scheming Little Christmas.

Most Fun:

Academic Antagonism, Scholastic Strife! I still don't know that the trope super works in the way that I played it, but I like it anyway.

Most Disappointing:

I don't know that there's one that really fits here for this year, but maybe Roots and Wings specifically because the pacing is slightly off - I couldn't find anything to sort of fill in to balance the slower beginning with a slower ending rather than montaging the second half.

Most Sexy:

Oof, maybe I'm just tired, but I don't know that I had any super great sexy scenes this year?

Hardest to Write:

Lol, all of them? My depression hit super hard midyear and made it really difficult to focus and connect enough to complete All the Ways Home.

Most Unintentionally Telling:

The fact that I'm focusing so much on parenthood, specifically fatherhood, and family moments is definitely saying...something. Do even I know what it is? No guarantee!

Choice Lines:

Haha, I have no idea this year. I love my stuff but also it would be a bit out of hand to try to quote many of them. If you have favorites, I'd love to hear them!

#fic memes #fic roundup

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jennyandvastraflint · 1 year ago

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I'm not quite sure which ones I have sent you already, so feel free to skip any <3

14. Are there any tropes you would only read if written by a trusted friend or writer?

26. Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue?

29. What songs would be (or are) on a playlist for Butterfly Queen? Explain your choices if you want!

38. Did any of your fics get surprisingly popular (whatever that means to you)? Which ones? Why do you think they were so successful?

Thank yoooouuu! Okay, trying this for the second time now, seeing as my laptop decided to shut all my windows and delete my answers...

14. Are there any tropes you would only read if written by a trusted friend or writer?

Kid fics, I think. I'm not generally a fan of them because they just don't suit the vast majority of my ships, and they need to be done a particular way for me to enjoy them. I'm not generally very interested in children XD So there's that.

And smut. I've read a few, some better and more memorable than others, and the ones I enjoyed pretty much always carried a lot of emotional weight. Smut just plain bores me a lot of times because I have no connection to any desire to have sex.

26. Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue?

Definitely no dialogue because I love rambling, exploring characters' inner workings, and examining them very closely. Technically my Anura drabble is a fic with no dialogue, and Songs of Love and Death has quite a few chapters with hardly any dialogue at all because they were very introspective.

(as a side note for the only dialogue one, I have written plays and short audio scripts which are technically only dialogue. I'm just gonna link them here: Sontaran Composition, Amnesia, and Captured in Space)

29. What songs would be (or are) on a playlist for Butterfly Queen?

This is a hard one seeing as the fic is quite fluffy and positive and all my music goes in pretty much the opposite direction (look I just love either yearning or dramatic shit XD), but I will try to leave you at least a few songs...

youtube

Something something memory of her past, butterflies as a reminder, Jenny singing Vastra to sleep, or perhaps the memory of her mother(s) telling her to sleep in her head? Honestly the possibilities are endless, and the entrancing music and singing itself is just so magical to me.

youtube

This one's also fairly early on in the fic, as it's quite weighty and emotional. Also the song is Jenny/Vastra coded as FUCK. I'm going insane over it daily <3

youtube

Absolutely the wrong time period as this is medieval, but I love how bouncy it is and the spring vibes it has, and I think that fits quite well, despite the period obviously being a different one.

youtube

Some more instrumental that fits Vastra as a whole quite well, I think.

youtube

And something very positive and sweet! Honestly? This fits quite well XD Just gliding on through Looking down on the view from up here

And from up here The world is all yours Each mountain and meadow and mere

And from up here Life's duties and chores Are barely worth shedding a tear

And all of the sky lies before us Straight up to the far stratosphere So head for the blue and let's take in the view from up here

It's just me and you looking down on the view from up here Lyrics

38. Did any of your fics get surprisingly popular (whatever that means to you)? Which ones? Why do you think they were so successful?

I mean, this kinda goes for every single fandom outside of my little niche because there's actually a wider audience for them out there. I will say tho, the constant popularity of my KyaLin stuff (relative for me) made me reluctant to write them because that's kinda not anywhere near my main thing... I'm taking my two The Dragon Prince fics with the most kudos out of that because I think that was a spam attack (I also got like a dozen spam comments on each of them...)

I suppose one that did come as a surprise was my Lilith Clawthorne coming out fic? I had never written The Owl House before that (and quite frankly barely afterwards), and it was quite interesting!

But focusing on my Doctor Who ones which are my main thing, I'm surprised that both Pacing (a Thasmin fic with a heavy focus on autistic 13) and Emerald Scales (Colours Soulmate AU) got over 80 kudos. And You're not useless, never, to me... is also a surprise because reading it back, damn that was EARLY writing and could so do with a rewrite XD

Also, Burning Love (Jennah/Anise from Guild Wars 2) got a whooping NINE kudos, which is quite frankly so surprising considering there are seven fics about them and two of them are mine? Every single kudo/comment on my Guild Wars fics is a win for me honestly, it's by far the smallest fandom (in terms of interest in the canon characters) I write for.

I suppose most of the stuff outside Doctor Who is popular because I'm not filling a niche with an audience of 20 people at BEST. My Thasmin and Osgate stuff tends to be well-received as well, but I've just chosen a niche for me with a very small audience... XD

Thank you so much for the ask, and I hope you are happy with these answers :3

#ask #ask game #madame vastra #jenny flint #jenny and vastra #doctor who

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celestemagnoliathewriter · 2 years ago

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2022 wrapped

Tagged by the lovely @ginnyw-potter:

Post the top 5 works you're most proud of that you released in 2022 (not necessarily your most popular):

The Time Traveling Nymph, Alternate Ending - the last part of my time traveling Tonks series. I was so proud of how this whole series came together. It's my most popular work and the one I enjoyed writing the most.

Cariad - my postwar AU of Tonks and Remus surviving the Battle of Hogwarts. The question gets posed often - would they have stayed together had they survived? The short answer, yes, but this fic is the long answer (not without significant pain and growth in their relationship).

Call Me Edward - the least popular of my longfics, but one I'm so proud of. Teddy travels back in time. I put that small bean through so much. This is the kind of time travel fic I love (along with the others) - it's not perfect, it's messy, and it's painful.

Unforgettable - a fluffy one-shot I was especially proud of. I thought I did a nice job with the prose. I normally don't write prettily but I thought this one was nice.

Twelve Birthdays - I wrote this for a fest, a look into the life of Tom Riddle. It was a collection of 100-word drabbles. Writing that tightly is a challenge, especially when trying to make a whole narrative. I was very pleased with how it landed and it's inspired me to keep doing this exercise with other fics.

your top 4 current WIPs that you're excited to release in the new year:

Andromeda's Sacrifices - it's the title for the Andromeda series I'm going to write/am currently writing. I'm thinking it's going to be two parts. We'll see. Either way, I'm super pumped to post it.

A Changing Pack/title tbd of my Remus raising Harry series - I'm going to finish this. I am. I AM.

My "Death of" Series: it's an exploration of the wizarding afterlife. My next character is Fred Weasley, but I've got a few more in the works: Remus, Sirius, Harry, Nymphadora, Andromeda, and Molly.

Platonic Draco & Ginny time travel fic: I've had this germ of an idea on my mind of Draco and Ginny time traveling together and becoming reluctant friends. Still working out the details & ending.

your top 3 biggest improvements in your writing over the past year:

From my first fic, Collide, to its second part, Cariad, you can see a HUGE shift in my writing and its progress. Better dialogue, prettier prose, more cohesive narrative, stronger characterization - I'd say all of these are improvements. (More than 3 improvements, but I'm proud of how much my writing has improved in the last year.)

your top 2 resolutions (ways you wish to improve your writing/blog) for the new year:

I want to finish my current WIPs before I post the Andromeda fic. Probably a pipe dream, but it's a resolution.

I want to get better at figurative, pretty language. I'm not a metaphorical person. My prose is good but straightforward, not super poetic either. I do understand that poetic prose is harder with longfics (and I admire anyone who can write a longfic in a pretty way), but that's why I started writing one-shots, to hone my writing skills and apply what I've learned to the longfics.

and your number 1 favorite line you've written this year:

Okay, so I'm unbearably proud of one of the last one-shots I wrote in 2022, The Death of Teddy Lupin.

I can't pin it down to just one line, but there's this bit at the end that made my heart so happy to write:

“Where’s home?” Teddy asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“Where love ends,” Gran replied simply, putting her hand on his heart. “As long as there’s love to give, we’re not home yet.”

Teddy gaped at them, confused. “Won’t that take forever?”

Nymphadora and Remus smiled brighter than anyone else.

“The more time you spend here,” said Nymphadora, taking Teddy’s hand, “the more you’ll understand. Forever is all the time we need.”

I'll tag @mumka-fanfic and @messrmoonyy

#tag game #writing #nymphadora tonks #remus lupin #teddy lupin #remadora #tom riddle #andromeda black tonks #ted tonks #tedromeda

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madnessofthespirits · 1 year ago

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soooo i meant to have this done in time for halloween proper but due to the fact that i have yet to finish anything on time even once in my life it is here november the 2nd instead: a very silly cu alter x diarmuid drabble in which diarmuid goes to a haunted house. T rating probably.

Around Halloween, Diarmuid was invited to his first ever haunted house. He had been baking sweets with his Master and a few other Servants that would be distributed for an event termed “trick-or-treating” later on, when his Master had brought up the invitation. The concept had baffled him a little at first mention, since it sounded more like something that would call for combat than the fun sort of activity his Master had made it sound like, but once it was explained to him, he found himself excited. As soon as he had made plans with a couple of friends who were there with him to attend together, and the treats were baked, Diarmuid rushed off to find Cú Alter.

He found him lying on his side on the floor in their room, his back turned to him, leaning on one arm with a book propped open by the other.

“Cú,” Diarmuid called out.

“Huh?” Cú said, without moving so much as a muscle to face him. Whatever he was reading, he seemed perfectly absorbed in it.

Diarmuid walked over to him. “Master just told me about something very exciting. Chaldea is going to hold a haunted house.”

Cú finally set his book down. “What the hell is that?”

“Well, to be honest, I only learned about it just now. But as I understand it, it is a space that is designed to be disturbing or frightening, which is staffed by actors who try to scare the guests. It’s like a kind of roleplay, I suppose. It is a popular sort of event that is held around Halloween in our Master’s home country.”

“What’s the point?”

“To be frightened, it seems. I don’t expect it to affect me that way, and I don’t expect it would do so for you, either, but it might be fun. So I was wondering if you’d like to join me to go see it tomorrow. It’s a wonderful chance to learn about Master’s culture, too.” He pictured exploring this space with Cú, wondering what sorts of shenanigans the Servants who were designing and planning on acting in the haunting house might come up with. Cú probably wouldn’t care for most of it, but even he had things that could move him to amusement or even laughter from time to time. If the event even got a good smirk out of him, Diarmuid would be glad.

“Sorry. Not in the mood. You go have fun, though.”

Diarmuid did what he could not to be too disappointed at this refusal – or at least to not let it show. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Diarmuid sighed. Oh well – at least he could still enjoy the event with his friends. But he’d hoped Cú would give it a try, too.

“I’ve got a surprise for you, though.”

“Oh?” That made Diarmuid feel a little better. “Right now?”

“No. Later. You’ll see.”

Well, he could wait; the promise alone was enough for now. He walked over to his lover and laid down on the floor next to him, where he was quickly pulled close to him, dragged up against Cú with one strong arm. He burrowed into him, the scent of smoke and iron wrapping him up and reminding him he was home. Well, there was always this. He hugged Cú back, and buried his face against his chest, and he felt a grin spread across his face when he felt Cú’s tail pressed against his back. Diarmuid looked up to see that Cú had resumed his reading.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

“It is the first book of the Bartimaeus Trilogy.”

“I’ve never heard of it. Are you liking it?”

“It’s fine. Master gave it to me.”

“Hmm.”

—

The haunted house was set up as an entirely new wing in Chaldea. Most of the planning seemed to have been left up to Elisabeth Bathory, who had modeled it after her own Castle Csejte. Diarmuid ended up going with Artoria and Musashi, and the three of them explored the upper floors of the castle first, running into various Servants who were pretending to be ghosts and zombie warriors and even huge dog-like beasts. Mostly, Diarmuid just laughed as they ran out of the shadows to jostle or chase them, though someone did manage to actually startle him by sneaking up behind him and whispering something in his ear.

Eventually they made their way to the basement, which turned out to be the first of many, the castle seeming to almost have more floors underground than above. The upper floors had been lit with neon lighting, but the further down they went, the darker the rooms became, and the more carefully they had to watch where they stepped. Still, they managed to walk through some sticky, dark substance that reminded Diarmuid a lot of blood, and bump into a structure that caused dirt to rain down on them, but they pressed onward, determined to explore the whole building.

By the time they had reached the seventh level of the basement, they found themselves covered in scrapes and bruises, as the Servants that they encountered became increasingly rough and aggressive. They tried to make their way through the narrow, barely lit halls they found in this level, when Diarmuid found himself suddenly lifted off the ground, which startled him enough to gasp. But he laughed just as quickly – well, this was new. None of the actors had tried anything like this yet. He did his best to break free from the pair of arms that held him, but with no success no matter how much he thrashed and flailed about.

“Excuse me, but you do plan on letting me go, right?” Diarmuid asked the actor with a laugh that was maybe just a little more nervous than the first he’d given. Who was this, anyway? There weren’t many Servants who could do this to him so easily.

“I’ll consider it,” said a low, ominous voice with just the slightest hint of amusement. A voice that Diarmuid would have been glad to hear anywhere. He stopped struggling, suddenly glad for the hold, and glanced back over his shoulder to get a glimpse at the man he expected to see.

Illuminated in the dim red light that strobed from the ceiling was a pair of large, twisted horns, underneath which were a pair of red eyes that glowed more brightly than the light itself. “Cú!” he exclaimed, as he allowed himself to be shifted into a bridal hold.

Cú grinned at the recognition, his teeth somehow appearing even sharper than usual. “You seemed scared.” There were four more smaller, stud-like horns attached to his forehead below his hairline, Diarmuid noticed, and his ears appeared to end in pointed tips.

“For a second, perhaps,” Diarmuid admitted a little sheepishly. He couldn’t stop staring at him – his bare shoulders and his wild hair and teeth – and the horns. They looked good enough on him that Diarmuid couldn’t say he would have minded if they were permanent. “So you’re a demon, I see.” He reached up and traced a finger down the side of Cú’s cheek, then over his jawbone, and across the hair next to his ear, drawing a piece of it away from the rest with his finger and letting it go. The warmth of his skin and the silky texture of his hair formed a contrast to Cú’s imposing, bestial appearance that made Diarmuid hope that Cú was planning on dragging him off into the shadows instead of letting him finish the rest of the attraction. “Are you going to possess me?”

“Yes. It took me a long time to find a vessel who is strong enough to accept me.” He gripped Diarmuid harder against him, and Diarmuid felt the flames that had ignited in the lower parts of his body spread to his face.

“Oh no, what shall I do?” Diarmuid said in the least serious tone he could manage, and wriggled against Cú’s grasp on him, hoping that he’d hold onto him like he had before — and Cú did, holding him in place as Diarmuid tried to break free, and it wasn’t long until his pretend struggle had him laughing again. Cú seemed to be enjoying it, too, judging by the glint of teeth Diarmuid could still see.

“Fine, then,” Cú said once they’d had enough of that. “I’ll give you a few hours. And then you’re mine.

It was a funny thing to say, given that he very much already was his, but Diarmuid continued to play along, reaching up to wrap his arms around his neck and pull him close enough that he could whisper to him, “I hope you’ll still be wearing this then.” He ran a hand through Cú’s hair again.

“Then I will,” Cú said and kissed him, seizing his mouth and then setting him down again as soon as he was done.

“I’m glad you’re here. I’ll see you later,” Diarmuid said, and hurried off to catch up with his friends. Behind him, he could hear others moving through the maze-like hallway, then their screams and laughter. It seemed strange that a man dressed as a demon could so clearly remind Diarmuid that the world was good and wholesome, but that was how it was. Then again, when the monstrous features that were already a part of Cú’s body had wound their way through Diarmuid’s heart the way that had, maybe it wasn’t so surprising after all.

The rest of the castle was even more dark and maze-like than what they had already seen, but Diarmuid only felt warm and certain, because Cú had shown up for him, just like always. Even when it wasn’t how Diarmuid had expected, when Diarmuid really wanted him there, Cú would deliver. For however charming he found Cú’s monstrous aspects, to Diarmuid, he would always be a hero above all else.

#it'll go on ao3 eventually i just don't feel like it rn

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maeglinthebold · 11 months ago

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image template from here

My 2023 AO3 Wrapped

Quick Stats

Works published: 57 (21 RNM; 18 OFMD)

Words written: 447,106, up about 50k from last year (!) but still nothing beats those 2020 numbers

Hits: 43,668 (updated today)

Bookmarks: 641 (also updated today), probably mostly from people waiting for me to finish a damn thing XD. Incidentally…

Unfinished works: 3 that updated this year, 17 total

Most popular by kudos: Do you know you'll never fly alone? My D&D:HAT fic contributing to Edgin/Xenk. A bigger hit than expected!

Most hits: Sinking in your Eyes, Chasing Golden Nights: OFMD, PWP. It’s technically continued from 2022.

Longest fic: Also Sinking in Your Eyes, but that’s a bit of a cheat because it’s co-written with @lizzy-leo

Shortest fic: Looks like we always end up in a rut (Man From UNCLE OT3)

Most comments: From Roswell with Love, which is a continuation from 2021 and cowritten with @haloud. Of course, I also posted like seven fics in the last week of the year so it’s hardly fair to them…

[Fun answers below the cut]

Gifts:

I received 4 gifts (Three Player Morning, from @tasyfa’s NYE Drabble last year, and this year as well: Heading for Midnight; for RNM Secret Santa I got The Neon North Star by @ajna-eye-cogitations; and finally, I got a few podfics of my fics: [Podfic] Everything About You by 1lostone and [Podfic] The Foundation of Youth by TipsyKitty.

I gave 19 gift fics, mostly in Maeglin's Hobbit Birthday Gift Fics 2023 and a Secret Santa gift for @angrycowboy

Collaborations:

@haloud and I still wrote a ton this year, in a few new fandoms even, but have been slow to actually post things! Still we updated From Roswell with Love; wrote a silly little porno for Malexa Sorry that I got caught; and wrote chemical composition for Liz Week. For RNM After Dark we gave some true rarepairs some love with Get your soldiers, tell 'em that the break is over, Something Borrowed, and of course contributed some Malexa In the Bleak Midwinter. And Malexa finally won the Roswell Halloween costume contest for RIP Roswell in Not A King. Okay, maybe we didn’t slow down, after all!

@lizzy-leo and I ping-ponged back and forth between Blackbonnet (Bell the Cat, Whale of a Tale, Fly By Night, Sinking in your Eyes, Chasing Golden Nights,) and Vianton (The Now Show Me Your Fangs series, now 9 works strong!), with plenty of smut for both. Lizzy even submitted (a SFW section) of some of our fic for Vico Ortiz to read through their Patreon, which was a hoot to listen to.

Events taken part in: @rnmbingo, @rnmafterdark, @februaryficletchallenge, @lizortechoweek, @riproswell, @rnm-secret-santa, as well as my own Hobbit Birthday Ficlets Challenge, and Vianton Week on Twitter.

Which artist’s songs did you pull from the most? I actually maintained a pretty good variety this year (a nonzero number of like, 80s ballads featured, LOL), but Lady Gaga wins just because we’ve been using lyrics from Show Me Your Teeth for the Vianton series lol.

Pairing you wrote the most for this year? Ed/Stede (15) ousted Malexa this year (10) but apparently variety is the winner, as that’s less than half of my total fics. Multishipping for the win!

Favorite fics not already mentioned? I picked three:

I would do anything for love (but I won't do that) (Legolas/Gimli ficlet that was funny),

It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero (my mean Izzy-anti fic, which was also funny, and cathartic, before he died in canon and achieved that catharsis better lmao), and

Steve Bunnet (Blackbonnet at a petting zoo, also funny).

(questions from multiple lists, feel free to re use uncredited like I did lol)

#stuff i write #me #2023 #ao3 wrapped #fanfic #our flag means death #roswell new mexico

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tyfinn · 2 years ago

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5 4 3 2 1

Thank you @chelle-68 and @mammameesh for thinking of me

Rules: post the top 5 works you’re most proud of that you released in 2022 (not necessarily your most popular).

4 current WIPs that you’re excited to release in the new year.

3 biggest improvements in your writing over the past year.

2 resolutions (ways you wish to improve your writing/blog) for the new year, and your number

1 favorite line you’ve written this year!

TOP 5 Works I am most proud of:

Rings Around Your Heart This was the idea I had that led me to write. I could not get this story out of my head, despite the fact I knew so many did not want David to have kids. I posted a couple of fics before I put this one out to get my feet wet. Rings definitely gave me the confidence to continue to write. And then it spiraled into an entire universe that I could not be more proud of.

Embracing Maddy My Maddy girl. This story was so very personal to me because it follows Maddy realizing she is ace. I came out the fall before and I wanted to create a character I wanted to be growing up. She is smart, confident, and so fucking strong.

Interflix Killed the Video Star This was one of my first fics and the first to make me laugh as I wrote it. I could hear all their voices so clear, it was like I was watching it happen.

A December to Remember I wanted to end the year by challenging myself to post a ficlet every day in December. It turned out better than I imagined, and it was a great way to end my first year of writing.

Open Wide I'm proud of this one because I wrote it while I was recovering from surgery. I wrote it one afternoon and it kept my mind off the pain I was feeling. Someone asked why there were not more fics with Patrick as a dentist, and so, here ya go.

4 Current WIPs I'm excited about:

My first angst fic, but D&P will have their HEA

David/Patrick/Stevie fic that has been living in my head for a while

An ending to the Unbroken series

???

3 Biggest improvements in my writing:

I think I've been doing better with choosing different word choices

I've been working on the whole show not tell aspect

Writing the 100 word drabbles have shown me you don't need to be too wordy to pack an emotional punch

2 Resolutions to improve my writing:

Continue to challenge myself to write outside my comfort zone

Accept that if something is not working to let it go

1 Favorite line I've written

This one is tough! But, if I have to choose one, I like this one from Man About Town: David looked down at the card and then quickly glanced up at Patrick.

They both locked eyes for a moment, neither saying a word, yet saying everything.

Goodness! This one took some time to think about!

Tagging @apothecarose @goodiecornbread @obsessedwithdavrick @mallpretzles

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chimeras-love · 10 months ago

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the awful rusted machines

Pairing: Tim McIlrath/GN!Reader

Summary: a workaholic reader, crushed by capitalism, is hounded with more work than they can handle, until their savior in sweatpants comes to knock some sense into you (metaphorically, of course)

Tags: Established Relationship, (Tooth Rotting) Fluff, Cuddling, Kissing, No Use of [Y/N], Gender Neutral Reader (No Pronouns + Readers Appearance is Not Mentioned), Drabble, One-Shot

Warnings: None

A/N: the time is left ambiguous, although you can take that AOL instant messenger notification as a sign if you'd like :) i also left Tims appearance vague so you can imagine whatever Rise Against era you'd like

Word Count: 1.2k

You’ve got mail!

“Fuck you,” you snapped.

The notification rang through the still air on a particularly muggy evening. You sat, shirt stuck to your skin with sweat, despite an open window and the direct blow of an electric fan. The papers that scattered your desk would have flown away had it not been for the assorted office supplies anchoring them. A stapler here, some scissors there, and coffee cups with a little coffee still left in them. All together, making your work conditions a bit more bearable.

'Some conditions,' you thought. Bringing your work back home like you were some high school kid all over again, scrambling together the shambles of an essay all in one night. Sticky notes stuck onto any surface available with the unintelligible scribblings of an over-caffeinated workaholic. Grueling, unending, thankless work.

Oh well, at least you got paid.

Was it worth it?

Eh, probably not.

You hovered your cursor over the email tab and watched the tiny envelope icon open up to reveal an even tinier paper.

‘Cute,’ you thought, ‘and deceptive.’

You did it a few more times, with a blank expression plastered on your face, as the paper went in.

Then out.

Then in.

Then out.

Then in again.

Postponing the inevitability of what would, undoubtedly, lead to more work; all of the others had. “Finish this, fax that,” the sort of monotony you’d only expect in the most satirical of black comedies. Clicking that unassuming little envelope icon would be metaphorical suicide.

You glanced at the corner of the screen.

3:27 AM.

“Fuck,” you cursed, letting your body relax, as much as you could, into the ratty black office chair. The one you still hadn’t gotten around to replacing.

‘Maybe,’ you thought, ‘ I can give my boss some bullshit excuse. A powerline fell on my car and my computer shut down and I lost all my progress! My grandmother fell terribly ill and I had to nurse her back to health! Hell, maybe something as lazy as a dog eating it.’

‘Just fucking anything.’

“Ugh,” you let your head hit the desk with a thud.

“Pretty late, hm?”

You spun your chair around, recognizing the voice almost immediately. Your boyfriend leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded, in a gray long-sleeve that was just tight enough to outline his arm muscles— the top button, left undone. Donning black sweats, and white socks.

“Tim?” You asked, taken aback, “what’re you doing up?”

He shrugged. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I…” you paused. “I’m still working.”

“Still? It’s three in the morning, you know.”

“I, uh, do know,” you admitted.

He narrowed his eyes.

“What’re you working on?”

“More of the most boring work in the world,” you replied “same shit, different day.”

Tim hummed in agreement. Although, truthfully, you didn’t think he was agreeing with you. After all, he was a musician. A popular one at that. Jealousy wasn’t exactly the right word to describe how you felt. Coveted, or desired fit a lot better. Mostly, you wanted a job that didn’t want to make you kill yourself.

“Why don’t you come to bed?” Tim asked.

“I can’t, not yet at least.”

“Why not?”

“I still have work to do.”

Tim walked up behind you, his presence by your left shoulder. Even if you couldn’t see him, you could already tell exactly what he was doing. You imagined his eyes scanning over the dozens of open tabs and the abysmal state of your work station. You kept your eyes on the screen.

“You always say that.” He finally said.

“It’s always true.”

“At this rate, I don’t think you’re gonna survive if you keep this up,” he half-joked.

“Not all of us get to just ‘put off our work’ when we feel like it,” you half-joked.

“Ouch.”

Maybe jealousy was the right word.

The way he said it, like trying to actively pass it off as a joke (even though it clearly must’ve stung a bit). Now that hurt.

You sighed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” you trailed.

“It’s fine.” His touch startled you, hand starting to rub your back. “You’re not wrong, exactly.”

“Don’t say that, you work really hard. I’ve seen it firsthand, it’s just a… different type of work.”

“Maybe,” he kissed you on the cheek, “but I don’t think I’ve seen anyone work as hard as you. I mean, fuck— you’re clearly exhausted, and yet you’re still working.”

“I know it’s bad, I just… if I don’t finish this tonight it’ll just make it a bigger problem tomorrow.” You confided.

“It’s already a pretty big problem now,” he emphasized.

You bit the inside of your cheek. He was right. You hated when he was right.

You looked back at the screen one more time, then back to your boyfriend, and sighed. You closed your laptop.

Tim smiled. The bastard won.

‘I’ll simply get back to it early in the morning,’ you rationalized, as you walked back to the bedroom with Tim. Was that any better than staying up longer? Probably not, although it would put your boyfriend at peace at the very least. You'd deal with the inevitable badgering tomorrow, er, rather later today.

Tim climbed all the way in the bed, and you followed suit. He pulled you into his side, while you draped yourself lazily over him. Your chests rose and fell rhythmically. He turned his head to kiss you; slow, but tender, lips tasting faintly of coffee (which you only gathered after noticing the empty mug beside him). You pulled away, still only inches from his face.

“You were waiting for me to go to bed, weren’t you?”

He shrugged, “yeah.”

“Yeah?” You asked, wondering if he was going to say anything else.

"Yeah,” he reiterated, ”I don’t think you’d believe me if I said no, anyways.”

You laughed, and kissed him again. Lazily, simply enjoying his taste as he did yours (which, now that you mention it, was probably very similar given that you’d both been hyping yourself up on coffee). You pulled away, and found yourself lost in his eyes, as you often did. Each color was mesmerizing in their own right. His left, a piercing icy blue. His right, a deep nearly-brown hazel—and the contrast between them?

Intoxicating.

"What're you staring at?" He chuckled.

You shrugged. It was your turn for the simple one word answers, the only thing you said being "you."

He rolled his eyes, the faintest dust of pink taking to his cheeks. He always acted embarrassed by your fawning, and maybe he was, but he still loved the attention... even if he wouldn't admit it.

"What for?"

"I don't know," you took a deep breath, "I guess I just realized how lucky I was to have you."

"Oh, you just realized that?" He narrowed his eyes, playfully.

"Shut up," you hit his shoulder, "you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do."

"I love you."

"I love you too," he replied.

Tim reached over to turn off the lamp beside him, and the room was entrenched in near total darkness, save the neon city lights that cast through the curtains.

You lifted your head up just enough to glance at the bedside clock.

4:03 AM.

"Little past my bedtime, isn't it?"

"Eh, maybe Just a bit."

it's a lot shorter than my last one, so apologies if you were looking for anything more dense, im terrible at writing consistently. i definitely beta read, but im also known for wanting to change literally everything once i actually post it so dont be surprised if i reupload this later on w better writing.

(p.s. if you like the tim fic, you're gonna love the long-fic i have planned in the future hehe :P)

#tim mcilrath x reader #rise against x reader #rise against #band imagines #real person fiction #rpf #fanfiction

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unboundtravels · 1 year ago

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SHORT TRIPS; UNBOUNDNOVEMBER 17/23: OUT OF TIME (2)

Paris, 1809. The (Goth) Doctor takes a tour of the Catacombs and meets a sassy Time Agent doing the same… Paris, 1944. The (Looney) Doctor misses his target and lands in occupied France. He hides from passing soldiers– in the Catacombs. A collision of two Doctors' timelines triggers a temporal catastrophe, granting the Cybermen dominion over the Earth. The Doctors must travel back in time to find the source of the Cyber-invasion and close the Gates of Hell...

*This is probably the longest drabble out of all of them. This is because it's actually most of a WIP fic of a story adaptation of the same name that I was going to upload to a03. I just don't think I'll ever get around to finishing it and as tis the season for Multidoctor stories... Well. Enjoy my work so far.

TW: //Long post

Eerie didn’t even begin to describe the Barrière d'Enfer. Round indents on the wall quickly became defined as the remains of those who once walked upon the ground above. Now, they were resigned to a fate, ever present to remain as the support for the weight of those who live above. It’s almost touchingly poetic in some kind of odd way. At least… That’s what she thinks.

Her eyes scanned the catacombs before the voice of the tour guide ahead called, spouting about how he knew the subterranean city better than anyone. The woman, wearing an afternoon dress and a pair of heeled walking boots, is working hard to keep her wits about. She’s focused, cool, pale skin houses green eyes that scan over the darkened halls of the French catacombs. There’s a strange appeal, but she’s not letting herself get distracted.

Until something snags her dress. She turns to face the figure, and from under the brim of her hat, she shoots an icy glare. “Pardon me, Monsieur…” She snarls, “You are stepping on my dress.” She motions, hiking it up a little bit so that the stranger behind her snags his foot out. Although, she’s suddenly taking him in… and it’s a bit strange for her to comprehend. Tall, dark, and a bit striking, the man behind her wears a cotton black coat over a sweatshirt, with jeans and… laced boots. Emerald hues meet crimson, and his voice is colder than the room itself.

“Who even wears a dress on a tour of the catacombs?” “It never hurts to dress in style, Monsieur. You could learn a thing or two.” She snarks back.

The Man hisses quietly in quiet agreement, “Touche.” He remarks before joining her side, hands buried in his pocket. She continues speaking, almost as if she enjoys the idea of striking a conversation with a stranger who stepped on her dress rather than continuing to listen to the croaking voice of the eerie tour guide. “You would think these steps would be wider for the tourists, non?”

“Tourists?” The man remarks. Damn. A slip-up. Why did she slip up like that?

“Do you not think these catacombs will become popular in Paris? They’re a sight to marvel at, I think.” She tries to save it, and The Man shrugs his shoulders quietly before sighing. “Oh yes, I’m sure.” He seems a bit amused by her as if he knows what she’s thinking about… talking. Although he suddenly snaps his gaze toward her.

“Time agent?” He asks as if he’s got her pegged. “Consider my pride wounded.” “I do that a lot.” He’s quick with the banter, too.

She wanted to bite her tongue, but she couldn’t resist. One of the Time Agency’s top agents, and here she was… cover blown… not even fifteen minutes into the mission. He must be here for the same reason she is. However, he can’t help himself from rubbing salt in the wound. “It was the hat.” He said after a quick smirk, “Won’t come into fashion until next year. Neither will the boots.” He made a quick nod.

“You’ll have to wait another six years for those bad boys. 1815 is a better year than 1809, though.”

She can’t help but make an even more sour face. She just shifts the topic, “No one else seemed to notice, so I must’ve caught you staring, non?” She let her accent hang a bit deeper with that one. He wasn’t all that bad looking, really, now that she was noticing. Her face suddenly soured again when he kept his eyes straight, verbally punching her in the gut with how little he seemed to care about her flirting.

“What’re you doing here?” He finally looked down at her as they began to sink closer and closer to the back of the group so their conversation could be more modestly private. She gave him another teasing punch back, not one to give up so easily. Besides, if he really was who she thought he was— when else would she get a chance to be playful again? “What’re you doing here~?” She purred.

“It was an accident.” He seemed quick to respond as if he really had nothing to hide. “I was aiming for Vienna, so I could sit in on Mozart’s … 1770… he was on fire.” He huffed, “Something knocked me off course by about thirty years.” He grumbled quietly, giving her a side-eyed stare. “Some kind of pothole in the time vortex.” He gave her an almost sharply accusatory look. She caught it, and before he could even ask.

“I’m here to investigate the same thing. Some type of paradox. It’s a very basic investigation, but something caught our eye… and so I’m here to find out.” She raised an eyebrow at him before tilting her head. “I thought it might’ve been you.” She said, curling her lip into a smirk when she saw confusion paint his features. “Me?” He huffed out in an offended yet surprised tone, “Don’t be daft… why would it be me?” To which the Time Agent scoffed.

“There’s no need to be coy, Monsieur.” She watched him ease up, “Blue Box? Out-of-place clothing? I heard you even played a recorder.” She watched him grumble quietly about how he’d been exposed, “Sadly, I haven’t played the recorder in about six hundred years.” He spoke out to confirm his identity to her. The Doctor. A time traveler. Apparently… he’s a Timelord, too. One of the last ones, to be exact. She shrugged, “Disappointing. I enjoy a man who can serenade me.” She teased, before following it up immediately with another question.

“So, now you’re sightseeing?” “Something brought me here…” He pointed down, “To the Barrière d'Enfer.” “The Gates of Hell.” She spoke the English name aloud. It was fitting.

He nodded in response to the name, “It’s important that I figure out what it was before I skip along back to where I’m supposed to be.” The Doctor mused aloud before resting his hands inside his pockets. A sign on the wall leading them deeper into the catacombs causes him to get distracted. Stop. This is The Empire of The Dead. As far as welcomes go, there’s no more fitting of one than that. She catches his attention again, having read it herself.

“I cannot speak for you, Doctor… but I think I am rather excited. Shall we~?” Something about that made him smirk. He understood that feeling. The Allure.

“After you.”

Like a crashing object through a windstorm, The TARDIS rockets through the Time-Space Vortex. The Console Room rocks as if it were a house in a tornado. The time rotor in the central column moves up and down while a mix match of different controls scattered across a six-paneled console are all clicked and switched accordingly. The groaning and wheezing of the engines indicate that the ship is being pushed to a speed she’s never even reached before. All the while, a voice urges her on throughout the console room.

“C’mon!!! C’mon!!” A foot-wearing high-top sneakers move to swing his leg across the controls to kick a nearby lever, leaving his foot there to press at different controls while one hand rests on a steering lever and the other reaches for a couple of dials and click-switches. “We’re trying to go fast on purpose! You’ve got more hustle in you than that!!” The Doctor echoes out, sunkissed skin that houses big brown eyes staring out across the variety of controls on the monitor. Bedhead razzled hair is akin to a dog that’s just been freshly washed and blow-dried, in the sense that it just puffs out. He looks young, but his eyes are heavy from sleepless nights.

Swinging his leg down, The Doctor secures a couple of more switches before the TARDIS begins trying to rock herself to a stop, as if the brakes are being pumped aggressively. I need to slow down, she indicates by the way she rocks back and forth. Sparks pop out at the pilot, who covers his arm and cringes slightly. “Okay! Okay!! One piece, I understand—!”

When he moves to swing the landing lever down, The Doctor purses his lips together as the landing sequence begins in kind. Standing up straight and backing away from the console, The Doctor wipes his hands together and stands triumphantly near the monitor. “Good girl~” He purrs at the console, before giving it a loving pat. This console room is grungy. It’s made of mechanical parts, with aged walls and house roundels that are of a more hexagon variety. Wire and tube rigging hangs from the ceiling and a large glowing blue column houses the ship’s central column.

Reaching for his green cargo jacket which rests on a nearby pillar, The Doctor slides it on along with a brown leather messenger bag. Re-adjusting fingerless wool gloves, he claps them together before rubbing at his eyes sleepily.

“1920! The Majestic Hotel!” He claps his hands together, moving to the console to make some final landing preparations, “The City’s beautiful! The crowds are lovely! The music is festive— What’s not to love?” He talks aloud before buttoning his jacket up. He’s been talking to himself a lot, recently. The Console room’s hum is the only thing that keeps him company. When he goes silent, and that quiet hum returns, he begins to absent-mindedly click at switches and his brows furrow in quiet realization over the fact that he’s just talking aloud now. A deep inhale causes him to puff out his cheeks again before he moves toward the police box doors that lead outside.

Distant planes and gunfire echo out in the distance as The Doctor steps out of a wooden Police Box. Listening to it click behind him, he huffs out a quiet grumble— which is uncharacteristic of his usually overexcited nature. “This is why we don’t pump the brakes too early.” The Doctor mumbles before patting the wooden police box softly and adjusting the straps of his messenger bag. Taking a few steps away from the TARDIS, The Doctor rests his hands in the pocket of his jacket and just starts walking down the block.

“Paris… 1944… Liberation of Paris.” He mumbles, reaching into his inner pocket to pull out a small brass device with a black leather grip and a white quartz handle at the bottom. Pointing the device around and beginning to scan, The Doctor flicks his Sonic Screwdriver into an extended mode so that he can try and take a reading off of the scans. Collapsing the screwdriver, he talks aloud yet again. “Some kind of temporal energy… pulling in whatever it can? Chrono-spatial radiation is everywhere. Stinks!” The Doctor starts waving at the air before returning the screwdriver to his particle.

“This doesn’t make sense… Something’s pulled me off course. Me, of all people. Which is a lot easier said than done, frankly.” The Doctor lets his train of thought run wild for a long moment, but his brows furrowed together as an overwhelming sense of deja vu begins to plague him. That causes him to push his tongue in his cheek, eyes narrowing in confusion toward that feeling. Deja vu was never usually good.

“Du da drüben. Was machst du hier draußen?”

The Doctor turned toward a voice, seeing the barrel of a gun pointed in his direction. Uh Oh! Raising his hands, The Doctor suddenly rewinds back, “Wait— What did you say?” He narrowed his gaze. Usually, The TARDIS translates for him… could some kind of temporal anomaly be interfering with that?

“Bist Du Engländer? Was machst du in Paris? Es ist ein Kampf im Gange.” The Soldier speaks up again, not keen on being ignored— but he also barely understands what’s being said, due to the language barrier… which continues to baffle The Doctor.

“Right… You’re… actually speaking proper German. Like… real German.” “Okay, komm mit mir.”

He understood enough to know the soldier was asking him to come with him, and he really didn’t have the strength to put up with German Soldiers right now. Huffing out quietly, The Doctor suddenly looks past the soldier, pointing behind him and shouting. “Whoa!! Is that the commanding officer of your platoon!? With the Fuhrer?” The Doctor asks, and the German soldier quickly snaps back around— after which, The Doctor takes off in a mad dash.

Turning to find that his prisoner has escaped, the Soldier blows a whistle, signaling anyone nearby that there’s a fugitive on the run.

The more they navigated through the catacombs, the more she was beginning to get unnerved by the whole thing. Constantly were the skulls on the walls seemingly staring at her, to the point where it felt like she was being watched. Grimacing, the Time Agent tasted at the stale air, which it didn’t make her worries any better, to be honest. She looked toward her compatriot: The Doctor, whose ruby eyes scanned the dark in its entirety. He was looking for any sort of crevice or crack that he could.

“The Empire of The Dead.” She spoke suddenly, causing The Doctor to look toward her. “Hm?” “The more we walk through, the more I wonder… why did they leave it open…?”

The Doctor blinked, moving to look toward the walls of skulls before shrugging lightly. They were pretty far from the tour group now, but he had a small oil lamp that he had been given by the tour guide after arriving toward the darker parts of the catacombs, which he held above his head. Eventually, The Doctor’s own eyes found the walls of skulls, and he felt the eyes staring into his. So many dead. She noticed that his hand seemed to lightly scratch at his thigh. Was she supposed to hold it?

She squinted subtly, tentatively, and very quietly beginning to reach for it—

“Excuse me, Madam.” A croaky voice cut through the silence. The tour guide.

Despite the fact that he’d snuck up on them, both The Doctor and The Tour Guide flinched at the scream that she let out, but the Madam quickly pressed her hand against her mouth and squeaked out a, “My apologies—” but she looked toward The Doctor while the Tour Guide issued out his apologies, noting how his hand was back in his pocket.

The Tour guide cleared his throat, “There are… many reasons why the quarries were constructed, Madam. I have watched it’s… transformation from the subterranean caverns of my childhood…” The Tour guide trailed off for a moment, the thought of his life before briefly flashing across his elder features. “...Into this… beautiful… sight. These tunnels were so fragile; Houses would collapse, lives would be lost.” The tour guide wistfully trailed off, exhaling again.

“Even my own Father…” “I’m sorry.” The Doctor spoke, and she detected genuine empathy in his voice. “I-It… was many years ago… and I have since grown weary with age over it.”

The Doctor laughed, and The Agent could understand what exactly it was that made him laugh. He had been blessed with a younger body, yes, but he was still very old. She’d watched him speak back, “Believe it or not, I actually get it.” The Doctor spoke, before raising an eyebrow.

“Mr…?” “Monsieur Joseph Delon…” “I’m The Doctor.” He was a hand shaker, this one. “Eh, er— Doctor—?” “Just.” He cut him off, “The Doctor.”

Delon moved to stand away from The Agent, and The Doctor stood next to him. Clearly, he was very engaged by the experiences of others around him, and what they brought to the table because of it. He was interested and intrigued by everything, even if he presented himself as rude to others. She thinks he’s more respectful to the elderly, perhaps? Like souls find like souls, she supposed.

“When it grew too dangerous, Monsieur Doctor—” He was doing that on purpose? To sound more romantical, but The Doctor didn’t seem to notice, nor care. “—The bodies of six million Parisians were brought down here to act as the foundations for our civilization.” Joseph spoke, his eyes going distant for a moment. “The dead… protecting the living,” Delon said, before returning his gaze toward the older gentleman.

“It is beautiful, is it not?” The Doctor found some kind of perspective to lean on. “It has a certain charm to it, Joseph.”

Delon smiles softly, before turning toward the both of them. “Now, Monsieur & Madame— If you’ll follow me, we can return to the tour group…” Joseph turned, beginning to walk further and further away until the darkness of the catacombs just barely allowed for his light to shine through. The Agent rejoined The Doctor’s side as he followed, absentmindedly thinking about everything— or at least steering his train of thought back to what he was thinking about.

“It is wrong of me to think that it is still somewhat unsettling?” She asked. “Not at all. It’s a refined perspective.”

Eventually, though, something stuck out to him.

“Look— There.” He pointed, “Is that a light?” “Where—?” She paused, “I see it… in the base of a skull?”

They approached a nearby wall of the catacombs, The Doctor spotted a red light that softly blinked beneath the skull. In its mouth. He eventually handed The Agent the lamp. Now that Joseph was out of sight, The Doctor wasn’t afraid to desecrate the remains of a dead Parisian by tearing open its jaw and click the button. The Agent winced in response. However, before she could even answer, she saw the fruits of his impulsiveness manifest as a secret passageway opening up within the wall.

“Secret door. Now things are getting interesting.” He mused before the agent handed him back the oil lantern. “I do enjoy secret doors, now we’re getting somewhere… that lock isn’t just from a different time, it’s from a whole other planet.” The Doctor subtly grinded his teeth together, before The Agent spoke up.

“We’ve only known each other for such a short time, and already we’re exposing secret doors in The Catacombs of Paris.” She couldn’t deny it, this mission was starting to get interesting… and it was fun, too. The Doctor looked toward her for a moment, inhaling deeply. It seemed like he wasn’t going to be able to get rid of her— not that he was actively trying, that is.

“I don’t think I caught your name.” “Renee,” She began, “Renee Lisette.”

He was winded. Good and properly winded! Entering through a door with a bell, that mass of energy immediately slapped his palms against the counter. The Desk attendant saw The Doctor, a small pluckish man who looked like he was ready to explore the catacombs, and yet here he was covered in sweat and panting slightly. She opened her mouth, but he spoke quickly, not excitedly… but just… fast.

“Good morning!” “How can I… help you?” Her eyes scanned him up and down real quickly. A postman? “Er, yeah… I was wondering if you’d let me use your underground base.”

She went pale suddenly, but he just kept speaking as if the next few statements that were about to come out of his mouth were something you’d hear from just anyone who’d come through the toll house doors, “For two reasons— one: Because I’m being chased by the Gestapo and I’m pretty sure they’re about to stick dogs on me—” He winced, “Two, you’ve got weird time anomaly stuff going on right beneath you and I’ve got a mighty need to figure out what it is. Insatiable, you might say.” He rocked back and forth before standing back on his feet.

“Please leave, Monsieur.” She spoke firmly, “I do not know what you are talking about.”

He waved her hand away as if she was just simply misremembering details of some casual meeting in the park. “Oooh~!! Sure ya do! This is the old toll house beneath the Barrière d'Enfer! Underneath it is a secret resistance bunker led by old Colonel Henri Rol-Tanguy.” He pointed toward the door, “The same colonel Henri Rol-Tanguy leading the liberation of Paris… which I’m actively stuck in the middle of—” the desk attendant watched him get distracted.

“And that is Mickey Rooney with Josephine Baker!! Oh hello!!— Big fan by the way!!” He shouted before trying to get himself back on track, looking toward the attendant. Again he slammed his palms against the table, and it was his energy that made her jump this time. He began scrounging through his pockets until he was able to produce a leatherbound wallet. To him, he saw only a blank piece of paper— psychic paper. He handed it to her. “Look…” He admitted as if his pride had been wounded, “I’m with British Intelligence… Here's my ID.”

“Commander… fleming?”

The Doctor winced suddenly. He had to roll with it. He had to. He nodded softly, “Yep… Yea! That’s me. Apparently.” He mumbled before taking the psychic paper back, sliding it into his pocket, leaning on the desk and just… scratching the back of his head. All in about a span of four seconds. He was anxious to get going. Or was it eager? The Desk attendant reached under the table, hitting a small buzzer that opened a compartment beneath the floor.

“Well then, welcome to Paris.”

As he crossed the desk, he moved to lean in and pat her hand. “Thank you. You’re literally a life saver.” He thanked, in such a genuine manner that her cheeks dusted a light pink for but a singular moment before she watched him depart down into the underground headquarters. When the door shut behind him, she blinked softly.

“...Why are they always English?”

The more they began to ease down the corridors, the more unsettled Renee was. They were in a metallic structure now, and The Doctor seemed keen on continuing to explore it. She, on the other hand, was starting to feel her heart hammer in her chest. Things were eerie and she was not enjoying it. It was more dark in the corridors than it was in the actual catacombs. It seemed like they were swallowed up by the darkness… and it seemed like the oil lantern was starting to run out of fuel.

“Doctor.” She pointed out, “The lantern…” She looked toward him, “I cannot see a thing down here! Where are we even?! What is this place?” She was on the verge of showing off some type of anxiety, simply because of how dark it was and how quickly the light was beginning to fade. The Doctor reached into his coat pocket, handing her the oil lantern while he withdrew a small cylindrical device. Silver, with a black endcap and a red light, he pressed the button on the slider and extended it forward.

“Nothing I can do about the oil in the lamp… but I can make the flame a bit brighter, and last a bit longer.” He mumbled, the soft whirring of his Sonic Screwdriver accompanied the steadily growing flame, which made more and more of the corridor become clearer. Pipes & grates. Yep… this was definitely some kind of futuristic corridor. Lisette was wondering just exactly how it got here before her skin went pale. Shadows on the wall began to cause her to tremble, and the more and more defined they got by the growth of the flame caused her heart to pound deeper and deeper.

“Doctor…” She mumbled it out, but he seemed to already notice. She saw how he grit his teeth in frustration over how stupid he was. He was kicking himself for not noticing patterns or details as if they’d actually one-upped him this time. The figures on the wall were metallic in nature, standing tall. Their eyes were a voiceless and empty black, and there were all sorts of tubing on them… but both Renee and The Doctor knew exactly what these were… and the way he hissed it out with such contempt.

“Cybermen.”

Renee kept herself closer to him. She dropped the pretenses immediately. She recognized these models, as for a vast majority of time these were the same CyberNeomorphs in charge of the Cyber Empire that stretched out across the vast cosmos, with their home planet of Mondas having been destroyed— these cybermen were based on Telos. They were a force to be reckoned with in the twenty-fifth century. She saw how decrepit and weary these ones looked. They weren’t rusted, but they were aged. She watched The Doctor knock against the chest of one.

“Are they dead?” Renee asked, watching The Doctor peek in closer to a few of them before backing away and shaking his head, “No, they’re dormant.” He hissed it out, almost in a sort of disappointment. Just because they were asleep, didn’t mean they weren’t some type of threat. Renee leaned in, “I thought the Cybermen couldn’t time travel? How did they get here? I mean— these versions— I don’t understand.” She looked for an explanation from The Timelord, as she knew the ball was in his court, now.

“Cybermen are capable of a very primitive form of time travel. It’s messy, unreliable, so they tend to try and find a linear route to things.” The Doctor and Renee, despite the revelation, continued to march through the corridors of the cyber storage depot. “Either this ship crashed… or…” He stopped, dead in his tracks. They’d gotten him, they’d one upped him entirely. “No, that doesn’t make sense though. This place is intact. There’s no damage. Not a single shred— this place was constructed in the catacombs.”

“But how?!” She shouted in a hushed tone, The Doctor shrugging. “Renee, if I knew—I wouldn’t have admitted that I didn’t know.”

Although, eventually, they reached a specific Cyberman that The Doctor wanted to stop and gawk at. Although he kept his features neutral and retained, he talked aloud about his curiosity. “This one’s different. The same type of model, but… it’s all black.” He noted, “Like a Cyber-Scout, but… more advanced— I think it’s a Cyber-Leader. Something isn’t right here.”

Suddenly, though, the two jumped back as the Cyber-leader disconnected himself from the wall. Pipes cracked off as if it had been lying in wait. Gas hissed, and Renee screamed. None of the other Cybermen seemed to come to life, not yet anyway. The Doctor expected that they would, sooner or later. He backed away. Instinctively, he shielded Renee— but the lamp fell and cracked. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, as it seemed as if the ship was activating, or at least auxiliary lighting was. The room filled with a blearing red as the Cyberman croaked out in a deep and mechanical computerized voice.

“Doctor. We have been expecting you.” “Have you now?” He snapped back, “That’s nice.” “We have been expecting you for some time.”

The Doctor pushed Renee along, “Run!! Quick!!” He pushed her down the corridor, just trying to get them to run in any direction. Just as The Doctor predicted to himself, other Cybermen were activating and there wasn’t much of anywhere left to run. They’d have to get back into the catacombs. It was oddly suspicious how only The Cyberleader seemed to be following him, but he let that observation sit in the back of his mind while he focused on trying to get back to the tour group. The Cyberman is hot on the heels of him and the agent.

Once they made it back, The Doctor and Renee immediately started shouting at the tour group. “Everyone out! Run for your lives!! Get out of here!!” They shouted, as the group began to panic and Delon stepped forward. “What is going on!?” He stepped forward— the tour group not quite moving, and that hesitance allowed the Cyberman to catch up.

Swinging his way into the tour group, with a massive fist, The Cyberleader SMACKED one of the tourists out of his way. Such a violent attack sent the man crashing against the wall, his wife screaming as one little hit from the tree trunk-like arm of The Cyberleader had gore and blood spurting from his head, and Joseph seemed to realize what it was that was going on.

“Joseph!” The Doctor grabbed his attention, “It’s after me. I need a place to lure it away!” and The Doctor really had to wrestle the man’s attention away from The Cyberleader, “T-There’s a vault… deep in the catacombs… that way. It protected the miners from cave-ins and explosions—” And that was enough for The Doctor, who took off with Renee in hot pursuit. The Cyberleader, as predicted, immediately followed… allowing for Delon to get the group out in an organized manner.

You know, they really do keep these catacombs in shape, don’t they? He blinks a bit as he aims a flashlight at the skulls on the wall, “Spooky.” He comments and is even spookier when you’re the only one down here. Last time he was here…

He stops dead in his tracks, his lips pursing. “Mm… That’s weird.” He scratches at the back of his head. He remembers being here, but it’s weird how all the details are so oddly fuzzy to him. Why does he remember being down here? Why does he remember being with a tour group when he knows he’s never been down in the catacombs before? Well— He’s of course visited the catacombs but never… for a crisis.

So why is it that he remembers something happening down here? Again, he scratches the back of his head before seemingly retracing steps he didn’t remember taking. Biting his lip, he suddenly stopped and aimed his flashlight toward the wall again. “Is it just me, or are the walls moving?” He stopped, aiming the flashlight behind him and wincing softly. You’re not losing your cool, are you Doctor? He licks at his lips softly in contemplation, before looking forward and thinking heavily.

“Deja Vu…” He pointed out, “One time is nothing to squawk about but… two times? On the same day?” He tapped the flashlight into his palm, “Now that is weird.” He squints, starting to feel things coming back to him. “Unless… Well…” He pressed a hand toward his forehead and started massaging it in a contemplative manner. “You know what this is, Doctor… and yet you also know that it’s impossible in the same vein.” He caresses the flashlight softly, all sorts of ticks coming to light today.

He suddenly shouts, “OH!!!” He snaps his fingers, “We were walking around the catacombs, there was… this flashing red button…” He bit his knuckle, really trying to claw the memories out like he was digging at buried treasure. He was pacing now, his voice bouncing off of the walls of the catacombs. “And… and… the woman!!” He snapped his fingers.

“But I was on my own, wasn’t I? So who was I with…?? Oh… It started an R… Rachel? Rosaria? Randy?? Randall???” He went on and on and on until it came to him like a smack to the face, “RENEE!!!!!” He snapped his fingers again as if the memories had been unlocked fully. Once the picture came back to him, his face went pale. “And there was a heckin’ ton of Cybermen, too.” He grits his teeth before suddenly looking down the abyss of the cavern.

“And The Vault.”

It’s still too dark to really make anything out, but at least he knows they must’ve reached the vault based on how his hands find the steely wheel to open it up. “C’mon! Now! Quickly.” He pushed Renee into the vault, sealing it behind them. With The Sonic Screwdriver, he fused the mechanisms so that it locked in. Biting his lip, he backed away as he heard the steps of the Cyberleader growing closer and closer and closer… until he heard a slam against the door.

“Don’t even try it! Your power cells are too drained and I’ve fused the controls. You’re not getting in here, tough guy.” He fired back, and The Cyberleader remained quiet, only to eventually speak again in an almost unworried voice as if The Leader had nothing to fear anymore. “You have failed, Doctor, but this is the beginning.”

“What’re you talking about?” He immediately retorted. “Look around you.”

Immediately, flood lights within the vault began to activate. The Doctor immediately began to realize what was going on. A trap. He was lured into a trap. This isn’t a vault— “No!” He snapped his head back, Renee standing at his side, “What is it?!” She queried, anxiously. This was getting dicey, especially if it had The Doctor on his toes.

“This is a stasis cage!” “In forty-five seconds, you will be frozen in time. You will survive. The Humanoid will not.”

Immediately, The Doctor attempted to try working on the door, but he’d already fused the controls. Dammit! The Cybermen were on their A-Game this time. Luring him into a trap, lying in wait. They had everything mapped out. Everything! To the last detail. The whirring of the Sonic Screwdriver echoed out as the Cyberleader began to stomp away. “Dammit!!” He was about to apologize before he heard some clicking behind him. Turning, he saw Renee fumbling with a device on her wrist.

“What’re you doing?” “Vortex manipulator. He said you’d be fine. I need to get back to HQ.” “What about me?!” The Doctor snapped back.

Renee shrugged, “Sorry Monsieur, You’re on your own… but I know what’s going on, and I’ll try to get to the bottom of it…” She looked toward him, “Especially now that I know what the cause of the anomaly is.” She nodded toward him, and he made a face as if he were offended by the accusation.

“Me?” “Seems that way…”

She didn’t even give out a goodbye before she vanished into a poof of light and smoke. The Doctor dove to try and cling onto her, but immediately tasted cold steel and his head snapped up when he heard the activating of the stasis cage. Scurrying to his feet, he exhaled heavily. “Forty-five seconds until I’m frozen…” His eyes scanned for anything in the room that he could try and use to escape. Anything at all.

“It’d help to know how long I—”

“The Doctor is frozen in time… he has been placed in stasis.” The Cyberleader spoke out. “And… The Woman?” “She has expired.”

…

“I see… So I suppose my work here is done?” Joseph Delon spoke, moving to look up at the cyberleader. He was sitting on the stairs leading out of the Catacombs, the silhouette of the Cyberman meshing beautifully within the darkness of the catacombs.

“Confirmed… but we will preserve you, Joseph Delon… You will become like us.” “...Thank you….” To escape the bonds of age.

That in itself is a gift.

Standing at the entrance to the vault, The Doctor was able to get a better look at it. Resistance members had set up lights within the catacombs, as they were using it as storage for munitions and other supplies they’d been hiding from the Gestapo during the liberation. The controls were fused from inside, and there seemed to be a low-level perception filter that masked the vault from outside eyes. A low-level perception filter is only applicable to humans.

“They wanted me to find you.” The Doctor mused, before reaching into his jacket to pull out his Sonic Screwdriver, “Eeeek~! I love opening my presents before Christmas.” The rascal mused aloud before reaching for a nearby panel on the vault, tearing it open, and finding two wires to twist together, which he provided power to with The Sonic Screwdriver.

That’s when the vault door began to hiss open. An almost sort of dry ice leaked out from the doorway as The Doctor backed up. Brushing brown locks behind his ear, he blinked steadily as he watched a figure in the vault begin to unfreeze. Frozen in time, put into stasis. Like a statue, now only cracking. His eyes widened when he heard a familiar voice, whose eyes immediately locked onto him.

“—Have…?” A statement turned into a question as ruby eyes locked with hazel, and a raven-haired head tilted in confusion toward what exactly it was that was happening.

“Uh oh.” Wool glove hands rubbed at the back of his head, blinking in almost, “Uh oh… ohh this is weird. Oh, this is super weird…” He gave his previous incarnation a quick cursory glance. Tall, dark, broody, lots of black, weird red eyes— “Yep… This is… not good.”

Never one to shy away from the obvious conclusion, the broody one blinked for a moment and watched as the young man in front of him started to piece obvious conclusions together in a similar manner.

“Are you…?” “Yeah…”

The Broody One stepped out from the stasis chamber immediately, to which the young fluff ball in front of him immediately quirked out a question he obviously wouldn’t know the answer to— “How long you have been in there?” To which the older Doctor exhaled.

“The Cybermen didn’t exactly give me a clock. What year is it?” “1944.” Without missing a beat. “Blast.” He grumbled, “Hundred and thirty-five years, give or take.” “Ooh! You’ve never looked better!”

“Thank you?” He wasn’t sure how to interpret that one. His future incarnation seemed to be a bit boisterous in his charisma, which was something he didn’t really want to think about. He scanned him up and down for a brief moment. High-top sneakers, black jeans, a green cargo jacket underneath a black T-shirt…. Accompanied by fingerless wool gloves and a brown leather messenger bag. He squinted. If not for the green jacket and the messenger bag, he would’ve thought that maybe he was being copied.

The face was a bit on the dumb side. He looked goofy, that much was for sure. Someone ought to cut his hair, too. He hoped this one wouldn’t ruin his pale complexion with those awful freckles. Regardless though, the (unknowingly) previous incarnation exhaled heavily.

“Stasis cage. Takes the wind out of your lungs.” “Well, I imagine being frozen for a century definitely didn’t help, either.” “No, no it did not.” Sassy too. He hates it when this happens. “What’re you doing here?”

The New Doctor pointed behind him, without looking, and responded promptly and very… well it was hard to describe. He was just kind of all over the place. “Ah! Well, I was on my way to the Majestic Hotel, 1920, you know the one.” He nodded before smacking his hands together— causing The Old Doctor to recoil a bit, cocking an eyebrow.

“BAM! Suddenly I’m in 1944. Did a quick scan and picked up some sort of—” “Time Anomaly.” They spoke in sync. That made the fluffball chuckle.

“Heheheh! Yeah!” He then started recounting his day to broody. “Then I got chased by the Gestapo!” He pointed down at the ground, “Ended up in the catacombs—”

“How did you know to come to the catacombs?” He interjected. “Deja Vu! Although I can’t remember this, so I think our luck’s run out.” “Let’s not throw all of our ducks away just yet, it might come back around.”

He immediately gave the other a point, “How about you? I don’t remember being in Paris? Or heading to Paris? Nowhere in the last couple of decades at least.” He was still holding the torch in his hand, so he clicked it off and slid it into his bag. The two clearly wanted to get back on the move, and the fluffball was more than willing to hazard a guess that Broody was ready to leave the catacombs after one hundred and thirty-five years.

“1770, to see Mozart, actually. Versaille. Got knocked off course and knocked about 21.7 Kilometers of course.” He was exact, whereas the fluffball probably would’ve said something akin to a hop and a skip, or something like that. He looked young, so Broody assumed he’d be using a type of modern-age lingo. “Traced it to the catacombs by following a time agent—”

“Rachel!” He shouted as if he was remembering an old friend. “Renee.” “Oops.” Immediate embarrassment. “Where is she?”

Broody rolled his eyes, hands in his pockets as he marched down the catacombs. The lights helped him navigate a lot easier, so he just kept his eyes forward and blushed a bit when he was called out. “She… was a Time Agent. She slipped away with a vortex manipulator.”

“Ahhh~ You and your women~” The Fluffball teased. “Oh don’t start.” The Geezer snapped back. “Was she slightly more dominant than you? Maybe a catsuit along the way?” “If you must know… she was French.”

A feigned gasp of shock and surprise, “Well that just makes all the difference.” He couldn’t help but chuckle after his little tease, especially when The Geezer picked up the pace, requiring him to speed up into a power walk as they climbed up the steps of the catacombs. As they made their way up, The Geezer exhaled.

“There were about a dozen dormant cybermen when I was down there last.” He informed his younger counterpart. He’d resign to being identified as the old one for the sake of not remembering being that one, but he’d refuse to call the young adult next to him “older” or “newer”. So he referred to him as simply younger in his mind. “They would have invaded while I was down there, changed everything for the worse.”

“I…” The Younger One squinted, “Don’t think you need to worry about that.” “What? Why?”

“Well, I’ve just been up there. It’s Paris… 1944! Everything’s fine, I was running from The Nazi’s like, five minutes ago.” He reassured his older self before moving up toward the exit to the Underground Base. They ignored how eerily quiet it was in favor of talking among themselves. “We might even find your TARDIS right where ya parked it!” And he reached for the door to the tollhouse, pushing it open.

“See?”

Mechanical machines not unlike Tripods from a certain other race of invaders marched around across smogged out skies. The Tripods were hoisting Humans up into a container unit, harvesting them in a portable conversion unit that would immediately eject pods out onto the ground that released more advanced model cybermen, who roamed the earth.

There was no resistance, and if there was, it was immediately crushed by The Cybermen. Sirens and the clanging of metal were the new ambiance of Earth, as the streets were ravished and the buildings destroyed. It was horrific.

“Okay.” The Youngin’ immediately swallowed his pride and resigned himself to admitting this was bad. “This is not good. This is very bad.” He blinked as they hid behind the wall of the tollhouse, peering through the shattered windows of the building they’d emerged from. “This is very very bad. If you could’ve asked me what the worst possible thing to see was—”

“I get it—” The Older One immediately interjected to try and get him to stop talking. “It would be this.”

"Do you come with an off button by chance?"

#!!!. {in character | ic}#vi. {the looney doctor}#v. {the goth doctor}#unboundnovember

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