#what happened to him when he went to timeless river

[fantazulio]

I think a Kingdom Hearts question that does not get brought up enough is whether or not Jiminy Cricket must undergo a transformation as well whenever the gang goes to certain worlds

[bisexualbumblebee-writes]

To Love a Ranger Chapter 8- Aragorn x OC

Aragorn x Issa

Description: The Fellowship arrives in Lothlorien and Issa and Aragorn take a walk to take their minds off of what happened - even if just for a few minutes.

Word Count: 2.8k

Haldir led the Fellowship through the forest throughout the day. Once the sun began to go down they stopped on a hilltop, and Issa couldn’t help but gasp quietly at the sight that lay before them. 

Several miles towards the South, a large hill rose out of the woods. Upon the hill were many mighty Mallorn Trees, taller than any others that she had ever seen before. And nestled high in the crown of the Mallorns was a beautiful city. It gleamed in the low rays of green, gold, and silver of the late afternoon sun. To the east of Caras Galadhon, the Woods of Lorien ran down the pale gleam of the great river Anduin. Beyond the River, the land appeared flat and empty, formless and vague, until far away, it rose again like a dark and dreary wall. Almost as if the sun that laid on Lothlorien had no power to fight against the shadows that lay beyond the city. 

“Caras Galadhon,” Haldir spoke. “The heart of Elvendom on earth. Realm of the Lord Celeborn and of Galadriel, Lady of Light.” Issa was breathless as she looked over the land, and she found herself grabbing hold of Aragorn’s hand (almost as if she was making sure it wasn’t a dream). She felt her fiance interlock their fingers as they continued following the Marchwarden towards the wondrous city. 

They eventually stepped onto a wide fleet as night fell upon them. The walls surrounding them were green and silver, and the rood gold. Issa spared them a small glance before noticing two figures walking down the steps in front of them. It was (unsurprisingly) two Elves. They both wore silver garbs. The ellon (male Elf) had long and silver hair, his face grave and beautiful, with no sign of age upon it. Next to him, the elleth (female Elf) had hair of deep gold and timeless, unsurpassed beauty. They were Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. Issa stared at them in awe for a moment, then remembered her manners and bowed to them along with Aragorn and Legolas. Celeborn faced Aragorn. 

“Eight there are, yet nine there were set out from Rivendell,” the Elf spoke. “Tell me, where is Gandalf, for I much desire to speak with him.” There was a moment of silence as the Man gathered strength to answer. He didn’t need to, however. 

“Gandalf the Grey did not pass the borders of this land,” Galadriel said softly. “He has fallen into shadow.” 

“He was taken by both Shadow and flame. A Balrog of Morgoth. For we went needlessly into the net of Moria,” Legolas added. Issa closed her eyes painfully at the memory of the Wizard’s death, and she turned her head away. 

“Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life. We do not yet know his full purpose,” the Lady of Elves responded before facing Gimli. “Do not let the great emptiness of Khazad-dûm fill your heart Gimli, son of Glóin. For the world has grown full of peril, and in all lands, love is now mingled with grief.” Though Issa was listening to the Elf’s words intently, she still couldn’t find strength to look at her. Not when her tears were on the brink of spilling like a dam being overflowed. 

“What now becomes of this Fellowship?” Celeborn questioned. “Without Gandalf, hope is lost.”

“The quest stands upon the edge of a knife,” Galadriel continued. “Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all...Yet hope remains while the company is true.” 

Issa wiped her cheek as a stray tear managed to fall, not wishing for anyone - let alone Celeborn and Galadriel - to see her cry. nearly jumped out of her skin when she suddenly felt a hand on her cheek. The hand gently moved her head to face Galadriel, who offered her a small smile. 

Do not let your hearts be troubled,” she spoke to the group, though her eyes remained on Issa. “Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight you will sleep in peace.”

The Fellowship was taken to a pavilion set among the trees near a fountain. Most of them laid on soft couches as Elves set food and wine out for them before leaving. Issa walked out in a white and silver dress (which had been graciously given to her for the remainder of their time in Lothlorien), then paused when she heard mournful singing drift down over them from the trees above. 

“A lament for Gandalf,” Legolas explained without anyone having to verbally ask.

“What do they say?” Merry questioned curiously, but the Elf shook his head. 

“I have not the heart to tell you. For me, the grief is still too near.” 

“I bet they don’t have a verse about his fireworks,” Sam said before standing. “There should be a verse about them.” 

“The finest rockets ever seen

They burst in stars of blue and green

Or after thunder, silver showers

Came falling like a rain of flowers,” he paused, then fell back onto the couch with a sad sigh. “Oh, that doesn't do them justice by a long road.” Issa smiled gently as she took a seat on one of the empty couches. 

“It was still lovely, Samwise. I think he would’ve liked it,” she muttered reassuringly, earning a shy ‘thank you’ in response from the Hobbit. 

“Take some rest,” Aragorn instructed, resting a hand on her shoulder as he addressed everyone. “These borders are well protected.” Issa nodded in agreement, then paused when she looked at Boromir and noticed traces of tears on Boromir’s face. She patted her fiance’s hand to catch his attention, then nodded to Boromir once he was looking at her. The Man nodded at her then kneeled beside Boromir, prompting him to speak. 

“I will find no rest here,” he muttered. “I heard her voice inside my head...she spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor, and she said to me: ‘Even now, there is hope left.’ But I cannot see it...it is long since we had any hope.” The girl’s heart broke as she listened to him (though she knew it was wrong to eavesdrop). She subtly glanced at Boromir, but quickly pretended to look busy making her bed when he continued speaking. 

“My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing and our..our people lose faith. He looks to me to make things right...and I would do it, I would see the glory of Gondor restored. Have you ever seen it, Aragorn? The White Tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze...have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?” Aragorn stared at him thoughtfully, then answered. 

“I have seen the white city…long ago,” he ultimately muttered. Issa could practically feel Aragorn’s love for Minas Tirith in his response (even if it was short). It seemed that Boromir could feel it as well. 

“One day our paths will lead us there,” he said optimistically. “And the tower guards shall take up the call ‘the Lords of Gondor have returned.’” When Boromir turned away Aragorn faced Issa with a look of disquiet sadness that made her heart ache more than Boromir’s earlier confession. She stood then faced Aragorn once again.

“Tolo, padradi nin (Come, walk with me),” was all she said before walking out of the pavilion. 

She knew that Aragorn would follow, and he did. For a while they just walked the paths of Caras Galadhon in silence. Issa found it relaxing, but apparently her fiance found it suspicious after his conversation with Boromir. 

“If we are going to talk about my birthright I would rather get it out of the way,” he suddenly said, making her look at him in surprise. He wasn’t rude about it by any means, but he was rather firm - much firmer than Issa would ever accept from him. The girl shot him an indignant look. 

“For your information, I was not going to talk about it. I just thought it would be nice to have a moment alone after the last few day’s events.” Immediately all tension left Aragorn’s shoulders, and a repentant look crossed his face. 

“Goheno nin (Forgive me), I did not mean to speak so rudely,” he muttered, which allowed Issa to relax as well.

“You are forgiven. I figured a walk could do us both some good. If you don’t wish to speak, then so be it. If you do then I suggest you do so,” she said simply, taking her fiance’s hand in hers. Aragorn nodded, and they continued to walk in silence for a few more minutes before he spoke again. 

“Would you believe me if I told you that I realized I loved you less than a month after you realized you loved me?” He questioned, making her look at him in surprise. 

“Wait, really?” 

“Really,” he nodded. “It was after the Orc hunt that I temporarily left to be there on your parent’s twentieth anniversary.” 

“Tell me about it,” Issa said eagerly, earning a laugh from the Man before he launched into the story. 

After many stressful nights looking at maps and scouring the borders of the valley, the guard had finally found every single unmarked entrance. Their plan was to close them off as well as get rid of any Orcs that were nearby so the problem could finally be solved. 

Of course, things never worked out that easily though. See, the rogue Orcs were at least smart enough to realize that at some point there was a possibility that they would be caught and prepared accordingly. So, although the guard managed to sneak attack them, they still put up quite a fight. The fight was brutal but quick. Before they knew it all the Orcs had been slayed. There were little to no casualties on Rivendell’s side, but there were several wounded to the point of needing to be carried back to be healed. 

Upon returning to the valley, Aragorn’s main priority had been getting the wounded to the healing ward and assisting in any way he could and politely refusing to be looked over by the attending healers claiming that there was nothing more than a few bruises. It wasn’t until he was heading back to his chambers that he realized he had also been hurt. Honestly he probably wouldn’t have noticed it if it hadn’t been for the stinging feeling in his left side when he stretched. A small groan left his lips and he was quick to move aside his shirt in order to examine it. 

There was a lot of blood, but the gash itself wasn’t big, at least not big enough to cause panic. It was just enough that he only mildly worried that it would give him problems unless treated properly. Okay, maybe he should have allowed those healers to give him a look over. The very thought of having to walk all the way back to the healing ward just made his feet hurt, and he let out a small tired huff before an idea popped into his head. Issa’s chambers were just the next hallway over. Maybe he could ask her for help, it’s not like this sort of thing hasn’t happened before. 

So, after moving his shirt back over the wound so as to not seem improper, he made his way over to the girl’s room. Upon arriving at it he gave a soft knock, hearing movement on the other side of the door. It sounded like bedding being moved; perhaps Issa was in bed. That made him feel a bit guilty, he could’ve just gone back to the healing wing. But, he had already knocked and just walking away would be even worse. He just hoped she wouldn’t be too mad about the late hour. Just a moment later the door opened a crack to reveal Issa in a nightdress. 

“Aragorn,” she greeted, not even attempting to hide her surprise or delight. “What are you doing here so late? Did you just miss me that much?” They both knew the latter question was a joke, but there was some genuine curiosity in it that Issa didn’t believe she was good at hiding. 

“Well yes, that too,” the man started, earning a giggle from the girl. “But, I also came to you for help.” Issa was confused at that, but quickly understood when her eyes trailed down to his now bloody shirt. Her eyes widened and she opened her door wider. 

“Come in,” she ushered him inside before heading to her bedside table. Aragorn stepped inside and closed the door behind him before carefully taking a seat on the lounge chair that sat at the foot of her bed and removing his shirt to make her job easier. While he did that Issa pulled out some supplies then took a seat beside him.

“Am I correct in assuming that the Orc problem has been solved?” She asked softly as she began cleaning up the blood around the wound, not being able to hide her smile when he nodded.

“Yes, that’s the reason I sit in your chambers now,” he answered, mirroring her grin. “There will be no more Orcs getting through secret entrances because there are no more secret entrances.” Issa, despite her best efforts, couldn’t hide her sigh of relief as she examined the wound more closely. Just as they both suspected, it wasn’t as bad as it looked. Some stitches and a simple herb mixture to prevent infection would do the trick. 

“That’s good,” she mumbled distractedly as she began threading the needle. Aragorn lifted his arm up so that he could give her more room to work. 

“This may sting a little,” she warned, already pinching both sides of the wound together as delicately as she could manage.

“I’ve dealt with far worse,” the man reminded her gently, which made her sigh and ultimately nod as she began stitching the laceration. Though he’d been through worse before, that didn’t stop him from inhaling sharply at the first piercing of the needle. Issa shot him an apologetic look before continuing her work. As she did so, Aragorn took the time to examine her. 

It was obvious she had been asleep before he’d knocked on her door, though that wasn’t really surprising considering what time it was. She looked tired, and Aragorn had the distinct feeling that it wasn’t just because of him suddenly waking her up. The guilt that he felt earlier returned. He knew more than anyone that she didn’t sleep well the entire month of June because of what happened to her parents, and he didn’t need to ask her to know that all those Orcs weren’t helping her case. 

And yet, here she was patching him up without a complaint or a second thought. No one else would have done that for him, they would’ve just told him to go back to the healing wing then close the door in his face, especially since this wasn’t the first time he’d done this. There was a reason Issa had a small basket of healing supplies in her bedside drawer. 

He believed that was the exact moment that he realized he loved her. Just like he had done for her, she was now doing for him what no one else would. Of course it could have something to do with them having grown up together and just creating a system out of it, but a system like this couldn’t have formed between two friends. An element of love had always been there, it just took him a while to understand it.

“God, I remember wanting to kill whoever woke me up that night,” Issa laughed softly once his story concluded. “But then it turned out to be you, and all that anger melted away because I was so happy to see you.” 

“Really?” Aragorn chuckled, though he looked surprised by her admission. 

“Yep. I had just gotten to sleep and then out of nowhere some oaf knocked on my door. Of course I was annoyed,” she half joked, making both of them laugh. 

It felt nice for them to just laugh with each other. No one else around, just them. For a moment Issa could almost physically see Aragorn forget about the quest and the Ring. Instead he focused on her presence. And she was happy with that. They both deserved reprieve after the dangers they’d endured thus far - especially Aragorn. And if Issa could help with that, even if just for a few minutes, she would be content.

[bubblegumbeech]

Shadows and Souls

Dannymay day 10: Shadow

Crossover with Solo Leveling

It had been a bit of a cliche really, when Clockwork showed Danny around the zone, introducing him to different places and realms and explaining what was important to know about each. There had been an area, far away from the backwater section of the zone the Fenton portal called home and further still from more densely populated areas like the Timeless Realm or the Drowned Quarter, that had been covered entirely in shadows with little light to see by.

Normally that would be ominous on its own, but many of the different places in the ghost zone followed their own rules and laws of reality. Sure, most of it was a swirling void of greens and purples due to the constant presence of rich ambient ectoplasm, but that didn’t mean the environment wouldn’t twist and shape to the desires of whoever existed. Afterall, the drowned quarter wasn’t really underwater any more than anywhere else in the zone was. But it damn well felt like it.

That’s when the cliche happened. Once Danny’s eyes roamed over the shadowy abyss Clockwork had pulled him back from it, just slightly, just enough that Danny could feel the threat. He’d said to not go there, at least not yet. He’d said there was a powerful being in the realm, one that was dangerous and unstable. He’d pretty much told Danny the whole entire area was completely off limits and that it was a risk to his afterlife if he accidentally wandered in.

He said pretty much everything he could to make a fourteen year old half ghost curious as hell and then stole them away to go look at something boring and safe and horribly mundane while Danny did everything he could to plot a way into the realm of shadows.

It was dark. Obviously it was dark. Danny just hadn’t been quite prepared for how dark it was. The shadows were ever present, it almost felt like they themselves had form and were pressing down on Danny himself. Then a light flickered. Something bright in the swirling dark, a deep purple unfamiliar from any natural color Danny was familiar with. It sparkled to life and faded just as quickly before coming back just a little bit farther away. 

Danny followed it. What did he have to lose? There was no real way for him to get back on his own, unable to see through the oppressive wall of shadows, and it was the first thing even close to a path he could try and take. The closer he got to it the brighter the light got until it was swirling all around him, a river of light and power and Danny marveled.

“Lost little Ghost?” A voice came from behind and Danny quickly turned around, startled. It sounded like Korean, but Danny didn’t know Korean yet he didn’t have any trouble understanding what was being said to him. Which… only happened when ghosts weren’t really using their words to communicate.

He hadn’t expected whatever was here to have enough sentience to speak, or even take form. Much less to be able to communicate despite what should have been an obvious language barrier. 

There was someone, half hidden in the shadows with bright neon eyes the same color of the lights that Danny had followed, that flowed around them even now. 

“I’m not little,” Danny argued, insulted. Was this the threat Clockwork had warned him of? He didn’t seem more threatening than the average ghost. In fact, if it wasn’t for the obvious flow of his eyes and the countless shadows around them Danny probably would have thought he was human. 

He smiled, at least, Danny thought it was a smile. It was barely there and didn’t quite reach his eyes, but his expression had softened just a bit. 

“Beru, lead him out of here before he gets more lost,” he said and Danny balked. 

“Wait! I just got here! I haven’t even figured out who shaped this realm!” Danny was waving his hands frantically in front of him, trying to dissuade him. Something formed out of the shadows, the bright purple light collecting inside until a monster stood before him, large insect pod pincers and thin translucent wings. It almost looked like an ant, if ants were twice the size of a person and bipedal. 

The man blinked, and cocked his head slightly in confusion. “I am the only one here, these are my shadows.”

Holy shit. “You… wait there aren’t any other ghosts? This place is huge. Isn’t that a ghost?” Danny pointed at the bug-ant-person thing that was frantically waving at him to follow it. The man only looked more confused.

“You’re the only ghost here,” he said, in a horribly ominous way. 

Danny shook his head slowly, trying not to think about the implications behind that. “Are you saying you aren’t a ghost?” Also, was he saying the shadows weren’t ghosts? Even Johnny’s shadow was considered an actual ghost right? Or was there a difference? Come to think of it, Danny had never asked. He’d always just assumed they were a packaged deal, but if Johnny’s shadow was just an extension of himself, then what did that mean for a single figure that had an entire realm of shadows tied to him? 

He shivered, maybe he should have listened to Clockwork this time. He was usually right about things now that Danny thought about it.

“I’m not a ghost,” the man said, his eyes glowing in a very distinctly ghostly way, “I never died.”

Oh, terrifying actually. Wait, “you’re human?” 

The man flinched, turning his head away and pointedly not answering. “Follow Beru, he’ll lead you out.” 

“Wait, just one more question,” Danny pleaded, ignoring Beru’s increasingly desperate gestures. 

It was something that had been bothering him for sometime actually, ever since he saw the realm formed here. Realms like this, distinct as they are, didn’t come from nothing. And according to Danny’s calculations and the sheer amount of time he’d spent studying the infinity map with Frostbite, there should be a mortal plane tied here to the realm. 

That usually meant thin spots, a vague connection through the membrane of the zone and possible portals, but the entire area was dead. Flat. Lifeless. As if there was nothing living on the other side.

“The world you’re from… what happened to it?”

The man’s eyes went dark, something heavier than even grief weighed behind them. “It’s gone. The only thing left are shadows.” 

Ah, maybe Danny should leave. It would probably be the safer option, definitely the smarter one. But his core ached at the thought of leaving him alone, surrounded by what must be shadows from his own world. 

Shadows that aren’t full ghosts, that are an extension of him. He‘s powerful, Danny can tell, there’s very few ghosts that are as powerful as this man and he (apparently) isn’t even a ghost. But he’d also flinched when Danny asked if he was human so he probably wasn’t that either, not anymore. 

Neither living nor dead, Danny’s heart clenched, how unbearably lonely. 

“My name’s Danny, what’s yours?” It never hurt to have another powerful friend, and Danny’s obsession wouldn’t let him leave when someone so clearly needed help. Even if that someone didn’t realize it. 

“...Sung Jin-Woo,” the man said, suspicious. 

Danny just smiled, he’d never thought he’d be grateful for being frozen at fourteen all these years, but it did wonders for building trust. “Well Sung Jin-Woo, why don’t we be friends?” 

[ilikethequiet]

Hot & Spicy Takes: Doctor Who

Hi, I need to rant about Doctor Who like a lot. I’ll put my thoughts under a cut so as not to clog up your pages. The majority of this covers Jodie’s seasons and tonight’s special about the Sea Devils. 

If you have comments, I’ll happily discuss. If they’re mean then they are getting deleted.

Let’s just go through everything.

So one of my biggest problems when it comes to shows is that of plot inconsistencies; Once Upon A Time had it, Red Dwarf has a plot inconsistency project where they make fun of the times they’ve cocked up but hey, they had fun with it. I expected more from Doctor Who, so here we go.

The Flux - Not even mentioned, not once. So is the universe back to normal now? Is the galaxy still hall thanosed? Do you remember the genocide of the doggy people, did that still happen? If you aren’t going to acknowledge it, then what is the damn point? Also there was a lot of things in the Flux series that made not a lick of sense, barely any of that had a satisfying conclusion.

The Doctor’s Characterisation - Has been bad since they first brought her in, I don’t blame Jodie for it, it’s just I feel like compared to previous iterations they dumbed her down, for a while I just thought she has amnesia, it will come back to her but they were moments when things happened that I feel like she was a little too clueless about it.

Thasmin - I don’t mind it, but I don’t think it’s been well done as in I think it’s too little too late (In the series, I mean) If they had introduced Yaz’s feelings earlier, it might have had a smoother flow to it but saying something now, when you know she is going to regenerate soon seems very tacked on. Also, that speech she gave in the last scene, it was a little off especially when you know that the Doctor hasn’t always been on the run, that previous incarnations spent years in both Trenzalore and that place with the Singing Towers with River.

I don’t think the Doctor hasn’t been very open with Yaz, I feel like even now there is a lot of things she is keeping from her and it’s not because it’s super difficult I don’t think, in the past they’ve open up to people but currently I feel like Yaz knows less about the Doctor than the others have.

Plot inconsistencies -  One of the big ones for me was that dumb episode about Mr. Big and the Prime Minister deciding yeah, let’s make dalek security bots. Ummm...what? I know it was a while ago but this is still England is it not, do they not hand the Prime Minister a big folder about national secrets and say ‘oh by the way, your predecessor Harriet Jones was killed by one of these things, best watch out for them’ 

There are a lot of other little things in this category too, I don’t know why but she seems a lot more disconnected than she would have been in the past. An example of this is when they went to that spa planet only to find out it was the future of the Earth, I feel like considering how much the Doctor likes humans she should have cared more/found a solution or something? But no, they just booked it.

Don’t Wander Off - This part really annoyed me this evening, Dan -wandered off- and she essentially stranded him there while she and Yaz went to look for the pirate ship. Dan is weirdly resourceful and he made it through, I kind of love his dorkiness but any number of things could have gone wrong and he would have been stuck there and the Doctor’s attitude about it was ‘It’s his fault, he wandered off’ It doesn’t sit right with me.

Jack - He was there! I saw him! He was there for all of five minutes and then he buggered off again to who knows where. What was the point of that? It was a nice moment sure but even that felt forced and then he was just gone with little to no explanation, you’d think if some big bad was happening, he would know the safest place to be would be with the Doctor.

The Timeless Child - I am a bit iffy about this one, okay it is an interesting concept but it’s also kind of really weird? And they brought up the multiverse which yeah that starts to melt your brain. So the Doctor apparently came from another universe and was adopted by the Time Lords and was used to make them all supes powerful and what have you? Um, okay. I find this so odd because of how fondly you hear the earlier versions of The Doctor speak of Galifrey and yes, they could have just blocked his memories but I mean...effort.

To add to this, Ruth. I like Ruth! I thought she was pretty darn cool but oh boy I hope they add a lot more so that makes sense or nix it entirely, so many loose threads these days. 

The Master - I loved the portrayal with the new guy, the purple suit, the absolute madman demeanor but I don’t like way The Doctor let herself be taken in by him? She’s usually a lot smarter than that. (I’m primarily talking about their first onscreen meeting) 

The Bounty Hunters/Whatevez - You know they were after the Doctor and have been for years and could never catch them because they were always running etc. Well no, that isn’t true though is it? There have been several periods where they Doctor just hung out in one place; on Trenzelore, the place with the Towers, even on Earth he stayed with the Ponds and played Tennis on the WiiU but nah, hard to catch.

I am looking forward to the episode in October, it does look to be interesting and we are getting news of who the next Doctor will be in a few weeks reports say. A heard a rumor it  was going to be Hugh Grant and lolzed, that would be kind of funny but I don’t know, my pick would have been Rahul Kohli to be honest, but it’s probably not going to be him. 

[flashbang-througthe-door]

Untitled

A/n: this is a Lear/Hudson fic...I was curious...if your reading this that means I actually posted it and I'm sorry, also why is this like my magnum opus

Lear/Hudson

Tw: Swearing, smoking, a description of being left for dead

implied past relationship between Lear and Hudson

Description: The others left Lear and Hudson alone in a foolish attempt make them get along but something else happens

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

Lear and Hudson were left alone in the safe house in an attempt to make them get along, but it was hitting an interesting moment. The two men one leaning against the desk in front of the office the other leaning against the evidence board puffing away on a cigarette. To an untrained eye, they looked like they were staring at each other but to anyone who knows these two would know this is a staring contest. Whoever lost would hear about it for days. "Giving up Italy?" "Not on your life America...." Lear responses neither of them had blinked yet.

Hudson starts heading towards Lear still not blinking "Hey, remember no touching it's not fair" Lear reminds Hudson, who gave a slight nod remembering the few rules they set. "You remember when we first met?" Lear asks he missed the time back then "Eh, Italy right?..... Florence....that uh" Hudson tried to think back to the place "The abandoned church...your government wanted me, they sent you and a few agents I ran into the church after uhhh" Now Lear couldn't remember what happened before the church "You tried to throw us off by throwing your shirt into the water" Hudson reminds Lear right as he blinked. "Ow, hm...yeah by the time you and your lackeys got to me...I was almost out the window" Lear's eyes stung a bit "Why do we always fight?" "Because it's all we know anymore" Lear recalled being handcuffed and dragged out kicking and screaming, Hudson wasn't much help at that time. "Right..." Hudson took his sunglasses off and rubs his face "I feel like I shou-" "I don't want to talk about it anymore" "See then you shut down" "I just don't want to talk about" "you never want to talk about it" Hudson growls and Lear chuckles "Italy? Or after the fact?" Lear lights a new cigarette blowing the smoke into Hudson's face "Both, whenever I bring it up...you completely shut down or we squabble about who's more useless, why?" Hudson inquires then waves his hand getting the smoke out of his face. "Because what happened leading up to you and your barbarians catching me for that mission...and after that..." Lear shakes his head "I woke up in a dumpster...bleeding out. Adler saved my life when you were busy with someone else...in that office...we were perfect but when I needed you the most you weren't there for me" He felt tears starting to come up he walked away from Hudson it was wasn't the best time to recall. Sure the time they worked together before this was nice they got along with each other too....even dated for a bit, but like most good things it ended. Time became timeless and the others weren't back yet. Lear was writing down some info he found out and tacked it to the board he and Hudson weren't talking yet. After Italy was brought up the memories came back to both of them.

Hudson was in the office going over some files trying to keep himself busy but every once in a while out of the corner of his eye he would see Lear walk by. He was wondering what the other was up to, but he had done enough damage for today. He honestly felt bad for Italy and what followed after.

Flashback, Florence, Italy

Lear was racing away from a group of agents one being Hudson. Lear quickly lost them in a quicker attempt to throw them off he yanked his shirt off threw it into the river. He bolted down a barely used path cuts and scrapes on his body, his raven black hair was messy and there were some sticks and leaves in his hair. His brown eyes barely took in the area around him but he quickly chooses paths and ended up in the abandoned church. Against his better judgment, he ran into the church climbing up the stairs he heard the others crashing into the church. "Fuck me" he mumbles starting to climb out the window but arms went around his waist and threw him to the floor. "Hudson, up here we got him" One of the agents call out putting their boot on Lear's back pinning him down. "Vincent Russo, You're in the custody of the United States government. You will help us" Hudson kneels next to Lear "Help you? Fuck that!" Lear spits at Hudson and misses "You will help us, whether you want to or not" Hudson sighs handcuffing Lear and slowly taking him to the helicopter "Stop! Struggling" Hudson tried to get a better grip on Lear but it was very difficult because Lear was kicking and screaming.

End of flashback

Hudson heard a loud set of thumps coming from outside of the office. "...what the fuuuu" he walked out to find Lear laying on the floor with the punching bag on top of him. "You uh...hehe...you okay down there?" He chuckles crossing his arms watching Lear struggle "No, I'm not okay" he mutters trying to get the bag off of himself "I think we've been here before Vincent" Hudson kneels next to Lear "You pinned to the floor, me winning..." Hudson chuckles now sitting next to Lear "Hey...Jason..." "Hey Vincent" "what happened to us?" "Uh...well" Hudson rubs his neck he pushed the punching bag off Lear and thought about it "Well you didn't make the car ride to D.c easy" he points watching Lear sit up "Did you really think that I'd make it easy?" Lear sighs looking at Hudson put his hand on the other's shoulder "I owe you a car window...I remember that..." He chuckles softly "And a rearview mirror" Hudson adds "Wait was I really that bad?" "Well...if you remember..."

Flashback

"Jason, you sure you want to take him alone?" "Yeah, how bad can this be? He's still asleep" Hudson chuckles softly and gets in the car this was going to be a long ride. As time passed and Lear slowly woke up of course was groggy. "Where are we?" He mumbles slowly sits up "West Virginia" Hudson answers turning the radio down as Psycho Killer started playing. "Mhm..." Lear lays on his back starting to slam his feet against the window. "WHAT! KINDA GOVERNMENT AGENT TAKES MY SHOES! KEEPS ME HANDCUFFED! AND DIDN'T GIVE ME A SHI-" Lear stopped shouting once his feet went through the window. "Come on, Vincent calm down" Hudson pulls over and turns the car off making sure the back doors were locked before turning fully around in his seat. Hudson stared at Lear, who was shifting positions to get a good angle for his next kicking fit. "Your bleeding" "uh-huh" "You'll need stitches" "Uh-huh" "What are you doing?" "Uh-huh" "Vincent!!!" now not only was Hudson out a window he was now out of a rearview mirror "That's it" he climbs into the back and took his tie off using it to tie Lear's feet together.

End of flashback

Lear rubs his neck looking down as he lights a new cigarette "I fucking hate it here, it's so cold" he pulls his knees to his chest "Here" Hudson did something that hadn't happened in a long time, he pulled Lear into his lap resting his head against the others back. "In the forest after we lost contact...me and the team went to do the mission...we got caught under a lot of fire and..." Lear stops for a second putting his hands on top of Hudson's. "I got the bright idea to cause a distraction...it worked surprisingly, the plan I did worked...but I was caught and tortured..." With each part of the story, Hudson could feel Lear shake worse and worse "If you don't w-" "I need to tell someone" Lear collects his thoughts "I didn't know what fucking day it was...some grunt of Perseus...didn't like the answers I was giving so she...or he, I don't remember...they had a mask on...poured gas on my chest and lit it up" Lear was pouring tears but he wasn't finished "I got the shit kicked out of me when they tried to put the fire out...I'm so lucky....to have lived" he was done talking now exhausted he felt Hudson shift him so he could rest his head on Hudson's chest. "I didn't know, I should have done more to help you" Hudson was trying to comfort Lear but he hadn't done it in so long it was almost like he forgot, but it slowly came back to him remembering that Lear liked it when he ran his finger through his hair. So gently Hudson ran his finger through Lear's hair whispering comforting words as the door swung open. "I'm telling you there is almost n-" Adler stopped dead in his tracks as Bell bumps into him "What?...oh" Bell watches from behind Adler. "Woods owes me fifty bucks" Adler had a huge grin on his face, for two reasons one, he was going to be fifty bucks richer but secondly, because seeing Lear and Hudson cuddling meant no more fighting for now.

[riversofmars]

New chapter as I’m on a bit of a roll, yay! Please enjoy more questions and very few answers :)

Chapter 6: When Good People Go To War

Space, 52nd Century

“So the Library…“ Yaz crossed her arms in front of her chest feeling uncomfortable. She didn’t like not knowing what she was in for. “What are we going to find there?“

“A Library is a collection of books.“ Strax retorted matter-of-factly as he set the course. Even with hyper speed travel, it would take them a while to get there.

“It’s a planet.“ Vastra answered as Strax’s response was not very helpful. “A planet that has been turned into the biggest Library in the universe. At its core, the greatest computer and hard drive ever built, to store a copy of every book ever written… and after the Doctor left, also the consciousnesses of those who lost their lives there.“

“That must be really weird, people coming and going, checking out books and they’re there, watching it all?“ Yaz frowned, trying to wrap her head around it.

“Well, not quite like that. The Library isn’t actually being used anymore.“ Vastra smiled, though for a moment, the idea was a pleasant one. It certainly would make the Professor’s fate less lonely. “The Vashta Nerada have taken over the Library so no organic being would be safe to enter.“

“The what?“ Yaz asked, confused.

“The Vashta Nerada, shadows that can kill. Piranhas of the air, people like to call them, nasty things.“ Dorium threw in, shuddering at the thought.

“And Professor Song, her consciousness is in that computer?“ Yaz clarified and there were nods all round. “So, like… can we turn on a computer screen and talk to her?“ She was still struggling to imagine how they would go about this.

“If we can get past the Nashta Nerada first…“ Vastra nodded.

“It will be no matter, I shall take great joy in obliterating them.“ Strax announced.

“You do realise you can’t shoot shadows, Strax.“ Jenny pointed out with a roll of her eyes.

“I have brought UV grenades.“ The Sontaran grinned with excitement.

“We shall assess the situation upon our arrival, Strax.“ Vastra decided to put an end to the conversation before it would turn into a presentation of weapons equipment and engagement strategies.

“You wouldn’t mind… dropping me off somewhere first, would you?“ Dorium piped up. He wasn’t exactly eager to be part of this expedition. “Keep the shuttle as my contribution to the cause but I’d really much rather…“

“No, you played a large part in creating this mess. You can see to it being resolved.“ Vastra retorted curtly.

“It’s just, last time I was made to sign up to one of the Doctor’s causes, I lost a lot of… myself as it were. And all of you were there, too, so I’m not taking this for a good omen.“ Dorium tried to reason but Vastra wouldn’t hear of it.

“None of this is good, Mr. Maldovar.“

“Then, perhaps you wouldn’t mind clarifying something for me…“ He sighed, realising that he wouldn’t be able to get out of this that easily.

“What’s that then?“ Jenny asked.  

“You spoke of a child. Not the Timeless Child, the message I gave to the Professor, but an actual child… the Doctor’s child?“ Dorium said slowly, making sure he had heard them right. It shed a completely different light on things if it were true.

“The Professor was pregnant when she left Darillium chasing after the information you provided.“ Vastra replied pointedly. It didn’t serve to keep him in the dark but she also didn’t feel like sharing the Doctor’s personal affairs with him in great detail.

“The child was kidnapped. That’s why we’re here.“ Jenny explained more patiently than her wife.

“And you believe the same person that had me pass information to Professor Song is also behind the kidnapping.“ Dorium frowned, connecting the dots.

“The Master, yes.“ Yaz put in. That subject, at least, was one on which she could speak with some authority. She had met the Master and he seemed cruel and clever enough to be behind this, should he really have escaped death.

“And you’re sure of that?“ Dorium retorted with a frown.

“You yourself gave the description of the man.“ Yaz retorted. “And it sounded an awful lot like him.“

“It’s just… the last time a child was kidnapped…“ Dorium glanced to Vastra who lowered her gaze, recalling what he was referring to. “Am I the only one who feels like history is repeating itself?“

“How so?“ Yaz asked, looking around the room.

“The day Mr. Maldovar lost his body was the day that Doctor went after another stolen child. The child of their best friends…“ Vastra took it upon herself to explain. It was about time the caught Yaz up on key events of the Doctor’s past.

“She’s not dead, you know, Madame Kovarian.“ Dorium threw in.

“She has no power now. The Order of the Silence has disbanded. The Church stood with the Doctor at Tranzelore.“ Vastra shook her head, refusing to believe what he was inferring. Madame Kovarian’s plan to kill the Doctor had failed and the Order of the Silence hadn’t been heard of in a long time.

“A fanatic like Kovarian doesn’t just go away. Her obsession and anger just festers…“ Dorium carried on. “And what better way to take revenge than by taking the child of River Song herself…“

“I’m afraid you will have to fill me in on this…“ Yaz felt at a loss again. “Does the Doctor really have so many enemies?“ Having enemies seemed to come with the territory for the Doctor but neither the Cybermen nor the Daleks seemed the type to kidnap a child. The Master seemed to fit the brief a lot more but Yaz hadn’t considered that there were any number of past foes of the Doctor’s that could also be involved.

“There are a great many people out there who would do unspeakable things to hurt the Doctor.“ Vastra retorted bitterly.

“But to use a child…“ Yaz shook her head. The Master was without a doubt a lunatic so she could imagine it, but any sane person would surely draw the line at using someone’s child.

“It’s Kovarian’s modus operandi.“ Dorium couldn’t help but point out.

“A long time ago, the Doctor travelled with Amy Pond and Rory Williams. A lovely couple. Kind. Courageous…“ Vastra gave a little smile as she remembered the Ponds fondly. “The Doctor’s greatest weakness have always been the people they love… Amy was pregnant and the Order of the Silence kidnapped her, lead by the fanatic that is Madame Kovarian. The Doctor raised an army to get her back.“

“You were part of that army?“ Yaz looked to Dorium who gave a wary smile.

“We all were.“ Jenny interjected.

“A glorious battle! I very nearly met my demise.“ Strax stated, gratified at the memory. “What a disappointment when I woke up two days later…“ He added grumpily.

“I can see why you feel like history is repeating itself…“ Yaz nodded slowly. “Did you succeed?“

“Amy had her daughter while imprisoned by the Silence. Melody, she called her, Melody Pond.“ Vastra carried on. “And there was a battle: the battle for Demon’s Run.“

“Demons run when a good man goes to war.“ Dorium mumbled, the words still haunting him.

“The Doctor is a good man… woman, I mean…“ Yaz felt the need to point out.

“No doubt about that.“ Vastra nodded but with a bittersweet smile. “But their hubris got the better of them. Kovarian tricked them. We saved Amy but the child remained with Kovarian and they took her away…“

“What happened to her?“ Yaz’s eyes widened in shock. She couldn’t imagine the Doctor failing to save the child.

“She went to prison.“ Strax announced.

“Strax.“ Jenny shot him a glare and he huffed:

“Sorry, I got ahead of myself.“

“She was raised by the Silence and trained to be an assassin, her one purpose was to kill the Doctor.“ Vastra revealed.

“They raised a child to be a weapon?“ Yaz shook her head in disbelief.

“A most effective one.“ Vastra gave a sad smile.

“And did she…? I mean… the Doctor is still alive so… what happened to Melody? In the end?“ Yaz wasn’t sure whether she wanted to know the answer. She so badly wanted there to be a happy ending to the story but it seemed unlikely.

“She grew up and instead of killing the Doctor, she fell in love with them. Melody Pond became River Song.“ Vastra smiled at how wonderful a turn of events it had been. Tragic yes. And it didn’t undo all the pain any of them had been through, but something good had come out of it in the end.

Yaz didn’t know what to say. That was not the answer she had expected but somehow, it seemed to make perfect sense. River was a time traveller, too; and the Doctor had said how their timelines were running in complex patterns. Of course the Doctor’s wife was something extraordinary in herself. They seemed to suit each other just fine and despite everything, Yaz smiled at how extraordinary a tale it was. The lost child, the would be assassin, to become their wife. In many ways, it seemed like a fairy tale.

“She did go to prison though…“ Strax huffed, intent on making his point.

“She took the blame for the Doctor’s supposed death and went to prison but that’s just one of the examples of the length to which they will do for each other.“ Vastra conceded.

“But her parents… did they…“ Yaz couldn’t imagine what the parents must have gone through.

“They didn’t get to raise their child, no. They came to know her well and spent a lot of time with her but at the end of the day, they still lost their child…“ Vastra gave a sad smile.

“We can’t let that happen to the Doctor, we can’t!“ Yaz exclaimed, as she understood. The Doctor had seen the pain at the loss of a child in her best friends, it was no wonder she couldn’t think clearly. She was beginning to understand why the Doctor was acting the way she was. History was repeating itself and they couldn’t allow that to happen.

“I fully agree.“ Vastra nodded, as did the others.

“But you can see why taking their child would be the perfect revenge for someone like Madame Kovarian.“ Dorium mused.

“We can’t discount that possibility…“ Vastra admitted thoughtfully. So far, they had no evidence one way or another. All they could do was follow all possible leads until one paid off.

“I shall make some enquires…“ Dorium decided. He knew she wasn’t going to be let of the hook so he might as well get on with it. “If you wouldn’t mind getting me a neuro transmitter to pair to the shuttles communication equipment, in the drawer to your left…“ Strax followed his instruction and retrieved the item. “So annoying, I was gonna have the chip for instant control of this ship implanted next week…“ Dorium sighed. Dreadful timing.

“I shall leave you to make your enquires, Mr. Maldovar. I fear I may require a lie down, I don’t think I’m quite myself yet…“ Vastra nodded and stood slowly, feeling exhausted.

“This way, Ma’am.“ Jenny looped her arm around her and lead her further into the shuttle.

Strax supplied Dorium with a little chip that he attached to his temple before returning to his apparent favourite activity: searching the shuttle for anything that could be used as a weapon. There was no way of knowing what might come in handy, he’d insisted.

They left Yaz to ponder what she had just learned. She found a seat by the window, stars rushing past so quickly she couldn’t make them out. So she stared into the emptiness of deep space. Learning about the Doctor’s past was painful. She couldn’t even begin to understand what she had been through. It certainly cast her behaviour in a a different light. She could only hope they would succeed where the Doctor had failed in the past.

——

The TARDIS

The TARDIS landed on Gallifrey with it’s usual wheezing and groaning and somewhere in the back of the Doctor’s mind, River scolded her for leaving the breaks on. Thousands of years worth of habit weren’t corrected as easily as that. The memory made her smile, despite herself. She flicked on a monitor and scanned the outsides to see whether the death particle had rendered the planet uninhabitable or if its effects had dispersed. It appeared to be the latter as the TARDIS couldn’t detect anything that would be harmful to her.

She didn’t step outside straight away. She wasn’t quite prepared to face Gallifrey again just yet. It wasn’t just the destruction she had left in her wake, or the prospect of finding the Master - dead or alive. It was the painful memories of both the recent and the very distant past. Stalling for time, the Doctor decided to put on a fresh shirt as she was starting to feel uncomfortable in her sweaty, sticky clothes.

The Doctor hadn’t used her bedroom in over nineteen years, since before her imprisonment by the Juddoon. She hadn’t exactly had time for a lie down whilst fighting the Daleks upon her return. She’d barely had had a moment to breath, let alone sleep. Thankfully, Time Lords didn't require much sleep as she used to point out to River. She corrected herself in her own mind. It wasn’t that Time Lords didn’t require much sleep… whatever species she was didn’t require it… Or should she continue referring to herself as a Time Lord and just adjust her viewpoint that the people of Gallifrey weren’t? Had they just been poor imitations of what a Time Lord should be? She shook her head to herself, clearing her mind. She was distracting herself with things that were entirely inconsequential.

She found her bedroom the way she had left it: A mess. She stepped over books, clothes and empty custard creams packets on her way to the wardrobe. The content of the wardrobe itself was the oddest collection of clothes one could have imagined. There were shirts and jumpers dotted with question marks, various three piece suits, capes, leather jackets and blazers, long coats in all shapes and sizes, scarfs, bow ties, hats, braces… The Doctor stalled her flicking through when she found a green dress. They weren’t just her clothes. The Doctor pushed it aside and carried on, but there was the suit she’d worn on Darillium, the Stetson River had put a hole through, River’s Melody Malone trench coat… Tears blurred the Doctor’s vision. She had kept her emotions concerning River locked away so neatly all that time and everything was boiling to the surface. She missed her so much. She was furious with her for leaving Darillium when she did, particularly keeping the secrets she had, but there was so much love too. So much longing. The had worked through her grief in the years since Darillium. She had locked the painful feelings away, and now, the loss of her love hurt more keenly than ever before.

The Doctor took a deep breath and grabbed a change of clothes. Her emotional state would only get worse if she delayed.

The trousers were a bit long, but she stuffed them into the tops of her boots. The shirt fitted surprisingly well, she had been stick-thin a few regenerations back, all she had to do was turn the sleeves up. Braces were braces, they didn’t get sweaty so she kept them. She contemplated the bow tie but decided against it. Perhaps that would be going a bit far. She took comfort in the familiar clothes. The shirt she’d worn the first time she had met River in the Library, the trousers that still had sand from the beach of Lake Silencio in its pockets… She was just about to grab what River had like to refer to as a magician’s coat when the TARDIS interrupted: It came to life around her, humming and wheezing, demanding her attention. Colour drained from the Doctor’s face as she bolted from her bedroom, down the corridor towards the control deck. She had made a grave mistake.

——

Sheffield, 2021

“Did we really have to go right now?“ Graham looked to Kate who was driving. She had insisted they pack the essential right away so they could get going.

“Well, it’s a four-and-a-half-hour drive and I would like to sleep in my own bed tonight. Well, I say my own bed… it’s been home for a few months now.“ The former UNIT chief answered as she indicated and pulled onto the motorway. “But we really can’t take the risk of hanging around. We don’t have time to lose.“

“Where are we going?“ Ryan asked looking out of the window, well-lit Meadowhall shrunk away in the distance.

“UNIT officially doesn’t exist anymore so we can’t use their bases or equipment, it would be too easy to find us if activity was detected, but we can’t do completely without resources. There have been other organisations dealing with the extraterrestrial that have closed down as well, there are bases all over the UK if you know where to look.“ Kate explained focusing on the road ahead.

“Four and half hours… London?“ Graham asked, looking outside as well. That wouldn’t be right. They were heading north on the M1.  

“No, other direction, we’re going to Glasgow.“ Kate revealed with a smile.

“Okay, this is not what I expected…“ Graham looked out of the window as they pulled up at their destination. It was the middle of the night but it was a clear one. The moon provided enough light to outline the surrounding area.

“You should know not to judge a book by its cover by now.“ Kate smile, amused, as they got out of the car. They found themselves in a parking lot not far from the River Clyde. The area seemed rough, there weren’t any people around. “This way, gentlemen.“ She called over her shoulder as she marched up to an abandoned warehouse and opened up a rushy looking panel on the wall.

“That’s a bit more like it.“ Ryan mumbled to Graham as he spotted the hand print reader that didn’t look rusty at all.

“Nothing like a good disguise. It’s not a chameleon circuit but it does the trick.“ Kate pressed her hand to the pad and the door slid opened. They stepped into what looked like an empty warehouse and this time, Graham and Ryan knew not to comment until Kate had revealed the next level of security. “Just over there, the elevator.“

“You have to be kidding me.“ Graham shook his head to himself. The elevator, if it could be called that, was a metal cage that looked a good fifty years old. It didn’t exactly look safe.

“I’m sure you’ve experienced worse with the Doctor.“ Kate pointed out as she got inside.

“I suppose that’s true.“ Ryan huffed. The got in the lift and Kate pressed the button to send them down. Wherever down was. The elevator stuttered a little, then it went through what looked like two rings of light and suddenly, the brittle metal around them transformed to sleek carbon alloy. The warehouse disappeared from view as they sped towards their destination.

“Woah…“ Ryan didn't know what else to say as the cart ground to a halt and they found themselves in a sort of air lock. This was not what they had expected to find below a riverside warehouse in a dodgy area of Glasgow.

“Where are we?“ Graham asked as the airlock opened, rolling aside to grant them passage.

“This, gentlemen, is Torchwood Two.“ The stepped into what looked like a vast laboratory. It was like a whole building under ground. There was an entrance area, a corridor with rooms shooting off it, most of the walls were made of glass and allowed them to scan the impressive underground structure. There were stairs going downward too and some more leading up again. It wasn’t unlike stepping out of the TARDIS and finding yourself on an advanced alien planet.

“Torchwood? Isn’t that where what’d-his-face used to…“ Ryan started but was interrupted:

“Welcome home, Chief!“ A voice boomed down the corridor as none other than Jack Harkness stuck his head out of what appeared to be the kitchen. He saluted, as he always did, with great enthusiasm. “Oh, I don’t know which one of you to kiss first, come here you two, I’ve missed you!“ He grinned at Ryan and Graham.

“Steady on, Captain.“ Kate smirked and Jack settled for tight hugs.

“Careful with the wandering hands.“ Another female and distinctly Welsh voice sounded rather amused.

“You obviously know Captain Jack Harkness.“ Kate chuckled. “And this is Agent Gwen Cooper.“ She gestured towards a brunette that made her way towards them. Gwen gave a little wave.

“Nice to meet you.“ She greeted them with a warm smile as she joined them at the entrance. “Glad to have all the help we can get.“

“This is awesome, I had no idea we have places like this on Earth.“ Ryan was still in awe, looking around.

“No-one is supposed to know. UNIT has several places like this but they would be too tightly guarded. The Torchwood Institute disbanded quite a long time ago now.“ Kate explained patiently as they started making their way down the main corridor. “With Torchwood One and Three destroyed and Four missing, Two was our best bet. It had been shut down but we’ve done our best to revive it.“

——

The Library, 52nd Century

“What are you doing here?“ Anita found her voice and she addressed the woman who had appeared with the child. The woman didn’t respond, she didn’t seem to have heard her at all, she just carried on with her work. “Hello?“ Anita walked around them and waved her arms but no reaction from either her, or the child.

“This is a memory.“ River realised as she looked around. She watched, fascinated and horrified in equal measures as time seemed to skip ahead. The examinations, experimentations and tests continued but the child changed!

“Are they experimenting on children?“ Anita exclaimed in shock but River started to slowly shake her head. As they watched, things were started to make sense to her.

“Not children… child. It’s all the same child, just regenerated…“ Her Time Lord like senses told her as much.

“The Timeless Child?“ Anita felt like she was finally catching on.

“I was wrong, I was so very wrong.“ River mumbled feeling incredibly stupid all of a sudden. “We’re not talking about my child, not at all. This is the long distant past on Gallifrey, this…“

She watched mortified as the woman injected herself with the result of her work and suddenly, she regenerated. She had created the ability to regenerate, using the child!

“River, what is happening?“ Anita stepped closer to River again. Why were they seeing this?

“I saw glimpses of this when I was in the Matrix.“ River realised. “This is a Time Lord’s memory. A very old and most likely very well hidden memory…“

“But what is it doing here?!“ Anita’s voice was turning more anxious and River could feel it too. Something was very wrong. Were they still in the Library computer or had they been transported somewhere? Surely, they had to still be in the computer, they had no bodies in the real world; but something was very wrong indeed. Maybe some sort of virus? But why was it reflecting her own memories. Was she making it happen? “River, what’s going on?“

“I don’t know…“ River admitted weakly, her head spinning.

“River?“ The looked around to see CAL who had suddenly appeared inside the lab with them.

“What is it, CAL? Did something happen to the core, is there a malfunction or…“ River felt better for seeing her. It confirmed that they were still in the Library but the look on the young girl’s face was disconcerting. “Are you creating this?“

“No.“ The girl shook her head. “Are you?“

“I don’t know. I was just thinking about this but… everything that’s happening now, I didn’t see before. It’s new.“ She turned back to find the scene suddenly paused. They seemed to have reached the end of the memory.

“You said the Matrix was similar to this computer…“ Anita seemed to feel a little better when the memory stopped playing. “Maybe that’s why…“

Suddenly, CAL went very pale. She looked around, her eyes staring into nothingness, like she was looking beyond the artificial world they were in.

“Someone is in the Library.“ She said fearful. She had noticed too late, she had let her guard down in the peaceful world she had created.

“Are you sure?“ River didn’t know whether to be unsettled or excited. Who could have come to the Library? Who would have known to come and where to look and how to get in? As curious and disturbing the change to the virtual reality was, she couldn’t help but hope that maybe, the Doctor had come to find her. “Who is it?“ She asked quickly. “Is it the Doctor? Did he do this?“

“Oh no, actually, that would have been me.“

The voice was unfamiliar and yet, somehow, River recognised it. Regeneration could be funny like that.

[betweentheracks]

On a scale of 1-5000, how annoyed do you get when people have the gall to tell you, “Wow! You’re so lucky!” when they find out that you work in entertainment and with celebrities?

Also on a scale of 1-5000, how unimpressed are you with the celebrities you end up working with?

Please share some horror stories so we can commiserate over nightmare clients! 😂

Yeef and also yikes, do I actually want to dive into this particular can of worms? Lmao. 

I thoroughly see spots of red in my vision whenever people try to do the whole “Wow, that’s really cool and lucky for you! How many famous people have you met or worked with? Your life must be so glamorous and exciting!!” Like please, spare me. It isn’t glitz and glitter all the time - in fact, the fun parts are in the minority of how working in this industry goes. Beyond that, I’m not ‘lucky,’ I worked my ass off to pull this off and have never slowed my pace (until this COVID-19 chaos) to ensure my post remains relevant. In accordance to your ranking, I guess I would go with 4999 points annoyed.

Frankly, my rating and impressions of my clients are like a river that flows on and on and yet there is no apparent water to be found. I have a good rapport with most of the ones I am contracted with exclusively, but they're prone to make my feelings change from sentence to the next. Celebrities will forever remain exhaustively effervescent. 

If you really want some dish, I can offer up some from a client I once worked with in my apprenticeship and how much I hate the time I had to spend with her while also retaining a sense of gratitude for helping shape me into someone that can withstand some of the prickly goings-on of the industry. She wasn’t even my client, as I was merely apprenticing and therefore was little more than a ghost that shadowed one of the veterans of our company. I’m highlighting this now before diving into the thick of what was the worst week in my career thus far because it is extremely important to keep in mind that I was under no actual obligation to work with this woman. 

Ahem, so, story time! Let me start off with first making it clear that even now I will only work with actresses and actors when I have no viable means of refusal. This is simply a preference of mine and stems mostly from this woman’s behaviors and treatments of me and some of the crew I worked with at the time. I was quite young when I entered my apprenticeship, like barely more than 20, and I was simultaneously accustomed and starstruck by the world I was entering. Before the apprenticeship, I had already been working off and on via temporary contracts and commissions as a MUA at the time, so I knew the ends and outs of the place and the people that worked my end of it. However, I hadn’t worked with many clients one on one as either a MUA or as an aspiring wardrobe stylist. Due to this I was still very green and awkward and hadn’t yet figured out the line between casual and professional (to this day, for me, this line is nearly nonexistent) and I tended to make a mess whenever I opened my mouth so mostly I kept quiet and melded into my role as an observing trainee with occasionally useful ideas but was mostly just an extra pair of hands. The stylist I was shadowing was, in a word, cumbersome. They weren’t a very great teacher and had a tendency to drop projects into my lap without much proper instruction or insight and would leave me to attempt making sense of what was wanted by means of vision boards and client portfolios. In much a similar fashion, when a scheduling conflict came up involving the actress which will star in this tale and another more major artist; naturally, he had to see to the client he had a more tangible contract with and stuck me with wrangling our golden girl. 

Within the first 4 sentences of our first exchange as stylist and client I hated her immensely. She was the type of client I abhor to work with; overbearing and demanding, thankless and impatient. She was in the midst of her career finally catching some interest which is the most pivotal time in any celebrity’s career and I like to think she was so bitchy and just plain mean due to the stress and pressure she was under but it doesn’t make what happened any more justifiable. Her immediate and first words to me were, “You’re young and clueless enough to be my baby sister. Whatever authority you think you can have in dictating what I wear ended with the sound of the door opening when you stepped in, get that straight now.” I remember this extremely clearly because I went from gobsmacked to incensed within the time it takes to pop the top on a can of soda. But! I knew at least enough to know to keep my mouth shut and temper my immediate dislike of this person and tried to push forward and steer the conversation in the direction of what her ideal style and presentation should be. It went well enough for all of an hour tops before she domed me again by calling me “baby sis” in place of my name. As I am, in fact, the baby sis of my family I am well aware of when a power play is being maneuvered in on me and spotted this for what it was: her trying to remind me that I had no right to be speaking to her, let alone designing her. This was a culmination of her being upset and put out that she wasn’t chosen by my mentoring stylist and was stuck with someone that had basically no merits behind her. 

Calling me this wasn’t really an issue for me, but it did chafe against my skin enough to make me feel uncomfortable and anxious. Still, I let it slide and she continued to call me as such for the duration of our time together. The true horror of this story is what comes next and the escalation from minor verbal insults meant to belittle me fanned into blatant sabotage. She and I had come to a sort of estranged agreement when it came to modeling her vision board - she wanted to retain some traces of her perceived sweet and demure self from when she was cast in her first role, but play up the maturity and grace she held now and have it reinvented into timeless class while holding a touch of being chic. It was a headache to make sense of since, from a the perspective of fashion and trends at that time, this wasn’t the ideal and even seemed counterintuitive to someone in her position and of her age. I went along with it and threw myself into the quest to pull from the brands she mentioned liking most and for days I learned firsthand how exhausting and tedious it is to make acquisitions and swear responsibilities/accountabilities one after the other and put my name and my company on the line. I handpicked every item and steadily managed to pull off forming my second ever ensemble of 4 sets of styles each with 2 or 3 substitution items that could alter the look entirely while still remaining within the realm of what the client had asked for. I worked upward of 13 hours for 4 days and when I finally was able to bring the client to her showroom and present my designs, I was only able to feel relieved for mere minutes before she began to yell and make a scene. She demanded my supervisor and the head of the styling department of our company both come to tend to her and see what a mockery I had made of her ideal image. She went on to use her acting quirks to insinuate that I had gone off half-cocked and overruled her every idea and word and then dared to present her with such low quality fashions. She even managed to produce a vision board that was entirely different from the one she and I had planned together! It was obviously done by herself and lacked the detailed attention any of the stylists housed in our company would have added, but it was convincing enough to appear damning. 

At this point my head was in a weird place, trying to make sense of the perilous world I was throwing myself into and the fact that this was actually happening to me at all and wasn’t just me daydreaming while watching daytime dramas. After I worked through that initial shock, I was more than mad but less than enraged. I was confused as to why this client was being so purposefully obstinate and difficult for me, even briefly wondered what sort of grievance I could have possibly cost her when I had only just met her and had done my utmost to seem cool and pro like all the seasoned stylists I had worked with. I thought I was going to lose my job and have to go back to my family with my tail between my legs and tell them they were right and I never should have strayed from my original course and career path. I only became aware that I was crying, like big fat tears that made a mess of my face and were embarrassing to the point that I wanted to flee, because my supervisor had given me his handkerchief. It was at this point that I teetered and looked deeply at the person accusing me and wasting my time and efforts and realized that it wasn’t about me and was only ever about her. This moment of clarity, though, was like the opening of a gate I had been clinging to all week in hopes of keeping all my spurned senses quietly simmering beneath my skin rather than wreck my name and finish off my chances before they truly begun. I very rudely told my supervisor and the department head that if they needed proof of my hardwork and dedication to the vision of a thoughtless actress caught in the weeds of her own wilting fame then they were free to examine my copy of the original vision board and compare it with the one she had; that they could check through the 15 or so LORs under my name and in her stead (both names are featured for security means). Anyway, she was attempting to spill a stain across our company and specifically the stylist in charge of me for blowing her off. Her idea was that if I failed in a big way it would make him look like a horrible mentor and cost him some of his reputation. I was merely cannon fodder.

This got insanely long - let’s put it up to me also being a storyteller and writer as well as very passionate about this encounter. It sparked the timid embers of my uncertain pursuit of my career into a fire that has since gotten me through many other rounds of hard hitting clients and their excessive personalities and entitled arrogance. I love my job a lot, but man is this industry full of bullies.  

[foreverandaday-1]

Tenderly They Turned To Dust All That I Adored

Inspired by @julielilac s post/gif on the doctor and the master. The first 14 lines of a dialogue are hers, with a few minor changes.

I kind of went on a tangent, and turned this into a weirdly tense hurt/comfort fic, but oh well. Also inspired by my Renamed fic on AO3, under foreverandaday_1

��Doctor,’ came a voice from the shadowed corner.

‘We meet at last,’ said the woman, equally as wary, yet with a predatory sharpness to her eyes. She wanted answers, and she would get them.

‘I’d like to say I’m glad to see you, but I’m not,’ he said, a slight teasing note, something comfortable but still wary.

‘Shame. I was actually hoping for a welcome for a welcome kiss,’ she returned, voice relaxed slightly.

‘Oh really?’ was his reply, full of put-on amusement to mask the confusion at her unusual playfulness. Yet playfulness wasn’t right, unless describing the way a lion played with its soon-to-be-dead food.

‘I was joking,’ her tone was back to serious.

‘Right. So why are you here then?’

‘I’m looking for answers and you are well aware of this. Who or what the timeless child is, and why you destroyed our home,’ she raised her eyebrows, as if offended by his question, it was obvious what she wanted.

He huffed out a laugh, looking amused. She didn’t notice his slight twinge when moving his ribs.

‘Also, what happened to your hair?’ curiosity was evident in her voice, and she was trying not to compliment him. Luckily she was distracted by the hopefully-soon-to-be-given answers.

‘There were difficulties in escaping from the Kasaavin Dimension.’

‘And yet you were able to escape?’

He huffed, ‘no thanks to you.’

‘You were expecting me to help? Why would I put you somewhere, that took effort and time, just to bring you back out again? A little counterproductive don’t you think?’

‘As if I’d want help from you.’

She smirked, ‘so no help with your injury?’

‘What injury?’ he played off.

‘You’re ribs, I saw you wince.’

‘I’m perfectly capable, thanks.’

‘Manners? Take off your shirt Kos.’

‘Trying to undress me?’

She sighed, crossing her arms.

‘I’m fine.’ 

She raised her eyebrows.

‘Ok, ok, maybe I could collapse within an hour, but it’s not that bad.’

‘Shirt. Off.’

‘Fine. you’re ever so bossy, love. I can’t say it’s just in this regeneration either.’

She ignored his comments, and, thankfully, only slightly affected by the pet name. ‘That looks painful. No wonder you were wincing,’ she moved closer, ‘go lay on the table.’

He rolled his eyes before doing as she said, flinching slightly as he bent his torso. She prodded at the bruised skin of his chest. There was a slightly green glow coming from the deep purple bruised across his lower right ribs. She tried not to enjoy inflicting pain, but sometimes it was nice to have revenge, even if that reinstated her hypocrisy. 

‘So,’ he said after a few minutes, ‘you going to do anything?’

‘I want an explanation of what the hell happened to you later.’

‘Of course, love.’

Well there’s an easier way and a harder way.’

‘For me or for you?’

‘Easy for me, painful for you. Easy for you, stupid for me.,’ she tilted her head, thinking. His mental barriers were just out of reach. Even though it was a bad idea to get closer again, she wanted to. The last time before the Paris thing had been centuries ago, and sometimes her mind felt empty. Lonely without another presence.

‘Well I vote the least painful way.’

‘For me or for you?’ her voice was looser and calmer, she was relaxed in his presence. It probably wasn’t the best idea but it was as if they were young again, without the millennia of pain and fire separating the strands of time.

He smirked at that, looking like he wanted to laugh. She walked towards his head with a contemplative expression, before voicing her thoughts.

‘There’s a quick way, and it’s not like I don’t have any left. Who knows how many I actually have.’

He grimaced, ‘about that…’

‘What?’

‘You have an infinite amount.’

‘I’m going to ignore the fact that you shouldn’t know that, and jump straight to what the hell?’

‘That's not for today's conversation, because I also happen to have none.’

‘You have, but… If you die, you’ll be dead?’

‘That is how death works, love.’

She rolled her eyes, ‘I mean, permanently, no resurrection or trick or stupidly thought out yet genius plan to surprise me again?’

‘No, dead as in gone forever.’

‘But you can’t,’ she said thickly, almost crying for the first time, she realised, with this particular face.

He looked shocked that she was actually voicing some feeling for once.

‘Koschei,’ she said, looking in his eyes, voice carrying the musical lilt of Galifreyan, ‘you can’t die, not now.’ Not ever.

He smiled at the language, one that they hadn’t spoken for a long time. It was a genuine smile, not seen for as equally as long of a time.

‘You said you had an idea, Theta,’ he said softly, comforting with a press of his consciousness against hers.

‘I,’ she sniffed, ‘ when River… you know who she is right?’

He nodded, ‘one of three humans I can tolerate, yes.’

‘Because River had… weird genes… when she broke her wrist, I used regeneration energy to heal it. I wasn’t able to regenerate for a few hours after, or heal as fast, but it worked.’

‘Awfully sentimental of you.’

‘She was important, and had pretended to be fine for my benefit.’ she paused, before looking up at him. ‘How come you don’t mind that I married her?’

‘While I may hate your pets because they don’t deserve your attention, she was different. She was important to you, and not a pet of yours. I could actually get on with her, and have an intelligent conversation.’

She smiled, happy that two people that shaped her life could have gotten along.

‘Now love, enough of the emotion, we should get to your plan.’

‘I can use my, apparently limitless, regeneration energy to heal you. It might have to be a full one, to properly work, but I don’t think you’ll change,’ she sounded happier, a slight touch of sarcasm evident in her voice.

‘Won’t that mean you can’t regenerate for a while? Or that you’ll regenerate with me?’

‘Possibly. But, again with River, when she revived me, she didn’t change.’

‘What?’

‘She may have killed me after regenerating before giving up all of hers to bring me back to life.’

‘Ignoring the fact that she of all people managed to actually kill you for the first time in all of history…’

‘It’s probably why Daleks seem terrified of her,’ she cut in.

‘... yes, but you need a mental and physical connection.’

‘Yep, full open contact between consciousnesses, and a close physical contact, with as many inner surfaces close.’

‘You and River, properly married?’

‘Yeah, Bonded and everything. It was partly in a separate timeline that no longer exists and also never existed.’

‘Okay, but, love, mouth to mouth?’

‘I wasn’t entirely joking when I mentioned a welcome kiss earlier.’

‘I didn’t think so.’

They stayed close together, and she stood by his form laying on the table, hands clasped in each others. They reached out their minds, before he sat up, wincing. Both closed their eyes, physical sight wasn’t needed. 

They leaned together, hand-to-hand, forehead-to-forehead, hearts-to-hearts.

‘Contact.’

Contact.

They both whispered it quietly, and spoke loudly in their minds. Volume didn’t matter as much as intent did. Intent to re-bond completely after a lifetime of mental separation. It took both eons, and no time at all.

It was an explosion of thought and feeling. A sensation unlike any other, yet reminiscent of coming home. A sense of welcoming in a place long forgotten yet forever remembered. A contradiction and cycle, of my thought is yours, your thought is mine. Memories were absorbed, and information shared.

She tugged on the always-there well of energy, as if waking it up. It swirled within her, before spreading out to her limbs, gathering at her fingertips. 

His hands glowed the same pale gold, as the tangible glow drew up his arms. They pushed closer still, tilting their necks to have better access.

Her lips pressed to his. His lips pressed to hers.

The energy pushed through completely, moving around them both. A swirl of pale gold and a feeling of life hanging in the air.

The glow collected around his injury, the bruised fading, sickly green hue leached away. Small scars knitted seamlessly, and any more bruises disappeared. His ribs shifted slightly, returning to their original position.

After a few seconds, minutes, hours, she stepped back. Not just one, but continually walking back to the door.

‘It’s not the time to ask,’ she smiled with an air of bittersweetness. ‘We’ll find each other when we’re ready.’

[halo-jpeg]

Bearable | A Reddie Fanfiction

Read it from the beginning

Chapter 6.5

After 8:00 pm Stanley hadn't expected any more customers- Mrs. Earnshaw had told him he could close just after 9:00, which was a mere 30 minutes away. Curled up behind the counter with The Shining held in shaking hands, he was letting the time slip slowly by as the sweet aroma of flora and fauna soothed the otherwise expected fear from his veins. Despite the steadily rising intensity of the book, Stan simply couldn't feel afraid. Even as Jack Torrance ran from bloodthirsty hedge animals, the atmosphere was too pleasant to be spoiled by nerves. Roses on Deane was a beautiful little shop and Stan had discovered a newfound interest in plant life because of it; with only one day of work experience, he was already captivated by the leaves and the petals, the different soils, the surprising amount of knowledge and care it took to nurse and mother a plant. The shop wore dark Jacobean-toned paneling, shelves and shelves of flourishing plants lining each and every one. The lights were dim during the evening, allowing the red-hued artificial ones to feed the plants as needed throughout the course of the night, giving everything the feel as if he were disconnected from the world. If he let his imagination wander, he could convince himself that this building, his building, was floating in a state of suspension, where time had stilled and he could sit, silent, for the rest of eternity.

Ever since he was a child he had used this state of suspension as a getaway. From the ages two to seven, the trigger, the gateway, the one thing that allowed the disconnect had been his nightlight. To Stan, that nightlight in the shape of a star, giving off it's warm gold hue, had meant safety and youth. As he grew, the nightlight passed away and instead his trigger was the space in his closet, where he had stuck small luminescent stars and hidden away whenever anything grew difficult. He'd go through his bird books and drown out the sounds of his parents fighting downstairs in the kitchen. After the closet, the disconnect came with more of a scenario than a place or an object. This scenario was harder to achieve, but when it happened, when he managed to let his mind float away, he had felt safer than ever before. This scenario was the feeling of the Barrens with Eddie and Bill. The endless hum of the Kenduskeag rushing on it's endless course often grabbed hold of his thoughts and carried them away right with it, down towards the ocean and out to sea. It often washed away everything except for his two closest friends. Together, in silence, the three would do nothing but sit and bask in the still nothingness, the timeless sense of being with one another and needing not to worry about school or bullies or the future. Roses on Deane was already emanating the soft, enveloping comfort, the warm tones and safe hues of a gateway. Without needing to debate it, Stanley knew that he would never be harmed here, among the plants and the flowers, surrounded by the rich scent of life and growth.

With his nose in his book, minutes passed though he hardly felt them. To be entirely honest, Stan could have sat there until long past closing time, time both entirely unmoving and racing past him all at once. The only reason he didn't was because he was given a customer- at least, he thought it was a customer until he placed his origami crane, folded out of deep blue gold-star speckled paper and used as a bookmark, into it's place and glanced up to greet them with a smile. That smile grew soft, surprised, almost, at the sight Bill Denbrough rather than anyone else who would have actually been interested in plants.

"H-Hey," He said with a gentle grin, approaching the counter, "Just w-wanted to stop by and say h-hello," Stanley rose from his seat, setting the book aside. He was about to greet Bill right back, maybe ask what he was doing out so late at night, but before he could Bill swiped the book from the countertop and flipped open to where Stan had left off. Reading a few lines with gently squinted eyes (it was difficult for Bill to read in the low-light, especially since he would soon discover he needed low-prescription reading glasses) he was reminded of exactly what had happened up to that point, and returned the book once more. "Great book, hu-huh? It only gets bu-better, trust me." Bill hopped up onto the counter, "So, h-how was the fir-irst day?" Stan had expected the tender atmosphere to wane, or maybe to shatter completely, at the sense of another presence- but Bill's being here only made it better. Stan leaned forwards, forearms rested on the aged wood of the cashiers till, and shrugged his shoulders.

"Slow, but... pleasant." A silence fell over the two like a weighted blanket. They didn't need to speak. If anyone understood Stan's need to retreat into silence, into this other world of the disconnect, it was Bill. He had never judged or laughed or mocked- Eddie hadn't, either, of course, but anyone could tell that he sometimes thought Stan to be... almost silly, in the way that he so often craved the quiet, the slowness. "What are you doing out so late?" At last Stanley voiced his question in a gentle, fuzzy tone, delicate like the soft pink petals of the flowers on display beside his elbow. They stood tall and proud from an intricate blue-glass vase, flourishing in the perfect conditions the shop provided. Just as it promised safety to Stan, it promised it to these plants. Bill scanned around, soaking in the details, relishing in them in the same way as his friend, and then finally responded, his voice just as light,

"Me and Eddie went to Richie's for dinner," He explained, "There aren't any leftovers but I can help you make something for yourself when we get home." Quirking a brow, Stan was met with a soft wave of questions, popping up like small green buds breaking from the dirt.

"You and Eddie? Willingly?" Stan asked with a hum, tilting his head and running his fingers gently through his curls, "And what do you mean 'we'? Are you... staying here?"

"It was... actually Eddie's idea, for dinner. Well... he got the call from Richie. I think he just wanted an excuse to hang up on his mom. She called him," Bill toed off his shoes and pulled his feet up onto the counter to sit cross-legged, in order to better look at Stan. The soft lighting bathed his face in an orange colour, giving him the image of a statue of gold. "It was actually pretty nice. We watched The Birds. I was thinking of how much you would've liked that movie the entire time- horror might not be your favourite, but I think you'd actually laugh," With a chuckle, Bill flashed his handsome grin, "It's stupid. And," he moved on to address Stan's last question, "If you didn't mind, I thought, maybe... I could stick around until you have to close up. I have nothing else planned and I missed you today."

"Oh," Stan straightened up, clasping his hands together, "I," He struggled for the words, something he rarely did, and then swallowed the lump in his throat and recomposed himself, "That would be nice, I think. If you really don't mind." Joining Bill on the counter, Stan removed his own shoes. Now, the two were sitting facing one another, legs crossed. It was no secret, at least to himself, that he had a crush on Bill. He had known it for years now- Bill was... perfect, in every form of the word. He was handsome and smart, and he had an extroverted self-assurance that Stan envied more than anything; but what Stan had really fallen for was the kindness, the endless fields of it. Bill was always kind. It amazed Stanley sometimes. There was music in the shop, so silent that he had hardly noticed it until now, in the total stillness. Mrs. Earnshaw enjoyed classical. He enjoyed classical all the same. "Hey, Bill?" Stan asked, his hands clasped in his lap. Bill met his gaze with his own, steady, steady.

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever... miss Derry? I know we haven't been gone for long, but..." Stan shrugged. He suddenly felt very silly for even asking. Again, Bill chuckled, a low sound that was anything but mocking. It was almost sad, the timbre of it, and Stan realized he wanted to take Bill's hand. He didn't.

"Yeah, I do."

"What do you miss most?" For a moment, Bill pondered, and then he said,

"The Barrens." Stan agreed with a small nod. Silence again, warm and comfortable. "What about you?"

"Probably the river. Sitting in the sunlight, surrounded by the nature and the water, even though it didn't always smell the best." As if having read his thoughts, Bill reached forwards and took both of Stan's hands in his. Bill's blue eyes were the same shade as the sky above the Barren's treetops. He didn't have to explain what he meant when he spoke,

"We'll find a new place like that here, I promise. It'll happen, soon, I'm sure. A new place where we can all just... sit. And be. Maybe a place where everyone else can be with us, too." Stan felt that this moment, right now, with his hands in Bill's, their faces inches apart- he felt like this moment was more important than it seemed to be on the surface. Like there was more to it than just a promise between friends. It felt almost like the day before, in Portland Authentic with Richie, with Ben, with Mike and Eddie and Beverly behind the counter. Something similar yet drastically different from the disconnect weighed on his shoulders, something else that was comforting but in an entirely different way. The disconnection comforted him because he felt nothing- this new weight, the overbearing presence he had felt for no more than a moment, had been like that of a mothers love. For the briefest moment the solidity fell out from under him and he really was floating- but then, he was right back there with Bill in front of him and his whole entire future stretching wide and endless like the oceans led to by the Kenduskeag.

[autorepliicant]

Starter for @xpendble​ ♥ It was the usual, very familiar routine that Daniel took up again when he decided to leave his room, which was not a matter of relief, because every time the android left his apartment, a feeling came over him of flight and fight. It has been a few years, the past events no longer played a real role or a matter in the society of the city, but Daniel knew better - or at least he thought he was convinced enough to believe his paranoia and fear. His face was hidden in the depths of the collar of a black winter jacket, on the whole the android wore quite inconspicuous clothes, as these merged with the night, making Daniel almost invisible if he would go into the shadows. It was cold, light snow fell from the dark clouds of the sky, which could only be seen in a faint gray and the bright orange or white mixture of the lights of Detroit. He tried everything possible to avoid the city center, or to reach the core in general. The carer bypassed the lanterns or crossed the other side of the street as soon as he seemed to hear a voice, be it the voice of a human or another android - either way, the blondehaired found it difficult to pick up trust or any kind of courage when it came to socialization or to exchange conversations. As much as he preferred his own isolation and loneliness, with each passing day, with each week that seemed to fly by with its timeless wings, he was overwhelmed by that solitariness, as if he were being strangled from breathing. If he weren't able to bathe in the company of his brother every day, what would have happened to him? How would it have been if androids went mad from solitude? He crossed a small tunnel bridge, at that time nobody would venture into the area the PL600 was aiming for anyway, unless one happened to be homeless or tired of life. He was well aware about the nooks and crannies and the dangers in this very section and was rarely bothered in this perilous part of the city - in the end, he knew how to deal with them. The air grew cooler, as Daniel left the tunnel and walked up a hilly road to an observation deck near the docks. He stood there, watching the black water, the surface of which a silver light was reflected, hands rested on the iron bars of the bridge demarcation. During the day the merchant ships or boats for the tourists drove through here, but now it is dead quiet, The caretaker didn't know why, but he was often drawn back to the water, to the port, it was the most remote and lonely part of the city, but was a good place to retreat. All he could hear in this moment of tranquility was the soft, silent fall of the snowflakes; if they were to fall on the water surface of the city river, it sounded like a thousand-fold lapping of gentle rain.

But just in those quiet moments, when Daniel could forget his worries, even if only for a very short time, he also remained vigilant of his surroundings, every little noise was analyzed and every movement noticed from the corner of his eye. But he didn’t want to leave this place, not yet. 

[isagrimorie]

I’m experimenting removing the color grading in the Gallifrey scenes of Timeless Children, and while it works when the scene is a moving thing and in context to place and story: Gallifrey has orange skies and the Capitol is burning, but editing scenes in that episode as gifs is terrible! 

In the middle of removing the color grading I realized that without the orange color filter, Dhawan!Master looking at the Capitol looked so much more devastated and broken.

[id: screencap of Timeless Children. Dhawan Master looks at the (not in picture) burning ruins of the Time Lord Citadel - the shining city of the most mightiest race in the Universe, brought to ruin. And he stares at it wordless, expressionless. A vein in his neck can almost be seen. His hair is unkempt, over his eyes. And sporting a full beard. He looks... he looks exactly what a man that lost everything looks like.]

He looks at what he did, how he destroyed the shining city he loved because the Time Lords made him so angry. I think the Master honestly thought destroying Gallifrey would make him feel better (‘has it calmed all the rage?’); he broke the world but it didn’t make him feel better, it didn’t even fill the hole in his hearts.

He once asked the Doctor if destroying Gallifrey and the Daleks made the Doctor feel like a god. 

After all the Master (accidentally) destroyed half of the universe once, what is destroying Gallifrey to that? It turned out, it was nothing. It made him feel nothing, it was ashes in his mouth, it was screams when he closed his eyes (damn the Doctor because before the Vault it never mattered to the Master he thought-lies). 

The Master went full tilt into his identity as a villain. Destroying Gallifrey made the Master unforgivable, even beyond destroying half the universe because this one actually mattered (to the Master). Instead of making amends the Master invested even more into their sunk fallacy cost. 

(Did Twelve even teach Missy about making amends? Or did it stop with, ‘Don’t be Evil’? I Have Thoughts About the Doctor as the Imperfect Ethics teacher for the Master). 

Honestly, at this point and even rapidly becoming Text is how much the Master wants the Doctor to punish him for destroying Gallifrey. “That's why I left it for you. Wondered if you would... take out me (sic).” 

[id: screencap, zoom-in to the Master’s face, with the Doctor’s hand holding the detonation switch right next to his face. His eyes shine with emotion, half his face is shadowed. Intent on the Doctor, on this moment.]

The Master practically begs the Doctor to kill him, kill them. The whole thing is an elaborate Suicide by Doctor, an elaborate Murder-Suicide thing between them (and their CyberLord Children). 

The Master kept telling the Doctor “Become me.”

But the thing the Master forgot at that moment, the Doctor was him, the Doctor was in his place. The self-loathing and even the suicidal ideation. Ten, in Daleks in Manhattan beating his chest, daring the Daleks to kill him is the same as the Master daring the Doctor to kill him, kill themselves. 

[id: screencap, immediately after the above screencap -- the moment after the Master says, almost begs, “Come on!” A close-up on the Doctor’s face, a subtle, quiet moment of realization.]

And that’s what the Doctor does she stops, and thinks or as the Doctor once told Bonnie in Zygon Inversion, thinking is just a fancy word for changing your mind. 

The Doctor realizes what the Master’s endgame is -- what this was all about, a cosmic, overblown cry for help. Because the Master, this Master will never ask for help directly. He would burn the world (and did) and more before he would allow that to happen. 

If there was one thing the Doctor never wanted for the Master is for their oldest know what it’s like to feel the way the Doctor did when they first destroyed Gallifrey. Before they went back and changed their mind. 

The Master thinks he is unforgivable, and for a lot of people he is but for the Doctor? The unfortunate, terrible truth is -- the Doctor will always forgive the Master. And not in a self-sacrificing way, and not in anyway that’s nice or tidy. Because what the Doctor told Clara is true, for the few, select people the Doctor truly loves in a bone deep way, the Doctor’s love is unconditional.  

The Doctor told Clara: “You betrayed me. Betrayed my trust, you betrayed our friendship, you betrayed everything that I've ever stood for. You let me down! Do you think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?” 

And the Doctor told Bonnie: “You're all the same, you screaming kids. You know that? Look at me, I'm unforgivable. Well, here's the unforeseeable. I forgive you. After all you've done, I forgive you.”

The Doctor told River Song, the woman who was brought up to kill him: “You are forgiven. Always and completely forgiven.”

And the Doctor told the Master, after he broke the world the Doctor loved so much, kept the Doctor in chains, like a dog, like a pet. “I forgive you.” 

Is it healthy, hell no. Does it mean the Doctor will let it happen again? No. The Doctor will do everything in their power to stop the Master next time. The Doctor might even head butt him in greeting when they meet again. Forgiveness for the Doctor doesn’t mean she stops being angry. She still gets to be angry and furious. 

Or as Giles once told Buffy: “To forgive is an act of compassion, Buffy. It's not done because people deserve it. It's done because they need it.” 

And then, she’ll probably give the Master a Glaswegian Kiss after (they’re the same height after all). Just like Angel did when he apologized to Lindsey and then beat him up, Angel meant the apology but also Lindsey still worked for an Evil Lawfirm and was still an evil lawyer). 

This approach isn’t for everyone, like I am 100% every single Modern Companion would opt to kill the Master rather than let them live. Bill, Martha and Jack would be the first in line tbh. 

/Edited.

[godsporncollection]

Saturday Morning Session

(personal commentary in italics) (sorry for how inconsistent i am at this, i’m trying new medication, so my focus comes and goes unpredictably, but i didn’t want this to take weeks)

Russel M Nelson -  strengthen your testimony (?)

"I understand better what he meant when he said 'behold, i will hasten my work in this time.'" 

Y'all have been strengthening your testimonies and i, and your children, thank you. did that inclusion of "your children" feel off to anyone else?

I can see the work on the temple outside my window and that makes me think about how we need to remove the old debris from our lives. I too think of the temple as 'old debris' that should be removed from my life.

"the gospel is a message of joy" I cannot roll my eyes hard enough

that was short. what was the topic? blab for a five minutes?

Dieter F. Uchdorf - god is Among Us

I had to move lots when I was a kid because there was a war on. i thought about the missionaries who came to the country of their enemies to bring us the gospel.

i was a kid in a war-torn country > missionaries > god has not forgotten us > we will be heirs of god > how could we complain when we have that? > the atonement > mistakes are okay, just gotta keep repenting.

what would jesus teach if he was among us today? the same thing he's always taught. "the savior always teaches timeless truths, to everyone, a message of hope and belonging, a testament that god has not abandoned his children that god is Among Us."

jesus says to love one another and to be full of charity towards all men. i would like to see it.

anyone else feel like these talks are just. empty? like, they're not feeling it either?

if jesus came into your home today, he would see into your heart and i'm gonna waste a couple more minutes by expanding on that. one look into his eyes and we would be forever changed by the realization that god is Among Us.

back to me, i wish i could go back and tell myself to stay on the right track because god is Among Us, so i'm gonna tell you instead. god is Among Us.

"line upon line" *gag*

god is Among Us

Joy D Jones - abuse is wrong unless you use it to teach kids about the gospel

"have you ever wondered why we call 'primary' 'primary'?" as someone who understands how language works, no.

because kids are importanter than everything else

god trusts us to be nice to our kids; that means no abuse, even if we're angry. whoever needed this reminder should be shot.

hey, maybe you can "combat the evils of abuse" by not fucking raising your kids in an abusive cult!

analogy of a kid who fell out of bed because he "didn't get far enough in" = he wasn't indoctrinated enough, with awkward collage of pics of kids for a minute.

eyring said to get 'em while they're young

love all the pics of black people that try to say "see? we don't think black people are inherently evil (anymore)!"

analogy of a soldier in boot camp. drill seargants are mean, but that was necessary because apparantly it's the only way this guy can learn how to hide. also, apparently this guy is "our friend". not my friend, thanks.

"how can we do the same for our children?" don't fucking act like a drill seargent to your kids! ffs

"wouldn't we rather have them sweat in the safe learning environment of the home than bleed on the battlefields of life?" first of all, fuck you. second, dramatic much? third, fuck you, kids shouldn't have to learn about life in a hostile environment. does this woman have kids? are they okay? fucking hell, five kids were raised by a woman with this mentality. what a bitch.

"eternity is the wrong thing to be wrong about." i got news for you. of course, if i ever spoke to this machine, that topic wouldn't be my top priority.

I need a fucking drink.

Jan Eric Newman - teaching the gospel is good, but you can't force a testimony on others

anecdote about a local old woman getting birthday gifts. she taught us some good things when we were growing up, so thanks, sister davis.

another teacher, at college, was a "master teacher." he loved me and the lord. he taught me to learn doctrine on my own and that "changed me forever."

just sayin', if you're taught how to learn on your own, but didn't exercise enough critical thought to gtfo of this cult, maybe the teacher wasn't the best.

it's good to have good teachers.

the ancient nephites and lamanites had good teachers, and "there was no contention among them!"

"how can we teach more like the savior and help others become more deeply converted?" nope, nope. nope.

1st, "learn all you can about the master teacher hismelf." so, we're sticking with the term "master teacher." cool. doesn't sound weird at all.

ask yourself questions about how he taught, then do that.

read "teaching in the savoir's way."

2nd, use bullshit stories. oh, no, it's a story about how somebody is grateful for the pandemic because her adult child read the BoM for the first time during it. she said it had made "literal miracles."

3rd, "remember that conversion must come from within." guess jan and "joy" should have compared notes before speaking.

"children inheret many things, but a testimony is not one of them. we can't give our children a testimony any more than we can make a seed grow; but we can provide a nourishing environment, with good soil, free of thorns that would choke the word."

Gary E. Stevenson - kindness

story about a study where rabbits were fed a high-fat diet, but those under the care of a loving researcher didn't gain as much weight.

only christians can intuitively understand that this means there's a reason to be kind to others.

jesus said love one another.

addressing primary kids - be kind. here's a story about a kid who stopped being a bully because the bullied kid said it hurt.

to the teens - social media makes bullying worse, clearly satan is using social media against your generation. do what you can t make these spaces safer. if you're a bully, "stop it."

to the adults- "we have a primary responsibility to set a tone and be role models of kindness (get wrecked "joy"), inclusion and civility."

from ballard- "i have never heard members of this church to be anything but loving, kind, tolerant and benevolent to our friends and neighbors of other faiths." k, but, like, you know it's not just a difference of religious belief that’s the problem, right?

i'm heartbroken to hear about prejudice against blackasianlatino people or of any other group. i love how that section was really only about race, with a blanket "any other group" thrown in as an afterthought so they can't be accused of being homophobic.

in the winter of 1838, jo smith was in prison and why do you think that happened, gary?

church members were driven from their homes and the residents of a town across the river gave them food and shelter. that generosity saved the lives of many of them.

god is a compassionate care-giver.

Gerrit W. Gong - disjointed anecdotes of human experiences, idk

i miss my dad. he was adventurous, except regarding food.

i saw a guy be mean to a lady selling ice cream. he smashed all of her cones. the image of her trying to salvage the cones haunts me to this day.

story of the good samaritan.

be like christ this easter.

"we recieve inspiration as we counsel together, listening to each person, including each sister and the spirit."

does this guy have a topic?

he’s is just giving a list of random human experiences and parables.

*displays a lack of understanding of instagram.*

he's listing something throughout this, like, he keeps counting, but i have no idea what and his voice is making my adhd medication run away, so i'm not listening to this again.

Henry B. Eyring - temple worthiness

today i'm feeling light and hope, like the first day i went to the salt lake temple

i'm an oblivious fucker who didn't notice my name being pinned on me, so i thought the woman who greeted me was an angel because she knew my name.

thought he could remember being in the temple before, but a voice that was not his own (that's how you know it's true and not something he just told himself) told him he was remembering heaven.

confused "holiness to the lord" with "this is a holy place." i know both phrases use the word 'holy', but like, those contexts mean separate things.

i also had this feeling during my wedding in the logan temple.

i think henry should get checked out, he suffers from frequent hallucinations and it's good to know how your brain works differently from others when in a leadership position.

during my wedding, i had a vision of a house and the officiant said to live in a way that you can walk away easily. a year later, my father in law bought the exact house and my wife and i lived in the guest house for ten years. then i got the call to move somewhere else on assignment from the church and we walked away easily.

scripture from jesus about temples.

if you're unworthy in the temple, you won't be "able to see, by the power of the holy ghost, the spiritual teaching of the savior that we can recieve in the temple."

"when we are worthy to recieve such teaching, there can grow, through our temple experience, hope, joy, and optimism throughout our lives. that hope, joy, and optimism are available only through accepting the ordinances performed in holy temples."

i forgot how simple a baptism is, so i'm gonna tell you how amazed (and a little concerned) i was when my youngest daughter stayed to do baptism for the dead for all of the names on the list that day. maybe i'm just super comfortable in the water, but that doesn't sound hard, actually. i used to almost enjoy doing those.

quotes the primary song 'i love to see the temple.'

remember to be worthy so you can live with your family forever.

[ambarto]

I saw your post about Tom Bombadil being Eru & I agree. What's your favorite theory for who he actually is?

Hi, I made the post and went to sleep literally five minutes later so I’m only just seeing the ask now. To be honest, I don’t have one specific theory I see as the best one, but there are multiple I enjoy.

Other than the Eru one, the only common theory I don’t agree with is the one that he may be a Valar, because that doesn’t make much sense to me. The Valar willingly separated themselves from the matters of Middle Earth, and while it’s true Tom is also a neutral figure, I don’t see why one of the Valar should just be vibing in the Old Forest.

I like the idea that he might be a Maia more, although he would have to be a fairly weird Maia compared to the others we see. Not only because of his apparent immunity to the Ring, which we’re told would corrupt Gandalf, while Tom seemed to view it as nothing more than a funny little trinket. There’s also the fact that out of all the Maiar we see, Tom is the only one without a purpose. The Istari were sent by the Valar to keep Sauron in check, Sauron was being evil and trying to conquer the world, the Balrog was nothing but a relic in LotR but used to have a master once. In the Silmarillion too, all Maiar either serve a particular Vala, or they have their own duties and goals. Tom doesn’t. He’s just there. We’re never told a Maia must always have a duty, but Tom is the only one who has no apparent reason to be. Maybe that’s what sets him apart - if the Valar came to take care of Eru’s creation, and Melkor came to destroy it, and all the Maiar aligned themselves with one or the others, then a Maia who is neutral would be something almost jarring in the ranks of the Ainur.

There’s also the fact Tom tells us he is the oldest, and that he was here before the Dark Lord came, and if by Dark Lord he meant Melkor, that’s a very long time indeed. We can’t say for sure if he was being entirely honest and how his words should be interpreted, but what if by oldest, he meant the first? As in, the first Ainu who decided to come into Arda? If that were the case, maybe that’s what made him strange. Maybe there was some leftover Music (and Tom is, at his core, a being of music) that gave him a something a little extra compared to the ones that came after.

Other theories - the one about him being a spirit or personification of the land also makes sense. It also falls well in line with his statement of being the oldest, in this case because the land itself would be the oldest thing around. It doesn’t necessary mean that Tom always existed as he is now, it could be that through the centuries and ages something in the land started to take form and think and slowly became the being we see. It also explains why he sticks to the Old Forest. If I were a timeless incarnation of the land, I think I would also want to be where ancient things are, and the Old Forest is old, very old, old as balls. It’s true that this doesn’t have a lot of canon basis, as it’s not really supported by the text that this could happen, but like we also have those rock throwing stone giants in the Hobbit, and we also have no explanation for them other than “the rocks just came to life”.

This could also explain the fact he isn’t affected by the Ring, because Sauron didn’t make it for him. He is a Maia, and the Ring therefore has power on creatures like him, and on less powerful beings like Elves or Men. A spirit of the land, however, would maybe be different enough from both Ainur and Children of Iluvatar that what works on them doesn’t work on him. Like trying to hold water with a willow basket. While at the same time not making Tom necessarily something more powerful or above Sauron - I think it was Elrond who said Sauron might eventually bend Tom’s power as well, and in this instance it would be very well possible for Sauron to do so. Not easily, but if he were to cut down the entire forest I’d reckon that could already be a blow for Tom.

I’ve also seen a couple times the idea Tom might actually be some kind of ancient evil waiting for his moment. While I’m not sure I would go so far as saying Tom is an evil being rather than a neutral one, I find merit in this idea when it comes to trying to explain what manner of creature he is. Because, remember Ungoliant? I’m not saying Tom is Ungoliant, no, but I am saying we’re never really told what Ungoliant is. She’s not counted as a Maia. She’s apparently just something evil that entered the world, but if she’s not a Maia, and she’s not a Vala, that creates the possibility of other things existing. Maybe Tom could also be something like that, something made in the Void that just happened to crawl in. Maybe that’s why the Old Forest is like that, because in the middle of it there’s a thing that just shouldn’t be. He could indeed be something evil, by this theory, but he could also be something that isn’t quite made for the world, or maybe the world isn’t made for him. Maybe he could just stick to the Old Forest because he knows if he were to move he’d cause trouble somewhere else. And he’s not affected by the Ring because, well, he’s just too alien to everything else.

And in all of this I haven’t even touched Goldberry, who receives less curiosity than Tom but is also about as weird at him. After all, the Hobbits look at Tom and just see a strange man at first, but when they look at Goldberry they immediately feel that she is something else. And according to Merry, the source of all the weirdness of the Forest is the stream that runs through it, and it was at that stream that Tom found Goldberry River-daughter. Whatever Tom is, Goldberry can’t exactly be something normal either.

[pippki-writes]

An Ill-Fitting Name: Snippet 1

Asmodai was his name, because he had stolen it along with the life of the wizard it had belonged to before. It wasn’t the first name he had taken in this way, but it was the name he got stuck with, through every fault of his own.

It is said among some legends that the seventh son of a seventh son will be born lucky, or have magical powers, but nothing much is said about the third sons of third sons, which is what Asmodai was, before his name was Asmodai. Was he born wrong, or was he made that way? None of his siblings turned out the way he did--not that he knows how they turned out. They each scattered to the winds in their own different ways, avoiding an often absent overworked father and obsessively violent alcoholic mother. These are not excuses, merely the catalysts that would put the boy that Asmodai had been in the care of a certain psychotic mage who would mold Asmodai into the terror he would become. Like recognizes like, and the older man must have seen the seed of something wrong in that boy, to take him as an apprentice. To teach him dark magic, and the depths of psychological manipulation, how to draw energy from blood and how to make a body disappear where no cop would find it. Like recognizes like, but they were not completely alike. If they had been, then surely the older man would have seen the glint in the eyes of the boy, and known before it was too late that he had taught too much. But no. Overconfidence was his downfall. He wasn’t the first person the boy killed, but his was the first name and power he took fully for his own. What was his name? What had it been? It hardly mattered now. Asmodai has had many names, more than he can be expected to keep up with. You might expect him at least to remember the first, but you would be wrong. He doesn’t even remember his own name, having bound and locked it away, somewhere far and deep, safe in his subconscious, on the day he killed the twisted man who taught him magic.

Asmodai remembers more than enough of what does matter. He remembers the callused, sandpapery skin of a firm hand pinching his chin between an unforgiving thumb and forefinger, the piercing blue eyes of the man that would be his mentor forcing him to meet his gaze, looking deep into his soul and all the dark unnamed desires squirming within. It was not the first time Asmodai had run away, but it was the first time someone besides the police had caught him.

“You’ve suffered,” said the older man appreciatively, after the silence between them had stretched nearly to unbearable. The man let go of Asmodai and held out his hand. “Wouldn’t you like to make sure that others suffer too?”

Names are powerful things. Before that day, Asmodai had not understood what it was he wanted from the world, but the man who would be his mentor had named exactly what he wanted. He wanted to make sure that other people suffered. As soon as it was spoken and given a shape, he knew it to be true.

And he was good at it.

Was. Was good at it. And now? Asmodai swears, the rage in his heart as white-hot as it was that day nearly a month ago when that bitch as good as stole his magic from him. Sure, he can kill the old-fashioned way, as nearly every other serial killer does, but he had a certain style and freedom he enjoyed that was impossible to achieve when bound by the regular laws of nature. And he isn’t willing to accept yet that this may be all that remains to him.

Asmodai reflects on these things from a motel room that has come to feel like a prison cell. He can leave whenever he wants, but where would he go? What would he do, when he can’t do whatever he wants to whomever he wants to do it to? He rips open the day’s single serve coffee packet and jams it in the little electric coffee maker on the worn desk. It will taste terrible, as every other near-instant coffee he’s made here has tasted, but he wants to drink something as bitter as he feels.

His memory jumps around as the machine hisses and burbles with purpose. He traces back the well-worn path of where and why everything went wrong, as if that could change any part of what happened. The first misstep, years ago in New York City, when the ill whims of fate crossed his path with the path of that damned witch. He underestimated her then, and, well, perhaps that had been a frequent mistake of his, now that he thought about it. He had thought himself stronger, able to call upon darker and more powerful magic than she could. His hand drifts to the mottled skin marking the nine-pointed scar where her curse had taken out his right eye all those years ago. What had he thought, that she’d simply gotten lucky? That he could truly make her pay for this? How wrong he had been.

New York City, though he doesn’t remember exactly the year--perhaps 2011? 2012? The year didn’t matter, and so he didn’t commit it to memory. Vengeance is timeless. He remembers what matters: the warm, approving sun on his skin, and he fresh from having magically turned a man inside out, hiding the body with a flick of his fingers deep at the bottom of the Hudson River. It was time to find his next name, and no community of magic users in the country was bigger than the network in New York City. He could probably have his pick of any name he wanted here. As far as names went, ‘Asmodai’ was a little strange. It had suited the wizard he took it from in its way, and sure, had served him well in the time since, but he didn’t want to get attached to any one name, lest it gain power over him. And so it was time to leave Asmodai behind and take a new name. He shuddered with delight, sweet memories of Asmodai’s murder playing in his mind. What a violently erotic affair that had been. Asmodai...it was almost a pity to have killed a young man so beautiful, naive, and foolish as he had been, but his terror, his tears, had all been the most delicious yet. Surely this next kill would be even better.

He took a deep breath, bringing his attention back. First things first, he needed to find said magical community. Make friends, insinuate himself into the social scene, find the next name that would suit him. No need to rush. This was his favorite kind of hunt, and it would no doubt take months to complete. He already knew that trying to detect magic would be pointless—the city was teeming with it. He closed his rich brown eyes, and focused on the flow of magic within the city. He would find where it collected, perhaps, and work his way from there. Who he found didn’t matter, he just needed someone to start with. The flow of magic seemed to be leading north, toward the center of the city. Made sense. Time to walk. He opened his eyes, and was surprised to find a young woman looking at him with a knowing smile. She held out her hand as their eyes met.

“Call me Elaine,” she said, her hazel eyes sharp and playful on him, sizing him up. “You must be the new mage in town.”

What luck, he remembers thinking. What fantastic fortune. The universe wanted him to have this. He gave her the same winning smile that had lured so many others to their deaths. “Asmodai,” he said, shaking her hand. He looked like a kid caught out sneaking dessert before dinner, sheepishly running a hand through his sandy brown curls, smiling appreciatively. “How did you know?”

She winked at him. “Let’s call it word on the street. I said the word, and here we are, on the street.”

“Ah, a secret then.” She wasn’t exactly his favorite type, he thought, but he wasn’t going to turn down what fate offered. “Say, what do you like to do for fun around here?”

She would have been his ticket in. He should have just taken her rejection in stride, taken his time, taken it out on her much later, with a better grasp on who she was, what her weaknesses were. But something about her made him want to make her suffer. Who the fuck did she think she was, to tell him no? There would be other magic users. The bookshop owner, perhaps, if he could ever find his way back there. No, his mind was made up the moment she turned him down, and he smoothed over any awkwardness that could have blossomed with seemingly patient understanding. He knew that he would make her pay, and he would do it that very night. He paid little attention to the overtures of friendship that evening, and so doesn’t remember exactly where they drank and ate, what sights they saw, because it didn’t matter. He played the part he wanted her to believe in perfectly, and that was what mattered. He hardly had to work to get the opportunity he needed.

Binding spells were one of his specialties--among the first spells he had ever learned. It was easy--cutting through a dark alley, no witnesses, and her attention was elsewhere as she led the way. In no time she was frozen, immoble before him, a wild fear in her eyes,  and everything felt right. The binding held fast. He would have his way, and then he would kill her. He smiled. He grabbed her by the chin, testing that he was in control, turning her head this way and that, a horrifically mad glint in his eyes.

“Oh Elaine,” he’d said, mocking the syllables. “Though I know that can’t be your true name, it doesn’t matter. First I’ll take you, then I’ll take your life, and I’ll take my time working my way through this city until I’m satisfied. Eventually someone here is bound to have exactly what I want. Even if you don’t.” He paused, his hand cupping her cheek. “Enough talk, I think.” His hand slipped around to the back of her neck, his fingers clenching roughly in her hair until she winced in pain. His magic kept her silenced, but he left her face just free enough that he would get to see every spasm of suffering.

“Good girl,” he whispered, pulling harder. “I will enjoy every bit of this.” He leaned in, crushing their lips together to steal a kiss.

Well, that had been his intention. Would he have seen what was coming, if he’d left his eyes open? Their lips met, and then a sharp, unexpected pain. His lip was between Elaine’s teeth, and she had bit down hard, quickly drawing blood until her mouth was full of it. He had no time to react. She spat out a blood curse, wild and blindly--no sound, just a sudden explosion of ripping agony centered in his right eye. Asmodai screamed, staggering back, his concentration broken, the binding spell dropped, blood everywhere. On instinct his hand had flown to his face, feeling ruin beneath his fingertips. He pulled his hand away and looked down at it. Red, absolutely covered. Pain so searing he almost couldn’t think through his rage. He looked up at her.

She was a terrifying sight. His blood ran down her chin. Unfamiliar sigils marked her face, glowing against her skin. Her eyes--they were something else, hazel irises gone, and in their place two glowing red Xs focused in anger on him, and it was at that point he realized that now he couldn’t move.

“You are not welcome here, you are not welcome in this city,” she hissed, “and if I ever see you again, I will kill you.”

He doesn’t remember through the haze of pain exactly what she did, but next thing he knew he was suddenly outside the city limits, blood streaming from a wound he could not get to heal, and utterly unable to get back in.

Before that day, Asmodai’s entire goal in life had been to make other people suffer. He added a new purpose to that short list: make that bitch pay for what she had done to him.

It would be years before an opportunity would present itself. To start with, that bitch never left New York City, and no matter what he tried, he couldn’t get in.

He learned that no healer he found could get the scar to go away. He had had the sort of face men and women both found beautiful, before. A face it was easy to fall in love with. The first healer, a skilled young man of discretion not in the habit of asking unpleasant questions, had been very apologetic when his magic could do nothing. Asmodai killed him anyway.

He also learned that there was something about being cursed that other magic users could now pick up on. No matter what silky lies he told about how he got that scar, they all seemed to sense something off. No makeup could hide it. No glamor could conceal it. No good wizard would get close to him now, their guards up, their names far out of his grasp.

In time, he was content to roam the country, killing as pleased him, waiting for his opportunity to come. Surely a day would come that she would set foot outside her city. He set up spells that would let him know when she did. He waited.

Asmodai looks at the paper cup in his hand, the oil-slick sheen of the coffee surely too hot to drink. If he had his magic, he thinks irritably, this could be a perfect cup of coffee, exactly the right temperature to drink, the taste exquisite regardless of how stale the beans were that made it. But no. His opportunity had come, and not only had he wasted it, he’d gotten himself completely fucked over for his effort.

He sniffs the coffee. Smells awful. Gingerly, he hovers his tongue toward the liquid. It’s clearly too hot. He sets the cup down, and thinks back to that night. As if turning the memories over in his mind will give him peace this time, when it hasn’t every other time before.

He had, over the years, imagined thousands of ways to torture and kill her. So why, when there she was before him again, had his mind gone completely blank? A thousand ways to make her suffer, and suddenly he had forgotten them all. His heart raced, secretly thrilled with possibility as he worked to bind her to the spot on the ground where she had appeared. He approached her, smooth and unhurried, and spoke.

“At last, at last I can finish what we started.”

Her hair was longer, he noticed, pulled back in a sensible ponytail. She wore reading glasses that she hadn’t worn the last time they’d met. But the look of wild rage in her surprised eyes when she saw him and shouted “YOU!” --that felt very familiar.

Her shock gave him an easy opening to bind her leg to the ground. “Mmm, didn’t you say you were going to kill me if you saw me again?” he said lightly, looking around expectantly. “All talk, I suppose.”

“Maybe I have better things to do,” she replied, glaring at him, her face darkening.

“Is that right?” he smiled, but it was a cold smile that did not reach his eye. He focused on trying to bind first her right arm, then her left, but he could feel her fighting it, warding him off.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ve come around. Death is one of those too good for you kind of things. I think it’s better for someone like you to suffer.”

He should have had the upper hand, ambushing her as he did. But she must have been stronger than he realized, because the magic was so damn slippery and he couldn’t get her arms bound. The other leg then, he thought, changing his focus.

“I see the eye failed to heal quite nicely,” she called out. “Would you like the other one to match?”

“Shut UP, witch!” he growled. He pulled out his pocket knife, cutting his hand, drawing upon his own bloodshed in magic to get her other leg bound. “Enough TALK. I will torture you. I will dominate you. And I will slowly, slowly kill you.” He began walking toward her, taking in the sight of her as he could feel the binding slowly catching along her left arm. He had been too focused on his own spell to pay attention to what she had been doing. He remembered hearing her chuckle, and then the feeling of being violently knocked unconscious.

He sips the coffee, which manages to somehow be both watery and still bitter to the point of being sour. When he came to that night, she was gone. And if she’d stayed gone, everything might have been okay. He could have regrouped, come up with a better plan. Taken the time to see through the blinding anger and bloodlust, to figure out what he would need to do to overpower her.

He got back to his motel room that night, all blunt force trauma and broken ribs from being slammed into the nearest tree by a concussive magic blow. Healing isn’t Asmodai’s specialty, but he knows a little to get by. He slipped into his bed, settling into a sort of meditative healing state, thinking pleasing thoughts--remembering the feeling of his fingers on the thin and pretty throat of the wizard’s lover as she died, and god what a fantastic feeling that had been, as the man who had held the name Asmodai was frozen, unable to move, only able to cry. How long ago now that had been. The wizard Asmodai had loved him too, and that made it all the sweeter, what he had done.

These were the things he was thinking when he felt his blood stir in a way it shouldn’t have, as the door to his motel room slammed open, and there she stood. That fucking bitch, with power and murder in her eyes. She had bound him to the bed.

“Shhh,” she said, her binding spell squeezing his throat, silencing him. “We aren’t done.” The spell pressed down on his chest, tears springing to his eyes from the pain. This was not right. She had no right to do this to him. She had left. Why was she here? How had she found him? Her magic dragged him down, making space for her to climb up and sit cross-legged at the head of the bed. She dragged him back up to her, putting her hands on his temples as he looked around wildly.

“I do hope this hurts.”

He couldn’t tell what she was doing, but all the telltale signs of her magic at work began to show, her terrifying face aglow with sigils, her eyes gone and the glow of red Xs in their place. He felt a ripping sensation in his memory, and then a curse taking shape, constraints being threaded around him. As she began to root her curses deep in his mind, through the pain he could hear the echoes of it as she did.

Who cares if you know who I am, what I look like, or any of that, if it triggers a complete temporary loss of all magic and movement when you so much as think of me?

Know that I did this. Be infuriated. And be utterly powerless to do a damned thing about it.

He doesn’t remember exactly what she said next. He was not listening. He was in howling, excruciating pain, unable to move, unable to scream. She took his knife from his pocket, stabbed him in the side, and filled a vial with his blood.

“Just in case,” she said. Asmodai felt like the pain would tear him apart.

“You’ll be able to move eventually. Once you stop thinking about me.”

It was days before he had been able to move again.

Even now, he thinks, gulping down the last of the brackish coffee, he’s not moving because he overcame her curse. She took pity on him. The very thought fills him with a roiling, sickening anger all over again. She had appeared in his motel room once more, the magic of it splitting the air with a deafening crack.

“It would be funny, honestly, to let you die like this,” she had said, walking up to him as he lay there, seething and immobile.

“I think I’ll keep you like this when I’m around. But perhaps I’ll be benevolent enough to allow you some movement when I’m not near. Would you like that?”

His anger pinned him in place, unable to move, unable to speak. This was nearly how he had spent all his time since she’d left: simmering in his hatred, imagining violence that he couldn’t act on.

“I ought to make you beg for even that,” she said as she summoned her magic, her hands stretching out for his temples, “but I am nothing if not benevolent…”

He could feel her reaching into his mind, a horrible and unpleasant sensation, her countenance as terrifying as before. But he could also feel her tweaking the curse, freeing him to be able to move if she wasn’t there. The restriction on his magic, however, she left alone.

She lifted her hands away from him, her face returning to normal. As he watched, she held her hand out over his chest, magically probing to see which of his ribs was the worst off. For a split second, she acted like she was going to press on it, then grinned wickedly at him.

“No, I wouldn’t,” she said, standing up instead. “Hate me all you want. You can’t do anything about it.” She disappeared from his room with another ear-splitting crack.

Tentatively, Asmodai sat up. He screamed, in spite of how much it hurt to do so, and punched the wall until his knuckles were bruised and bloodied. He stared at his hands when the immediate white hot rage cooled down, and couldn’t even use his magic to heal them.

That had been a little over a month ago now. She hadn’t returned. And neither had his magic. He throws the empty paper cup in the little trash can, and stares down the hopelessness of another day.

- NEXT SNIPPET -

[walviemort]

hidden blessing (5/?)

Summary: Killian thought the only thing he was left with after Milah’s death was a broken heart and a thirst for vengeance. It’s not until he gets to Storybrooke, after so many years spent in stasis, that he discovers something else: he’s carrying her child. How does this new, tiny blessing change his path? (Canon-divergent from 2x12.)

rated T | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | AO3 | 3.1k

a/n: Hope I didn’t keep y’all waiting too long on this! Not sure when the next chapter will go up but hopefully not as long :) We’re into Neverland now! and, as always, dedicated to the darling @sherlockianwhovian​

Splashing down in Neverland filled Killian with an array of emotions, few of them positive. They’d made it through the portal in one piece, thankfully, but just the sight of the cursed island looming on the horizon filled him with dread. Getting here had been the easy part; gods only knew what lay ahead.

“Is that it?” Emma called out once the ship had set itself to rights (Killian was mildly jealous of it; his stomach matched the churning sea below them).

“Aye,” he confirmed. “Neverland.”

He couldn’t see her face to read her expression, but the determined set of her shoulders told him everything: she was willing to risk all to save her son. He saw similar in the fierce expression Regina wore, even in the composed and precise manner of Snow and David. And yet again he wondered: was he really cut out for parenting? 

His life was dangerous. Hell, he himself was known to be. Yet again, he’d dragged his child to this timeless realm; how long would the babe’s growth be stalled now? What if something happened to him? What if Pan found a way to use it against them?

As if to calm him down, he felt a few strong kicks just behind his navel. Well, that was a good sign, he supposed. He let out a quiet sigh of relief and set to the task of navigating them to the island.

“Why are you slowing down?” Regina snapped, suddenly at his side. “In case you didn't know, my son's life is in danger.”

He bit back a huff, only because he knew her anger was a mask for her fear. “Oh, I know, my hot-headed Queen. The plan is to bring us to the far side of the island, link up with the widest part of the river, and.. then we sail right through, take him by surprise,” he explained. “The irony…” he muttered under his breath.

“What irony?” she asked, much more calmly.

“Oh, I spent more time than I care to remember trying to leave this place to kill Rumplestiltskin. And here I am, sailing right back into its heart with him as my guest of honor.” The man in question had disappeared below deck nearly as soon as they landed. “It's not quite the happy ending I was hoping for.”

Regina seemed oddly thoughtful. “Greg Mendell said something funny to me. He said I'm a villain, and that villains don't get happy endings. You believe that?”

Weeks ago, he would have concurred; but now… “I hope not, or we've wasted our lives.”

“I thought Henry was going to be mine,” she admitted quietly. “Little did I know he’d just be the start of another adventure.” Then she smiled at him. “You’ll know what I’m talking about soon enough.”

“Assuming we all make it out of this alive,” he tossed back, expressing his own realism as he overheard a tense bit of conversation between the Charming family that seemed to revolve around the inherent optimism Emma had not inherited. “Though, I have been meaning to ask—how could you tell?”

“That you were knocked up? Please; I’m Cora’s daughter. She taught me long ago how to look for any signs of weakness. And Hook? You’re practically glowing,” she told him, smirking.

He couldn't hold back his own smile at that; while logically, he knew that put him at risk to other enemies knowing, it was also kind of nice to know his own newfound source of joy showed in his demeanor. It had been well over a century since he’d even really had anything to be happy about.

Their attention was drawn to the deck by Snow’s insistent promise to Emma of, “We'll find Henry.” Well, that was the point, wasn't it?

“No, you won't.” From nowhere, the Dark One had appeared on the quarterdeck, his earlier instruments put away and now in garb typical of the Enchanted Forest. 

“Oh, that's a great use of our time—a wardrobe change,” Killian quipped, but if Gold heard, he didn’t acknowledge it—and instead went on to lecture the group on how they would not succeed in their endeavor.

“What makes you think I'm gonna fail?” Emma bit back, angry, and he didn’t blame her. (In fact, it was rather when he liked her best—passionate.)

“Well, how could you not?” Rumplestiltskin insisted. “You don't believe in your parents, or in magic, or even yourself.”

“I slayed a dragon. I think I believe.” Now that was a story Killian needed to hear.

“Only what was shown to you. When have you ever taken a real leap of faith? You know, the kind where there's absolutely no proof?” The Dark One continued his diatribe, but Killian’s gaze was fixed on Emma—and the way he could see the doubts and fear beginning to cloud her mind.

“I'll do whatever it takes,” she insisted, but he could tell she was trying to convince herself as much as Gold.

“Well, you just need someone to tell you what that is. Sorry, dearie, our foe is too fearsome for hand-holding.” That, unfortunately, was accurate. “Neverland is a place where imagination runs wild. And, sadly, yours doesn't.” And then the bastard disappeared. Alas, it was just as well. Plus, the man was starting to make Killian nauseous.

Or perhaps that was just the babe; he’d never been one to be seasick but considering everything, he was definitely feeling a bit green. He used the silence that followed the Dark One’s departure to make sure they were set on the right course, but once that was set, he asked the Charmings to hold the helm while he sought out the ginger drops he knew were hiding in his cabin.

He was only slightly surprised to find Emma had beaten him down there, and was practicing pullups on a bar in the room. She paused when she heard his footsteps.

“Oh, don't stop on my account,” he said, admiring the view as he walked past. Her form-fitting trousers were stirring other sorts of feelings in him; goodness, these hormones were going to give him whiplash.

“Wouldn't think of it,” she replied, pretending to ignore him, and went back to it.

He easily located the drops, sitting in a pouch on his desk. “What are you doing?” he had to ask.

“Getting ready for a fight,” she bit back, pulling herself up and then landing back on the platform.

“Well, I've never known you to need to get ready for a fight. I thought it was a natural state,” he teased as he grabbed the bag, then reapproached her. “Don't let Rumplestiltskin get you down, love.”

She jumped down from the ledge and leveled a glare at him. “Why did you come down here? What is that?” she demanded, nodding at the bag in his hand.

“Ginger drops,” he said, then quickly realized he wasn’t ready to divulge his need of them. “They help with seasickness; Her Highness was looking a bit green around the gills.”

That got a bit of a smile out of her, and thankfully she bought the lie. Although, when he glanced at the shelf to the left of them, he remembered something hidden inside—something that might boost her morale. 

“Might you permit me to give you something?” he asked, not wanting to offend her. She nodded.

He pocketed the drops and fished out a key from another pocket. “You know, Baelfire and I once spent a lot of time together,” he started to explain as he unlocked a compartment built into the shelf.

“He was always Neal to me,” she replied, albeit morosely.

“Yeah. Right,” he acknowledged, then grabbed the object hidden behind the small door. “This was his.”

It was a sword—a small cutlass he had once used to teach the lad how to fight, and damn near took his own head off when things went sour. Gingerly, Emma took it from him with both hands.

“I didn't realize you were sentimental,” she said as she assessed it.

“I'm not,” he lied again, and saw another useful item sitting on the shelf. “I just thought you could use it where we're going. You know, to fight.” And then he handed her the shot glass.

“Thanks,” she said as he filled it with rum from his flask, which he then offered up in a toast.

“To Neal.” (He knew what all the books said about drinking during pregnancy, but given the current stasis, one shot likely couldn’t hurt.)

“To Neal,” she answered, and clinked the glass against the flask before downing the shot. (Guilt got the better of him, and he only had a small sip.) 

After a brief, but not uncomfortable silence, Emma asked, “How long was he with you?”

“Long enough for me to know that I miss him, too,” he answered, this time truthfully. As surreptitiously as he could, he rested his hand on his belt—because he could feel the sudden intense flutters within, as if the child somehow knew they were talking about their sibling—or perhaps was encouraging him to do something else.

Emma had shown utmost trust in him in undertaking this journey. And if they were going to get through this and achieve their goal, then that was going to have to go all directions. It would be fair of him to show he trusted her by revealing his condition, wouldn’t it?

He swallowed and was about to tell her, but the small peace they’d had was interrupted by a loud bang against the hull and sudden groaning and creaking of the ship.

“What was that?” Emma blurted out, and they quickly dashed up to the deck to see what was amiss.

Emma’s parents were struggling to hold the wheel steady, and the waves were tossing the ship about like it was a toy. Only he quickly realized—this was no natural storm, and a glance over the railing confirmed his fears.

HIs nausea would have to wait, lest none of them survive. He made a mad dash for the helm to try to wrest control of it. “Prepare for attack!”

“Be more specific,” Regina demanded, clearly not understanding the gravity of the situation.

“If you've got a weapon, then grab it,” he called out as he fought against the wheel.

“What's out there? A shark? A whale?” Emma guessed; if only she’d guessed right.

“A kraken?” her father added.

“Worse.” An unholy screeching filled the air. “Mermaids.”

The next—gods, he wasn’t even sure how long—fell into a blur of panic and anger as the vile creatures mounted their attack and his passengers made the idiotic mistake of not only bringing one on board, but angering her even more (and possibly killing her). Which of course brought on a violent storm and even more vicious emotions; it was all he could do to keep the prince’s fists away from Killian’s abdomen (again). 

And then Emma leapt into the sea, taking his stomach with her. They managed to save her but it left him with an uncomfortable amount of adrenaline in his system, even if their cooperation ended up dissipating the storm. Bloody Neverland and its odd magic.

Despite a breach in the hull, he managed to get the Roger to land, although not where he had planned. And it would need repairs before they could attempt to leave the realm. But at least they’d made it this far.

And to think—this would likely be the easy part.

To his shock, Regina voiced her support of his original plan once they made landfall, but even he knew that a sneak attack was unlikely to happen at this point; there was no way Pan didn’t know they were there, not after what had just happened on the sea. There was an aggravating omniscience about that boy.

“It's time we stop running,” Emma lectured. “Gold was right. This land is run on belief. All of us have been too busy being at each other's throat to be believers. I was as wrong as anyone else. It's time for all of us to believe. Not in magic, but in each other.”

“You want to be friends? After everything that's happened between all of us?” As inclined as he was to agree with Emma, Regina had a point; he had not one but two sore spots on his face from David.

“I don't want or expect that. I know there's a lot of history here, a lot of hate,” Emma countered.

“Actually, I quite fancy you from time to time, when you're not yelling at me,” Killian quipped in a lame attempt to lighten the mood. And then immediately regretted it; gods, did pregnancy brain also mean he blurted out his every thought? He’d need to sharpen that, and quickly.

“We don't need to be friends. What we need now is the only way to get Henry back, which is cooperation.”

“With her? With him?” the prince protested, gesturing Killian’s way. “No, Emma. We have to do this the right way.” Killian did manage to bite back a comment on the prince’s self-righteousness.

“No, we don't. We just need to succeed. And the way we do that is by just being who we are—a hero, a villain, a pirate.” He had to admit the slight thrill it gave him when Emma’s gaze lingered on him. “It doesn't matter which, because we're going to need all those skills, whether we can stomach them or not.”

“And what's your skill, Savior?” Regina tossed back.

“I'm a mother. And now I'm also your leader. So either help me get my son back or get out of the way.” And without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heel and headed towards the jungle. 

Gods, he loved it when she was fired up like that.

Snow was quick to follow Emma, as was David, who cast an oddly inviting look Killian’s way, as if challenging him to turn back now. Which, of course, he wouldn’t. 

Killian didn’t hesitate to fall in line, but not before throwing a glance at Regina; she was still put out, it seemed, by Emma’s take charge attitude. Someone had to, though. And Henry was her son, too.

She wasn’t far behind him.

It quickly became apparent that, as the only one who had any idea where they were, Killian should lead; he knew there was a ridge not far up that would give them a decent view of the island and hopefully reveal Pan’s hiding spot. Regina balked at the idea of hiking, but was convinced otherwise when they reminded her of the dangers at every turn.

“He’s right,” Emma told her. “Hook's lived here before. If he says hiking up is the best way, then we listen.” He wasn’t expecting the vote of confidence, but it was nice to have; he wasn’t naive enough to think that perhaps his attraction was reciprocated, but it was an extra reminder that he had Emma’s trust—which wasn’t easy to come by.

But of course, the wriggling thing in his belly was a reminder that he needed to place equal trust in her.

At least—after he saved the idiot next to him from slashing his way to death.

He saw the vines before he saw David swing back to slice at them and was able to shout a warning and get his hook around the man’s bicep before he could make contact.

The prince shook him off angrily. “I can handle a couple of thorns.”

“That's dreamshade,” Killian explained, nodding toward the demonic plant. “It's not the thorns you have to worry about. It's the poison they inject you with. This plant is the source of the toxins I used on the Dark One.”

They were all familiar, it seemed, with his failed assassination attempt—but were aware of its potency, and seemed to take his message about its effects to heart. Killian wasn’t about to lose another ally to that venom, even if they weren’t exactly on friendly terms.

“I suggest we go this way,” he directed, nodding down the path to the right of the bush.

David glanced at it, then looked the other direction. “We'll go this way.” Bloody obstinate arse. But Snow followed him, and then it was Regina’s turn to throw a wry glance his way.

Emma came up behind her and he fell into step with her. “Your father's a distrustful fellow,” he observed.

“He's just not used to working with the bad guys.”

“I can assure you, on this island, I am not the bad guy.”

“Yeah, well, Pan's not supposed to be one either,” she countered.

“What possibly gave you that idea?” The concept of that demon be considered remotely good turned his stomach (unless that was just the usual nausea stirring up again).

“Every story I ever heard as a child,” she explained, oblivious to his discomfort.

“Well, they got it all wrong. Pan is the most treacherous villain I've ever faced.” He tried to swallow down the bile that was churning inside, and decided to change the subject slightly. “Tell me something, love. In these stories...what was I like? Other than a villain. Handsome, I gather?”

She smirked, but not necessarily in a good way. “If waxed mustaches and perms are your thing.”

Sometimes, it felt like they were speaking different languages. “I take it by your tone, perms are bad?”

She just laughed a bit as they continued on, but they didn’t get much farther before the contents of his stomach came up with little warning. He managed to bite out an “excuse me” before ducking alongside a tree and retching. Ugh, he’d hoped with things in stasis, this part of pregnancy would be on pause, too; apparently not.

“Woah, Hook—are you okay?” Emma asked, hovering near his side. “You’re not hungover or something, are you?”

It took a moment to catch his breath. “Far from it,” he replied.

“Did you catch some rare Neverland stomach bug or something? Is that something else we need to worry about?”

He chuckled humorlessly. “I suppose you could call it that, but it has nothing to do with Neverland.”

He straightened from his hunched-over position to find her staring at him with her brow furrowed, both assessing him and confused at the same time. “What is going on, then? It’s going to be hard for you to guide us if you’re not 100%.”

Well, it looked like she was going to force his hand. “If you must know,” he started, then leaned in closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’m pregnant.”

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

thanks for reading! tagging  @cocohook38​​​​ @wyntereyez​​​​ @jennjenn615​​​​ @superadam54​​​​ @ashley-knightingale​​​​ @justsomewhump​ (let me know if you want a tag!)

[chuckie101123]

The Voices in My Head

It had gone on for my entire life, as far as I could tell. The voices. They would always argue, always. I tried talking to my teacher about it once. The next day, my parents were taken away from me. You see, she thought it was my parents who argued, saying the things I heard. It wasn't. The voices, they were mine.

But as a child, I knew I couldn't tell anyone about them. They might take something else away from me. So I stayed quiet. I didn't let anyone know about the voices, or the headaches they brought due to their arguing. I didn't dare even risk taking medicine for the pain, for fear someone would find out. I jumped from foster home to foster home, never letting anyone get close. Each time I moved, it was because something terrible had happened.

The first time, I had been in bed trying to sleep when I snapped, and finally screamed at the voices. My scream scared my foster parents downstairs, causing my foster father to lose his grip on the hammer he was swinging, which hit my foster mother in the face. My foster father rushed her to the hospital, forgetting about me and the stove that was boiling water for the pasta she was making. When he reached the hospital, he remembered me and rushed home.

In the place of the house he lived in for over ten years stood a burning inferno, with three trucks trying to put it out. I was still stuck inside. The firefighters eventually found me in the rubble after it had already burned down. I was covered in third degree burns, but I was miraculously still alive. My foster father was arrested for child negligence, my foster mother's still in a coma from the hammer, and so, after twelve successful surgeries, I was relocated.

Similar occurrences happened several more times. Car crashes, more fires, armed robberies, even a flood. I was the miracle survivor, but also had the worst luck according to the Social workers. Police once arrested me thinking I may have been the cause of these accidents, but eventually realized they had no evidence to support this. And still, the voices argued. And still, I told no one.

It was on my 18th birthday that I decided I couldn't take it anymore. I had already been living on the streets for two years, after having run away from my last foster home. For a homeless dude, I had done pretty well for myself. I had a decent sleeping spot under a rarely used bridge, a running river nearby for washing, and the city was only an hour long walk away. But the pain. The pain I could no longer deal with. My head had hurt my entire life thanks to the voices.

But that day, that pain would end, and so would the voices. I had found a gun on the side of the streets about a week back, probably used by some thug to rob a liquor store. I had briefly considered robbing a liquor store myself before waiting for the cops to arrive to put me out of my misery. But I was already taking the cowards way out, I might as well have it be done by my hand. But before I did, I decided I would splurge a bit.

My last day on Earth would be better than the last two years. I dug up my old coffee can where I stashed my money, about $500, and went shopping. First, I went to the store to buy some soaps and decent but cheap clothes. I then went to the local high school and paid the custodian $100 to let me take a good shower in the locker room. I got dressed, thanked the man, then went to a barber shop to get my hair cut and beard trimmed.

I paid $10 for the cut, $20 for the tip, and went on my way. By that point, it was bearing midday, so I decided on lunch. Kara's Burgers and Fries was the best diner in the city, though they had never let me inside do to my appearance and smell. That day, though, they didn't even recognize me. They sat me down, and allowed me to eat my fill. I ordered two Triple Burgers, four large fries, three strawberry shakes, and got a large root beer for the road.

The voices still argued, but today it didn't bother me as much. I still had about four hours before nightfall, so I walked uptown a bit to the arcade, wasting the rest of my day playing games and enjoying my life as a kid my age should have. When night fell, I walked home, back to my little bridge, with a smile on my face. "Today was good." I thought to myself as I uncovered my gun, making sure it was loaded before raising it to my mouth. "Tomorrow will be better."

I don't remember pulling the trigger. I don't remember pain, or a loud noise, or a flash of light. I do remember, though, a quietness. For the first time since I could remember, the voices were silent. The pain that had been present all my life... was gone. If I could have cried, I think I would have. But alas, the dead have no tear ducts.

Suddenly, I could hear beeping. "Damn, now there's a beeping too?" I thought. Slowly, I started coming to, a bright light filtering through my closed eyelids. I could feel a soft substance under me, cool to the touch and smoother than riverstone. "Am I on a mattress?" I thought. I slowly opened my eyes to a white ceiling. The room I was in was kind of small, and I could smell the chemicals used to sterilize it in the air. But for some reason, I wasn't scared or worried.

At first, all I felt was confusion, and confusion about why I was confused. Then I realized, "Where are the voices?" A door to the room opened, admitting a fairly young woman in what looked like a lab coat and scrubs. 

"Oh, you're awake," she exclaimed, looking up from the clipboard in her hands. "How are you feeling?"

"Calm," I respond. "What happened?"

"A man was walking his dog when he heard a gunshot. His dog took off, and when the man found her, she was with you.You had a bullet hole in your skull, and a gun was laying nearby. He called an ambulance, and they brought you here. Honestly, we all thought you were dead when they walked you in. It's an absolute miracle you're still alive, much less awake," she responded as she moved to my side, fiddling with my arm and head. 

 "Yeah, a miracle," I said, thoughtfully. Honestly, after surviving most of my accidents, I thought I was cursed. This was the first time the voices had stopped. Maybe, this time, it really was a miracle. 

 "I need to go find Dr. Rhazul. He's the doctor in charge of you while you're here. Please, just lie down and try to get some rest. You're stable for now, but we'd rather not take any chances.”

"Okay," I responded as she walked out of the room. 

 "How are you feeling, really?" a voice asked right beside me. Jumping I turned to find two of the most beautiful people I had ever seen staring at me intently. They both wore long trench coats, but that was where the similarities ended. The one who spoke was a man who looked timeless. He had milk chocolate colored skin, golden eyes, and wore his black cornrowed hair in a thick ponytail. What really struck me as odd was how familiar his voice was. 

 "Well?" the other person asked, and I turned to look at her. She was just as beautiful as the man, with fiery red hair and clear blue eyes, her skin was pale but tanned, like she had spent some time in the sun. Her voice sounded just as familiar.

"Um, I feel fine. Who are you two?" I asked.

"Figures, I told you he wouldn't remember us!" the woman exclaimed at her partner.

Her volume made me shrink into the pillow behind me in fear. This caught the attention of the man, who addressed her sharply. "Keep your voice down, Rali. We don't want to hurt him any more than we already have." 

She glanced at me shrinking back in fear, and sighed. "Your right. I'm sorry. My name is Rali, and this is Raja. Put simply, we are your ... Guardians." Her apology made me feel a bit safer, but the words that followed didn't.

"What do you mean, guardians? I'm emancipated. Have been for the past two years," I responded, the suspicion evident in my voice.

"Emancipated, yes. But we've still looked over you during that time and before. In fact, we've been watching over you your entire life. We just did a poor job of it," the man said with shame in his eyes.

"My entire-" I started before it struck me. His voice, it was one of the voices I always heard arguing! And hers, hers was the other!

Before I could tell, the woman interrupted. "Please, let us explain." And so, they told me everything. How the two of them were guardian angels, how a mishap had them both logged as my guardians, how they both had different methods of protecting me. They told me that they were the ones that had kept me alive for so long, protecting me from the dangers around me. They admitted that it was their negligence that forced me to face danger in the first place.

They told me how they thought they were still doing good, even after all of these years. They explained that it wasn't until they saw the gun in my hand with the barrel in my mouth that they realized just how badly they had screwed up. They explained, and they apologized for all the pain they had caused me throughout my life.

They promised that they would do much better, working together to help fix the damage they had caused, if I would still accept them as my guardians. I sat there through their entire story, shocked. Here I was being told that there were powerful paranormal beings who were supposed to protect me, and all I could feel was anger. These two beings had tormented me my entire life and it was only after I had decided to end it all that they were sorry?!

But I was never one to lash out, never one to speak in anger. Instead, I worked on calming myself down before speaking. "What happens if I refuse?" I ask, trying to buy myself more time. 

The two looked shocked before looking at each other and then back at me with grim looks. "Then we return home to report, you receive a new Guardian, and we are punished for our negligence," Raja answers. 

 "Punishment we more than deserve," Rali adds.

I thought about my options hard. On one hand, these two idiots were responsible for most of the my suffering throughout my entire life. On the other, they had now hopefully learned their lesson and I could now yell at them if they started arguing again. "Would you two stay as you are now, or remain as voices in my head?" I question. 

"Technically, you were never supposed to know we existed. Hearing our voices at all was another mistake on our part. But seeing how badly we already screwed up, I suppose the decision lies with you," Raja answered nervously.

"Is there any way you could help my current situation out any? I mean I am homeless with no money and not much of a future," I ask. If not, then I was kind of stuck no matter what I chose. 

My spirits slightly rose, however, when Rali grinned, "Technically no, however we do have connections with some of the other guardians, including those who watch over your birth parents and foster parents."

Raja grinned as well, "It turns out you are set to receive quite a bit of money due to various lawsuits and insurance policies. No one could informed you about them because no one could find you." 

This was a lot to process. "So? Will you still accept us as your Guardians?" Rali asked nervously. I looked at the hope in her eyes, before turning and seeing the hope in his. 

I took a deep breath before answering, "Nope." Their faces fell as I smiled. "Just kidding. I accept, but I have a few conditions. First, no more arguing, especially in my head. I'm done with that headache," I stopped, making sure they nodded in understanding before I continued. "Second, you two will remain appearing like you do now. It's easier to talk to you if people around me don't think I'm crazy." Again they nodded. "And three, you two are going to help me get my life back on track, no matter what it takes, understand?" Again, the two nodded. "Good," I smile. 

And then we talked, about their home and what it was like, about what kind of treats we would have when we got out. We laughed together after the doctors came back in, scaring Rali a bit to the point that she fell out of the chair. I grinned as Raja chuckled, Rali cursing both of us while she picked herslef up off the florr.

As I look at these two morons responsible for most of the suffering in my life, I can’t help but feel happy. For the first time in my life, I was glad I could hear the voices. For the first time, I felt truly at peace.