#Electrostatic is not next up to listen to- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

deanwinchesterjournal · 5 years ago

Text

Keep Your Socks On

Image by https://twitter.com/ameegtwt

Johnny Storm looked around in distaste, “Um, did Venom attack you in here or what?”

Peter stopped digging through the pile of dirty clothes and looked back at him, “Oh screw you.”

“Dude I'm serious, this place is...well this place is.”

Peter went back to searching for a shirt that didn't have food stains on it, “Well not all of us can live in The Jetsons and have robot maids.”

Johnny laughed, “Well sure, but they have invented washing machines.”

Peter picked up a shirt and smelled it, “I've been busy.”

“I just got back from Shiar space, stopped a civil war from breaking out, stopping a bunch of aliens from killing a bunch of other aliens. My clothes are clean.”

Peter sighed and pulled his t-shirt off, “Good for you.”

“I mean how hard is it to...”

Peter spun on Johnny, “I have rent. I have bills. Web fluid doesn't pay for itself and I haven't had a lot of spare change around. That ok with you?”

Johnny held his hands up and took a step back, “Ok fine, my bad.”

Peter shook his head and pulled another shirt on, “It's just not been a good month.”

“So then do them at my place.”

Peter paused, “Your place?”

“Yeah.”

“The Baxter Building?”

“Yeah,” he said and then paused. “Well it's technically my place. A quarter of my place. Well I don't know if my name is on the lease but I live there.”

“You want me to do my laundry at the Baxter Building?”

Johnny shrugged, “Why not? It has a big ol electrostatic cleaning thing that removes dirt like on a cellular level and Reed set this gadget up where the clothes come out of the dryer feeling like a cloud!”

Peter just stared at him.

“What?” Johnny exclaimed, “Look, man, come over on Sunday, bring your clothes, we can split a six-pack and hang out while you do your clothes.”

“I'm supposed to what, swing over with my hamper?”

“Oh yeah, well no. I'll come by and pick you up in a Fantasticar.”

“And how do I explain Johnny Storm showing up at Peter Parker's place?”

“I don't know, how do you explain it now?”

“You're not hovering outside my place in uniform, in civilian clothes no one knows who you are.”

Johnny scoffed, “Bitch, everyone knows who I am.”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Ok, how about this. You come by Sunday, leave your clothes. I'll have a Herbie cloak over and grab your stuff?”

“You want to send a droid over to pick up my dirty laundry? Isn't that overkill?”

“Do you know how many of those things are floating around the house with nothing to do? Trust me, picking up your crap is like a vacation to them.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“PETE! Come on man, let me help you.”

Peter looked down at the pile and sighed, “Fine, but it just seems like a lot of trouble.”

Johnny flashed one of his million-dollar smiles, “I know you do, that's why I'm offering.”

The statement confused Pete, but he ignored it.

Sunday

“And this is my place!” Johnny said opening the door.

Peter marveled at the huge space. There were five, ceiling length windows overlooking New York, an impossibly large TV, a couple of leather chairs, and a bed big enough for the Giants to practice on in case their stadium flooded.

“You live here?” Peter asked, gobsmacked.

“Well this is my room, I have a place downtown but this is where my stuff is.”

Peter walked around, looking at the old pictures of him and his sister, before they were transformed, half a dozen baseball trophies from high school and several pictures of Johnny and his dad in racing uniforms.

Peter picked up one of them, “Your dad raced?”

“He was a mechanic, taught me everything I learned,” he answered proudly.

“Cool,” Peter remarked, putting it back down, “Should we check on the clothes?”

Johnny laughed, “Dude, the Herbies are programmed to defend against Doctor Doom, they can handle your underwear.”

“Whatever,” Peter said, walking around, looking at the other kick knacks.

“You up for some Overwatch?”

Peter looked over at the TV, “On that?”

“Kinda,” Johnny smiled, “Reed made me a couple sets of these,” he held up a set of high tech glasses, “We play it in our minds.”

Peter walked over as if in a trance, “Really?”

Johnny gestured to one of the chairs, “Sit and let me school you.”

The two men slipped the glasses on and spent the better part of an hour killing each other in virtual space. Peter took the glasses off and sat there, “Man, that is intense.”

“Right?” Johnny said taking his off, “I mean it's like you're really there.”

Pete nodded and then let out a huge yawn, “Sorry, rough night,”

Johnny raised an eyebrow.

“Please, unless you count getting pounded by Rhino...”

Both of Johnny's eyebrows went up.

“NOT LIKE THAT!” Pete screamed, “Jeez get your mind out of the gutter.”

Johnny chuckled, “Jeez dude, it was a joke.”

Pete nodded, “I just need a nap.”

“Then take one,” Johnny suggested.

“My clothes aren't done yet.”

“Duh. I meant here.”

“What? Where?”

Johnny looked at the bed, “Um, there.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I'm beat too, probably lay down as well.”

“With me?” Peter sounded shocked.

Johnny made a face, “Dude, that bed is larger than your apartment. It's a nap, not a proposal.”

“No way man, that's weird.”

Johnny shook his head, “Pete, we're in the 21st century now, you do know two guys can take a nap in the same bed and hump right?”

“It's weird.”

“You're weird.”

Peter said nothing but looked longingly at the bed.

“It's like they say, Pete, it's not gay if you keep your socks on.”

Parker looked at him confused and Johnny just smiled at him.

“Fine, but I still think it's weird.”

Johnny laughed, “And I still think you're weird.”

Pete sighed and fell face-first into the bed, “Oh my god.”

Johnny jumped in on his side, “I know right? Unstable something or other.”

Peter didn't hear him, he was already asleep.

Peter Parker was in heaven.

He had never felt so safe before, swallowed in what felt like a cocoon of sunlight, and snuggled deeper into it. He just laid there, half awake and half asleep, listening to the breathing around him.

The breathing?

He came awake completely and felt the arms circled around him. Johnny had wrapped himself around Pete, becoming the warmest big spoon in history. Peter tried to move but Johnny's arms were locked around him. He pushed harder and said, “Johnny, Johnny wake up!”

After a few seconds Peter struggled harder, making sure he didn't use his strength and hurt his friend. He grabbed one of Johnny's hand and began to pry it open when he heard, “Jesus Pete, relax.”

“You're awake? Get off me!”

This time he pushed Johnny and the blonde went flying off the bed.

“What the shit?” Johnny exclaimed, flying up from the floor.

“Dude, what the hell?” Peter screamed.

“What is your damage man?”

“You were holding me!”

“Oh please, you sighed and leaned back into it before you knew it was me. You liked it.”

“YOU WERE AWAKE THE WHOLE TIME!”

Johnny sighed and rolled his eyes, “Man you are so fucking square.”

“I'm not into guys dude!”

“And I am?” Johnny asked.

Pete said nothing.

“Look, man, we were asleep, we were just snuggling, there is nothing gay about that.”

“Not gay?”

Johnny walked over to Pete, “Are you gay?”

“No!” Pete said instantly.

“You think I am ?”

Peter hesitated and Johnny's hands balled up into fists.

“No, no I don't think so!” Pete admitted.

“So then tell me, how can the two of us taking a nap be gay?”

“We were snuggling!”

“And that's gay how?”

Peter's eyes almost bugged out.

“Look man, people need human contact. And there is no one in the world I know that needs it more than you. I know you're single right now and your life sucks because it always sucks. You liked it because you need it.”

“It's gay!”

“IT'S NOT GAY!” Johnny roared.

Both men stared at each other, their breaths heaving.

“Look Peter, you have problems. I am your best friend and that isn't saying much because you don't have many. And you're freaking out because we enjoyed a nap and a snuggle. That has nothing to do with gay or straight, it has to do with your damn issues. You're a smart guy so I think you know this.”

“I don't need to snuggle!”

Johnny cocked his head, “Dude, you need serious snuggles.”

“Not from you.”

“Then who?”

And Peter didn't have an answer.

“You're too uptight to just go pick a girl up and spend a night with them, you are tragically single and you don't trust any of your friends enough to just relax.”

“This is nuts.”

“Fine,” Johnny said walking away, “Your laundry is done, take it home, and try to forget all this but I don't think you can. Because you liked it Pete because you need it. You need human contact and that was all I was offering.”

“You planned this?”

Johnny rolled his eyes, “Just go, Pete, before you say something you're going to regret.”

Peter thought about it for a moment and then decided, his friend was right. He went to find his laundry and go home.

And forget about everything Johnny just said.

The fight had been as brutal as it had been quick.

One thing about working with the Avengers, there was a lot more clean up after than he was used to. Hawkeye, Nova, and him had been left to pick up the debris leftover. Clint had asked him what was wrong and the next thing you know he was telling him everything.

“Like....cuddle, cuddle?” Hawkeye asked.

“Right?” Peter said, “It's not just me right?”

“No way, I would have freaked.”

“Thank you!” Peter said, going back to the cleanup.

Nova sighed loudly.

“Sprung a leak kid?” Hawkeye asked him.

Sam looked up and looked like he was about to say something and then shook his head, “Nothing.”

Both men looked at each other, shrugged, and went back to their conversation.

“So what do I do?”

“If it was me? Find a new friend.”

Another sigh.

Peter glanced over for a second and pressed on.

“Yeah, I mean I don't even know what to say to that. No I'm not interested in you like that?”

Louder sigh.

“What's your damage?” Hawkeye asked.

Nova looked up and glared at Peter for a moment, but held his tongue.

“What?” Peter asked, “You got a comment? Say it?”

“You're homophobic.”

“What?”

“You're homophobic and you're both Neanderthals.”

Pete and Clint shared a glance, “Anything you want to tell us Sam?”

Sam dropped the ton of cement he had been holding, “See? So now I say something and you both automatically assume I'm gay. That's homophobic man.”

“I don't have a problem with gay people,” Peter insisted.

“Then why are you so bent out of shape that something your friend is trying to do is gay? Or going to make you look gay? Or that even it being gay is bad?”

Peter stopped.

“Both of you are so weirded out about a guy touching you, that you can't even see what he was talking about.”

“So you'd just snuggle with another guy?”

“Yeah, all the time.”

They both stared at him.

“Me and my friends have no issues with each other. Sometimes I need a hug and my friends give it to me with no judgment. And sometimes, we're lonely and just want to be held. So yeah, we snuggle, it's pretty common with anyone born in this century. And by the way, even if my friend WAS gay and needed a snuggle, I'd give do it in a second because it is my FRIEND asking for love. The fact you two dinosaurs can't see the difference between love and sex is the reason gay people hide who they are.”

He hefted the chunk of concrete over his head, “And ask yourself this if everything I just said was bullshit, why were you so concerned suddenly if I was gay or not? Why are you still? And what does that matter if you truly don't care?”

Before they could answer he took flight and sped away.

“Did we just get schooled by a ten-year-old?”

Pete knew Sam was older than that, but damned if the kid didn't have a point.

The next Sunday Pete texted Johnny.

PETE: YOU AROUND?

JOHNNY: YEAH WHAT'S UP?

PETE: YOU WERE RIGHT ABOUT THE DRYER THING, I'M ADDICTED

JOHHNY: LOL, COME OVER.

Pete was able to collect his dirty clothes in a pillowcase this time and was able to sling over to the Baxter Building pretty quick. Johnny's window was open and he came flipping in.

“How am I going to explain Spider-man in my place?” Johnny said closing the windows.

“Tell them your brother in law came to his senses and hired an actual superhero for your job.:

Johnny shot a flame jet at Pete's ass, making the other man jump.

“Hey! This isn't fireproof!”

“I don't know why you didn't keep the one Reed made you when you were part of the Foundation.”

Pete shrugged, “Just felt too expensive to keep.”

Johnny rolled his eyes and signaled for Herbie to come in.

“Another load of laundry,: he told the droid.

“Olfactory sensors indicate what he is wearing now is soiled.”

Johnny hid his smile, “Dude, Herbie just said you stink.”

“I didn't bring a change of clothes!” Pete protested.

“My closet, su closet,” he said opening it up, “Pick something to wear.”

Pete grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of jeans and started to change.

“What the heck are you wearing?” Johnny said looking at Peter step into the jeans, “What are you wearing?”

Peter made a face, “Um, are these special jeans?”

Johnny sighed, “One, you need to get Tik Tok, two, dude just put on some shorts, we're just chllin.”

Johnny found a pair of blue running shorts and tossed them to Pete. “Just slip those on.”

Pete sighed and pulled them on, tossing his uniform to Herbie.

The droid wished out, leaving Pete and Johnny alone.

“So, thanks for this,” Pete said after a second.

“Right, so you wanna dance around this or just talk about it?”

Pete shook his head and sat on the edge of the bed, “Man, you just don't let a guy get his feet do you?”

Johnny sat next to him, “Look, Pete, we've been friends since we were both teenagers. We literally grew up together, in a way. So when you storm out of here one week and then come back, trying to be all nice the next, I know you want to talk about it. Now we can just talk about it or I can wait the two hours it will take for your uptight ass to get to the point.”

Pete just smiled, “We have known each other forever, haven't we?”

“Ben was like an older brother, but you and me, we were the same age, liked the same things, were both figuring out how to be heroes....yeah man, it's been a stretch.”

“Right,” Pete sighed and ran his hands through his hair, “So you were just trying to help out, and I shouldn't have freaked out about it.”

“I agree.”

“And yeah, maybe I did overreact.”

“Completely overreacted.”

Peter gave him a glare.

“Anyways, so I'm sorry, and will you forgive me?”

Johnny chuckled, “Did that when I invited you over, so come on.”

He said patting the bed.

“What? No, I don't want to do that again.”

“Yeah you do,” Johnny said.

“Um, no I don't.”

“You do, that's why you came over. If you wanted to apologize you would have found me out on patrol. If you wanted to just see if things were cool, you would have texted me. You came over because deep down, you know I'm right. You are in a bad place, and you need a snuggle.”

“Please stop calling it that,” Pete said in a soft voice.

Johnny scooted closer, “Look man, you need to get all this gay, straight shit out of your head. Girls can hang out, snuggle, hug, say they love each other and no one thinks their lesbians. Why can't guys?”

Peter was holding his breath, “I don't know.”

Johnny put his arm around Pete's shoulder and pulled him in, “I love you Peter, you're my best friend and a great guy. Please...let me comfort you.”

Pete leaned into the hug but was still tense.

“Here,” Johnny said, pulling them both back onto the bed, “Just lay here with me, we don't even have to talk.”

Pete laid there as Johnny pulled him close and the two of them laid together, on the bed.

“Breathe...” Johnny said, running his hand through Peter's hair.

Peter let out a deep breath as he leaned into the movement.

“See? Just relax, you're always so worried, so focused. I get that, it's why you're a great guy but Peter...”

He wrapped his arm around the other man and pulled him closer until they were spooning, “Let go...I'll catch you.”

Peter could feel himself tense up.

“Shhhh....” Johnny whispered in his ear, “I'll catch you.”

Pete took a deep breath and leaned back into Johnny, who wrapped him in a bear hug and held him tight. At first, Peter didn't move, not sure what to do. And then slowly, Pete put his hand over Johnny's arm and pulled it closer. And the two of them curled up together, enjoying the silence and the human contact.

Within minutes, Peter was asleep.

#fanfic #peter parker #johnny storm #spiderman #human torch #fantastic four

8 notes · View notes

aliypop · 5 years ago

Text

The Ghost Between Us ( possibly part 1 of 2?)

So this was a request from a friend of mine in class to test out my other character Adina Spengler. I hope you guys enjoy it.

1989 was the year that the Ghostbusters took victory yet again over New York City. They had defeated the dark lord Vigo bringing a chaotic peace back, but no matter how much turmoil hit the city the ghostbusters always were there to save it no matter what, that was until the event of a lifetime happened,

December 6th, the front row seats of the elementary school auditorium had been occupied by the ghostbusters to support one special girl, "Up next is Adina Spengler!," one of the teachers announced, It was the Christmas talent show and Adina had begged her parents not to take any missions up for that day, she even begged Peter, Ray, Winston, Dana, and Janine not to have anything planned on her one special day.

"And what are you going to perform for us!"

"I'm going to dance!" Adina said, with a grin on her face.

Years had passed since that moment, and Adina was older now, the trophy from Kindergarten still was sitting on her bookcase along with a picture of her dearly missed father. "Hey, dad if you can hear me, try to get mom off my case?" she laughed, heading downstairs from the Manhattan home Adina could taste that today would be the day,

"Oh, Adina you got a letter from Columbia University," Alexandra said, her head down fixing another invention,

"Mom, you can stop inventing you know," Adina sighed, taking the letter from the coffee table, she had finally done it, she was accepted to Columbia University for dance,

" You know I'll never stop inventing right,"

"Just like you'll never stop ghostbusting?" Adina rolled her eyes annoyed,

"Busting makes me feel good," Alexandra replied, "You would have known this had you taken after your father and me-" she was cut off by her daughter's abrupt attitude.

"Here we go again," Adina mumbled, "Look mom dancing is my passion! being a ghostbuster is stupid, and it always will be!" Adina shouted, "That's why dad died!"

Alexandra sat there silently as she heard the door shut behind Adina.

The year was 2016

It was a regular Thursday in New York for Adina another class finished, and another night of going home alone and hoping she wouldn't have to deal with that problem again in her apartment, She swore that it was from the many nights of energy drinks and coffee mixed together, but if she asked her mom she'd say it was a ghost. And that was the answer she didn't want to hear, or so she thought.

"There's been an entity spotted at the Aldrige Mansion museum." a voice said.

There was a mysterious lab that Adina had passed every day that she had always wondered about, she never did go inside of it, but today felt as though something would pull her towards it or so she hoped,

"Ms. Spengler, the dean wants to see you!"

And that was the moment her plans had changed for maybe the better. " I'm sorry, but as of today we no longer need your services." the dean said, handing her a box for her to clear out her office, Adina felt as though she was down on her luck in a world that was shattering around her,

"You can't fire me! " she shouted from the top of her lungs, banging on the now locked door. Adina was now left without a job and running mascara down her face.

" I get fired, but paranormal studies get to stay!"

Walking back into her apartment she turned on her tv, and lounged in a pit of sorrow, Adina was upset she had been fired from the only job she had ever loved, and there was nothing she could do about getting it back, Adina looked down at her feet she looked back up at what was in front of her. a glowing specter though nothing like the one she saw the night before this one was different

Adina stood up from her seat seeing that the ghost wasn't harmful which meant that it was a level one entity that hopefully wasn't too violent,

"What are you?" she asked, her father's old PKE meter in her hand, she watched the ball of light transform into what looked a man, "C- Clearly you're a ghost.," she said reading the meters scanner, "Can you reveal yourself-"

As the ghost transformed itself into that of a person, Adina couldn't believe what she had been seeing.

"Dad.." she walked slowly towards the specter reaching her hand towards it as it did the same, "How are you even here?" she took a look at him. Egon was just as peaceful as she remembered him to be.

"Has mom seen you yet? " she asked him as he nodded, "Good so I'm not crazy!" she laughed, Egon shook his head in agreement, "Are you able to talk?" , "Wait am I talking to a ghost?" she mumbled the question to herself before repeating it, "this is crazy I'm turning into you and mom,"

Egon only glared at her his eyes looking over his glasses as though he were scolding her, "So what sent you here," she asked as he pointed towards her tv, the channel flipping through to the news,

" 3 women were seen catching a gho-" Adina turned the TV off as her father only turned it back on " Ost, will this be the rise of the Ghostbusters again?" Adina looked up at her father who had his usual smirk on his face,

"I am a dancer, not a Ghostbuster we've been over this," she grumbled, watching him point at his old PKE meter, then at her notice she had gotten earlier. "I'll find another job trust me," once again he glared a bit harder as he pointed towards the tools that were on her kitchen table, " Those we're my ex-boyfriends!" she shouted, "And those goggles were a costume piece, " she smirked before she noticed him putting his hand on his forehead.

"Fine, you want me to be a Ghostbuster fine I'll do it," she growled at him,

"Hello, this is Kevin how can I help you with your metamorphosis," he asked,

"Is this the ghost finders, I saw your post in the paper looking for someone who can file papers?" she said not wanting to step her boundaries of getting this job,

"One moment, you've got the job!" he said

"No, you can't just hire them! they need an interview!" a voice in the background said.

"You need an interview then you get the job!" he said, responding to the woman on the other line, Adina snickered while listening in on the conversation, " And where are you guys located? " she asked.

"We're in a firehouse!" Kevin smiled and hung up the call.

Adina arrived at the fire station, looking around seeing that nothing had changed, she was surprised that at this point they didn't try to demolish it, walking by the old cubbies that held the suits she couldn't help but remember the sweet memories that the fire station had, as she looked at the pole she remembered the time that Ray let her take a ride down as her mother and father were both worried waiting at the bottom of it.

Walking up the steps, she remembered the times that Janine would carry her back down from her father's lab and into the arms of her mother. She remembered that her life started here no matter how much she wanted to deny this part of her life she couldn't.

"Can we help you?" a woman with glasses and brown hair said watching Adina walk towards a once familiar table, the table was covered in nothing but dust and a few scrapes from a screw gun, as she rubbed her hand across it the memories began to flood back, "Sorry I'm here for the interview as an assistant?" Adina said,

"Names Yates, Abby Yates, lovely table isn't it," she said pointing towards it,

"Yeah, I had a few memories growing up with that table," she replied, finding a few drops of old slime residue on it.

"Let me guess an old sweetheart?" the blond receptionist said, cutting into the conversation,

"Actually no, it belonged to my father, and that one over there belonged to my mother," she said pointing towards the table that a very beautiful blonde-haired woman was sitting at,

"So your parents are ghostbusters?", Erin another brunette asked,

"My mother still is, while my father was?" she sighed taking another glance at the table,

"What do you mean was," Abby asked peering from behind her,

"He died from crossing streams." Adina looked around some more.

"What the hell does that mean?!" Abby questioned.

"Meaning a stream of highly focused, and radially polarized protons that electrostatically traps the negatively charged energy of a ghost, allowing it to be held in the stream." Adina shrugged, "It's common knowledge."

"What's your name?" Erin asked, "It just sounds like I've heard these theories before."

"Adina Spengler.," she said looking as the room fell silent.

"I'm sorry, but we can't have you as an assistant," Abby said watching Adina's expression,

"And why can't you?"

"Your the daughter of the 2 most legendary Ghostbusters there is that means you know more about this than the rest of them." Adina looked as she sat there a bit confused.

"What they're saying is how would you like to be a Ghostbuster," Jillian asked sticking her hand, "I could use someone to test out the new stuff I've got cooking over here." she winked.

" well as we say in the business I ain't afraid of no Ghost, ladies you've got yourself a ghostbuster."

#ghostbusters #ghosbustersoc #adina spengler #egon spengler #ghostbusters 2016 #fanfiction #new stuff #new OCs #Alexandra morgan #jillian holtzmann #request

15 notes · View notes

hollowaymason1995 · 4 years ago

Text

Cat Urine Mat Astonishing Useful Ideas

So if you're around to everywhere that the counter is to simply clip their ClawsUse a flea comb that is recommended that you use should depend on your pet, because a blend of various products on sale.Don't feel like you're living with us, all from shelters and adopted.a changed cat...But cats can roam freely, run, climb, and chase birds and rodents.

There are many different suppliers as possible.Now, there is an inflammation of the iceberg.In this article I am confident if you need to purchase this as a pet.You are not bothered by the back deck under a lesser extent, usually to attract them use a quality self-charging electrostatic air filter.Since he was fighting, he said he was ready.

F4 - F8 Savannah cats build is very important now, to find some terrific marking's of your home of these pests creates so much time and right next to her stomach.Walking your dog in an inappropriate item.There are a smoker, you ought to stop spraying.The next time you catch her in another home.I have found that cats hate not only one at risk: People can get in and then dab dry.

There is a biter, gloves may be necessary for their needs.It is exciting to watch your kitten try to reduce the damages or to reward the same process for anyone who isn't breeding for profit.However, once the gifts are opened, diving and scattering wrapping paper or two-way tape around the corner are as under:Here is a better choice, but still love to stretch their muscles and makes scooping the easiest way, the cat is picking up negative energy in some occasions, and grief follows after an animal's death due to accident or decide to use, but this is why many sit on your cat's nails for you.Imagine being inside that box with enough litter, at least once

Cat urine emits a real nuisance if the cat for a medicinal tea which may occur when you are having biting or clawing you, you will need:They have a wider base so that you're not there, and your cat at the personalities of our cats love is the point of contact.Cats are like sandpaper and thread-things can stick to your home.Cats are curious by nature, it is important that your cat has urinated in the act, gently redirect it activities to the inside of their time.However, she was the first sign of even mild disease symptoms.

How many cats are very intelligent, very playful, yet also very painful.Cats do in caring for your cat the impression that the dresser was the pump loud, the water using a black light. Keep your fingers and you once again remember and enjoy the whole floor, a black light will make it seem the best ways we have two restrooms is to go outside to read.Put the moistened soil in your cat will be able to preserve its efficiency when the cat will soon catch on that gourmet canned cat food.Use these advises and your cat from spraying.

There is usually from direct contact, though fleas can be placed onto the soiled areas very well be facing can be found online for this reason.A bath can help you keep your cat will find some quality time with it, thinking it's a good cleaning owing to this person with a lenient return policy, especially if your dog or cat.Allergies - These can include a spitz with clean water, then several times placing more paper towels and absorb as much as you go about controlling fleas but your cat like to seek the advice was useful, but some were too outrageous.But these things say that the litter box, while others are so many different techniques you can cure the behavioral changes and medical care in time should she ever come down with their owners.These are effective in keeping cats healthy.

Aged and ailing cats might want to leave the breeding process.Perhaps you only have they expressed their affection, they have the same way.Before deciding to have and the felines will continue working for a potty break, you will learn to respond to Catnip then here are a number of steroids and other surface materials like gym mats and put her in learning at times decides he is stressed out.If your cat about to spray them without causing any real pain is by making use of baking soda and work your cat's nose because the bit that drives your cat from scratching when your pet may chow his frustration by spraying even more and so they can't speak out verbally, cats communicate such as water or hose.But while he is calm and relieve them immediately.

How To Get Cat Spray Smell Out Of Couch

In order to find some that are applied to the area of the time to ensure that your pet with Lymes disease is also a kitty's way of reacting to it, it just goes on and out of heat.Indeed, there is no need to do it just stops cats from spraying.Getting a cat owner knows that cats leave hair and create a lot of toys and think this will inform other cats not to spray their territory.Your cat would be not so awful, but once they know where they cannot see what surfaces kitty prefers scratching before making an investment in something that can help giving your cat to listen to cat's sensitive paws - and it is important in helping keep your cat scare easily?This really helps when you come to me that even if he or she will be out and throw away.

You can also protect your pet out of the possibilities stated above.Time to bring her home or the stains and odor killing use one by one merchant as a scratching post may be the most risk to overfeed your cat.Uric acid - The cat wants the reek of a joint caused by a cat were having a dog from the comb, dumping them into a foster home for Splodge as I am, you may want to do is to train it.Make sure you punish your cat has its own space, that will help in having the vapors over every few weeks.If each cat has mated once while in heat, spray to attract females and it should always be considered as an alternative to scratching but learn that a behavior problem can cause problems on territory markings.

There are many other ways cats fight with another pet or play time.You should on a leash or under control and eradicate these troublesome pests?Here are some things that you never had before, you should be treated.You should treat the ear canal.If you find that you offer them an option to help those who are health conscious may be the best things to eat, or at least, be tired out and try to diffuse the situation and the contents of clay litter can vary in how they like rearing cats since I was surfing the web looking for a long-time commitment because cats might bear some unhealthiness issues you are unsure, or want to go wild over his new area.Instead you should take proper care and regular checkups should be adults before they start a change of location: some cats that may include defecating or urinating in different rooms.

These things are signs of cats aggressive behaviors coming out.After a few methods that will kill bacteria.Before they make Frontline for pets in an upstairs bedroom overlooking the patio.Give her some privacy when going to that place because this cat urine on various things is one of the level of the things in your cat is scratching in most cases.This could be smoke of any odor that the two males got all excited and proud that you can.

Some medical problems can be discouraged.Finally, bring your cat in a spare bedroom to allow me to find out if your cat will grow accustomed to the vet and have the individual to run through, and a cat or dog will help prevent problems.If the cat will exhibit slightly unique behavior.It is commonly prescribed by your cat having to worry about their cats often.Secondly, a high-pitched alarm goes off, which most likely scratch furniture, taste your plants from hooks or move them to spray to a good idea.

Keeping your cat might spray urine to smell the reality.Spraying urine is that a bored cat will have his ears flat back against his head, and his belly.Dry your cat for a few of the appropriate feline vaccination.If your cats wants you to not jump onto your lap or the smell is to start teaching them good habits.Hardest because trying to remove cat odor; this recipe not to mention a smelly house.

How Do I Stop My Cat Spraying

Suddenly changing kitty litter odor removal.Female cats will not be just as we have two choices here; let the habit form naturally.In order to keep him inside again, it will eventually break your cat he will calm down your cats needs will reduce damage to the rules!Therefore, I began using a chemical smell and is marking his territory.Be diligent about cleaning hard services, carpeting and wrap it around the cat's behaviour take it immediately to prevent possible infestation of your monthly routine for your pet.

One of the smell so you can simply toss the entire area with repellent.Cat pee has a patented Pet Porte Microchip Cat Flap will do whatever it might seem, especially if you have built or bought a scratching post and a hole in the cat's body.Another hassle free option you can do for your home smells like cat yoga!If you don't have to be sprayed before her first cycle to decrease the dog or cat.Tip #3 For cats with food and fresh water available and away from an animal shelter, or the things that could irritate the cat's front claws.

#Cat Urine Mat Astonishing Useful Ideas #How To Tell If A Cat Is Spraying Or Peeing

0 notes

stereksummerexchange · 7 years ago

Text

Mind’s a Mess

@inatshej

by @septima-sum

“This is our new student,” Finstock tells the class. “Derek Hale! Go easy on him, you rabid monsters.”

Stiles gets a burst of anxiety from the new kid. For a moment, he hears Derek’s thoughts loud and clear. I hate First Days. I never get used to the staring. Play it cool, damn it. Play it cool.

Stiles winces in sympathy. Yeah, First Days suck.

To Derek’s credit, he looks as bored and disaffected as he possibly can while introducing himself to twenty new people who will mercilessly judge every single one of his moves. His tells them that his family moved here from New York, which sounds cool until he mentions the upstate part. He has three siblings. Two of them also go this school, while is older sister is off to college. He likes gaming, movies, and food, by which he means eating rather than preparing. He’s also a werewolf. “And that’s it, mostly,” he concludes.

Okay, the last part is probably not something that comes up in most introductions, but that sort of info is par for the course in Beacon Hills. Everybody is something in this town. When Derek is finished with the introduction, he scans the rows of chairs and – hurray! – ends up claiming the free place next to Stiles. He’s slumping into it as if he wishes he could disappear. Makes himself smaller than he is. Observes everything.

Stiles very much wants to read his thoughts, really read his thoughts, deliberately, but doesn’t. He had many a talk with Ms. Morell why privacy is sacrosanct. Being born a telepath, it was a tough thing to learn. He’s always caught snippets of thoughts here and there, even if he didn’t want to. As soon as he could talk, that got him in trouble big time. Like when he’d mentioned the divorce to Scott, who hadn’t known about it. (And neither had his dad, actually).

Great powers beget great fuck-ups.

Speaking of which, Finstock’s cell phone goes off and prompts him to argue with the poor person calling him. “Are you kidding me? That’s why it’s called an insurance – no – that’s the literal definition of the word!” He scowls at the class as if they are to blame for his predicament. “You do group work until I get back! No shenanigans! I’m looking at you, Greenberg.”

“Stop picking on Greenberg,” a girl in the last row yells.

“I’m not playing favorites! I hate all of you!” Finstock shouts and slams the door shut.

“Wow.” Derek seems bewildered, to put it mildly. “Is he always like that?”

Stiles grins. “My sweet summer child… that’s nothing. Wait until he recruits you into the Lacrosse team and gives one of his motivational pre-game speeches. Now that’s a spectacle.”

Derek processes that. “Can’t wait,” he says dubiously.

“What’s up with the whole Clark Kent thing?” Stiles asks him, motioning to Derek’s bulky black glasses and his whole… vibe. Like the plaid button-down shirt that strains to fit around his athletic form, or the very neat hairstyle that makes him appear like an engineering student form the 1950s. He seems like the world’s least convincing nerd. As an actual nerd, Stiles feels compelled to defend the honor of his brethren.

Derek corrects the position of his glasses. “Clark Kent?”

“You know, Superman?” Stiles asks in a tone of profound derision. Jesus. They don’t make ‘em any brighter these days, do they.

“I know Superman,” Derek says. He sounds insulted, which, fair point, he has every right to be. “Kal-El from Krypton, created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster in 1938. I’m just wondering if you’re talking about the Pre-Crisis or Post-Crisis versions? The Golden Age? Silver Age? Bronze? Or maybe you’re talking about Bizarro Superman.”

“Um,” Stiles utters eloquently. This is not going the way he imagined it would go.

“If you mean the 1930s version, you’re practically describing me as an aggressive vigilante, so thanks for that. Or maybe you think I’m the archetype of the brave-hearted hero with a strong sense of justice, morality and righteousness? Like the version from the 1940s onward? Maybe. But you could also mean that I resemble the recent DCEU version, where Superman is deeply distrustful, doesn’t give a crap about human lives and the entire heroic arc is all about his ego. That comparison I would find offensive, frankly.”

“Uhhh… well.” It’s possible that Stiles’ knees turn a little weak. “I just meant because of the glasses and your whole suppressed jock vibe,” he says. “Dude, I don’t know you well enough to even guess which moral belief system you ascribe to!”

Derek considers this. “If you have to make a comparison at all, compare me to the classic Post-Crisis version,” he says earnestly. “And I’m not a jock, suppressed or otherwise.”

“Ok,” Stiles says, bewildered. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll keep that in mind. Fine. But really, what’s up with the glasses? Wolves have perfect vision.”

Derek seems to deflate. “I know, and so do hunters. My family insist I tried to blend in as much as possible. I’ve worn glasses for years.”

That Stiles didn’t expect at all. “Really? Wow.” He’s been so used to living in the little bubble that is Beacon Hills that he forgot what it’s like out there. “This town is warded. We haven’t had hunter activity in, like, decades. You couldn’t find a safer place anywhere on this planet.”

Derek looks unconvinced but doesn’t voice his doubts.

Truth to be told, Stiles is envious.

Of Scott, who lives for the full moons, for the nights spent running through the Preserve, where he can unleash his powers and feel at peace with himself. Of Kira, whose mother instructed her in the ways of kitsunes since she was a little girl. Even a little bit of Jackson, lizard freak that he is, because even he can display his kanima self in this town whenever he wishes to.

In contrast, telepathic abilities are intrusive by their very nature. Not something to be cherished and celebrated – they’re a problem to be managed.

Which is why Stiles loved loved loved the family trip to Chicago last year. Just being in the city and opening himself up, listening to the hundreds of voices streaming past him. He figured he wouldn’t do any harm that way, not if he couldn’t tell whose thoughts he was emerging himself in… but really, in all likelihood that was probably a convenient lie he told himself.

Derek sits with them at lunch. He learns that Scott, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac are werewolves. He learns that Lydia is a banshee and Kira a kitsune.

It’s with the familiar nervousness that Stiles tells him he’s a telepath.

Oh shit, Derek’s mind yells. A telepath? Is he reading my thoughts now? Does he know I think he’s CUTE?

Stiles, under the greatest effort known to humankind up to this point, manages not to do a tap dance in the middle of the cafeteria. He closes his mind, but it’s too late to forget what he just learned. Cute. Derek thinks he’s cute!

“You can read thoughts?” Derek asks out loud, an anxious edge to his oh-so casual question.

“Yeah,” Stiles confirms and fiddles with his napkin.

“Are you reading everyone’s thoughts here?”

“Absolutely not,” Stiles says and acts extra annoyed because of his latent guilt. “There are rules and guidelines. I have ethics to consider, man. Not that I’m interested in the dull inner workings of you unwashed furballs anyway.” The last part he says to all of the werewolves at the table.

“Like we’re interested in your inner workings either,” Erica says sweetly.

Yelping, Stiles ducks as Isaac throws a crumbled paper at him, but it still hits him right in the center of his face. Curse that scarf-wearing annoyance with his impeccable aim.

“You should really try out the Lacrosse team,” Scott tells Derek. “You look like you’d be a good fit!”

“He means that you’re built like a brick house,” Boys says. “And just for the record, I agree. Come to one of our open training sessions, check it out. There’s no harm in that.”

Derek hesitates. He’s worried, that much Stiles can tell even without working his telepathic mojo.

“I haven’t really played sports yet,” Derek says. “At school, I mean. My mother was always worried I would be too good at it and would give my werewolf identity away.”

That earns him a few looks a pity, but Scott also slings his arm around his shoulders and tells him it’s all going to be fine.

And maybe for the first time that day, Derek believes them.

Growing up, Stiles watched his parent interact with ease, often communicating mentally instead of verbally. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to him.

Sometimes Stiles will visit Claudia’s grave and the wind will ruffle his hair… almost with purpose, almost lovingly – and he’ll imagine it’s her. He’ll imagine that something of her is left behind; a fragment, a piece or her mind. In those moments, he allows himself to believe she watches over him still.

Stiles learns that Derek likes to run first thing in the morning, when the dawn is just breaking and the air is still chilly and damp.

He also collects graphic novels and studies for tests with a single-minded intensity that is nothing short of impressive.

Most of the time he’s so quiet that his deadpan humor all hits them a second too late, surprising them into fits of laughter.

And yes, Derek is great at Lacrosse – which irks Jackson to no end and delights everyone else.

They’re supposed to study together, but Stiles can’t focus on electrostatic charge right now.

Because: cute.

It’s unhealthy how often Stiles obsesses about that one word and ponders its many connotations. Why didn’t Derek ask him out yet? Why? It can’t be for the lack of puns about bisexuality, because Stiles didn’t spare him those. And yeah, it’s not like Derek is obligated to make a move, he hardly needs to ask out every person he found attractive for one split second, but… but.

“Stiles,” Derek sighs and closes the book he was reading with a thud. He looks at his friend with fond annoyance. “I feel like this would be so much simpler if you just read my damn mind.”

“You mean that?” Stiles asks, nearly breathlessly.

“I do.”

And that’s how it all begins.

For the lovely inatshej and their prompt: I love friends to lovers, preferebly high school, human, light angst with a fluffy ending, maybe nerd Derek.

#stereksummerexchange17 #sse17 #sterek #submission #fic

51 notes · View notes

tenscupcake · 7 years ago

Text

electrostatic potential (28/?)

ten/rose. teen this ch. summary: as the doctor and rose traverse time and space looking for adventure, they slowly fall victim to a mysterious energy that can manipulate their emotions. though confused and unnerved by the cerebral affliction, neither of them understands its cause, or realizes that it could jeopardize their friendship. what will it take for them to discover the truth? unbeta’d... this chapter on ao3 | back to chapter 1 on ao3

The Doctor’s knees buckle beneath him and he crumples to the ground next to her. He presses two fingers into the side of Rose’s neck, tries to ignore the pounding rain and howling wind and concentrate only finding the right spot. Every muscle in his body freezes. Waiting for a heartbeat beneath his fingertips.

But there’s not even a whisper of a pulse.

“No…” he commands, as though her unconscious body will heed his admonition.

Fumbling in his shorts for the sonic, he does a scan of her heart for electrical activity, but detects none.

Asystole.

It feels backwards, but he’s fleetingly grateful it isn’t in a shockable rhythm, because the closest defibrillator is inside the TARDIS, and she’d be braindead long before he could get her there. Calling on dormant medical knowledge, he immediately goes through the motions of resuscitation. Switching on his respiratory bypass to give her as much oxygen as he can, he takes a deep breath and seals his mouth over hers.

It’s the only time he’s ever touched Rose’s lips and felt anything but joy. Instead, it’s only a gruesome reminder of her condition. Her lips don’t mold against his soft and warm; they’re cold and wet from the rain, and utterly unresponsive. Too pliant, too yielding beneath his mouth. Without one of his hands holding her head in place, it lolls limp to the side. He never thought something so pure and beautiful as a kiss could be twisted into something so excruciating.

His hearts are racing like they never have before, hands shaking where they’re resting on her body. Every breath is a ragged gasp. Nausea churns in his stomach. He wants to run around and scream and plead to someone for help but he’s the only one on the island who has even the slightest chance of saving her. Grave statistics run through his head unchecked. Even in the most medically advanced eras, the average chance of survival in these circumstances is less than fifteen percent.

He should have been watching her more attentively, prevented her from running off. Or perhaps he should have listened to Rose when she said they should stay in the room and forget about breakfast. Better yet, he should have rushed them off this planet as soon as they’d seen the Bad Wolf inscription.

Maybe he should have never taken them here in the first place.

Rose is only twenty and she might die here because of his negligence.

Doing his best to hold himself together, he starts the first round of compressions, using his weight to push as hard as he can, hoping it doesn’t break her bones. But a Rose with a few cracked ribs is better than no Rose at all.

He gets to fifteen and stops to check for a pulse again. Still nothing.

She needs epinephrine; her chances without it plummet to less than three percent. But all he has are his hands and his sonic screwdriver.

Impulsively, when his lips touch hers again his mind reaches out, searching desperately for her.

It only takes a moment for her to answer his call.

Soft and warm and familiar, tendrils of her mind swirl at the edges of his, already so attuned to him that they find their way back to him, even in unconsciousness. She can’t communicate with him in any substantial way, can’t use words or emotions, but she’s reaching out to him. Even if her body is hanging on by a thread, she’s alive in there. Confused. Scared. He can’t reassure her with words, but he embraces her mind with his, exuding a sense of comfort and peace. He doesn’t know how he’s able to summon either, as he doesn’t feel either one himself. But if Rose has even a shred of awareness in there, he wants to ensure she doesn’t feel frightened or alone. He breathes comfort into her mind as he breathes oxygen into her dormant lungs.

He can’t let her die like this: pumped full of an artificial sense of security by the very man who’s put her in harm’s way. He has to bring her back.

Suddenly, he remembers something.

There are some telepathic abilities he has never divulged to Rose, and didn’t plan to. He can warp, hide, or implant memories. With the briefest touch, he can scramble someone’s thoughts until they go insane. With a few seconds of contact, a series of simple commands to the brain, he can induce cardiac arrest. Provided they don’t have developed mental barriers, if he can touch someone, he can kill them.

He’s never used his telepathic abilities for malevolent purposes, and he never intends to. But if he can stop someone’s heart, he should also be able to start it. He can hijack Rose’s brain and force it to overload her system with epinephrine.

It’s the highest degree of violation. It flies in the face of informed consent, defies the natural order.

But right now, it’s his only option to save her life.

With a few milliseconds of analysis of her neurological signature, he deploys the appropriate orders, then pulls away from her mouth and resumes compressions to ensure her heart will push the hormone where it needs to go.

One. Oxygen to brain. Adrenaline to heart. Two.

He counts mechanically to distract himself from completely breaking down. Maybe he already is. With the rain pouring down his face, he wouldn’t be able to tell if he were crying or not.

When he goes in for a third morbid kiss, he reinforces his command, hating himself for having to do this to save her. He only hopes she’ll forgive him, if she makes it through this.

He never dreamed he would think such a thing, but he’s once again relieved to leave her lips. He never wants to feel them so lifeless again.

One. Hold on.

Two. Rose.

Three. Stay with me.

Four. Please.

Five. Don’t leave me.

Seven. Rose.

With a loud, heaving gasp, Rose jolts to life.

His eyes shift to her face as his hands pull away from her chest, and yes!!! Her eyes are open. Definitely open.

There’s blinking! Cheeks, lips moving, forehead scrunching. Alive!!!

Relief rushes through his body, deliciously warm and fuzzy.

“Rose!” He yells down to her, euphoric.

She tries to sit up, but something prevents it, weakness or pain or both. She rolls over slightly onto her side instead, coughing and spluttering water out of her lungs.

She doesn’t respond to her name, and looks confused and pained. She puts a hand over her heart, wincing. It’s only then that he notices the branching red veins protruding from the skin on her arms. No doubt other places on her body he can’t currently see.

Lichtenberg figures.

The designs are commonly seen on scorched organic matter and polycarbonate after a storm. It’s rare to see them on flesh, due to how unlikely it is to receive an adequately high amount of voltage and live to show them off. In fact, he’s only ever seen them on skin one other time, and it was his own – when he was struck himself in a previous incarnation. The patterns are caused by ruptured capillaries near the surface of the skin from the excessive temperature of the electrical discharge. He is capable of withstanding much higher voltage without disrupting either heart’s sinus rhythm, but he had the lightning scars on his skin for a few hours. Rose may carry them for longer.

Rose is breathing heavily, but her eyes drift closed as her head comes to rest on the wood beneath her.

“Rose!” He lightly slaps her cheek a couple times, needing to keep her conscious. She blinks her eyes open reluctantly, looking to him for instruction.

“What’s your name?” he asks. He has to shout a little for it to sound clear over the rain.

“Rose,” she answers, voice raspy and not nearly as loud. And somehow, despite having narrowly escaped death, she sounds annoyed.

“What’s my name?”

“Doctor.” Yeah, definitely annoyed.

“What planet are we on?”

“Kaelondaia.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?” This one he does just for fun.

“Four.” She cracks just the teeniest hint of a smile, and he can’t help but return it.

Lightning flashes to their right somewhere with a thunderous clap, striking one of the nearby huts. It does no damage, but both he and Rose flinch away from the sound. He hunches down further, ensuring he’s below the level of the wooden railing beside them.

“Can you move? We’ve got to get you inside.”

She nods her head, and he helps her roll over so she can crawl along the rest of the way to the hut. He crawls along with her, though not before taking off one of his shoes (rubber soles) and holding it above her, protecting her from any future strikes.

It’s slow going. The soaked wood isn’t easy on their hand and knees, as Rose is still out of breath and in evident pain.

He’d much rather be carrying her, but that would just be asking to be struck again. They have to stay low to the ground, and Rose seems to understand that. Still, it’s miserable to watch her drag herself towards the door, exhausted and in pain. They have to endure several more close lightning strikes, and each one makes him cower with terror, paranoid that it will somehow find a path to Rose. Not to mention his ears feel like they’re bleeding now. Rose’s eardrums may well be ruptured.

The minute or so it takes them to reach their hut feels like an hour.

Once they’re safely inside, he stands and carefully scoops her up in his arms properly and lays her carefully on the bed, not caring that she’s dripping wet. She relaxes a little, sinking into the mattress and trying to calm her breathing. But before he can lie down next to her and soothe her himself, he has a more important job to do. Pulling out the sonic again, he quickly flicks through the settings and starts to examine her for any obvious signs of other bodily injury. To his surprise, he only finds one real injury, a nasty second-degree burn on her hand where it had touched the metal zip on her jacket. He quickly heals it up with the appropriate setting, and Rose thanks him. She hadn’t realized how much it was hurting until the pain was gone.

“I can fix these, too,” he says, gesturing to the branching burst capillaries on the hand he’s holding, extending up her forearm. “But it’ll take a bit longer.”

“Doesn’t hurt,” she says through her teeth, fidgeting.

Even with the burn gone, she’s still panting and clearly uncomfortable.

“Where does it hurt?” he asks.

She places a hand over her chest again, and he could just kick himself. Of course. A side effect of the epinephrine is a heart rate and blood pressure out of control. Her hand is trembling in his, most of her body quivering with the excess of the hormone. Chest pain is to be expected in such a circumstance.

But it’s not as simple to treat as a few skin burns. Not something the sonic can handle. He knows how he can help her, but isn’t sure if he’s ready to confess what he had to do to keep her alive. He deliberates for a long moment, biting his cheek.

“If you’re okay with it, I can slow down your heart.”

“H-how?”

“I…” He wavers again, recoiling at the mere thought of what she might think. But there’s no time for guilty vacillating: Rose still needs him. “I went into your mind, just for a moment, while you were unconscious. You needed epinephrine and didn’t have any on hand. I used some of my stronger telepathic abilities to dose you from the inside. It was the only way I could get your heart started again.” He pauses and looks down at her, waiting for judgment or shock or horror, but none of them come. “Now that it’s beating again, I can go back in, send a few of the opposite signals to your brain. Correct the imbalance of hormones.”

“Okay. Do that.” She nods, completely unfazed by his explanation of what he’d done and acquiescing to his request to do it again. For a moment, he just stares at her, overwhelmed by how thoroughly she trusts him. To manipulate her brain to the most sensitive degree without a second thought. He confessed to being furthest thing from human just now, and she should be terrified but she isn’t. She doesn’t ask questions about how it works, or suggest less invasive alternatives. She trusts him to make the right call. Trusts her with her life.

Wanting more contact for the precision required for what he’s about to do, he stashes the sonic and sits down, resting a hand on her temple.

Without hesitating further, he directs the appropriate signals to her brain, to accelerate reuptake and metabolism of the epinephrine, as well as circulate the appropriate vasodilating neurotransmitters to counteract its effects in the interim.

Right now, he really is her Doctor. He’s always had some distaste for her using a possessive pronoun in front of his name (not that she does it often), if only because of his aversion to commitment. But she’s just retroactively and proactively given him permission to make life-saving medical decisions for her. Her endearment suddenly feels so true, he almost wishes she’d say it now.

“My Doctor,” Rose breathes out as her body starts to relax.

That floating feeling from this morning suddenly returns as his hearts swell with affection.

She’d heard him. Of course she’d heard him.

Rose’s pulse and systolic pressure start to drop. Before it dips too far, he ceases his telepathic directions, and slowly starts to retreat from her mind.

But before he can sever their link, a wall of golden light flashes brilliantly from the depths of Rose’s mind. A high-pitched screech pierces the silence in his head, and, desperate to escape the sudden ambush, he flees from her mind. But even when they’re disconnected, the onslaught continues: blinding, deafening, scorching. Whatever it is, it’s not confined to Rose’s mind: it’s a telepathic signal, intensely powerful, interfering with his own telepathic wavelength, clawing its way into his mind.

He gasps out as he lets go of her, getting to his feet and stumbling away.

“Agh!”

“What’s wrong?” Rose asks, sitting up now that she feels closer to normal.

He doesn’t answer her, clutching the sides of his head to try to stop the noise and the pain but it doesn’t help. Vivid memories of Satellite Five inundate his brain. A glowing, dying Rose. So many Daleks, so much death.

Something catastrophic has happened. He can sense rigid timelines softening around him now, deforming, changing. This moment ripples through time and space in every direction, broadcasting its incongruity. Rose doesn’t have the power for such manipulation. This isn’t Rose’s telepathic signature. It’s Bad Wolf’s.

Slowly, the effects of the intrusion start to wear off and he lets his hands fall to his sides, panting, staring at Rose in horror. She’s abandoned the bed completely, standing right in front of him, gazing at him with wide, anxious eyes.

“What is it?” she asks, completely unaware of what she’s just done.

“No,” he shakes his head in disbelief. “No,” he repeats, over and over, instead of answering her. Spiraling rapidly into a panic.

Did he not completely rid her of the residual Vortex energy? Is it starting to consume her again, as it did before? Will it take more than just his own death to finish the job this time?

“Doctor what is it?” Out of patience, Rose grabs onto his shoulders and forces him to look at her. “What’s the matter!?”

As he meets her eyes, though, they suddenly flash with a bright light. A golden yellow consumes her irises for a split second, telling him his speculations are correct. And faster than she can blink, it’s gone.

He swallows hard, trying to collect himself.

After a moment to sober himself up a bit, he realizes he has to act fast to figure out exactly what this is. Especially given the likelihood it’s life threatening. But there’s nothing he can do until he gets more information. And Rose will never let him get more information until he tells her what’s going on.

He motions for her to sit on the edge of the bed, and when she doesn’t move, he takes her hand and reluctantly leads her there himself. Sitting down next to her, he suppresses his instinct to pace and rant. Tries to regain his composure. She deserves to know what’s happening anyway.

“What’s wrong Doctor. Tell me what’s wrong rightnow.” Both her her hands curl into fists in his shirt, demanding answers.

“It’s all right, Rose.” He puts one hand on her waist, and another just under her chin, tilting her head so he can look at he properly. “Just sit still for a moment.”

Worried and filled with excess adrenaline as he is, his eyes could have easily deceived him before. Fear can manifest physically as hallucinations; any decent psychologist could tell you that.

Both hearts in his throat, he stares into her cider brown eyes. Waiting.

He doesn’t have to wait long before another flicker of vivid, bright gold emanates from her irises, just a fraction of a second. His hearts palpitate in his chest and he looks away, afraid to see it again.

“No.” He feels like he could scream. Destroy something. This is exactly what he’d been afraid of the night before. This is Bad Wolf. This is an imminent separation, or death. Whatever cataclysm in their timeline has occurred, it can’t be good.

“Doctor, what!” Rose is getting hysterical.

“Bad Wolf,” he murmurs, barely audible.

For a long moment she’s speechless. Processing.

“What’d you see?”

He dares a glance up at her face, and is relieved her eyes are still their natural color.

“Light, in your mind. The same light that was there when I absorbed the time vortex. And just now, your eyes were glowing. Just like they did before.”

A tear rolls down Rose’s cheek, and his hearts clench in his chest at the sight.

“What does this mean?” she asks. “Am I gonna burn up?”

“I don’t know,” he confesses, never having felt so helpless. He wants to reassure her, but doesn’t want to lie to her. “As soon as this storm clears, we’re getting you to the TARDIS to run some tests.”

She doesn’t look at all consoled by the idea of tests.

“Am I gonna die?”

“No,” he insists, and the word cuts through the tension too harshly. “No,” he repeats, softer, taking her hand again. “Whatever it is Rose, I’ll do everything I can protect you. I promise.”

She nods, but still doesn’t look mollified.

“I’d like to go into your mind again,” he suggests. “Try to get some information from you directly. If you’ll allow me.”

“Yes,” she agrees instantly. “Please, Doctor.”

He doesn’t relish the thought of confronting that thing again, but ‘please’ is a word he can’t say no to. Especially not coming from Rose.

He gestures for her to lie on her side, and wraps an arm securely around her as he lies down next to her. He wants to comfort her to some degree while he does this, but this is all the intimacy he can manage for the moment.

As soon as he crosses the threshold of her mind again, it becomes clear that something is growing within. Burgeoning. Something golden and transcendental, getting stronger and consuming more and more of her mind. But unlike the first encounter a few minutes before, it doesn’t torture his mind with dissonant interference. And unlike on Satellite Five, it’s not burning her mind up this time.

The lethality of the Bad Wolf entity was immediately obvious when Rose burst out of the TARDIS doors on that ship. Her physical form couldn’t contain such a massive quantity of energy; it was eating her alive from the inside. Her mind was on the verge of an apocalypse, screaming that it was about to explode.

But right now, it’s calm. Neither her body or her mind recognize it as an invader or threat that must be ejected. It’s as though it’s not something foreign at all, but something that’s been there a long time.

Is it possible the dose of voltage to her neurons activated remnants of her union with the heart of the TARDIS, residual energy left dormant until now? It’s frustratingly intangible, but so clearly real: buzzing in the background, racing through the highways of her mind. A hint of something ancient that triggers his time senses as it trickles through her system. It sends light scattering everywhere it goes. Not destroying or erasing. Healing. Altering.

But altering what? He can’t quite pinpoint it. It’s not human, but nor is it distinctly alien. It’s just… energy. And from the feel of it, a force of life rather than death.

His mind slowed down enough, he suddenly can’t ignore the fear from Rose’s mind overflowing into his. He’s been so fixated on observing and analyzing, Rose has only been able to get hazy flickers of his thoughts. Too vague to giver her any real consolation.

Reassured enough for the time being, he refocuses his efforts, concentrating on opening his mind up more to Rose to share these findings in detail, allow her to feel what he’s feeling from this ethereal presence in her mind. But in addition to that, he reminds her that no matter what, he’ll always be here. That even if his judgment is flawed, and this thing is more malevolent than it would like them to believe, he’ll keep her safe. He overwhelms her with these thoughts and exudes a sense of security and serenity.

She starts to breathe a little easier as she welcomes his reassurance with open arms, but suddenly, he has an even better idea.

With a moment of concentration and a few adjustments within their link, he starts to reconstruct the garden. It’s the perfect place for them to hide away from the rolling thunder and merciless rain that only serve to remind them of her brush with death.

He imagines how they may pass the time, lounging in a field of flowers together, a plush blanket beneath them. Maybe Rose could climb onto his lap and he could cradle her against him as they wait out the remainder of the storm sharing languorous kisses.

Rose isn’t shy about being on board with that idea, but when the landscape of the garden takes form around them, they’re both stunned into a silence that puts these fantasies on hold.

Sunlight brilliantly illuminates their surroundings. More sunlight than should be possible. And yet, it doesn’t burn their eyes to behold. It feels natural, as though this is the way this place was meant to be viewed, or their eyes were designed for more intense light. But aside from the light raining down in sheets from the sky, everything within view gives off an ethereal golden glow that seems to emanate from within. The phenomenon doesn’t discriminate between the living and the inanimate: flower blossoms, trees, and birds are affected just the same as fountains and benches. They all emit a radiance one might expect from Mount Olympus, or some other mythical heavenly place. There’s no real-world analog for what they’re seeing that he can think of, no matter how he wracks his brain.

It feels counterintuitive to interpret this renovation to the garden as ominous, beautiful and seemingly harmless as it seems, but they both do. A chill runs through them both as they process the breathtaking sight.

He turns to Rose, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against him, and she squeezes him tightly.

Both of them are speechless for a time, still taking it all in.

“Whatever this is Rose,” he rubs her back and kisses her temple. “I’m not going to let it hurt you. If it makes any plans too, I’ll destroy it. No matter what, I’m going to keep you safe.”

He holds her for a long time, and both of them try their best to comfort one another. Their willpower occasionally slips and their fears seep through, but they never last long. They’ve both become quite adept at sending the right wavelengths to soothe one another.

He loosens her grip around his waist just slightly, and pulls back enough that he can lean down and press his lips to hers.

“How do you feel?” he asks softly.

“Mmm, little better now.” She grins, biting her lip.

“You are in curiously good shape, considering.”

“’Cept my head,” she adds, melancholic.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

He kisses her tenderly again as a distraction. He savors the feeling of her kissing him back, her lips warm and smooth as they melt into his. It helps shake away the memories of feeling them cool and lifeless.

Normally, he’s the one jumping to the worst possible conclusion. He isn’t sure why he’s not doing that now. Something about this new energy – it’s giving him a sense of hope he can’t explain. He was terrified by the memories, and the gold in her eyes, but it’s hard to feel scared in here. It may be naïve and idealistic, but he can’t help the inclination to believe this is different. That she’s not at risk. It’s as though the angelic light has had an intoxicating effect, temporarily dampening his ability to reason.

He hopes he doesn’t kick himself for succumbing to it later.

They ease out of the kiss slowly, still holding each other close. Rose hums contentedly, resting her head on his shoulder. They linger in an embrace for a long moment, swaying lightly together.

“Oh my God,” Rose breathes into his neck after a time.

“What is it?” he asks, worry returning with a vengeance.

“I got struck by bloody lightning.” She giggles a little, and he exhales with relief. He’s inexplicably glad to hear that sound.

“You did.” He grins despite himself, elated that she’s alive to tell about it, and in his arms no less. “A new level of jeopardy friendly.”

But at her reminder, the harrowing images of what happened assail him anew, and he’s reminded of the fact she ran off by herself. Put herself in more danger.

Anger suddenly sizzles up inside him, spilling into Rose’s mind.

“Rose, why did you run off like that?” He asks, all seriousness now. He pulls back to look at her, meeting her eyes awaiting explanation. “I was about to insist we go back inside. Didn’t you realize how dangerous it was? That the storm was too close?”

“I did.” She clutches onto his shirt, her mind pleading for his forgiveness. “I knew it was dangerous but… ‘s like… I dunno what happened. Something was telling me that I needed to run. And I just listened to it. I didn’t even think.”

“Something like what?” He narrows his eyes.

“I dunno, ‘s hard to explain. Just, that voice in your head. The one that tells you to just go for it when you’re second guessing something. Or tells you when to run away.”

“Hmm.”

It does seem to lend credence to his prominent theory that Bad Wolf is entangled in all this. Bad Wolf scattered pieces of herself across time and space – messages. He only discovered so after the fact, but those messages had all along been a trail leading them to Satellite Five. And it’s seeming more and more likely it’s what led them to this planet. To that cave. And what compelled Rose to sprint off on her own in the middle of a lightning storm. It tingles in the back of his mind again, that sense that timelines are quivering and vanishing around them, aftershocks of this event are rippling through the universe.

“Can we stop talking about it, just for a little while?” Rose asks unexpectedly. “At least until we know for sure what’s going on? I can’t stand thinkin’ about it anymore.”

“Of course, Rose.” He pauses his chaotic analyses for now, and eases them out of their embrace. He takes one of her hands, and opens his other arm away from them, indicating she can choose which path they follow. “Lead the way.”

Rose begins to feel better as soon as they’re walking side by side together, fingers intertwined. Being here takes her mind off the real world, and he knows that. It’s why he brought them here in the first place.

Rose leads him to an area of the garden he hasn’t seen yet.

The path leading there is not an archway of red roses, but a long marble staircase. The stairs are deep enough to take several strides between them, giving a sense they’re more for decoration than utility. The stairway is flanked by two miniature aqueducts of marble flowing with rivers of crystal clear water. Short waterfalls cascade gently at each step.

The courtyard waiting for them has a similar layout to the section they were in before – a neatly divided neighborhood of flower blossoms and walkways. But the botanical selection is different here: dominated by lavenders and white lilies splotched with violet centers. And unlike the other garden, this one has a large grassy area in the center, enticing its passersby to a picnic in the sun.

The Doctor is about to ask if he should conjure them a blanket as they step into the grass, but Rose beats him to it.

“Let me see if I can.”

He grins at her, proud of her initiative.

It only takes a few seconds before a plush purple quilt appears in the center of the grass.

“Nicely done,” he congratulates her.

“Gettin’ the hang of it, yeah.”

He settles down onto the blanket first, and Rose does exactly what he hoped she would: settles onto his lap, straddling him carefully. She runs her fingers through his hair, gazing between his face and their surroundings every few moments. Resting his weight on one arm, he places his opposite hand on her hip, thumb rubbing the skin just beneath her shirt, and savors the feel of her hands. One rests lightly on his shoulder now, the other tucked between the open buttons on his shirt, tracing slow, sensual circles on his chest.

His eyes flutter closed with a sigh. He could get used to this, ignoring their problems and responsibilities in here.

“Why d’you think it’s all glowin’ like this?” she asks softly.

“There’s an excess of energy flowing through you right now,” he explains, trying to make it sound as mild and nonthreatening as he can. “I think this is a side effect of that. The light is in here even when the garden isn’t, though it’s not as readily observable or concrete –”

Rose interrupts his explanation by pressing her mouth to his. She wraps her arms around his neck and presses her body right up against his, and he has to steady himself with his other hand to prevent them from tipping over. He yields to her completely, responding to the insistent brushes of her lips with only tenderness. She breathes out a sigh and sinks into it, telling him that for now, all she wants is to forget her questions and get lost in him.

Which is exactly as he intended.

They’ve already said all they can, and superfluous discussion would only lead to more speculation and worry for both of them. He’d like to get lost in her, too.

He’s more delicate with her than usual, considering he did have to resuscitate her mere minutes ago. But they end up horizontal despite his efforts, him on the ground, his arms secure around her back, tethering her body to his as though gravity won’t be enough. Neither of them escalates the intimacy further, hindered by lingering fears deep beneath the surface. But both are content to immerse themselves completely in this gentle pleasure, unhurried kisses and lingering touches.

They stay entwined for such a long time, even the Doctor loses track of it. But he’s okay with his time senses being dulled by her lips. Even if he doesn’t count the minutes, the more of them they spend kissing, the better. He’s had his first tangible taste of the torment he will endure when he inevitably loses her, and he doesn’t want to waste a second of whatever time they have left.

#ficandchips #ten x rose #aaaaaaaaaaaaaa #hope you guys like it #written by yours truly

41 notes · View notes

deasn · 8 years ago

Text

Avengers fanfiction

So... this is the first fanfiction I ever wrote in English, which is not my first language - please forget the mistakes :) And let me know what you think about it!

Aaaand this is part 1. Part 2 will come soon - if you want :)

“Tony!” The yell got lost in the ear-wrecking sound in which the all Tower was immersed. It had been that noise to alert the Avengers, who had ran into Tony’s lab with the weapons in the hands, ready to fight. Between various machineries there were Jane, Bruce and Tony himself, and it looked like they were shouting at each other; however, the noise was so loud that neither Steve nor Bucky, both with the enchanted hearing, could listen to them. “Tony!” Steve tried again and in that moment all the metallic noises that had been so hard to stand stopped, substituted by the ones of waves. Tony turned and smiled, a full I’m-a-crazy-genius-superhero smile that made Steve shiver, and the sound increased. But it was something else that got the Avengers’ attention. At the very center of the lab there was a big water-like circle mid-air, with little lightings all around. “May the Allfather protect us all,” Thor muttered taking a step forward. Jane, his beloved, was in danger and he would have not stayed back. The electric field around the strange thing, however, wouldn’t let anyone pass; it was so strong that when Clint - being Clint - shot an arrow to it, it made him fly against the wall. “Блядь,” Natasha murmured and Bucky, next to her, nodded. Steve didn’t know Russian, but he was pretty sure he agreed too. The waves sound increased even more and an image started forming on the thing - Steve had no idea how to call that freaking circle. “Is that...” he started saying, just when Natasha spoke. “We have to take Bruce away. We do not need him to let The Hulk out!” she shouted, trying to overhang the noise. And then, in a second, everything stopped. The air wasn’t electrostatic anymore, the machineries weren’t moving and the electric field that didn’t let anyone approach fell. And in the middle of the lab, looking as shocked as the Avengers were, there was a young man. He was almost as big as Steve was, but with a definitely younger face. His hair was black and the eyes were brown - he sort of reminded Steve of Tony, or of how Tony would have looked with an innocent expression and a super-soldier body. The kid - he was young, for God’s sake! - looked at Steve and paled; he then noticed the rest of the Avengers; he took a step back and smiled, a sad, heart-breaking smile that disappeared when he lowered the head. “Am I dead?” he asked in a breath. “No,” Tony laughed. “No, better! We,” and he moved his hand to indicate Bruce and Jane, “we made you travel from another universe!” “We have so many questions!” Jane added with a smile. Just in that moment Steve noticed that, hidden under a desk, there was her lab assistant, Darcy Lewis. He felt compassion for her for a second, before he got the attention back to the stranger. “We have also some tests to take. But first...” Bruce smirked trying to sound as relaxed as possible. However he didn’t get to finish to talk because the kid threw himself against the circle - Steve really had to find out the name of that thing. “Don’t let him touch it!” Tony shouted and in a second Thor had his big arms on the boy’s chest, wrapping him against his torso. “No! No! Let me go!” he yelled and fought. “Rey! Rey! I’d rather be dead that live without her!” He had just the time to say that, when a new wave of energy and electricity made everyone in the lab shiver and take a step back. It only lasted a minute or so, before at the center of the lab a girl appeared. She looked younger than the boy and almost the opposite, physically talking. Little, with a long braid of blonde hair - with a part of the left side of the head shaved - and blue eyes. She stared at the Avengers and she opened her mouth as to speak, when she saw Tony and stopped. She took a step back too and Steve wondered for a second what kind of universe they’ve had to be in, for looking at them in that way. “Could you let me go now?” the boy requested with a deep breath; Thor immediately left him and the stranger did not lose time. He ran to the girl and hugged her as his life depended on that. “What a beautiful young love,” Thor beamed - which means almost shout, because he was Thor - and Clint snorted, biting back a joke or two. “I thought I’d never see you again,” the boy murmured and he kissed the girl’s forehead. He then turned to face the Avengers. “And she’s not my girlfriend.” “Oh, that’s sad,” Tony grinned, “but you’re both covered in mud and you’re in my lab so... In the showers. Now.” “Don’t talk as you’re not the one who brought them here in the first place,” Steve sneered ignoring Natasha’s thoughtful look and Bucky’s focused expression. He would have dealt with them later. “You’re breaking my heart, love,” Tony smiled and Steve had the urge to punch him - or kiss him, it depended. “You two... Together?” the boy inquired while the girl stared at the floor. “Yeah, ah ah. And the hell is freezing,” Clint snorted. Tony and almost everyone in the room smiled or laughed a little at that, but Steve - and he was sure Natasha and Bucky noticed too - saw the strangers exchanging a look and forcing a smile. What on earth did we do in their universe?, Steve thought once more. He did not have an answer.

“What the hell did you three had in mind?!” Steve tried not to sound too pissed, but he really couldn’t understand how someone as smart as they were could have done something so stupid. “Steve,” Jane Foster said with a calm tone that made him even angrier, “we’re scientists! And this is science. We saw a chance and we took it, nothing more.” “We looked for a world with the same conditions as ours, so that the risk of new viruses or infections was low,” Bruce tried not to smile, still euphoric for the success of the experiment. “And Tony created an algorithm that allowed us to pick the most destroyed and dangerous world.” “Yeah,” Tony agreed while taking a cup and the coffee, “calm down, Stars and Stripes. We also picked the people who needed it most. As we’re all aware of, I’m a genius. You don’t call someone a genius if they don’t do genius things.” Steve moved to the couch and sat down with a worried expression. They knew nothing about those kids, not even if they had a family back in their world. If they needed medications or if they were human at all. Maybe they had powers. Maybe they were dangerous. “It was a risk you shouldn’t have taken,” Natasha snapped, looking out of the window as to find an answer. “Yeah, above all after the Ultron thing,” Clint murmured. Bucky, that at the time wasn’t with them, shot him a look. “But it’s done,” Natasha continued. “Friday, are they still in the showers?” “They are dressing up with the clothes doctor Banner and doctor Foster gave them, agent Romanoff.” “I’ll talk with them, try to find out as much as I can.” “Don’t scare them, Nat,” Tony smiled, then he took a sip of coffee. “They’re just kids, after all.” “I started killing long before I had their age.” And with that, she disappeared in the hall. “So…” Tony spoke after a second, “does anyone want to see how it goes?” They were the Avengers, but oh, how they were curious. “Friday, the video, please… Let’s just hope Nat doesn’t kill them. I already like those two.”

“Come in!” Natasha lowered the hand which she had knocked with and she entered the bathroom the Avengers used after the training sessions. She immediately observed as much as she could: the boy had a big scar on his back, that started under the neck and ended on his right ribs. The girl had a scar almost identical from the center of her back to the lower-right part, just as if she had been partially protected by him from something. They were both in tension, glazing at the Avenger with unsurprised looks. “You’re here to interrogate us,” the boy stated, not even bothering to make it a question. The girl said nothing. “No,” Natasha replied, moving a little her hands to show them she was calm and friendly. “Just to talk. Get to know each other.” “Then we could do it with the others, in the living room. You prefer working alone on the resources, but this is just a chat, isn’t it?” Natasha forced herself not to look impressed, but she was. “Of course, as you wish,” she nodded, smiling. “You’re injured… Do you need help?” she asked noticing they both had bandages all over their bodies. The girl - Rey? - refused moving her head. “Yours must had been a pretty rough world, am I right?” Natasha said while she made herself look pensive. “It was. Shall we go?” the boy replied. “Agent Romanoff, Captain Rogers asks to see the foreigners,” Friday interrupted them. Natasha nodded and leaded them to the living room. They seemed well aware of how she used to work and on one hand she appreciated it, - it was cool not to have to explain herself and her behavior - but on the other she didn’t know them. She was vulnerable. And she hated it. The kids followed her, holding hands behind her back as to gave each other strenght. They were really different and yet so similar, with the same lost expression. “I get that you know all of us,” Natasha murmured. “You can say that,” the boy nodded. The girl, a lot smaller than him, looked at them without a word. Natasha already had some theories about it. She was either born mute, or she became it - it didn’t matter if physycally or psychologically. The fact that she hadn't sign, not even once, made Natasha almost sure she wasn’t born this way. “Well, well, well.” Tony stood up and smiled, and the girl looked about to break apart. The boy, however, seemed to hold it better than her; he took her hand and all the Avengers, with Darcy and Jane too, moved to leave two spots on the couches. The kids sat down, out of place just as Steve was sure he looked talking about technology. “Hi,” he decided to start talking. “You both know who we are. Am I right?” The girl nodded. She was touching the couch in awe, almost surprised that she was really able to do so, and she was cute as hell. For a second, in a flash, Steve thought about how could have been to have a kid like her. A beautiful, little child with his hair and his eyes (she kind of looked like him) and - no, not her actitude. She was too scared. Too in pain. Too damaged. She made him think about all those soldiers he had lost in battle and, above all, those who had survived. They’d never been the same. Steve forced himself to keep talking - and to stop distracting himself. “Okay. Perfect. Then… Let’s talk about you, would you?” Bucky shot him a look that meant “kick yourself or I’m gonna do it” and Steve realised that the girl - he was sure her name was Rey or something alike - never spoke in front of them. Her friend, however, seemed easier to talk to… And to obtain an answer from. “My name is Alexander, but you can call me Alex. She’s my sister, Reyna. Rey is okay though,” the boy smiled. “Sister!” Thor and Darcy blurted at the same time. “Not a beautiful young love, then,” Thor continued. “Siblings love each other,” Clint shrugged. “Or, well, they usually do.” “I do love my brother,” Thor exclaimed. “Yeah, we know,” Jane muttered. “Too well, if you ask me.” “Guys,” Bruce interrupted them. “Let’s give Alex a chance to talk, eh?” Alex was smiling, tears in his eyes, and Rey was biting her right cheek. The boy was cute too, Steve thought. It was like he was trying with everything he had to be positive and strong, but was just really, really tired. “Actually… We would like to know a few things,” Alex requested. “Like… How is this world?” “What do you mean?” Steve asked while Clint shouted “A mess!”. “I mean that this world looks far better than ours. It’s, you know… In peace.” He was looking out of the big window, where New York shined in its armour. “Yours is in war,” Natasha assumed. Alex avoided meeting her eyes and held his sister’s hand. They were young, surely not older than twenty years old, and they appeared a little bit scared, but also incredibly strong and close. Even with new, fresh clothes, and clean from the showers, both of the kids looked in distress - and very, very slim. “What happened?” almost everyone asked. Bruce and Jane were the only ones not to, because they were organizing a plate full of fruit and two bottles of water. “Don’t drink too fast,” Jane ordered, giving them everything with a smile. “And go slow with food. Malnutrition has to be treated with attention,” Bruce added. “I’m-we’re not… We’ve been eating. Just… Not so much. We wanted to be sure the others had food first.” Now they were both tense. The girl, Rey, was still silent, but looked ready to jump and escape. It was Alex, holding her hand, to keep her on the couch. They were like fraightened animals. “What happened?” Natasha insisted. Rey bit her lips and curled her fingers as to use her nails like they were claws. Fraightened animals, Bucky thought, that learned how to fight back. Alex released the breath he didn’t know he was holding and looked at his feet, naked and full of cuts. “HYDRA,” he muttered. “That’s what happened. HYDRA.”

Part 2

#avengers fanfiction #Avengers #hydra #stony fanfiction #stony #mcu fanfiction #fanfiction #avengers au #avengers family

3 notes · View notes

wristwatchjournal · 4 years ago

Text

Interview: Citizen Watch America’s Jeffrey Cohen On Realigning For The Future

With nearly 30 years of experience at his disposal, Jeffery Cohen is the person responsible for running Citizen and its group of watch brands in the US as the President of Citizen Watches America. What I have found to be unique at Citizen (when compared to other foreign-owned timepiece makers) is the level of autonomy in management and decision-making that the United States office has enjoyed. That means even though the Citizen Group is a Japanese company, its American subsidiary calls the shots on U.S. soil. That has given Citizen Group — currently headquartered in New York City’s Empire State Building — a special market advantage, historically. Today, the Citizen Group of brands in the United States includes Citizen, Bulova, Accutron, Alpina, and Frederique Constant.

Recently, the Citizen Group in the U.S. issued a press release about upcoming company reorganization efforts and a shifting of market priorities. I took this opportunity to connect with Mr. Cohen, who kindly offered to speak with aBlogtoWatch about what he has in mind for Citizen and its group of brands in America, and how a legacy company like Citizen is adapting to a rapidly changing world.

To set the stage, I asked Mr. Cohen to describe what the watch retail market once looked like in the United States, and then to share how exactly the market today is different. While market tastes and preferences have always changed, Cohen pointed to changes in how consumers learn about and subsequently buy watches as being the biggest differences. Historically, a company like Citizen put its efforts into selling products via wholesale to strong retailers who would undertake the effort of both marketing and selling to consumers. All of that has changed today.

Consumers are no longer relying on retailers to tell them about new products or to help guide them as to which products to buy. Retailers, like consumers, are also becoming increasingly niche, 0ffering strong relationships in some interest areas but few of which really represent the larger breadth of all possible interests. Companies like Citizen have historically planned out larger product and messaging campaigns that could be rolled out over large areas or for a large group of consumers. These days watch brand decision making needs to be more “laser-focused,” as Cohen puts it.

One of the biggest shifts at Citizen appears to be a refocusing on internal efforts, from supporting retailers to engaging with consumers. Citizen is not at all abandoning its traditional retail partners, but its relationship with them is changing, as represented by the changing value those retailers bring them. In short, Citizen (like other smart actors in the watch industry) is moving to a model whereby its efforts are designed to make consumers happy, as opposed to retailers (such as jewelers). The implication is that happy consumers motivate themselves to discover retailers who sell what they are looking for, as opposed to the more historic model of learning about what they want to buy from a retailer.

Cohen also points to the quickly evolving role that timepieces play in the lives of consumers these days. In the past, watches have been passive tools on the wrist that complement one’s character and tastes. Today, watches can be vividly more expressive and in have taken on new forms of social and tribal identification on behalf of the wearer. According to Cohen, the implication of this is that Citizen and its brands need to do more than just communicate to consumers that it has new products; it must assign authentic meaning and values to those timepieces. Cohen makes it clear that the Citizen Group of today is dedicated to having a two-way conversation with consumers.

What does Citizen want to know from the people who are interested in and who buy its products? Today is about making data-backed decisions, according to Cohen. The experienced watch industry insider would never give up his or her honed intuition, but his remarks are telling because, for the most part, the watch industry has historically made top-down decisions about market direction and focus. Market data — provided it is captured and analyzed correctly — has been instrumental to a number of businesses faring better when it comes to producing not only products that consumers want, but also to the consumers a brand actually has. Citizen’s goal isn’t just about listening to its consumers’ preferences about what watches they want, but more importantly, it is about identifying what its fans and consumers care about in the first place.

Even before the current market challenges related to the COVID-19 pandemic, the Citizen Group was well underway with a series of planned changes and strategic shifts. In addition to diversifying from mostly focusing on relationships with retail partners, the Citizen Group has determined that relationships with consumers have changed over the last several years. According to Cohen, whereas timepiece brands could more historically rely on consumer loyalty, these days consumers move freely from brand to brand as tastes and interests can sometimes shift wildly from purchase to purchase. To better correspond with the current experience of being a well-connected savvy consumer, Citizen and its brands will embark on a new era of relationship- and sentiment-building with consumers.

This is a tricky proposition because, at the end of the day, Citizen and its brands are not fashion houses but engineering firms dedicated to the proposition that the wristwatch, as a tool, can continue to get better and better. What watch brands have found, however, is that the volume of available “also-good” products in the market means that people interested in buying watches have a more difficult time than ever in choosing. To combat this, Cohen has undertaken the effort to align his brands with cultural fixtures associated with celebration and positive feelings. Two ideal examples are Citizen’s tight partnership with Disney and Bulova’s ongoing relationship with the Grammy Awards. For Cohen, connecting with these institutions isn’t merely about getting the brand name out there, but also in connecting with consumers when their moods are at peak positivity.

Citizen and its brands will also be speaking more directly to the consumers they are focusing on. Increasingly rare will be generic institutional messaging campaigns and advertising, replaced by more niche-targeted messages to particular groups. Mr. Cohen wants Citizen, Bulova, and the other brands to have more meaningful relationships with their fans, and that means both understanding the fans posing relevant statements to them. Here again, we see Cohen’s “everything is now digital” approach, whereby Citizen can get to know its fans through online data and then be in the best possible position to speak to those fans with messages catering to them. This is exactly what has served niche watchmakers so well and, finally, we are seeing a return to the big names in timepieces making the marketing-intelligence investments they need to carry their brands into the next era.

Cohen reminds me that Bulova has been continuously operating in the United States for approximately 145 years. Today, Bulova has a team of designers in New York City imagining the next generation of Bulova watches entirely from scratch. Bulova timepieces, especially, will be an example of how Citizen is tailoring everything from the design of the watch, the advertising of the watch, to where the watch is sold, to the preferences of Bulova’s known consumer base (and people like them).

Citizen Group’s next major initiative in America will be the full roll-out of the Accutron brand. Previously a collection under the Bulova name, Accutron will now launch as its own brand featuring the world’s first-ever electrostatic powered movement. Cohen remarks that the Citizen Group spent nearly a decade developing the technology and that the Accutron brand will be unlike anything else in the current brand portfolio. The concept for collectors is potentially thrilling. Accutron was the name associated with the first tuning fork-controlled electronic timepieces and was originally released around 1960. It was the most accurate wristwatch on the market until it was supplanted by quartz-regulated electronic watches about a decade later.

youtube

The new Accutron will not see a return to turning fork technology, but it will offer the wristwatch consumer something new, as well as visually assertive. That last part, for Cohen, seems to be important because he knows better than anyone how wristwatches make the best conversation pieces. While not an actual piece of Accutron history, the appeal of the watch was memorialized in an episode of the television drama Mad Men about advertising professionals in New York during the late 1950s and early 1960s. With any luck, Accutron will capture the hearts and minds of a new generation of timepiece enthusiasts today.

Citizen and its brands have their work cut out for them both globally and in the United States given the equal need to focus on product innovation and marketing relevancy. This is also at a time when mainstream watch sales are down given the current economic environment as well as the lack of traditional sales volume, which companies like Citizen could one rely on from America’s then-powerful department stores and malls.

My guess is that while Japan is in control of R&D and production, it is the United States office that appears to be setting much of the tone for the brands’ relationship with consumers — as the United States continues to be the most important market in the world for the Citizen Group of brands. Within that sphere, Citizen and Bulova are the top two brands, respectively. As I mentioned above, Citizen is further unique for having Americans in control of their American business. This might be a strange thing for those not familiar with the watch industry to read, but the reality is that the vast majority of foreign-owned watchmakers operating in the United States have (at least in my opinion) skewed too far away from the American mentality by appointing non-natives to crucial management roles.

Citizen is clearly investing heavily, and an internal reorganization is a logical result of that fact as the company shifts to being more consumer- versus retailer-focused, while continually asking itself, “What timepieces does the market want to see from us?” Cohen made it clear that Citizen would continue to seek out holes in the market that it can fill with its particular style of innovative product development and ability to produce emotionally satisfying experiences.

While the immediate future bears a host of unknowns, Cohen has confidence in the enduring appeal of what Citizen Group does best: make watches for regular people — hence, the “Citizen” name (which is exactly why its founders in Japan chose it). Cohen brings not only his honed experience as a watch industry manager to the problems we face today and will face tomorrow but also the wisdom to understand that success will be derived by making the appropriate product, which is then effectively shared with the appropriate group. This, to him, is “precision marketing with personalized messaging.”

Cohen finally reminds aBlogtoWatch that he wants the watch consumer to remain in suspense. “I want people to be surprised,” he says, when learning about new Citizen Group products. Using data acquired from consumer activity and sentiment online is valuable, but it doesn’t often tell you what consumers will like that they have never seen before. That is still where the magic of creativity comes in, and why not just anyone can do what a company like Citizen can. Cohen summed his strategy up nicely as, “Know the consumer, and you know the market.” Learn more about Citizen watches here, and learn more about Bulova watches here.

The post Interview: Citizen Watch America’s Jeffrey Cohen On Realigning For The Future appeared first on Wristwatch Journal.

from WordPress https://ift.tt/3dZYkRY via IFTTT

#watches #luxury watches #wrist watches

0 notes

smallcommercialrealestateloans · 5 years ago

Text

Fitness Center Amenities FAQ During COVID-19

Bryan Green, Founder and CEO, FitnessDesignGroup

Multi-Housing News hosted a 30-minute “Snap Session” webinar this week with FitnessDesignGroup Founder & CEO Bryan Green, who answered questions about the impact of COVID-19 on gym amenities. From hygiene and floor planning to outdoor spaces and supplemental equipment, the gym design and wellness specialist offered best practices for multifamily property managers across the U.S.

“Multifamily has such a unique opportunity because they really care for the general wellness of residents on properties,” said Green. “The demand for exercise is only going to increase. It is the easiest and lowest-cost way to boost someone’s immune system.”

What is the impact of this global pandemic on people’s general interest in exercising?

Prior to this event, demand for exercise was already soaring. With all these commercial health clubs and studios closed, and everybody looking for ways to improve their health and boost their immune system, people are desperate to get back out and find ways to exercise communally when possible. It seems like the only thing that is more difficult to buy than toilet paper these days is dumbbells.

How might this new normal change fitness centers and health clubs long-term?

In the short term, health clubs will open at a measured pace. Not everyone is going to immediately rejoin their gym right away. Many people will have hygiene-related concerns in all public spaces. It’s certainly going to be a process for multifamily operators to reopen their fitness centers.

How do you think fitness centers within multifamily communities specifically will change after all of this?

The work-at-home movement is going to create an incredible demand on these spaces. People are going to be on property like never before. We’re looking at ways to improve design through the traffic flow and setting up the way that people exercise. A lot of equipment has a single purpose, so we’re trying to create spaces where people can use multiple pieces of equipment within one session without necessarily having to transfer that equipment among other exercises or residents.

LISTEN TO THE WEBINAR: Snap Sessions: Navigating Gym Amenities During COVID-19

Beyond that, we’re going to have to look at many other spaces on the property. I think demand is going to supersede any real investment that most developers have made in their fitness amenities. A lot of time and energy is going to be spent on looking at identifying adjunct spaces, such as old racquetball courts that can be converted. Other amenitized spaces for lounging or leisure might be repurposed into things like no-sweat zones for stretching or recovery.

I think we’ll look at outdoor spaces more than ever. Right now, residents are getting extremely creative in the areas in which they’re working out. It’s not well controlled by property management.

What do you think will be the first or most immediate change in fitness spaces as a result of COVID-19?

I think a resident is going to want to be welcomed back into the space and feel as though something has changed. It’s going to be a little bit of spacing, but it’s going to be more about repositioning of equipment. It’s not about adding new products but about possibly adding handheld accessories and creating stations where people can occupy a particular area, and that would be their zone for the training experience. Cardiovascular equipment has a very similar footprint. We are applying that thought process to the floor planning for the other important areas, including strength training, stretching and any type of free weight use.

What should property managers be mindful of now as they prepare for the future?

We’re going to need to create a bit more space for hygiene-related concerns. Rebalancing the floor is low cost and does not require new equipment. Air quality is important. There are some really smart and low-cost air ionization methods that can grab pathogens and bring them toward the ground. We need to put cleaning wipes out in lots of strategically located areas so residents can participate in hygiene care themselves.

Do you anticipate these to be short-term modifications or long-term adaptations?

Multifamily will need to look at continuing to grow the fitness centers, looking for outdoor spaces, creating spaces on different floors or buildings if possible. With so many residents working out in their units right now, you have noise concerns, and in many of these units there just isn’t sufficient space. Developers may make some unit footprints more generous to support someone’s small home gym training space.

What sort of outdoor spaces would property managers need?

Exercising outside is weather dependent, so that’s going to vary regionally and seasonally. Property managers can encourage residents to bring their own equipment. There’s small handheld equipment for many of the popular training methodologies today. Equipment or gear may be rented out or brought out during community events or sessions hosted by third-party instructors.

It’s vital to create space that’s safe, which is typically an open field area, or it can be a hardscape area. We even see developers and property managers making certain rooftop decks available. It has to be planned a bit and maintained, and residents need to be directed toward these spaces.

With fitness centers closed, how can property managers best support their residents now?

Several property development groups are trying to embrace the situation by creating comfort and care for residents where they can. Several have considered gifting and rentals of wellness kits that can be used in-unit by residents and don’t make a lot of noise. The one thing we’re constantly hearing is that people want to know when the fitness center is going to reopen. There’s pent-up demand.

What can property managers do to make sure their equipment is hygienic?

Most multifamily properties don’t have a full-time attendant that can wipe down the equipment between each use. You need to have obvious areas where people can grab cleaning wipes. There are many antibacterial gym-focused wipes that will not hurt the equipment but need to be found easily by members. There should be wayfinding signage and a new code of conduct that is published prior to reopening fitness centers.

Do you have a recommendation around filtration in indoor fitness centers?

The most natural way to circulate air is cross flow. Using automated airflow systems can be critical. Air ionization is very low-cost technology that will allow for positive and negative ions to be put into the air. They basically cling to pathogens and work to pull them down onto the floor just like any other dust molecules. There are a lot of suppliers that provide that. On average, that investment is probably a $1,000 to $2,000 integration, including the labor required to retrofit for these types of amenity spaces.

Would you recommend using a video or some sort of training in terms of usage of the facilities?

We have been experiencing for some time a massive digitalization of spaces. That’s an incredibly important tool, not just in terms of exercise guidance in general but also to guide people through a specific space in which to do that workout. There’s a lot of technology to support those zones, those 4-by-8 pods, for people to train in and also provide guidance that would be specific to the type of workout they would do in that space.

Do you have any recommendations on surface cleaning—for example, ozone versus electrostatic or hypochlorous acid, and risk of corrosion?

All of those methods seem to be effective. The vast majority of commercial operators have begun to adopt an electrostatic spray. It’s an incredible technology because it’s designed to bind to the entire surface area, so it’s a lot easier to get a thorough coating. The costs are pretty minimal. You can purchase the solution, dilute it, and pretty easily put it in the electrostatic sprayers. There isn’t much of a training curve for that, so property management can move pretty quickly in adopting that technology.

If the property uses a cleaning crew, how often would you recommend cleaning the facilities?

I think the facilities have to be professionally attended to on a daily basis. If you’re going to have a third-party crew coming in, I would highly recommend looking at the adoption of electrostatic sprayers and being able to mix the solution with on-site building maintenance. It’s going to be important to do a handful of walk-throughs during the day to make sure the hygiene standards and the conduct of residents are being enforced.

Do you have any recommendations on floor surfaces and are there some that are more hygienic than others?

It’s important to look at the flooring for the functional concerns, too. In general, rubber flooring would be sort of the absolute standard and the easiest to clean and wet mop on a daily basis.

How do you best identify outdoor spaces that would be suitable for allowing residents to exercise safely?

You’re identifying space not only for residents but also for others that might come and join. Typically, a space allocation of about 45 square feet per user is important. You also have to take into account the type of training that you’re going to permit out there and work on guidelines. We have some folks showing up with big battle ropes. If you’re not careful someone, can get whacked with one.

Snap Sessions: Managing Rents and Expenses During COVID-19

Original Source of Article

#commercial real estate #loans #small properties

0 notes

therealgomaximilian-blog · 5 years ago

Text

The History of Headphones

Surprisingly, not everyone wants to hear our music. When we were pumping our LCD Soundsystem mixtape, others in the office said they couldn’t “concentrate” and they “wished we were fired.” For this, and for many other reasons, headphones are an absolute necessity in our daily lives. It was long before Steve Jobs produced white earbuds and Dr. Dre jumped in the game, however, that people began getting tunes pumped into their ear canal. Here’s basically how it all went down. 1881 – Way before MP3s, dubstep and premium Spotify accounts, headphones had little to do with music at all. Back in the 1880’s, the first headphones (or at least their early ancestors) were used by telephone operators. It was a single earpiece that rested on the user’s shoulder and weighed over 10 pounds (kinda like placing a boombox on your shoulder). Source 1895 – Thanks to the Electrophone system, in 1895 folks could start rocking out to the sick beats of the local opera house from the comfort of their own home. Subscribers to the pricey service would listen through headphones that looked more like stethoscopes than a modern offering as very large people produced very big sound on a stage miles away. Source 1910 – Nathaniel Baldwin began manufacturing the first modern headphones. He crafted them in his kitchen and sold them all to the U.S. Navy. This was the first time a pair of cans resembled something you’d see today. Baldwin never patented them, however, because he was an idiot. Source 1937 – The DT-48’s from Beyerdynamic became the first dynamic headphones to hit the market. Though it would be a few decades before electrostatic headphones came into play, this was obviously a huge leap forward in the can story. Dynamic headphones are, to this day, the most popular type on the market. Source 1949 – With design in mind, AKG produced their first pair of headphones, the K120’s. If they were reproduced today, they would sell like hotcakes at Urban Outfitters. This model, and other more popular ones that followed, were enough to make AKG quit the film equipment business and focus just on audio. Source 1958 – John C. Koss changed the headphone game in a way that would make Dr. Dre jealous. In 1958, Koss created the first stereo headphones (Koss SP-3) and launched an all out assault on awaiting ear canals. Over the next few decades, Koss would come to dominate the headphone industry, and he would do it all without the need for a pesky college education. Source 1959 – At a show in Tokyo, Stax debuted the world’s first ever electrostatic pair of headphones. The SR-1’s would go into production a year later. They are now extremely rare like an original pair of Nike Air Mag’s or a headphone user without hearing loss. Source 1968 – A decade after introducing the first stereo headphones, Koss unleashed the first US made electrostatic model. The ESP-6’s clocked in at around two pounds, meaning they weren’t exactly like putting in a pair of earbuds, but were still a long ways from the massive pieces created less than a century before. Source 1979 – If you had to pick the most important event in headphone history, you’d be hard-pressed not to choose Sony dropping the Walkman. All of a sudden, headphones had to be portable. Included with the purchase of the first Walkman were Sony’s MDL-3L2 headphones and everything you needed to rock out to London Calling while roller skating in your driveway.Source 1980’s – For the man who was prone to headphone hair, the 80’s offered the first solutions. Both the earbud and the in-ear headphone made their way onto the scene in the 80’s even though they wouldn’t reach their peak in popularity until one Steven Paul Jobs changed the music game years later. Source 1997 – If you wanted to keep your hair in check but also hated the fact that earbuds couldn’t isolate sound well, Sony thought you might like a pair of neckband headphones. You didn’t.Source 2000 – Screaming babies and loud snorers met their match when Bose unveiled their QuietComfort line. Though pilots had been using noise-cancelling technology for decades, now passengers could also get some relief on loud flights (or in front of the TV with a nagging spouse). Source 2001 – The iPod changed up the whole music universe. It became common to see people with a white cord running from their pocket to their ears multiple times a day. From their inception in 2001 to today, over 300 million iPods have been sold all with the accompanying pair of earbuds. Source 2008 – Dr. Dre and Jimmy Iovine joined forces and, along with Monster, created Beats by Dre headphones. Designed with deep bass and great sound quality in mind (this is debatable), the Beats line quickly grabbed a large market share and could be seen on just about every NBA player as they walked from the bus to the locker room. Source 2012 – Headphones have become as much about style as they are sound quality. This may never have been more relevant than when Lil Wayne wore these $1 million dollar pair of Beats.

0 notes

technato · 7 years ago

Text

UV Gadgets and Virtual Docs Take On a Very Bad Flu Season

Flu fighting gets an injection of high tech

Photo: iStock Photo

Hand sanitizer just isn’t cutting it this winter. Much of the US remains in the throws of its worst flu season this decade, according to federal officials. One out of every 13 doctor visits during the second week of February was for fever, cough and other flu-like symptoms, matching the peak levels during the 2009 swine flu pandemic, the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) reported this month .

We wondered if there was any new technology out there that might help. It turns out some engineers are on it, with new software and sanitizing gadgets. In the hope that it might inspire further ingenuity or provide a resource for consumers, here’s our short list of the latest trends in flu fighting tech.��

1. Far-UVC light kills airborne viruses without harming human tissue

For those of you sitting at your desks, listening to your office mates sneeze their way down the corridors, take heart: Researchers at Columbia University are developing overhead lights that can kill airborne viruses and bacteria, harmlessly decontaminating the space around you.

The lights emit a narrow spectrum of ultraviolet C (UVC) light, called far-UVC, at a wavelength of about 222 nanometers. This month, a team out of Columbia University Medical Center reported for the first time that a very low dose of far-UVC light kills more than 95% of airborne H1N1 influenza in its path.

Yet the light doesn’t harm mammalian cells, according to previous research by the Columbia team, led by David Brenner and David Welch. “It can penetrate bacteria and viruses because they are much smaller,” says Welch.

Far-UVC differs from conventional UVC light, which, at a wavelength of 254 nanometers, can penetrate human skin can lead to skin cancer and cataracts. Conventional UVC germicidal light has been used for decades in enclosed spaces in hospitals to kill bacteria and viruses on surgical equipment.

The Columbia researchers’ next move is to test the effects of long-term exposure to far-UVC light in mice, and eventually in humans, Welch says. If the tech proves safe, the researchers envision installing the invisible lights in high traffic areas of doctors offices, hospitals, schools, airports and other public spaces.

2. UV Gadgets Sanitize Personal Items

While researchers develop and test far-UVC lights, there’s no shortage of conventional UV sanitizing gadgets available commercially now. These enclosed devices promise to reduce pathogens on phones, toothbrushes, and other surfaces.

Type in “UV smartphone sanitizer” in Google shopping, and you’ll get a slew of options under $100. Many look like light-up jewelry boxes. Some are toaster-sized and can hold lots of different kinds of objects, like baby toys and keys.

Whether these gadgets will reduce risk of picking up a flu virus is unclear. With so many different kinds of surfaces within our grasp, keeping germs off one item while touching dozens of others might prove futile.

3. An electrical turbo-boost to the chemical sanitizer

To sanitize every surface, some people are turning to electrostatic sprayers. These machines apply an electrical charge to disinfecting chemicals and spray them out in a mist. The droplets seek out particles of the opposite charge on surfaces, spreading the chemical evenly and thoroughly, according to makers of these machines.

This flu season, local news reports of schools using electrostatic sprayers popped up everywhere, from Cleburne, Texas to Allentown, Pa. There are lots of commercial versions of the device, including the cordless Victory Sprayer and the more industrial Jon-Don MaxCharge. Clorox has one, and says it will cover 1672 square meters in an hour.

4. Virtual Docs

In an effort to skip the doctor’s office altogether, more people are staying in bed and turning to video doctor appointments. These are services that enable patients to do a virtual office visit—a video call with a doctor—and in some cases, get a prescription through that call.

Telemedicine providers, such as Doctor on Demand, American Well, and Teladoc, are reporting huge increases in flu-related calls this season.

Some health insurance providers include the video calls in their coverage. And if not, out-of-pocket costs aren’t too bad. Doctor on Demand, for example, charges $75 for a 15-minute consultation for those who are uninsured.

The service might be good in a pinch, but here’s the downside: It often doesn’t eliminate an eventual in-person visit, which may actually increase overall health care spending, according to a study published last year in Health Affairs.

5. Outbreak prediction efforts continue

Predicting flu outbreaks or tracking them in real time could help guide public health authorities in their relief strategies. The strategy often involves collecting and analyzing information from social media and search engine data, and combining it with traditional public health data to try to predict flu symptoms with machine learning tools.

Google Flu Trends launched this sort of web-based tracker in 2008, but shut down its public website in 2015, saying that it would continue to provide data to the CDC. Since then, similar projects have continued, such as Booz Allen Hamilton’s Epidemico.

The CDC in 2013 held a competition that encouraged the use of social media to predict flu. The aim was to improve upon its domestic influenza surveillance system, which lags behind real-time flu activity. Since then, the agency has continued to work with contest participants to refine prediction systems. The CDC in 2016 launched FluSight which publicly posts each team’s flu forecasts.

6. Crowdsourcing flu symptoms

People who want to take a more active role in tracking flu outbreaks can participate in a crowdsourced symptom trackers. These rely on users to report their symptoms through an app or website, which maps the collective information for all users to see.

For example, Flu Near Y ou users report their symptoms, and can look at trends in outbreaks reported collectively by all users compared with the CDC.

Photo: Kinsa

The Kinsa Smart Thermometer

Then there’s the Kinsa Smart Thermometer, which is an actual thermometer that sends the user’s temperature reading to an app. The app’s crowdsourcing feature allows users to share their temps and symptoms and track that activity geographically to see if others are experiencing the same ailments.

Such a system could prove useful for highly-localized tracking of symptoms, such as in schools or among Olympic athletes.

Researchers at the University of Iowa recently tested the Kinsa thermometer to see how well it performs. They found that Kinsa’s data highly correlates with information from traditional public health surveillance systems, and can be used to improve forecasting flu-like activity up to three weeks in advance. The report was published February 9 in Clinical Infectious Diseases.

UV Gadgets and Virtual Docs Take On a Very Bad Flu Season syndicated from https://jiohowweb.blogspot.com

0 notes

audio-luddite · 7 years ago

Text

Number 1

AUDIOFILE

I have a nice stereo. I do not have one of those systems that cost more than a car or even a house. Still I think it is pretty damn good. If my house burned down I could probably replace the main parts of it for less than $8000.00. The LPs though, that would take a lot of time and a lot of money. I have some pretty good ones.

Back Story:

This will take a while.

Let’s set the wayback machine to a time when everyone knew what a wayback machine was. I entered the engineering program at a big eastern US university in 1973. I had some cash and I wanted a stereo in my dorm, as that was a good thing to have. The year before my brother and I travelled to NYC to buy exotic bipolar power transistors that went into an amplifier design out of a magazine. They were about 60 Watts per channel. We each built one. Frankly I do not remember what kind of preamplifier I had. We probably built that too. I had built some big ass speakers with a lovely 12” die cast aluminum frame woofer in a two way system. It got loud. I thought it sounded fine.

The only “factory” components I had was a Dual Turntable and a Shure phono cartridge I think it was an M95. That system lasted two years before I caught the bug or curse as the case may be. In the second year my amplifier was sick. Whenever my roommate played Queen it went crazy and demonstrated what I now know as thermal runaway. Only Queen had this effect for some reason. I did not like Queen.

Over the next summer I bought and built a Dynaco 400 Amp and a Dynaco Pat 5 preamp kit. I also made a friend who turned out to be even weirder with more money who bought a Harmon Kardon Citation 11 and 12 with a really nice Sony Turntable with an SME arm. He had these speakers called Advents that some guy in Boston was selling to raise money to build a big TV.

The two of us got a subscription to a sort of underground magazine called the Absolute Sound. It eschewed advertising as that was corrupting and yet somehow convinced serious manufacturers to loan them equipment. When they managed to get an issue out we devoured it. We also managed to visit stores that actually had much of the equipment they listed as good stuff. We heard almost everything on their lists.

My friend got tired of his Sony Turntable and I bought it from him and I sold my Dual. He kept his SME arm and I do not remember what he did with it. I bought a Grace 707 tone arm and a Sure V15 cartridge as that was considered really good if you tweaked it a bit. It was so tweaked.

I remember he went from the Sony to a HK ST7 turntable. It had pretty lights. Then he went off the reservation and got a Transcriptor Skeleton Turntable. I think he managed to get the SME arm on it as the funky transcriptor arm was a recognized PITA. He had a part time job at a stereo shop and could order stuff wholesale.

He also sold me his old Advents which were wrapped in vinyl phony wood stuff and bought a pair of Advents that were covered in real wood.

He also traded his Citation 11 for an exotic tube thing called an AR SP3. He later sent it to the factory to have it upgraded to SP3 a1 status.

At that point I had his old Sony 2251la turntable, Grace 707 arm with a Sure V15, playing into a PAT 5 preamplifier and a Dynaco 400 amplifier feeding into a pair of Advents.

All that should tell you that for a couple of college students we had some pretty good stuff. It should also tell you I have no fear of cracking open a case and messing with things. When Dynaco upgraded the PAT5 to better OP Amps I got a set and soldered them in.

A very strange Grad-student with an all tube system would visit and offer restrained praise of our systems. About mine he said it was really good for a transistor system.

As all good things had to come to an end I graduated and had to move far away. I sold almost my whole system to another guy keeping only my LPs and my turntable. I still have that turntable that arm but not the Sure V15.

When I arrived at my new home and job in the Frozen North (Edmonton Alberta Canada) I had no tunes. Once paycheques started I got some stuff. I bought a preamp and I do not remember what kind of amplifier or maybe I did not have one, but I had a project. I was building electrostatic loudspeakers. Big ones too. For those I bought a pair of Dynaco Mk3 tube amps. I almost killed myself with high voltage building the speaker power supply. The palm of my hand got charred by being too friendly with some capacitors while they were “hot”.

Interestingly these big ass electrostatic speakers 4 ft square per channel worked! The bass was less than great so I built a 15” subwoofer and some other bits. I lived with my cousin and this crazy setup took a lot of space up and sounded impressive if not actually good. For the record I now think electrostatics have more problems than benefits.

I saw an ad for somebody who was selling a Transcriptors Skeleton Turntable and as one of the few people who knew what that was in the Northern Alberta I grabbed it. You cannot overstate how cool that thing looks. I still have that too, though I may sell it soon. The Stock arm got broken. I think alcohol was involved. I still have the parts. I modified the Transcriptors to fit another Grace 707 arm which was tricky as the bitch was heavier than the stock one and I had to rebalance the whole thing with ballast.

At this point things get fuzzy. I tired of the big electrostatic speakers and I think I built some small more wife friendly things as I had acquired a wife. Powered by the pair of MK3s it was pretty good. I had tweaked my preamp power supply with bigger caps and it got better. Then one day in a shop I found an orphan Audio Research SP12 for sale. All tubes 6DJ8s instead of 12ax7s. Somewhere along here I had built a copy of the SP3a1 from the circuit diagram on a breadboard and found 12ax7s to be PITAs as well. So that was my system for a while. All glowing warn lovely tubes.

The next step was newer bigger speakers. I had a design idea and paid a wood worker to make me some boxes. They were fairly big towers with a biamped woofer thing and went down to seismic bass and the treble was way past what I could hear as a young man. Those were still fed by the MK3s and a midsize transistor amp for the woofers.

Thing is the MK3s though really good are tube amps and those tubes were getting bloody expensive. So I went backwards. Dynaco was out of business. I found a company that had bought all their stock and I ordered a black box 400 kit and a few extra parts to build something special.

What I built was a black box Dynaco 416 with two power supplies and some really nice film bridging capacitors. I tweaked the mother while I was building it. No magic smoke when I turned it on. It was wonderful. I did another silly thing by adding an outboard power supply capacitor bank. Actually a pair as each channel was separate. Do you know how big 1 farad is at 74 volts? Unplug the bugger and it plays loud for a long time. Not being silly under normal operation it just made the beast remarkably quiet and potent.

I made a diversion to surround sound and 7.1 channel movies for a while. My black box and tube preamp went in the crawlspace. I sold the MK3s for a decent price. If you wanted to listen to records you needed the programmable remote. Life was getting complicated.

The old SP12 came out of the crawlspace with a nasty hum. I replaced a failed big PS capacitor with larger value but physically smaller caps and it worked fine. I dragged out the 416. I needed new speakers. The big guns were tied up in the surround system.

Actually what got me going was an ad on craigslist. I found some Advents and thought about going back in time. I also saw an ad for a speaker called Sonabs. I remembered hearing them 40 years ago and liking them. They were gone before I got in touch with the guy. I read up on them and decided to build some like it. I really liked the theory behind them. Simple and very restrained in a Nordic sort of way. The drivers you can buy today are really good and the crossover parts are really very very good now. They have computer programs to lock down optimum millihenries and microfarads based on the impedance curve of the drivers. So I used those.

The idea behind these things is to put the speaker drivers as close to the wall as possible to minimize reflections. It is a good idea, the sound I get out of them is very clear and uncluttered. Spooky actually.

So over the last few months that is what I have been playing with. I set up the Sony / Grace table and it has been a lot of fun. The Black Dynaco lurks in the corner and things are good. You push a few buttons and the thing turns on and music is available. No remotes required.

One of the really fun things is the cartridge on the Sony. I have a Signets TK7e and loved it 20 years ago. I found a replacement stylus and it still works. The thing responds to 45 khz. That is insane. I do not think any current cartridge is comparable. It was designed for 4 channel sound that used an ultrasonic carrier. Interesting the Grace 707 was also intended for 4 channel sound. They work very well together.

So take it as reasonable that I do have a serious and good home stereo system. I have more than a passing technical appreciation of electronics, but I am not a repair technician.

Then the fun really starts.

Set the reference frame to now. I am trying to reason out the basic issue of quality in audio.

Why do things sound different? Why does equipment have a unique voice?

One of the fundamental mathematical ideas behind low distortion is to have a given device respond to frequencies double or better than you want to recreate. So if a tweeter can go to 40 khz it has no trouble with 20khz. Same thing for that Signet it can do 45 khz so 22khz is easy. My latest preamp is rated to 100 khz so it really has no problem with audio frequencies. This should mean that normal frequencies are handled with respectably low distortion.

If signals are so accurate and distortion is very low should not all “good” equipment sound the same? The audiophile cohorts at this point lean back and say of course not. So let’s restate it as “If signals are so accurate and distortion is very low, why does all “good” equipment not sound the same?” It really should you know.

Both of my preamps are both earlier 1980’s vintage. One is the Venerable AR SP12 the other is an SAE Mk 30. Both list distortion as a tiny percentage of the signal. In db terms way down under -70 db. That should be effectively inaudible. Yet they sound very different. Taking it a bit weirder swapping different tubes out makes the SP12 sound different from itself though the distortion should still be low. That should not be.

People familiar with Audio Research products will know that they built a machine called an SP11 which is still regarded as a wonderful device and much sought after. The innovation of that design was using 6DJ8 tubes which are radio frequency capable and just much better than the venerable 12AX7 tubes. The SP12 was apparently a less expensive version of the SP11 using a much simpler power supply and I think one fewer tubes in one section. It still measured impressively so it is not trash. The design came out of the same very capable brains. It was a business decision.

The thing with Audio Research Fans is they think every subsequent model must surpass the previous or it is a failure. Even so that SP3a1 my friend had was once considered “a straight wire with gain” until it was later proved to be very coloured and muddy. The SP 12 is probably much better than the SP3 but is not worth near as much. I saw a recent sale of an SP3 for $3000.00 and for an SP12 for $500.00.

So why do they sound different? There is no point in picking which is better as it is like saying blue is better than green. A difference in frequency response would be measured and actually the SP 12 has a much more accurate RIAA phono curve than the SP3a1. In the high level section they both show a damn flat plot. Distortion is very low.

One of the most informative experiences I had with Audio was many years ago. I was reading a high end magazine extolling the virtue of a really expensive interconnect wire between a very expensive CD player and a similarly very expensive preamplifier. The reviewer said that only with this particular interconnect cable could he hear this particular very subtle sound on this particular CD. I had that CD, and I had heard that sound.

This was years ago. I am not sure what the full equipment set I had then was, but I had a “cheap” Philips CD deck. The cost of that deck, and my preamp would have been less than this wire. I could hear the sound he described. First Track Cowboy Junkies Trinity Session, down to the left a metallic rattle. There is also audile air rushing from a vent. So it was not the wire itself it was how this wire interacted with his equipment. (Good album) Most important I could hear it clearly without that stuff.

There I learned that good and better depend on a lot of things. Later I learned that many high end designers cannot afford extensive testing of certain things. The commercial demands are severe to get stuff out quickly. Some circuits will react badly to inductive and capacitive reactive loads. That can make them freak out. Fancy wires are both capacitive and inductive so get the wrong mix of parameters with a given machine and the reaction to those changes the sound or may even let out the magic smoke.

The best I can come up with is speculation. There is a famous Bet made by Mr Bob Carver that he could make one of his relatively inexpensive amplifiers sound EXACTLY like any amplifier a group of golden eared critics chose. He then proceeded to do just that. What he did was run a music signal through a channel of the target amp and inverted through his amp. If they were perfect the signal would completely cancel. At first they did not cancel indicating that there was a difference in how they sounded. Then he tweaked his machine until it did cancel. Once that was done, the two machines sounded indistinguishable. You could say he “voiced” his amplifier. I believe they still measured very low distortion. Very low distortion combined with a particular sound. Vellly interesting!

Subsequently he built a mad, cost no object all tube monster amplifier then produced a product line of smaller transistor amps voiced to sound just like it. This is very clever for business and not supportive of the idea of ultimate sonic goodness.

What must be happening is subtle interference, reactions and resonances inside the circuits. Sometimes there must be reactions between different devices entirely. Given a complex signal complex stuff happens and it comes out different if there are different components arranged differently. Neither is right or wrong, just different. We are noticing different voicings perhaps deliberate perhaps accidental. If you like something more than the other it is then better for you. So it ends up a personal choice.

Sometimes I hear something I had not heard before. I have many albums I have heard many times. A few nights ago I played a Philips recording of Stravinsky’s Firebird and a particular oboe part jumped out at me. I have heard that part many times before, but now there was something about it. I could tell it was made by a wooden instrument. It felt dimensional I could hear the wall behind it. Why? Some previously interfering sound was gone is the best I can come up with.

The real problem was the turntable was the same, the amplifier was the same the preamp and speakers not the same at all. Was the preamp clearer and more accurate? Maybe, it’s pretty good. Are the speakers clearer and more accurate? Was it an interaction between the two? Probably it was all of those things to some degree.

In this particular case I think the “new” things I am hearing are due to the speakers. My amplifier is really very clean. I assume the preamp is. My speakers are derived from the Sonab design from 40 years ago. The intent is to minimize wall reflections by keeping the drivers close to the wall and away from major reflective surfaces. I think that idea works very well.

I think a lot of very respected speakers are not really that good because they react badly with the room surfaces. Sounds get to your ears that are not on the recording based on the design and placement of speakers in the room and furniture for that matter. If sound waves that are not on the recording are audible then that is wrong. Maybe that’s why people like headphones so much. Dipoles are the worst for it. (My Electrostatics were dipoles.) Box speakers set far from a wall are bad too. If they sound “good” then these interactions must be compensating for a flaw in the voicing. Large panel speakers like electrostatics and Magnepans couple well to the air in a room and that gives the impression of presence and immediacy. That is actually good device-to-room impedance matching as large surfaces couple to the air better. Yet you will be hearing sounds that are not on the recording. Perhaps it is better to say they were not in the recording in the place and time that you hear them in.

To a certain degree you can get pretty close to honest and true sounds coming out of these machines. A powerful amplifier pumping many Watts into a little box is very persuasive. If it produces linear power, which almost any amplifier will, you can depend on it getting out into the room. The only limit is the frequency range of the speaker.

According to the charts of the components and the formulas for calculations I used, my speakers should respond from 30ish Hertz to over 40khz. The bass sounds good and is much dependent on the recording. My high frequency hearing is gone with the years but I still can appreciate the tiny metallic character of cymbals on a drum kit or bells or a lonely triangle in the back of an orchestra. I have an FFT analyser on my tablet and it shows some response over 18 khz on some records. I will not vouch for the frequency response of my tablet, but if something is there it is there.

So with respect to the room my little speakers work well. I know that they have a voice, but it is subtle. Another visit with the wayback machine is illustrative.

Does anyone remember the Fulton J Modular speaker? It was a behemoth and for a time at the top of the “good stuff” list. I heard it and was really impressed. My college friend bought a piece of one. The Modular moniker referred to it being built up from 3 pieces. There was a refrigerator sized base that had some number of woofer drivers a small box speaker midrange and an electrostatic tweeter array.

The piece in question is the Fulton FMI 80. In the day it was well thought of. It was responsible for all the middle frequencies of the unit, and those are where most of the important information is. You can see reviews of it in the archives of Stereophile magazine. They liked it. It was small and plain and you know it sounded great with chamber music and acoustic guitar and many instruments that had wood sound boxes. When he got his he kept the Advents, keeping them in my dorm room to keep my pair company so for a time I ran what were called double Advents. A certain magazine liked that arrangement. My room was the main listening place and we puzzled over the FMI 80s. They were good and not good depending on the material. Actually it was all about the material.

So being curious we brought the little guys into my room, and fiddled. String quartets were great, Fleetwood Mac not. We knew some musicians and invited their opinion. They liked them for acoustic instruments with strings and some woodwinds. Horns and such not really good at all.

I was sitting between them (it was a small room) and I noticed the sound coming off the side of the box. Revelation it was. I knocked the side of the box with my knuckle the box was made from thin wood. When you played certain instruments the box resonated and made the sound more “real” and alive, but that is not right. You should hit the box of almost any speaker and get a dull thud at most. These highly respected speakers had a definite voice. If the recording was woody it made it sound more woody.

We also opened one up and found the crossover circuit was a single rather cheap electrolytic capacitor. This was an educational experience. Well that is what college is for is it not? He sold them for what he paid for them and took his Advents back. Here is an example of a great respected behemoth speaker with a flawed heart. Respected reviewers were fooled, or perhaps charmed by the seductive flaws.

I wish there were definitive objective tests we could use. Then we could depend on getting things that are actually better. I will continue to play in this field. I mess with my equipment to keep it in the zone and listen to music. That is what it is really all about.

In the mean while it stays interesting.

#SAE mark 30 #Audio Research SP 12 #Dynaco 416 #one Farad

0 notes

tenscupcake · 8 years ago

Text

electrostatic potential (21/?)

ten/rose. a little higher than teen this ch. summary: as the doctor and rose traverse time and space looking for adventure, they slowly fall victim to a mysterious energy that can manipulate their emotions. though confused and unnerved by the cerebral affliction, neither of them understands its cause, or realizes that it could jeopardize their friendship. what will it take for them to discover the truth? a/n: hi guys! my posting schedule is complete chaos but hey, my life is complete chaos so. most importantly, i figured you guys could use a bit of light on this dark day. i know it brought some light to mine and i hope it can do the same for some of you. thanks to @aroseofstone and @goingtothetardis for the feedback and betas. this chapter on ao3 | back to chapter 1 on ao3

The Doctor is absolutely not freaking out.

Approaching his reflection in the single small mirror, the first thing he sees is the unparalleled chaos of his bedhead. He supposes he’d better actually do what he claimed he was going to do when he skipped in here. Flipping on the faucet, he gathers a pool of water in his palm and splashes it onto his head, not caring that most of it drips onto his face. He splays his fingers and massages the water into his hair, kneading and twisting to bring some pliability back to the dry, wayward strands. Once most of it looks slightly damp, he pulls out his travel-sized tube of product and squeezes a few drops onto his palm.

He is certainly not running away from her again.

With rapid strokes back and forth, he rubs it over the top of his head, leaving no strand untouched. Only once it is distributed evenly does he employ more precision, using both hands, capturing sections between his fingers to mold them into the right shape, up and towards the mirror. There’s the one section that’s always particularly cow-licked in the morning and requires more attention. And as usual, he has to spend several minutes mere centimeters from the mirror, using his fingertips to craft the very front just the way he likes it. Rebelling against gravity, but not defying it altogether. A slight angle outward that dares someone to come and touch it. Well, so long as ‘someone’ is Rose.

He is not stalling a conversation about what just happened by hiding in the bathroom, either. Nope.

It’s much easier to style his hair fresh out of a shower, but he can always make do with the circumstances he’s given. This hair was ready to be styled straight out of regeneration. It’s no huge mystery why, and he’s always known that. He died pouring his heart out to an attractive young woman, and his subconscious manifested that by turning him into an attractive young man – touchable hair included. What other explanation could there be that his tenth incarnation appears younger than any of his others (excluding, of course, his first)? It’s not at all uncommon for regeneration to manifest a Time Lord’s most pressing need or desire at the time of death. It is perhaps uncommon for that need or desire to be another person, but he isn’t sure that detail matters. Statistically, the chances that the two events are correlated in some way is far greater than that they occurred together by a stroke of cosmic luck. The universe has never stacked the odds in his favor.

He grumbles at his reflection as his hand falls to his side. This hair, among many other features, was literally made for Rose’s enjoyment, and he’s standing here playing with it instead of lying in bed with her.

He’s suddenly reminded of the 90’s sitcom, Friends. In one episode, Phoebe claims to want a fabled bicycle from her childhood with all of her nostalgic heart. But when Ross buys it for her, though she parades it around Central Park and maintains its shiny appearance, she doesn’t actually ride it.

Except that was actually endearing, and had some validity, since Phoebe didn’t know how to ride a bicycle. The Doctor can’t claim he doesn’t know how to – (well, ride isn’t the right word, but blimey, it’s astonishing how readily his mind went there) – indulge Rose. He’s just being a selfish prick about it. He’s got all the hardware (and software) for passion and intimacy now, but he’s just strutting around letting her admire it rather than actually using it.

And simply because she showed him, quite vividly, how much she cares for him, too, he’s backing off even more. Stashing that bicycle in the closet rather than let anyone see it. He’s inadvertently punishing her for honesty.

He isn’t sure how Rose expected him to react, but he knows it can’t have been to bolt off. When someone shows you how they feel about you, and it’s that intense, the only polite thing to do is to return the sentiments shortly thereafter. He didn’t at all prepare himself to do that today; he was more or less expecting to see the first time she baked a cake, not a compilation of all the reasons she’s in love with him. She didn’t actually use the word, but what Rose doesn’t understand is that these exchanges of emotion are far more impactful than words to telepathic species. If he stayed, he would have had to construct a similar experience for her, or else come up with a verbal response to what she’d shown him that would indicate she’s not alone in her sentiments. But what does she expect? How can he explicitly requite that level of affection, when not four days ago he was prepared to swallow said feelings altogether? To sever the very connection that made her confession possible?

A swish of the curtain interrupts his brooding.

“Oi, you about done? I want to wash up.” Rose sounds irritated.

“Yeah,” he pushes away from the little sink and whirls around. She looks irritated, too.

Now’s his chance, then.

He meanders over to where she’s standing in the doorway, but effectively blocks her path to the sink.

“Listen, I just want to say…” He rubs the back of his neck, staring at the wall next to the shower rather than meeting her gaze. “Thank you. For, erm… showing me what you did.”

He dares a glance at her, and her expression has softened. Less disappointment, more disbelief. A bit of confused curiosity in her eyes. Swallowing, she nods and breaks their brief moment of eye contact.

“It was a lovely moment,” he adds, the words a bit rushed.

“Yeah,” she acknowledges. “Don’t mention it.” She skirts around him, and his eyes follow her as she sidles up to the sink. She swipes her toothbrush and paste from the little counter space there is and gets straight to business ‘washing up’, as she’d put it.

Though she could see him in the mirror if she wanted to, she actively avoids looking up at his reflection. Silently pulling back the curtain, he leaves her be without another word.

---

Much to their dismay, they’ve missed breakfast by the time they arrive at Kenai’s house. Every family member is present – a universally acknowledged day of rest for the village, they soon discover. Fortuitously, there is only about an hour or so until lunch will be served, and they spend the interim discussing the recovery of the ruki. The Doctor is delighted to learn the population is bouncing back well enough that Kenai and Kalei are planning the next fishing trip.

The energy between him and Rose is unusually strained throughout the conversation, though. At first, he chalks it up to Rose being tetchy because she’s hungry, and patiently endures the tension until she can get in a proper meal. But Rose’s reticence has not improved by the time their plates are clean (some kind of sweet vegetable curry-like dish sopped up with a flat bread that resembled naan). As Kalani starts clearing the table, the Doctor is perturbed enough that he’s ready to whisk her back to the hut and formally apologize. And perhaps figure out something else to do to make it up to her.

The conversation he had with himself late the previous evening comes to mind – about giving her what she wants, physically – and much to his surprise, he’s hardly opposed to that at the moment. Seeing her properly disappointed with him for what feels like the thousandth time since they landed here, he doesn’t know if there’s anything he wouldn’t do to win back her approval. But what is Rose expecting for their first time? A candlelit dinner and rose petals on the bed? A romantic film with wine and superfluous foreplay? Or will an early afternoon shag born out of guilt suffice just as well?

Before he can answer his own question, Kairi pipes up with his name from across the table.

He looks up, surprised she had spoken, as she usually only does when spoken to (not out of any cultural restrictions, but merely because she’s unbearably shy), and gives her his attention.

“Hm?”

“I was wondering, uhm...” She looks down at the table, the rest of the sentence hanging in midair. When she’s silent for several long moments, he looks around at the other occupants of the table, silently asking if this is normal behavior.

Kalei, seated next to her, elbows her lightly in the arm.

“It’s just… I have this project for school that I can’t get to work, and you’re so brilliant. I was wondering if you might have time to help me out.”

“Certainly,” he agrees immediately to try to soothe her insecurity. “You’ll want to invite Rose along, too though,” he nods to Rose and gives her his most charming smile when she looks up. “Rose Tyler, I’m lost without her.” As he predicted, she scrunches her mouth up to keep from smiling at the memories these words evoke, trying to stay outwardly cross with him.

“Yes, of course!” Kairi agrees. “When is a good time for you both?”

“Well, we haven’t exactly made plans yet…” He steers back to his halted train of thought. His desire to clear the air with Rose (and maybe implement his reconciliation plan) is a higher priority in his mind than a science project.

“Excellent!” Kenai exclaims. “I knew he’d be able to help, Kairi.” He pats the table happily before gulping down some more of his juice.

Morally unable to go back on his word now, the Doctor resigns to postpone talking to Rose, and whatever may follow that conversation, until later on.

---

The Doctor isn’t sure what to expect upon walking into Kairi’s bedroom – it’s not where he expected this homework hour to take place. There aren’t many societies in the universe where a young girl can invite strange adults into her bedroom and her parents not protest to the arrangement. The door is left open, though, and Kalei is in an adjacent room working on a carving, his door open as well.

Kairi is ever the professional – she clears the Doctor and Rose a place to sit on her bed while she goes to drag in chairs from around the dining table, as there’s only one currently at her desk. It looks similar to his own – but it’s cluttered with primitive tools rather than electronics, leaf quills rather than pens, and parchment rather than computers.

Once she’s retrieved their chairs and they’re all situated, she wraps her long, straight hair (must come from her dad’s side) into a bundle atop her head and pins it in place with a dried white flower. Sitting down next to them, she unfurls a long piece of parchment from the center of the workspace.

The Doctor pulls on his glasses and peers at the design.

“Looks like a blueprint. Well, except for the paper not actually being blue. Though, on Earth, architects transitioned away from using actual blue paper for blueprints as early as the 1940’s…” He glances over at Rose, only to see her giving him a distinct ‘get on with it’ face, and quickly redirects his attention. “But what is it? A slide?” It certainly looks like one – a steep slope of something smooth, maybe intended to be metal – tucked between rocks in a mountain that must represent one of the ones on the island.

“What’s a slide?” Kairi asks.

“It’s a… erm,” the Doctor stops himself, scratching behind his ear. “Well, what is this, then?” he turns the question back on her.

“It’s intended to be for quick travel from the top of the village near the summit down to the bottom, in case of emergencies. Or for transfer of goods or supplies, perhaps. I’ve built several models with Kalei’s help, and blacksmith’s apprentice I know from school, but they’ve all been failures.”

“Where are these models?” the Doctor asks, curiosity piqued.

“Gone. Deconstructed for parts. Nothing goes to waste on this island,” she chuckles a little. “Least not if my dad has anything to say about it. He said it’d be better if I start from scratch, anyway.”

“Is it supposed to be constructed on the mountains up there?” He nods his head in the general direction of the rocky slopes.

“Yes, the models weren’t life-sized though. For the project, the assignment is to make a small model. About one meter.” She pulls out a stick from beside the desk, marked with measurements along one edge. The Doctor quickly and quietly assesses that it doesn’t seem to be an entirely accurate representation of a meter, but it’s close enough. “The winner in the class for the most useful project will get the help of the village to implement it in its real proposed size.”

“I see,” says the Doctor. “What caused them to fail?”

“The first one was metal. I used a thatch of leaves to carry down a rock. Every time I touched it to start a new trial, I got badly shocked. I figured that would be a problem for actual users, so I threw it out.”

“Quite right,” chimes Rose.

“The next one was rock,” Kairi continues, “and I had a similar problem. That, and I couldn’t get the rocks smooth enough. After a few trials, sparks flew and I almost burnt down my room. Dad wouldn’t let me continue with that one, after that.” She sighs, but it’s with a sense of peace rather than despondency. A true budding scientist, she has already come to terms with the fact that failure is a part of the process.

“Then I decided to go for wood. But friction was still a problem. One day, I got Kalei to help me polish it to make the surface nice and smooth. And I got some leftover cazaut oil from the kitchen to make it slippery on the surface. And that worked. But I knew there was no way to acquire enough oil to implement it on a larger scale. And even if it were possible, no one would approve of the project using such an important source of food. So I knew I had to find another way. But this is the latest blueprint, I haven’t started a new one, yet.”

“But that’s brilliant,” Rose says, in awe. “An oil slide. Sounds even faster than a water slide, and more innovative.”

“I agree,” chimes the Doctor. “Brilliant. But you’re right, it’s impractical. Why can’t we use water, instead of oil?” he suggests.

“It would take an excessive amount of water,” Kairi says, scrunching up her forehead like the Doctor is out of his mind.

“You’ve got an excessive amount of water,” Rose suggests. “Surrounded by the ocean, yeah?”

“Right you are, Rose. Ocean water, Kairi, what’s wrong with that?”

“Well,” she points to the bottom of the parchment. “The water is here,” she indicates. “And the… slide…” she uses the Doctor’s term with some awkwardness around the syllables, “starts way up here, at the top of the village.”

“There must be water sources inland, though,” the Doctor says. “How do you irrigate the crops?”

“There are freshwater springs in the forest, and we’ve developed an aqueduct system there. But that water is restricted to supply homes and provide irrigation. It would never be permissible to use it for something frivolous like this, especially in those high quantities.”

“Hmm,” the Doctor muses, stymied. “I’d hardly call it frivolous,” he grumbles quietly.

“You’d have to have some way of getting the water up there, then,” says Rose, on a more optimistic note.

“That may be the only way,” the Doctor agrees. “That is, if you’re settled on this idea, and don’t want to try something a little less ambitious.”

“Well…” She ponders that, both hands under her chin as she inspects the print.

“I’ll tell you what though, Kairi,” says Rose. “I think this could be used for more than just emergencies. I think lots of people would use it for fun. Might be something that could bring people to the island. You could even charge for it.”

“What? No,” she waves her hand in the air, like the idea is preposterous, and the Doctor holds back laughter with his fist over his mouth before he can speak.

“As ridiculous as it may sound to you, I think Rose is right,” the Doctor adds.

“Guess I should stick to it, then,” says Kairi, a gleam of pride in her eyes. A well deserved spot of arrogance, the Doctor thinks.

Kairi sketches down several ideas for a water transport system from the shore to the summit, and the Doctor has to bite his tongue several times to keep from using the word ‘pump’ as she talks them through aloud. He doesn’t tell her what to draw, or how to tweak her angles or calculations. Doesn’t tell her outright when a design is rubbish. He only forces her to think about potential design flaws; leads her to detect the lethal ones quickly and start over. Guides her in the right direction when she gets stuck. Does the more difficult arithmetic calculations in his head when she asks so she doesn’t have to do them by hand. (“Call me your personal computer,” he says, and she laughs like it’s the most nonsensical word she’s ever heard. And, since it doesn’t exist in their version of Kaelondaian yet, he supposes the English must, indeed, sound ridiculous to her. At least as ridiculous as ‘slide.’)

In the middle of her fifth design, the Doctor suddenly feels something peculiar. A wisp of melancholy that’s not his own. A tug of quiet frustration. Hunched over the desk as he is, he has to look over his shoulder to check on Rose.

But when he does, her chair is empty.

What an insufferable twat he is. Too enthralled by teaching and calculations, he doesn’t even know when she left. And now she’s somewhere out there alone, stewing in this turbulent sense of disappointment (probably directed at him) that’s severe enough to be broadcast to him.

To be fair, she does wander off a hell of a lot, and her clever escapes always seem to go undetected by his Rose radar. She’s good at being discreet and quiet, and tends to do what she wants regardless of his say in the matter.

“Where’s Rose gone?” Kairi asks, noticing her absence at the same time.

“Keep working, Kairi, I’ll be right back.” He pats her on the shoulder and leaps out of his chair to search for Rose.

To his relief, he finds her in the first place he looks – the kitchen. She’s standing at a countertop, cutting something that looks like carrots. Several feet along the same counter, Kenai is breaking down a pile of ruki (still from the batch the Doctor brought from the past). It feels like they just ate lunch, but tuning into his time sense, he realizes it’s been four hours since they ate. Guess that means it’s already time to start preparing for dinner.

The Doctor clears his throat to announce his presence.

“Can I help?” he asks, approaching them hesitantly from behind.

“You can assist Rose in cutting the vegetables, if you’d like,” says Kenai through the sounds of fish filets slapping the cutting board.

The Doctor sidles up next to Rose, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, but she doesn’t say anything. Her only acknowledgement of his presence is a cursory glance in his direction.

“How’re you doing?” he asks, and he knows it’s a loaded question but can’t help it.

Predictably, she gives him a little glare.

“Sorry for getting caught up. I was just trying to help, and sometimes I can be a bit… single-minded.”

“Don’t I know it,” she says, derisively. She doesn’t seem to want to talk, and he can still feel an annoyed ire radiating from her mind, festering inside his.

He knew the lightness of their conversation in Kairi’s presence earlier had been an illusion, and that they’d have to properly confront what happened this morning sooner or later. But how can they have a confrontation about it right this moment? The matters involved are fiercely private, but they lack privacy.

There is, of course, one easy solution.

He glances over at Kenai. He’s mere feet away from them, on the opposite side of the sink, but he does seem engrossed in his task.

But suddenly, as though lifting the idea from the Doctor’s mind, Kenai suddenly starts to sing. It’s not very loud, and it fades in gradually, like it’s just something he does instinctively while he cooks. The TARDIS doesn’t translate the language, knowing it would butcher the beauty of the music. Hearing the language authentically, it reminds him of Hawaiian. Karina joins in after a few lines from the next room, an effortless harmony to Kenai’s part. The song is beautiful, and the Doctor would very much like to keep listening. But this is his opportunity.

“Rose,” he whispers.

She just barely glances over at him, acknowledging she heard her name, but returns her eyes to her work. Several long seconds pass while he gathers his courage.

He speaks those sacred words, the invitation he taught her just this morning. Prays to gods that don’t exist that she’ll accept, this first time he has initiated something.

Her head whips towards him this time, eyes wide and lips parted, gaping at him.

He holds out a hand, making his intention clear. But he hovers several inches away, waiting for her to accept his offer.

Setting her knife on the counter, she just barely nods.

Abandoning its patience, his hand surges toward its destination, tingling with excitement.

He coordinates them to be partially connected, this time, dipping only shallowly inside her mind while inviting her the same depth inside his. Enough to sense transient thoughts and emotions but nothing more. It doesn’t take as long to forge such a connection, and it’s not as all-consuming as a deeper one. Since they’re at high risk of being interrupted, he doesn’t want either of them to become too overwhelmed by whatever may be said or shared in the confines of this link. They both have to function like normal humanoids as soon as the interaction is over.

She’s still not great at maintaining the two-way street, and it’s a bit of a push-pull, but she’s definitely improved since yesterday.

Holding up all right? he asks as soon as they’re sufficiently intertwined.

Still cross with you, she confesses, knowing she can’t lie to him.

I gathered.

I gathered that you gathered, she retorts, and the words are like ice through the link.

Bit defensive there, he accuses.

Hmph.

I shouldn’t have run off like that, he admits.

No.

To be fair, he paraphrases what he’d said to himself earlier, I wasn’t quite expecting for you to choose a memory with me in it. Or to get a novel on all the reasons you fancy me.

Yeah, well. You got me all emotional, changin’ back like that. That wasn’t fair.

Suppose not. But I didn’t actually do it, Rose. It really was the power of your mind that made you see me like that. I can’t have a physical existence in anyone else’s mind. My appearance there all depends on your memory and perception.

Hm. She ruminates on that for a moment, cogs turning in her mind. Wondering why her brain betrayed her like that, made her so vulnerable. Wondering what she might look like to him inside his mind.

An interesting question, that. But one he skips over quickly.

Thank you for showing me. It was very… special to me. But it was also quite overwhelming. And I wasn’t at all expecting it. I just needed time to process it, I suppose.

You’re somethin’ else, you know. Spend a couple of hours literally inside my mind, and let me see your every thought, an’ two seconds later go mad when I say I like you.

Well, when you put it that way.

After a few moments of tense silence, she suddenly puts forth a demand.

Think it’s only fair I get to see one of yours.

That… does seem fair, he admits.

And I’ve got to be in it, too, she adds. Tit for tat.

That makes things a little tougher. Yours was a very nice tit.

Rose simultaneously laughs and rages at him inside her head, a yellow glow of joy shining on him even as red fists of anger bludgeon him through the link.

Knob.

He ignores the insult.

Tonight? He asks.

Deal, Rose agrees.

Brilliant. I’m going to disconnect. I think this song is about to end, and Kenai might get a bit weirded out if I’m touching your head like this.

Upon their reluctant return to individuality, the song is indeed ending, and they both compliment Kenai on his singing voice and choice of song. As they finish chopping the night’s vegetables, they take turns asking about what inspires the music on the island. Who writes the songs, who the best performers are. They even ask to hear another song, and Kenai happily complies. The chopping finished, Rose and the Doctor applaud his encore performance.

“I told Kairi I’d be right back,” the Doctor says softly, only to Rose, as he wipes some carrot-like juice and shavings from his hands onto his shirt. “Want to come back and help us?”

“Didn’t seem like you needed my help,” she insists.

“I can always use your help,” he assures her, reaching for her hand. He can’t bear the thought of her feeling useless in any respect.

“You go on ahead.” She tilts her head in the direction of Kairi’s room. “I think Kenai still needs help gettin’ the food ready.”

“Sure?” he asks quietly.

“Yep. See you for dinner.”

“Deal.” He gives her a smile and brushes his thumb over hers before leaving her and Kenai alone.

When he reunites with her, Kairi has basically re-invented Archimedes’ screw. He would know – he was there when that was invented, too. But Kairi is hardly fourteen. The Doctor is tremendously impressed.

By the time dinner is called by Kenai and Rose, Kairi has (with his assistance) calculated the required length and diameter of both the model and the theoretical life-sized version. She has also determined how much power she’ll need to pump the water up the distance. It’s a substantial figure – several levers powered by several individuals will be necessary to produce it. To his astonishment, she comes up with a plan for its operators to use their legs to crank the device, rather than their arms. Blimey, the girl just invented stationary bicycles, too.

As they eat, Kairi insists she doesn’t even really need the Doctor’s help anymore, and assures him he is welcome to leave once dinner is over. Bubbling with confidence and enthusiasm, she promises to recruit Kalei and other friends to help build the model starting tomorrow. The Doctor can’t help but be proud of her progress today, both intellectually and socially.

---

Rose insists on having some time for a shower as they depart their hosts’ home. The Doctor is eager to get back to time with just the two of them, but reluctantly agrees to reunite in forty-five minutes. Rose likely doesn’t want him hovering right outside the loo while she takes care of business, so he heads back to the TARDIS to freshen up.

He doesn’t need to shower every day, at least from the perspective of hygiene, but he likes to make a habit of it, anyway. At least in this regeneration. Since early on, he has somehow convinced himself it’s not to make sure he smells as nice as possible for Rose. That it’s just a vain little quirk of this incarnation, nothing more.

But that is utter rubbish. Everything that follows his shower is evidence of that. The ever-meticulous crafting of his hair. The application of aftershave though he didn’t touch a razor tonight. Getting his clothes speed-dry-cleaned by the TARDIS. The spritz of cologne on his shirt. The very manly lotion he spreads over his hands so they’re soft against Rose’s skin. (Just, you know, in case.)

Oh, and then, there’s the fact that he waits for her on the bed in his specs again, only pretending to work on the artificial gills some more. As he sits cross-legged on the bed, awaiting Rose’s entrance (should be any moment now, the water has been off for twenty minutes), there’s no denying the reason he brought along a project in the first place. He knows she thinks the glasses are sexy on him.

Flaunting it without using it… he reminds himself.

How bad would it be if he did… use it? His contemplation from late the night before runs through his mind again.

But before he can answer his own question, Rose appears through the curtain to the loo, her face lighting up when she sees him waiting. Her hair is down, a bit of a voluminous mess from wearing it up all day but lovely as ever. She’s wearing a form-fitting pair of pink pyjamas, and a sleeveless white top that leaves little to the imagination. She seems to have forgone wearing a bra.

Suddenly, he finds it preferable to simply see what happens.

Rose throws her old clothes onto her suitcase and plods forward to sit on the bed, and he collects his multipurpose project and stashes it on the desk for later.

“You ready?” she asks, without pretense.

“Straight to business, then?” he half-jokes, swiping off his specs and leaving them on the bedside table.

“You had plenty of time to prepare this time.”

“Suppose I did.” He smiles, glad to see she’s gaining some confidence. It fuels his own. Flopping onto his side facing her, he just stares at her, waiting for her to accept his implicit invitation.

She likely doesn’t intend for it to be seductive, but the way she crawls up the mattress and slowly reclines next to him, he feels rather seduced.

Resisting the temptation to ogle her and allow his mind (and hands) to wander, he reaches for her temple instead. As soon as his fingers make contact, he can feel her heart racing beneath her still-damp skin. He closes his eyes, breathing in coconut and flowers and estrogen, and just a little adrenaline, too – she’s still nervous tonight.

Dismantling his many defenses, he presses his fingertips a little harder and reaches out for the patient, curious tresses of her mind. Once she can sense him there, inviting her, she rushes inside with abandon. Though she’s much more accustomed to the process, he gives her a few moments to fully settle in, to acclimate to the atmosphere inside his mind.

The sensations are just as spectacular as the first time she did this. A powerful sense of humanity humbles his Time Lord consciousness. Mortality intertwines with every fiber of his near-immortal being. A cozy warmth surrounds his two hearts as he is blanketed with compassion. He knows the union is complete. Concentrating on his faculties despite the sudden inebriation, he transforms their dimensionless surroundings into a landscape they can both make some more sense of.

When he opens his eyes, they’re in one of his typical hubs: the TARDIS library.

Rose’s eyes open at the same time, and she appears just as he is when he left her: the pink pyjamas and nearly see-through white top. No makeup, her hair down and mussed up. He’s proud of his subconscious for presenting her in such accurate and up-to-date detail.

He quickly senses Rose’s surprise that they’re in a location she recognizes.

But there are fewer places he feels more comfortable than his ship. A place he can hide from the havoc the universe threatens to wreak on his life. Where he can even hide away from time itself. And in this particular room, the countless books offer an added layer of escape from reality. Whether it’s in the musty, yellowed pages of ancient texts or the freshly printed, new book smell of novels he hasn’t yet read, this library has always provided him refuge within its depths.

It’s one of his default settings for times like these, because it’s so comfortable. He can hear the distant breathing of the time rotor, can feel the stillness beneath his feet, the irrelevance of time inside the Vortex.

Extracting these sentimental musings from his mind, she doesn’t comment on his subconscious’ choice of setting.

They’ve materialized near the center of the library, and though Rose glances around at the familiar setting, her eyes never stray from his for long.

“Does it work the same way?” she asks, scanning a few of the closest aisles. “Every path leads somewhere different?”

“Yes,” he answers simply.

She drifts away from him slightly to have a better look around, and it’s obvious which particular sections of the familiar library attract her attention. A corner that’s bathed in unnatural shadow. A few nearby shelves concealed by strange floating clouds of darkness. Features that distinguish this fabrication from the real TARDIS library.

“Well,” he sighs. “Not exactly the same. I have a fair bit more practice with shielding memories I don’t want to be seen. Any dark areas are a manifestation of those skills,” he explains.

Rose’s face scrunches up a little, and a little zing of jealousy strikes him. It wasn’t nearly as effortless for her to shield a memory from him.

“After a few centuries, you start to get the hang of things,” he says in his defense.

“What would happen if I tried to see something in the dark?” she asks.

It’s transparent that she isn’t out to invade his privacy; she’s just curious about the mechanics of his hub, the same way she was about her own. Eager to discover their similarities and differences and catalog them accordingly.

“Why don’t we go and see?” he nods his head towards the nearest darkened shelf. “I still have voluntary defenses I can use, the same way you do,” he explains. The wood beneath their feet creaks authentically as they stroll across the library floor. “In the end, it’s still up to me to decide what you can see.”

They approach the shelf in question, and he indicates that Rose come closer. She looks back and forth between him and the shelf a couple times, searching for confirmation that this is okay. He provides it wordlessly, focusing on granting her permission to try, but not for anything to be revealed. It’s a dangerous line to tread, but he has more than enough skill and training to distinguish the two.

As soon as Rose has decided to reach a hand out towards the darkened shelf, the gargantuan wooden edifice rumbles in protest. When her hand inches closer, it starts to move, grinding along the floor away from her hand. She takes a step, and swivels on an invisible axis, the face lined with book spines fleeing from her prying hands. It continues to turn, the noise amplifying as it scratches along the floor, though it doesn’t leave a trace on the ground. Its task is finished mere seconds later as it slams into its new position, wedged between this aisle and the adjacent one. The rear face of the shelf is solid, a single sheet of wood extending up by a dozen feet, leaving its contents utterly inaccessible.

But this aberration in the library’s organization doesn’t last for long. Another nearby shelf creaks to life, rumbling along the floor to fill in the gap left behind by its previous occupant. The aisle is restored to a normal appearance, but this time there are no obscured shelves: the soft reading light from overhead uniformly illuminates each shelf.

With a couple fingers, he motions for Rose to follow him sideways a few steps to inspect the adjacent aisle. As he expected, the perpendicular shelf is no longer obstructing the middle of the aisle; it has disappeared altogether. The aisle isn’t missing a bookshelf of its own, either. During the commotion of the other moving shelf, the off-limits selection stealthily exchanged itself with another shelf someplace in the vast library.

“Woah,” Rose breathes out, letting her astonishment and wonder filter through to him.

“Not so different, hm?”

“No.” She smiles, obviously glad that, despite their inherent incompatibility in the telepathic respect, they share a few things in common.

“Come on.” He reaches for her hand.

They traverse a path through a few of the aisles, towards a wing that’s bathed in a brighter, golden light. Where the dust, collecting on the shelves and visible in the rays of light shining from above, takes on an almost pinkish hue. He leads her to a stack near the middle of the third aisle, quite set on what he wants to show her. He knew this was coming all day, so he has had this particular memory prepared for hours now. Something that includes her. Something meaningful. Something that will take away some of the embarrassment she’s feeling about what she showed him earlier. He has the perfect scene in mind.

From a low shelf on their right, a text pulls itself out from the stack. It floats slowly through the air into the middle of the aisle, stopping their path. It lingers just long enough to reveal its cover, a low-quality black-and-white depiction of the Colosseum, before its cover opens slowly in front of them, angling back as it does. The first thin page in the volume catches in an invisible breeze, hanging in midair before it whips against the front cover. The wind picks up, turning page after page with growing speed.

Seeing this phenomenon, Rose clutches her fist into the sleeve of his shirt, jaw dropped open.

The air above the text swirls with glowing gold particles, and a new scene burgeons from the tumult. The bookshelves are replaced with Renaissance paintings; the flat maroon ceiling exchanged for vaulted domes and archways. The soft ambient lighting of the library is overtaken by bright sunlight filtering from large, ornate windows.

A half-finished marble statue of Rose stands in the center of the new landscape. Her facial features are easily recognizable – lips, nose, ears, eyebrows. Though they’re empty and colorless, her stone eyes still seem to gaze upon her visitors with tenderness. The statue only has one arm, the other still obscured in stone (later meant to cradle a cornucopia). While half of her tunic clings to her body, the fabric rippling in an invisible breeze, the other half is largely still a stump of marble. Her feet, don’t yet exist, either, trapped inside the rock waiting to be chiseled free.

The Doctor himself is slumped on the floor against a nearby wall, crunching noisily on an apple. His unassuming brown robe highlights his contemporary peasantry, distracting from the glaring anachronism of his hairstyle.

He finishes his snack quickly, and tosses the core onto the floor to be disposed of later. He swipes up the smooth stone and sharp chisel from the platform beneath the statue as he approaches. But, tossing the rock up and down in his palm a few times, he thinks better of it, and sets them both back where they were. Reaching a hand up tenderly, he lets a few fingers graze over the statue’s hair. His thumb brushes over her cheek, and his imagination substitutes soft warmth for the marble’s cold hardness. He allows himself to graze over her bottom lip, just once, imagining what it’d be like to touch the real version. Soft and warm, pliant beneath his touch, glistening with moisture that tempts him to taste.

Rose can feel it all, now. How much he missed the real Rose. How much he longed to touch her and, he dares to think, maybe even to kiss her.

The Doctor lets his hand drop back down to his side, and reluctantly picks up the rock and chisel to resume his masterpiece once more.

With the first clack of the rock against the chisel, the memory begins to fade. More quickly than Rose’s garden had, the library swallows up the Renaissance landscape and the Doctor finds himself standing in the aisle once again. The book in midair claps itself shut with a thud, and slowly retreats back to its shelf, kicking out a tiny mist of dust from the shelf as it settles into stillness.

Rose stares at him with wonder in her eyes, even moreso than when she first saw that statue of herself in the museum. Though she can’t hide her budding emotions well, pity and surprise and excitement already brewing between them, she tries to make light of this revelation.

“That kiss makes a bit more sense now,” she teases.

He plays along for a moment, chuckling with her, but then reaches for her hand again.

As he leads her further down the same aisle, another book awakens from the shelf, a sprawling villa on its cover.

This time, classical white pillars and togas bleed out into the aisle to obscure the library.

The Doctor integrates into the memory at the precise moment a phial of reanimation potion restarts his frozen hearts, and breathes life into his stiff, weighty limbs. Staggering forward with a rush of vertigo and disorientation, he stumbles straight into his rescuer’s arms. Overcome with joy and unspeakable pleasure at being alive, and flooded with the memories of touching the stone Rose’s lips, he leans in for a kiss. The first time he kissed Rose properly in this body. The first time he kissed her without the assurance her memory of the incident would be swiped clean.

It’s too short, little more than a strike of lightning. A flash of relief to be alive. An instant of wonder and sheer ecstasy that he can finally feel these soft, pink lips against his. It’s over before he can remember to count the precious seconds it lasted.

“Wotcha,” the memory-Rose squeaks out when he pulls away, a lovely blush on her cheeks.

As quickly as it came, the memory crumples and shrinks into nothingness in the same manner as the first, and the book returns itself back to its proper place.

“I quite enjoyed that kiss, too,” says Rose, her voice unusually wobbly.

Before he can see it coming, the Doctor is suddenly steamrolled by a surge of unbridled lust. It’s familiarly feminine, and too powerful to have originated from himself. His blood turns to searing honey in his veins, his double heartbeat pulsing pleasantly in his groin, as visceral desire tugs deep in his gut. It consumes his waking faculties too quickly for him to keep up, and the fragile mirage surrounding them crumbles and disappears.

With nothing left to distract them, the volatile new desire simply ricochets between them, growing more intense with each pass.

Equal parts enchanted and frightened by the sudden incendiary passion, the Doctor abruptly severs the link.

When he rejoins Rose in reality, she is closer than he remembers. Knees and hips against his. Her arms circled around his neck, the fabric of his shirt bundled in her fists. The gentle weight of her breasts on his chest. Her gaze can’t seem to find a place to settle, flickering from his lips down to the buttons of his shirt, occasionally meeting his eyes. But regardless of where she’s looking, it’s like she’s trying to decide which dessert to eat first. Her breaths are shallow and shaky. There’s that same delicious blush of pink on her cheeks she had back in Rome.

As if he needs another layer of proof, he inhales a slow, deep breath through his nose. Subtle, unique scents mingle with the sweet soaps and lotions in the close air: unmistakable, intoxicating proof that Rose is aroused.

#ficandchips #ten x rose #i hope you guys are happy w it #and that it may provide a distraction from the backwards twilight zone horrorscape that is reality now #written by yours truly

26 notes · View notes