#Tax preparation London

[a2zaccountant]

[mclarengf]

pas besoin d'un faux sourire

learning to parent with dad!logan sargeant

[1.0k]

note: haha enjoy more angst. dw this one’s not an ambiguous ending it def gets fluffy. dad!logan save me fr 

lottie’s crying.

she doesn’t cry very often, which only adds to your concern.

you’d run into the living room when you heard lottie’s soft cry of, “mummy…” and now you’re sat on the couch with her, whispering consolations into her hair. 

as if on cue, the front door opens and logan steps in, finally home after a few days of doing sim work in the uk. after taking in the situation, he parks his suitcase in front of the shoe rack and rushes to your side, placing a hand on your shoulder in support. what a welcome, he must be thinking.

“hey, sweetheart, daddy’s home. daddy’s here,” he says to your daughter softly, “what’s wrong, my lottie?” 

you crouch down and hold out your hand for lottie. you’re a bit surprised she can see through her tears when she takes it, but wrap her in a big hug regardless.

“what’s upset you, baby?”

she just buries her head in the crook of your neck and cries harder. 

you can’t see anything broken or spilt around you, and lottie doesn’t look hurt. you gesture vaguely at logan to take her temperature because you can’t reach her face without shifting and risking her discomfort. he side steps a toy strewn on the floor and presses the back of his hand to her forehead. he comes back into your field of view and shakes his head.

you’ve never felt more inadequate than you do right now. you have no idea why lottie’s so upset, and logan, bless him, isn’t exactly prepared to help in this situation. he’s just gotten back and probably drove the thirty minutes from nice côte d’azur expecting… not this.

“logan,” he looks up, much resembling a deer in headlights, “could you get us a wet flannel please?” 

you’re giving him an out to leave the room and get into the right headspace to do some ‘proper parenting’, he realises. he ducks out, but not before placing a hand over his heart and mouthing a thank you as he goes. 

he’s back in a couple of minutes, having also taken the opportunity to change out of his plane clothes, and joins his girls on the carpet.

“come here, lottie-lou,” you allow her dad to hold onto her, and you shuffle closer to him as he washes her face with the cloth, wiping her tears away as he does so. 

“can you tell daddy what’s wrong?” you ask, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

she shakes her head.

“that’s okay, baby,” logan chimes in, “we can just sit here for a bit, yeah?”

you rest your head down on his shoulder as you sit in silence, save lottie’s quiet sobs. it’s never been exceptionally easy being parents, nevertheless at your relatively young age. lottie’s usually such a gem, so the moments like this are hard to get through, for all of you. 

she’s getting quieter as the two of you comfort her, but it doesn’t seem like there’ll be an end to the tears just yet. logan kisses your cheek; he doesn’t know quite what to do either, so you’ll just have to figure it out together.

another few minutes pass by, then you hear her take in a big breath and mumble, “i miss my home.”

ah, of course. you’d all moved from london to monaco about a month ago, on account of location convenience for logan’s job, and the educational opportunities for lottie. the tax benefits weren’t exactly a complaint either. 

lottie hadn’t had any qualms about the move so far, so you’d both figured she was adjusting alright. she’d even been excited, but of course, the realisation that this wasn’t like a race weekend or a holiday where she would be sure to return to your humble london flat, was bound to kick in eventually.

little by little as she calms down, lottie tells you about how even though she knows a little bit of french from you, it’s not enough to really talk with the other kids, and that the teachers are nice but she doesn’t want to cause a fuss and keep bothering them every day. 

“i’m sorry,” she whispers.

you shake your head and open your mouth to speak, but logan beats you to it.

“you don’t have to be sorry, baby. it’s okay if you feel bad sometimes.” 

you press a kiss to her hands and add, “you just have big emotions, my love. just like me.” 

she’s stopped crying now, and even smiles a bit when you bring up your similarity. 

“if you want, lottie love, we can find you a tutor here who can help with your french, and you and i can always practise at home.”  

she nods at your proposition, then wrinkles her nose and asks, “what about daddy?” 

lottie, selfless as ever, is already thinking about how to include logan. you want to laugh just thinking about logan learning french and even more so, him speaking french with his american accent.

“we’ll rope him into learning with us too,” you grin at logan, “now come on, let’s give daddy a big hug, 'cause we’ve missed him very much while he’s been working.” 

logan smiles at his little family and wraps his arms around both of you, happy that peace has been restored. he takes lottie’s face in his hands and covers her in kisses, making her giggle. 

“you wanna help me unpack now, lottie-lou?”

she jumps up and runs toward logan’s suitcase at her dad’s suggestion, and starts wheeling it towards your bedroom. you and logan, still sat on the floor, watch her go. you give him a kiss. 

“welcome home, handsome. sorry that’s what you came in to.” 

he looks down at you and breathes out a laugh. instead of saying anything, he just holds his hand out for a high-five, which you humor. he lets go of you to push himself up, and helps you up after.  

before he follows after your daughter, he slings an arm over your shoulder and states, “we’re such awesome parents.”

it’s your turn to laugh now, and you reward him with a couple of quick pecks on his lips. you push him to go to lottie before she starts calling for him, and give him a cheeky pat to the bum as he stumbles forward. 

“je t’aime, baby.”

okay; now that that’s sorted, what to have for dinner?

[theetherealbloom]

WHERE DO WE GO NOW? - CH. 3 | 14th Doctor

Chapter Three: Guess The Space Was The Thing That I Needed, But I Miss You

Summary: You arrived on present-day Earth engulfed in violence and chaos. And a familiar foe who transcends the universe’s laws and logic. He hails from a realm where science is a game, but that salt trick apparently blurred the lines of reality enough for him to enter your universe.

Pairing: 14th Doctor x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Hurt-to-Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Possible Plot Holes, Vague Background, Aliens, Mild Horror, Violence, Past Trauma, Depression, Anxiety, Timey-Wimey Stuff, Star-Crossed Lovers, Second Chance, Character Death, 

Word Count: 15.5k

A/N: Hello old friend, and here we are, you and me on the last… chapter. When I posted the first chapter of this mini-series I was honestly terrified of the response I would be getting. I hadn’t been writing for a while due to stress or lack of motivation. But then the miracle called the Doctor Who specials came into existence and here we are. Also, Merry Christmas Eve! Here’s my little gift to you. I hope you enjoy. (P.S. yes there will be an epilogue :>)

Song: This Love by Taylor Swift (Taylor's Version)

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

ENGLAND, THE STREETS OF LONDON — DAY, 2023

The world descends into turmoil and pandemonium as cars collide, their metal frames screeching against each other. The air is filled with the cacophony of people shouting and screaming. Amidst the mayhem, you, the Doctor, and Donna navigate the tumult, pushing Wilf's wheelchair through the chaotic landscape. Struggling through the disarray, people around you engage in fights and heated arguments, adding to the surreal spectacle of disorder unfolding.

As the rumble of a truck engine grows louder, a man defiantly strides onto the road, seemingly prepared to challenge the oncoming driver. Reacting swiftly, both you and the Doctor extend your arms, urgently intervening. You exclaim, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Excuse me. Can you tell me, what the bloody hell are you doing?"

The elderly man, with an air of self-assuredness, retorts, "I can’t drive."

Perplexed, you furrow your brow and inquire, "Okay, so— Which means?"

Meanwhile, a car behind you impatiently honks, prompting the Doctor to raise his hand, signaling the driver to wait. Unperturbed, the stranger in front of you explains, "I pay my taxes. Which means I paid for this road. It is mine, and I will do with it what I like."

The Doctor interjects, cautioning, "You’ll get yourself killed."

The man, with a sneer and a narrowed gaze, replies, "It’s my life, not yours." Undeterred, the Doctor suggests, "But you could just stand over there and be safe."

Flailing his arms emphatically, the man retorts, "Blame them! Because it all changed two days ago. Everyone started thinking they’re right all the time. And they won’t change their mind. If you try to argue, they go mad. Well, not me. I’ve always been right."

The deafening honk of the truck intensifies as it barrels forward, compelling the Doctor to swiftly seize you and yank you out of harm's way. In the chaos, you unintentionally collide with a well-dressed man adorned in a tuxedo, complete with a top hat and a staff in his left hand. Apologizing in a refined manner, he utters, "Oh, excusez-moi, madame et monsieur, je suis désolé. But perhaps you will dance avec moi."

He then takes the lead in an impromptu dance, placing his hand just above your waist and swaying with you amidst the bedlam unfolding on the street. In a rather peculiar tone, he utters, "Ooh la la."

Feeling uncomfortable, you gently pull away from the eccentric stranger. The Doctor, sensing your unease, protectively tucks you behind his body and asserts, "That's my wife, sir. Excuse me." With a subtle maneuver, he guides you away, back to where Donna and Wilf are positioned on the side of the street.

Amidst the cacophony of screaming voices echoing through the chaotic streets, the peculiar stranger continues his solo dance, creating a bizarre spectacle in the midst of the turmoil. The distant whirr of a helicopter above adds to the disconcerting atmosphere, leaving you and the Doctor with a growing sense of panic, a shared feeling of confusion about the unfolding events.

Armored vehicles roll onto the scene, their imposing presence and military precision contrasting sharply with the chaotic backdrop. A soldier, wielding a loud megaphone, calls out with urgency, "Attention, the Doctor and the Stargazer! Attention, the Doctor and the Stargazer! Stay where you are. You are UNIT control. Repeat, UNIT control."

The soldiers swiftly move into action, their movements coordinated as they converge on your location. One of them confidently asserts, "Go, go, go! Let’s move! Eyes on, eyes on! I got them." The atmosphere shifts from anarchic confusion to a semblance of organized control as UNIT takes charge.

The authoritative figure from UNIT, Colonel Ibrahim, strides forward, a no-nonsense expression etched on his face. "Doctor, Stargazer, I’m Colonel Ibrahim of UNIT squad five," he declares with military precision. He gestures toward a waiting vehicle, a subtle urgency in his stance.

Donna, the voice of concern, steps forward, her plea directed at the Colonel. "Get him to safety. All right? Never mind about us. I want my grandad safe. All right? You got that?" Her words carry the weight of a granddaughter determined to ensure the safety of her grandad, emphasizing the weight of the situation.

Colonel Ibrahim gives an assertive nod, his military demeanor unwavering. "Yes, ma’am. We’ll keep your family safe," he assures Donna. Wilf, displaying concern for his granddaughter's well-being, encourages her, "You go with the Doctor."

Amidst the organized chaos of UNIT soldiers following orders, a palpable sense of unease settles over you. A feeling of being observed intensifies, prompting you to instinctively clasp the Doctor’s hand. Together, your hearts quicken as you turn to the left, discovering the stranger with whom you shared an odd dance. He stands eerily still, offering a disconcerting smile and a small wave, sending shivers down your spine.

UNIT HEADQUARTERS, LONDON — DAY, 2023

Seated alongside the Doctor in the first helicopter, you peer out of the window, taking in the chaotic scene below. The city is ablaze, casting an eerie glow that turns the world outside into a disorienting spectacle, as if the very fabric of reality has been upended. The second helicopter follows closely, bearing the weight of the TARDIS, an emblem of hope amidst the turmoil. The flickering flames paint a surreal canvas against the night sky, leaving you with a profound sense of displacement.

The helicopter sets down on the helipad at the UNIT headquarters, and as you disembark, the brisk wind from the rotor blades whips through the air. Donna clutches her coat tightly, shouting over the din, "Oh, here comes trouble."

Shirley, in her wheelchair, wheels forward with a wide smile, greeting you with a warm, "I could say the same thing about you." The TARDIS touches down nearby on the helipad, and amidst the noise, the Doctor remarks, "Shirley, you can’t be serious." Shirley squeezes your arm in a friendly greeting.

Chief Scientific Officer Kate, your boss, appears on the scene, her short blonde hair bouncing slightly as she strides towards the group. The Doctor, arms outstretched, exclaims, "And Kate Lethbridge-Stewart. I remember your father working night and day to keep UNIT a secret. Look at you now. Out and proud defending the Earth."

Kate embraces the Doctor tightly before turning to you with a subdued smile, saying, "I fought them all. Robots and insects and yetis and clones. But what do we do this time, Doctor? How do we fight the human race?"

Inside the UNIT headquarters, the large steel doors close behind you, shutting out the chaos. The new HQ unfolds before your eyes, with the hum of radio chatter and the bustle of people. Multiple screens and tables with keyboards fill the room, and a triple giant screen at the center displays various statistics and news outlets reporting the devastation around the world.

Kate hands the tablet to the Doctor, and you lean over to peer at the symbols and graphs displayed on it. The Doctor, engrossed in the data, doesn't look up as he remarks, "Good, good, good. Now, what have we got? Are these worldwide? 'Cause I'm gonna need all of the statistics."

As he turns to his right, an exclamation of surprise escapes him. Your gaze follows his, and there stands a very familiar redheaded companion and colleague. She grins at the Doctor's reaction, and he joyfully exclaims, "Oh! That is the best news! Melanie, hello!"

Both you and the Doctor share a brief hug with Mel, who giggles and adds, "We'll catch up later. We haven't got time." You chime in with a playful, "Ta-da! Surprise, Doctor."

Turning to you, the Doctor asks, "You knew?"

You playfully roll your eyes and retort, "We work together, dear." Mel adds, "We also try to meet every Saturday for a cuppa."

Mel tilts her head slightly, addressing Donna with a warm smile, "I used to be like you. I was one of their companions." Donna gasps, exclaiming, "I wasn't the first redhead?"

With a shake of her head, Mel allows her large red curls to bounce, "No. That was me."

Donna awkwardly chuckles as the Doctor takes his glasses and wears them, quipping, "Although don't say companion. That sounds like we park him on the seafront at Weston-super-mare."

As Shirley pushes herself off the wheelchair, standing and giving Donna a look, Donna suddenly realizes what she said and turns to face Shirley, asking, "Is 'park' rude?" Shirley replies with a monotone voice, "Borderline." Donna winces in response.

In the heart of the command center, Kate stands with authority, her tablet in hand, and announces, "And stations. Gold Protocols. The Doctor and the Stargazer are in the room. Report."

Shirley adjusts her stance, her voice cutting through the air, "Two days ago, an increase in violence worldwide. The same increase in every country, all rising at exactly the same rate."

"Basically, every single human being thinks they're right and won't be told otherwise," Kate says, moving to stand next to you. Colonel Ibrahim adds, "That plane crash, the F665, Boston to Heathrow. The pilot declared his right to land wherever he wants."

On the screen, footage of the crazed pilot plays. His eyes were wide, he laughs amidst the blaring alarms of his instruments, declaring, "I'm coming home. Lookout, London. Daddy's coming home!"

In the tension-filled room, the Doctor initiates, "If everyone is going mad—" and Kate concurs, completing the thought, "So is the government."

Shirley, with a solemn nod, swipes on the screen of her tablet, unveiling footage of the current Prime Minister. He stands on a podium, his laughter echoing as he addresses the nation, "What do I care? I mean, seriously? Why should I care about you?"

In the aftermath of Donna's nonchalant remark, injecting a touch of humor with her observation, "No change there then," the room grapples with the unsettling scenes unfolding on the screen. The Doctor, now reclaiming the tablet, hands it back to Mel, who places it on her station. His gaze then sweeps across the room, and he remarks, "But you're fine. You're completely normal. And that's because of the—" He gestures towards the silver bands adorned with a glowing blue light worn around their arms.

Kate steps in to elaborate, "Oh, we call it the Zeedex." As the room processes this information, a robot's machine voice chimes in from the far left, connected to tubes and sporting screens, proudly announcing, "An invention of the Vlinx."

Taking a step forward, the Doctor addresses the robotic AI, "Hello, the Vlinx. I'm the Doctor, and this is my wife, the Stargazer."

Quick to clarify, you interject, "Not married yet."

"Just practicing," the Doctor playfully hums before turning his attention back to the Vlinx. With curiosity piqued, he queries, "So why's it called the Zeedex?"

In response to the Vlinx's brief explanation, "Good name," the Doctor emits a small, contemplative "Oh." Kate supplements the information, stating, "It disrupts the brain. Flattens the spike. Keeps everything calm."

With a slight scrunch of your nose, you inquire, "And the spike is?"

"I think I need to show you," Kate responds. Sensing a shift in the room, she commands Shirley, "Activate brain scan."

"Activating, ma'am," Shirley acknowledges. A beep emanates from the computer, and the screen displays the frequency inside Kate's brain. She points out, "That's my brain activity. Seems normal, albeit slightly heightened, given the end of the world. Now keep your eyes on the scan."

Kate moves to the center of the room and instructs, "And deactivate my Zeedex."

Shirley types on the keyboard, announcing, "Kate Lethbridge-Stewart, off." The light on her silver armband extinguishes. Kate takes a moment to scan the room, hands on hips, and asks, "Well?"

You gently interject, "Uh, hello?"

"Hello," Kate replies promptly, but her narrowed eyes betray suspicion. The Doctor poses a simple question, "How are you?"

"Fine," she responds.

You casually inquire, "Busy day?" Kate's nostrils flare, and she glares at you, retorting, "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm just asking. Is that a problem?" you reply, observing the increased spike in brain activity. Kate aggressively points at you, asserting, "It's an invasion of my privacy. In fact, it's an assault on my civic rights. And I think it's highly relevant that the person demanding information from me is an alien."

The Doctor turns to Shirley, nodding in approval for her to activate her Zeedex, and calmly says, "Okay."

However, Kate abruptly interjects, rejecting the Doctor's initiative, "No, no, no, no, no. I think you'll find that I'm in charge here." With a swift motion, she rips off her Zeedex, launching into an impassioned tirade, "And we've been infiltrated by aliens, a man and a woman with two hearts," she points accusatorily at the Doctor, "a man who changes his face and cannot be trusted."

As her anger intensifies, Kate aggressively directs her accusations at Donna and Mel, both with red hair, insinuating a conspiracy. You instinctively step forward, shielding them from Kate's escalating rage.

Growing more incensed, Kate turns her ire towards Shirley, who looks on with mild dissatisfaction. Kate singles out your friend and declares, "And as for her, in that chair. I've seen you walk. I've seen you walking! Don't deny it!"

UNIT soldiers move in to pull Kate away, and she unleashes her fury at you, "And you! This is all your fault! If you hadn't fallen into the bloody time rift, altering the universe with your existence and falling in love with the Doctor—none of this would have happened!"

The soldiers carefully escort Kate away, and the Doctor swiftly positions himself in front of you, protectively shielding you from lingering gazes. You bury your face in his shoulder as Kate continues to shout, "No, you can't stop me. It's about time you heard the truth."

One of the soldiers places the silver band back on Kate's arm and commands, "Activate Zeedex," resulting in a beep and the restoration of the blue light on her band. Kate sits on the floor, panting, as the tension in the room eases.

You lift your head from the Doctor's shoulder and nod, silently assuring him that you're okay. Together, you approach Kate, who is visibly distressed, covering her face with her hand. She breathes out an apology, "I'm sorry."

Both you and the Doctor shake your heads, reassuring her, "No, it's okay."

Gasping for air, Kate turns to Shirley, mortified, realizing the extent of her outburst. She says, "Shirley, I'm so sorry."

Shirley dismisses the need for an apology, "Absolutely no need."

UNIT soldiers help Kate to her feet as she acknowledges, "It's not just me. It keeps spiking inside every single person's head."

"But what does that mean? Is it being beamed in from outside?" Donna inquires. The Vlinx responds, "No. It is natural. It is generated inside the brain."

Donna points out, "But not me. Not Grandad." Mel adds, "Nor me. I'm wearing a Zeedex just in case, but I've been fine. Well, no more opinionated than usual." Donna sighs, "You and me both."

You and the Doctor ponder the situation, and he suggests, "Maybe long-term travel in the TARDIS put you out of sync."

Donna shakes her head and proposes, "Can't you give everyone a Zeedex?" Kate scoffs at the idea, gesturing to the screen behind her, where a late-night talk show host expresses her skepticism, "They're using this to control us and monitor us. And microwave our brains. I am anti-Zeedex!"

The Doctor, in response, asks you to help him with his coat. You take it from him and neatly place it on a chair. He then stands next to Shirley and suggests, "Can we filter this wavelength? Lose the background noise."

Shirley hums in response, typing away on her keyboard, "Uh-huh. Gives us a strong coherent wave in seizure focus. Peaking seven times."

As you consider the recent events, you voice your thoughts, "So, this started two days ago. But why then? What else happened on that day?" Kate responds, "Exactly. We've been looking for a trigger, and there's this."

The screen illuminates with the image of a satellite gracefully orbiting the Earth, accompanied by detailed blueprints on the left side. Kate elucidates, "The KOSAT 5 satellite, launched by South Korea, activated two days ago.”

Shirley, with a swift gesture, adds to the explanation by displaying a live feed of the satellite, which hovers 36,000 kilometers above Earth. Kate expounds further, “KOSAT is the final link in the chain. The world is now 100% online. From the highest mountain to the deepest valley on Earth, everyone is connected.”

"But KOSAT is clean. We’ve checked and double-checked. It’s not like the old Archangel Network. There’s nothing hiding in that signal." Shirley asserts, and the Doctor, with a contemplative hum, adds, “And yet.” He shakes his head, “For the first time in history, everyone has access to this.” He taps on the edge of one of the monitors, saying, “A screen.”

"What if it’s a tune?" Donna asks, prompting you and the Doctor to turn around and face her.

"What?" The Doctor inquires as you move to stand in front of her. Donna continues, "I know we’ve only got minutes left to live, but give me a second." Donna begins to draw lines on a clipboard with a piece of paper as she explains, "Because I spent six months teaching my daughter how to play the recorder till she said, ‘This is not who I am.’ That was the start of a whole other conversation, believe you me.”

She places the sheet of paper on the screen, drawing dots on the corresponding line, “But if… you look at these seven peaks, like this…”

She flips the sheet of paper around, revealing what you recognize to be music notes, and Donna confirms this by saying, “Maybe it's music.”

“A classic arpeggio. Middle C, an octave higher.” Mel says before she sings in arpeggio, “La, la, la, la, la, la, la.”

“Oh.” Kate says as if she remembers something, and you look around to see others having the same reaction, as if they’ve heard it before. You and the Doctor look around and ask, “What? What is it?”

Mel repeats her tune, “La, la, la, la, la, la, la.”

Donna gasps, her eyes slightly watering and her blue eyes shining as she says, “I know that tune.”

“I-I know that from somewhere. What are the notes?” Shirley asks, spinning her chair to face you, and you read them off, “C, E, G, C, G, E, C. It’s a musical palindrome.” Then you sigh, “But it’s just a straightforward arpeggio. Everyone knows arpeggios.”

“It’s a basic tune. So, the question is, why are we all reacting to this one?” Mel asks as everyone looks around at each other. You and the Doctor frown, and he says, “We’re not. The Vlinx?”

“Negative.” The Vlinx replies promptly, and you hum out loud, “Just the humans.”

“It’s just— It’s so familiar. It’s like it’s been buried in my head for years.” Donna says and groans, “What is it?”

Then you hear giggling from across the room, a nearby station. You and the Doctor turn to see Shirley pointing to her screen, a puppet in black and white display as she says, “I found the exact same notes.”

The puppet begins to laugh in arpeggio, and you and the Doctor realize it at the same time. The Doctor says, “Oh, it’s not a tune. It’s a laugh.”

“It’s a puppet.” Kate says as she stares wide-eyed at the screen featuring the puppet.

“The giggle in everyone’s head.” You say as you stand behind Shirley, looking at the monitor as it continues to laugh in the arpeggio notes.

“What is that thing?” Donna asks, and Shirley explains, “Stooky Bill, the first face ever to appear on television. Put there by John Logie Baird himself.”

Donna shakes her head and points at Stooky displayed on the monitor, “I’ve never seen him before, so how do— How do I know that laugh?”

You blink a few times before realizing out loud, saying, “If the very first image has been hiding in every screen since… sneaking into your head, carving a wave, and waiting…”

“But hiding how? If there were secret pictures hiding in every television, we would have found it,” Shirley asks, so sure of herself and UNIT’s capabilities. The Doctor then sassily and in a mocking tone replies, “Oh, why? Because you’re so clever? Maybe Stooky Bill’s a lot smarter than you.” Shirley raises her eyebrows and puckers her lips, somewhat agreeing to the possibility.

“Imagine… if he burnt himself into television itself and every picture ever since, every single one.” You say before taking out your sonic screwdriver, pointing to one of the monitors, and clicking the button. It whizzes, and the image of Stooky Bill appears. The woman who sat by that desk pushes back her chair in shock, and he is mockingly laughing as you hear the notes in the air.

“Screen… after screen, after screen.” You use your sonic screwdriver, tapping on each station's monitor, revealing Stooky Bill as it continues to reverberate its laughs.

The Doctor joins in, using his sonic on an employee’s phone in their hands. He says as he clicks his sonic screwdriver, “And every type of screen.” The Doctor taps on Kate’s tablet, showing the image of Stooky Bill. He says, “Every one and everywhere. He’s inside ‘em all!”

You move to stand in the very front of the room, center, pointing your sonic at the large screens. “And two days ago, he finally connected worldwide, branding his Giggle into your brains.” The sonic screwdriver warbles, and images of Stooky Bill, along with his laugh, appear on the large monitor.

The Doctor stands by your side, adding in a low voice, “Since the very first existence of television. Laughing at the human race. And driving you mad.”

The entire group gathers for a small meeting by the large metal doors that lead to the helipad outside. You stand in a circle, positioned by the Doctor’s side, his glasses tucked away in his pocket. Kate tries to grasp the newfound knowledge as she asks, “But something at that scale, over so many years, who could do that?”

The Doctor's countenance turns wrathful, and you sense the heat and intensity radiating from his body as he retorts, "The puppet’s just a puppet. We’re looking for the puppeteer." He then pauses, taking a deep breath that puffs out his chest as he crosses his arms. Speaking with a low intensity, he adds, "And I’ve got a memory. I think something’s coming back… after a very long time."

Raising his voice to address everyone, he grits his teeth, "But it’s not only the giggle. Don’t go thinking you’ve got an excuse. The human race might be clever and bright and brilliant." His words are delivered with a hint of disgust, "But it’s also savage and venal and relentless."

The Doctor points to the screens showcasing people causing havoc around the world as he vehemently declares, "All the anger out there on the street. The lies, the righteousness." Jabbing a finger at the rest of the group, he continues, "That’s human. That’s you. That’s who you are. Using you’re intelligence to be stupid. Poisoning the world. And hating each other, you’ve never needed any help with that!”

He briefly pauses, toning down his voice as he says, “But today, something else is using your worst attributes. Playing with you. Like toys.” A chill runs down your spine as a distant memory starts to resurface, hinting at an old-time foe returning to wreak havoc. You blink, a hunch forming about who might be orchestrating all of the catastrophe.

“Can we take that satellite out?” The Doctor asks Kate, and she replies promptly, “All missiles are on lockdown, but we’ve got the Galvanic Beam.”

“What range?” You inquire, and Kate explains, “We could pick off a pebble on the moon. Trouble is, taking out a South Korean satellite will have international consequences, so we’ve been waiting for permission. All world leaders are being affected by the Giggle.”

The Doctor nods and says, “You have my permission.” He then looks to you, and you deeply sigh, nodding, “And you have mine.”

Kate nods to Colonel Ibrahim, signaling to get the Galvanic Beam ready. Then, she turns to you and the Doctor, “Thank you, Doctor and Stargazer.” Kate moves past you, announcing to the entire UNIT staff on the floor, “Gold protocol override. All staff, initiate Galvanic activation. Bring up the beam.”

“Platform in motion,” an employee's voice echoes through the speaker as the platform outside the tower shifts downward.

“Shirley, have we got the exact date that Logie Baird made that transmission?” The Doctor asks aloud, to which Shirley responds with determination, “I’ll find it,” and begins clicking away on her keyboard.

“All clear on the helipad,” another employee announces over the speaker as The Doctor walks over to Mel’s station, and you make your way towards Shirley, beginning to help her locate the date of the transmission.

The Doctor leans over Mel’s shoulder, and she says to him, “I fed the KOSAT fake coordinates, so it’s coming into UK orbit. Within range in three minutes.” The Doctor compliments her, “You’re brilliant.” He then looks at her with a smile, “Hello.” Mel replies with her own smile, the kind that reaches her eyes as she says, “Hi.”

You glance over to see the Doctor and Mel chatting as they work, and a sense of happiness and comfort washes over you, knowing Mel is okay. After a few minutes, you hear Mel announce to everyone, “Galvanic Beam payload boarding.”

“Platform locking at level 55,” an employee announces over the intercom, and Mel continues, “Galvanic Beam in position. KOSAT in range in 90 seconds.”

A beep emanates from Shirley’s computer, and your eyes quickly scan over the words before Shirley turns her head and says to the Doctor, “Doctor, Stooky Bill was televised on the 2nd of October 1925 at 22 Frith Street, Soho, W1D 4RF.”

You grab the Doctor’s coat from the chair and hand it to him as he says to Kate, “Fire when ready. Don’t wait for us.” He then looks to Colonel Ibrahim, quickly asking, “TARDIS?”

The Colonel points as he replies promptly, “Suite 17.”

The Doctor grunts, “Okay.” After putting on his coat, he grabs your hand, pulling you along with him as Donna says to you both, “You’re not going without me.”

As you enter the suite and find the TARDIS parked there, the Doctor quickly unlocks it with his key and rushes inside, with you and Donna trailing right behind him. Time’s running out, always running out, and every road you discover disappears under your feet. Because if nothing else, you're given a little time to change the game, a chance to redefine everything.

SOHO — 1925

The TARDIS whooshes and whizzes, finally giving a loud thud as it lands. The Doctor opens the door first, popping his head out to check if it’s safe before allowing you and Donna to step out into the dimly lit alley where the TARDIS is parked. The flickering gas lamps cast a warm glow, highlighting the cobblestone street and the faint echoes of distant chatter.

The Doctor announces to the two of you, “Soho, 1925.”

“So, what about Mel?” Donna asks, wiggling her eyebrows playfully at the two of you. You let out a chuckle, saying, “She’s brilliant, isn’t she?”

Donna laughs with a smile, “Yeah, but I just kept thinking, all this time, you’ve never mentioned her.”

The Doctor addresses Donna with a frown, “Donna, we’re a billion years old. If we stood and talked about everyone we’d ever met, we’d still be in the TARDIS yapping.”

“So you talk about no one ever?” Donna asks, and you look away guiltily. Donna continues, “You just keep charging on.”

“Yes, because I’m busy. Like now,” the Doctor replies.

“But you are busy every second of every day. I mean, look at us now. We haven’t stopped,” Donna points out, and you all come to a halt by the sidewalk. She continues, “I saw you, Doctor. I got a glimpse inside your mind.” The three of you stand on the sidewalk, surrounded by the ambient sounds of 1925 London, as Donna expresses, “And it’s like you’re staggering. You are staggering along. Maybe that’s why your old face came back. You’re wearing yourself out.”

You observe as the Doctor contemplates her words, his expression revealing a momentary reflection on her insight. However, he doesn't directly acknowledge them. Instead, he smoothly shifts the topic, saying, "Stooky Bill might be on Frith Street, but the question is, where did Stooky Bill come from?”

His gaze shifts to the bright red shop on the street labeled Mr. Emporium above the store. The three of you cross the street, anticipation building as you peek through the window. There, you spot someone engaged in a playful exchange with the Doctor, both figures playing peek-a-boo before the mysterious man expertly hops down to conceal himself. The Doctor's expression tightens with anger as he forcefully shoves the door open, pulling back the maroon curtains, and the three of you step into the enchanting toy store.

The atmosphere is filled with wonder and a touch of nostalgia as you take in the whimsical surroundings. Shelves adorned with a myriad of toys, each telling a story of childhood innocence and imagination. The air is scented with a mix of wooden toys, plush animals, and the faint fragrance of freshly painted models.

As you step further into the store, your disbelief intensifies as you recognize the man orchestrating this peculiar encounter. An old foe, one who could have channeled his creativity for good, yet chose to warp reality into a twisted game where play meant suffering for others. Dressed in a crisp white button-up and a vibrant red apron, he skillfully juggles three balls, his voice carrying a distinct German accent as he addresses you, "Die ball is die first game ever being invented."

He throws a ball towards you, only for the Doctor to swiftly intercept it before it makes contact with your stomach. Without missing a beat, the Doctor tosses it away onto the ground. Meanwhile, the man behind the counter continues his mesmerizing juggling act, sharing his narrative, "Stone Age man, he picked up ein rock." The Doctor catches another ball skillfully, and with a nonchalant toss, sends it away.

The rhythmic cadence of his speech, accompanied by the mesmerizing flow of his juggling, weaves an enchanting atmosphere within the toy store. The balls dance through the air, tracing whimsical patterns, adding a touch of magic to the man's storytelling. With a gleam in his eye, he continues narrating, "He said, ‘Oh! Das ist ein Ball.’"

The sequence of throw and catch becomes a rhythmic ballet, each movement a beat in the peculiar symphony unfolding before you. "He threw it, und he killed a man," he declares with a dramatic flair, followed by a nonchalant toss.

Another cycle of throw and catch commences, and he recounts, "He said, ‘Oh, what fun!’" The balls move effortlessly in the air, and the ambiance resonates with a sense of playfulness.

"Und now, everybody loves the balls," he proclaims, the balls gliding through the air in a mesmerizing display. Every throw, catch, and toss adds to the building tension in the tale.

"Until the year five billion. When the very last human picks up the skull of his enemy," he declares, the tone shifting slightly, yet maintaining the captivating rhythm. The balls continue their dance, and he winks as he concludes, "Und said, ‘That is the final ball of all,’ jah?"

As he tosses another ball, the vibrant atmosphere in the toy store takes a sudden turn when Donna, with a determined air, steps forward and effortlessly catches the ball with a single hand. Her gaze, firm and unyielding, pierces through the whimsical scene as she asserts, "Enough."

The man behind the counter raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. "Ah, Donna Noble. I wondered which one of you had the balls," he retorts, his words carrying a playful undertone. Donna, taken aback, attempts to brush it off with a casual, "Okay. So you know my name?" The man, still smirking, raises both eyebrows in response.

Curiosity sparking, Donna seeks answers. "How do you three know each other?" she questions, her tone holding a mix of suspicion and intrigue. In response, the Doctor, donning a low, stern tone and a deep frown that accentuates the lines on his face, issues a command, "Star, Donna, go back to the TARDIS." The urgency in his voice hints at a deeper concern, urging them to retreat from the unfolding confrontation.

Donna, wearing a perplexed expression, seeks clarification, "What?"

The Doctor, frustration evident in his gritted teeth, reiterates his command, "Go back to the TARDIS."

You, however, defiantly shake your head. "As much as I love you bossing me around, you do not get to tell me to leave you here with him." The tension in the air thickens, with unspoken concerns lingering between all of you.

"Oh, but he is recognizing me," he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. You whip your head back to the man behind the counter, the one who revels in tricks and games for sheer amusement. Chaos and discord personified, he continues, "Are you not 'ge-pleased,' Herr Doctor und Stargazer, to see me again after so many years?"

Donna, finally seeking clarity, asks, "Who is he?" Flashbacks of memories flood your mind.

The Doctor answers, "The Toymaker." As the realization sinks in, the atmosphere in the room starts to change.

The Toymaker gives a bow, a theatrical flourish that befits his whimsical yet ominous presence. Abruptly changing accents, he addresses with a menacing tone, "We meet again, Doctor, Stargazer."

But just as swiftly, the Toymaker's demeanor undergoes a shift. Stepping backward, he adopts a German accent, prompting curiosity. "But think, if the ball was the very first game, what was the second?"

With a mischievous grin, he seizes both ends of the curtain behind him and declares, "Hide-and-seek!" The Toymaker pulls the curtain shut, his laughter echoing in the room in those distinctive arpeggio notes.

The Doctor vaults over the counter, deftly pushing aside the two curtains, only to discover the Toymaker's disappearance. Behind the curtains lies a door, and with a quick turn of the copper-colored knob, the Doctor reveals a seemingly endless hallway. Warm-toned lights bathe the corridor in a gentle glow, wooden floorboards creak, and numerous doors line both sides of the mysterious passage.

As the Doctor steps forward, guided by an instinct you and Donna share, the door abruptly slams shut behind both of you. Turning sharply, the Doctor commands, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Go back.” With a quick twist of the doorknob, it should logically lead you out, but instead, it reveals the same seemingly endless hallway. Donna, her mouth agape, exclaims, “It’s bigger than the shop. Don’t tell me he’s got his own TARDIS.”

“The TARDIS is an idea the Toymaker would throw away,” the Doctor spits out with disdain as you three stride down the hallway. He continues, “We’ve stepped inside his domain, and it’s governed by the rules of play.” The Doctor turns to the door on his left, confidently opening it. Donna and you follow him, but just as the door slams shut, you find yourselves still trapped in the long, mysterious hallway.

“Okay. Keep going forward,” the Doctor instructs, stepping ahead with you and Donna in tow. Donna, perplexed, shakes her head and remarks, “But how does this even make sense? 'Cause I’ve seen some things with you two. I’ve seen Ood, Davros. I mean, the Adipose, for God’s sake.”

The Doctor twists another doorknob, taking a chance with the door to his left, only for it to transport you three back into the hallway. Donna continues, “But they had a sort of logic. Daleks built a great big bomb. I understood that. But this— this is impossible. How does it exist?”

The Doctor grits his teeth, growling, “That’s what unravels me. All the laws I cling to, gone.” He spins, opening another door only to lead you three back into the hallway. Moving to the opposite door, he finds it locked and slams his palm against the wood in frustration before pressing on down the hall.

Donna moves closer to you two and asks, “Who is the Toymaker? What is he?”

The Doctor turns to face Donna, explaining, “When I was young, I was so sure of myself. I made a terrible mistake. I let the TARDIS fall into another realm.” The Doctor opens a door, and you follow him as he continues, “A hollow beneath the Under Universe, where science is a game and all of us are toys.”

He pauses, taking a deep breath. "It's also how the Stargazer ended up with us, but that's something I will never regret." You softly remark, "A rift in the universe..." The Doctor quickly kisses your forehead, saying, "And it brought me you, my love."

After a moment, the Doctor struggles with another stubborn door, wiggling the doorknob in frustration. "I beat the Toymaker. I won his game, but now he's here. He's found his way into reality."

As he opens the door to the right, leading the three of you back into the hallway, he stills and sighs. "And I think it's all because of me."

You exchange a glance with the Doctor, shaking your head in disagreement. However, before you can utter a word, he cuts you off, his gaze intense. "'Cause I got clever, didn't I? I cast that salt at the edge of the universe. Thought I could have it all," he admits, his eyes locked onto yours. "I thought I could finally have you. I played a game and let him in, an elemental force with the power of a god, and he’s driven the human race mad with a puppet.”

Donna begins, “Yeah, but you always say—” the Doctor shakes his head and mockingly replies as he walks backward down the hall raising his voice, “Oh, what do I say? What do I say? What do I say?”

“‘Cause I’m always so certain. I’m all sonic and TARDIS and Time Lord. Take that away.” The Doctor says and defeatedly shrugs, “Take away the toys. What am I?” He chokes a little as his eyes glaze over, repeating, “What am I now?”

The Doctor looks to you and Donna as he offers a variation of the truth, “I don’t know if I can save your life this time.” The vulnerability in his voice echoes through the corridor, a stark departure from his usual confident demeanor.

Donna raises her eyebrows, her gaze shifting between you and the Doctor. “It’s not about me,” she asserts.

You meet Donna's gaze and respond, “Oh, yes, it is.”

With a nonchalant shrug and a deep breath, Donna begins, “Well,” and then she steps a little forward, flashing a determined smile, “Maybe I’ll save you, you big idiot.” Through the perplexing hallway, the chatter reverberates with a mixture of warmth and friendliness as you all chuckle.

"Anyway, you beat him before," Donna points out, and the Doctor wears a contemplative frown. "That’s the problem. Odd-on I’ll lose next time."

Donna dismisses the notion with a shake of her head. "Nope. Doesn’t work like that. Because my dad used to say, ‘Dice didn’t know what the dice did last time.’ Games don’t have a memory. Every game starts from scratch."

After a moment of letting the words settle, the Doctor nods with a genuine smile. "Oh, I like that. Well said, Dad." He takes a deep breath before suggesting, "Okay. Shall we find the right door?"

The Doctor swiftly dashes to one of the doors, opening them one after the other. You and Donna struggle to keep up, the anticipation heightening. Suddenly, one of the heavy doors slams shut behind Donna, separating you from her. Then the door in front of Donna slams shut, also separating her from the Doctor, the echoes of the closing door lingering in the air. 

You sense your fingernails biting into the palm of your hand, forming a tight fist as you strike the door with the side of your fists. An exasperated cry escapes your lips as you press your forehead against the wooden door. You shut your eyes, tears trickling down your cheeks. Slowly, you lower your hands to your sides, then raise them, placing them at the back of your neck in an attempt to regain composure.

You take a deep breath, letting the air fill your lungs before releasing it in a resounding exhale. Pushing away from the door, you continue down the corridor. A distinct pull guides you to a door on the right. Twisting the knob, you pull the door open and step into a room filled with standing mirrors encased in plastic frames. As you survey the surroundings, the door slams shut behind you, making you flinch and glance back.

Turning your head forward, you're met with various incarnations of the Doctor—past and present—alongside friends and companions, all staring back at you through the mirrors. Their gaze penetrates through you. The mirrors shift, forming two opposing lines, resembling portraits guiding you towards a solitary dresser and a seat. On the creaky wooden floors, you move delicately, feeling like a doll as the eyes of your own reflections track your every step down the mirrored pathway.

You eventually reach the dresser, and the seat smoothly pulls out from underneath it. Hesitant, you lower yourself onto it, only to find that your own reflection is not what greets you. Instead, it's the Toymaker, wearing a smug expression as he says, “Ah, yes, the Stargazer. Oh, how I’ve missed you, old friend.”

You cross your arms and raise your eyebrows, “If that’s what you want to call it, sure.”

The Toymaker’s expression shifts to a sour one as his face scrunches up, “We were friends, we had such wonderful games in our little dollhouse until the Doctor stole you away from me.”

You shake your head as you say sternly, “He didn’t take me away from you.”

The Toymaker childishly rolls his eyes as he also crosses his arms, “Admit it. You were happy. Happier to be blissfully unaware of who you are when we were in our universe.”

You shake your head as you feel your eyes glaze over, pressing your lips, trying to steady your breathing. Softly, you spoke, “You were controlling me. You were trying to mold me into something… that had to be exceptional to be worthwhile.”

You sniff as you continue, “You never cared about me or any of it. You only wanted to play your games and win. And the one time I won… I saw your true nature and never let me out of that box.”

You gaze directly into the Toymaker's eyes, inquiring, “How? How did you end up here?”

He tilts his head and smiles, “The Doctor may have cast that salt, but that was just the door. You being here, allowing yourself to exist in this reality, my dear, you were the key. The Doctor merely provided the key, and voila. Here I am.”

The Toymaker shifts before he hums and then says nonchalantly, “Well, this was so much fun… us two friends catching up. We should do this more often.”

You narrow your eyes as you shake your head, “Don’t you dare hurt them.”

The Toymaker grins, “Well, what’s the fun in that?”

The room around you seems to blur as a heaviness settles in your chest, the weight of your choices and the consequences of your time with the Toymaker bearing down on you. The mirrors that once reflected various versions of yourself, your friends, and the Doctor now seem to mock your vulnerability.

Your face shifts to anger as you grab your sonic screwdriver, raise it to the mirror, and press the button, causing the illusion to shatter. There is no glass in the mirror because, on the other side of it, is you—freed from the false reflections that sought to define you.

You rise from your seat, hastening as the glass mirrors rupture behind you, fragments and shards soaring through the air. Grabbing the doorknob, you wrench the door open, hurtling into the hallway just as the door behind you slams shut.

Anticipating the impact of the hard hallway floor, you're surprised to find yourself enveloped in sturdy arms, the familiar texture of the Doctor’s coat reassuring. "Whoa! Darling, there you are," he exclaims.

Speechless, you encircle him with your arms, finding solace in the warmth he provides. He eases back, cradling the side of your head, and you yield to the touch, trying to ground yourself in the reassurance that you're still alive, still breathing. Life may have presented challenges, love may have left its mark, and certain experiences may have etched an ache in your soul, yet, you survived.

The Doctor scans your face and says, “You’ve been crying. What’s wrong? What happened? Did he hurt you?”

You sniffle as you shake your head frantically, “No, I’m just… I’m sorry.”

The Doctor frowns, “What for?”

“It’s my fault. All of this is my fault.”

“No. I cast that salt—”

“Yes, but since I’m here, in this reality. I allowed him to exist here as well. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry.”

The Doctor pulls you in closer, tightly wrapping his arms around your frame as he asks, “Did he tell you that?”

You merely make a squeak as you nod into his chest, “It makes sense—”

“No. It’s— I refuse to believe it. I won’t.”

You began, “But—”

The Doctor pauses, his gaze softening, and he says, “No, my love. It's not your fault. Don't let his games mess with your mind. We'll figure this out together.”

You let go of your ghosts and your worries for once. It was just one step, but it said plenty. That you've been cut off from the outside world for such a large portion of your existence dawns on you. That you devoted so much of your life to a version of existence that was cut off from believing in the good and the beautiful as a means of survival, that you tried so hard to shield yourself from the love you so desperately needed.

You knew that you wouldn’t find a love that was perfect, but you found a love that was real. The kind that sees you and brings down your walls, that asks you to share parts of your soul you have tucked away and kept hidden from the world.

Suddenly, the creak of another door opening startles both of you, prompting a swift turn of your heads. Your heart skips a beat as you spot your fiery-haired friend. You exclaim, “Donna!”

“Oh, my god!” Donna exclaims, and the Doctor responds, “There you are!” As you eagerly move forward to embrace Donna, the room undergoes a rapid metamorphosis, transforming into a puppeteer theatre, with the Toymaker standing at its center.

Fanfare resonates in the background through concealed speakers as the Toymaker speaks in German, “Kommen Sie, kommen sie!”

Three chairs materialize from behind you, smoothly rolling forward and obliging you to take a seat upon them as they advance towards where the Toymaker stands.

"The show is just beginning. Worldwide premiere," the Toymaker announces, vanishing momentarily only to reappear behind the puppet theatre at the center. He addresses Donna Noble, "This is for you. Let me tell you what happened when the Doctor, he was leaving you."

Lifting the cross brace of the string puppet, he continues, "He met a friend called Amy Pond. And he loved Amy Pond." The strings sway as he manipulates the Amy puppet. "Yes, he be liking die redheads." A playful wink is followed by, "And they went to and fro in time und space."

The Toymaker's tone darkens as he narrates, "But Amy Pond was touched by the Weeping Angel. And she died." He grabs a large pair of scissors, severing the strings of the puppet, rendering it limp and lifeless.

The Doctor's expression turns grim and angry as he grits his teeth, "She died of old age."

Quickly shifting to an American accent, the Toymaker mockingly remarks, "Well, that’s alright then."

Continuing in his vibrant German accent, the Toymaker orchestrates the descent of a new puppet onto the stage, "Und then he was meeting Clara. Mmm." He adds, "But she was killed by a bird." Another snip of the strings leaves the puppet limp and lifeless.

The Doctor growls, "She still survives in her last second of life."

"Well, that’s alright then!" The Toymaker replies in his mocking American accent.

The Toymaker continues in his vibrant German accent, placing another puppet on the stage, "Und then the Doctor met Bill." Strings are pulled as he continues, "Not Stooky Bill, but lady Bill. But she was killed by the Cybermen." With a snip, the puppet falls to the floor, lifeless.

The Doctor's lip trembles, jaw set, as he asserts in a raised tone, "But her consciousness survives."

"Oh, well, that’s alright then!" The Toymaker retorts once more in his mocking American accent. He then transitions to a new scene with stars and planets descending, connected with strings. Cutting the strings, he comments with feigned remorse, "Und then there came die Flux. Oh, Donna Noble, the poor Doctor." The Toymaker continues to sever the strings attached to the planets, remarking, "Die Flux was killing everything."

"Is all of this true?" Donna asks in disbelief, leaving you frozen and unsure of what to do or say.

The Doctor abruptly stands up, his gaze locked onto the Toymaker's eyes as he lowers his tone, the gruffness evident, "I challenge you to a game."

The Toymaker's expression drops, his nostrils flare, and he strides toward the table. The Doctor meets him at the other end, and they lock eyes, a tense silence enveloping them.

The two of them settle into seats across from each other as the Toymaker mysteriously conjures a deck of cards. In a refined British accent, he declares, “I accept the challenge.”

The Doctor retorts, “You have no choice.”

With an air of a magician, the Toymaker skillfully shuffles the deck of cards, his hands moving with deliberate precision. "I came to this universe with such delight, and I played them all, Doctor." The Toymaker lays down the cards in a line, maintaining his magical flair. "I toyed with supernovas, turned galaxies into spinning tops."

He holds the two halves of the deck and continues, "I gambled with God and made him a jack-in-the-box." Flipping the cards, he shuffles the deck, his eyes locked onto the Doctor's. "I made a jigsaw out of your history. Did you like it?"

"The Master was dying and begged for his life with one final game. And when he lost, I sealed him for all eternity inside my gold tooth." The Toymaker says, a sly smile accompanying the gesture to his shiny gold tooth. However, his tone turns grave and haunted as he continues, "There’s only one player I didn’t dare face. The one who waits."

Both you and the Doctor furrow your brows, and the Doctor questions, “Who’s that?”

The Toymaker's gaze becomes distant as he recalls, “I saw it. Hiding. And I ran.”

“What do you mean?” The Doctor presses, and the Toymaker shakes his head, “Mmm. That’s someone else’s game.” Placing the deck of cards neatly on the table, he asks, “What shall we play?”

“One request. Tell me,” The Doctor starts, his tone curious, “The human race, back in the future. Why does everyone think they’re right?”

The Toymaker smirks knowingly and replies, “So that they win. I made every opinion supreme. That’s the game of the 21st century. They shout, they type, and they cancel. So I fixed it. Now everybody wins.”

“And everyone loses,” you remark, your eyebrows furrowing in contemplation. The Toymaker smiles, acknowledging the truth, “The never-ending game.” He then turns to the Doctor, prompting, “Now name your challenge.”

“The simplest game of all. Let’s cut,” the Doctor proposes, and the Toymaker grins, “Highest card wins.”

“Aces high,” the Doctor asserts.

“You choose,” the Toymaker replies.

“I’ll go first,” the Doctor declares.

Then Donna interjects, “But he’ll cheat.”

You, the Toymaker, and the Doctor quickly disagree, simultaneously stating, “No.” The Toymaker's face turns sour, offended by the accusation, “Shame.”

“That’s the one thing he won’t do,” the Doctor asserts, and Donna points out, “But they’re his cards. He’s all tricks. Of course, he’ll cheat.”

You then explain, “The only rules the Toymaker follows are the rules of the game. They bind his entire existence. The Doctor wins or he loses, and that’s it.”

The Toymaker glowers at the Doctor as he says, “Then play.”

The Doctor seizes the top deck of cards, turning it to reveal the Eight of Clubs. A sinking feeling creeps into the pit of your stomach as you calculate the odds, not liking the prospects for the Doctor.

The Toymaker raises an eyebrow with a smug expression, “My turn.” He grabs a portion of the deck, turning it to reveal the King of Hearts. Gripping the sides of your chair, you feel a sense of dread as the Toymaker laughs, “I’m the King.”

Switching back to his German accent, he declares excitedly, “Und now, meine kleine Doctor, we will see what is my prize!”

The Doctor responds, “One… all.”

A light laugh of relief escapes you, realizing the Doctor had a backup plan in case he lost. Leaning across the table, the Doctor's words make the Toymaker's expression drop, “I won the game many years ago. You’ve won today, which leaves us equal. And you know two players are bound by one inviolable rule.”

The Toymaker sneers as he begrudgingly admits, “Best of three.”

The Doctor nods, “Best of three.”

The Toymaker purses his lips in annoyance, narrowing his eyes before saying, “Then let’s make it 2023.” He suddenly pulls a curtain from the side, quickly vanishing as the red velvet cloth clatters to the floor. The room transforms, and you hear the creaking of wood.

Both you and the Doctor exclaim, “Donna!”

Donna has already sprung from her chair, responding, “I’m already running!”

As you run, the structure behind you collapses in on itself, the scratching and groaning of wood as it folds in the hallway. Eventually, you make it out of the shop, running into the streets and stopping from across the street to see the entire building fold itself neatly into a box on the ground.

Donna points out, "He said 2023," and the Doctor responds as his chest puffs out a breath, "Winner takes all."

UNIT HEADQUARTERS, LONDON — DAY, 2023

Once the TARDIS had landed, you and Donna hurriedly followed the Doctor, who carried the box containing the Toymaker's shop. As you reached the main area of operations, the Doctor placed the red box on Melanie's desk and instructed, "Keep an eye on that."

Stepping up on one of the desks, the Doctor addressed everyone in a loud tone, "The satellite was only a link in the chain, so Donna needs access to the subframe. There is no one in London faster on a keyboard. She’s creating a template for this." He produced a flash drive and explained, "It coordinates all telescopes and satellites and deep-space scans across the Earth." Tossing the flash drive to Shirley, who deftly caught it.

Turning to the Vlinx, the Doctor requested, "The Vlinx, I need all mesh reflectors on Earth translated to digital five."

As Donna worked on the keyboard, Mel replied to Donna's question, "Dynamic. We’re using triad."

Donna nodded in understanding, typing rapidly, "Got ya. Okay, so you should all be receiving this now."

"How bad is it, Doctor, Star?" Kate asked with concern. The Doctor responded with a warning tone, "Something entered this world in 1925. I don’t know how. And I warn you, this thing can get from 1925 to now like stepping through a door."

He shoved his hands into his pockets and continued, "But if we’re lucky, the program the Stargrazer created can detect the decay of an energy signature from 98 years ago. Might be on Earth. Might be in orbit. Might be in space. But if we can find the entrance, maybe we can turn it into an exit."

"What are we fighting?" Kate asked, and you responded grimly, "An elemental force beyond the rules of the universe."

Shirley then inquired with a puzzled tone, "What’s that supposed to mean?"

The Doctor gave her a look and explained, "You think life is a balance between order and chaos, but the universe is not binary." As the Spice Girls' "Spice Up Your Life" began playing from somewhere, he continued, "Far from it. There is order and chaos, and then there is play." Pointing to the ceiling, he asked, "What’s that?"

"Could you turn that off, please?" Kate requested, and Melanie, standing from her chair, asked, "Who is that?"

The Doctor groaned, "Oh, I think he’s here."

The Toymaker entered the scene like a Broadway hurricane, dressed as a band leader with his hair curled and styled. A door suddenly appearing with the bell jingling as he strutted forward. Confetti popped, lights flashed, and the Toymaker lip-synced to the Spice Girls' song playing from an unknown location.

"When you're feelin' sad and low

We will take you where you gotta go"

The door materialized behind you, the bell jingling as the Toymaker stepped out, dancing and lifting his hat, grooving to the music. You and the Doctor stood there, unimpressed, wearing a fed-up expression.

The Toymaker, immersed in the infectious beats of the Spice Girls, continued his impromptu performance. With infectious enthusiasm, he teleported across various areas of the headquarters, seamlessly syncing his lip movements to the lyrics of the song. His dance was a spectacle of exaggerated expressions, capturing the vibrant spirit of the Spice Girls' anthem.

As the music echoed through the room, the Toymaker made flamboyant movements, teleporting next to Shirley. With flair, he held up a phone, lip-syncing passionately to the lyrics.

"Smilin', dancin', everything is free

All you need is positivity"

The Toymaker's energetic dance moves and lively expressions added a surreal touch to the otherwise serious atmosphere of the operation.

“Colours of the world

Spice up your life”

Teleporting with theatrical finesse, he continued his spirited performance, engaging with the song's upbeat tempo.

“Every boy and every girl

Spice up your life”

The Toymaker, a delightful force of whimsy, twirled and danced with infectious energy, infusing the tension-filled room with an unexpected burst of joy.

“People of the world

Spice up your life

Aah

Slam it to the left

If you're havin' a good time

Shake it to the right

If ya know that you feel fine

Chicas to the front

Ha ha (uh uh)

Go round”

With each step, he appeared and disappeared, dancing effortlessly to the rhythm. In a sudden move, the Toymaker materialized next to Kate, seamlessly incorporating her into his lively dance. However, the exuberant twirl proved too much, and Kate, spun too fast, and collided with a wall.

Undeterred, the Toymaker vanished and reappeared beside Melanie, pulling her into an impromptu dance as UNIT soldiers point their weapon at him.

“Slam it to the left

If you're havin' a good time

Shake it to the right

If ya know that you feel fine

Chicas to the front”

The Toymaker spun Melanie like a spinning top, prompting your alarmed cry, "Melanie!" Both you and the Doctor rushed to her aid as she tumbled to the ground, the unexpected dance taking an unforeseen turn.

"La la la la la la la la la

La la la la la la la"

Kate regains her composure, brushing off her slacks with a determined air as she commands the UNIT soldiers, "Detain him!"

In response, a contingent of UNIT soldiers swiftly advances, attempting to apprehend the whimsical Toymaker. The Doctor's warning echoes in the air, “No, don’t!” However, defying the Doctor's urgent plea, the Toymaker playfully taps the soldiers, transforming them into vibrant, bouncing balls that clatter across the floor.

"What happened to them?" Kate urgently inquires, and you, wearing a grimace, shake your head, "They're dead. I'm sorry. Just stop it. Let me talk to him."

The Toymaker confidently struts down the center aisle among the stations, seizing the attention of everyone. Kate seizes the opportunity and commands the remaining UNIT soldiers, "On my command, open fire!"

"Take him out, take him out!"

Despite the barrage of gunfire from the UNIT troops, the bullets magically transform into a cascade of delicate rose petals, scattering around the office in a surreal display. The Toymaker, reveling in the chaos, gleefully glances atop a table as more rose petals dance in the air.

"Yellow man in Timbuktu

Colourful, both me and you

Kung Fu fighting, dancing queen

Tribal spaceman and all that's in between"

Undeterred, more UNIT soldiers step in, brandishing larger firearms. Kate urgently yells, "Get down!" Yet, instead of bullets, they too unleash a storm of rose petals towards the Toymaker, amplifying the confusion and chaos in the headquarters.

Now seated on the floor, the Toymaker whimsically creates a rose petal angel, moving his arms and legs in a playful display as he swims amidst the never-ending fall of petals, still lip-syncing to the song.

"Colours of the world (Spice up your life)

Every boy and every girl (Spice up your life)

People of the world (Spice up your life, ah)"

As the Toymaker gracefully walks away from the floral aftermath, he makes his exit, singing the last part of the song and forming a heart with his hands.

"Hai, sí, ja! Hold tight!"

With a resounding honk, he disappears into the floor, leaving the bewildered onlookers shaken and utterly confused about the bizarre turn of events.

The Doctor swiftly dashes forward, sliding to his knees with palms pressed to the floor in an attempt to catch the Toymaker, yet the space where he once stood appears empty, as if he were an illusion.

While Donna tends to Mel, you approach the Doctor, who rises to his feet. Kate's inquiry breaks the moment, "Doctor, Stargazer, who is he?"

Breathing heavily, you respond, "The Toymaker."

"How does he do that?" Shirley questions from her wheelchair, seeking understanding.

Ignoring the query, the Doctor directs urgently, "The Vlinx, speed up those scans. I need those results." He then turns to the group, nostrils flaring, and commands, "All of you, search the building. He’s still here. Where’s he gone?"

Soldiers take charge, securing the perimeter, while Shirley persists, "But how does he do it?" The Doctor, resolute, explains in a low tone, "If I told you he manipulates atoms with the power of thought, would you believe it?"

Shirley ponders for a moment before responding, "Is that what he does?"

The Doctor shakes his head, "No. You can’t fight him, Shirley. There’s nothing you can do."

A sudden noise interrupts the conversation—a bell tinkling. Hushing everyone, you urge, "Listen. Listen."

The ringing intensifies. Kate steps towards the automatic door leading to the helipad, and you follow suit. There, on the helipad, the Toymaker stands alone, dressed in an aviator outfit, ringing the doorbell. Kate exclaims, "Oh, my God. He’s got the Galvanic Beam." Reacting swiftly, you and the Doctor rush onto the helipad. The Toymaker sits on the chair of the Galvanic Beam, swinging it as he excitedly exclaims in German, "Achtung, Achtung! Backen Sie."

Kate, Donna, Shirley, and Mel, carrying the box, join you on the helipad along with the UNIT soldiers. The Toymaker continues, with his goggles on and his exaggerated German accent, "Oh, how I am liking this, the gun mit the laser und the bang und the boom."

The Doctor turns back to the group, urgently shouting, "Go back inside! Get back, get back!"

The Toymaker, however, dismisses the idea, insisting, "No, no, no, no, no. Every game is ge-needing an audience, ja."

Now it's your turn to raise your voice, "Get back inside!" Yet, the Toymaker, maintaining his defiance, sternly disagrees, "Und I said nein!" He takes aim at the glass higher up the building, shattering it. The team below reacts with startled cries as you and the Doctor shoot furious glares at the Toymaker.

Removing his goggles, the Toymaker switches to a British accent, calmly stating, "Now we can all have some fun."

Kate steps forward, undeterred and unafraid, confronting the Toymaker with a determined gaze. "Where are my staff? The beam had a pilot, and the armourer and the ground staff. Where are they?"

“I think they're still falling,” the Toymaker replies, and then a faint thud in the distance is followed by the sound of glass shattering.

The Doctor bares his teeth, anger etched across his face as he stomps forward and confronts the Toymaker, “I don't understand why you're so small!” The Toymaker’s face shifts into a frown, his features scrunching up as the Doctor continues his impassioned confrontation, “You can turn bullets into flowers. Think of the good you could do. So tell me why you don't!”

The Toymaker responds with resounding sureness, "You know full well this is merely a face concealing a vastness that will never cease, because your good and your bad are nothing to me. All that exists is to win or to lose."

“And you know full well that I've had many faces, containing something far more,” the Doctor begins. You inch closer to him as he grabs your hand, offering the Toymaker a compelling invitation, “So come with us. Leave this tiny world. We can take your games back to the stars. We can play across the cosmos. We can be... Celestial.”

You watch as the Toymaker’s gaze shifts between the two of you, “The Time Lords, and the Toymaker?”

You nod, extending your hand, “Infinite games.”

A moment of anticipation hangs in the air as you hope for his acceptance. However, the Toymaker's expression shifts to one of indifference as he uses the controller of the Galvanic Beam. Turning to survey London, he begins, “And yet…” The soldiers cautiously retreat as the Toymaker observes the destruction and chaos engulfing the city.

“I have fallen in love with humanity. This world is the ultimate playground. All of the sport, the matches, the medals, the gambling, and the anger, and the children shackled to their bedrooms with their joysticks and their buttons. You make games out of bricks falling upon other bricks. You are exceptional,” the Toymaker remarks, and you signal the troops to halt their advance. The Toymaker gasps, “And then there are the mind games. Oh, the dating and ghosting, the deceit and the control. You make me dizzy. I am in no hurry to leave this place.”

He swivels the turret around, a maniacal glint in his eye as he chuckles, “We can play Grandma's Footsteps.” He gleefully fires at the soldiers' feet, forcing them to hastily retreat, "And Off-Ground Touch."

“Ah! Stop, stop, stop, stop!” You plead helplessly as the Toymaker, a sinister smirk on his face, persists in aiming the Galvanic Beam at your companions. He remarks, "Shooting ducks. Who's up next? The companion? The soldier? The scientist? The orphan?"

The Doctor charges ahead, bellowing and thumping his chest defiantly, "Your fight is with me!" The Toymaker directs the beam towards the Doctor, declaring, "And you owe me! One more ga—"

His words abruptly cease as the Toymaker unleashes the Galvanic Beam, piercing through the Doctor's torso. A gut-wrenching scream escapes your lips, and you desperately attempt to rush towards him, only to be forcefully restrained by Donna and Kate. Helplessly, you bear witness to the Doctor's anguished ordeal.

The Toymaker proclaims, “I played the first game with one Doctor. I played the second game with this Doctor. Therefore, your own rules have decreed I play the third game with the next Doctor.” As the beam deactivates, you extricate yourself from Donna and Kate's grasp, hastening to reach your Doctor who has descended to his knees on the ground. Regeneration energy begins to shimmer around him, and you sniffle as you cradle him close, feeling his feeble arm wrap around you.

Tears stream down your face as you murmur, "Hey, hey... I'm right here."

You sense his touch, brushing away your tears as he utters, "Hello, my sweet Stargazer... I’ve been alone for so long. Oh, how I've missed you." A resonant sniff escapes you as you reply, "I'm so sorry. For running. For leaving. For everything, I’m sorry.”

He softly hushes you, "No. None of that. It's not your fault." A wistful smile gently paints his face. "I love you." You release a sob, "I love you too."

"Marry me?" The Doctor proposes, managing to flash you a boyish grin. You can't help but emit a weak laugh, "Right now?"

"Whenever, wherever you like. Just say yes."

"You already know I’d say yes, you idiot!" you retort.

"Say it, please," he murmurs, and you nod as tears continue to fall from your cheeks, "Of course, I'll marry you. I’ll marry you as many times as you want. As many lifetimes as you want."

As the regeneration energy glows brighter, Donna steps forward, yelling loudly to the Toymaker, “He's not dying alone. You can do what you like to me. I'm going to be with them both.”

“And so am I,” Mel declares, setting the box down and approaching the other side of the Doctor along with Donna.

The Toymaker allows it, nodding, “Handmaidens.”

“It's okay,” Donna says, and the Doctor responds, “It's not dying.” Donna nods in understanding, adding, “I know. But…”

Mel smiles as she interjects, “You're going to be someone else. It doesn't matter who because every single one of you is fantastic.”

The Doctor’s eyes glaze as he feels the regeneration energy glow brighter and stronger, surging throughout his body, “It's time. Here we go again. Allons-y!”

The energy fizzles out, and the Doctor hasn't changed his face, leaving you all blinking in confusion as he lets out an, “Um.”

The Doctor’s brow furrows as Donna asks, “What... What's happening?”

Looking to you, the Doctor asks in an even more confused tone, “Could you... pull?”

With your mouth agape and wide-eyed, you inquire, “Could I... what?” The Doctor looks to Mel and Donna to his left, saying, “And you.”

“What do you mean?” Mel asks, and the Doctor blinks as stands up and replies, “Pull! Just pull each way. I don't know. It feels different this time.” The three of you begin to pull in each way, and the Doctor exclaims, “Ow! Oh.”

Regeneration surges and flares up once more, and out pops the head and shoulders of the new Doctor, number 15. You all gasp in shock, and you're the first to say, “What?”

“What?” Donna and Mel ask in unison.

“What?!” The Toymaker exclaims.

“No way,” the other part of the Doctor exclaims, and your Doctor responds with glee, “You're me.”

The new regeneration of the Doctor smiles, a toothy grin spreading across his face as he says, “No, I'm me. I think I'm really, really me. Oh, ho-ho, I am completely me! Don't just stand there, push!”

Your Doctor poses the question once more, "Do what?" to which his other half retorts, "Push."

"What— Does this work?" Your Doctor questions and the new one responds with a laugh, "I don't know."

They part ways entirely, each now clad in half of the other one's attire. Your Doctor sports the undershirt, vest, and trousers, and is left barefoot. Meanwhile, as far as your memory serves, the 15th regeneration of the Doctor is now adorned in a button-up shirt, tie, sneakers, and underwear. You purse your lips as you try to hide your smile and feel a warmth spreading out your face as you realize your Doctor isn’t wearing any underwear. You decide to pocket that bit of information for later.

A surge of joy and laughter fills the air as the 15th Doctor exclaims, "Hello!" Arms outstretched in a welcoming embrace, he moves towards your Doctor, continuing to laugh, "So good to see you! So good!"

Turning his attention to you, a broad grin decorates his face as he rushes towards you, enveloping you in a warm hug and lifting you off the ground, spinning you around. A yelp of surprise and glee escapes you, and you notice a twinge of jealousy in your Doctor's expression. However, you shoot him a look, a gentle reminder that they are one and the same.

The 15th Doctor lets out hearty laughter before addressing everyone, "Now, someone tell me what the hell is going on here."

"Excuse me. Sorry, but..." Kate begins, and Shirley interjects, "How did that happen?"

"Bi-generation. I have bi-generated! There's no such thing. Bi-generation is supposed to be a myth, but... look at me.” He chuckles and stretches as his joints crack, “Yeah, myth, myth, myth," the 15th Doctor declares with a jolly tone, turning to Mel and inquiring, "Mel, what do you think?"

Mel smiles widely as she gazes at the 15th Doctor, "I think you're beautiful."

Your Doctor furrows his brow, questioning, "Still beautiful?"

"Yeah," Mel responds.

Donna, taking in the new Doctor with a rich deep ebony skin tone, asks, "Do you come in a range of colours?"

To which all the Time Lords reply with a resounding, "Yes."

You hear the Toymaker clear his throat and begin, pointing the beam at the two Doctors, "If I can interrupt... Behold the game of the Time Lords. A dummy who dies and doubles and dies and doubles. I could play this for 100 years. I'll have vast meadows of Doctors dying over and over again, and I'll never get bored because…"

The two Doctors step forward in unison, declaring, "I challenge you to a game."

The Toymaker's face sours, and he tosses his goggles, shifting into a frown. "But there's two of you."

Your Doctor asserts, "I'm the Doctor," and the 15th remarks, "And I'm the Doctor."

Your Doctor smirks, "And according to the rules, you can't say no."

The Toymaker stammers, "But that's cheating."

“How?” both Doctors say simultaneously, and your Doctor continues, “It's your game, and you did this.”

The Toymaker is at a loss for words, stammering, "But…"

Your Doctor smiles, "You doubled us."

“So, who am I marrying then—” You interject, and the two Doctors exclaim, “Me!”

Your eyebrows shoot up, eyes widening in response. "Y’know what, that seems like an issue for later."

The Toymaker interjects, stating, "I accept your challenge." Stepping off the Galvanic Beam, your Doctor commands everyone in a commanding voice, "Get back." In compliance, everyone takes a few steps back.

“Moments like these are a joy, when someone thinks they can outwit the maker of the games. Do you think a grand total of two can cause me to shiver when I've played against the Guardians of Time and Space and shrank them into voodoo dolls? Name your challenge, Doctor,” the Toymaker says, and you mockingly yawn, eliciting a glare from him.

“You said it. The first game ever,” the 15th Doctor states, and your Doctor finishes his thoughts, “The ball.”

The Toymaker conjures a ball from thin air and declares, “Catch? Of course, before we begin, there is one thing to remember. It's a simple game, really, but I think…”

Suddenly, the Toymaker hurls the ball towards your Doctor at an astonishing speed, making contact with his chest just as he finishes his sentence, “…if you drop it, you lose.”

Your Doctor catches the ball, releasing a deep breath, “Nice.”

The ball is tossed around in a flurry. You can only watch as it keeps getting passed and tossed. Eventually, the 15th Doctor throws it extremely far to your Doctor, causing him to tumble and dive to catch it from the 15th.

Your Doctor looks at the 15th with wide eyes, his chest puffing out breaths as he exclaims, “Hey! I'm on your side!”

15th sheepishly replies, “I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry!”

The game of catch persists, and you nervously bite your nails as you observe the trio. There are numerous extreme throws and catches, accompanied by near misses, until the 15th Doctor imparts enough spin on the ball. It glances off the Toymaker's fingers, tumbling over the building's edge.

The Toymaker pants in disbelief, beginning, "But—"

“We won!” Your Doctor asserts, and the 15th adds, “We did it. Fair game. You lost.”

Attempting to salvage the situation, the Toymaker stammers, “No, but I think you'll find…”

Your Doctor steps forward, declaring, “Best of three. And my prize, Toymaker, is to banish you from existence forever.”

The Toymaker protests, “No! But I'm... It's not…” Suddenly, he starts to flatten and fold, “You can't... But I…” Mel steps forward and brings out the box as the Toymaker yelps, “Not fair. Please. My legions are coming. Argh!” He folds up into a square and drops into the box, which slams shut.

Kate seizes the box by the handles, instructing the soldier, “Take it to the deepest vault and bind it in salt.” The soldier promptly responds, “Yes, ma'am.”

Shirley and Kate disengage their Zeedexes. Kate turns to Shirley, saying, “Shirley, tell Geneva we're in full resus. Tell every base to follow Green Shoot protocols, full liaison.” She then addresses the soldier, “Rudi, I'll want the names of all those staff.”

Your attention shifts to your Doctor, standing at the edge of the helipad. The wind tousles his brown, spiky hair as he surveys the destruction wreaked upon London by the Toymaker. Approaching him, you grasp his hand and offer, “Hey, we did it.”

“But how many died down there?” The Doctor frowns, his tone heavy with sorrow. The 15th and Donna approach, with Donna reassuringly stating, “That's not your fault.”

The 15th points out, “You can't save everyone.”

Your Doctor pouts, “Why not?”

The 15th Doctor pulls both you and him into a hug, soothingly saying, “Come here. I've got you. Yeah? It's okay. I'm here.”

As you let out a sigh of relief, exhausted to the events that occurred. Your mind wanders and you smile. This love will intimately understand you, resonating on certain levels as if it has always existed—a deep-seated yearning your soul has carried, anticipating the reunion with its heart, perpetually poised to return home to the facets of itself discovered in another being. It serves as a poignant reminder that hope can emanate from the fingertips of another human being, nestled within the layers of the uncharted aspects waiting to be unveiled.

You and the group re-enter the building, abandoning the helipad to solitude, save for a lone sentry stationed at the entrance. A faint echo of laughter seems to linger in the air, leaving you with an inexplicable sense of dread resonating from a distant place.

UNIT HEADQUARTERS, SUITE 17, LONDON – DAY 2023

INSIDE THE TARDIS

You observe as the Doctor maneuvers around the console, guiding his other incarnation through the intricacies. "That's the petrolink shatterfy compensator, moved from there to there. Hyperdynes. Er... fluid links, obviously," he explains, his hands deftly pointing out the components.

Your Doctor halts abruptly, stumbling over his words as he gazes at the version of himself standing on the bridge. "And, well, you know... things. But, er... how's it going to work? You and me. This is great, I think. Is it? But... How do we both...?”

“One thing you need in this place is a chair,” the 15th Doctor remarks, and you arch your eyebrows, glancing at your Doctor, who responds, “I'll be all right.”

The 15th shakes his head, emphasizing, “No, you're thin as a pin, love. You're running on fumes.”

You and Donna both sigh in agreement, stating, “That's what we keep saying.”

“I'm just... post-bi-generation,” your Doctor attempts to justify, but the 15th Doctor interjects, “Ha! It's more than that. Our whole lifetime. That Doctor that first met the Toymaker never, ever stopped. Put on trial, exiled, Key to Time, all the devastation of Logopolis.”

“Adric,” your Doctor says with a tinge of sadness, and the 15th nods, “Adric.”

Your Doctor's expression shifts to a sorrowful pout as he reminisces about the days and tragic events. “River Song. All the people we lost. Sarah Jane has gone. Can you believe that for a second?”

“I loved her,” your Doctor admits, and the 15th agrees, “I loved her. And Rose. But the Time War, Pandorica, Mavic Chen. We fought the Gods of Ragnarok, and we didn't stop for a second to say, ‘what the hell?’”

Your Doctor shakes his head, “But you're fine.” He gestures to his newly regenerated self, and the 15th says, “I'm fine because you fixed yourself. We're Time Lords. We're doing rehab out of order.”

You then gently interject, “He's saying you need to stop.”

Your Doctor shakes his head in disagreement, stating, “I don't know how.”

Donna takes a step forward, her words measured, “Well, I can tell you. Cos you know what I did when you went flying off in your blue box, Spaceman? I stayed in one place, and I lived day after day after day.”

“It would drive me mad,” your Doctor admits. You nod in agreement, stepping closer to him, your hand gently holding his cheek. “Same here. I’ll be honest, it was difficult… at first. Yeah. It does. But you keep on going. That’s what makes it special. You won’t exactly know what’s going to happen. And that's the adventure. The one adventure you've never had. Because I've... I've worked out what happened. The Flux caused a reset in the universe, no longer making my entire existence a threat to everyone. Then you changed your face, and then you found me. Do you know why?”

The Doctor is wide-eyed as you gaze into his chocolate brown eyes, and you give him a soft smile, “To come home.”

“Do you mean... he flies off?” The Doctor says as he glances at the 15th Doctor, tears welling up. “But I could never let the Tardis go. Never. It would hurt.”

The 15th Doctor approaches you two and leans against the console, stating, “Yeah, but... bi-generation has never happened before.” An idea begins to form in his mind, “What if...? What if!”

Eagerly, he dashes to the walkway, producing a 'test your strength' mallet. “What if the Toymaker's domain is still lingering? Just for a few seconds more, we're in a state of play. Oh! So maybe…”

The 15th Doctor steps out of the TARDIS, and the three of you follow after him. Shirley and Mel are waiting in the suite.

Excitedly, the 15th Doctor exclaims, “Hey! Watch this, watch this. Watch, watch, watch, watch. Stand back. Stand back. Go on, that's it, Donna. Oh! Wish me luck.”

“What for?” The Doctor asks, to which the 15th responds with a big smile, “We won the game. You get a prize, honey, and here is mine!” He swings at the side of the TARDIS, knocking a second one out. An exact duplicate stands on the left side of the original one.

“Ta-da!” The 15th shows off in a sing-songy voice before whispering to the TARDIS, “I am so sorry.”

Donna expresses with glee, “That is completely nuts,” and the 15th Doctor laughs in agreement.

The Doctor pushes the other TARDIS doors open and looks down. He unfolds a ramp, saying, “Oh, look! Oh, that's not bad. Wheelchair accessible.”

“At last! You finally caught up with the 21st century!” Shirley smiles, laughing.

“Yeah. Go on,” the 15th Doctor says to your Doctor, who steps inside to glance around as you wait outside. After a minute, he walks out, goes into the original TARDIS, and looks around. You watch as the 15th Doctor gives you a wink before stepping inside his TARDIS, and you let out a snort.

You see your Doctor exit the TARDIS and realize the 15th Doctor is missing. “Where is he? Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!”

You follow your Doctor as he pushes open the other TARDIS doors, saying, “You weren't going to leave without saying goodbye, were you?”

The 15th Doctor mischievously grins as he replies, “As if I would ever do that. Come here. Come here, come here, come here, come here.” He hugs him and kisses you on the cheek, saying, “Look after him, you know? Now, you three, if you don't mind, there is a great big universe out there calling, and I've got to get going. So off you pop, old man.”

Your Doctor shakes his head, a playful glint in his eyes, “Oh. You're the old man. You're older than me.”

Donna nods in agreement, “Actually, that is true. He's younger because you came after him. So you're the older Doctor.”

The 15th Doctor rolls his eyes playfully, teasing, “Okay, kid. I love you. Get out!” He sets the Time Rotor in motion, and Donna rushes out of the TARDIS, yelping, “I'm not doing that again!”

Observing the Doctors salute each other, you hear him say to you, “I’ll see you soon.” Then the two of you exit.

Stepping into Suite 17, the group gathers as the Doctor remarks, “Shirley, I don't suppose you've seen this before. I don't see it often myself. Stand by.”

“Where's he going?” Mel asks, and the Doctor replies, “Everywhere.”

You watch as the TARDIS dematerializes, and you catch the soft whisper of the Doctor, “Good luck.”

DONNA’S GARDEN — DAY, 2023

The TARDIS is parked in Donna’s garden, a testament to the new chapter you and the Doctor were embarking on—cohabiting. Presently, the entire family savored a meal al fresco beneath the pergola adorned with wisteria in full bloom. The Doctor sat beside you, his hand resting casually on your thigh, a constant desire to connect, to be near.

“Right. The cast-iron pot is the vegan. Ta-da! And the one with the flowers is the chicken,” Shaun declares, placing the dish on the table. You hum and nod, and Shaun adds, “I think.”

Sylvia chimes in, pointing to the dish, “And this is cauliflower cheese, which doesn't really go with anything, but it was there.” Rose nods as they begin to take their seats.

Donna raises a hand, signaling for attention, “Anyway, shush, please, for the eyebrow story.”

“Oh, yes. So... this species only communicated with their eyebrows. I thought, I can do that,” the Doctor says with an unusually happy tone, a rare occurrence that visibly lifts the weight from his shoulders. He sits straighter, and with a flourish of his eyebrows, he continues the story, “So I'm stood there on this clifftop and I went... ‘I mean you no harm. I come in peace. I am your friend.’”

“Am I late?” Mel's voice breaks through, and you lift your head to see her sheepishly saying, “Sorry. The door was open. You don't mind?”

Sylvia dismisses her concern, cooing, “Oh, you're family, darling. Sit down.”

You glance at Mel and ask, “Did you drive?”

“No. I got a lift off a zingo,” Mel replies as she takes a seat next to you, prompting cheers and laughter from the group.

“A zingo!” Donna exclaims, and Sylvia smiles, “Oh, how strange.”

The Doctor continues his eyebrow-raising tale, “So, she looked at me, the Warrior Queen of the Felooth, and she said, ‘Good. And now... you will marry me.’ I said, ‘What?!’ And she pushed me off the cliff!”

Sylvia leans in over the table, asking, “But is it true, though? Is it really true?”

The Doctor looks to you, humming and shrugging, “Mmm…” You playfully shove his shoulder, and he kisses your cheek.

“We could always go in the Tardis and find out,” Rose suggests, but Shaun interjects, “Don't you dare.”

Donna sternly tells her daughter, “You are grounded until the Doctor feels better. Don't go sneaking off to Mars.”

“Again,” Rose says, and Donna goes wide-eyed, asking, “What does that mean?” She pointedly looks at the two of you.

“Oh, no. It was just once. Oh, you're in trouble,” the Doctor says, and you wince.

Mel explains, “They took me to New York last week. The Gilded Age. It was amazing.”

The Doctor shrugs, “Well, yeah. We just can't turn down my favourite niece.”

Rose smiles, “Ah! Niece. I like that.”

“Well, that's what you are. With my best friend, my brother-in-law, the evil stepmother…” The Doctor says, and Sylvia chuckles, “Oh, I have barely begun.” The Doctor continues, “..and Mad Aunty Mel.”

Mel chuckles, “Mad Aunty Mel!”

You all toast happily, exclaiming, “Mad Aunty Mel!”

The Doctor then places down his glass before lifting your left hand, now adorned with a gold band inscribed in Gallifreyan. He kisses your knuckles and says lovingly, “And of course, my soon-to-be wife.”

You can’t help but smile as you look at him. With him, you just open. The cost of staying fortified and hidden away becomes too high. With the Doctor, you lay down your arms. You let love rush in. You let it wash over you. You crack your shell, exposing your heart to this world, trusting that you are worthy of being seen there.

The Doctor then remembers, “And Grandad! Where is he?”

Sylvia says, “Oh, he's off shooting moles.”

The sound of a shotgun resonates, and you hum as the Doctor says, “Don't worry, I gave the moles a forcefield. I love the moles.”

Donna raises her eyebrows, asking, “You love the moles?”

The Doctor grins, “I love them. But here we are, Grandad and all. Who'd have thought? I ended up with a family.”

You feel the weight of his words settling in the cracks of your bones as your hearts thump in the silence. You lean your head on his shoulder, feeling him kiss the top of your head.

Shaun suddenly exclaims, “Oh, my God, I got it wrong. The vegan one is in the flowers.”

Rose groans, tossing her fork on the plate, “Urgh! What am I eating?”

“Oh... Don't worry.” Shaun tries to help. “We'll just… give it to Grandad.” Sylvia adds, “Don't make a fuss. Pass me your plate.”

Donna looks between the two of you, smiling as she says, “You don't have to stay forever.”

The Doctor glances at you, and you smile up at him, saying, “We'll see.”

“Do you miss it? Out there?” Donna asks.

The Doctor looks around, realizing he’s surrounded by love as he says, “The funny thing is, I fought all those battles for all those years, and now I know what for. This. I've never been so happy in my life.”

This love infuses honey into the core of your being; it's akin to a gentle warmth seeping into the very marrow of your bones. Witnessing how it learns about you, fights on your behalf, and remains steadfast through life's storms by your side, you're reminded of the profound connection often overshadowed by the preference for distance over depth in this world. It's a reminder that hope emanates from the touch of another, concealed within the layers of undiscovered facets. You now comprehend that love was always intended to be gentle, always meant to be tender, as evidenced by the Doctor intertwining his fingers with yours, accompanied by a bright grin. Your bones are safe, and your heart can rest assured it belongs to him. Your world transforms, cradled by the comforting embrace that is the Doctor.

“So,” Donna begins as she chews her food and swallows as he smiles at her best friends, “When’s the wedding?”

TAGLIST:

@awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @matthew-lilards @a-dash-of-cinnamon @imthedoctorlove @scoliobean @allophonicmess @mirkwoodshewolf @jaziona92 @melloww-akira @crowleythesexydemon @pedrettilov3r @nsainmoonchild @h-l-vlovesvintage @jaziona92 @1potato2rulethemall @jesssimblrorwhatever @prettyboigenius @ladygrimmx

[somedaylazysomeday]

A Grand Deception - Part One

As a seamstress, you know your way around a ballgown. A ballroom is a different story, but you are determined to experience it for yourself.

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Personal Disclaimer: I wrote this having only watched the Bridgerton tv show. About a week ago, I discovered that Benedict's book-canon love story shares some similarities with my fic. These similarities are coincidental. After posting a poll about the topic, I decided to share this work anyway. Please know I am aware of the situation!

Rating: Mature. Minors, do not interact

Word Count: 5,200

Warnings: A lot of backstory, trespassing, lying about identity, alcohol consumption, flirting, references to Regency-era values. Author played fast and loose with rules of Regency dining etiquette.

Next | Masterlist

---

It was of some comfort to you that - when the situation inevitably unraveled - you could not claim to have invented the idea yourself. 

You were hardly the first seamstress who used her skills to disguise herself. Nor were you the first to use her overheard knowledge to learn who may be hosting a masquerade ball so she could attend. 

To that end, Madame Delacroix had told you of her own experience infiltrating the ton’s events. You had learned well, but you were merely another follower, not a visionary. The penalty for your transgression would not change, but your conscience would be eased slightly with the knowledge. 

The single inspiration you could claim as entirely your own was that of your shop. You purchased gowns at the end of every season, researched coming trends for the next season, and altered the gowns to fit. 

Ladies of rich and respectable families were willing to part with gowns for a relative pittance, but most of your gowns were from society matrons. When their time playing chaperone to some wide-eyed miss had ended in a successful engagement, the lucky matron retired to a comfortable life in the countryside. What use did she have for extravagant society gowns there? And, with the style of gathers and ruffles for married women, you could easily fashion multiple gowns from one matronly dress. 

Your shop was hardly the most popular one in London, but you ran a brisk enough business. There were no investors to keep fat with your profits, and you poured most of your money back into the materials and help you hired. It could tax the nerves to operate with such a small amount of money in your coffers, but such was the nature of the business. The lead-in to a season was incredibly busy and profitable, but the off season could ruin you.

But you were happy. Your work was varied and interesting. You worked with sumptuous fabrics in the richest colors. It was a necessity to keep abreast of the latest fashion trends. You truly could not have imagined a better life for yourself. 

And yet… you were unbearably curious about how it would feel to wear one of your creations. You were occasionally hired to style a hopeful debutante, but you handed her off to a chaperone before she walked out through the front door of her own home. You witnessed all of the preparations and you had been party to the aftermath, but you had never had the opportunity to attend a ball. 

It was a silly dream. You were the daughter of a tailor, and not one who served the upper echelons of London society. Your mother spent her time running the household herself - a necessity, as your family could not afford to keep servants. Your brother worked at a newspaper, operating the printing presses. Your sister had married well, wedding a butcher who lived above his shop in a respectable section of the city. 

You had already achieved one silly dream when you had opened your own shop. Rather than satisfying you, that achievement only convinced you that you were capable of incredible things. Why should a ball be the exception?

Fortunately, the ton was an uninspired thing and thus wholly predictable. At least once every season, at least one family believed themselves to be the most creative souls and hosted a masquerade. 

Your ability to foresee the trend had allowed you to plan far in advance. After the last season had ended and you made your purchases, you had bought just enough fabric to fashion yourself a dress. The material was simple, but of high quality, and you had embroidered beading and embellishment enough to allot the finished product an artistic simplicity rather than leaving it painfully plain. 

The mask you had chosen only assisted the illusion of being understatedly gilded. It was a shining silver - not a true metallic mask, but a close enough facsimile that it seemed to be a choice due to the weight rather than the price of the silver. There was a delicate tracery over your brow and along the swells where the mask arched over your cheekbones. 

The effect of the outfit was far from dramatic, especially when you very well knew the sort of dresses that the young ladies of the ton would be wearing at the ball, but you had been purposeful about it. You were trying to fade into the background, and it seemed likely that you would succeed. 

One of your more clever ideas had been to cut the dress as a matronly garment rather than a daring one meant for a debutante. Doing so would relegate you to the realm of mamas, chaperones, and spinsters. Few bothered to steal a second glance at that foreboding cloud of judgment, disapproval, and eager plotting. You were too pragmatic to think your plan foolproof, but you had taken as many precautions as you could imagine.

The Lawsons had been the ones to secure a masquerade theme for the season, and you strategically arrived at the home at eleven, a full hour after the ball had begun. It was a simple thing to slip around the corner of the great manor house, entering through a side corridor. When you passed any of the house’s servants, you ducked your head and nervously arranged your hair. 

With that attitude and countenance, they would likely believe you were returning from some secret tryst in a private place, not attempting to sneak in entirely. Servants were paid for their discretion - at least, in the eyes of the ton - so your exploits would not be disseminated until the following morning at the earliest. 

Your matron-styled dress allowed for a more flexible corset than the most fashionable styles, but you still found that your breath was short as you reached the ballroom. You were thankful for the music, as it gave you a better idea of where your ultimate goal was. 

The room was cavernous, yet filled to the brim with intricate details. A second-story balcony curved around the majority of the room, rather like the opera house you’d had the privilege to visit once. A grand staircase descended from the middle of that balcony, and it was full of still-arriving debutantes and their chaperones. 

The orchestra was sat on the balcony along either side of the staircase, and you noted the way each instrument seemed to take precedence in turn as you walked along the length of the floor. They were playing a quadrille at the moment, and the dancing couples seemed as enamored by the music as much as by each other.  

Above and all around, candles glowed and flickered, casting small pools of light across every surface. A chandelier hung overhead, eye-catching in its size and brightness. The crystals set among the candles sent tiny reflected rainbows dancing across the crowd beneath. The reflectors behind the candles on the main floor helped catch the brightness that would otherwise be wasted on the walls, throwing it out into the room until it looked near daylight. The effect was multiplied by an array of mirrors set around the room, refracting both light and the furor of activity in the ballroom. 

Conversations filled any spaces left in the music. Everywhere, men and women chatted, laughed, and told stories. They were eye-catching with their grand gestures, only made more fascinating with their ornate clothing. You longed for a scrap of paper so you could make note of the styles of this season, and how they might be adapted to meet the styles of the next. 

A table at one side of the room was manned by a servant offering refreshments. You knew from the stories you had heard that a supper would be served at one, but there were beverages for any guest or dancer who may need one. You accepted a glass of iced punch with a grateful nod to the servant. It was remarkably hot in the room, especially compared to the chill of the January evening. 

Sipping the strong punch - and abruptly understanding the wisdom of such small glasses - you ventured forth to find a vantage point for observing the crowd. 

You found one buried in the crowd of matrons and chaperones. They were watching the dance floor with great interest, speculating about matches and comparing notes on how the gentlemen and young ladies had been occupying themselves during the season thus far. It was the perfect location - a view of everything and in earshot of all the information you could possibly desire. Some of the information was likely to be nothing more than rumor, but you cared little. It was entertaining enough to compensate for a lack of veracity. 

“Benedict!” one woman called. She was a handsome woman, dark hair perfectly coiffed to match her elegant dress. You recognized her even from behind as the widowed Lady Bridgerton. 

A man separated from a group of other young men and approached, smiling expectantly. He bore a strong resemblance to Lady Bridgerton, and was wearing the simple black mask that seemed popular among the men of the ballroom. “Yes, Mother?” 

“Do dance with Miss Harper this evening,” Lady Bridgerton instructed. “She needs cheering after the loss of her uncle. And she would be quite an excellent match for you.” 

You wrinkled your nose. Arranged marriages were less common than they had been when you were a child, but the aristocracy still tended to take a heavy hand in deciding their children’s future spouses.

Unfortunately, the young Bridgerton glanced over his mother’s shoulder and took in your expression. You hurriedly glanced down at your glass, as if your face had been a reaction to the strong punch, then applied yourself to staring around the room. 

“I will take that under advisement, Mother,” Benedict said. Your wayward glance prevented you from seeing his face, but his voice was filled with laughter. “If you’ll excuse me?” 

He departed then, retreating back across the ballroom. However, you were far from unobservant, and you counted the multiple times he noted your position from among the group of laughing gentlemen. You did your utmost to ignore him, taking solace in the knowledge that your mask protected your identity from whatever scrutiny he may choose to apply. 

You could hardly pretend surprise when you found him standing beside you scarcely an hour after you had overheard the conversation between Lady Bridgerton and her son. He was facing quite the opposite direction, but you could not fail to miss the way he inched closer every time you took a step away. 

At long last, he bumped into you with his broad shoulder, sloshing your punch onto the floor and still refusing to acknowledge you. 

“And to think Bridgertons are said to be well-mannered,” you snipped waspishly. 

He glanced back at you, eyes bright. “I beg your pardon, miss. I did not see you. Allow me to fetch you a new glass of punch in recompense for my rudeness.”

“No, thank you,” you said, the coldness in your voice detracting from the politeness of your words. “I would not take the risk of another incident.” 

“Did it stain your gown?” he asked, taking your elbow and looking you up and down. However solicitous it may have seemed at first, the mischief in his expression belied the gesture. 

You glared at him until he dropped your arm. “You need not feign concern, Lord Bridgerton. You have apologized, I have accepted it, and my gown escaped the incident unscathed. There is no need to continue our acquaintance.” 

With a final frown for good measure, you turned away. Benedict seemed undaunted, keeping step with you as you found a servant to take your near-empty glass. 

“May I ask your name, then?” Benedict asked, for all the world like you had not dismissed him. 

“Lady Sharp.” 

It was a falsehood you had planned well in advance. The Sharps were one of the largest families in London, some branches so far-flung that no one seemed capable of remembering who was who. 

Despite your confidence in your assumed identity, Benedict paused for a moment and your heart stuttered. At long last, he smiled. “Is that so?” 

“Yes.” 

Perhaps if you continued to be short with him, Benedict would understand that he should leave you well enough alone. 

And yet… The young Bridgerton continued to stay close as you watched the dancers, interrupting your overheard bits of gossip with remarks of his own. His commentary was amusing, but you continued to be irked by his presence. He was drawing attention by standing with the chaperones, dowagers, and doting mothers, and some of that attention was reflected onto you by virtue of proximity. 

“You need not remain close as some form of apology, Lord Bridgerton,” you informed him at last. “You have more than adequately apologized for your earlier misstep, and I would rather not be on the receiving end of your mother’s scorn if you miss your dance with Miss Harper.”

Benedict shrugged. “Miss Harper is occupied well enough with other partners. It is my duty to see to it that every lady may dance if she chooses. Shall we?” 

You frowned deeply, staring from his face to his proffered arm and back. “I do not dance.” 

He paused at that. “Surely you are simply being modest…” 

“I assure you, I mean what I say,” you told him, voice appalled, “I do not dance. If you feel a particular urge toward the dance floor, I urge you heed it and find a suitable partner before they have all been otherwise engaged.”

Benedict turned slightly, his gaze traveling from one end of the crowded ballroom to the other. When he had completed the visual circuit, he faced you, grinning engagingly once more. “I appreciate your concern, but I would rather continue our conversation.” 

Your mouth fell inelegantly open. Thankfully, the room was called to attention before you could loose a scathing comment about your time together.

Lady Lawson stood at the bottom of her grand staircase, Lord Lawson standing attentively to her left. A servant you recognized as their butler announced in a booming - yet not abrasive - voice, “Lord and Lady Lawson invite you to adjourn to the dining rooms.”

To your dismay, the men and women of the ballroom paired together. The crowd moved steadily in the direction indicated by the butler. 

Benedict offered his arm once more. “May I escort you to the dining room, Lady Sharp?” 

You paused, frantically searching for a reason you might excuse yourself. If the Lawsons had arranged for their guests to sit in predetermined places, your presence would not only be marked, but commented upon and questioned. And yet, the gathered crowd meant that slipping away would be nigh impossible. 

“Lady Sharp?” Benedict asked again, pulling you from your thoughts. “You are attending dinner, are you not?”

“Yes… yes, of course,” you said, immediately belied by your trembling voice. From a sheer lack of options, you accepted Benedict’s arm. “Thank you, Lord Bridgerton.”

He inclined his head as if to silently acknowledge your thanks and steered you into the dining room. 

Truly, there was far more than one room in which to dine. There seemed to be at least three hosting tables set with full arrays of silver plates and utensils. The dining areas seemed far less brightly lit than the ballroom was, the low lighting offering a soft intimacy that made the surrounding couples perk with excitement. Clearly, the flirtations of the dance floor would not be suspended due to a simple supper. 

“May I help you find your seats, sir?” 

You had been too entranced by your own thoughts - the sudden appearance of the servant made you start like a spooked horse. Benedict patted your hand. The gesture was a bit condescending, but you found it oddly soothing. Far more worrisome, however, was the sight of small name cards resting at every place setting on the tables.

“Benedict Bridgerton,” he said. “I believe I was to be seated with my family a few tables behind you. This is Lady Sharp. I will dine with her this evening.”

“But sir…” The servant looked bemused, white brows drawing together. “Lady Lawson was informed that the Sharps would not be in London for this year’s season. Lady Sharp reported that Miss Rosalie Sharp was far too ill to be moved out of her confinement in the countryside.” 

You stammered weak protests, but Benedict smoothly interrupted. “Surely Lady Lawson is aware that Lady Clara Sharp decided to winter in London this year. The physician said that a change of scenery would be good after leaving a confinement of her own.”

“A confinement of her-?” The servant shook his head. “My mistress said nothing of this when she was preparing the ball.” 

You gathered your nerve. If your ruse were to fall apart, it would not be at the hand of an overly curious servant. You drew yourself up to your full height, giving your best steely-eyed, matronly disapproval. “I had assumed that my lack of an invitation was no more than an ignorant oversight. However, I begin to suspect that it was something far more intentional. Perhaps it would be best if I departed…” 

“My apologies, Lady Sharp,” the servant hurried to say. “Please, allow me to find a place for you.” 

You inclined your head in the shallowest nod you could muster, watching imperiously as he rushed off to find a place setting for the fictitious Lady Clara Sharp. 

“These events are growing less organized by the day,” Benedict confided, shaking his head in mock despair. 

The servant returned, sparing you the effort of inventing a response. “I will guide you to your seat, Lady Sharp. Lord Bridgerton, you requested your seat moved beside Lady Sharp’s, did you not?” 

“Yes, I believe I should like to dine with Lady Sharp,” Benedict said amiably. 

“Very good, sir,” the servant said. “This way.” 

You did not particularly enjoy the tone with which Benedict said ‘Lady Sharp’. In his voice, it sounded less like a title and more like a private sort of jest. 

Fortunately, your arrival in a far dining room provided a much-needed distraction. This was clearly the last table to have been filled, and as such was seated with an interesting amalgamation of people. 

A timid-looking young lady sat nervously adjusting and readjusting the skirt of her dress. Her watchful chaperone eyed the process with fascination and concern. Seated at the chaperone’s other side was an older gentleman who seemed to have overindulged in punch, if you were to guess from his flushed face and exaggerated gestures. 

On the other side of the table was a young man who kept glancing at the young lady and pretending that it had been accidental any time he was caught at it. Beside him were two place settings. From the lack of name cards above the plates, you assumed they were meant for you and Benedict.

Abruptly, a wave of vertigo washed over you. You had accomplished so much to be here, yet how many accomplishments were too many? It was as if you had climbed something terribly tall - every time you moved upward, it only left you with further to fall. And if you were to be discovered during this dinner? You would have very far to fall indeed.

“Are you well?” Benedict asked. 

You blinked. The servant was holding your chair, waiting to help you be seated. You weren’t hungry in the least, but there was no way to excuse yourself that would not draw more attention than was wise. The only way to return to safety was to continue on as if nothing were amiss. 

“Yes, thank you,” you demurred, moving to your seat. 

When the skirt of your dress was safely tucked under the table, the servant offered a slight bow and moved away. The first course was laid out on the table, a manservant lingering nearby incase someone required a dish from a different part of the table. 

“What may I tempt you with?” Benedict asked. His smile was a touch too wide for the question to be entirely innocent. Before you could say something harsh, he half-stood, fork extended toward a dish holding chilled cuts of meat. 

You took a moment to study everything. “Roast chicken, please. And perhaps a few prawns.” 

Benedict took your plate and began transferring the items you had requested. “Soup as well?” 

“Perhaps a little.” 

You eyed the women across the table. The young lady was picking delicately at a few scraps of meat and you were concerned by the quantity of the choices you had made, but her chaperone was tucking into a plate piled high. 

Benedict placed your dishes back in front of you and gathered his own selections. When you were both seated again, you cut a piece of chicken and ate it as delicately as you could manage. It was delicious and you congratulated yourself once more on choosing to attend the ball dressed as a chaperone rather than a debutante. 

“So, a Sharp in London,” Benedict mused. “I rather believed you all traveled together. Like a herd or a pack.” 

You gave him an unamused look at the animal references. “And you pretended to know all of my family’s concerns when we were finding our seats. Do you always lie to achieve your own ends?” 

He gave a wince, but it was decidedly playful. “‘Lie’ is such a harsh word, Lady Sharp. I simply choose the path most likely to lead to my destination and follow it.” 

“By lying?” 

“And I suppose you are a paragon of virtue?” he asked, and you fell silent. It would be rather paradoxical for you to blame him for a lie when you were currently lying to an entire ballroom of people. 

“That was not an admonishment,” he clarified after a moment. “Nor was it a bid to halt our conversation. I was enjoying myself.”

“From what I have gathered of your temperament, I doubt you often suffer from the lack of enjoyment,” you snipped. “You seem to find infinite amusement in everything surrounding you.” 

Benedict’s eyes widened. “I… am flattered, truly, that you’ve taken such pains to truly detail my character. Perhaps I should return the favor.” 

“Do not.” You regretted the warning a moment after you had issued it. Rather than looking dissuaded, Benedict seemed intrigued.

“Indeed, I may be unable to help myself,” he mused. “Your motivations are fascinating, and they would be even more so if you turned out not to be Lady Sharp after all.”

“I am Lady Sharp,” you insisted stubbornly. 

“Of course you are,” he agreed easily. “But imagine if you were not. Why would you pretend to be?” 

Your mind halted abruptly when faced with the task of imagining your own motivations as if they belonged to another. What should you say? What could you say? For all of his casually friendly demeanor, Benedict was not stupid. It was possible that your false theories of your own motivations would provide him with proof that you were the very person you pretended to understand.

But still, the rules of polite conversation required that you provide some sort of an answer. Your voice was slow as you asked, “Who can begin to guess at the motivations of the poor?” 

It was more harsh than you had imagined it would sound, but Benedict did not recoil. Instead, he replied, “Motivations are mysterious, those of the poor and the nobility alike.”

The answer was vague, but you understood why - his eyes were fixed on the young lady at the end of the table and the young man seated across from her. 

“Miss Barrett, I found the most interesting flower in the park yesterday afternoon-” he started. 

He had the young lady’s attention immediately, a shy smile on her thin face, but her chaperone pointedly cleared her throat before the young lady could reply. “Elisa, it is not proper for you to answer him without being formally introduced.” 

“Finnie and I have been friends since before we could walk!” Elisa argued.

“His name is Lord Finlay Spencer,” the chaperone corrected. “And your childhood acquaintanceship does not matter. You have not been officially introduced in the time since he returned to London.” 

The young pair fumed silently, with nothing more than frustrated glances shared between them.

“Lady Barrett,” Benedict said abruptly, drawing the attention of everyone who longed to be distracted from the tension. “I understand you are a most loyal patron of the arts. Is that so?” 

“It is so, Lord Bridgerton,” Lady Barrett confirmed. “I believe in the importance of preserving artwork for years to come.” 

“As do I.” Benedict smiled at her… and at the red-faced man seated to her right. “And our sentiments are shared by our companion, Lord Hopkins. He has recently donated a number of works to your preferred museum. I believe they are to name a wing in his honor.” 

Lady Barrett turned to Lord Hopkins, an expression of mingled surprise and admiration. “I recently took in the Hopkins collection. Most impressive, Lord Hopkins.” 

Lord Hopkins blinked rapidly, clearly attempting to gather himself. He made an admirable effort as he returned her smile. “You are too kind, Lady Barrett. I mourn the loss of those works, yet they were wasted with only my family to appreciate them. And, if you will pardon my directness, I believe I may have been the only one of the Hopkins family to truly appreciate them.” 

“I am certain the Hopkins family has an interest in art ,” Lady Barrett demurred, “though I understand the sense that one has a keener appreciation for art than those around oneself.” 

With such a topic brought up, the pair slipped into conversation. Lord Finlay Spencer and Lady Elisa Barrett cast grateful glances in Benedict’s direction and began to speak in softened tones to avoid drawing the attention of the elder Lady Barrett.

“Neatly done,” you complimented lowly. “Yet it prompts me to wonder how often you concern yourself in the affairs of others.” 

Benedict shrugged. “I simply enjoy pulling strings to see what unravels. Perhaps that is why I find you so interesting.” 

You arched your brows. “And precisely what string of mine do you believe yourself to be pulling?” 

“That you are not Lady Sharp, of course.” 

He took a sip of wine as you fought to control your expression, and his utter lack of concern was infuriating. 

“Are we to continue this thought experiment, then?” you asked at last. “In truth, I am beginning to find it tiresome.”

“I do not need you to confirm my theory,” Benedict told you. “I have gathered proof enough of my own since we met.” 

“Proof?” you asked, attempting to sound skeptical rather than afraid. 

“You did not wait for an introduction, you claim not to dance, and you did not shyly simper away when I touched your arm,” he listed. “You are no more a lady than I.” 

These arguments were presented without censure, but you loosed an inelegant snort regardless. It was foolish and you knew it, but you could not prevent yourself from showing your own powers of observation: “You are wearing a fine silk shirt, a perfectly pressed cravat, and more perfume than anyone else in the room. I am a lady, so it follows that you may be one as well.” 

Benedict - unbelievably - grinned at your insults, his eyes crinkling at the edges. You fought not to return the expression, though you found it remarkably contagious. “I believe it is called ‘cologne’ when it is worn by a man. I confess, I’ve never quite understood the difference myself.”

“If you believe I am a fraud, why have you kept me company all evening?” you asked. It was not a confirmation of his suspicions, but it was close enough to make your heart race.

“You are interesting,” he countered. “Certainly the most interesting person here, and among the most interesting people I have ever met.” 

You would have found a reason to cut the conversation short if Benedict had pressed for any further information, but he did not. Instead, you continued speaking plainly together through the remaining courses. He wanted to learn your opinions on all manner of things, from politics to the latest fashions. 

When the time came to return to the dance floor, he stayed close. He was charming and amusing, but refused to be parted from your side. It could have been cloying, but you privately thought him akin to a particularly amiable sort of burr.

After a few dances had passed, Lady Bridgerton approached, nodding to you with an assessing sort of look. However, she spoke to her son rather than question you. You were grateful for the slight. “Benedict, I believe I asked you to dance with Miss Harper.”

“You did, Mother,” Benedict agreed, “but Lady Sharp and I are speaking of important matters. I could not possibly tear myself away.” 

Lady Bridgerton gave him a look filled with motherly disapproval and you cleared your throat. “Lord Bridgerton, we may speak at another time. The number of dances at this ball is limited and the hour grows late. I fear Miss Harper will be fully occupied if you delay longer.” 

Lady Bridgerton turned, triumphant, to her son. Benedict sighed and bowed shallowly in your direction. “I beg your pardon, Lady Sharp. I look forward to continuing our conversation after this dance.” 

He wove his way through the crowd, presumably in the direction of Miss Harper. Lady Bridgerton remained by your side, and you glanced at her in the silence. She met your gaze, tilting her head curiously in a manner that reminded you of her son. “I do not believe we have met, Lady Sharp. I am Lady Violet Bridgerton.” 

You returned her nod with one of your own. “Lady Clara Sharp. Lovely to meet you.” 

“I was unaware that any of the Sharp family were in London this season-” she started. Thankfully, she was interrupted by the arrival of a dark-haired young lady.

“Mama, I need to speak with you-” 

“Eloise, I am not-” 

“Mama, please!” the girl insisted, tugging at her mother’s elbow. Lady Bridgerton studied you for another moment before giving an apologetic smile and allowing her daughter to pull her away. 

As cues went, it was a fairly clear one. You steadily worked your way through the crowd until you could slip into an unguarded hall. From there, it was a simple thing to leave the Lawson house, find the cloak you had stored in a disused shed, and travel back to your shop. 

When you had removed the mask and the dress, you took careful stock of the evening. The dress and mask would need to be destroyed, and you regretted not bidding a true farewell to Benedict Bridgerton, but you considered the endeavor a success. 

One that could never be repeated.

---

Author's Note - As usual with Fanfic February fics, this is a two-parter. Tomorrow's chapter will have spice in it, so please be warned.

Thanks for reading!

[kydrogendragon]

Relationship: Dream/Hob, Johanna/Rachel

Rating: Gen

Words: 1356

Warnings: None

Ao3 Link

For square D1 of the Dreamling Bingo. Masterlist can be found here.

"Now boarding group three at Gate B12. Please have your boarding passes ready." The announcement clicks off and Johanna stands up, carry-on rolling over the airport linoleum as she walks. She nods to the attendant, readily handing over her boarding pass with a sigh. People slowly filter into the plane, the flight attendants greeting each person with a nod and a hello. Already she's transferred over from the three and a half hour flight from Los Angeles and the two hour hop from Atlanta to New York. And now she's preparing herself mentally for the long flight back to London. And she didn't get paid enough for business class either. After going above and beyond for those Hollywood snobs.

Fuckers.

She shuffles through the narrow hallways into the middle of the giant 787. The overhead compartments are already starting to fill up, but thankfully there's still some room above her seat. Johanna stashes her bag up onto the shelf and slides into the ever-shrinking airline seat.

There's a middle-aged man to the right by the window and, with luck, the seat by her will stay empty like it was when she checked-in so she can scoot over.

She watches and waits, letting her eyes rest as the rest of the plane slowly boards and settles in. Unfortunately, someone slides in on the aisle seat, so she's wedged in the middle. Odds are she'll be sleeping the whole way through. Should be any moment now before they start taxing and then she can—

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we apologize in advance but it looks like we'll be experiencing a brief delay before taking off. Thank you for your patience."

Motherfucker.

Johanna groans, rubbing her eyes as a slow grumble rolls through the rest of the plane. Christ above, she hopes it's just a simple five, maybe ten, minute delay. Knowing her luck so far though? She'll be here, crowded between two strangers, for an additional hour.

Shaking her head, she pulls her phone out and plops her ear buds in. She scrolls through her music as the man beside her pulls out his tablet. It's bright and there's no privacy screen on it at all, so when he pulls up his email—an in-progress one too—it's clear as day from her seat so you know she's gonna read that shit. Might even be entertaining.

"Dear Dream," it reads. This is already great. Dude's got a penpal with a killer nickname. "All stories return to their original forms, right? You know, when I first landed there in Los Angeles, I thought for sure the week would just drag on and on, like all the other business trips would. Thought maybe I would liven things up with trying some new sushi joint since there always seems to be a new one each time I go.

But then I saw you. You, standing in the lobby of the same hotel I was staying at. Of all the hotels in LA. What were the odds? I'd heard you'd moved down there with Calliope all those years ago. Wasn't sure if you were still there, though. Would it be bad if I said I always hoped you were? So something like this might happen?

God, I just wish I had run into you the first day I landed and not with just three days left. It wasn't enough. It's never enough. This damn trip was for business as you knew. Filled most of my days with meetings and hours in the office. I'd gotten used to it after all these years. Even all the time on planes and trains I'd gotten used to. But this time, I don't think I'm ready to head back to London.

Dream...I'd rather be off this plane and back on your doorstep, back in your home. Back to hearing your voice and seeing your smile. But I don't think that's what you'd want. You'd said so once before when I tried to offer it to you. Threw it back in my face and then I never saw you again until today, ten years later.

Do I pretend I don't still love you? Do I push you away instead? Like you had me? To save my heart? I said a lot of things those days and none of them were what I meant. Not truly. Not fully.

Maybe I should just let things be and give you your space. I just got you back. Even just if it's as distant friends. So...it was good to see you, Dream. I wish you the best.

- Hob"

Jo can tell by the abuse of the backspace key that there's a heart balanced on how his words are perceived. The man—Hob— has typed that fourth paragraph there four times now in the ten minutes that they've been sitting here. He finally lands on a version devoid of all passion, all longing. Until it's pared down to just a basic "Good to see you again, let me know when you're in town! We'll have to meet up" type email. Even she, one who knows well the risks love poses, feels a bit sad at that.

She tilts away, her heart sinks in her chest. You'd think, by the time you start showing gray in your hair you stopped dealing with this kind of shit. This...hurt. The uncertainty and not knowing which way to move, what to say, or what to do. Jo hoped that by the time you get through your twenties, things like that would be old news.

She would have thought that kind of heartache was meant for the young, but you're never too old to hurt, it seems.

Doesn't bode great for her. Her mind wanders to Rachel. To all the things she should have said. To everything she did say instead. She should call her when they land. She owes her that at least.

"Alrighty there passengers. We've been cleared for taxi. Please buckle your seatbelts and put your phones and other electronic devices away and in airplane mode. Thank you for flying United. Flight attendants, please prepare the cabin for takeoff."

The man beside her hits send and turns his tablet off, stowing it in the mesh pouch on the seat in front of him. He settles into his seat and closes his eyes. Jo can't help but feel a twinge of pain for the passion that this Dream might never know.

Johanna passes out shortly after the plane takes off and thanks whatever gods are listening that she wakes up as the plane begins its descent. Might be the longest she's ever slept in the past month if she's honest.

The man with the broken heart beside her flutters to life as the wheels touch down on the tarmac. He stifles a yawn and rubs his eyes before beginning the process of putting his belongings back into their rightful homes.

It's raining outside. Classic London. At least she knows she's home.

The plane comes to a stop. The pilot sends them off with a farewell and a thank you. People stand, shuffling about, claiming their bags and suitcases. And eventually everyone leaves the craft.

Hob follows the crowd as they all make their way to the baggage claim. She wonders, as she watches him from the back of the pack, what Dream's answer will be, why this Hob kept his cards so close to his chest that even he couldn't read them. What was it about their history, their meeting in LA that gave him such pause when he so clearly wanted to tell Dream all the emotions he kept bottled down.

She might never know. Odds are she won't ever see this man again. London's a big city, after all. She supposes in the end, it doesn't matter too much the why of it all. She'll never know why he kept the honest truth from the other guy, but maybe she can learn a bit from it. Maybe she can still save things with Rachel.

But Dream, if you're out there, just know this: in the rough draft he loved you.

[docprof]

Mene mene tekel upharsin. … Part 2

Mene mene tekel upharsin. The Belshazzar's feast… Bloodless hand… God has pronounced the judgment … Part 2

The masters of empire laughed him to scorn, and then encouraged their MotherOfAllProxyArmies in Ukraine to concentrate to the Donbass and the Azov pursuant to conquering Novorossiya and Crimea once and for all … then on to Moscow.

This war was anything but “unprovoked Russian aggression”. This war was spawned and nurtured for decades in the secret chambers of the imperial dark lords in London and Washington. It was a war the empire knew Russia would fight. The imperial suzerains simply deceived themselves into believing it was a war Russia could not win.

As was imperative, Russia did choose to fight — notwithstanding there were many reasons to suppose they were insufficiently prepared to win in the event the full weight of the NATO countries were thrown against them.

And Yet NATO lost USA lost is loosing and the more it continues to escalate ... the more it pushes USA to nuclear annihilation.

Empire's beast Israel was brought down on knees recently by Iran. 20 F-35 destroyed by Iranian strike... penetrating all defenses of USA... Israel west combined... Just imagine what will happen if Russia with far advanced nuclear weapons... strikes USA and USA is unable to penetrate Russian defenses.

The Empire is in ruins while it prints billions to pocket in democrats pockets somehow burying itself deep in sand wish thinking good Russians will not strike them with nukes for their insolence and war.

Destroying Americans...not taking care of poor Americans.... not providing them free basic health care... amenities .... or support from natural disasters while burning American Tax payers money for corruption .... money laundering.... destroying freedom of speech and manipulating LGBTQ community... Democrats are pushing US to extinction. The paper tiger can't beat itself out of Nazism.

To be continued.......

[thetravelingtyper]

Our Shattered Heart Headcanons! Pt1 (GN! 'Heart' Reader x Poly! 141 + cbf)

Read Our Shattered Heart Here! Masterlist!

Soft! 141 headcanons for OSH with Heart and Oliver (with ‘heart’ reader in mind) 

(I tend to write heart as coming from America so they brought some stuff with them, no other specifers mentioned!)

General info and mornings!

Since your introduction, you brought the idea of a large American breakfast and the boys have run with this. Past are the days of a quick bite if they can instead spend time together and cook. Even when off duty you all still wake up early. In my mind Kyle and Johnny will take the moment to sleep in, tugging whoever they are with to their chest.

John and Simon are up early, Simon possibly even earlier with either nightmares or Johnny’s snoring. In my mind, Simon won’t keep the mask around you guys so you get sleeping Simon face! Lady Earl Grey for Captain Johnathan Price in my household and Earl Grey for simon. I like the difference in flavors myself. However! If Simon does not need to be up early and you're in his arms he will dig in his heels and stay in bed! John will leave you in bed trying not to wake you up. 

As for OSH my OC Oliver will wake up when heart does, they grew up together and served together so they are bread and butter. You will sometimes shower quickly, do any skincare and prepare for the day around Kyle when you're on base (heart and Gaz share a bathroom).

If you get up early enough Kyle, you, and Johnny will do your typical run before returning. Simon and John usually drink tea together at that point and you will go in and start on breakfast. Homemade pancakes are a win in this household:

Normal for John (likes a bit of bacon with each bite)

Blueberry for Simon and Johnny (Johnny will eat and sneak the batter around you!)

Kyle I can see with strawberries something cute (idk where to source this from lol)

During the intel mission (ie lounging in a flat in London) The boys are a lot more relaxed. You sometimes wake up around 4 for whatever reason and find Simon sprawled out on the couch. He is hard to sneak past so you usually get an early cuddle. When he is off base the man is very, very affectionate. Not openly to the point of Johnny but he likes having a hand on or near you especially after you ran out that night (OSH part 1).  Calls reader lovie and dove

Johnny is a golden retriever. That man will hoist you up and carry you off if your not watching out for him. There is a kiss tax (™)  with this man to release you. Calls reader bonnie and lovie

Kyle will cook with you, always. You both somehow always find yourselves in the kitchen together. He isnt as much as Johnny but he is just as protective. He usually find you throughout base (especially if Konig is around) Calls reader love 

John likes how you prepare his tea. You spent many long nights in his office working to find him asleep. Will seek you out when stressed. Pressing a kiss to your palm or temple is his main method of affection. Calls reader love, dear, and sweetheart

BONUS! Sgt. Oliver ‘Moss’ Knight

Baby boi! All I can say is he is a softy. Gets along best with Kyle so far with a shared love of cooking. He’s 6’2” standing next to Johnny and can match his strength. American and reader’s childhood best friend. Calls you Darling and Sweetheart. Simon’s skull plate mask freaks him out. Brought the reader’s childhood frog (William) to them from home.

[scotianostra]

On October 26th 1640 The Treaty of Ripon was signed, restoring peace between Scottish Covenanters and Charles I of England.

This was a second brief war between Charles I of England and the Scots.

Charles I summoned Parliament (The Short Parliament), in order to raise an army against the Scots. The Scots invaded northern England, won a battle at Newburn on the Tyne and occupied Northumberland and Durham.

It all stemmed from the King attempting to impose a new prayer book on the Scots, remember Jenny Geddes chucking her stool in St Giles shouting “Deil colic the wame o’ ye! Out thou false thief! Dost thou say the mass at my lug?” (“The devil give a colic to your stomach! Out you false thief! Dare you say the mass at my ear?”). It wasn’t so much the prayer book itself, it was Charles trying to enforce Episcopacy or High Anglican system North of the border, this would have seen him taking control of church land and taxing it, the Presbyterians also so the English system as too close to Catholicism.

The First Bishops War ended in The Pacification of Berwick in June 1639, when Charles sent an army north, who didn’t really want to go in the first place, they got to Berwick, saw the size of the Scottish and army and decided they didn’t want to fight. An inconclusive treaty was hurriedly put together and everybody went home

A year later Charles, still brooding over his climb down, was determined to subdue the Covenanters by force and persuaded the English Parliament to finance an army of Irishmen, as well as trying to conscript men from the southern counties of England, they had no appetite for a fight though and the men he mustered were mainly untrained and poorly-disciplined, many of the southern levies deserted on the march to the north. Others were prone to mutiny: two officers found to be Catholics were lynched by their own men, who then dispersed. Violent disorders were reported from all parts of England that the levies passed through. By August 1640, the King's forces had mustered in Yorkshire and Northumberland, most of them poorly-armed, unpaid and underfed. The Irish army was not ready in time to take part in the campaign against Scotland.

In stark contrast the Scottish Covenanter army had remained in arms after the First Bishops' War and, with another war imminent, new levies were quickly raised. By early August 1640, the Covenanter army massed on the border with England was around 20,000 strong with an artillery train of sixty guns. Some of them were fresh from a six-week expedition pillaging and burning the lands of Royalist clans in the Highlands. Once the Scottish Royalists had been subdued, they besieged Dumbarton as a precaution against the possibility of Strafford's Irish army landing in western Scotland.

In August Leslie thwarted the English defensive preparations by simply bypassing the well-defended town of Berwick and marching straight for Newcastle and the rich coalfields that supplied London with coal. As the King hurried north to York, the Scots arrived at the outskirts of Newcastle on 27th August, a day later they soundly beat the ill-prepared English at the Battle of Newburn, Newcastle soon surrendered, most of Northern England was now in Scots hands.

The morale of the English army stationed in Yorkshire collapsed after the defeat at Newburn. On 24th September, King Charles summoned a Great Council of Peers at York — a revival of an institution that had not been used since the reign of Edward III. The Council almost unanimously advised the King to negotiate a truce with the Scots and to summon another Parliament in England. While the Council of Peers continued to sit in York, English and Scottish commissioners met at Ripon in October 1640 to negotiate a treaty.

The Treaty of Ripon was signed - A cessation of hostilities was agreed. Negotiations for a permanent settlement were to be negotiated. Meanwhile, the Scottish army was to occupy Northumberland and Durham, exacting an indemnity of £850 a day from the English government for its quarter; furthermore the Scottish government was to be reimbursed for its expenses in prosecuting the war against England.

In the end it forced Charles I to summon the Long Parliament, which in turn led to the English Civil War. The king had lost control of the situation, it eventually led to him losing his head, literally.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Climate anxiety means different things to different income groups. At the bottom, it means fear of heat and floods. At the top, it means fear of increasingly desperate people. Billionaires often live in protective bubbles maintained at a considerable cost in dollars and emissions. Some are preparing for “the event”, with plans for doomsday bunkers in New Zealand, Nevada and other remote areas. Others blast off the planet in private rockets and talk of colonising space. Instead of making every effort to reduce emissions, the rich increase their carbon footprint by putting more distance between themselves and the masses. The Oxfam report reveals that the decision-making classes who will dominate at Cop28 – senior politicians including US senators, British ministers and European commissioners – are also in the top 1% of income earners. Corporate CEOs, whose lobbyists also flock to Cop summits, are often wealthier and more heavily invested in carbon assets. Boardroom share options and bonus structures have created an incentive for oil company executives to resist climate action. Instead, they have successfully pushed for expansion of fossil fuel production. Dario Kenner, the author of Carbon Inequality, has identified what he calls a “polluter elite”: anyone with a net worth over $1m who reinforces the use of fossil fuel technologies through their high carbon consumption, investments in polluting companies and, most importantly, political influence. “The polluter elite have blocked an alternative history where the destruction of extreme weather events and air pollution could have been reduced,” he told the Guardian. The international climate negotiating process has failed to keep pace with the growing power of the super-rich. Thirty-one years ago, when the world first came together to tackle climate and biodiversity problems at the Rio de Janeiro Earth summit, there was optimism for a solution on behalf of billions of humans and the countless other forms of life on Earth. Since then, the opposite has happened. Governments remain deeply divided, 60% more emissions are being pumped into the atmosphere and more money, carbon and power is being concentrated in ever fewer hands. The solution to all this is complex but also very simple. Many believe that the key lies in politicians wresting back control of the climate issue with strong legislation and policy. Oxfam is calling for a wealth tax, and a windfall tax on corporations based on the “polluter pays” principle, placing the highest burden on those most responsible and most able to pay. “We need a political discourse that is class conscious, that recognises that the rich and capitalism are the major drivers of the climate crisis,” said Jason Hickel, an economic anthropologist at the London School of Economics and the author of The Divide: A Brief Guide to Global Inequality and its Solutions. “This is about bringing production – and provisioning systems and energy systems – under democratic control.”

[weirdestbooks]

The Shot Heard Around the World Chapter 10

One Hell of a Tea Party (Wattpad | Ao3)

Table of Contents | Prev | Next

May 1773

Thirteen sighs in resignation as he read about the new act. The East India Company would be allowed to bring their tea to his land without paying any of the Townshend Acts. But Thirteen still has to pay them. Thirteen’s people still have to pay them. They still have to pay unfair taxes, while this stupid, idiotic tea company doesn't have to pay any taxes.

It was a monopoly! Thirteen’s merchants would suffer, and his economy would suffer.

'It's like these taxes are here to hurt us. Everyone benefits but us.'

'We're being used.'

Thirteen’s resignation turned to anger as he tore up the paper. This...this stupid tax! Stupid everything! Thirteen helped fight in a war for his father, and this is what he gets in return.

'Did you fight that war for your Father or your people?'

No...Thirteen fought to help his father and his people. He fought...He fought...it was for...

'Your people are more important than your Father. They are you.'

It…it was for his people. Thirteen made that decision a long ago. Thirteen would pick his people if he had to choose between his father and his people. Whatever response they made to this unjust, unfair tax, Thirteen would stand by them.

'We don't like the taxes, and neither do they. Britain may be your Father, but he isn't on your side.'

'These taxes are hurting you.'

'So let's do something about them.'

——————————————————————

December 16, 1773

A ship filled with tea arrived in Boston in late November. A meeting decided that the ship had to return without paying import duty. The other colonies had managed to send their tea ships back to England, but Boston was having difficulties.

"Governor Hutchinson refuses to let the ship leave." Francis Rotch, the owner of the Dartmouth, announced to Thirteen and the rest of the crowd, waving around the note he had received from the governor.

'Seriously? We don't want a dammed monopoly in these colonies!'

'Is Governor Hutchison still mad over us burning his house down? What a childish man, it wasn’t that bad.’

The air in the building changed as the anger of Thirteen’s people grew, as his anger grew. They had another plan that they had come up with during these meetings, a plan that, when suggested, seemed too radical. Nevertheless, Thirteen and the Bostonians still made plans for it, just in case.

If they weren't going to send the tea back to London, they would destroy it all.

'You can't have a monopoly if you have nothing to sell.'

'What if it goes wrong? What if we have a repeat of the Boston Massacre?'

'The soldiers aren't in the city. We'll be unopposed.'

"This meeting can do nothing further to save the country." Samual Adams declared as the meeting continued. But the air was restless. The Sons of Liberty and Thirteen knew what the backup plan was if they couldn't send the tea back. They wanted to do something to stop this. Then, people began leaving the meeting house.

"Who knows how tea will mingle with salt water?" Someone cried, quickly followed by another shout.

"Boston Harbor, a teapot tonight!"

"Wait! The meeting isn't over!" Sam said as more people began to leave, trying to reclaim control of the meeting. Thirteen stood up, and Sam put his hand on his shoulder.

"Thirteen, you can't go. You'll be recognized. Stay here," he said. Thirteen smiled.

"I'm sorry, Sam, but I have to do this." Thirteen told him, "Make sure you have an alibi."

Sam nodded, and Thirteen made his way out of the meeting house, heading to the house of someone who had prepared disguises. Thirteen hid his flag by ducking into an alley and changing to his human form.

England would recognize his face, but no one else should.

Thirteen arrived at the house and was let in. He saw people already preparing their disguises, starting with their faces. A woman was also there helping the men disguise their faces. They were also putting on disguises meant to imitate the native's clothes.

"Like the disguises? We picked them to show that we identify with this land, Massachusetts and America, not Britain." One of the men who saw Thirteen looking at the disguises said. Thirteen smiled.

"I know," Thirteen told him, a strange sense of pride overtaking him.

'Obviously, we were going to pick something that shows we are proud of where we live.'

'Especially since the British seem to enjoy pretending we aren't British citizens and use it to decrease our rights.'

Thirteen prepared his disguise, and after making sure everyone else was ready, they headed out to Griffin's Wharf, where the ships were. Some civilians had followed us and were watching. Thirteen gripped his hatchet tighter in his hand. A small part of him felt guilty for doing this.

'Don't. You're doing the right thing. This tea cannot remain here.'

Thirteen knew that, but it still felt like he was betraying his father.

'Isn't he betraying you by allowing harmful taxes to be placed on you?'

'Don't worry about betraying him. He's already been given enough warnings that your people are at the end of their rope.'

Thirteen was so conflicted. He felt like his allegiance was being torn in half. He wanted to be loyal to his people and his father, but here he was, committing what his father would see as treason with the people his father hated. Who was truly right?

'Your people. They focus on what's best for you. Britain focuses on what's best for him.'

'This isn't the time for second thoughts. You're committing treason. You've committed treason. Stop letting personal sentiments get in the way of doing what's right for you.'

Thirteen let out a shaky sigh. He knew there was no going back and that this was what he had to do...but he always doubted everything. But there was no time for that. They had a mission to complete. There would be time to question where his allegiances would lie later.

They arrived at the wharf and made their way onto the ships they had been assigned earlier. Thirteen went onto the Eleanor, the ship on which he was assigned to destroy the tea. The crates were too heavy to lift on their own, so they began to break them open.

Thirteen used his hatchet to cut the cloth covering the crate before breaking through the lid, cutting through the small lead lining that protected the tea from water bugs. Thirteen then took off his hat and used it to scoop out a bunch of tea leaves before going back above deck to throw them overboard. He repeated that until he could carry the crate out and throw it overboard.

'This is going to take forever.'

The men continued to break apart boxes and throw them overboard, going as quickly as possible. There was a nervous energy in the air, as none of them wanted to be caught by the soldiers.

None of them wanted a repeat of the Boston Massacre. Or the Battle of Golden Hill. Or any of the countless brawls between the colonists and the soldiers.

After almost three hours, they finally finished throwing all the tea overboard.

'That was the hardest thing we've ever done.'

'We just threw about 300, 400-pound crates into the harbor. Did you think it was going to be easy?'

Thirteen looked out at the harbor, seeing bobbing tea crates, wood pieces, and faint clumps of tea leaves. He was apprehensive about what the morning would bring.

————————————————————

December 17, 1773

Thirteen looked out onto the harbor, which had turned brown due to the tea in it. Thirteen stood further away from Griffin's Wharf, where the soldiers would go. Thirteen knew they wouldn't recognize him without my flag, but he was still nervous and didn't want to risk it. After all, Thirteen had committed two different acts of treason.

Thirteen felt someone put a hand on his shoulder, and he turned his head around, seeing England standing behind him. England looked angry, although Thirteen couldn't tell if England thought he participated or not.

‘Oh, hells.'

"Thirteen," he said. Thirteen knocked England’s hand off his shoulder before facing him.

"Hello. How do you like that teapot?" Thirteen asked mockingly, gesturing towards the harbor. England scowled.

"What did you do?" He asked. Thirteen smiled.

"The only thing I've done is protect my people's rights. Everything I've done is no worse than what you've done.”

"You're coming back to our house," England said, reaching out to grab Thirteen’s arm, but he pushed England’s hand away.

"Like hell I am. You think I want to live with the man that shot me?" Thirteen said. Guilt flashed through England's eyes as he pulled his hand back.

"I'm so sorry, Thirteen. I never meant to shoot you."

'Bullshit.'

'But you did mean to shoot one of my people.'

'If we weren't shot, England wouldn't care about the people who died. He only feels back because it's us.'

"Empty words. You should have never been firing a weapon into a crowd anyway." Thirteen snapped back, holding his hand above where the injury was.

"That was a riot, not a crowd, and it was an accident. If you and the other colonists hadn't started throwing things at us, it probably would have gone in a different direction." England started.

'Don't lecture us on how you can do nothing wrong. That's bullshit.'

'Right, so we started it by reacting to your soldiers hurting a child!'

Thirteen scowled, and England noticed his change in expression and changed the topic.

"Thirteen, everyone's worried about you. They haven't heard from you in three years, aside from rumors about you burning a ship," England said. Thirteen rolled his eyes.

'We burnt that ship! It deserved to burn!'

"That was on purpose. You think I want to talk to you after you shot me after you tried to blame me for the deaths of my people, England? You think I want to be around any of you after all this?" Thirteen snapped. England stepped back after Thirteen called him by name, shocked.

"You called me England." He said, his voice quiet.

"You think I'm going to call you uncle after you shot me? No. And I did throw the tea in the harbor. But what are you going to do about it? You need two witnesses to accuse me of a crime; not everyone who participated in that will tell. We're not all idiots like Mr. Akeley." Thirteen said.

"Thirteen. I...I...what happened to you?" England said.

'We realized we were being used.'

'We realized you don't care about us.'

'We realized you care more about money and control than your nephew.'

'Our eyes have been opened to the world, and we realize that not everything you say is correct.'

'We've started making our own decisions.'

"You. And Father. And all of those stupid taxes and acts. You're pushing my people to the brink of bankruptcy! You're taxes are hurting my economy! YOU ARE HURTING ME! I'm just responding accordingly." the Colonies said. They raised their fist to swing it at England, but before that happened, something hit thei–Thirteen’s head and knocked him to the ground, his vision blurry.

What just happened?

—————————————————————

England looked at the soldier who had hit Thirteen with his gun and then at Thirteen, who was lying dazed on the ground.

"Why did you do that?" England demanded. This would only give Thirteen more things to whine about and convince him to further side with the criminals and rioters.

"Sorry, sir, but he looked like he was about to attack you." The soldier said.

"I can handle myself. Work on finding out you threw all this tea into the harbor!" England ordered. He wouldn't rat out Thirteen, as it would be bad if it looked like Britain couldn’t control his colony by that much. It was clear that something had happened to him. If Thirteen had been with the Sons of Liberty for the past three years, they could have twisted his views on things.

Or... no. England wasn't going to consider that opinion. Thirteen would eventually fall back in line.

England would make sure of it.

[pinnaclegrouplondon]

Sell Property in India Remotely: Documents You Need to Know

Easily sell your Indian property without travelling by preparing the right documents! Key paperwork includes Power of Attorney, passport, and tax forms. For London residents selling their Indian property, Pinnacle Group London is here to guide you through the entire process, making it simple and stress-free. Contact us today for expert assistance.

[a2zaccountant]

[desirepathzine]

Is SAVED! by Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter a Christian album?

Yes? Sort of?

Hayter's musical career seems to always fling her at the foot of God. Her previous work as Lingua Ignota protrays God like a horrifying eldritch god of vengeance conjured by some ritual on All Bitches Die, a gleaming and gilded Catholic executioner on CALIGULA, and folkloric legend of the Pennsylvania landscape on SINNER GET READY. In 2022, Hayter announced she was retiring the Lingua Ignota moniker, and the associated back catalog, citing the emotional and physical pain of this powerful music, and the toll it was taking to write it, record it, and tour it.

As a vocalist and a performer, I have cannot fathom how Hayter completed even one of these Lingua Ignota shows. Her voice is a multi-faceted instrument of destruction, soaring high, screaming in pain, perfectly cracking with authentic imperfection, and I cannot imagine preforming the musically complicated and emotionally taxing music of Lingua to enraptured crowds watching your every move. I just missed my chance to see her while she was promoting SINNER GET READY (I mixed up the dates on my calendar and was ready to go the day after she had departed Nashville). While I was blissfully ignorant of missing the show, Hayter was haphazardly getting ordained in a hotel outside of Nashville in preparation for her next project.

In October of 2023, a few months after the very last Lingua Ignota shows in London, Kristin reintroduced herself to the world with that new title obtained in Tennessee, and released SAVED! as Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter.

Some of the tracks might be familiar tunes, for a variety of reasons. There are several old school hymns that I recognized from my Baptist upbringing. But Hayter had started performing some of this material while promoting Sinner Get Ready, and at a self-styled tent revival service at the first inaugural Perpetual Flame Festival, which marked the end of Lingua performances in the States.

Per Hayter, SAVED! was borne of a genuine attempt to find salvation through old time religion. Whether it 'worked' is up for debate, both in the album's narrative and in Hayter's demure and vague interview answers about her salvation. She built a doomsday cult bunker in the basement of her home, as featured on the album's cover and where the majority of the visuals for the record were filmed. She fasted before recording, blasted clips of revival sermons, and engaged in glossolalia, aka speaking in tongues, as part of the record.

It's much more stripped back than any of the expansive and grand Lingua instrumentation, mostly just Hayter and her prepared piano that was also used in previous touring, the inner strings of the instrument laden with chains and various other doodads that clang and whirr when she plays the keys. The lushly layered vocals are used sparingly. Perhaps most interestingly (and that's high praise on an album that regularly utilizes speaking in tongues), Kristin and longtime producer Seth Manchester recorded on tape, and proceeded to intentionally sabotage these physical recordings, stomping and smashing them, creating imperfections to further give these pieces a time, a place, and an irreplaceable atmosphere.

All of this makes SAVED! feel like a tape you found in the woods of a long passed tent revival, full of charismatic performances, blissfully imperfect voices, songs running into one another as the spirit moves, and maybe a snake handler or two. There are showstopping pieces like IDUMEA (the only track to feature synth) and I WILL BE WITH YOU ALWAYS, manic interludes of well-known hymns (PRECIOUS LORD TAKE MY HAND, NOTHING BUT THE BLOOD OF JESUS), interlaced with spine tingling interjections of tape damage and glossolalia.

Hayter's original works pair well with the much older hymns and traditionals. Album opener I'M GETTING OUT WHILE I CAN sets the tone perfectly, a march towards that imagined tent, inspired by the jovial piousness of the Louvin Brothers, as is ALL OF MY FRIENDS ARE GOING TO HELL.

I WILL ALWAYS BE WITH YOU is perhaps the closest a portrayal of the mission statement of the album: a bedridden narrator is beset by demons, that spill blood and inflict sickness, but finds release and freedom in celestial salvation. It's some of my favorite writing from Hayter on the album and maybe the strongest vocal performance as well, a technical feat. It never allows itself to become too beautiful, the song is always on the edge of complete oblivion from the keening feedback that appears throughout. It sounds like your ears ringing after an explosion. journey. MAY THIS COMFORT AND PROTECT YOU is a wailing prayer of protection, but it is external towards the listener as opposed to the internal reflection of its sibling songs. It functions almost as a benediction to the sanest part of the album.

But easily my favorite track on this album is THE POOR WAYFARING STRANGER, a traditional song that Hayter had been performing in her piano sets on tour. It is dark, moody, and she sings the third and fourth verses that are not heard as often but contain some of the most stunning lyricism.

So how does it end, this strange and beautiful tent revival in the woods? The closing track is the hymn HOW CAN I KEEP FROM SINGING? Hayter's piano is unbound, all objects removed from the strings, her voice is in a comfy key that doesn't put her into theatrical strain, surely within the album's narrative all has ended well. But partially through the song's length, Hayter speaking in tongue rises, more manic and guttural than anywhere else on the record, and it is her alone, no archival sound, no crowd noise. Just her. Even after the song sweetly finishes, she is screaming, crying, voice rising and falling. At one point she chokes, coughs, inhales deeply, and falls right back into her trance. The tongues continue for roughly two minutes after any music has stopped.

It's a shocking, beautiful, and captivating finale to an album of interesting choices, one that sticks with the listener. I sat in silence for I don't know how long upon hearing it for the first time. Kristin had performed SINGING on tour as well, a light and airy hymn amidst the fire and brimstone conjured in either of her two sets on any given SINNER GET READY date. Her ability to transform it into a haunting album closer is incredible (the same can be said for NOTHING BUT THE BLOOD OF JESUS, which she sang a capella over the recording of Jimmy Swaggart's infamous apology sermon during those same shows).

It's an insane album, full of fascinating production choices, performed to perfection. But such wild choices on the heels of such acclaimed work can polarize an audience. Lingua Ignota was always an uncategorizable project. Black metal and harsh industrial fans gravitated in particular towards All Bitches Die and CALIGULA, while recently Lingua's name will occasionally be tossed in with Ethel Cain, fans seeing similarities between Cain's screaming pain on Ptolomea and the rural gothicism of SINNER GET READY. Indeed, Anthony Fantano of theneedledrop, perhaps the most famous music critic on YouTube, gave his audience a heads up towards Hayter's music when he awarded SINNER GET READY an extremely rare 10/10, exposing the album to legions of folks who otherwise would have missed it. To many artists, this would be a sign to stay the path, follow a proven formula, keep chasing an angle that is clearly connecting with people. But I have a deep respect for Hayter's commitment to healing, to finding peace, and pursuing something that is still fascinating without being as taxing to her physical and mental health.

SAVED! is so unlike those other records, it's a bold move. But it's on purpose. This music is not directly tied to the worst events of Hayter's life, that she chronicled so unwaveringly in her previous work, admittedly to her personal and physical detriment. And she also comments often on SAVED! being maybe a transitory project, a sound and character that may not stick around for long, but was cathartic for her to release and work on. It was her first album that she recorded with some stability, living peacefully in New England, spending time with her horse.

Not everyone who enjoyed Lingua has jumped over to following the Reverend. A friend of mine who enjoyed SINNER GET READY said that SAVED! just falls close enough to what actually was used in their church's worship services to the point where it was mildly triggering for them, more than the death and destruction of previous Lingua entries. Which brings me to my original question: Is SAVED! a Christian album? It is earnestly sung (by an ordained minister nonetheless, although Hayter is quick to mention that she did it on a laptop and it took like eight minutes). Of course it is far too horrifying to play for the congregation of any given Christian church.

I like that there isn't a clear answer to these questions. Like the album's conclusion, there's no correct way to feel about it, no correct meaning to infer, just what you bring to the table. And even if it isn't a journey you take repeatedly, it is one worth taking at least once. Look into Kristin's Rorschach test and maybe you'll see something you love, or something that horrifies you. There is only one way to find out.

[maaarine]

Will studying a new language interfere with any others you speak? (Shayla Love, Psyche, Sep 11 2023)

"When Julie Sedivy’s father died, she returned home to the Czech Republic and discovered another loss: Czech, her native tongue.

In her book Memory Speaks: On Losing and Reclaiming Language and Self (2021), Sedivy, a language scientist in Canada, describes her experience with language attrition – the forgetting of a language once known, even one learned long ago.

For her, language attrition felt connected to her learning English, which crowded out the Czech.

‘Like a household that welcomes a new child, a single mind can’t admit a new language without some impact on other languages already residing there,’ Sedivy wrote.

This is a frequent observation among multilinguals, that ‘Languages can co-exist, but they tussle, as do siblings, over mental resources and attention,’ as she put it. (…)

When new learning interferes with older learning, it’s called ‘retroactive interference’.

This is common when learning more than one language, says Kristin Lemhöfer, the senior author on the recent paper, and an associate professor in psycholinguistics at Radboud University in the Netherlands.

If you first learn that ‘dog’ is chien in French, and then you learn that it’s perro in Spanish, remembering un chien could become more effortful later.

One lingering question about retroactive interference is whether new learning can interrupt much older learning that’s been consolidated into long-term memory, rather than something learned more recently.

This new study showed it’s possible; Lemhöfer was surprised that learning Spanish words impacted the recall of the English that the Dutch participants had learned many years previously.

And interestingly, the experiments also revealed that interference can arise from simply learning a new language, whether or not it is used.

After seeing this interference demonstrated in the lab, Lemhöfer says it’s something that language learners should be prepared for: multilingualism may simply be taxing on the brain.

Multilinguals have been shown to take longer to find and produce a word in any of the languages they speak, and they can experience tip-of-the-tongue-states more often, she says.

Lemhöfer is German, spent a year in London, and then went to the Netherlands for her PhD – so she has plenty of firsthand experience with this phenomenon.

‘When I started to learn Dutch, my English was suddenly blocked,’ she says.

‘When I tried to speak it, a lot of Dutch words came out, which was embarrassing at times. It only disappeared once my Dutch became more stable, and I spoke more English again.’

It may not be completely avoidable, but Lemhöfer thinks that these effects can be alleviated by continuing to use the language that’s being forgotten or interfered with.

‘Even though we did not empirically test that in that study, we strongly believe that the forgetting effects we observed can be avoided by continuing to use the other language, too,’ Lemhöfer says."

[mediamonarchy]

https://mediamonarchy.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/05/20240514_MorningMonarchy.mp3 Download MP3 Devastating hits, Bezos’ DARPA grandad and Pokémon maps + this day in history w/U.S. moves Jerusalem Embassy and our song of the day by Macklemore on your #MorningMonarchy for May 14, 2024. Notes/Links: Are BRICS Bucks coming soon? BRICS: Prepare for US Dollar Collapse, IMF Warns https://watcher.guru/news/brics-prepare-for-us-dollar-collapse-imf-warns Australia’s Tax Office Tells Crypto Exchanges to Hand Over Transaction Details of 1.2 Million Accounts: Reuters; The ATO said the data will help identify traders who failed to report their cryptocurrency-related activities. https://www.coindesk.com/policy/2024/05/07/australias-tax-office-tells-crypto-exchanges-to-hand-over-transaction-details-of-12-million-accounts-reuters/ FTX customers get good-bad news as the bankrupt exchange rides the crypto rally https://sherwood.news/snacks/crypto/ftx-customers-get-good-bad-news-as-the-bankrupt-exchange-rides-the-crypto/ GameStop shares surge 70% as meme stock craze returns https://www.cnbc.com/2024/05/14/gamestop-amc-shares-jump-another-40percent-in-premarket-trading-as-meme-stock-craze-returns.html Full list of closures as major bank to shut 36 branches and cut hundreds of jobs https://news.sky.com/story/tsb-to-close-36-branches-and-cut-hundreds-of-jobs-13131574 Video: TSB to close 36 branches with 250 jobs devastatingly hit (Audio) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9juP3_SZxAk Laura Loomer Accuses Democrat Politician Who Told Trump to ‘Go Back to Court’ of Illicit Profiteering from Hush Money Trial https://archive.ph/Og5Ny Elon Musk, David Sacks Holds Secret ‘Anti-Biden’ Gathering of Billi https://californiaglobe.com/fr/elon-musk-david-sacks-holds-secret-anti-biden-gathering-of-billionaires/ Melinda French Gates steps down from Gates Foundation, retains $12.5 billion for additional philanthropy; The Gates Foundation has, over three decades, made $77.6 billion in charitable contributions, making it one of the world’s largest donor organizations. https://www.nbcnews.com/business/business-news/melinda-gates-stepping-down-from-gates-foundation-rcna152001 FBI File on Jeff Bezos’ Grandfather, a DARPA Co-Founder, Has Been Destroyed https://vigilantnews.com/post/fbi-file-on-jeff-bezos-grandfather-a-darpa-co-founder-has-been-destroyed/ Video: America’s Book Of Secrets: DARPA’s Secret Mind Control Technology (Audio) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wZRkfBsTTt8 EU’s Controversial Digital ID Regulations Set for 2024, Mandating Big Tech Compliance by 2026 https://reclaimthenet.org/eus-controversial-digital-id-mandating-big-tech-compliance-by-2026 UK airports latest: ‘Queues only getting bigger’ https://news.sky.com/story/uk-airports-latest-queues-only-getting-bigger-after-london-and-manchester-confirm-nationwide-border-system-issue-13131330 Marvel Rivals apologises after banning negative reviews https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/cd1wwlvd9yko 28 years later, unopenable door in Super Mario 64’s Cool, Cool Mountain has been opened without hacks https://www.tomshardware.com/video-games/28-years-later-unopenable-door-in-super-mario-64s-cool-cool-mountain-has-been-opened-without-hacks Pokémon Go players are altering public map data to catch rare Pokémon https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2024/05/pokemon-go-players-are-altering-public-map-data-to-catch-rare-pokemon/ Video: Pokemon Go Versus OpenStreetMap (Audio) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fLPyXy39Sv0 Image: @Hybrid’s Cover Art – Pokemon Go’s ‘Modern Solutions’ https://mediamonarchy.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/05/20240514_MorningMonarchy.jpg May 2014 – Page 6 – Media Monarchy https://mediamonarchy.com/2014/5/page/6/ Flashback: Americans Will Never Have the ‘Right to Be Forgotten’ (May 14, 2014) https://mediamonarchy.com/americans-will-never-have-right-to-be/ Flashback: Modern Pope Gets Old School On The Devil (May 14, 2014) https://mediamonarchy.com/modern-pope-gets-old-school-on-devi/ Flashback: Frugal US Consumers Make It Tough for F...

[the-white-soul]

*When Flowey is taken onto the ambulance, he has to examine his surroundings with fascination. He's never been in an ambulance before, despite all the times he's been near to killed. Or actually killed, but those times don't count. He then looks at his mom who is sitting beside him. Flowey stretches a root to grab her hand and squeezes to distract himself.*

*Kara screaming so suddenly after whispering with Dess makes him flinch.* Yeah, paying for things has to suck. If they'll be helping you too, Kara, that means it's at least free for you, right? You're human.

(Kara) "As long as we still live anywhere but America."

(Nurse) "Okay, can we get some healing items here? *Gives Flowey a butts pie.* That should make you feel better, but it won't help with anything permanent. It'll keep you safe until you see the doctor."

(Kara) "Speaking of, is there a hospital in town?"

(Nurse) "Yes, that's not where we're going though. That hospital is only for dying monsters. We'll be going to one in London."

(Kara) "That's cool."

*The ambulance goes up to a hospital with protesters surrounding it.*

(Nurse) "Oh no, protesters."

(Kara) "Should I deal with this?"

(Nurse) "No, we prepare for these situations. *Pulls out a gun.* Don't worry, I don't shoot anyone unless necessary."

(Protesters) "Hang him, hang him..."

(Dess) "Oh, is that all they're saying about Asgore? Aren't they sweet?"

(Kara) "Hardy har."

(Nurse) "Okay, let's move. Keep your guard down, and you might be able to hide yourself." 

*Kara covers their face and keeps Flowey in their hands.*

(Kara) "Sorry if this is uncomfortable for you."

*Dess and Toriel put on a super thick coat. It's summer, but everyone just usually assumes they're just weird.*

(Toriel whispers to Flowey) "It's okay. I promise you'll be safe. I know how many kids I've told that too died, but you won't die.

*There seems to be someone who is leading the protest. He has a nametag calling himself Jack.*

(Jack) "These hospitals are letting monsters into their walls. *Faces the hospital.* Cure our ailments without monsters clogging up our hospital beds!"

*A doctor runs out*

(Doctor) "These monsters deserve treatment too!"

(Jack) "Then let them deal with their problems! Why should our taxes be used on worthless monsters?"

*Everyone in the protest cheered.*

(Nurse) "Ignore them. They seem to be distracted anyway. *Everyone gets in safely.