#even 50 quid would help

[claviclescoffeeandheartbreak]

Who wants to lend me like 300 🥹

Sorry, I know I'm proper going on about it today but I'm so stressed I feel sick and I need an outlet.

It's actually so depressing that that's how much would get me back on track, like in the grand scheme of things it's not much but right now it would make a huge difference.

Like how can we live in a time where I work 6 days a week and my pay only just covers my bills.

I don't go out, I don't buy clothes, I literally do nothing except work and go to the gym so where does it all go 😭

Fuck the economy and fuck the tories

[foggyforest4169]

'𝙳𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚜' 𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗 '𝚂𝚘𝚊𝚙' 𝙼𝚌𝚃𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚡 𝙼𝚊𝚕𝚎!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

So... im not dead, I've just been at school and have had writers block until 3am last night (haha please help me)

Summery: You are the new medic on the team, task force 141 go drinking to celebrate the completion of a mission and johnny boy got himself into a bit of trouble (I promise the song will make sense)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Task force 141, what an... interesting team to say the least, I've only just joined this team but it has been the most amusing time of my life. I was recruited on the team as a medic and these guys were quite the men to work with, I mean we have one guy that refuses to take of his mask... I swear he even sleeps in the thing, then we have the dumb Scotsman who was accident prone, there was also this tall Austrian man who would just appear out of no where... I don't even know if he's part of our team hes very confusing. But yeah, Task Force 141 my new family.

We've just recently finished up a mission in Italy so its time to celebrate. Once we were back in England, we went to the local pub, the one used for all celebrations. "To Task force 141!" Price cheered as everyone raises there glasses.

Now these men are heavy drinkers, especially after a tough mission so within a couple hours everyone except me and Ghost were pissed out of there heads (Ghost had to drive back and I had to be there in case of emergencies). Everyone was laughing and having a great time until good old johnny boy decided to jump up on a table and start singing 'Toxic' by Britney Spears and doing the choreography because a drunk roach bet him 50 quid he wouldn't do it. It was all fun and I even have the video on my phone... where the fuck did he learn that dance? Well about half way through his show, soap slipped and falls of the table with a shatter and a large crack... for fuck sake.

"AH FUCK YA WEE BASTARD" He yells holding his leg, the most accident prone man I know. He was a good army man but fuck me did he manage to injure himself in every way possible. I rushed over to him and saw glass shards stuck in his leg while his knee is popped out of place, great.

"For fuck sake Johnny" Ghost sighed while the other boys were pissing themselves at what just happened.

"I'm gonna take him back, make sure no one else gets injured" I sighed as I helped the bundle of laughing Scotsman off the floor. "Come on dumbass, I'm taking you back" Despite his protests, I wrapped my arm around his shoulder for support while he was hopping out of the bar, with a lot of struggle we managed to get in a taxi and drive back to the base.

"Sit here and stay still" I said as I grabbed the supplies I needed, what a dumb way to get injured, singing and dancing to toxic while drunk. "Blow on this" I handed him the green whistle while he was giggling, dirty minded fuck. After He relaxed a bit I held his knee and snapped it back into place causing him to wince a bit, his hands gripping on my shoulders. "You alright Johnny?" I asked as I looked up at him

"Aye... fuck that felt good" he sighed loosening his grip on my shoulders. I stood up and laid him on the bed as I start to tend to the wounds. "Just carry on blowing" I said causing him to laugh again

"I'd like to blow on you..." He said out loud causing my eyes to widen, I think that was a thought that was meant to stay in his mind. I try to ignore his statement and carry on tending to his wounds. Once I bandaged everything up, my arm was wrapped around his shoulder again has I helped him to his room. I made sure he was all settled down and comfortable, before I started to speak again

"You're a dumbass Johnny" I chuckled as I propped up his leg

"And you're hot doctor" He slurred before yawning and chuckling as well... I guess alcohol makes you say your true thoughts

"Get some sleep, there's a bowl by your bed if you need to throw up and don't you dare try get up, I'll go find the crutches" I said a bit caught off guard as I left his room and prepared a hangover kit for him as well as the crutches, two weeks and he should be fine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~(Perspective switch to Johnny boy)~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fuck... what happened last night... I tried to move my body to get up but I'm met with immense pain. I pull off the quilt and see my leg bandaged up from the just above my knee to my foot. My head was pounding as I turned to my bedside table and saw crutches, water, pain killers, £50 and two notes, one from ghost and one from the new medic... oh shit... I hope I didn't say anything dumb last night. I opened ghost's note which read:

'Here's 50 for your little show last night, its from Roach's wallet. Also You're buying drinks next time'

What the fuck did i do?! I check my phone and see a message from a random number. It was a video of me dancing and singing Toxic before falling of the table... oh my god.

Then I check the note from the new medic:

'Morning dumbass, thought you might wanted these to help with hangover and your leg. By the way, loved your dancing last night, it was better than Britney. You've got my number now, watch the video its fucking hilarious

-The 'Hot' doctor

P.S You're not bad yourself, come see me in my room handsome ;)'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Thank you for reading this, let me know if you have any suggestions. I'll try upload more but no promises that it'll be fast.

Bye =)

[astxrailzz]

BSD HIGHSCHOOL HEADCANONS

FEAT: osamu dazai, chuuya nakahara, nikolai gogol, fyodor dostoevsky, sigma, atsushi nakajima, akutagawa ryunosuke

CONTENT: written from a british school pov!! mentions of vaping/dazai n nikolai selling overpriced vapes, atsushi n akutagawa scrapping, fake asthma attack (giggling writing these down)

AUTHORS NOTE: FIRST POST ON THISS ACCOUNT AND LOTS MORE TO COME!! will defo be doing another ones of these it was so fun to write (nikolai was my fav)

DAZAI YR11

dazai would defo be one of those popular boys who does absolutely NOTHING in class. all he does is piss around and fucks with chuuya

somehow he���d be in top set in a few classes and everyone else is like what???? HOW????

brings nothing to school and end up with a bunch of pens

i feel like in yr7-8 he was more introverted and quiet (like he was in the pm) but did a complete 180 change in yr9

LOVES the pepperoni pizza slices in the canteen, forces chuuya to buy a slice for him and throws a fit if they’re not being sold that day

”Chuuyaaaaaa! D’ya have any money- please please pleaseeeeee- they’re not even that expensive! You’re just broke, you seriously gonna let a poor guy like me starve?“

if chuuya doesn’t buy him it he gets atsushi to buy it instead

blows up everyone’s phone. please you’d think he lived in his phone if you texted him he’d respond in less than 15 seconds

had braces in yr7-8

started a business with nikolai scamming the younger years bc he was bored. they planned it out n everything in a maths class and not even a day later had set it up in the toilets. once people acc started falling for it and they were getting money he locked tf in

"It’s 15 quid for a vape.. hey bruv I don't make the rules! (he does) If you're gonna complain and not buy owt' you can piss off."

HAD RUMOURS GOING ABT HIM AND CHUUYA IN YR10. THEY WERE IN THE SAM CUBICAL PUFFING ON A VAPE AND SOMEONE WALKED IN ON THEMMMM, LITCH EVERYONE WAS SAYING THEY WERE GAY N HAD SEX. people still bring it up sometimes and dazai doesn't deny it

lowkey wishes it was true

ALL THE YR8-10 GIRLS THINK HE'S FIT

always has dts so he walks home with chuuya

CHUUYA YR11

does gcse pe bc he's super athletic

once again the yr8-10 girls think he's fit (he is)

got called a leprechaun and he started FUMING, same with being called scottish

got so pissed off at dazai once that he lobbed a pen into his eye which prompted dazai to dramatically fall off his chair and hit his head againnst the floor (chuuya didn't gaf)

every time he sees a yellow car he immedietly thinks abt dazai and starts looking around for him

"why's that car so fuckin' yellow- where's dazai."

50/50 chance that people know he is gonna punch the shit outa him or js think he's into him

stuck up for akutagawa once bc the poor boy was being dragged and now aku follows him around though he’d never admit it

EVERY TIME SOMEONE MENTIONS THAT RUMOUR HE GOES BRIGHT RED AND STARTS YAPPING AND SHOUTING

he denies it like his life depends on it

kouyou even teases him abt it please everyone hangs up on him

NIKOLAI YR11

Nikolai is 100% the class clown you cannot change my mind

owns all the school beef accounts and has videos of all the scraps (makes people pay to see them)

gets fyodor to help him with his homework

He’s the one who stuffs toilet roll down the sinks and blocks the toilets. He drags sigma along with him and sigma js attempts to get him to stop (it never works)

IF HE GETS CAUGHT DOING ANYTHING REMOTELY WRONG HE PINS THE BLAME ON SIGMA AND BEGS FYODOR TO BACK HIM UP LMAOAOAIAO

“WHAT?? no miss I would never- wha- why would I do that?? it was litch sigma miss please you gotta believe me, fedya was watching- weren’t you? WEREN'T YOU??”

(fyodor rats him out 9 times out of 10)

In class if he has a sub and gets told off he whines about it saying ‘oh it’s because I’m russian innit’

draws when he’s bored. doesn’t matter what on, he just vandalises everything

DRAMA/THEATRE KID FRFR (me), DRAMA IS ONE OF HIS FAV SUBJECTS ALONG WITH ART (HE TAKES THEM FOR GCSE)

drama teachers are the only ones that like him

sits with sigma and fyodor at lunch, some year sevens sit behind them so he spins around and taps them then spins back and acts like nothing happened (they think he’s weird and moves)

tried selling a yr7 a empty vape once and a teacher caught him, also hides behind toilet doors so when you open them he jumps out and puts you into cardiac arrest

for the business with dazai, he js pissed around the whole time. their business only lasted a week then they got found out bc some kid was pissy abt how it was extremely overpriced, they ended up getting suspended over it but pleaseeeee they went after that kid HELP

he sometimes put random stuff in the vapes like soap AHAHAHSHSHAH

FYODOR YR11

gets out of pe bc he's anemic. had to fight a war with the pe teachers to get out of it bc they claimed it wasn't a valid excuse, only let him out of it when he passed out playing badminton (nikolai took a video of it and constantly uses it as blackmail)

reads at lunch

got reported once bc somebody bumped into him and he threatened them saying smth corny like 'you better watch your back buddy' or ‘I will stab you at lunch’ and they got scared (tbh i would as well man is intimidating)

slt was called and a bag check had to be done, all they found were books (nerd 🤓)

sometimes quotes authors of the books he reads and completely denies everything if you mention it or question it

"hm? what? why would i quote that- i didnt even say that, what're you on about?" (starts sweating)

i think this is ooc buttt its funny so idgaf, watched deathnote in yr7 or 8 and acted like light as well as bought his own rip off book on temu, he'd wip it out if anyone got on his nerves and everybody took the piss out of him

THIS MADE ME GIGGLE SM I CAN IMAGINE TTHIS IS HOW NIKOLAI MEETS HIM AND HE JS BULLIES HIM

SIGMA YR10

so so soooo awkward

doesn't have ANY friends in his year, lingers around older years so his classmates stay AWAY.

only friends r nikolai and fyodor (nikolai dragged him to his table after seeing him being emo and fyodor tolerates him)

i think he'd be in middle set for most things, the exception being top in english.

common sigma phrase when anyone talks to him

"uh.. well- I uh- I mean-.. yes..?"

was walking behind atsushi one day and a pin off his backpack fell off (read atsushi's section for context). he picked it up for him and gave it back to him leading to atsushi buying him a radnor fizz as a thanks

lowkey wants to be friends with atsushi bc of how nice he was but IS TOO PUSSY TO TALK TO HIMMM

ATSUSHI YR9

has a bunch of cute keychains on his bag and people RIP THEM OFF ALL THE TIME he gen gets so upset over it

gets all his teachers small gifts like chocolates for holidays

most people in the school like him and the yr11s stick up for him bc he's mates with dazai

SCRAPPED AKUTAGAWA IN YR8 BC HE TOOK THE PISS OUT OF HIS HAIRCUT- DAZAI HAD TO DRAG THEM APART BC ALL THEY WERE DOING WAS WACKING EACHOTHER HELPPPP

waves and smiles at sigma every time he sees him

him and akutagawa eventually made up and they're semi friends purely bc aku doesn't want people to start saying shit like 'ooo the emo can make friends'

AKUTAGAWA YR9

he is so judgy he will fucking side eye you in the hallways and shit

EVERYTIME HE GOES TO THE TOILETS DAZAI IS THERE VAPING AND HE SWEARS HE GETS A ASTHMA ATTACK WITH THE AMOUNT OF SMOKE OR EHATEVA

follows gin and Chuuya around and gets them to batter people if they say anything to him

CONSTANTLY picked on for being edgy

"OI EMO! WRIST CHECK?????" or "barcode"

heard abt how fyodor got out of pe and faked having a asthma attack whilst running track, ATSUSHI THOUGHT HE WAS BEING FR AND STARTED SOBBING AHAHAHAHAH

watches horror movies with gin and buys her stuff occasionally (HEADCANNON THAT THEY SHOW THEIR LOVE THROUGH ACTS OF SERVICE)

semi friends with kaiji and higuchi (by this i mean he lets him yap and doesn't complain)

shaves his eyebrows off to seem edgy

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Hello love 🖤

Can I request Pietro playing a game with tangerine and lemon? Maybe truth or dare, or cards and tangerine is losing his shit 🍊

Love you 💕

hehhe I love this sm!! I did this as my thoughts, just as I couldn’t figure out how I would write it. also I put your other ask on this post too, it’s at the bottom. love you!! 💌

also im sorry idk how I only just saw that it said pietro ?!? I wrote this a few days ago, and I quickly read this over before posting and did not see pietro until just now 😶 my bad, ive been a scatterbrain lately

monopoly has been tearing families apart for decades !! so it will definitely be the same when you play with the twins

im thinking that you like to have game nights when you all have time to spare, maybe on weekends and you'd all be sat at the dining table. def having a couple beers with crisps, pretzels, nuts

you're all really competitive and are ruthless when it comes to games, especially monopoly!!! lem always seems to do really well, landing on all the good properties and snatching them right up. definitely cackles when he counts his cash and looks over his cards

tan would be such a sore loser, and gets really pissy bc he always lands on the shit places and/ or on lem's houses and hotels. he'd throw the money, maybe make a point about how he has none left, "fuckin' hell man, ya robbin' me,"

maybe you gave up playing properly hours ago, sipping on your drink, far too entertained watching them bicker. maybe you roll casually and the number would be on the last card tan needs to complete his set. he'd ask you not to buy it, saying he'll give you all his other cards AND money, "I will give you my strand and my last 50 quid, just please don't buy it,"

you'll be nice and leave it until lem comes around and snatches it up, snickering as he sets his cash down to pay. he'll be like, "come on mate, it's just a game," only he's winning and dominating the board

it would end with you playing on your phone, tapped out the game as they continue fighting. new rules would be added after every turn and tan would be in heaps of debt - constantly borrowing money from the bank to give to lem when he lands on his properties

tan would still be convinced he can win, and lem would just be entertaining it.. until hours go by, and lem decides to call a truce, offering a rematch next week

maybe it ends in a game of uno at the coffee table to rewind - only it's the same story again, ruthlessly slapping +4 on top of +4. he'd end up with half the deck of cards. BUT he'd give you all a run for your money for casino games though

I think he'd be a great uncle while simultaneously being an awful brother !! he'd let his niece do things she wanted, knowing that lem wouldn't be happy. she wants to eat ice cream before dinner? two scoops won't hurt. she wants to go to the toy shop and get even more toys? no problem, uncle tan has his cards at the ready. she wants to watch tv before bed? one episode is okay surely

tho he won't always go over his brother's head, bc he respects him - but sometimes he just can't help it, he loves to spoil

he'd begrudgingly let her do his makeup. she'd be bossy, making him sit and be quiet as she brushes on purple eye shadow and crazy amounts of blush. she'd also want him to join in with her tea party, or play make-believe/ princesses with her, he'd have no choice but to play along and smile while wearing the tiara

like lem, I feel like she'd be very loud and quite full-on, so when there's finally a moment of silence, he savours it. she'd probably knock herself out from all playing and would just curl up at his side

towards the end of babysitting, tan would probs make her super hyper just to annoy lem tehe. maybe pump her full of sugar or spin her around for ages

[classicquid]

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[pagan-mushroom]

So the UK is falling apart, quite literally...

Over the past week or so, it was announced that around 156 schools in England will have to close/semi close sections due to RAAC concrete.

Why, what is so bad about this? Its bad because it was used during the 50s to the 90s and is prone to collapse.

The government only told schools about a week before children were due back to school.

They have known about this problems to *checks reports* most likely since around 2018.

This is the same government who is run by a man who cut the school repair bill from 150 schools to around 50 schools. This is the same government who cut off free school meals for kids...

We didn't even get to vote for our prime minister, he was just given the job.

Oh, and it's not just schools either with this concrete in. It's hospitals as well.

The woman who is like, the boss of the department for education was caught on camera saying "not being thanked and doing a good fucking job"

What good fucking job?!

This is a person who is defending going away on holiday during this crises (because that is what they do in a crisis, they run away) and not knowing about the 32 million pounds her department is receiving for refurbishment.

Didn't know?

DIDN'T FUCKING KNOW?!

It's your department bitch. I occasionally lose a few quid here and there somewhere in my bag or coat or the couch.. but I would certainly know if someone was using 32 million pound!

The government has turned around and said "oh, it's the local authorities job to maintain such buildings."

Yes, but they can only do that if you give them the fucking funds to do it with you complete and utter arse wipe!

Here are some pictures to give light on the situation of the concrete. The second one contains a chocolate bar. Can you guess which one?

Basically, this concrete was a cheap alternative and now it is coming back to collapse on children's heads and the government isn't doing a thing to help them.

[th3swarm]

hey what the fuck am i supposed to do when im trying to complete a sticker collection from 5 years ago that isnt on any swapping websites (and sticker packets (of 6) can only be bought 50 at a time on ebay, meaning ill end up with loads of duplicates AGAIN) . ive already got A HUNDRED AND SEVEN duplicates from the first 50 packs (300 stickers), and i only need 60 stickers to finish collecting . i would just buy the 50 (300) pack cuz its only like 7 quid but what the fuck am i gonna do with all these duplicates . like seriously ive got 5 shinies of a character i dont even like HELP???

[mattfearn]

Sat on the sofa. Just cleaned the house a little bit. All bathroom towels , shower curtain in the wash. Hoovered everywhere. Scrubbed the sides. Air fresheners on. Clothes all put away. Eating Greek yogurt with my protein powder in. Listening to Coldplay. All this stuff I’ve done is because my brother can’t seem to look after himself. Doesn’t care about living in a shit hole. Everything has grease over it. Floors filthy. All his cooking stuff over the sides or in the sink with food on the plates. It’s a fucking disgrace tbh. And yet this is the prison I’ve put myself in. I moan a lot on this I know but it’s the only sort of place I can mentally vent. The gym and running is my physical vent space 😂

I always said I wouldn’t make 30 you know. I’m into my fitness and stuff . Physically I’m fine… I think but some days are a struggle now. I miss my beautiful every second of the day. Listening to Coldplay probably don’t help as I write this as they were our band 🥹

On a rant now.. I’ve earnt some really good money recently , I’ve got money in savings (until my car decides to fuck it) which it will soon. I’ve bought some new clothes. I’ve paid my credit card fully off. I’m paying my dad back some money he lent me (he’s still a tight cunt) doesn’t even need the money and tells me at every opportunity he’s got no mortgage. Has tens of thousands sat in the bank. Has everything he could want yet would only lend me money haha. That’s how the rich or wealthy stay rich I guess. Back on topic. I have made this money , it’s not like wow loads but to me it’s a lot. 50 quid is a lot to me tbh but there we go. So I have it all and I’m not even happy about it. I’d rather spend it on or with my TT. Go on a nice holiday or get away and enjoy the little things In life. Take cute pictures and videos. Go on nice walks. Laugh together like we always did. Eat junk food. Go to expensive restaurants. Ahhh breaks my heart.

Well that’s one of my many rants of the day. Happy Sunday 😞

[mightyflamethrower]

resident Joe Biden is declining at a geometric, not an arithmetic, rate. His cognitive challenges are multifaceted.

His gait is shaky. His daily use of stairs now risks the chance of a tenure-ending fall. Even when he sticks to the teleprompter, he so slurs his speech, mispronounces words, and glides his syntax that at times he becomes as incomprehensible at the podium as he is unsteady in his step.

He now speaks a strange language foreign and untranslatable to most Americans. White House transcribers leave hiatuses in their written texts of his remarks to reflect that they either have no idea what he said, do not wish to publicize their guesses at what he said, or do not wish the public to know what he was trying to say.

Despite the circling-the-wagons media and the passive-aggressive sycophants like the opportunistic Gov. Gavin Newsom in waiting, the left understands that Biden will be lucky to get to the August convention. This spring and early summer, he will not campaign as a normal presidential candidate, and this time around, there is no pretense of the COVID epidemic to excuse his absence.

The people have already polled numerous times that their president is unfit to serve now and, in the future, should not run. So the 2020 Faustian bargain is in shambles. Remember its quid pro quos: all the major Democratic presidential candidates of 2020 nearly simultaneously pulled out the primaries to coronate Biden—but only on the condition that Biden would play to the hilt his “ol’ Joe Biden from Scranton” schtick that would offer a veneer to the otherwise unpopular hard left agenda of the new Bernie Sanders/Elizabeth Warren/the Obamas/Squad Democratic Party.

The people voted for a “return to normalcy,” all while the left destroyed the southern border, unleashed a critical legal theory/George-Soros crime wave, dismantled hard-won deterrence abroad, and printed money to spur hyperinflation.

Moreover, it is increasingly clear that the entire Biden family consortium is compromised and corrupt. Neither Hunter nor Jim nor Frank Biden had any consulting skills, business expertise, or corporate experience to warrant leveraging over $25 million from foreign interests. Their only commodity was to sell corrupt parties the appearance that Joe Biden would be quite willing to help their various causes if they enriched his family. Everyone knows that to be true, and only now, as Biden sinks into incoherence, are his protectors shrugging about the obvious money-making schemes that revolved around a corrupt senator, vice president, and private citizen, Joe Biden.

None of Biden’s record is popular. His policies on the border, economy, energy, foreign policy, and crime poll below 50 percent. And this trifecta of Biden’s mental deterioration, family corruption, and failed presidential record will only grow worse.

Then there is the Kamala Harris issue—the Spiro Agnew insurance policy of our age that so far has protected Biden from overt efforts to replace him. She is as unpopular as Biden and often as incomprehensible, but without the excuse of age or mental diminishment. Of all the major Beltway elected officials, only Sen. Mitch McConnell polls worse.

By August, Democratic donors and politicos may well conclude that the only way to rid the party of both is to release Biden’s delegates, open up the convention, and let candidates fight over the now-free delegates. Harris then will not be nominated, but not through a backroom, Machiavellian removal of a black woman. Instead, she will “fairly” lose an “open” and “transparent” free-for-all of various Democratic want-to-be replacements and recede into a sober and judicious Mike Pence-like retirement.

The problem with this scenario, of course, is that late-season convention or post-convention machinations in the modern era don’t work out too well. In 1976, Ronald Reagan, after losing a series of early primaries and being declared nearly inert, suddenly caught fire and entered the August 1976 Republican convention in Kansas City within striking distance of incumbent Gerald Ford. President Ford, remember, had never been elected either president or vice president.

In the end, in one of the most acrimonious Republican conventions in memory, a wounded Ford won the nomination by only 117 delegate votes out of some 2,257 cast. In some sense, Ford never recovered and lost the election to Jimmy Carter, even as the tumult gave Reagan the exposure and his team the experience needed to win the nomination in 1980.

About two weeks after the 1972 Democratic convention, a desperate George McGovern and the Democratic hierarchy removed Vice President running mate Sen. Thomas Eagleton from the ticket due to revelations of little-known past electric shock treatments given to combat depression. After futile efforts, the Democrats settled on the Kennedy clan’s Sargent Shriver, who had never run for office. McGovern would have lost anyway to an incumbent Nixon. But the margin of defeat in one of the greatest landslides in presidential history was often attributable to the sheer chaos of changing a vice presidential candidate so late in the campaign.

In sum, the Democrats can—and may have to—replace Joe Biden, and they can ensure that Kamala Harris is not the nominee, but the means of doing so will be chaotic and messy and will wound the winner for the rest of the campaign.

Trump’s Circuitous Path to Victory

Donald Trump challenges have now been discussed ad nauseam, and they are threefold: he must either beat or postpone campaign-season court trials—and find perhaps $800 million to $1 billion to post bonds, pay interests on them, and meet gargantuan legal fees—without turning off donors and supporters and by avoiding the diversion of Republican National Committee and various campaign funds to his own personal defense.

As in the past, Trump will be vastly outspent, perhaps by 3-1 or 4-1. Molly Ball’s infamous Time 2022 essay outlined the left-wing scheming that ensured a mail-in/early balloting election by aggregating the deep state, the corporate boardroom, the social media monopolies, and the 2020 riotous street thugs of Antifa and BLM. What she called a “cabal” and “conspiracy” was designed not so much as a one-off to defeat Trump as to create a permanent system by which a Trump-like candidate could never win a presidential election, both in 2020 and afterward.

Given changes in the 2020 state voting laws that saw 60-70 percent of the ballots in many swing states not cast on Election Day, while the rejection rate of faulty ballots counter-intuitively plunged despite such an influx, Trump will have to win by 3–4 points. Otherwise, in the swing states, we will again stare at the late-evening televised wizardry in which his huge leads mysteriously melt on the screen as drop boxes and mail sacks are tallied.

To achieve a 51-plus majority in the popular vote—no Republican has achieved such a national ballot margin in 36 years since George H.W. Bush beat Mike Dukakis in 1988—Trump will have to win, or win back, more Independents, apostate Democrats, and RINO Never-Trumpers.

He can do that in only two ways:

One, he must hammer away at Joe Biden’s disastrous record on the border, energy, race, foreign affairs, the economy, and social issues that scare moderates and fence-sitters, especially when comparisons are made to the achievements of 2017-2020. Inner-city residents are being tag-teamed by both the influx of thousands of illegal aliens who apparently have first claims on stretched social services and street criminals who loot, assault, and carjack mostly their law-abiding neighbors with impunity.

Two, Trump needs to model his remarks after his Iowa Primary victory speech or his recent Fox Townhall event with Fox’s Laura Ingraham. Translated, that means there is no reason to reference Nikki Hayley’s deployed husband, to refer to her as a “birdbrain,” or to say much of anything other than she will lose, and in the process, she is needlessly hurting more than half of America by draining resources away from the only real chance to repeal the current socialist agenda.

Hayley is imploding without any need for a Trump push. Magnanimity, rather than salt in her self-inflicted wounds, is the better strategy to unite the party. Trump has cemented his base. He will increase his share of minority voters who have been hurt the worst by the Biden socialist agenda. But to ensure victory and a Republican Congress, he cannot give swing voters a reason not to vote for policies and initiatives that they overwhelmingly prefer over those of the now hard-left Democratic Party.

In sum, after Super Tuesday, when Hayley will either quit the race or become inert, Trump needs to call her, politely remind her of her promise to support the nominee, and welcome her back into the fold. If she is wise, she will likely agree to disagree, let bygones be bygones, and thus pledge to support the assured nominee, Trump.

Two of her three choices are in her own interest: 1) She endorses him, and Trump wins, and she is vibrant in 2028; 2) she endorses him, and Trump loses, and she is still viable; 3) she opposes him, and Trump either wins—and she is persona non grata—or he loses, and she is blamed for splitting the party and his defeat. Breaking her public promise to support the nominee will bleed what support she retains, and would prove a suicidal blunder.

Trump has achieved the greatest political comeback since Richard Nixon arose from the ashes of defeat in California in 1962 to win the nomination and presidency in 1968. Trump’s Phoenix-like rebirth from January 2021 to the present was achieved by Biden’s failure, the natural empathy accruing from the weaponization of the law by partisan or corrupt prosecutors against him, and Trump’s greater success in giving independents fewer reasons to vote against him. If he can praise those he defeats, call for unity, and campaign in 50 states in non-Republican strongholds, then he can win—even despite the hatred of the left, the corruption of the media, the weaponization of the bureaucracy, and the eroding trust in the way we vote.

[mariacallous]

Training for recruits in Israel’s elite Sayeret Matkal army unit—which counts Israel’s current prime minister among its veterans—includes a series of long-range, solo navigation exercises. But it’s been 50 years since Benjamin Netanyahu retired from active duty in that storied IDF reconnaissance unit, and his compass must be malfunctioning. As he plots a course toward formalizing ties between his country and the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, Netanyahu appears lost hopelessly in his own backyard. While he dreams of regional peace, his ruling coalition is gearing up to undermine his plans.

A Saudi-Israeli deal is the grand prize of contemporary Middle East diplomacy. Biden administration officials have been shuttling doggedly between Riyadh and Jerusalem to negotiate a bargain—in which the United States would play an integral role—that would bring obvious benefits to all three nations.

Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman would stand to pocket items on his “shopping list”—which includes a security pact with the United States and possession of a civilian nuclear capacity—and the incidental rehabilitation of his image, which took a major hit after the U.S. intelligence community determined that he “approved an operation” that resulted in the brutal killing of a Washington Post columnist in 2018.

For Netanyahu, an agreement with Saudi Arabia would be a tipping point that helps unlock the potential of economic and diplomatic horizons from Africa to Asia that were previously out of Israel’s reach. He could also burnish his credentials as a statesman at a time when attention is focused instead on his government’s controversial plans for Israel’s judiciary.

U.S. President Joe Biden would garner an important foreign policy win, catalyzing further integration in that region and, perhaps more critically, scoring a victory for Pax Americana against expanding Chinese influence in the Arabian Peninsula. Enlisting OPEC to offset skyrocketing energy prices would be an additional bonus. (He could apply the additional ballast to his struggling reelection campaign.)

But despite its elegance on paper, obstacles to an Israeli-Saudi accord abound. Creative solutions are being floated to address some of these sticking points. “Secret technological ways” may be employed to ensure that any authorized Saudi nuclear program cannot be redirected for military purposes. It’s being suggested as well that Netanyahu could intercede with friendly Republican lawmakers to assist the White House in obtaining the two-thirds Senate majority which would be necessary to conclude a defense treaty with Saudi Arabia. These fixes won’t be enough to get across the finish line, alas, even if the arrangement is mutually advantageous.

Success will require each of the parties to do their own heavy lifting. Biden will have to bestow his ultimate blessing upon the very Saudi regime to which he pledged, during the presidential debates in 2019, not to “sell more weapons to them,” but rather to “make them pay the price and make them, in fact, the pariah that they are.” The crown prince will be granting bona fide recognition to Israel, a country which doesn’t even appear by name on the Kingdom’s official maps. Israel will not get a free lunch.

The Biden administration has made it clear that Israel will be expected to contribute “significant deliverables to the Palestinians” in exchange for normalized relations with Saudi Arabia. The Saudis, whose then-crown prince and later king, Abdullah bin Abdulaziz, authored the original Saudi initiative for peace with Israel in 2002, are not about to forfeit their preeminence on the Palestinian issue to the United Arab Emirates, which styled its signing of the Abraham Accords as a quid pro quo for Israel consenting to halt “further Israeli annexation of Palestinian territories.” Concessions to the Palestinians, who have long demanded independent statehood, will be equally pivotal for the sake of harnessing support among a wary Democratic caucus for any acquiescence to Saudi demands.

This latter message was certainly reinforced when Biden met Netanyahu on the sidelines of the United Nations General Assembly in New York on Sept. 20. Biden, per the White House readout of that encounter, “called on all parties to fulfill their commitments made during meetings held earlier this year in Aqaba, Jordan, and Sharm el-Sheikh, Egypt, to include refraining from further unilateral measures.”

(The original Aqaba Communique from Feb. 26, 2023 stipulated “an Israeli commitment to stop discussion of any new settlement units for 4 months and to stop authorization of any outposts for 6 months.” A defiant Netanyahu responded swiftly that “building and authorization in Judea and Samaria will continue according to the original planning and building schedule, with no change.”)

The problem—with which Riyadh has just come to terms evidently—is that Netanyahu has no latitude to satisfy the minimum requirements for discernible movement vis-à-vis the Palestinians. Notwithstanding his insistence that “the mainstream policies [of the government] are decided by me,” the facts suggest otherwise.

Last week, Bezalel Smotrich, Netanyahu’s hardline finance minister whose Religious Zionism Party holds seven of the seats in Netanyahu’s narrow 64-56 Knesset majority, reprised his refrain that rapprochement with Saudi Arabia does “not involve the Arabs of Judea and Samaria who have nothing to do with the process.” (That’s his way of saying that the fate of Palestinians in the West Bank lies outside the scope of these conversations with Saudi Arabia and the United States.).

Smotrich has blocked the fulfillment of multiple Israeli commitments to ease economic restrictions on the Palestinian Authority. His outcry, joined by other members of the coalition, against an ostensible transfer of weapons to Palestinian forces—which Netanyahu branded immediately as fake news, and pinned on a decision of then-Defense Minister Benny Gantz in 2022—sent the prime minister scrambling to order a review of “all the decisions made by the previous government regarding the Palestinian Authority, with the aim of tightening supervision.” Smotrich has wielded his concurrent appointment as a minister in Israel’s Ministry of Defense to initiate a settlement boom and preclude any possibility of tangible compromise with the Palestinians.

No magical sequencing that postpones compromises with the Palestinians can extract Netanyahu from this ideological impasse. The contours of what, according to Israeli media, Saudi Arabia is proposing for the Palestinians—an interim arrangement that involves elements such as a cessation halt of settlement construction, the transfer of certain areas under full Israeli control (Area C) to Palestinian jurisdiction (Area A), acknowledgement of a Palestinian right to establish a capital in East Jerusalem and the reopening of a separate U.S. consulate to the Palestinians in that city—are a nonstarter for Smotrich’s constituency. From Smotrich’s perspective, Israeli concessions need to be confined exclusively to the economic realm, without ceding an inch of territory.

Netanyahu’s present cabinet and an historic breakthrough with Saudi Arabia are simply incapable of coexisting. Smotrich, who banished the Israeli right to opposition in 2021, when he refused to countenance the participation of Mansour Abbas’ United Arab List in a Netanyahu coalition—and drove Abbas into the waiting arms of Netanyahu nemeses Naftali Bennett and Yair Lapid—has already demonstrated that the prospect of marching into the political wilderness does not frighten him.

And with no apparent volunteers to replace Smotrich and his allies around the campfire, Netanyahu—unless he’s inclined to attempt a legacy play that rests upon the outside backing of the opposition and a rapid collapse of his rule—is unlikely to reach his destination anytime soon.

“Every day we get closer” to normalization with Israel, Mohammed bin Salman told Fox News in an interview that was broadcast after the Netanyahu-Biden meeting. The positive trajectory of Saudi-Israeli relations is arguably inevitable, but an actual agreement will likely remain elusive for the foreseeable future—and might not even happen on Netanyahu’s watch.

[dawnluvspossums]

Perfect Ending to a solid, plugged-in day. The cards were right on target & so much so, I couldn't have done better if I had picked them myself. Adaptation, innovation, enthusiasm, & perseverance on this difficult & unusual, & spiritually rewarding path with a boatload of help from the sweetest little spirits here & others who have crossed. Btw, in case anyone caught them & was wondering if my camera lens was in need of cleaning earlier today (story photos), the answer is: that's what I thought, too. I cleaned the lens, & it is what it is. I'm just now becoming able to see certain things during the day. It's another damn that's broken with the crossing of someone I was close to, & this started when Frank passed. Prior to that, I could only see "these" in the dark. They sure are interesting, & they sure aren't allowed in my bedroom anymore (freaked me the fk out!), so I guess this is just the official new location (outside between myself & the sun, the same as where Frank was). I have a Ouija board that I had bought for my Mom (when she was still in this realm), & I've used it, but it freaks me out too much, & I prefer sticking with Tarot for help with interpretation. It's worked good for me & has been a sort of outta the box way I use them to work with the way I plug into & experience things vs. as less connected "talk at you" way they are traditionally used. Best psychic suggestion ever & I have Flash Silvermoon to thank for that (as well as some mind-blowing readings!). Wow, that's a name I haven't thought about for a very long time. Hmmm... Maybe Olivia found me? 🤔 Man, what I'd do for a meeting with .@psychicmediumje, but it would have to be pro bono via a quid pro quo & yes, I think I could guarantee a solid 50/50 interaction. Actually, unless the timing was absolutely perfect, it would probably turn out 70/30 or even 80/20 in HIS favor, & I should be the one selling a ticket, but hey, I do it all pro bono for a higher cause, not that I even get a choice! 😆🥰😇 I really would like to know who all these visitors are. Only about half a dozen have been able to make it crystal clear, with Muggles winning in the "You can't ignore THIS" department. https://www.instagram.com/p/Cm70nCWOr0n/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[the-offside-rule]

Trent Alexander - Arnold (Liverpool) - Dinner

Requested: wattpad by beloved

Prompts: 13) "Can you just pick something so we can go already!"

15) "Let's just pretend that didnt happen."

Warnings: none at all, at all

Y/n sat at the bottom of the bed as her boyfriend Trent stood deciding which jacket would look better. "See, I like this black one, but the navy is better for occasions like this." He explained. Occasions like this? He was talking about meeting Y/n's parents for the first time. He had met them before but that was before they started to go out, back when he was simply a friend. "We're just visiting the house, Trent." Y/n repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. "Gotcha." He turned back to the mirror. "So, too formal." She groaned and fell back onto the bed. "How did I take a shower, do my hair and makeup, find clothes and put them on and you still haven't decided on a jacket!" Y/n exclaimed. "It's a big thing! I'm your boyfriend now! And I only met your dad, didn't go near your mum for whatever reason." Trent replied, taking off the black jacket. "Can you just pick something so we can go?!" Trent took off the black jacket and threw on the navy blazer he was talking about. "I'll just wear the navy I suppose." Trent mumbled.

"Okay babe, but lose the shirt. That's a business shirt. Just wear the short sleeved one you were on about earlier." Trent threw his arms up. "Now you tell me." He mumbled to himself. "And don't forget to wear the scarf they sent!" Trent adored that scarf. God knows why but he loved the checked scarf Y/n's dad brought out while Trent was away at a match. "You just asked me to remind you." She smiled and kissed his cheek. "I'm gonna go down and make sure everything is locked up and then we'll go, okay?" Trent nodded. "Alright, see you in a minute."

Trent pulled into the pebbled driveway and parked. "Why am I actually nervous?" Trent muttered. "Because you're overthinking it." Y/n replied bluntly. "You're meant to be helping me here!" Y/n laughed. "When you spent a good hour picking a jacket, I don't think so." Trent groaned. "Listen, you'll be fine." Y/n rubbed his back and gave a reassuring smile. "You've already met Dad and he loves you. You just need to meet my mother. You'll be fine." For whatever reason it was, Trent had to hype himself up. Why? For confidence and for his girlfriend. "Hold on, let me get the bouquet from the boot." Trent took off his seat belt. "She's allergic to flowers." Y/n reminded him. "Oh right, I'll get the wine then-"

"She doesn't drink it."

"Does your dad?"

"Well, yes-"

"Then it's fine. Let's just pretend that didnt happen." With this new outlook, Trent became more confident. "What type of wine?" Y/n asked as Trent opened her car door. "Pinot Noir, 1990. Had to cough up 50 quid for it! It's mad that!" Trent said, waving the bottle around. "I'd love for you to drop it." Y/n joked, hopping out into the cold Liverpool air. "Don't even think that, you'll jinx me." Y/n laughed hysterically before they walked up together and rang the doorbell. Y/n linked arms eith her boyfriend as he held the wine in his hands and showed the checked scarf proudly around his neck. The door opened and there stood a woman, dressed quite nicely with a soft smile on her face. "Hi mam!" Y/n squealed, hugging her mother tightly. There were some words between the two before Y/n turned back to Trent. "Mam, this is Trent. My boyfriend." Y/n's mother's smile left and was replaced by a fake. Trent noticed, as did Y/n but neither said anything. He held his hand out and smiled. "Lovely to meet you Mrs. Y/l/n. I've heard a lot of great things about you."

"I heard some things about you too." She said,shaking his hand. The trio stood looking at eachother, unsure of what the next move was. "Can we come in or are we eating dinner outside?" Y/n joked, making the other two laugh. As the walked into the hall, Y/n's mother went to the kitchen, leaving the couple to themselves. "You saw you that too, didn't you?" Trent asked, taking his scarf off. "Yeah, she's never done that ever." Trent sighed. "Great start to the evening then."

Thankfully, Y/n's dad came to the rescue and held a conversation with Trent for the evening while Y/n conversed with her mother. "We're just gonna go outside for a bit, love. Back in a minute." Y/d/n name said, standing up to leave. "Coming, Trent?" Trent nodded and stood up, excusing himself from the table. Once they were outside, they closed the door behind them. "So, how's the night treating you?" Y/d/n asked. "Yeah, lovely evening. Thanks for having me." Trent was trying his best to be polite. "It's no bother at all, lad. You're great to have around." It grew quiet between the two as they simply stood in the cold. "She doesn't talk much." Trent suddenly said. "Who?" Y/n's father asked. "Your missus. She doesn't say a lot." Trent explained. A chuckle came from Y/d/n. "She's usually all chatter, but not tonight." Trent looked confused. "Why's that if you don't mind me asking?" He asked. "Well, she grew up in Manchester. She's a United fan." Y/d/n said. "No way." Trent was amused by this new information. "Yeah and the worst part, she somehow convinced me to move to Manchester with her before Y/n was born."

"I could never do that." Trent laughed. "I wouldn't have the patience for them." Y/d/n joined in the laugh. "You'd be surprised what you'd be able to do for the right woman. I sat saying I'd never associate myself with a United fan and here I am married to one." That got Trent thinking. How far would be go for his own girlfriend? Would he move to Manchester? No, but that's because Y/n wouldn't want to. Anywhere else, he would maybe consider it. "Why didn't she just move here? You're here now anyway."

"Well, she was in uni at the time. I was just working. I could've got a job anywhere but her dream course was in Manchester. God knows why it'd be there but I followed her anyway."

"I'm sure the in laws loved that." Trent chuckled. "Loved it." He replied sarcastically. "One time our apartment had a leak and the place flooded so we had to stay at her parent's house. By we I mean she did. I wasn't allowed. It was either just me missus and Y/n slept in the house or none of us did. Slept in our van outside the house. The next day she said we're moving to Liverpool, so we did." Trent caught glimpse of a reminiscent smile from the man beside him. "Good times?" Trent asked. "Not particularly but I had her at least. My mam didn't like her either but we made it work out."

"That's the secret to marriage, eh?"

"Just stick with her and there's nothing that can go wrong." The door opened behind them and out stood Y/n, a smile beaming from her face. "You two okay?" She asked. "I'm just heading in now but if you want, you two can stay out here for a bit." Y/d/n said, patting Trent on the back. "Okay, well be in, in a minute." Y/n smiled as her dad walked inside. "So, what were you talking about?" Y/n asked once they were alone. "Can't tell you. But I can tell you that you were born in Mamchester, not Liverpool." Y/n groaned. "Did you bring up hating Manchester again?" Trent laughed and shook his head. "No, he just brought it up."

"Our conversation got me thinking what I'd be willing to do for you." Y/n fded her arms and leaned on the door. "And what would you be willing to do?" Her features had softened. Trent stood in front of her and lifted her chin. "Well, we've got the rest of our lives to figure that out, don't we?" And with that, Trent placed a kiss onto her soft lips. "We better get back in to finish this dinner." Y/n beamed. "Come on then, we'll get going."

[twodimecastle]

fifty bucks & six months.

spencer reid x gender neutral reader new relationship, secret keeping nonsense, 4.5k words, ao3 a/n; turns out i love writing texting fic but tumblr destroys the formatting rip

zero months.

You smile conspiratorially, extending a pinkie towards Spencer and he gives you a skeptical look.

“You know the odds of being found out immediately are-” he starts, but you cut him off.

“Astronomical, I know. I know. But don’t you think it’ll be fun to see how long we can push it?” you wheedle, not caring that your voice sounds more like begging than is strictly dignified because seeing the way Spencer’s nose crinkles in amusement at your heavy handed persuasion is too adorable to pass up. You scoot closer on the couch, tapping the end of his nose with your pinkie finger, letting him catch your hand between his as you continue “I think we’ve got a good shot at hiding it for a little while. It would be like a game.”

Spencer draws your captive hand to his lips, brushing them across your knuckles and watching fondly as you forge ahead in your campaign to persuade him, enjoying the show and the attention too much to tell you he’s already on board. Your eyes are shining with the prospect of the caper, and you’ve made no move to take your hand back from him, and Spencer’s pretty sure he’d be more than happy to sit with you in this moment forever. “I mean-” you go on, gesturing animatedly with your free hand, “you’re like-a really good liar when you want to be. And everyone else always forgets how good you are at it.”

He snorts at that and the sound makes you light up, eyes tracking the arch of his brows, the warmth in his soft brown eyes, memorising the way he looks like this; utterly unbothered, completely at ease. It might be your favourite version of him, but that race has always been a tight one with no clear winner in sight. You have lots of favourite versions of Spencer. Twisting your hand in his, you tangle your fingers together, savouring the way you feel his thumb glide delicately along your skin and the unhidden joy in his face at the simple show of affection.

Time to play your trump card.

“$50 says we can hide it from the whole group for at least six months. If everyone figures it out before then, you win. But if not everyone has worked it out by then, I win.”

The mischievous shine in your eyes is irresistible, and Spencer smiles, disentangling one of his hands from yours to extend his own pinky finger.

“You’re on.”

The words barely make it out of his mouth before you’re colliding with him, pressing your lips to his.

two months.

“So, how long has this whole thing been going on?” Derek’s question catches Spencer off guard, and, based on the way he can see you freeze in his peripheral vision, takes you by surprise as well. Sliding into the driver's seat of the SUV, Derek continues “I hope you didn’t think you were gonna be able to keep me in the dark for long, pretty boy. You should know better than that.”

Following mechanically after him, Spencer takes the passenger seat, trying to frame his next statement as carefully as possible as he hears your door close and the car start. “We were-going to tell you guys-” he begins uncomfortably, glancing back to you for support, but you look just as on edge as he feels. “We were just gonna-keep it to ourselves for a while-before telling Hotch and everything-” he tries again, the mounting tension levering his shoulders higher and higher with every passing moment, but then Derek just laughs, shaking his head.

“Hey, I’m happy for you, kid. For both of you.” He spares a look at you in the back seat through the rear view mirror, and you can feel the tension in your jaw relax, the furrows in your brow straightening out at the note of approval in Derek’s voice. “I’m glad you two finally figured it out,” he says, fondly, and you laugh.

“I bet Spence we could keep it from you guys at least six months,” you explain, reaching forwards through the centre console to link your pinky with Spencer’s, and the touch of your hand releases the last of the tension he had been harbouring as he covers your hand with the other one of his own. He knows Derek clocks the motion, filing it away in his mind somewhere, but he doesn’t care about the scrutiny so much right now. Not when your hand is so warm and comfortable in his.

Derek reaches for the dial on the radio and flicks through the channel, thinking about something, and as you watch, a slow mischievous smirk spreads across his face a moment later before he glances first at Spencer and then at you.

“I’ll tell you what,” he says to you, and Spencer can feel a familiar grin tugging at his own lips as he watches a plan take shape in his friend’s eyes. “I’m happy to sit on this information for a while for a cut of the winnings from whichever one of you comes out on top.” He snorts good naturedly as he continues “I have my own bet to win with Prentiss, so if you two help me win that one, I’ll cut you in too.”

“A quid pro quo of sorts,” Spencer says slowly, and he feels your fingers tighten around his, as you snort softly, and he knows instinctually you’re grinning the same way you always do when you’re winning a game. “I think we can do that.”

Derek grins, turning the music up as he nods, eyes on the road. “Then you two love birds have got yourselves a deal.”

two months and two weeks.

PG: youre not as slick as you think you are ;)

YN: ???

PG: ;))))))))) you should invest in some concealer for your work bag sweetness or tell the good doctor to pay more attention to whats visible in your work clothes

YN: oh my fucking god wait how do you even know thats how that happened

PG: im all knowing and all seeing im like the omnipotent goddess of the fbi

YN: derek blabbed

PG: he sang like a canary but also im an omnipotent goddess im also totally clued in on the whole bet situation with em so for the low low price of every single juicy detail about how this adorableness went down you can buy my silence :)

YN: im getting derek decaf coffee on all coffee runs from now on >:( traitors dont get caffeine

PG: darling sweet angel i need deets all of them like immediately

YN: >:( fine ok so. after that case down in georgia a few months ago? the weird one? with the creepy mother son thing?

PG: omg yuck pls dont remind me im here for the CUTENESS not the MURDER

YN: sorryyyyyyy anyway so spence was like being super weird about it all on the plane and whatever but he was doing that super annoying thing where he ignores it and says hes fine so everyone leaves him alone

PG: YEAH why does everyone here do that ALL THE TIME its SO annoyingggg

YN: ikr its insufferable and like super not subtle ANYWAY. spence was being weird and whatever and i just. refused to let him sulk on his own or whatever like i could tell there was something bothering him and so after work i insisted that we were gonna get like shitty diner food or whatever and watch a movie and he knows better than to say no to me

PG: smart boy

YN: so we got fries and milkshakes and then went back to his place to watch a movie and he was still like weird and silent and like brooding yknow? but whatever just figured hed talk about it when he was ready so i put on a movie and offered to make popcorn and then he was just staring at me and he looked so SAD and TIRED and i thought id done something wrong like the poor guy looked like he was gonna cry and i was panicking over fucking popcorn and then he says ‘why are you always so nice to me?’

PG: oh my god hes like if a sad victorian orphan was actually a triplicate phd holder

YN: i was SO thrown off i was like spencer. spencer were best friends. ive been forcing you to hang out with me for years now why do you THINK im being nice to you its bc i care about you asshole and then. like after another million years after letting me sweat it out over whether hes about to cry for like fucking years the asshole grabs my hand and says. i shit you not. ‘you know im in love with you, right?’ !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

PG: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YN: anyway hes my boyfriend now :’) dont tell anyone tho gotta win the bet

four months.

Lingering by the elevator, you glance around at the uncharacteristically silent office building, waiting for Spencer to leave the bullpen. The sound of his footfalls drawing nearer makes you smile and you mentally applaud yourself for suggesting the two of you remained behind after disembarking from the plane, taking advantage of the manufactured privacy to take the same car home, back to his apartment.

When he sees you waiting for him, he can’t help the soft fond smile that tugs at his face, as he reaches for your hand, sliding his fingers into yours with a gentle squeeze, the quiet of the building allowing him to indulge in the show of affection. You return the squeeze, leaning your head on his shoulder with a yawn and as he presses a fond kiss to your temple he’s rewarded by a sleepy hum of approval from you that sends a rush of quiet joy shooting through him.

“At least we won’t be sleeping in hotel beds again tonight,” you say, voice weary, and Spencer nods as he shuffles you into the elevator. The doors slide shut and the elevator starts to move and in the moment of absolute privacy, you steal a kiss, tilting your chin up to catch his lips with yours, revelling in the soft huff of surprise he lets out, even as he smiles against your mouth. Even after months, the simple act of kissing Spencer still feels new and thrilling somehow, like you can’t quite believe it’s something you’re allowed to do.

His nose brushes yours and he breathes “unless something big comes up, we get a sleep in tomorrow too,” and the way you beam at him sends his heart racing in his chest, unable to look away from the fondness shining in your eyes.

As the two of you exit the elevator and make your way through the Bureau car park, you tuck yourself against his side, wedging yourself under his arm with a happy sigh, eager to get yourself horizontal and asleep as fast as possible. Spencer brushes his lips against your temple again as the two of you close in on his car, almost free and clear of the office when a voice behind the two of you brings you up short.

“Reid?”

Spencer is reacting before his mind catches up, turning on his heel towards the sound of Hotch’s voice echoing through the parking lot, conscious of the incriminating way you’re still tucked against his side, even as his brain is rifling frantically through any possible excuses for the current circumstances.

“Hotch-” you step away from Spencer, cheeks flaming, not wanting to chance a look at him. “I-we-thought everyone else had gone home,” you trail off lamely, trying your hardest not to balk under Hotch’s ominously impassive scrutiny. A second passes, then another, and the short silence feels like months, or years even as the three of you stand locked in a stalemate.

“I take it the two of you would prefer to keep this under wraps?” He asks, finally, and it registers with Spencer, somewhat belatedly, that Hotch’s tone isn’t admonishing. It isn’t enough to dissipate the tension coiling in Spencer’s muscles just yet, but he spares a glance at you as he nods, and a moment later, Hotch gives the two of you a curt nod of his own. “I’ll tell you what,” he says, a shade of irony colouring his voice. “If you two fill out the paperwork for in-team relationships for me, I’ll keep it to myself. I understand privacy is hard to come by in our office.”

The words take a while to fully sink in, and you’re conscious that you’re standing there blinking and gaping at your boss like a bemused fish for a good few seconds before you’ve composed yourself enough to say “absolutely, sir. Of course. Thank you.”

Hotch nods again, heading towards his own car, and as he passes the two of you, a brief smile flashes across his face.

“Congratulations, you two. Get some sleep.”

four months and three weeks.

Spencer isn’t sure how late it is, but he knows you’re not asleep yet, the faint glow of your phone screen casting faint distorted shadows across his room as your free hand rests lightly on his chest. In the dark blue twilight of his room, the space feels undefined and dream like somehow, the line between his mind and his surroundings blurry or indistinct somehow, and as you huff out a near silent laugh at something on the screen in your hand, a thought rises to the surface of his thoughts like flotsam on an unwanted tide.

The more clinical part of his mind notes the autonomic response in his body, the way his heart lurches unpleasantly in his chest, heart rate rising with an influx of cortisol through his nervous system, automatically rifling through ways to control the anxiety response. Age old instinct surges forwards, starting to push his spiralling anxiety down out of sight so as not to bother you with it, but then your hand shifts infinitesimally on his chest, fingers curling in the soft fabric of his pyjama shirt, and for once his body is miles ahead of his brilliant mind, your name is leaving his lips before he’s really aware of it happening.

Your gaze flashes up from your phone at the sound of his voice, soft and hesitant, and you let the screen go dark as you set it down. You can feel Spencer’s heart hammering against his ribs under your palm, and your brows knit together in concern as you shift closer to his side, tracing gentle circles over his shirt with your fingertips, the repetitive motion intended to soothe, though you’re not sure if it’s for his benefit or yours.

“Yeah, baby?” You ask softly, working hard to keep the rising worry from your voice. After three years of friendship and almost six months of dating, you know him well enough to sense when his propensity for overthinking and catastrophizing is slipping out of his control. You can feel his chest rise as he inhales sharply, whatever he’s about to say cut off by second guessing, doing nothing to pacify your concern. “Spence? Is everything okay?” You ask again.

“This-bet-hiding our relationship-it’s-” he trails off, throat tight as he rolls onto his side, facing away from you, and smushing his face into the pillow, already wishing he hadn’t said anything. You’re the kindest person he’s ever met, but offering up this kind of raw insecurity feels like pulling teeth. Even if it’s you. Especially if it’s you. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to find out if you care about him enough to stay when his racing mind gets the better of him. The pillow muffles his voice as he says “never mind.”

You feel your own heart rate tic up in response to that, matching the wild beat of Spencer’s that you could feel under your palm only a second ago. “Baby, talk to me. What’s on your mind?”

He shakes his head, face still hidden in the pillow. “It’s stupid.”

He can feel the rush of your breath on his back as you sigh, and your voice is almost achingly patient as you say softly “it’s not stupid if it matters to you.” There’s a long pause, and you press yourself against his back, settling close and letting your hand slide over his side to rest on his chest, the heat of his skin sinking into yours even through his thin shirt. In spite of his height, he feels so small as you wrap yourself around him, drawing closer, trying to reassure him without yet knowing what he needs to be reassured of. “Spence?”

“Are you ashamed of-being with me? Is that why you want to hide it?” The words are almost whispered, the sound almost lost against his pillow and your heart sinks, plummeting faster and further than if you’d dropped it off the side of a skyscraper. You should’ve known he might worry about that, should have realised it might have felt that way. Remorse rises hot and bitter in your throat and you swallow it down, trying to steady your voice.

“Spencer. Sweetheart. No. Never. I could never be ashamed. I love you. I’m so sorry.” Your arms wrap more tightly around him and you bury your face against the crook of his neck, the tension you can feel in every inch of his body making you feel more cruel and short-sighted than you already do. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise it might feel like that. I could never be ashamed of being with you, Spence. You’re my favourite person.” He takes the kind of shaky, shallow breath that comes with trying not to cry and your heart breaks a little more as one of his hands slowly moves to cover yours where it rests against his chest, just over his heart.

As his hand rests over yours, his thumb strokes lightly along your knuckles, and he knows you know him well enough to notice the way his hand trembles, just a little, because then your hand is shifting against his, turning to clumsily tangle your fingers with his, holding tighter to him as he tries to collect himself, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath as his eyes squeeze shut. He can hear the contrition in your voice as you say softly “I’ve never really liked having people know everything about what’s going on in my life. And I love our friends but-something like this, that’s so-special? So new? I wanted to be able to keep it to just us for a while.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice comes out a little shaky, scarcely more than a whisper, and it’s more than you can take as you pull back and gently force him to roll over to face you. He’s not crying, but his eyes are glassy and you recognise the fight to keep the tears unshed in the tight set of his jaw and the hard line of his lips. Leaning on your elbow, you lift your free hand to gently smooth out the furrows of his brow, letting your fingers linger along the planes of his face.

“Why are you sorry,” you ask gently. “You don’t need to be sorry, baby. Not for talking to me about things that bother you. We can tell everyone else tomorrow, if you want? We can call off the bet. Derek will live. If he’s got a problem with it I’ll turn all his shirts into crop tops.”

He can tell the joke is a last bid attempt to make him smile, to ease his fear, and it works. In spite of the anxious weight in his chest that feels like it’s pressing him into the mattress, Spencer laughs weakly, meeting your eyes, and he watches as a relieved smile breaks across your face, releasing your lower lip from where you’d trapped it worriedly between your teeth. The unmitigated affection that floods into your eyes renders him momentarily breathless as he takes in the moment. You’re still here, still trying to take care of him. Just as kind and steadfast as ever.

“No,” he says eventually, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you down on top of him like a living weighted blanket, letting your warmth chase the bulk of the tension from his body and luxuriating in the way you curl into him, one hand sliding into his hair. “We shouldn’t call off the bet. We still have to take Emily’s money, remember?”

Your sleepy laugh is the last thing he hears before his eyes close and the feel of your body wound around his lulls him to sleep.

five months.

SR: Can I talk to you about something?

DM: you dying or something? that’s a really fuckin ominous text to recieve out of the blue

SR: I’m not dying, why would that be what you assumed? I just have a question.

DM: just a figure of speech but what’s up?

SR: It’s about your bet with Emily. What’re the terms for it?

DM: wym?

SR: What exactly did you two make the bet about? What needs to happen in order for you to win the bet?

DM: does this count as collusion?

SR: Technically yes, but calling it collusion implies a certain degree of illegality.

DM: whatever anyway the terms i made with em were that you’d make some kind of move before your birthday but she reckoned you were gonna need some kind of near death experience to do anything about your crush why?

SR: I’m just making sure I have all the information.

DM: what’s going on pretty boy? you planning something?

SR: Maybe.

DM: not a helpful answer reid is everything good?

SR: Everything’s fine. We’re just figuring some stuff out. Nothing to worry about.

DM: is there something you’re not telling me?

SR: Don’t worry about it.

five months, three weeks and six days.

In the chaos that was the scramble from the briefing room to the jet, you haven’t yet had the chance to speak to Spencer about the outcome of his most recent thesis defence panel. By the time you’ve got a moment to breathe, the jet is underway, coasting across the country towards Montana, the whole team settled in for the six hour flight. You corner him in the tiny kitchen area of the jet as he’s making a mug of mediocre coffee, fingers tapping out an absent minded rhythm on the countertop as the coffee machine whirs, clearly not paying attention to anything outside of his head.

“Hey, boy genius.” He jumps, whirling around, eyes wide with surprise, and you smile fondly. “So?” You demand, and Spencer raises an eyebrow in confusion. You snort, rolling your eyes as you elaborate. “Your defence panel. Did it go okay?”

You’re shifting your weight and fidgeting restlessly with the belt loops on your pants and as he studies you for a moment, it occurs to Spencer that you’re nervous for him over this outcome. The thought brings an almost giddy smile to his face.

“You know this isn’t my first thesis defence panel, right?” He says mildly, deliberately burying the lede, enjoying the way you scowl in irritation too much to answer your question right away, too enamoured with this display of concern on his behalf.

“Don’t be difficult, Doctor Reid. It’s still a big deal.” He just shrugs noncommittally, and you huff, swatting his arm lightly. “So did it go well?” You ask again, eyes narrowing as you try to dissect his microexpressions, trying to discern the answer he seems determined to keep from you for yourself. A few seconds later, he relents.

“I can now add degree number six to my wall.” He confirms. Getting degrees doesn’t hold the same rush of pride for him now, the accomplishment feeling somewhat less exceptional as he acquires more of them, but the way your face lights up with pride for him reminds him how special the things he’s capable of can be. You’ve always made him feel like more than the sum of his parts somehow, like something infinitely more precious than he always assumed he is.

“I fucking knew it. That’s amazing, Spence,” you say, chest warm and full with pride and love, and his almost shy smile in return is enough to make a decision for you in a split second. Your hand dips into your back pocket, drawing something out, and you carefully hide it from view in your palm as Spencer tracks the motion curiously with his eyes.

Your eyes are shining with affection and something that looks like mischief and the way you’re smiling at him is more than enough to divert his attention as you step closer, just barely noticing as you slip something into his hand. You’re dangerously, distractingly close now, and he’s conscious, if somewhat distantly, that neither of you is concealed from the rest of the team, scant meters away in the seating area of the jet. But you’re smiling and close enough for him to feel your breath on his face and suddenly your lips are on his, and even after nearly seven months of being able to touch you like this, it’s enough to make him forget everything else as he melts into the contact, savouring the warmth of your skin and the faint smell of your shampoo.

You pull back a second later, the kiss over almost as soon as it started, but it’s enough to attract attention, and you can hear a belated ‘oh SHIT’ from Emily in the main cabin of the jet. In your peripheral vision, you can see money changing hands, your friends scrambling to react, but you don’t look at them, choosing to enjoy the bemused, affectionate look on Spencer’s face as his brain catches up to the events unfolding around the two of you.

“I was tired of keeping it a secret,” you say fondly, loud enough only for him to hear. “You win.”

Blinking in confusion, he finally tears his gaze away from yours, fingers uncurling to reveal the fifty dollar bill you had pressed into his palm right before you kissed him. The penny drops and he snorts with laughter, shaking his head in half hearted indignation as his other arm loops around you, pulling you in, letting you rest your head on his shoulder, hiding your face from the rest of the team as he kisses your temple, revelling in the way you wind yourself around him in response.

“I was gonna do this in like two days. I wanted you to win,” he murmurs against your hairline, and he can feel your faint laughter.

“Too bad, baby. I’m used to getting my way,” you say, pulling back to steal another quick kiss before peeling yourself out of his arms with a wink, turning to face the onslaught of ‘care to fucking explain that’ and ‘I fucking told you so’ from the rest of your friends, tugging him with you by your joined hands.

[luxwritesfanfic]

Green Light

John’s got the reader sweating and by the end of the night Mrs. Hudson will have flour where the sun doesn’t shine. Or, the one where John realizes Cupid’s got his work cut out for him when it comes to a certain high-functioning sociopath and his oblivious idiot. Enjoy!

Platonic!John/Reader, Sherlock Holmes/Reader

“What do you see when you look at him?”

You were contemplating between the mozzarella, sharp cheddar, and the Mexican four cheese for the baked ziti when you looked up at him. Mrs. Hudson’s birthday was coming up and she had decided she wanted to host a dinner party with all of her friends. That really meant her beloved tenants and /their/ friends. She had asked you to run to the store for her to get some ingredients and John being ever the gentleman agreed to tag along. “Huh?” You had no idea what he was on about and he could see it on your face as clear as day which earned you a pair of raised eyebrows and a grin that you only knew would lead to no good. 

He dropped the two salad mixes into the cart and braced himself against the other end of it. “Sherlock. What do you see when you look at Sherlock?” At the name drop you squint your eyes and tilt your head, trying to see what he was getting at. “I’m not sure I’m understanding.” John held your stare for a few moments before nodding dismissively. 

“Very well then.” With that, he turned on his heels to lead towards the meats, weaving his way between the other people and carts. You followed after him, murmuring your own apologies and pardons to people as you tried to keep up. You stopped the cart in the middle of the empty aisle and reached into your coat pocket to pull out the grocery list Mrs. Hudson had made for you. “So looks like we still need-“ “It’s just that we all look at him like he’s from Mars and it looks like you see something different. That’s all.” John interrupted as he made it seem like he was deep in thought trying to pick the best ground beef package. Rolling your eyes, you turned to the opposite side of the aisle and reached in one of the freezers to grab some boxes of garlic bread. “And what exactly would I be seeing, John?” “You tell me, dear.” You could hear the smirk in his voice, he was definitely challenging you and you had decided then that you liked John Watson a lot more when he wasn’t talking. Just as you were dropping the boxes in the cart and prepared to flip the conversation by asking how he and Sarah (or whatever her name was this week) were doing, you heard your phone go off. Out of biscuits. SH “And he’s got a special tone. It’s really like that, is it?” He throws a few packages of beef in the cart and takes control of it, pushing down the aisle while you’re still thumbing a reply. It didn’t take much for him to notice how much you cared about his best friend and he thought it was sweet. He just couldn’t let you know that without a little snark first. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You murmur nonchalantly and follow after him, making a point to grab a box of biscuits off the endcap as you turn the aisle. “Oh, of course you don’t. That would be too convenient.” He reaches out to take the biscuits from your hands and throw them in the cart for you all while making a beeline for the wine. That particular conversation finally dies off and you almost jump for joy. You and John spend some time picking out a few different wines to pair with dinner and a few to store away for a rainy day with no cases. You both agree that you should get Mrs. Hudson some flowers and spend some time building the perfect bouquet. “You should be a pro at this, John,” you teased, “you spend a lot of time buying flowers for different women. You must be able to read them like a book.” Not realizing you had just set yourself up, you wrapped the bouquet and smirked all triumphant and regained control of the cart. “Right, right. So then you see why I can read you so well.” Damnit. “Okay I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You win. Truce?” You batted your eyes and gave him your very best smile as you pulled out the list once more to be sure you two had gotten everything. “Since you don’t know what you see when you look at him, what do you think he sees when he looks at you like that?” John crosses his arms expectantly and raises an eyebrow and you curse him for still being able to see the fondness in his features. You throw your head back and groan. He was never gonna let this go. You sighed dramatically and shoved the paper back in your pocket and began the trek down the aisle once more. “I don’t know, John. The same thing you see, I guess.” “A hopelessly oblivious gal with a penchant for annoying dicks? Oh, sorry. I didn’t think the last lad you were seeing was that bad. A penchant for one annoying dick.” He was loving every second of this. “For the record, I was never seeing Bucky. We’re good friends, that’s all. He brings a sense of normalcy into my life and I need that with all I go through with you two.” You pointed at him and waved your hand to try and dismiss the conversation for the millionth time today and put a little more pep in your step to create some distance between you two. John could only smile at the fact that you never denied his first assumption and jogged to catch up with you. You had made your way to the self checkout and began to start scanning your items, relieved at the beeps and murmurs of the machines and other customers  to give you peace from the conversation. John moved to start putting the bags into the cart as you filled them. You two made a good team even with something as mundane as grocery shopping. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, more sincere than he had been all day. 

“I just want you to know I think it would work.” You hesitated and hoped it wasn’t as telling as you thought it was. The conversation was suddenly very real and you felt the air change around you. You kept swiping your groceries and hoped it would ground you so you wouldn’t get overwhelmed in the moment. 

“How?” You all but whispered, praying you didn’t sound as small as you suddenly felt. If John heard your weakness, he didn’t let you know. He continued to load the bags into the buggy. “Haven’t the faintest. I just know you’re good to him, and I think he could learn how to be good to you. If he understood what he was missing, he’d want to learn.” You nodded and couldn’t find it in yourself to respond properly. You swiped your card and grabbed the receipt and allowed John to regain control of the cart once more to lead you out. Once you made it out of the store, you walked side by side with him out onto the sidewalk and hailed a cab. “So how drunk do you this Mrs. Hudson’s gonna be tonight? You think she’s gonna disappear in the middle of the night to go get a sandwich?” John asked as he loaded the trunk of the taxi with your groceries and you couldn’t help but let out a genuine laugh. “You’re sick. I bet you 50 quid she’ll come back with flour handprints on her dress.” You pushed the cart back away from the road and back with the rest of them and got in the cab after John. His eyes widened and he slapped your knee as you settled in and fastened your seatbelt. “You’re sicker! And I wouldn’t have you any other way.” He smiled at you and turned to the driver. “221b Baker Street, please.”

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Breathe ~ the Doctor (part 8)

A/n: So I tried to go lighter with this one and failed a bit not gonna lie? Just... bare with me I forgot that Mr. Connolly was like THAT and I absolutely had to address it. This one goes on a bit because of that, sorry.

Word Count: 12,000+

Warnings: Implied physical/mental abuse, past homophobia, backlash of PTSD (light), possibly upsetting memories, discussion of abuse

MASTERLIST

"How does this look?" Y/n had changed out of what originally been planned for him this time. He didn't like layers like the Doctor did unless it was quite cold, and it wasn't, so he'd lessened the whole thing by ditching the blazer, looking overly casual like he usually did. The suit pants were blue, close to but just a bit nicer than the jeans he'd mostly been wearing up until now. He'd absolutely refused to do his hair like the Doctor had, so it was loose and messy instead - different than the way he did it every other day, but all he could manage after the gel had hardened the strands. Rose had tried to get Y/n to comply and it had failed for both of them. He felt too casual to be wearing dress pants, and his hair looked weird to him in the mirror. He was thinking about taking a quick shower and going for an entirely different look.

When he looked at Rose and the Doctor for input though, the two looked back at him with eyes widened, lips parted. Upon realizing they were staring, the Doctor looked away. Rose just smirked. Y/n went quite red. "You look fantastic," Rose complimented. "I didn't realize you could pull off messy so well."

"You pull off everything well," the Doctor followed up softly. It was unsure if he'd meant to keep it in his head and slipped, or had wanted to say it louder but didn't have the confidence. Y/n thanked him, but the Doctor just nodded dismissively, a blush of his own coloring his skin before he nodded to the TARDIS door. "You both ready?"

As always, Rose was first. She pulled the door open, popping outside to may her skirts swish. It was becoming quickly apparent she was in love with how her dress moved. "I thought we'd be going for the Vegas era. You know, the white flares and the-" she did a sort of growl, and Y/n raised an eyebrow but realized she'd been mocking rather than being genuine. He was going to say - if she was into that, she was out of luck with her current partners.

Like an echo of Y/n's thoughts, the Doctor leaned around the TARDIS door, his shoulder pressing against Y/n's chest. "You're kidding aren't you? If you want to see Elvis you go to the late '50's! The time before burgers!" He dipped back in and Y/n leaned against the doorway, keeping both of the other two in view. "When they called him "the Pelvis" and he still had a waist!" The Doctor continued from inside. "What's more, you see him in style!" Y/n saw it first from his vantage point in the doorway, and thankfully so because as the Doctor rolled out of the TARDIS in a fully functioning moped, Y/n would have been run over if he hadn't gotten out of the way quickly. He circled before stopping, looking at Rose with an amused smirk. "You going my way Doll?" He said in a low voice. It was a bad attempt at Elvis and made Y/n laugh.

Rose pulled out a pair of glasses that matched her dress. "Is there anyway to go, daddy o?" She shot back, her voice higher and more nasally. She approached the Doctor with an added, "Straight from the fridge, man!"

The Doctor grinned. "Hey, you speak the lingo!" He held out a helmet for her. Y/n was amused to see that it was pink, like her glasses, so it also matched her skirt. Y/n dipped inside as they continued their back and forth, looking around before he saw what he was looking for. A bike! It wouldn't be as fast as the moped mechanically but he was down to coast. Also he had a secret: he was a devil when it came to bicycling. Rose had refused to stop biking with him for a few years now; she could never keep up well enough and tired easily if she tried.

When Y/n rolled out on the bike, the Doctor rose an eyebrow. Y/n closed the TARDIS door behind him, grinning. "Don't give me that look," he dismissed. "Just lead the way. If you can keep up." Rose and Y/n laughed as he took off on the bike, surprising the Doctor with how fast he actually went. After a bit of joking, the Doctor did slow down a bit to keep pace with Y/n, the three chatting - or, the usual, which was that Rose and the Doctor chatted mostly and Y/n inputted every so often - on the way.

"Where we off to?" Rose asked at one point.

"Ed Sullivan TV studios," the Doctor yelled back in response, having to be loud over the sound of the motor. "Elvis did Hound Dog on one of the shows. There were loads of complaints. Bit of luck, we'll just catch it."

"And that would be the TV studios in, what, New York?" Rose inquired further.

Y/n immediately saw where she was going with that. The Doctor did not. "That's the one!"

The trio paused at a four-way stop as a bus passed. Rose laughed. Y/n smiled, soft and fond. "I don't think we're in New York, Doctor." And indeed it was anything but. All around them was small town views. The sky was clear and the buildings were all very similar: one story, brick, two windows, one door, colored red. There wasn't even much traffic.

"Well," the Doctor mumbled. "This could still be New York. I mean, this looks very New York to me."

Y/n rolled his eyes. "And you've memorized New York have you?" The Doctor shrugged, but before he could speak Y/n got to it first. "You forget how well I know you, Doctor. I know you have general ideas of how certain places on each planet work and that's why you usually end up in the general same place every time you come to Earth. You probably would think we were on a different planet if you went to... Australia, or France. Have you ever really been to America before?"

The Doctor glowered, but without any offense or anger. Just the cutest irritation a being called out. After all, you couldn't get mad at someone just because they were right. "I've got a lot going on in this head of mine."

A smirk rose to Y/n's face. "Is that why we always get lost?"

Rose cut in. "What are all the flags for?" And indeed, she had a point.

The first thing he noticed other than the very not-New York state of the very London town, were the flags hung above the streets. Y/n could appreciate pride for one's country, but there were flags EVERYWHERE he looked. It seemed a little odd that a town so small you could see it even in the way people talked to each other, would hang a bunch of flags around every inch of every place. What, was the Queen coming to visit?

They parked the bike and moped, going around to get a closer look and understand exactly what was going on. In their wanderings, they came across a man at the back of a truck, and boys next to him who seemed to be picking up and moving a TV. The older man said something. "There you go sir." Y/n noticed another man who was older than the boys but younger than the older gent. Maybe the father. "All wired up for the great occasion."

The Doctor approached. "Great occasion? What do you mean?"

"Where you've been living eh?" the older man asked as the boys and their father left with the TV. "Out in the colonies? The coronation of course."

Unfortunately, that didn't clear up much for the group. "And what coronation's that then?" the Doctor asked in favor of all of their cluelessness.

The older man stopped, looking at them like they were insane. Nervous, even. Skiddish. Y/n watched him, that familiar feeling twisting in his chest. Something was about to happen, and it wasn't good. "What do you mean?" the older man asked. "The Coronation."

"It's the Queen's," Rose realized. "Queen Elizabeth." Y/n felt silly then. Of course! He was getting as bad at the space man over there, so much other knowledge in his head making him forget how his own planet worked.

"Oh!" the Doctor exclaimed. "Is this 1953?"

"Last time I looked," the older man affirmed. "Time for a lovely bit of pomp and circumstance. What we do best."

Rose was looking around, her voice next distracting from the older man with his van. "Look at all the TV aerials. Looks like everyone's got one. Which is so weird, because my mum said tellies were so rare, they all had to pile into one house."

"Not round here, Love," the older man cheerily corrected. "Magpie's Marvelous Tellies." He pointed to the side of his truck, feigning proud. Pride that should have been real but so obviously wasn't. Pride that was, for some reason, very obviously strained when Y/n looked at him. Magpie - Y/n assumed that was the man's name, as the branding suggested - caught Y/n giving him an analyzing look and turned away. Hiding. "Only five quid a pop."

Before Y/n could push, the Doctor chirped, "Oh but this is a brilliant year! Classic! Technicolor! Everest climbed! Everything off the ration! A nation throwing off the shackles of war and looking forward to a happier, brighter future!" Rose laughed, and Y/n almost dismissed his weird feeling and grinned along.

Then there was screaming.

"Someone help me! Please!" The trio spun to the sound of the woman's voice. "Ted! Leave him alone, he's my husband!" The Doctor shot off, triggering Rose to follow close behind. Y/n stayed back, something eating at him. "PLEASE!" the woman begged as the other two got onto the scene where two men in black suits were pushing what seemed to be a man. It couldn't be sure because he had a blanket over his head, and he was rushed into a long black car, but the woman had called him Ted so...

"What's going on?" the Doctor demanded.

"Oi! What are you doing?" A young boy continued when the Doctor was ignored.

"Police business," was what they all got. "Get out of the way, sir." That was directed at the Doctor, who was scrambling to find some way to either intervene or understand. Y/n looked away though, his eyes drawn by some reason to Mr. Magpie, just in time to see the man's face wrought with regret and self hatred. He seemed intensely distressed, and nearly tripped over himself to leave the scene when he met Y/n's gaze. As Magpie peeled from the scene in one direction, Rose and the Doctor chasing the black car on the moped in the opposite direction, Y/n had two thoughts.

One, this happened a lot.

Two, this town was either very tight knit, which didn't seem to be the case as no one but the boy from before had tried to come to Tom's rescue. Even the boy had been pulled inside by his parents, who seemed eager to ignore the situation entirely. So if that wasn't the case, how upset he'd been only made sense if... he was somehow involved in what was going wrong with these people. Or knew something about it.

There was a scream coming from the house where the boy from earlier had disappeared into that caught Y/n's attention first. His instincts perked up, his defenses quickly activating. It had been muffled, like maybe a window was cracked and that alone was why he could hear the conversation inside, but it was enough to set him on edge. Before he could orient himself enough to go after Magpie, Rose and the Doctor pulled up and caught him up on losing the back car to a dead end, as well as their plan to ask around to the neighbors about what was happening.

When the Doctor noticed Y/n's gaze returning time and time again to the house the yelling had come from, he put a hand on Y/n's shoulder. "You okay?"

"There was yelling," Y/n explained softly. He switched gears upon hearing the frail note in his voice. "It was where the boy from earlier disappeared. I think we should look into them."

Unsure if the other two had caught onto the real reason Y/n was suddenly a little out of it, he followed along as the other two lead the way toward the house and inside. Something about how they were there in the name of the Queen, which seemed to work well enough. They were inside at least.

"Very nice," the Doctor complimented as the three filtered into the house. "Very well kept. I have to congratulate you, Mrs...?" Y/n was astonished at the Doctor's ability to slip in so easily and effortlessly, like he really was here for what he said he was here for.

The woman smiled warmly, flattered by the Doctor's praise. "Mrs. Connolly," she answered in response to his prompting question.

"Now then Rita," the man who'd answered the door dismissed. Y/n recognized his voice - he had been the one to yell. "I can handle this. These gentlemen are proper representatives." Y/n was instantly put off by the way he dismissed both of the women in the room - Rose and his wife. How he referred to the gentlemen, which would be Y/n and the Doctor, and not the woman who was with them. How he shut up his wife who was only responding to being directly spoken to. Y/n hated him immediately. "Don't mind the wife. She rattles on a bit." This he said to the Doctor, ignoring Y/n as he leaned into the back of the room and stayed quiet. That was even more annoying as it seemed he'd been trying to weed out the alpha male in the group since they walked in and address that person only. Rose was a woman and Y/n was quiet, so he addressed only the Doctor, as if he was the only stranger in the house right now.

"Well maybe she should rattle on a bit more," the Doctor responded quite easily. "I'm not convinced you're doing your patriotic duty. Those flags." His eyes fell to a box of flags on the ground. "Why are they not flying?"

Mr. Connolly, who'd looked horrified at the Doctor suggesting he wasn't being patriotic, now rushed to prove how good of a citizen he was and Y/n had to swallow a laugh to hide it. "There we are, Rita, I told you." Mrs. Connolly seemed to be suddenly upset, and Y/n felt a burning urge to step in between the two of them. He held his place only because the Doctor shot him a warning look. "Get them up. Queen and country."

"I'm sorry," Rita apologized to the Doctor.

Before she could continue, Mr. Connolly ordered, "Get it done. Do it now."

Y/n's hands tightened into fists but the Doctor was already stepping forward. "Hold on a minute." Mr. Connolly kept talking and the Doctor spoke again over him, repeating, "Hold on a minute. You've got hands, Mr. Connolly. Two big hands! Then why is that your wife's job?"

Mr. Connolly seemed derailed again, and Y/n and Rose exchanged thrilled expressions. "Well it's housework, isn't it?" It seemed like it was supposed to be expected. A simple question with an obvious answer. And, I suppose in a world where men were aggressive and angry and hard and women did what they were told and everyone else was ripped apart, it was a simple answer.

"And that's women's work?" The Doctor continued casually.

"Of course it is!" Mr. Connolly spat, astounded.

That seemed to be exactly what the Doctor wanted him to say. "Mr. Connolly, what gender is the Queen?"

Immediately Mr. Connolly was uncomfortable. "She's female."

"And are you suggesting the Queen does the housework?" A thick silence fell like cement into the room, and Y/n accidentally made eye contact with the boy from earlier. They shared two repressed smiles, and Y/n winked at him.

Finally, the Doctor's question was given an answer. "No!" Mr. Connolly gasped, incredulous. "Not at all!"

The Doctor reached down and scooped up one of the flag lines, handing it to Mr. Connolly. "Then get busy."

"Right, yes sir," the stupid man mumbled as he took the line, moving to the wall to hang it up. "You'll be proud of us sir. We'll have union jacks left, right and center."

Rose, who'd taken a seat at some point, now stood up again. "Excuse me Mr. Connoly. Hang on a minute. Union Jacks?"

Mr. Connolly froze, looking back at her with a stunned expression, taken far aback by her hot headedness and strong voice coming from a woman. "Yes, that's right, isn't it?"

"That's the Union flag," she continued. Her voice got angry and Y/n's eyes widened, his attraction to her sky rocketing. "It's the Union Jack only when it's flown at sea."

"Oh," Mr. Connolly nearly whimpered. "I'm sorry. I do apologize."

Y/n smirked, turning away from Mr. Connolly so he wouldn't see. Rose wasn't about to go easy on the man though, and Y/n appreciated that. "Well, don't get it wrong again. There's a good man. Now get to it!" She snapped the last bit, spinning around again when she'd finished with a satisfied smile on her face and moving back to the couch to sit down. Y/n stepped forward so he was leaning on the back of the couch, behind the pair.

"Right then," the Doctor continued with eyes wide and impressed. "Nice and comfy. At her majesty's leisure." When they were settled the Doctor turned to Rose with a very quiet whispered, "Union Flag?"

Rose was eager to explain. "Mum went out with a sailor."

The Doctor chuckled gleefully and Y/n shook his head, amused. "I bet she did." In a normal voice he turned to Mrs. Connolly. "Anyway, I'm the Doctor, then there's Rose and Y/n." He introduced them all to Mrs. Connolly, Rose and Y/n giving a nod or a wave respectively when they were mentioned. "And you are?" That he said to the kid.

"Tommy," the kid responded, looking at the trio like they were something amazing.

The Doctor and Rose pushed apart to make room for someone to sit between them. "Well, sit yourself down, Tommy." The Doctor pat the spot between them for Tommy, and then the chair next to the couch to encourage Mrs. Connolly to sit down as well. Y/n moved around to lean against the wall next to the fireplace, slipping his hands in his pockets and trying to seem as least threatening as possible. "Have a look at this," the Doctor continued when everyone was settled, turning attention to the TV. "I love telly, don't you?"

"Yeah, I think it's brilliant," Tommy agreed with a smile.

"Good man," the Doctor complimented. After a beat he leaned back to add, "Keep working, Mr. C!" and then leaned forward to watch the black and white program. Or, that's what Y/n thought he was doing before the Doctor suddenly turned to Mrs. Connolly with a low, soft, quiet voice that Mr. Connolly wouldn't be able to hear. "Now, why don't you tell me what's wrong?" His voice wasn't forceful but comforting, and he looked at her with a soft concern. He was open and tender - ready to help and slow to disbelieve, dismiss, or judge.

Mrs. Connolly responded to it immediately. "Did you say you were a Doctor?"

Y/n felt his heart seize, knowing what it meant when the Doctor confirmed, "Yes I am."

"Can you help her?" Y/n noticed the desperation on the woman's face. The way her hair fell out of her hairdo, and her hands clasped together, stress and every line of her face. "Oh please. Can you hep her, Doctor?"

Like an unwanted Lego you step on while walking through your house, Mr. Connolly spoke up again. "Now Rita, I don't think the gentleman needs to know.

"Yes he does." It was the first thing Y/n had said the entire time, and when Mr. Connolly looked at him to argue, the look on Y/n's face shut him down immediately. "There's something going wrong, but the Doctor can help. He can fix whatever problem you have, because he's absolutely amazing like that." He turned to Mrs. Connolly with a softer expression. "Please, continue."

Mrs. Connolly suddenly broke, raising a hand to cover her mouth as she began to cry. Rose stood up to move to her side and comfort her. "It's all right," she eased. "It's all right, come here." She hugged Mrs. Connolly, keeping the older woman against her side. "Oh, it's okay. It's alright."

"Hold on a minute," Mr. Connolly seemed to realize, fiddling with the flags still in his hand. "Queen and country's one thing, but this is my house." His voice was rising and Y/n locked up immediately. "What the..." He looked at the flags in his hand before tossing them aside. "What the hell am I doing?" He locked eyes with the Doctor, who was almost smirking. The smug look was tainted with a threatening darkness in his eyes that seemed to be brewing. A storm about to hit hard. "Now you listen here Doctor," Mr. Connolly continued. This was a man who was never questioned or put in his place, and it made Y/n begin to come undone. "You may have fancy qualifications, but what goes on under my roof is my business."

"No it's not."

Mr. Connolly turned to face Y/n with a rage in his features, but Y/n wasn't having any of it. He'd lost something suddenly. The thing that kept him quiet when he was afraid. That made him step back and close his eyes and hide. The thing that had driven him to run every time he'd been chased by things he was afraid of when he was small. Because you know what, he wasn't small anymore and Mr. Connolly was not even semi close to the scariest thing he'd seen.

"You," Mr. Connolly seethed.

"Me," Y/n confirmed, stepping forward. He glared, his eyes burning with wild, hot fire. "Am I the type of man you like to be around? The type that's easy to push around and get what you want from? Is that why you've ignored me for so long, and turned to me so quickly, because the Doctor is scarier and bigger and you know that despite the fact you shouldn't be afraid of him, you are?" Y/n pushed off the wall, standing to his full height. "You act like because you live in this house it's your special little place where you're in control and nothing can stop you? Well let me tell you," Y/n sneered, stepping forward again, his eyes narrowing. "This might be your house, but it is not up to you to control everything in it, because your wife and your son are their own people and not objects for you to put into the places that you want them and you will learn that or your son will grow up hating you and your wife will wait for the day you die, and every day of your life will be spent playing pretend king and trying to ignore how absolutely miserable you are."

Mr. Connolly seemed to be stunned, seeing nothing but truth that terrified him when he looked into Y/n's eyes. "Who are you?"

Y/n finally calmed, becoming even more terrifying by doing so. "Your worst nightmare." All of the blood drained from Mr. Connolly's face as a shadow passed over Y/n's expression that sent a chill down Mr. Connolly's spine.

"Now-" the Doctor began, but he was interrupted by Mr. Connolly turning around weakly and demanding-

"Get out."

"Excuse me?" The Doctor hissed.

"Get out!" He sounded less angry and more terrified, but scared animals were always more volatile than angry ones.

"I'm trying to-"

Mr. Connolly snapped. "I am talking!"

The Doctor shot to his feet, getting into Mr. Connolly's face. "And I'm not listening!" Mr. Connolly finally shut up, eyes wide and hands shaking. "Now you Mr. Connolly, you've dismissed my friend over there but I'm about to tell you, you will absolutely not dismiss me. You are staring into a deep, dark pit of trouble if you don't let me help. Now I'm ordering you, sir-" he spit the word, mocking rather than respectful. "-Tell me what is going on!"

Before anyone could say anything or bounce back from the Doctor absolutely losing it on this idiotic man, there was suddenly a thumping sound over head. Like someone was banging a stick on the floor above them. The family in the room finally broke, even Mr. Connolly finally looking at the Doctor with fear in his eyes and saying, "She won't stop." The paused and the rhythmic thudding came again. Four slow thuds. "She never stops," Mr. Connolly added, shifting uncomfortably.

Tommy sat forward. "We started hearing stories all round the place," he began. The Doctor turned to face him, Rose only having to look over to move her attention to the boy. Y/n's eyes had shot to the stairs when the banging had started and had not moved away. "People who have changed. Families keeping it secret because they were scared. Then the police started finding out. We don't know how, no one does. They just turn up. They come to the door and take them. Any time of the day or night."

At some point Y/n had moved from his spot before o the bottom of the steps, and when he got there, he paused only a second before he took a step up, and then another, and then another. The Doctor told Tommy one thing: "Show me." But by the time the group moved to get the key and went up the stairs so the Doctor could see what was going on, Y/n was already standing in front of the door with a distant, glassy look on his face. "Y/n?" The Doctor's voice was soft, concerned.

Y/n didn't respond. He raised a hand and it hovered over the door. He almost touched it... there was something, almost calling to him. Drawing him in. Y/n forced himself to focus. Ripped himself away from the thing that was pulling his body around without his permission. The last time this had happened, he had felt the death of hundreds and hundreds of people all being so horrified and agonized that it killed them. He couldn't feel something like that again. So he stepped back, using his other hand to force the one reaching for the door to his chest. away from the wood. He leaned against the banister behind him, a grim expression on his face. Rose and the Doctor shared worried expressions before moving to the door to unlock it and see what was going on. It was always the first step to solving the problem.

The door opened with Tommy entering the room first. They'd all agreed it would be best if she saw someone she knew first, so he was the one who greeted her. "Gran? It's Tommy. It's alright Gran. I've brought help." The door opened wider, revealing a dark room light only by the moon outside coming in through the window. There was someone inside, but only her silhouette could be seen. She began to walk toward the group coming into the room, and Y/n felt his heart seize in his chest. He wanted to reach out and pull the Doctor and Rose back, but he couldn't move.

Tommy turned the light on.

The woman in the room was revealed, in pristine, perfect condition... except that her face was gone. She had no mouth or eyes or even a nose. There light dents where all those things should be, but weren't. She just stood there, as if looking at them. But she couldn't.

Rose and the Doctor moved to her after a second. The Doctor got very close, eyebrows creasing. "Her face is completely gone." He rose his screwdriver to scan her. "Scarcely an electrical impulse left," he told them. "Almost complete neural shutdown. It's just ticking over. It's like her brain's been..." He seemed to struggle for a second. "Wiped clean."

"What are we gonna do Doctor?" Tommy asked, desperation in his voice. That was what got Y/n to move. He stepped toward the boy, his hand reaching out to comfort Tommy. Before he got there, his shoulder brushed Mr. Connolly's and a realization hit him like a freight train. He spun to face the man as Tommy added, "We can't even feed her."

Y/n made eye contact with Mr. Connolly. The men were the only ones out of the room, and therefore no one heard him when he whispered, "This is your fault."

"What?" Mr. Connolly spit.

Just then, the door downstairs banged open, and heavy footsteps could be heard on the stairs. "We've got company," Rose nearly groaned, too upset by the faceless woman to be as sassy as she usually was.

"They've come for her!" Rita lamented, clinging to her son and looking at the Doctor with desperation.

The Doctor jumped into action. "What was she doing before this happened to her?" He demanded. When Rita and Tommy looked at him with stunned confusion, he snapped, "Tell me, quickly! Think!"

"I can't think!" Tommy snapped back. "She doesn't leave the house! She was just..." He reached out to his mother as she covered her face, his words fading as men in suits suddenly surged into the room.

Stepping between the men and the grandma, the Doctor held up his hands to stop this from happening. "Hold on! There are three important, brilliant and complicated reasons why you should listen to me. One-"

He was cut off before he could finish, by the man closest to him snagging him with a solid right hook. The Doctor went flying to the floor and Rose scrambled after him, screaming, "Doctor!" The men threw a blanket over the old woman's head and began to lead her out of the room.

Rita tried to stop them; bless the woman. "Leave her alone!" She demanded, pulling weakly on one of the men's arms. "You'll hurt her! Mum!" She was shoved off by one of the men and Tommy rushed to help her land safely and get back up again. Which left Y/n as the one standing. But he didn't do anything. He stood as Mr. Connolly guided the men out of the house, and he followed behind slowly. Rita and Tommy were after them much faster. "Don't hurt her!" Rita begged. She followed them all the way outside, Tommy right behind her. Once outside the commotion kept up, but Y/n at the top of the stairs didn't hear it. He did however jump into action upon hearing Rita begin to cry.

Whatever spell he was under shattered and he shoved past Mr. Connolly with force, running to the moped the Doctor had left behind to go into the house, kicking it into gear and revving the engine, watching the car with the old woman inside begin to pull away. He paused only to lock eyes with Mr. Connolly yet again, accusation set in his eyes with a cold tone that made the man step back into the house to hide from it. Unfortunately for him, Tommy saw the look as well.

The moment allowed the Doctor to catch up, slipping on the bike behind Y/n and pulling his feet up just in time for TY/n to surge forward, leaving them only a beat behind the car ahead. They chased the vehicle until it turned a corner... a corner that lead to what seemed to be a dead end. There was a closed gate and a cart in front of it. Even a boy swept the street in front of the cart, seeming as if the whole operation had been there for ages.

"Oh, very good," the Doctor congratulated the two men, smirking. The man sweeping smirked back. It clicked in Y/n's head immediately. "It was like this last time too," the Doctor explained anyway. "I chased it and ended up right here, on this street, in front of that gate, with those two people set up in front of it."

"Set up indeed," Y/n sighed, shaking his head.

They settled on a simple solution. They parked the moped and went around the back, walking around the enclosure to find any other entrances or weakened points on the gate. Of course, they found it. It was a door into the building. Something small, too small to be used by people as an entrance. Big enough to be used if one had to though, and no lock was scary enough to go against the sonic screwdriver. They were inside with no problem at all.

It seemed to be some sort of factory. There was the clattering of chains in the distance that they followed into a big room with a a gated enclosure in the middle. Inside the enclosure was dozens of people, all missing their faces. The clattering was coming from the men who had come to the house, who were now locking the grandma inside as well before locking the gate again. They waited for the men to leave before jogging up to the enclosure. The Doctor took out his screwdriver, busted the lock, and they were inside. It seemed a little more complex than it had from a distance though because after opening the first gate, there was a second one that lead to where everyone was actually held. Y/n wondered briefly why there were two gates as the Doctor opened the second and the pair moved into that room, pushing their way into the crowd gently to get a closer look at the faceless people.

They were dormant at first, but as the Doctor took out a torch and began to shine the light on them, their bodies began to twitch and move. Hands began to curl into claws, heads tilting threateningly. And they all turned to Y/n and the Doctor, closing in and pressing the two men against one of the gated walls. They crowded and pushed but didn't harm, and that surprised Y/n at first. Unfortunately, they did cause a commotion, which only occurred to the men when a huge light came on behind both of them, from outside the gate. They tried to see who had turned it on and saw only two silhouettes. A man's voice rung out, "Stay where you are."

They were pulled out of the enclosure and taken to two different rooms, sat in chairs, and faced with who seemed to be detectives. The man interrogating Y/n was rather calm and pleasant. "So who are you then?"

Y/n found himself sighing. "My name is Y/n."

The officer smiled, seeming pleased with Y/n's cooperative approach. "What are you doing here?"

"We're trying to figure out what's happening, so we can help and stop it," Y/n answered without hesitating. He said it with conviction, his body so relaxed but his eyes so full of honesty that there was simply no room to doubt him. He was telling the whole truth, and nothing else.

It was the best move to make, and it went over well. "What do you know?"

"Probably as much as you guys do. Bunch of people. Faces missing. What you might not know is that their brains are basically shut off. Like someone's taken their entire consciousness. A body with no person inside it, thinking and feeling and walking. It's a wisp of a ghost of humanity. No one's manning the controls." His shoulders dropped. "They're dormant."

Fairly enough, it was upsetting to the detective as well. "That's all you know?"

Y/n scoffed. "Maybe if you did less interrogating and tying me to chairs, I could be out there figuring out what's going on. My partner, where is he? We need to start working on this. Sitting around asking someone who knows barely more than you do is getting neither of us anywhere."

Sitting back, the officer gave a sort of amused smirk. "Down to business then. Alright, let the man go."

"But sir," one of the other men questioned. "Shouldn't we wait for the DI?"

The officer shook his head. "We need to find them and reunite these men who are here to help us. Come along, we've got work to do." And with that, Y/n was untied and they all headed to where the Doctor was being kept. A man who Y/n suspected was the DI was sat with the Doctor, looking non too far off from where the man who's been with Y/n had ended up - perplexed but trusting.

When they came into the room, the Doctor grinned upon seeing Y/n. "I can always count on you to get them to trust us, Y/n. Why do people listen to you so much better?"

"I'm approachable?" Y/n offered.

The Doctor nodded. "No that sounds about right."

Once the Doctor was untied as well, they all moved into the office where the DI began to catch up the other two men. "We started finding them about a month ago. Persons left 'sans visage'. Heads just... blank."

"Any sort of pattern?" The Doctor asked, eager to get down to business.

"It's spreading out from North London, all over the city. Men, women, kids, grannies. Only real lead is, there's been quite a large number in-"

The Doctor cut him off as he began to riffle through papers, finding the information himself. "-Florizel Street," he finished. His brow was creased in the way that it did when he was thinking and trying to understand. Looking at information and dissecting it. Taking it all in and organizing it to make sense of any kind of madness. It was a look Y/n had come to look on fondly.

There was a knock at the door to the office and Y/n went from admiring to in pain rather quickly.

"Found another one sir."

All eyes turned as the DI gave a half hearted, "Oh, good man, Crabtree. Here we are, Doctor. See what you can deduce." Y/n noticed that it was a woman immediately. There was a blanket over her head, but she was wearing a skirt. A pink skirt. A pink skirt that Y/n had seen recently, and could recognize almost immediately.

No.

No!

The one who had walked the woman into the room took the blanket off of her head, revealing-

"Rose," the Doctor lamented weakly.

Y/n's body went weak. He trailed after the Doctor, moving closer to her in order to reach out and touch her cheek. If she were normal, she would have leaned into it, a smile on her face. Maybe even winked at Y/n. But now... her face was blank, all features gone, leaving only shallow dents where they all should be.

"Do you two know her?" The DI asked.

"Know her? She..." The Doctor trailed off, a tension to his face as he struggled to voice what Y/n so often did. That she was his girlfriend, or companion, or maybe something else that explained what they all were better, in stronger words that painted the picture more clearly and drove home the feelings they shared. That he so much more than just knew her.

When he said nothing else, Y/n offered something. "She's out partner. We travel together." He wished he hadn't said anything. That he'd stopped as the Doctor had, because those words weren't sufficient, but he also knew he had no right to speak for the Doctor's feelings when he couldn't even admit them to himself. And... I mean, would these old fashioned people understand it anyway, when they couldn't even be okay with the Doctor and Y/n being together, let alone Rose as well?

To fill the sudden painful silence in the room, the man who'd brought Rose in began to fill in missing information. "They found her in the street apparently, down by Damascus Road. Just abandoned. That's unusual. That's the first one out in the open." He went to talk more, but Y/n was finished right there.

"I'm sorry say that again?"

"Sorry?" the DI offered, not sure as to what part Y/n had meant.

The Doctor spoke again. "Where did you say they left her?" He kept his eyes on Rose, his features being replaced with anger where the concentration and focus and puzzle piecing had been before. Gears turned now so much faster, the fire that drove him burning brighter. He was the sort of man that moved slower when angry, because every single move counted. It was when he was soft and slow that the Doctor was most dangerous.

The other men in the room seemed to sense that. "Just... in the street."

"In the street," the Doctor repeated, his face relaxing as he rose his eyebrows. "They left her in the street. They took her face and just chucked her out and left her in the street." His voice was dropping, the anger curling around his words as his body relaxed. All his hesitations that usually kept him so in line melted away and he was calmer than he ever was. "And as a result, that makes things..." He paused, eyes still trained on where Rose's face should be. "- Simple. Very, very simple. Do you know why?" He took his glasses off, finally looking away from Rose in favor of turning to face the others in the room.

"No," the DI answered, his nervousness plain.

"Because now, Detective Inspector Bishop" the Doctor seethed. "There is no power on this Earth that can stop me." He looked at Y/n. "You ready?"

Anger had a vastly different effect on Y/n. Unlike with the Doctor where anger calmed him, anger fueled Y/n. It drove him, energized him. I suppose it was because the Doctor was a man capable of great evil, and therefore a man who had many rules that usually held him back. These rules locked that potential up tight so he could channel it into good things. When he was angry, those rules flew out the window and let him loose so that he had no inhibitions or hesitations. His potential, either good or evil, was at full capacity and would be stopped by no one. Y/n was the exact opposite. He was always calm, always level headed. His mind was a machine, and it flowed smoothly. He never felt the need to lead, only to support and pop in when it was necessary. But when he was angry? Oh, when he was angry, it blinded him and clogged those gears so the machine was stopped. All the energy that usually went into keeping him calm and level headed went into charging his mind to think better and harder, and his body into working faster and going further.

Usually, the Doctor was a man of great power and goodness and when he slipped or needed help, Y/n was there to keep the peace and fill in holes the Doctor had missed and pick up the slack. The Doctor pulled the chariot and Y/n picked up the things that fell out.

Now, Y/n was unhinged and the Doctor was unleashed and neither were about to stop the other. There were only two men on the path of vengeance for someone who had hurt the woman they both loved, and nothing - NOTHING - was going to get in the way of them getting her back.

Y/n smiled. "Always."

So they were off.

They headed out, blazing a trail of fire behind them, headed right back where they'd come from. The sun was up, and Tommy Connolly opened the door to find Y/n and the Doctor. "Tommy," the Doctor said in a voice that left no room for negotiation. "Talk to me." Tommy threw a glance to the inside of the house before coming out, closing the door behind him. "I need to know exactly what happened inside your house."

It was then Mr. Connolly decided to intervene. "What the blazes do you think you're doing?" the pathetic man spat at his son.

"I wanna help, Dad!" Tommy begged weakly.

"Mr. Connolly-" the Doctor began.

And then Mr. Connolly made a huge error. He turned to the Doctor and sneered, "Shut your face, you."

Y/n reacted immediately. He surged forward, ramming Mr. Connolly against the wall of the house. Their noses almost touched, and Y/n practically growled, "I've had enough of you. You think you're bigger than you are and I've had enough of it. You're going to stop intervening and you're going to stop disrespecting your family and the Doctor and myself, and you're going to let your son be helpful like the decent human being he is and you're going to be grateful that Tommy didn't turn out anything like you did, do you understand me?"

There was something in Y/n's eyes. Something that made Mr. Connolly genuinely cower. The Doctor put a hand on Y/n's shoulder and the man backed down immediately, letting Mr. Connolly go. "You don't understand," Mr. Connolly groaned. "You two are ruining everything! I have a position to maintain. People around here respect me. You don't care what people think of you and that's fine, but those successful know that it matters what people think!"

"Is that why you did it, Dad?" All eyes turned to Tommy.

"Did what?" Mr. Connolly asked his voice tinged with panic. "You ratted on Gran," Tommy accused. "How else would the police know where to look? Unless a coward told them."

"How dare you," Mr. Connolly hissed quietly, still beaten down by Y/n's previous actions, but fueled again by Tommy's insult. "You think I fought a war just so a mouthy scum like you  could call me a coward?"

Tommy was having none of that though. "You don't get it do you? You fought against fascism, remember? People telling you how to live. Who you could be friends with. Who you could fall in love with. Who could live and who had to die. Don't you get it? You were fighting so that little twerps like me could do what we want. Say what we want. Now you've become just like them. You've been informing on everyone, haven't you? Even Gran. All to protect your precious reputation!"

"You'll learn, Mr. Connolly," Y/n said in a low voice. "It doesn't matter what OTHER people say or think about you. It matters what your friends and family think. It matters that you go to bed at night with a clear conscious and look at yourself in the mirror and see someone you like. Be honest. Have you been able to look yourself in the eye since you started tell the police where everyone was? Since you betrayed your own family, all so you could look good to what you think people wanted you to be? Cause I can tell you now, no one's going to like you for this. For taking away their family and ratting on them. For making everyone scared in their homes. On their own streets."

"Everyone who matters will appreciate what I did," Mr. Connolly spat defensively.

"So it's true then." The door opened, revealing Mrs. Connolly. Mr. Connolly reached out for her but she pulled away.

"I did it for us, Rita," Mr. Connolly explained, panicking at the betrayed look on the poor woman's face. "She was filthy! A filthy, disgusting thing!"

Y/n took a step back, and then another. He tripped on the second step as he hit the end of the concrete, but was thankfully far enough out of view that no one saw. But he saw. And what he saw... He wished he hadn’t.

"I wish people like that wouldn't go about. It's disgusting."

"Oh look away dear, it means nothing to you."

"It's just gross! Can't they do it somewhere else?"

"They're only holding hands."

"She kissed her cheek!"

"And?"

"And it's not right. I'm trying to spend time with my family. Why can't they be normal? Look, even Y/n looks upset by it."

"Are you upset, Y/n? We can go."

Y/n looked at his parents, feeling small. He was small, but he had never felt small. He'd always quite big, actually. Too big to hide in the spaces he wished he'd fit better in. Too big to run as fast and as far as he wanted to. Too big to fade away and be gone from this moment. Too big, in the middle of a quart yard, feeling like every set of eyes that could see him did. That was how he usually felt. But now... now he felt so small that he was terrified of being stepped on. He looked into his father's eyes, soft but distant. Too far away to reach. Too dislodged to understand. Y/n looked at his mother next. The way she looked at the two women who had eventually felt her stare and looked back, leaving to escape the horrible feeling her nasty glare left under their skin. Y/n wished he could go with them. How could one person hate two people being happy so much that it made one's skin crawl? That it made people run, just with the power of the look in her eyes alone. Why did she feel the need to say anything at all? Why couldn't she be pleasant and far away like dad?

A hand rested on Y/n's shoulder and he was pulled into the present. He looked over at the Doctor, who had a very knowing expression on his face at that moment. They exchanged a look and Y/n nodded, both to recognize that they would talk about it later and that he would be okay until then. For now, they had much more important things to worry about.

With that clear, they both turned their attention back to Tommy and his parents. It seemed Y/n had missed something, as the door was now closed. With the way Mr. Connolly was yelling anguished cries for his wife to open the door, Y/n got the feeling that Mr. Connolly's world had just come crashing down.

"Tommy," the Doctor said, reaching out for the boy. Tommy moved closer to him, and those two, Y/n, and DI Bishop all left Mr. Connolly at the door. They had important business to get to, and Tommy had a lot to catch them up on. As they walked, the Doctor got to business. "Tell me about that night. The night she changed."

As they walked, Tommy watched his feet, trying to remember. "She was just watching the telly," he offered weakly, obviously feeling guilty as not giving what was being looked for. How wrong he was though.

"Rose said it," the Doctor realized. He spun around, eyes shooting to all the different antenna. Too many dishes for this year, this time. "She said it from the start. All these aeriels in one little street. How come?" He settled on looking at Tommy for an answer.

The boy delivered. "The bloke Mr. Magpie. He's selling them up the street?" The Doctor and Y/n looked at each other before taking off, Tommy and the DI pausing only a second before kicking into gear after the Doctor yelled at them. The four made it to Magpie's place, the Doctor breaking the window on the door to reach through and unlock it, pushing inside. The DI actually tried to stop him - which was fair since he was a cop and all -but the Doctor wasn't listening.

The second they were inside, the Doctor was at the desk in a flash, ringing the little desk bell heatedly. "If you're here, come out and talk to me!" the Doctor screamed. "MAGPIE!"

Y/n skipped the desk and went directly behind, searching the whole place for any signs of the man, vengeance in his eyes. Luckily for Magpie, he didn't appear to be in. "No one," Y/n announced as he went back to the front, in answer o the Doctor's heated, questioning gaze.

The Doctor went behind the desk as well, beginning to dig through the drawers for any hints of clues. He was successful as always. "Oh hello," he grumbled, pulling out a sort of portable television, from what it seemed to be. It was rectangular shaped, but almost like an etch-a-sketch, with dials below a blank, dark screen.

Moving to the Doctor's shoulders, Y/n squinted his eyes as he got a better look at the thing. "That's not supposed to be here." Y/n tilted his head. "Not on Earth. Not anywhere near humans. That's too advanced for hundreds of years from now, let alone 1970's or wherever."

In response, the Doctor licked the device. "Tastes like iron." He looked at Y/n. "Bakelite." He put the thing on the counter in front of him, pulling out his sonic screwdriver to scan it. "Put together by human hands, I'll give that. But you're right, the design itself..." The sonic sounded, following by the Doctor making a noise of appreciative surprise. "Oh, beautiful work. That is so simple."

"That's incredible," DI Bishop mused. "It's like a television, but portable. A portable television." Y/n almost smiled at the amazement in his voice. He briefly wondered how the man would react to Netflix.

The thought was derailed as the Doctor lifted the screwdriver to eye level, and tellies began to switch on around them in the room. Each screen was just filled with white static, but the fact that they'd reacted so strongly to the signal in the first place wasn't the greatest of signs. "That's not the only signal in this room," the Doctor told the others. Suddenly the static died and the screens cleared, the static falling away to reveal a bunch of faces. Just faces on dark screens, all sad or scared. Some screaming, some crying, some silently shaking as they looked into a void and tried to find a way out. It was only a few seconds, each clip, and it repeated, so that people were stuck in two or three seconds of utter fear.

Y/n launched forward, eyes scanning each screen frantically until he squatted down, pausing as his hands rested on either side of a screen with the face of a girl screaming one word over and over again. It was Rose, and she was calling for the Doctor. When Y/n felt a presence beside him he scooted over to let the Doctor squat beside him, both men looking at Rose call for help over and over and over again. She looked so afraid, and in the blackness of the screen around her was reflected two expressions. One, the Doctor, whose eyes were full of pain and whose face was lined with love and worry. It was a sad expression, easy and delicate and affectionate. The other face was Y/n's, which was curled in anger. Not like it had been before, where it was hot and unforgiving and hard and terrifying. No, this anger was painful to look at. Like he was about to cry. He reached out a hand and gently touched the screen, wishing he could touch Rose's face and tell her everything was going to be okay.

Next to him, the Doctor reached out a hand too, to touch the other side of the screen that Y/n did. "We're coming," the Doctor promised.

The sound of beads being moved sounded. The same sound that had happened when Y/n had rushed into the back, searching for Magpie. Because there was a curtain of beads in the doorframe-

"What do you think you're doing?" Y/n and the Doctor looked at Magpie at the same time, pain being replaced with that anger from before. Merciless anger that could only be described as wrath.

The Doctor stood, marching toward Magpie with determination, every move fast and full of threat. "I want my friends restored and I think that's beyond a little back street electrician, so tell me, who's really in charge here?" Y/n backed him up, both of them leaning into Magpie who looked downright terrified.

Suddenly there was a voice. "Yoohoo!" It was such a shock because it was a woman's voice. A voice which shouldn't be possible as all men were in the room. Everyone turned to see a new woman on one of the screens. Except she wasn't just a face, she was hair and a body and a dress and arms as well. She sat on the telly as if she was a program, except her smile was too smug and her eyes were too cold. It probably was even more of a give away when she added, "That would probably be me," in what was definitely a response to the Doctor's question. A question she shouldn't be able to hear as she should have been a recording of something that had happened weeks ago. "Ooh," the woman hummed. "This one's smart as paint. And look at his little guard dog, ready to bite." She almost chuckled, the laugh sitting on her face even as the noise didn't come out.

"Is she talking to us?" DI Bishop asked.

"I'm sorry gentleman, I'm afraid you brought this on yourselves," Magpie apologized rather pathetically. "May I introduce you to my new-" he cut off, probably choking as he finished, "Friend." He swallowed and Y/n almost rolled his eyes.

"Truly nice to meet you," the woman on the screen greeted.

"Oh my god it's here," DI Bishop exclaimed. "That woman on the telly."

The Doctor's expression was dark. "No. It's just using her image."

"What?" Tommy asked, dumbfounded and confused. "What are you?" he asked the woman when neither the Doctor nor Y/n responded to his first question.

"I'm The Wire," the not-woman responded. "And I will gobble you up, pretty boy." On instinct Y/n pushed Tommy behind him; Tommy didn't resist. When Tommy was gone, the Wire's eyes moved up to look at Y/n instead. "Every last morsel. And when I have feasted, I shall regain the corporeal body, which my fellow kind denied me." As she spoke, the black and white screen suddenly filled with color, and Y/n realized she was showing off. Threatening and she flexed to show how much power she already had, just from the few people she'd fed off of. From Rose.

"Good lord." DI Bishop's eyes were wide. "Colour television!" Once again, Y/n had to try to not roll his eyes. To these people, that was a miracle.

The Doctor cut in on the moment. "So your own people tried to stop you."

"They executed me," the Wire spat. "But I escaped, in this form and fled across the stars."

"And now you're trapped in the television," the Doctor taunted. At his words, the color on the screen faded and it returned to black and white.

"Not for much longer." Despite her words, it gave Y/n hope to see her color fade. Her show of power had been quite temporary, which meant she was far, far weaker than she was trying to seem. That meant she would be much easy to defeat than she wanted to let on.

"This is what got my Gran?" Tommy asked, hands reaching out to tug on Y/n's sleeve.

Because Tommy was touching him, Y/n responded first. "Indeed. You don't know this yet I don't think, but people's minds work off of electricity. Little shocks all throughout the mind that send messages and information all around so it can power the rest of the body. She traps the minds and feeds off of them, and she does it by sapping away their faces. Ever heard, 'the eyes are the windows to the souls'? Well it's wrong, they're actually the doors, and once you open it it's very hard to close."

Feelings eyes on him, Y/n looked over to see the Doctor was surprised. It didn't last long though as the Doctor looked to Tommy, his anger coming back again as he added, "Problem is, it gorges itself like some great, over-fed pig." His eyes moved back to the Wire, spitting as he continued to get even angrier. "Taking people's faces, their essences, as it stuffs itself." The Wire looked very amused by that and Y/n was almost tempted to step forward and add some nasty words of his own, if Tommy hadn't still been holding onto him, keeping him back.

Probably for the best.

"And you let her do it, Magpie," the DI sneered at the electrician still cowering where the Doctor had left him before.

"I had to! She let me keep my face," Magpie whined. It was like a shark biting you then getting mad when you lashed out. It only made Y/n more angry. "She's promised to release me at the time of manifestation."

"What does that mean?" Tommy demanded.

"The appointed time," the Wire responded evenly. "My crowning glory."

That sentence set off the DI and Y/n at the same time. the DI shouted, "Doctor, the Coronation!" at the same time that Y/n lamented, "Oh my god the Coronation" as he rose a hand to cover his mouth, horrified as he began to realize the Wire's plan.

"For the first time in history, millions gathered round a television set," the Doctor confirmed. He turned smug as he took a step toward the screen. "But you're not strong enough yet, are you?" The Wire seemed to want to say something, but had nothing to throw back. The Doctor was right. "You can't do it all from here. That's why you need this!" He held up the screen from earlier, which Y/n only now realized he'd been carrying around the entire time. "You need something more powerful. This will turn a big transmitter into a big receiver."

"What a clever thing you are," the Wire sarcastically congratulated. "But why fret about it? Why not just relax? Kick off your shoes and enjoy the coronation. Believe me, you'll be glued to the screen."

"Well obviously we wouldn't-" But he didn't get to finish his sentence, because before Y/n could quip out a snarky response, suddenly there was a bright light and his whole body was beginning to ache. Slowly, starting at his fingers and toes, a sort of sharp numbness began to spread through his body. Began to eat at him, but by bit, until he was consumed. It never did get all of him, but even when the numbness faded and the world should have come back into view, that bright white light didn't go away. Y/n closed his eyes and felt a sort of fuzzy distance, but that white light didn't go anywhere. It was just muffled a little behind his eyelids.

For a while, Y/n didn't want to look. There was a fear in his heart that kept his eyes very closed. The white light wasn't too bright to look at or painful or consuming, it was just... terrifying. There was something that told him if he opened his eyes, he would see something terrible.

Unfortunately, Y/n was a companion of the Doctor. He maybe even had a little bit of what made the Doctor so wonderful and fantastic and brave inside of him, put there by experiences and memories that weren't his. Things that made people on such a deep level; mistakes and terrors. Things more terrible than some stupid white light could scare him with. So he opened his eyes, and he saw. And it was just as terrible as he thought it would be.

Suddenly he sucked in a breath and shot up into a sitting position, scrambling away from the wall of TV screens. He was breathing heavily, head spinning and heart racing. He looked around and saw DI Bishop, who was much more still but who seemed a little jarred himself. Though I suppose, no one was as upset by the experience just had as Y/n was. The Wire placated her victims, holding them in a cocoon of disconnection. Uncomfortable, but not upsetting. Not anything like what Y/n had just seen.

The door to Magpie's shop opened and the Doctor was there, eyes finding Y/n with an expression that was a mix of victory and worry. The worry grew as the Doctor realized Y/n seemed to be in a far more stable state than the Detective had been, which he didn't seem surprised about. Kneeling down, the Doctor placed a hand on Y/n's shoulder. "What happened?"

Y/n swallowed. "She took my face."

Even before the Doctor spoke, Y/n knew that was wrong though. "No, she didn't. You were fine. She was focused on the detective, and hadn't gotten to you, me, or Tommy yet. But when I got Tommy to wake up you just... lay there." He swallowed. "I thought you might have died."

At that, Y/n gave the only reassurance he could. "Well you and I both know that's not the case."

The Doctor nodded. "Right so. Stay here, I'll be back." He went and got Tommy, and then the four men - reunited again - all moved out of the shop. Shakily, as Y/n seemed to be having a hard time staying on his feet. Finally though, with a little help from Tommy, they managed to get Y/n out of the shop and down the street to head back to where all of the people who'd been taken were. If this was one of those happy endings, everyone would be back to normal. And considering Rose was one of them... well, they all had fingers crossed.

It didn't take long. They got far enough that Y/n only needed a little help from Tommy, and they moved a lot faster. They turned a corner, and saw a crowd of people surging out of the place where all the Wire's victims had been held. Y/n recognized a few body shapes and hair colors and outfits. Everyone was fine, just as they'd hoped. With the Wire gone, all consciousness had been returned to their bodies and people were in great condition. Well, good condition. Y/n was sure there might be some emotional damage. Disassociation was detrimental enough, without your very being being fed on.

But anyway, that wasn't the important thing. The important thing was that everyone was more or less completely fine. Which meant-

"Gran!" Tommy explained.

Tommy went to run, but paused as Y/n was still leaning on him. The man leaned away from the boy, waving him on. "I'll be fine. You go." With that, Tommy was gone. Y/n stayed where he was, leaning against the wall, afraid if he leaned off he might collapse. But then he saw Rose. He saw the Doctor surging toward her grinning face, and he felt his own body moving as well. Despite his worries about his current state of being, Y/n pushed off the wall and headed over as well. He was proud of himself for only limping a little bit.

Rose and the Doctor had the cutest reunion hug, and Y/n approached them as they parted. There was a grin on his face as he said, "All good now?"

"More than," Rose agreed. She hugged Y/n next, jumping in surprise as he groaned in pain. She leaned back much quickly, worry on her face as it had been on the Doctor's earlier, and was again. "Are you okay? You seem... hurt. What did you let happen to him?" She shot this at the Doctor, who was about to defend himself when Y/n did it for him.

"I just didn't handle the TV sucking my mind out of my body as well as you did," he tried to dismiss. "Really I'm fine. We fell after we got all zapped. I might have just landed wrong, really. Lots of different reasons, none of them anything you need to worry about." He reached up both hands, holding Rose's face. She was taken aback by the look in his eyes when he looked at her now. Like they hadn't seen each other in years, or he had believed he'd never see her again. To be fair, after the events of today, it was a fair look for one to have. "I love you. Have I said that recently?"

Rose cocked an eyebrow. "No partic-" Y/n kissed her, cutting her off. The kiss was hard and desperate and full of emotion that rocked her to her core. Rose felt her head rush and her heart race and her body shivered a bit before she registered the way he was holding her face. He was gripping it. Clinging to her like if she let go, she'd be gone forever. When they parted, she realized he was crying. "Y/n, are you sure you're okay?" She whispered, reaching a hand up to wipe the tear.

"Yeah." His voice cracked though, so it was quite unconvincing. "I'm just... I'm so glad you're okay, Rose. I really, really am." He stroked her cheek. "I'm never letting anything like that happen to you ever again."

She almost told him that he couldn't control what happened to her in this life of theirs, but Rose got the feeling that if she did, he might break down. So she just nodded and smiled and reassured, "Of course you will. You and the Doctor would never let anything really terrible happen to me. We're gonna be together forever, the three of us."

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. "Right," Y/n weakly agreed. He turned away, collecting himself. "Forever." His eyes moved across the crowd. "I think we deserved a bit of celebration. Come on!" And suddenly he was perfectly fine. Every few steps he winced just a little, but his smile was wide and his eyes were cleared. Like he had never been upset or hurt at all. The Doctor had been silent and nervous, constantly looking at Y/n again and again, but eventually the celebration got to even him and they were all forgetting their troubles and having a great time. Together again and inseparable.

For now.

Amidst all the fun, they ran into Tommy again and the Doctor gave his scooter as a present. It was a nice moment, but quickly messed up by Tommy seeing his dad again. Mr. Connolly seemed to be packed and suited up. Going somewhere. Leaving. "Good riddance," Tommy mumbled, face torn with hate.

"Is that it then, Tommy?" The Doctor asked, turning to watch Mr. Connolly go as well. "New monarch, new age, new world. No room for a man like Eddie Connolly."

"That's right," Tommy confirmed solidly. "He deserves it."

Rose leaned closer to the young boy. "Tommy, go after him."

Y/n cut in right there. "Never ever feel pressure to forgive someone who has abused you." He looked right at Tommy, and the Doctor and Rose went silent. "You are never required to let that person back into your life and don't you let anyone say otherwise." Y/n cleared his throat, his voice softening. "You should forgive him. If you don't, that anger you feel right now? It'll stay there inside you forever, and it'll turn you into him one day. You can't let it. You're too good to let someone else's mistakes ruin your future like that. You deserve better. And... you can give him another chance if you want. You can. But understand something: losing a parent is terrible. It sucks and it hurts, and it leaves a hole in your life forever. But that hole will always stay the size it is when that person leaves your life. Letting someone like your dad back in cold just widen that hole. Make it worse. Hurt it more. I'm not saying he will make it worse or he hasn't learned better. You can go after him, and that's your choice, and you're allowed to do that." Y/n reached out, placing his hand on Tommy's shoulder. "But you can't save him Tommy. Not from himself. You can't save anyone from themselves. You have to prioritize yourself and keep yourself safe first. So if you go after him, go because you want to. Not because he'll be sad or lonely or you think he needs you. Okay?"

Tommy had a very soft look on his face. One full of relief. Y/n's words had lifted a large burden off of his shoulders, and he nodded, smiling. "Thank you, Y/n. I... God, thank you."

Y/n smiled. "You're very welcome." With that, Tommy left the group. He walked back to his house, hesitated, and then did go after his dad. Y/n smiled to himself. "What a good lad."

"Very good," Rose agreed. But when Y/n looked over, she was looking at him, not Tommy.

Looking at his hands, Y/n cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cut you off I just-"

"No," Rose rushed to reassure. "You were right. I forget, sometimes... that not having a dad. It's not the worse thing that can happen to you. Sometimes it's better." She swallowed. "I was lucky to have a good dad. And an even better mum." At that, she pulled Y/n's chin so their eyes met. "I never properly apologized to you. For what happened in the parallel world. I pushed you to forgive her, and you knew from the beginning you shouldn't. She really hurt you and I pushed you to get there so she could."

Y/n shook his head and then wrapped his arm around her shoulder, tucking her into his side. Her arms went around his middle to hug him, her cheek resting against his chest. "It's not your fault, Rose. It's hers. Don't you dare blame yourself for that." The Doctor moved closer, using the table behind them and his body to block the view as he took Y/n's hand.

"All that matters if we're safe and together," the Doctor finalized.

And for now, that was true enough.

-

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[squidproquoclarice]

So I had a request from someone:  “I would love to hear what you think a typical day in the circus would be for Sadie and Arthur. Between caring for two small children, training and performing I wondering how they would manage to find a balance to it all.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I didn’t get to delve as deeply into researching circus life (alas) as I’d have liked, and seems like most of the historical circus “slice of life” out there is more concerning the 30s-50s.   But overall, they did stay pretty busy.  Many circuses would take the winter off and typically go somewhere warm (Florida was quite popular, so guess the circus people were some of the original snowbirds), and winter was a good period to rest up, recoup, and possibly have more dedicated time to train a new act, or aspects and tricks to an existing one. Stellar and Spangler doesn’t have that luxury, since I write them being year-round performers balancing some pretty precarious financials thanks to a theft by Ned Spangler, one of the original partners, that left them on the edge of collapse.  They would go to Central and South America once fall hit in the US.  But by early 1907, Tom Stellar having TB and being unable to travel and go on is pretty much the end of the circus, sending the artists elsewhere to join another circus (or in Arthur and Sadie’s case, setting them at liberty in Lemoyne to pick up the 1907 plot threads).  Training in a traveling circus like that would have been done in what time they had.  That could be numerous opportunities: days off from performing entirely if weather meant the crowd that would show up wouldn’t be worth the performance and so the tent would be empty all day for performers to train, taking a little extra time at a site before breaking the whole operation down and moving on, the day or so while the big top and other infrastructure was being put up to establish the show at a new location, or perhaps mornings on single-show days (for example, a Sunday matinee would have been a bad bet in many places due to the prevalence of church attendance at the time, not to mention it would have been culturally frowned upon.)  It wouldn’t be as easy as having three or four months each year off of travel and performing, but the performers would have found time to keep sharp and to refine their acts.  In terms of performances, there would be some days with two performances (Saturdays particularly), and some with only one performance in the later afternoon/evening.  It would all depend on the location and the ringmaster’s read of the place whether to put that second show on, and when it was time to pull up stakes and head to another place.  And of course, there would be days without performing at all while breaking down, moving, possibly being the ones to go to the next town early to hang posters and promote the show, setting up, or for bad weather.  Raising two small kids wasn’t easy either.  In 1907, Bea’s five and Mattie’s four, so neither of them is quite school aged yet, which would have made it tougher in years to come.  Arthur and Sadie are of course doing their best, and compared to the dawn-to-dusk effort of a hardscrabble farm like Sadie grew up on, or being migrant workers or coal miners or the like, the Griffith kiddos probably actually get a decent amount of dedicated time from their parents.  They’re working hard, yes, and as they’re not all that young--Sadie’s turning 39 and Arthur 44--they have to be aware of their limits.  There’s not a huge amount of regular scheduled leisure time, but it’s not endless days of backbreaking labor like many working class people endured.   Plus the circus had sort of a “it takes a village to raise a child” philosophy going on, and so the Stellar and Spangler circus kiddos had a plethora of honorary aunts and uncles to look after them when their parents needed time away from childcare to focus on training or performing or the like.  There would have been a certain quid pro quo element there as Arthur and Sadie would step up and look after other peoples’ kids other points.  It was probably usual to find the children under 10 all in a sort of daycare group being watched by whoever was free to take it on, and that responsibility might change hands several times in a day.  Older kids were more able to look after themselves, or even start learning a few tricks of the trade if they were planning to continue the circus tradition themselves.  During performances, the ones old enough to behave would get to watch sometimes, but other times they’d likely be looked after by a non-performer and be doing schoolwork or the like. This also does mean that Bea and Mattie accept getting numerous new aunts and uncles in 1907 (Abigail, John, etc.) as a matter of course, being as they’re very used to the idea of a large family of choice and “Oh, they’re your Aunt/Uncle (Name)” already.  So it’s hard to answer what a “typical” day in the circus would be, as it could vary so much depending on what they were doing and where they were.  Assuming we’re talking a day where they’re already established at a location and actively performing and choosing to do a two-performance day, they’d probably get up early, get the kids ready and off after breakfast to whoever was doing the minding at that moment, do some training time in the big top when it was available and taking turns with the rest of them, likely looking after the kid group themselves for a while, and then in the early afternoon put on a matinee performance, have a break to probably spend with the kids and tend to any urgent act issues (mending gear or costumes, checking any problems with the animals, addressing any minor injuries to themselves, etc.), and then back to put on the evening performance, then supper, putting the kids to bed, probably a little bit of social downtime with their friends, and then to sleep themselves. Back in late summer 1904 when Sadie and Arthur were newly joined, I imagine they might have been allowed to be a sharpshooting act pretty quickly, even on horseback, since that mostly meant looking intense and intent, and Bob and Buell are already both reliable and used to gunfire. But animal acts are complicated, and showy horse acts were such a centerpiece of a circus that they couldn’t be half-assed.  They likely had to spend a couple of months training as an actual horse act before being allowed to perform it.  As Stellar observes, they’ve got some impressive skills, but no polish of showmanship and performance sense on them.  During that time, they probably would have been consulting with others for what would look good vs the skills they could reasonably perform or learn, developing the choreography of an actual act, training the horses for it, and practicing it in the training periods I talked about above.  They probably also pitched in on what communal work they could to help earn their keep.  A rookie was known as a “first of May” which they probably got a kick out of, given their wedding anniversary is May 1st.