#he sucks!!!!! but for a minute the universe fell out of whack before it righted itself again

[song-tam]

i WILL get into it eventually. love and deepspace that is. i just have 0 space can they make THAT a desktop game (JOKING it would be like 60 bucks)

YIPPEE i hope you have more space soon. there are rumors of a new love interest character dropping in dec/jan apparently and im kinda tweaking out

[kimistorm]

Did you just ask me out on live stream? [Yang Jeongin]

Fandom: Stray Kids

Pairing: [Jeongin x GN! Reader]

Warnings: none!

Requested by: @stupendousfriendcalzonehands Thanks for the request! Let me know what you think~

Prompts: "After how many ½ inches does it become a date?” “Did you say you knew how to do this?”

It started as a bet. You and Jeongin couldn’t keep up a weekly podcast for more than 2 months. The way Han phrased it, you could just do it on YouTube and in your dorms, but no, you were fueled by spite and somehow convinced your professor to allow you, Jeongin, and Hyunjin to live stream from the university’s audio studio.

Two months later and you had a small following, so you just continued. Much to Han’s shock.

“On to the final part of the show,” you spoke into your microphone as you scrolled through the outline, “answering your questions!” you let out a snort, “I don’t know why you guys keep asking us for advice. The other day Jeongin tried to joust Seungmin with an icicle.”

“And I won!” your partner declared gleefully with a wide grin.

“Mmm, debatable,” you teased, much to Jeongin’s chagrin, effectively wiping his face of the smile. “He only claims he won because Seungmin’s icicle broke first.”

“Yeah! That’s how it works!”

“But he hit you with it before you broke it!”

Jeongin threw his arms up in frustration, “this isn’t fencing!” From beyond the glass, you saw Hyunjin shaking his head in tired resignation as the two of you deviated from the script yet again and couldn’t help but giggle. “Deal with it Hyunjin,” Jeongin whispered into the mic when he saw what you were giggling at, causing your laughs to escalate. Hyunjin glared at the two of you and Jeongin put his hands up in surrender, “okay okay, actually onto the questions now. Which were chosen by our dear Hyunjin," he mocked with faux sincerity before an evil grin grew on his face, "so if this becomes boring blame him.”

Hyunjin looked like he was going to enter the recording booth and whack the two of you over the head with the rolled-up outline in his hand as his mouth was open in a muffled yell.

“Before Hyunjin takes us off the air, let’s answer some of your questions!” for the third time you tried to continue with what you were supposed to be doing. “This one’s from John. Hey (y/n) and Jeongin! There’s someone who I really like and I want to ask them out on a date. We’ve been getting dinner together, but I don’t think either of us really classify it as a date. It’s mostly been under the pretense of ‘I’m starving, you’re here, let’s go.’ How can I make that leap into asking them on a date versus a friendly get-together? Thanks for the help!” there was a pause of silence as the two of you tried to think of a response, “no offense John, but you’re asking the wrong people. I’ve never been on a date,” you side-eyed Hyunjin for him letting this question pass, “and Jeongin-”

“I’ve been in the same position.”

“What?” you shrieked and the three of you winced as you heard your loud voice through your headphones.

“Warning for headphone users.” Your dark-haired friend mumbled under his breath and took off his headphones to rub at his ear.

“Hold up, when was this?” you looked at Jeongin in bewilderment. The two of you were best friends, and this was a new development for you. You had never heard of Jeongin crushing after someone. Granted, you had only known each other for about 3 years, since the two of you started university, but with the number of late-night ramblings and how often the two of you are together, it could’ve come up.

Jeongin merely shrugged. “I totally understand you, John, it’s difficult, but here’s what I did.” You nodded your head to allow Jeongin to continue, seeing as you had no way to help. “It’s hard to tell from your letter, but how close are the two of you? I got closer and closer to the person who I liked. It developed from ‘hey you’re in the same class as me,’ to something more. It became late-night shenanigans, staying up late talking about anything and everything, watching movies, and of course, doing homework together. Though, to be real, we suck at doing homework when we’re together.” He added with a laugh.

There was a pleasant smile on his face as he reminisced this person, he looked genuinely at peace, and it surprised you. Whoever this person was, they made a big impact on Jeongin’s life. It was strange that you never heard of this person, besides, Jeongin seemed to have had some closure with this person. Did it end badly? Is that why you never knew of this enigma? But he looked so happy? It kind of hurt. This person was so pivotal in his life and yet he hid it all from you. Maybe you weren’t as close as you thought. “Half inch by half inch, we became closer.” There was a definitive look on his face as he gave a nod, seemingly happy with his answer.

You, on the other hand, were a little more unconvinced. That couldn’t be the end of the story. Maybe you were a little more miffed because this was news to you, or maybe the reporter in you was finally coming out and wanting to know the conclusion. Either way, there was a bit of an edge to your voice as you asked, “okay, so after how many ½ inches does it become a date?” you turned the conversation back to John’s question, “John seems to already be friends, he just wants to take this person on a date.”

Jeongin let out a scoff and rolled his eyes at you, “it’s not linear.”

There was a pause and when it seemed like Jeongin wasn’t going to speak up again, you continued your dubious proddings, “did you say you knew how to do this?” there was an offended shout from Jeongin and he kicked you from under the table to elicit a startled yelp from you.

“I hope none of our listeners are using headphones.” Jeongin shook his head in empathy, “because my ears burn.”

“You’re the one who kicked me!”

Jeongin childishly stuck his tongue out at you, “things will work out John. I’m sure the more you get to know them the more things will fall into place.” He reassured, though you weren’t feeling reassured, and you figured John probably wasn’t either.

“Did you ever ask your person out on a date?” you asked, still wanting to get closure for your story, seeing as Jeongin wasn’t keen on providing it.

His face reddened and you resisted the urge to crow teasingly at him, “not yet.” He mumbled into the mic, but it was loud enough for you to hear with your headphones.

You leaned back in your chair to get away from the mic and let out a screech, “you don’t know what you’re talking about either!”

“You were just going to write off John’s letter! I couldn’t let you do that.” He protested with his face still red and his gaze averted.

“Ask them out John!” you took matters into your hands seeing as Jeongin was clumsier with love than you were. Hyunjin sure picked the wrong question this time. “There’s no time like the present. Don’t twist one of your normal dinners into a date, specifically plan it. Ask them if they want to go on a date at some other time than what the two of you normally do. The worst that could happen is they say no.”

“That’s mortifying! I could never do that!” the aghast look on Jeongin’s face did little to make you feel guilty.

“That’s why you never asked out your person on a date.” The hurt look that fell on his face did though. “Oh no, I’m sorry.” The chaotic atmosphere that filled the recording booth stilled and you went over to hug your friend, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No, you’re right.” He continued in a quiet voice, “I guess I got too scared to do anything, so I decided things were perfectly all right the way they were, even if I wish it was different.”

You smoothed his hair down absentmindedly from your awkward standing position and his sitting position, “relationships are scary. I think you, and John, are valid to be scared.”

“But you’re also right, there’s no time like the present.”

You let out a quiet laugh, “and in the end, neither of us was able to help John.”

“Maybe this will,” you pulled away from Jeongin in confusion so you could look at his face. There was a nervous look settled on his face and he refused to look anywhere close to you, “do you want to go on a date later?”

Your jaw probably dropped comically as you looked at him in bewilderment, “wait-are you-did you-?” did he ask what you think he did? Did he just ask you out? On-air? Was that buzzing in your ear from your headphones? Was this a setup from Hyunjin? Was Jeongin John? Somehow, even as your mind was racing a hundred miles a minute, the terrified look on Jeongin’s face was able to clear through the mess and register in your mind. You took a deep breath to stop your word vomit, “yeah.” You smiled, “let’s go on a date. Maybe a dinner date?”

The terrified look immediately washed away and was replaced with a relieved look, “that sounds great.”

Hyunjin’s yelling was so loud that the two of you could faintly hear him screaming, “finally!”

Masterlist

Context bonus: "After how many ½ inches does it become a date?” One of my female friends was trying to describe to one of my male friends dating, but none of us know how to date.

[iselsis]

Off the Streets

Summary: Omega Jason Todd needs to get some food and go to ground quickly, before his heat hits. This plan is destroyed by Batman and his habit of impulse adopting children the way some people impulse buy gum at the cash register.

“Get back here, you thief!” the clerk hollered after him.

Jason, not an idiot, did not go back there, or even stop to pick up one of the bags of food he dropped. The clerk wouldn’t go far from the corner store, or he’d have more than just one kid grabbing some packaged food and sprinting, so all Jason needed to outdistance the beta to get away scot free.

His rush of pride was quickly squashed by reality, and the flickers of pain that had started in his stomach and promised a heat, soon. Without a calendar, he’d been forced to guess when most his heats were, and heats for younger kids like him could be inconsistent anyways. The first signs of heat had only just shown themselves, warning him to get food and hide quickly.

Food, down, he thought to himself, rather smugly. The beta hadn’t even been a challenge to outrun. He’d even snagged two water bottles and shoved them in the pocket of his hoodie, which was more foresight than he’d had the last time he’d gone into heat. It had been one of the nice working girls had found him and taken pity on him that had kept him from crawling out of his nest on day three to track down some water.

Jason ducked into an alley that he knew even the bravest of store clerks wasn’t stupid enough to enter a dark alley at night. You might run into strangers.

And speaking of strangers, Jason slammed directly into a wall of concrete. Jason stumbled back, rubbing his sore nose in confusion. There had not been a brick wall there when he’d been casing the joint that afternoon, but apparently one had conjured itself up.

“You have something that doesn’t belong to you,” the brick wall commented in a deep, gravelly voice.

Jason looked up – and kept looking up – until his eyes saw the yellow and black bat symbol, and the pointy black bat ears above them.

Oh, hell no. Jason spun on his heel and made a break for it, but Batman collared him immediately and yanked him back.

“Let me go! Let go!” Jason dropped his hard won food and desperately clawed at the gauntlet holding his hoodie. He’d go hungry if he had to. It would suck hard, but he couldn’t let Batman arrest him and throw him at the GCPD right before he went into heat. He’d be lucky to come out alive.

It was useless, though. Batman was probably three times his size, and wearing armored gloves. It took Jason a minute to accept that, and that he was just wasting energy he’d need to live through the beating he was in for and stop fighting.

Batman waited a few more moments after he’d stopped struggling, like he was waiting to see if Jason was really done.

Once he was satisfied, he gave Jason a small shake and jerk his head at the mess that Jason had dropped. “Pick those up.”

Jason scowled fiercely at him, but knelt slowly, Batman’s hand following his hood, and started feeling around for the food without breaking eye contact. His stomach made a loud growl at the sight of all the pretty food, all packaged up and ready to eat….it had been a couple days since he’d last found more than a few scraps. He hadn’t been able to find a job, or anything easy to steal until the food, and now he had to get away and bunker down for his heat. Without the food, that meant that it would have been at least a week before he got to eat again.

Batman might have mercy if he behaved, though.

“Here,” he grumbled, standing up and holding out the armful of food to Batman. “Now let me go.”

Batman didn’t move to take it, which was damn rude. Instead, he stared down at him for several seconds, his head tilted in a calculating pose. “Why did you take that food?”

“That’s a stupid question,” Jason snapped before he remembered the he needed Batman to like him if he wanted to beat the clock and get back to his cozy little nest of rags and shredded pieces of cardboard. He deflated somewhat and looked to the ground to hide his flushing cheeks. “I’m hungry.”

“And your parents won’t feed you?”

“Does it look like I ha-” Jason started sarcastically, then cut himself off and muttered in a less hostile tone, “No. They’re dead.”

His mom was, at least. She’d wasted away from the drugs until there was so little that even her tricks didn’t want her anymore, until she couldn’t talk or do more than stare vacantly at the ceiling, and until she finally stopped breathing on their couch. It still hurt, thinking about her, even though it had been a whole year. The blanket he’d pulled from her nest and stuffed into his backpack before he ran now smelled of him and of Gotham’s underbelly, instead of the sunshine and honey that she’d smelled like before – before she’d gotten sick. He missed her so much.

His dad was in jail. Probably. Didn’t really matter one way or another, because Jason wasn’t going anywhere near him anyway.

“I see,” Batman said quietly.

Jason dared a quick glance up, then froze. Batman looked…sympathetic. Like he actually understood. It just looked wrong on the Unholy Terror of the Night. He was going to die. He had broken Batman, and the universe, or Batman’s fists, was going to demand vengeance.

“Who takes care of you?” Batman asked him, kneeling down to be closer to Jason’s height, but still keeping a hold on his hoodie.

Jason swallowed hard and tried not to look intimidated. Even down low, the alpha was huge. “I do. Can I go now?”

Batman frowned. “Why aren’t you in foster care?”

Jason fixed him with an incredulous glare. It was a bit more daring that he should have been giving out when he wanted to get on Batman’s good side, but seriously, wasn’t Batman supposed to be some great detective? The foster system was in the hands of the mobs, and even if it wasn’t, and they were in some other city that wasn’t like Gotham, omega pups weren’t safe in foster homes.

“’s not exactly safe for people like me,” Jason muttered. He was normally good about keeping his scent covered, but with his heat approaching, everything was out of whack. There was no way that Batman hadn’t noticed what he was.

Batman nodded and stood up. “Come with me.”

Jason’s eyes widened and he tried to back away, but he couldn’t get far. “Where are you taking me?”

Batman started walking toward the mouth of the alley and gave Jason’s hood a slight tug. “You’re going to return what you stole. I’ll deal with you after that.”

And then he’d give Jason a firm talk on why stealing was bad, and Jason would pretend to be thoroughly repentant and be up and at it again as soon as his heat was done? Batman nodded because he understood that Jason wasn’t safe in foster care, right? So he wouldn’t try to put Jason in there? Or maybe he was just going to beat the hell out of him for stealing, like he did to every other thief he’d met. He’d seen what Batman gave his dad for stealing, and his dad had been an adult alpha with friends. A packless omega pup would be lucky to survive Batman’s wrath. If he did survive, then he was going to be broken, immobile, starving, and in heat a mile from the safety of his nest in the middle of Crime Alley.

Jason’s legs felt like lead as he trailed after Batman. He knew that he needed to hurry, get whatever was coming out of the way so he could get back to his nest, away from any alphas who could smell him, but he didn’t want to fork over the food he had stolen, and he didn’t want to get beaten.

The clerk was scowling when they walked into the store, an expression which quickly changed to shock, and then to smug satisfaction when he realized what was going on. Batman released his hood and gave him a nudge toward the counter. Jason scowled and shuffled up to it.

He tightened his hands around his ill-gotten goods one last time before he opened his hands reluctantly and dumped it all on the counter.

“Here’s your dumb shit,” he grumbled.

The beta growled in smug triumph. “Looks like the little thief met the big bad bat. He beat the shit out of you yet?”

Jason scowled at him and stormed back to Batman, but his heart was pounding wildly in his chest. “There, I gave it back. Can I go now?”

Batman put a hand around Jason’s upper arm and led him out of the store. He said nothing as he pulled Jason in a new direction. Jason focused on deep breaths. Panic might make his heat come quicker, but the clerk’s question rang in his ear: he beat the shit out of you yet? Batman understood why he wouldn’t go to foster care, probably understood that meant the cops too. He still had to be punished, though. Jason shuddered and tried half-heartedly to pull away.

“Please let me go,” Jason begged quietly. “Please, I’ll be good. I won’t steal again, I promise.”

Batman looked down at him, but didn’t loosen his grip. “I’m not going to hurt you. Calm down.”

Jason’s heart sank. The no was bad enough, but expected. Was Batman trying to lull him into a false sense of security? He’d thought that only the Rogues were freaks, but now he realized that the guy dressed as a vigilante bat probably should be in Arkham too. Jason struggled a little harder, but he hadn’t eaten in two days, and even if he had, he was no match for the giant alpha.

“Please, please let em go,” he tried. “I learned my lesson, okay? Please!”

Batman stopped and grabbed Jason’s other arm, forcing Jason to face him. Jason flinched hard, but no blow fell.

“I’m not mad at you. I know that you were just trying to survive,” Batman promised, his voice losing a slight edge on the gravel, but he was still scentless, and his face was covered, and with his body so close to Jason’s, he couldn’t tell if the man was telling the truth. Why would he be telling the truth, though, and where was he taking Jason if he was?

“If you’re not mad, then can’t I go?” Jason whimpered helplessly.

Batman sighed and shook his head. “You aren’t safe on the streets. You need to come with me.”

With that, Batman stood up and tugged Jason suddenly into an alley. Jason had to bite his lip hard to hold back the terrified scream – it would only make Batman angrier, and angry people hurt more. He was going to be beaten, no matter what lies Batman was telling him.

What was this place, Batman’s favorite alley for beating up stupid kids? He’d been pretty purposeful about coming to this place, so there must have been something.

Then he saw it – a glint of light on metal. The shell of a car.

He was an idiot. A damn idiot. Batman wasn’t going to beat him up, Jason was a starving, packless omega pup on the brink of heat who no one would miss.

Batman was going to rape him.

Jason suddenly threw all his energy in trying to break free of Batman’s grip, hoping to take him by surprise, but Batman just picked him up and carried him over to the car despite his protests.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Batman repeated, grunting a little as a well placed elbow jabbed into his ribs. “I’m not angry with you for stealing. You’re about to go into heat, and you need to be off the streets now.”

“No, please, let me go!” Jason begged him, clinging to the cape as Batman opened the door and tried to put Jason inside. “Please, I’m fine on my own, you don’t have to do this, please!”

Batman unclipped his cape when he couldn’t get Jason’s fingers off it, and tossed it in on top of Jason, then closed the door behind him. Jason made a half-hearted attempt at the door handle. It was locked, of course. He wasn’t going to be able to escape his punishment so easily. Tears welled in his eyes, and another, vicious cramp sent them spilling onto his cheeks. He felt the first flicker of heat start in his stomach, and knew that he had maybe an hour before that tiny spark had consumed his whole body. If he was lucky, Batman would be done with him by then, or at the very least, drop him off outside the abandoned building he’d taken shelter in when he was. More likely, Batman would keep him for his entire heat under the guise of protecting him.

The driver’s door opened, he could hear Batman climbing inside, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at the man. His breath hitched and his entire body flinched at another cramp. He buried his face in his knees and groaned.

“Is your heat starting?” Batman asked, his voice losing even more of its gravel. “I can help you with that.”

Jason flinched. Batman’s voice was becoming less and less disguised, and there was no way he was going anywhere once he’d hear the man’s real voice.

What did he tell Batman? When alphas offered to help omegas with their heats, it only ever meant one thing. But that was going to happen anyway, and maybe he could hurry it all up and get it finished so Batman would let him go. Earn some good will by being a compliant little bitch.

Jason nodded miserably.

He didn’t look up, but he could hear Batman opening and rummaging through the center console for something. That protection he kept talking about, probably. The kind that came in foil wrappers.

There was a small rattling noise, painfully familiar, that had Jason looking up in confusion.

Batman was holding a small white bottle and checking the label on it.

“How old are you?” Well, that came out of nowhere.

“Twelve,” he answered without even meaning to. It must have been the randomness of that question shocking him.

Batman grunted. “You’re supposed to take two pills, then.”

Jason watched in stunned silence as Batman uncapped the jar, shook out two white pills, and held them out toward Jason. It was almost in a daze that he reached up and took the pills from Batman’s hand, and the water bottle that he was passed a moment later. That was…not what he’d expected.

Unless Batman was trying to drug him.

“What are these?” Jason asked suspiciously.

“They’re just Tylenol. Would you like to see the bottle?” Batman told him, more patiently than Jason would have expected.

Jason hesitated, not sure if it was a trap, then nodded. Batman calmly handed over the small plastic bottle in his hand, and Jason snatched it and read the ingredients, directions, and warnings three times before he had concluded that yeah, that was…actually probably just a painkiller.

Jason cautiously took the pills with a swig of water and a sideways glance at Batman to watch his reaction, but there was no crow of victory, no smug smirk at Jason for having drugged himself. Just a painkiller, for real, then.

“Buckle up,” Batman instructed, slipping the key into the ignition and bringing the car to a purr.

Panic tightened Jason’s throat, and the scent of it was immediately thick in the car, mixed with a cloyingly sweet omega heat scent. His breaths were fast and shallow, and he found himself clenching his eyes tight shut again.

“Where are we going?” Jason cut a glance to Batman. Scentless, unreadable Batman.

Batman paused, frowning slightly at Jason’s reaction. “I’m taking you to my home.”

Jason couldn’t breathe, and his eyes welled with fresh tears. No wonder Batman was giving him the medicine; he wasn’t being kind to a random orphan he was gonna fuck once and abandon, he was providing for his future mate.

“Can’t we just do it here and get it over with?” Jason pleaded. He’d never be able to escape from Batman’s headquarters, wherever that was, and he was sure by the offering of the medicine that Batman was in for the long haul. If he went with Batman, he was going to die a slave to a hero, probably fairly young.

Batman tilted his head slightly as he fixed Jason with a stare. “Do what here?”

Jason flinched and his cheeks flushed bright red. Batman was going to make him spell it out? His heart hammered, and he turned begging eyes on Batman. “Please, I won’t fight you, but only once. I’ll do just what you want me to do, I won’t struggle at all, but please do it here, and let me go when we’re done. I-” His mother, coming home late at night or not at all, covered in bruises and bitemarks that she hadn’t been before. His mother, not even recognizing him because the drugs her pimp had her on were so strong and kept he more firmly under the beta’s control than shackles ever could. His mother, scared that she might be pregnant with the child of an alpha she didn’t know, only to lose the baby and get even worse than before. “Please, I don’t want to be a whore.”

Batman’s jaw dropped, and he actually, physically recoiled from Jason at the suggestion. “I’m not- I-“

Batman’s grovel was entirely gone, and he couldn’t seem to find the words for how revolting he found whatever it is he was mad about. Was it that Jason had asked him to let him go after a light demonstration of courting? Jason’s eyes stung fiercely.

“I didn’t bring you here to rape you,” Batman said firmly at last, still not in his Batman voice. Jason was definitely never, ever leaving. It wasn’t going to be rape, it was going to be mating while Jason was in heat, and that didn’t even count in courts that weren’t in Gotham.

Jason tucked his face against the window and let the tears fall. There was no one but Batman to see, and Batman had singled him out probably because he could already tell how weak Jason was.

Batman sighed. “What’s your name, son?”

Jason sniffed and muttered thickly, “What’s it matter?”

“I want to know what you like to be called so I can call you that,” Batman told him.

Jason didn’t want to give him his name, but he also realized that he was probably never going to see a single other person ever. He didn’t want to lose the name his mother gave him, or use some sort of fake name for the rest of his life.

“Jason,” he whispered.

Batman sighed again. “Alright, Jason. I’m not going to hurt you. That includes any kind of sexual touching. Adults touching kids that way is very wrong, even when it’s an omega in heat. Not everyone believes the same way, though, so you have to get off the streets before your heat gets any worse. I’m not trying to keep you forever, just until your heat is finished. Then we can figure out where you want to stay. Does that sound good to you?”

It sounded good. It sounded so good. For a moment, hope sprang up, burning with painful, wonderous brilliance, but then it flickered out and died.

“Everyone’s seen what you put Robin in! I’m not an idiot!” Jason snapped at him.

“Robin designed his outfit by himself. I didn’t particularly like the lack of pants either, but the design was sentimental to him and I allowed it. I did not ever touch him sexually, and you’re welcome to ask him about that yourself when you meet him,” Batman said, then started to pull the car out of the alley like the conversation was done. If he was done talking, then it was. Batman held all the power in their relationship.

“I’m meeting Robin, then,” Jason drawled, trying to hide the wobbliness in his voice as they travelled at breakneck speed down the streets. It had never been proven, but a lot of people thought that Robin was an alpha too. “You usually invite friends over for this kind of thing?”

Batman had the nerve to give a long suffering sigh. Asshole. “If Robin comes by the house, then you’ll meet him, but he isn’t going to touch you either. Jason, you’re safe. I promise.”

Safety and promises. Jason snorted bitterly. He’d stopped believing in fairytales a long time ago.

[omegangrins]

A Rant on the End of Tremors 7: Shrieker Island

As the main man said,

Throwing caution to the wind because this blew up elsewhere.

If you can do it with Justice League, fuck it, let's do it for every shitty movie we've got.

While we're at it, can we change the ending of the 7th Tremors movie so *MAJOR FUCKING SPOILERS* Burt Gummer doesn't die or at least bring Jamie Kennedy back, or Marvel style recast Jon Heder, so he dies saving his son instead of a random-ass person who could have easily saved themselves. Or cut the forced montage of Burt clips at the end so his death is at least ambiguous. Seriously beyond pissed about that one. THAT is no way for him to go.

I would also like to point out that the next Tremors *HAS* to be titled Tremors 8: Ouroboros and bring everyone back for Burt's funeral . Otherwise, what's the fucking point?

I have feelings about it, people. *FEELINGS!!!*

One of my favourite childhood memories is picking out Tremors 2 from the local gas station's movie rentals and forcing my parents to watch it. I was probably 5-6 at the time.

Let's say that it's been a lifelong love affair ever since. It took me another 10 years before I even watched the 1st. Probably why I hold good sequels in such high regard.

I didn't even know about the 1st until it played as a trailer in front of 2 and never thought to watch until years later. That's a testament to its filmmaking if I ever knew one.

So seriously, that's how they chose to kill off one of the most well known and prolific characters in a movie/TV series known around the globe? With an unnecessaryily needed death and a montage of clips from all the other movies that are obviously better than this one.

And I'm saying that as someone who defends Chibnall/13th Doctor...

...and I'm fucking fuming because THIS is how you *actually* destroy something people love and hold dear to their hearts. It's like the ending of Game of Thrones. His shitty ass death has made it a loooooot harder to rewatch. And they are one of my favourite series!!! Not flawless but fun. But I will defend every other movie and all the episodes except this. Honestly I'll still defend 7/8ths of this one as well.

Like I said, it's easily fixed too. Fucking vice versa swap out Jon Heder for Jamie Kennedy, who the movies have been building up for the last two, and have Burt save his son in front of his old flame. Boom, you won't even need the montage of clips cause you can just have Travis and his mom reminisce about Burt instead. Show not tell. I don't even care he died by Graboid (although in all honesty, I've allways wanted El Blanco to take him down or Burt kills himself from the PTSD. It would have AT LEAST MADE SENSE. Hell, the best would be a heart attack to callback Val's "Yeah, Burt, the way you worry, you're gonna have a heart attack before you get a chance to survive World War Three.". But none of us ever get the best death.). And it's not even about Burt sacrificing himself to save a nobody. Cause that could work too. BUT YOU NEED TO BUILD THAT SHIT UP. Not just fucking drop it like it's hot.

Like I said too, the first 7/8ths ain't bad but it's an entirely different story than a swansong for a hero.

It's all about some billionaire scientist/cowboy hunter dude who likes to get his jollies off hunting the biggest and the baddest who ends up inviting people to this island so they can hunt down Super-Graboids he designed for shits and giggles. But then some Shrieker-fy....

And the pretentious douches come and die one by beautiful one while Burt tries to save them anyway and it's all spectacularly dumb fun until it comes crashing down in the final 10 minutes. Fuck, they should just cut the last 10 minutes. Then it's a perfect little Tremors ditty.

#RELEASETHE7THTREMORSWITH10MINUTESFROMTHEENDCUT

This isn't even about Jon Heder either. He's just doing his job. Hell, do what /u/VoiceofRonHoward pointed out.

"It is clear that Jon's character was just pasted in over Jamie's, the artifacts of the father-son relationship are all over it. They should have gone full Marvel and just replaced Jamie with Jon and acted like nothing happened."

CAUSE FUCK YES!! The only time a story sucks is when they don't commit. Commitment makes all the difference. Now, I'm pissed double-pissed they didn't do that instead since Heder and Kennedy are similar in terms of white-boy-ness.

Even Michael Gross agrees:

"Yes, yes. Now I can't presume to speak for Jamie [Kennedy]. My understanding was they asked him and he said no. And so that's why they went with somebody else. So I had nothing to do with that decision. I just heard the stories. I missed him for that reason. You begin a relationship with the character, and you want to continue it....

...As you build a relationship with this son, we had two, it would've been nice to have three, but that was the hand I was dealt."

One of my favourite bits of Tremors lore comes from the 5th too so it's not like I hate sequel changes out of hand:

"This is a warrior dance. Our ancestors hunting the lnkanyamba and the Impundulu.

"What's that?

"Impundulu. It's what you call the Ass Blaster.

"Ass Blaster.

"Yes.

"Yes.

"Hey, you know, you make Ass Blaster sound good.

Primitive cultures fighting Graboids, Shriekers and Assblasters. I just love that thought.

Hilariously, my meta opening to the 8th movie would be a flashback to 10,000 years ago and a Neanderthal-like Burt Gummer teaching others how to drive Graboids off cliffs like they did with mammoths.

Thank you for giving me the space to rant. Cause fuuuuuuhhhhhhhhuuccck!!!

Here's Michael Gross' own words from his AMA that prove the people making Shrieker Island didn't know their shit.

"The Tremors series is one very close to my heart and I want you to know how appreciated your continued effort is for your core fan base.

My only question would be were there ever any studio decisions made for Burt that you refused to comply with? Or was everybody pretty much always on the same page on what to do with the character?

Thanks again for your dedication.

- Josh"

"Thanks for the kind words, Josh. As regards the first four films, with Wilson and Maddock as the writers, we were very much on the same page. 5,6, and 7 were a bit different, because there was a 13-year hiatus between 4 and 5, and we had to refresh our memories while "reinventing" the franchise for a new audience. I will give you one example: in an early draft of Shrieker Island, a new writer wrote a draft where Burt threatened to shoot one of the bad dudes, and I had to tell him—this is true—"Burt never intentionally points his gun at another human being."

And his own thoughts on Burt's "death" and how to bring it all back together again.

Universal and the director [came] to me with this idea, and they said, 'This could be emotionally very powerful, if we have to say goodbye to this man after 30 years. And I hemmed and hawed, and I thought about it a little bit. And I said, 'You're absolutely right about the emotional gut punch this can be.' And I said, 'You're going to hurt a lot of people's feelings.' And I said, 'But I thought this franchise was over after four. So I could certainly live with it being over after seven.'

"What we negotiated -- well, it wasn't really a negotiation, we all agreed on this -- is that we kind of left the door open. >!Because although Burt is gone, we never see a corpse. We never see his remains. Everybody assumes he's gone. Is he buried somewhere? Is he unconscious somewhere? We never see Burt dead. We see Burt gone. We see Burt not returning. What does that mean? Has he been knocked out? Does he have amnesia somewhere? Does he wander off? Is he in a kind of coma? So yes, the way it ends is pretty profound."

"As regards to the end of Tremors 7, let me just say that while people ASSUME Burt is gone, we never see his remains, do we? Just sayin.'

"The only reason he has become the main character is that everyone else in the original cast moved on to other things. I NEVER thought of him as the central figure, but it just worked out that Michael Gross, like Burt Gummer, was a "survivor." :0) "

"No one would like to see it more than I!!! One of my greatest regrets is that so many other cast members fell away over time. Reba was on to other things, Kevin said no to a second, Fred said no to a third. I would LOVE one last go with all of them, but it is not up to me. :0( "

"There are no guarantees, but for those who wonder aloud if this is the final film, I will say what I have said before: SALES drive sequels, Show biz is 5% show and 95% business, so if this latest addition to the Tremors franchise, sells well, [Universal] will follow the money, and Universal Pictures Home Entertainment may will be back for more."

/u/ActorMichaelGross, the bell has been rung and the song sung. Get the producers on this ASAP!!

I was also the first person to discover the symbolic foreshadowing of Stumpy's end with Earl's sleeping bag in the original movie.

Let's just say, I really *really* love these movies. So if anyone knows anyone, hook me up to the producers of this series and I'll Justin Lin in the Fast and Furious out of this shit.

Since I don't think it's good to critique without proposing either, I say we can make up for this fuck up with the next movie. We'll call it Tremors 8: Ouroboros. After the snake which eats its own tail.

We find out Burt faked his death to get the Proudfoot Corporation to let down their guard and when everyone from the previous series comes back for Burt's fake funeral they give him ever loving shit for being such a paranoid whack-job that he would fake his death to fool a government agency. Why would he do this? He found an old photo of Hiram Gummer with a Graboid warning on the back and asks himself why this valley, why these things, why allways me? And we find out, it's not Burt. It's that lifestyles of extremes will end up in places of extremes. Burt and the Graboids are survivors of different species. Sure the Proudfoot Corporation IS using Mixmaster to combine Graboids, Shriekers, and Ass-Blasters into one super creature for the military but it pales in comparison to Burt looking at his life and wondering in shame how many ancient giants like himself he has killed. And with that, he actually dies, and we keep the ball rolling with the rest of the characters trying to stop what they allways thought was just another one of Burt's crazy conspiracies.

That's why it's Ouroboros. Everything comes back around. We could end/start the movie with Grady, Earl, and Jodi opening a Monster World in Perfection Valley a la Desert Jack's Graboid Adventure. I don't know. I'm fucking trying harder than the people they paid to do this already.

It ain't perfect but I'm building on sand here so changes are gonna get made.

Like if the makers of Tremors notice this,

Then DM me because fucking A you guys need some help.

[helga-leakadia]

All We Know 2

Chapter 2: Thaw

“I need you.”

Sirius breaks down in the aftermath of James’s previous statement that he’s done with Sirius

TW: Quick mention of abuse

One week. A lot can happen in a week. Remus can heal from his physical wounds. Snape could get his sneer back. But detention couldn’t be over. And James could still be mad as an alley cat on a rainy night. Which was why Sirius couldn’t hold it together any longer.

He’d been walking around in a fog this whole time, probably hadn’t said more than five words since that night. Lily and Marlene had both tried to ask if he was alright, but he had just ignored the both of them. He didn’t want their sympathy. He deserved everything he was getting. McGonagall had pulled him aside after class yesterday and tried to talk to him, but he could do little more than nod or shake his head at her questions until she dismissed him with a sigh.

Sirius was surprised he had been able to hold it together this long. Every day he woke up was an effort and he had questioned whether it was worth it to get up. But Remus was getting up and he owed it to him to do the same. If Remus could, so could Sirius.

But now it was the weekend and there were no classes to distract them. There wasn’t any Quidditch this weekend to distract them either. It was like the universe was trying to make Sirius see how much of a fuck up he was as well. Makes sense, really. He deserved this much too.

He’d been tossing and turning for at least an hour when he finally gave up. He wasn’t getting any sleep tonight. He almost went to James’s bed. He almost went and got the Invisibility Cloak from where it hung on one of the hooks. He almost went to shake the wild-haired boy awake, to go wherever their feet may take them tonight, just to enjoy each other’s company having the freedom of the entire castle at their fingertips.

But he didn’t. Because he couldn’t. Because James wasn’t his anymore.

Sirius paused for a moment, one foot hovering over his boot. He wasn’t sure where that thought came from. He’d never said something like that before, although thinking it now it made perfect sense. He had always been a part of James and had considered James his best friend and his brother and until last week James had never given him a reason to think James wouldn’t have agreed. He would have done anything for James, had done anything for him, and considered himself James’s in every way.

It was numbing to suddenly, in a dark and cold room in late autumn, to realize what it felt like to have a piece of your soul ripped from you. It hurt like hell and he almost couldn’t breathe.

He walked out of the dormitory, closing the door as quietly as he could, and not even caring when the Fat Lady yelled after him that he shouldn’t be out of bed. He let his feet carry him where they wanted, not paying attention to the corridors he went down or which staircase he chose. He just walked.

He tried to keep his mind clear. He didn’t want to think about anything at all. But every time he started to get a clear head and thought he might be okay; another image of James would pop into his head.

Him and James laughing at something one of them said. Making fun of Evans together. Late night romps to the kitchen. Playing Quidditch together in James’s backyard. James’s last birthday when Peter got piss drunk for the first time. When they stole a bottle of firewhisky from James’s dad and got incredibly sick. Running with James. Smiling with James. Drinking with James. Getting tattoos with James. James. Everything with James. Just James.

Sirius fell to the ground as the weight of his loss hit him again and again. He felt like he was being beaten with a beater’s bat. The air was knocked out of him and he couldn’t catch his breath. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

This was different from when he couldn’t stop laughing. He was out of control then, just letting the irrationality of it all consume him. No, now he was coherent and could feel everything, every ounce of pain and loss and sadness and everything that was his fault.

He had made it outside, by the Black Lake. The air was cool and the frost on the grass made it sharp on his skin. How long could he stay out here until the cold just overtook him? At least then nothing would hurt, right? But then again, nothing hurting was what started all of this.

Tears pricked at his eyes. This was worse than any beating he ever got from his father or any time his mother thought of something new to try to punish him with. That time she bewitched a sandal to constantly follow him around and whack him in the head periodically was a particular sore spot. But even that didn’t cut as deep as this did.

James was everything and now he was gone. He was still right next to him, he could still reach over and touch him, but he knew he wasn’t allowed anymore. And wasn’t that just the worst part of all?

Everything caught in Sirius’s throat and he couldn’t suck in any air. Everything was closing in on him. A train was running over his chest, forcing his lungs to shrink and shrink. Black spots were forming around the edges of his eyes and he couldn’t see the stars anymore. The rippling of the water was getting farther and farther away, the wind was slowing down. Nothing was moving fast enough, he couldn’t breathe fast enough, he couldn’t think. He was gasping for air and it didn’t feel like enough. It would never be enough; it would never be enough again.

He could feel the sweat freezing on his skin and knew he was shaking but he didn’t feel cold. He would welcome it if he did. He’d never feel warm again anyways. James was a blanket, his warmth, and he hated him. He was…standing right next to him?

Sirius blinked multiple times to try and make the image of James go away, but he stayed right there. He was talking through water again, nothing that was coming out of his mouth was getting to Sirius’s ears or brain.

But when his hands were suddenly on Sirius’s bear arms, it grounded him, stopping his ragged breaths with a screeching halt. His hands were so warm and there. James was here, he was real, he was grounding. Sirius grabbed at the arms near him, needing to feel as much of the warmth as he was allowed.

He chanced a glance at James’s face. He wasn’t sure if he could handle the anger and absolute hatred he’d been seeing. But to his utter relief, all he saw was concern.

“James,” he croaked, so quietly he may have only thought it.

“You fucking idiot,” was the response, but it had far less bitterness and hostility than before. It was almost playful. Like it used to be. A blanket fell on Sirius’s shoulders, immediately wrapping around him and enveloping him in warmth. It had that same broom polish and peppermint scent that never failed to help him relax.

“What are you doing out here mate?”

“I’m sorry James.” They were blurted out at the same time, James’s question laced with concern and sadness, Sirius just letting go of every insecurity he had left. He caught James’s eye and held it as long as he could, hoping those hazel pools could see everything he was trying so hard to convey; that he was an idiot, that he deserved everything he got, that he didn’t deserve forgiveness or anything else but that he just needed James to know that he knew he was wrong and if he was never sorry about anything, he was sorry about this and he just needed James to know he needed him.

James sighed, finally breaking the eye contact. His hand went to his hair, running through it slowly, gripping the ends as he thought about what he was going to say. The longer it took, the wearier Sirius became. Nausea was setting in as the minutes passed.

“You fucked up. Merlin, did you fuck up.” Sirius chanced a glance over. He didn’t say anything, just waited to see if James would continue. “But I can’t keep doing this. I was so mad at what you did to Remus. Wondered how you could do something like that to him. Felt like you were making me choose between you two.”

Sirius looked down at the dark grass below him. The thought of forcing James to choose between his friends was literally sickening to him. The rational side of him knew that James would never choose one of them over the other if he could help it. But a darker, more obsessive part of his brain said that James would choose him every time. And he wanted to keep it that way. Because James was his.

“I’m still mad at you. I still think you did an awful and fucked up thing.” James breathed a few times, trying to relax. “But ignoring you just isn’t working. I can’t not have you by my side. I need you.”

Sirius looked at James, not wanting to believe what he was hearing just yet. He had to be hallucinating. But James was there, looking right at him, his eyes wide and vulnerable, but conveying nothing but care and forgiveness and need and love.

Sirius opened his mouth, trying to say something. But nothing came out. There were no words he could say to convey how much this meant to him. Having James back, even tentatively, was more than he ever thought he’d have again. He hoped his face showed everything he was feeling: love, need, hope, remorse. He would try harder. He would do way better. He’d think before he flew.

He tried to say something a second time, but James stood then. He put his hand on Sirius’s shoulder and squeezed, a slight smile playing on his face. He held eye contact with Sirius for maybe a little longer than was necessary, but Sirius relished in it. He could get lost in those eyes forever.

Sirius waited a few moments before he followed James’s path back to the castle. They weren’t back where they used to be, far from it. But it was a start. This was good. Sirius would be okay.

[whumptasticwednesday]

Insult to Injury ft. Dadneto (Peter Maximoff - X-Men)

Author’s Note: Hey, ya’ll. I’ve been burning the midnight oil to get this fic out on time, AKA 2 consecutive nights of staying up till’ 3 am. I’ve had the idea for a Peter-centric Dadneto whump fic for a decent amount of time, and after receiving a lovely anonymous prompt, I decided to incorporate both my idea and theirs. Here we’ve got Peter after the events of Apocalypse, debilitated, and accidentally giving himself a nasty case of salmonella, before Erik comes to help. I’m pretty proud of this one, so I hope you enjoy it! This fic is unedited, sorry, so please let me know if there’s any glaring issues. For my next fic, I’m shifting away from X-Men for a hot sec so I can write a nice Detroit: Become Human whump fic with our favorite android son, Connor. I’ve been super excited about my plot concept, so I’m ecstatic to start writing it. Anyways, I hope you like this one, I worked very hard on it, and I hope you’re all excited for the DBH fic coming soon!

-Ash

Word Count: 6299

Warning: Emeto and decently graphic descriptions of physical illness

Setting: Post-Apocalypse/Pre-Dark Phoenix

If there's anything Peter Maximoff knew in this moment, it was that not being able to do the one thing your body was genetically enhanced to do, sucked. A lot.

It had been only a few days since the X-Mansion had been rebuilt and things all fell back into this synonymous routine as if the entire building hadn't exploded a short while ago. In Peter's opinion, it was all kind of creepy how easy it seemed for these kids to all just go back to learning when their home and school just got eviscerated in a hellfire, but he didn't think much of it.

All he could think about in this moment, was how immensely bored he was. Peter always had something going on with him; he was either thinking about his impending dad-related issues, plotting a prank, or deciding to go off and steal an entire Walmart's worth of Twinkies in the blink of an eye, there was always something.

Yet now, the rest of the X-Men were off with Charles helping cover up heat from the international press by cleaning up all the damage and destruction in Cairo and showing what Charles had dubbed: "diplomacy", which was too huge of a word for Peter to ever use in an everyday sentence; too many letters, and Peter was left back at the mansion since he really couldn't use his powers effectively at the moment, so it would be pretty useless for him to be tagging along.

Peter normally wouldn't have given a damn, maybe even excited at the prospect of being able to rig his friends' rooms with elaborate traps with Jello and staplers or something of the sorts while they weren't around, yet now, when faced with inescapable boredom that followed him wherever his broken leg did (everywhere), he was dying to have anything to do. As the team was suiting up to get on the jet to go back to Cairo, Peter had pathetically hobbled down to the X-Men bunker on his crutches, begging to be taken with. But they'd simply gassed up the plane and flew off, leaving Peter alone, and oh so very bored.

Which brings us to Peter now, attempting to create an omelette with 6 different cheeses, 8 different and poorly-diced peppers, a heaping assortment of minced tomatoes, and a sprinkling of those off-brand fruit snacks that are always better than the on-brand ones for some reason. It wouldn't be a Peter breakfast without some form of sweet, and in his eyes, it stuck to the healthy-ish theme. It had fruit in the name for a reason, didn't it?

The kid always had a massive appetite, and everyone that knew Peter knew this as well. You'd be hard pressed to find him without some snack or form of sustenance in his hand, scarfing it down like there was no tomorrow. It was all a byproduct of his enhanced metabolism. All that energy to run had to come from somewhere, didn't it? Little did he know, this super stomach of his would come to kick him in the ass in a few short hours. But for now, the silver-haired man child of a mutant was limping around the mansion's kitchen making a very... exotic breakfast for dinner meal.

Peter plopped the strange looking (decently gooey) excuse for an omelette into a large plate with some Twinkies and orange juice on the side. As he devoured his dinner, Peter thought anxiously about Erik. It had taken him 10 years to connect the dots, work up the courage, and even think of confronting the man to tell him of his true parentage, yet wimped out at the last minute, leaving the ambiguous: "I'm here for my family too." Peter groaned audibly to himself as his mind once again replayed the events he'd already replayed a million times before. It was embarrassing as all hell. Luckily, nobody that did know told Erik anything, which Peter was very grateful for.

Imagine learning about a woman you left 2 and a half decades ago actually birthing a son you had no idea existed and just now learned of... but not from him, despite several encounters beforehand where he had ample opportunities to do so. It'd make Peter feel like even more of a loser than a 27 year old who still lived in his mother's basement. But, to be fair, Peter was no longer a grown man living with his mom, he was a grown man living in a school where he was many years past the oldest enrolled student, while not teaching a single class; it was a step up from the basement, trust me.

Once finished with his omelette, Peter quickly washed his dishes and made his trek up the small flight of stairs to reach his room on the second floor. Over the past few days, Peter had learned just how high a set of stairs could be, especially when you end up falling down them on several attempts to slide down the handrail (and failing miserably while being laughed at by dozens of impressionable pre-teen children.) What a loser.

After reaching his room, particularly winded from this dinner excursion, Peter was grateful to see that he hadn't unplugged his television from the wall after his embarrassing fall in an attempt to get to the bathroom by himself, without his crutches, or the lights on. A simple recipe for disaster in nearly all circumstances, yet for some reason, the universe held pity for Peter and his debilitated state, and decided to not make his day any worse than it already was.

Peter ultimately decided to entertain himself with a good night-long play session of Pac-Man on his Atari 2600, also still miraculously undamaged from last night's fall. He booted up the inferior version of the game (seriously though, he'd have to get Kurt to help him teleport his arcade cabinet from his basement to the school, playing this one was getting a bit tiring on the eyes.) It sufficed, he thought as the TV harshly flashed on.

Now normally, Peter would have been up all night with his video games and rock music blaring in the background, yet tonight, something (besides his immobile leg) felt really off. Each distinct 'WOMP' from the console as the yellow circle man consumed the dashes and dots felt like a sledgehammer into Peter's eardrums, leaving a resonating ache at the base of his skull. He didn't think much of it and brushed it off, simply turning down his music a notch and backing away from the TV a few inches.

The next confusing sign that something wasn't quite right was the disconcerting shivers wracking his body. A chilly breeze seemed to sweep the room as if the AC was on full blast with the windows open on a November midnight, yet it was July and all the windows were closed and when he went to check if his AC unit was acting up, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. That's whack, Peter thought to himself as he plopped onto his bed, Atari abandoned on the rugged floor.

He didn't know how long he spent staring at the unmoving chandelier hanging lamely from the ceiling, but it felt as if seconds later, the room was not only freezing, but spinning, and suffocating. Everything felt way too close. Peter could feel every fiber of his shirt rubbing against his jacket, the itchy inside of his cast pressing up against the entirety of his right leg, and the presence of his goggles resting on his neck, now seeming like a noose closing in on his throat. He hastily tore off the eyewear and tossed them on his nightstand before deciding to shed his jacket and weakly throwing it across the room. Another move he regretted.

Without the jacket to keep his arms warm, the newfound seemingly frosty atmosphere felt like a icy flurry against his skin. In spite of his mind's confused wishes, Peter ripped the heavy blanket off the end of the bed and closed it around himself like a caterpillar ready to emerge as a butterfly the next time it saw the daylight. Peter sure as hell didn't feel like a caterpillar, but if the feeling of metamorphosis was a growing sense of intense nausea and cramping in the stomach, then hell yeah, he was crushing this butterfly business.

Fuck, what's wrong with me?! He thought to himself as he rolled onto his side. Peter rubbed at his eyes, hoping to clear the dizziness, yet only further irritating them. God damnit, he sighed internally as his face scrunched up in discomfort, releasing one of his hand's hold on the blanket to cradle his aching stomach.

"Is this karma for all that shit I stole when I was younger? That's just mean, man," Peter rasped to nobody in particular. He thought about it more though and responded to his own question, "Then again, I think that's pretty fair. Haha...Shit, man. Never thought I'd say this, but I think... I think I need help."

The sledgehammer-like headache was pounding with every bass drum beat lightly emanating from the sound system Peter hadn't turned off, another move he regretted. He couldn't decide if the pros outweighed the cons: hobbling through the dark to possibly remedy a source of his suffering, but relinquishing his hold on the only thing keeping him from feeling like freezing. Peter played it safe, much to his cranium's dismay.

Peter stared off towards the wall at nothing in particular as he tried oh so hard to draw his mind's focus from how terrible he felt to literally anything else. It wasn't working out so well. And so, Peter laid there, blanket tossed over himself, single leg drawn up to his chest, shivering like a leaf in a rainstorm, as nauseous as a toddler who just rode their first roller coaster, feeling like he was about to cry, and alone. What a miserable way to spend the night.

------

If there's anything Erik Lehnsherr knew in this moment, it was that he was beyond irritated that Charles wasn't at the mansion to run his own school. Despite leaving the school once he'd helped rebuild it to try and seek solitude to wrap his mind around his place in the world and everything that'd happened to him, Erik was back at the mansion once again. He was ready to lay down the foundations for his new mutant hideaway, Genosha, and needed Charles's connections to the government to help smooth over his charges and get clearance to have his isolated society where he might truly find happiness and solace. The universe had spoken, and he obviously wasn't cut out to be a nuclear family kind of guy.

Unbeknownst to him, Erik had once again meandered into a setting with his unrealized son. Also unbeknownst to him, that son was currently cooped up alone in his room, feeling like death.

Erik uncomfortably paced around the mansion, checking Charles's office, the X-Men bunker, and all the other places he might have been, yet the telepath was nowhere to be found. Erik sighed, he knew coming this late was a bargain, one, it turns out, he'd come to lose. The school itself was eerily quiet. It was if the entire mansion was empty or something. Peaceful, yet unsettling for a man who knew nothing but chaos.

Erik was about to borrow a book someone had abandoned in the foyer when he heard the muffled melodies of American rock music echoing from the upstairs floor. It must be that problematic Peter child, Erik thought to himself. From what he told himself was a civil duty to the rest of the sleeping kids in the school (but was actually his own way to cope with his curiosity) Erik decided to check up on the snarky young man to ask if he'd turn down the tunes.

As he approached the door, Erik was bracing himself for something extremely untamed. Perhaps a messy, greasy slophole of a living area, or maybe a drunk and uncontrollably obnoxious man dancing to his music in the nude. You never really knew with Peter, and Erik had come to expect the strangest out of the boy from the few genuine interactions they've had.

Erik gently tapped his knuckles against the door, waiting patiently for a 'come in', or something along the lines of those words, yet it never came. Raising a questioning yet not too surprised eyebrow, Erik knocked again, using slightly harder bangs, not wishing to make a ruckus and wake anyone else in the hallway up. Again, nothing. Although it could have simply boiled down to Peter not hearing him from his loud and abhorrent music, Erik was growing slightly irritated with the lack of a response. So with his last reserves of patience, he knocked one final time, once again listening for a signal or cue to enter. He was met with nothing yet again.

Wondering for the worst and fully expecting to meet a blackout drunk Peter when he opened the door, Erik tentatively jiggled the doorknob, which just so happened to be unlocked, and stepped inside. Thankfully, he was not met with a naked dancing or woefully drunk mutant speedster, but most would probably argue that what he was met with was quite worse. And that being a rancid stench of sick and sour nastiness lingering in the air, a poorly plopped pile of blankets draped over the culprit of the odor, and the culprit himself lying pale and flushed on the floor beside his bed, covered in his own vomit.

Erik's nose crinkled up from being met by the strongly nauseating smell of the room, reaching for the light switch on the wall to aid the sad little table lamp and glow of the TV in illuminating the room. Now he truly saw the pity-worthy situation for what it was. Peter laid in a heap on the ground next to his bed; he'd clearly trying to make it to the en suite bathroom just a few feet away. However, with his dizzy mind and immobile leg, he didn't make it very far and ended up expelling his dinner in a much less... dignified location (if you could consider a toilet bowl a very dignified location), that undignified location being all over his lap and onto his faded Pink Floyd t-shirt.

Not knowing how to really handle the situation, Erik called out a soft, "Peter?" hoping to elicit a response. Yet, just like at the door, he was met with nothing. As he approached the boy, thoughts of anxiety and panic circled through his mind. What would he say to him when he woke up? Would he be uncomfortable with Erik of all people coming to help? Would he be confused? Would he not care? He felt undeniably and inexplicably awkward. Erik shook the thoughts from his conscious as he knelt down to try and meet Peter's face.

"Peter?" he asked again. Erik tentatively reached over to tap the boy's face, which was contorted in a pinched expression of discomfort, marred further by the vomit drying in a trail down his chin.

Once Erik's hand made contact with Peter's cheek, he wanted to retract it. From the split second interaction, Erik had felt the clammy, sweaty, and scorching hot skin and was growing concerned. The slight physical prodding finally made Peter respond.

"Mom?" he asked groggily, voice cracking, "I'll put my dishes in the sink in a minute... I'm tired..."

Erik let out a harsh sigh, bending his neck in an attempt to make eye contact with the boy.

"Peter, I'm not you-" Erik was cut off.

"Yeah yeah... I'm not your maid. I know, Ma. Just... give me five."

"Peter." Erik stated bluntly yet with a hint of unease, unsure if Peter was delirious or just messing with him, "look at me, please."

Peter cracked open his eyes and blearily met Erik's stoic and collected face. He blinked a few times, slowly and deliberately, calculating who was kneeling in front of him, before letting out a weak and wheezy chuckle, "hey there, refrigerator ornament. Wassup?"

Erik rolled his eyes, responding with, "I came to ask you to turn down your atrocious music so you won't wake any of the other children who are trying to sleep. When I came in here, you were passed out on the floor. Would you like to explain to me what happened?"

"Nah... it isn't all too interesting"

"Peter, can you please act like an adult for 2 minutes? Please?"

"Oh man, the Nazi-hunting, president-killing, horseman of the Apocalypse is bustin' out the PLEASES. Look out, world, Lord of the Vacation Souvenirs has a new tactic... MANNERS!"

Peter burst out laughing at his own adolescent joke, ending in a wheezy struggle to catch his own breath. Erik couldn't tell if he was just screwing with him or genuinely needed help. This behavior seemed pretty normal for the immature mutant.

"Look, Peter, I really just need to know if you're okay. Can you answer that simple question, please?"

"Man, your tactics are workin' like a charm. I guess I'll tel-" Peter was cut off by a repulsing gag, hunching over and expelling his stomach's contents... again, this time, however, onto Erik's shirt, quickly travelling in a sad trail down onto his freshly-ironed pants. Peter's bloodshot eyes went side with embarrassment as he quickly transitioned his gaze to the floor.

Erik's face was caught frozen still as his mind caught up with what had just happened. As repulsed as he was, it wasn't like he hadn't seen worse. But that still didn't make the fact that he was just puked on any less disgusting. After audibly exhaling through his nose, Erik once again focused on the miserable man child in front of him, who was now anxiously tapping his fingernails on the hard plaster of his cast, deliberately trying to avoid eye contact.

God damnit, Peter, He thought to himself as he continued tapping, it's bad enough leaving him with a painfully ambiguous response during a battle to save all of humanity, ultimately ruining a perfectly good chance to fess up, but now look what you've done. You fucking threw up on him. Peter felt himself growing smaller as his subconscious shamed him for his uncontrollable bout of illness. It was stupid and ultimately all in his head, but it didn't make him feel any less shit about his situation.

After taking the few quiet seconds, Erik stood up, and whether it was out of pity or some subconscious moral quest, grabbed Peter by the armpits and dragged him to the bathroom.

"W-what the?" Peter asked, confused by the harsh white light of the bathroom and the sudden shift in scenery.

"Well I'm not going to let you sit in your own disgusting clothes. I have standards, you know. Can you undress yourself? I'll get us both some clean clothes."

Peter grunted in response. It meant: yeah, I think I can take off my own clothes, bro... once the room stops spinning. Erik, however, had already up and left, stripping off his own soiled shirt and rifling through Peter's dresser drawers, and taking the opportunity to flick off the television and silence the music that had been awkwardly filling the room's background space up until now.

Peter didn't have much variety in his clothing, dark jeans and band logo t-shirts were most of his dresser's arsenal. Not wishing to be clad in a Metallica shirt for the rest of the night, he dug a bit further into the seemingly endless assortment of shirts till he found a plain white short sleeve, sighing in relief. He grabbed a random shirt from the top of the assortment which just so happened to have the Journey logo on it, and set off to find new pants for the boy.

Back in the bathroom, Peter was still laying slumped against the bathtub, shivering. Everything around him had seemingly slowed to a halt, not unlike when he was running past the speed of sound, but this time deceleration just felt... wrong.

The crashing rhythm of the rock music had come to a halt, yet it didn't cease the incessant throbbing ache in his head, as if the bass riffs and the harsh taps of the snare were on a permanent loop with earbuds permanently glued to his ears. He was trying his best to prevent himself from groaning or whining as to not sound like even more of a child in front of Erik, but honestly, he didn't want his nonexistent father right now, he wanted his mom.

Peter was snapped from his self loathing by Erik's footfalls growing progressively louder as he approached him. Erik had thrown on a pair of track pants and a random white shirt. He was holding a pair of sweatpants and another shirt for Peter so he could be free of his sweat-slick and vomit-covered clothes.

"Hey, you don't get to keep those. I like those pants," Peter stated sarcastically, still trying to put up a front, although he was unsure why. He'd needed help, it was painfully obvious, so why was he still pushing his father away? Resentment? Anger? Pride? No... fear.

"Arms up," Erik instructed, preparing to take Peter's shirt off for him.

"Yo, you know I'm not a toddler, right? I can take off my own god damn shirt."

"You sure don't act like you're a day older than one, and I don't wanna risk you accidentally suffocating getting stuck in your own clothing so... arms up."

Peter sighed and did as he was told. Erik swiftly peeled the top off the boy and felt around his back, finding it clammy and warm. As if he'd just went from the tropics to Antarctica, the shirt leaving his skin exposed his skin to a whole new level of cold. The sensation ripped through his spine as his teeth started chattering. Hoping Erik had a brain underneath that skull, Peter was (im)patiently waiting for the man to save him from the frosty winds of his newly installed Arctic bathroom and slip the new shirt over him already. However, much to Peter's dismay, Erik turned on the tub's faucet, soaking a hand towel in cold water before leaning over and placing it on Peter's exposed back.

The second the frigid cloth made contact with his skin, Peter recoiled, back arching backwards, arms frantically bending to try and remove it. Erik sighed, slightly out of pity, and continued holding it down.

"Is this some cruel punishment? What did I do?" Peter pleaded, hoping to distract himself from crying by use of humor.

"You're scorching and sticky and it's just disgusting. I'm cooling you down, so relax," Erik explained. "It'll be a few more seconds, I just needed to get all the sweat off of you."

And as quickly as it had begun, the endeavor was over and Erik was threading Peter's strikingly pale and flimsy arms through the shirt holes. Peter audibly sighed, feeling like he'd just spent an hour in an industrial freezer and was now back into a normal temperature.

Erik's eyes drifted to Peter's legs, immediately noticing a flaw in his plan. How was he going to change Peter's pants with that full leg cast?

"Peter, how do you typically change your pants considering your current... situation?" Erik asked.

"It's pretty simple. I don't," Peter replied bluntly.

"W-what?"

"Well, after I got my leg set a few days ago, I changed into jeans, not wanting to be in flight suit pants for the next week of my life, and I haven't swapped since. It's like, physically impossible."

"So... you've been wearing the same (disgustingly dirty) pants all week?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Hank says I should be grateful that it'll heal in a couple days, most people you'd find passed out on their floor covered in vomit with a full leg cast would have been wearing their nasty pants for weeks."

Erik sighed, tossing Peter's soiled shirt and the sweatpants back into the bedroom before meeting his gaze.

"Alright, Peter, I'm going to set you up in bed now."

"Sounds grea-" Peter was once again, clamping his hand over his mouth, pathetically dragging himself over to the toilet to prevent throwing up all over himself again.

Erik saw his distress and lifted the toilet lid and seat, prompting Peter to start heaving into the sad and dreary porcelain bowl. Each dry or productive heave sent another pulsing wave of pain and violent nausea from his stomach to seemingly every conceivable inch of his body in a viscous cycle of suffering. Erik could do nothing but watch as the silver-haired boy wretched in agony, each heave causing his breath to hitch, caught in his throat, as another bout of sick rushed up past his lips, crashing into the toilet bowl.

Erik wanted to reach over and rub Peter's back or offer a semblance of physical comfort for the anguish he must have been feeling. He'd often do this for his daughter, Nina, whenever she had a stomach bug. Erik reached out his hand, only to quickly retract it, shaking haunting thoughts from his mind. This boy was not his child, and in no way would he ever come close to being Nina. What was he thinking?

Guilt quickly overtook the memories as Peter finished his session of sickness. He sagged limply against the side of the toilet, face still partially hidden by the rim of the bowl. When he looked up at Erik, he looked awful. Beyond awful.

Red-rimmed eyes, clearly there as Peter attempted to stop the obvious tears from spilling over, met cool yet collected ones, the former's being full of pain, not just from this embarrassment or the physical turmoil he'd just endured, but something else. Erik knew those eyes. He knew them because for so long, they were the ones he'd stared at in the mirror, day after day, for years, until he'd found Charles, only to come face to face again with those demonized eyes in the form of an immature mutant puking his guts out on his bathroom floor. They were the eyes of a young man who was lost, feeling alone, hiding a part of themselves they wanted to let go, to set free, so they could truly be happy, yet he couldn't possibly decipher what could be internally destroying the boy.

"I-I'm sorry you had to watch that..." Peter said softly as his head lolled over.

"It's fine," Erik replied with a tone to match that of Peter's.

"I'm pretty sure... that I'm done. For now?" It came out as more of a question, but at this point, Peter wasn't trusting any signal his body was sending him. Every impulse had been smudged and cloudy in his mind, and paired with the seemingly endless headache and the relentless chills racking his body from the fever, Peter was sure that if his mind were a computer hard drive, it would have self destructed out of a deadly virus slowly hacking into the hardware.

But alas, Peter was no computer, and so he was stuck with this mystery illness, cooped up in his room, unable to run, with Erik mother-hecking Lehnsherr. His fever-addled mind was barely functioning at this point, so he didn't register anything but dizzying blurred images swirling around his head and slightly-grumbled voice swimming in his ears as Erik scooped the kid up like a newlywed bride and carried him off to bed.

Peter had never been more grateful to grace the comfort of his duvet, ready to sleep. He halfheartedly grabbed at it in an attempt to cover himself and finally warm up. Erik sighed with pity, grabbing it for him and draping it over his shoulders before moving over to stand by the nightstand and awkwardly watching Peter try and get comfortable.

Despite the obvious fact that his body wanted him to sleep, Peter's mind was racing everywhere except the realm of unconsciousness. Every thought was emphasized ten-fold as it bounced around his head until the only things remaining were his want, heck, his need, to tell Erik the truth, and the hesitant and unsure anxiety lingering in the background of his subconscious that was stopping him from doing just that.

Fevers, though, as Peter was quickly learning, tended to do weird shit to what your brain was really trying to accomplish, often scrambling any message you tried to expel to the point where it may or may not have even been your true intentions. And hell, it was an even bigger gamble if you'd remember any of the dumb shit you'd done or said. It was as if the heat had boiled all the potentially embarrassing memories away, which was at least kinda nice.

With everything happening, Peter thought it best for Erik to just pack up and scoot from the premises, as not to accidentally say or do something stupid that might come back to bite him in the ass later, but Peter wasn't about to pull an asshole move on the man who'd just helped him despite not being obligated to at all.

So, instead of verbally asking, Peter did the next most "mature" thing he could have in his debilitated and helpless situation. He pretended to be asleep in a pathetic hope that Erik would leave on his own. He didn't. Peter ended up looking like he was trying way too hard to be asleep than any real asleep person, and after a few minutes, Erik caught on.

"Peter, I know you're not actually sleeping," Erik said, not putting on any sort of specific emotion.

Peter cracked one red and tired eye open, meeting Erik's gaze yet again. Peter sighed and turned over onto his side, back to the other man, bleary eyes trying to focus on anything that wasn't Erik. Sleep, a seemingly effortless task for most, eluded Peter as he let out an a low whine. This was miserable.

"Hey, Erik?"

"Yes?"

"I umm... never mind..."

"What were you going to say?"

"It's nothing... I just feel stupid since I can't even do the easiest thing on the planet."

"Is there anything I can do?"

The question struck Peter like a cold dagger to the heart, it sounded so much like something his mom would say, who was practically the only person he wanted in that moment. Peter didn't like to be weak or expose any of his fears. He preferred to be distant and reserved, to hide all that insecurity with stupid dry humor and sarcasm. His mom and his sisters were really the only ones who he'd truly been open with, and when faced with these new circumstances, finally able to reconnect with the father he never had, he was frozen in place, and after pushing people away and closing himself off for so long, not knowing what to do to reach out and truly face what he needed to.

Completely internally and externally overwhelmed, Peter let his dam of pride burst, letting his emotional flood pour out of his eyes in the form of earnest, choked sobs. He bit his lip and weakly rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to hide his distress.

Erik was taken aback, taking a step towards him, before backpedaling as fast as the initial paternal instinct had seized him. He didn't know what to do. Erik was conflicted, scared of overstepping boundaries, but wholeheartedly wanting to comfort the clearly suffering boy lying in bed in front of him.

And in a flash of instinct, an unspoken, deep-rooted, yet unknown draw towards the silver-haired boy, Erik sat down on the mattress, back meeting Peter's, and leaning over his shoulder to rub his back

Erik's hand was shaky, unsure if it should truly be there. He felt the heat radiating off Peter's skin through his t-shirt. Erik glanced down further to Peter's face, and despite the hands trying (and failing) to cover his eyes, saw it covered in a new sheen of sweat quickly mixing with his tears, pale and pasty with angry crimson patches sitting pretty as pictures on his cheeks and forehead. Everything in that moment accentuated both how awfully awkward Erik and truly terrible Peter felt.

Erik didn't even know if Peter was lucid anymore. He was breaking down into tears, shivering and being comforted by someone who was practically a stranger. Eventually, the sobs dwindled into whimpers and Erik's nerves were starting to taper off himself. The room fell into a weirdly calm silence as the two decided to not say anything. Until Peter's shaky voice cut through the room.

"Y-you know... when I was a dumb little kid, I thought I-I could outrun germs. Look at me now. I can't even cook a f-freakin' omelette without making myself sick... I never needed to cook for myself, it was always my mom, or Hostess cakes."

"..." Erik wanted to say something, anything, but he was unsure what, or if Peter would understand.

"I can't do anything right... life tosses me chances and I just fuck em' all up."

Erik soon realized Peter was no longer talking about his omelette, but something deeper.

"I just wish... you could've d-done this for me when I was still that dumb little kid. I wish for so much to be different. I'd always wanted a d-dad, and when I finally figured out who he was, I learn he'd gone off to kill the president! I-I don't know..."

"W-what?"

"I m-might not be able to outrun germs, but my entire l-life, I've outrun everything. The law, my responsibilities, adulthood... But now, the one time when I finally can't run from anything, out of all of my problems, I gotta face you of all things. N-not the way I thought this would happen..." Peter's words died out as he fell silent.

Erik wasn't sure he'd heard Peter properly. Until something in his mind clicked. Everything he's done up until now: "my mom once knew a guy who could do that..." and "I'm here for my family too..." Oh my god, he thought, I'm... I-I'm Peter's... father? Who else had he been with before his wife... Magda. Oh god.

Erik pulled his hand away from Peter's back. This caused Peter to moan and flip onto his back, staring directly at Erik, eyes cutting straight to his heart like knives.

"W-why'd you stop? It was nice..." Peter admitted shyly.

"I-I need a second, Peter. I'm sorry," Erik sighed as he pushed himself off the mattress.

Peter said nothing as his eyes drifted back to his bedspread. Disappointment lurking behind his bloodshot irises.

Erik walked off to the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He stared up at himself in the mirror, hands gripped tightly around the basin. This couldn't be happening. Not after Nina, not again. Erik was just... terrified. Terrified of the idea of getting close again. Anyone who's ever been a part of Erik's family... had died. His parents, his wife, his daughter; he didn't want Peter to join the list of people the universe was just deemed to kill. He knew that Peter was far from dying, it was a simple fact that the kid couldn't cook and he'd fed himself something underdone. Yet, it was all happening, it was all too fast, and everything felt so damn scary.

He knew, deep down, that this was the truth. It only made sense that the Magda didn't wanna tell her son that his dad was an internationally targeted terrorist that's murdered dozens of people, and this kid had no reasons to lie about it. God... Erik didn't know how to feel, what he should do, but he did know that had a need to comfort Peter, who'd just confessed a secret he'd been hiding for who knows how long, and was now laying alone, probably feeling abandoned again, after pouring his heart out knowing full well it might be shot down.

Whether it was all intentional was yet to be seen. Again, fevers did weird shit.

Erik let out a low sigh and opened the door, finding Peter curled up on himself as best he could, softly whining, mumbling incoherently to himself. Erik stepped over and sat down on the bed again, the entire mattress dipping from his weight.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I am very happy you told me..." Erik was searching for the right words, "the truth."

" 'r welc'm" Peter mumbled as his puffy eyelids slid over his tired brown eyes.

"Is there anything you need me to do for you right now?"

"J'st... stay please. I-It's embarassin', I know, but I just... my mom used to do it..."

"Alright, Peter. I'm not gonna leave, so just try to sleep, okay?"

Peter didn't need to be told twice as his mind and body worked in harmony, finally allowing Peter to be lulled off to the realm of unconsciousness. And although he knew it wasn't necessary, Erik wished to add to the intimacy of this quiet moment, a type of moment so rare and inconstant in both of their lives, so he pushed himself up against the headboard, laying out flat on the bed, and carded his fingers into Peter's silky silver locks. And out of habit, maybe a sort of tendency he'd developed from doing it with Nina, or an obligation to share what he felt Peter deserved, he began to hum his family lullaby, ever so slowly and softly, drowning out any other thing the world wanted to toss at them. Because in that moment... Erik and Peter had found something they'd both been missing for so long, peacefulness and contentment. And for that short night, it was all they needed.

[lihikainanea]

pleeeaaasseeeeeeeee write about bill “hunting” you down. omg you kill me with bff!bill. my little horny heart can’t even imagine predator!bill🤤

Anonymous said: Omg please elaborate on the running away from bill thing it’s one of my biggest kink fighting back but it’s useless because this man is way stronger than you (not you YOU because I know you’re basically a super ninja so)

Combining these two and just uh, THANKS for slamming them kink buttons aye. Jesus.

For those newer to my BFF!Bill universe, if you’re curious about why tiger is so angry about having to beg, that’s here and here. And she got a modicum of revenge–evidently not enough–here.

***

You wanted to run to him. You wanted to throw your arms around his neck, leap into his arms, knock him over with the sheer velocity of your body launching at him. Wanted to kiss his face, take a big sniff into his neck to smell his cologne, burrow in deeper when his arms would wrap tighter around you. It had been 2 months since you had seen him, and even before that, work had you so busy that you barely got in more than just an hour or two of face-to-face time before he left. You wanted to just be engulfed in your best friend again.

But what you wanted, you knew, would be bittersweet compared to the euphoria of what you needed:  revenge.

He had texted you when he landed, again when he was on his way over to your place. His messages were typical and sweet after spending a long time away from you—that he missed you, couldn’t wait to see you, had lots to tell you. You hadn’t managed to FaceTime much but over texts, he had told you how isolated he felt on this set. Keeping him separate from the other actors for shock value and to also really get into the psyche of his horrid character, his usual affectionate, touch-oriented side had taken a hit. He had messaged you a week before he was scheduled home, making sure you’d be around. He’d gone to the pain of asking you if he could spend the night, even though he always did when he returned home. He’d asked for you to be ready with ‘all the hugs’ when he arrived. 

Touch-starved, you thought—you could work with that.

So when he walked through your door, his face sunny and bright, he promptly dropped his bags and threw open his arms. You greeted him with a smile as big as his, bouncing happily and opening your arms. But when he ran to you, bending to get ready to lift you, you planted both feet firmly on the ground, and shoved his shoulders with all your might.

Caught completely off guard, he stumbled back, confusion written on his face. Your smile went from cheery to the slow Cheshire grin of mischief. He looked at you, cautiously.

“Hi, Tiger,” he said, lowly.

“Hi, Bill!” You said cheerily, and then dropped your voice low and threatening, “You want to make me beg for it when I’m needy, you fuckhead?”

It didn’t dawn on him at first, his brow still furrowed in confusion, until realization hit his face.

“Tiger, that was 3 months ago,” he said, astonished. He moved towards you again with his arms outstretched but you shoved him once more, his back hitting the wall and his eyes widened.

“Yeah and evidently, I’m still pretty mad about it. Aren’t I, Billy Goat?” You crossed your arms, cocking your hip in challenge. He rose up, moving slowly, stalking towards you with the small, even steps of a predator.

“You already got me back for that, kid,” he said, his tone low and dangerous as his eyes bore into yours,  “You edged me.”

“I edged you for like, 3 seconds Bill,” for every slow step he took toward you, you took one back.  His head tilted down, he looked up at you from beneath his creased brow and licked his lips.

“Tiger, get over here,” he stopped moving, and so did you.

“No.”

“Now,” he snapped his fingers at you and pointed to the ground in front of him, and you scoffed.

“Yeah, like that’s going to work,” you mocked, “My safe word is pineapple. You want a hug, bud? Fucking come and get it, you uncoordinated giraf-” he darted forward before you could finish your sentence and you shrieked, turning on a dime and taking off running. Your apartment wasn’t big, but you knew how to navigate the corners of it with much more agility than he did. He lunged and grabbed for you, but you ducked out of his grip, passing below his arms and running down the hall towards the living room.

He ran after you, coming to a stop on the other side of the coffee table. When you stepped right, he stepped to block your path. When you stepped left, he moved that way to cut off your exit. His eyes were stormy, dangerous, gleaming with trouble. Deciding on a new tactic, you grabbed a cushion from your couch and flung it with gusto at his head as you darted around him while he recovered from the assault. He managed to grab your arm on your way past him but you grunted, planting your feet and twisting out of his grip. You threw anything you could in his way behind you—your sweater, the broom, anything you could grab that wouldn’t slow your pace.

He lunged at you again and when you couldn’t pivot in time, you shoved against his chest to give you more room and swatted his hands away. Throwing your shoulder into his chest, he grunted as you rolled off his shoulder and disappeared again. He grabbed at you, cursing.

“I’m not fucking kidding tiger, get over here,” his calm, even tone sent a thrill through your body. You’d keep this up as long as you could. Bill may be clumsy, but he was faster than you expected and you severely underestimated his reach. He was just so….long.

You made it halfway to the kitchen when his big hand engulfed your upper arm in a tight grip. When you twisted, his grip tightened and he used the leverage of his legs to spin you around. You whacked at his chest, shoved against his shoulders with all the strength you had, but his other hand closed around your opposite arm. He grunted, pulling you roughly towards him before dragging you a few feet, shoving your back harshly against the wall.

He loomed over you like a predator, a wild animal that had caught its prey. His head bent down to maintain eye contact, his hands pinning your arms to the wall. His eyes were on fire, dark and dangerous and daring you to challenge him. And you weren’t done yet.

He was in your space enough that your hands could still reach him even with your arms pinned, so you smacked at him. Swatted his chest, his forearms, anything you could reach. When he tried to move closer, you shoved at his chest with all your strength but he barely budged.

“Careful now,” he warned, his tone was still threatening, low, angry. He released your arms to grab at your hands.

“Fuck you,” you spat, “You fucking beg for it now. Want a hug, asshole? Here, have a few,”  you were winded as you struggled against him but you didn’t let up, smacking at any part of him you could reach. 

He grunted, blocking your blows. After a few attempts, he finally managed to grab one of your forearms, and eventually the other. With a strength you didn’t know he had, he yanked you forward into him and you fell on his chest. With you off-balance, he dug both of his hands roughly into your hair and slammed you back into the wall, leaning down and smothering your mouth with his.

You tried to move your head away and he growled, pressing you further into the wall as his lips crushed yours and you inhaled deeply, getting his scent back in your mind. Suddenly, you didn’t want to struggle anymore. His lips were so soft despite their crushing pressure, so warm, and he smelled so good. He felt you go lax against him, felt the fight leaving your body as you became so pliant beneath him. His kiss went from suffocating and dangerous to slow, sweet, and passionate. He moved his mouth more softly against yours, breathing you in, tasting you again as his tongue explored your mouth. His knees nearly gave when he heard you whimper softly, your hands tentatively reaching out to rest on his waist as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss even more.  His hands eased their vice grip on your head, no longer forcing your mouth to his, but now threading through your hair, scratching softly at your scalp. You sighed into his mouth.

He broke free, reluctantly and slowly, leaving his lips pressed to yours for as long as he could. You chased after his mouth as he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes still closed, your foreheads pressed together. Both of your chests heaved, your mouths open, gulping in deep breaths.

Neither one of you spoke, the air heavy for a good few minutes. Finally, he opened his eyes and peered into yours. The kindness had returned to his face, a small smile tugging at his lips. He stood tall, bringing you into his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, tightly.

“I missed you, kid. And every ounce of hell you have in you.”

[squidpro-quo]

AN: For Soukoku week’s Day 1 prompt: Trial and Error! Mostly an alternate universe where there really is something beneath Dazai’s eye bandages when he’s younger

“Do you really think I would wear a cast for no reason?”

Dazai had already pulled that trick once and Chuuya had never really learned to expect it, even after a year of joint missions and mishaps. Maybe it was the way Dazai racked up wounds like he was going for a world record of most bandages on a single person, or maybe it was the way he smiled at every slice and every blow that cut into him or split him open, but Chuuya wasn’t used to it and he wondered if he ever would. 

And he was watching it happen yet again. Or perhaps watching was no the right term, since from his vantage point the entire room they’d previously been in was as black as sin and impenetrable even to the bright lights of the abandoned storefront they’d started out in. From outside their target’s bubble, it had been like looking into a void, a flat black circle that had no shadow or depth to it. From the inside, the blindingly black space seemed to press in on him like a tangible weight against his mind, the darkness forming spots across his vision from the lack of any stimulus. 

They’d rushed in, foolhardy on his part but Dazai hadn’t suggested any form of a plan beforehand and Chuuya didn’t need many directions on taking someone down anyway. As soon as he’d stepped in, however, he’d lost all sense of distance, how far he’d gone inside and how wide the blackness might still be. Holding out his hands, he pressed down on the area he could cover until the concrete under his shoes buckled with each step as he moved forward, searching for what he could keep pinned down. 

“Dazai!” he called out, after a few minutes of slow progress, the black unyielding before him. He could suck in light like any blackhole but he could do nothing against what was already darkness. 

“Chuu—” Dazai’s voice cut off, the sound of something heavy hitting flesh interrupting him. A pained groan, the scraping of shoes against the ground that Chuuya pictured as Dazai getting to his feet and another dull whack emanated from the darkness. 

“Damn idiot, what’s he waiting for?” Chuuya took off running, approximating the right direction from the rough noises coming from ahead, trying to ignore the way the darkness made him feel off balance from running without a visible floor. This was what running in a dream was like, reaching nothing and no discernible distance being crossed, but all the worse for the concern he didn’t want to acknowledge lodging itself in his chest. Dazai should have dealt with her by now, if he was close enough to be attacked, he had to have been within reach. The gravity warped underneath him, sinking into the ground and pulling up chunks of the floor in his wake but he didn’t care about getting the drop on her anymore, now it was a matter of making it before Dazai fell silent. 

It happened in a flash, one second complete darkness and the next he tripped and the world resolved into a single bright silhouette even as his feet lost their weight. Dazai looked up at him with a rueful smile, hand around Chuuya’s ankle with his left hand while his right was held against his side. 

Dazai flicked his one visible eye forward and gave a short, sharp whistle, right before a bat swung out of the darkness and clipped him on the head, dropping him to the floor like a rock. 

As Dazai’s hand went limp around his leg, Chuuya grabbed for the bat even as it flickered out of sight and called the gravity toward him. Their target came flying like an iron filing to a magnet, her arms outstretched to grapple him while he rolled with her tackle. It was disorienting to be fighting what he couldn’t see, as if he were wrestling with the darkness itself but as long as he had a hold and he could Dazai’s prone form beside him then he had a chance. The moment he had a firm grasp, he poured weight into her, slamming her to the floor and missing Dazai by inches. The darkness dissolved around them, disappearing just as the woman’s consciousness did and she lay limp on the dirty tiles with deep red hair spilling around her. 

“Dazai,” Chuuya said, loathe to let the concern that squeezed at his heart into his voice but knowing some of it seeped through anyway. That last blow had caught him in the head and even as Dazai opened his one eye, Chuuya could see the unfocused way it zigzagged across the room before finally settling on him in a shaky look. 

“Good dog.” Dazai grinned, blood coating his teeth and the satisfaction still evident in his dazed face. 

Chuuya reached out, hesitant but unable to ignore the way the bandages over Dazai’s right eye were starting to stain a dark umber. He’d never seen what was underneath, ever since he’d met him Dazai had kept it covered as if determined to never look the world full on. The surprise was enough to block out what Dazai had actually said until a full minute later. 

“You bastard, that’s what that whistle was for?” he asked, grabbing Dazai by the collar and catching the loose end of the wrapping under his fingers. It pulled, tugged from Dazai’s skin with less force than he’d thought it would need. It all but unraveled underneath his momentary grip, as he let go of Dazai in shock at what was revealed. 

As opposed to Dazai’s light amber one, this one was bleached and pale as if any color had leaked away. With the muted cloudiness of the blind, Dazai stared up at him with mismatched eyes, raising one shoulder in a pained shrug.

“Tadaa… Don’t look so worried, you stunted hatstand. Used to be in both of them, now it’s confined to just one.” Dazai spat a glob of blood onto the floor with a strained grimace. “Mystery solved.”

“The hell it is! What’s wrong with you?”

“According to the good doctor, suicidal ideation, grandiose narcissism and perhaps a superiority complex in the making. And an ability that can never be turned off, so gotta guess how much havoc that wreaks in the offtime.” 

“You…” Chuuya sat back on his heels with a start, forced to admit that he’d never considered that particular aspect of Dazai’s ability before. His own Tainted Sorrow took something out of him even without using Corruption, to think of how draining it would be to never take a rest from it was exhausting to even think of, much less the effects it could have on his bones and body. 

“Can’t exactly nullify someone who nullifies,” Dazai laughed quietly, “Would need someone else for that, after all. This is just the price I get to pay.”

“You said it was worse before,” Chuuya said, wondering at the fact that this conversation may have been the most truth and the least amount of biting remarks they’d ever traded so far. 

“Just hazy shapes, for the longest time. Mori’s job isn’t just being the boss, you know.” 

It was a little disconcerting, to have his own gaze met with Dazai’s two eyes after so long dealing with the derision and manipulation of only one, but it raised a question in his mind nonetheless. Why had it taken so long for him to question what reason Dazai had to cover it when he’d told him from the start that there was always one? It had been staring him in the face this whole time and he’d never thought to pry. 

Chuuya said nothing more, but silently grabbed Dazai by the hand and hoisted him to his feet until he stood braced beside him with his arm across Chuuya’s shoulder. Maybe he’d still been blindsided by what Dazai hid beneath his bandages, but it was one step closer to understanding.

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Second Chance at Forever - Chapter 13

Chapter 13 of this year’s entry for the @dwsecretsanta, my present to @wordsintimeandspace!  Beta’d by the always-kind @stupidsatsuma​.  Thank you!

@doctorroseprompts​ and @timepetalscollective​ as an AU fic

General warnings for: alcohol use, cursing, discussions of sexual activities

Masterlist

AO3

Summary

Once upon a time, a boy and girl met at a bar and fell in love - until he ghosted her.

Five years later Rose Tyler’s best friend Mickey is getting married, and arranges a dinner for her to meet the groomsman she’ll be walking with - unaware that the two already know each other.

John Noble’s not sure how his friend and mentee managed to connive with the Universe to bring the One Who Got Away back into his life; all he knows it carefully built and maintained walls are crashing to the ground with no warning.

Rose sighed, hooking her leg higher on John’s thigh.  Their simple goodbye kiss had once again turned into a full-on snog against the front door. The closer Martha and Mickey’s wedding drew, the harder it was for them to keep their hands to themselves.  He was essentially moved in, though there were a few boxes still stacked in corners waiting to be unpacked.

“You’ve gotta go,” she mumbled, tilting her head to give him better access to her neck.  He was due at a restaurant for Mickey’s stag night in twenty minutes, and the bridal party would be knocking at her door any moment.

“I’m good.”  He sucked at her pulse point, making her hips jerk into the nice bulge he had going.  “Why don’t we go back to bed instead?”

“Sto-op,” she grumbled, pushing futilely at his shoulders, both pleased and annoyed that he knew she wasn’t very serious.  “One more week.”

After three continuous nights sleeping in the same bed they’d started cheating on the rules; by now the agreement had been revised to an ‘everything but’ technicality, with all else being fair game.

Ignoring her he skimmed his fingertips up her leg and between her thighs, finding her knickers just as a knock came from the other side of the door.

“Shit,” Rose whined, and this time when she pushed him away he took a step back, letting her leg drop.  “Right, you need to go now.”

“Fine,” John grumbled, pecking her lips one last time before physically moving her out of the way and opening the door.  “Good evening ladies, have a good time.”  He stepped out, letting Tish, Martha, and Shonara in to find Rose still leaning against the wall, breathing deeply.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Martha snickered.  “D’you want us to come back in an hour?”

Rose straightened up, fixing the skirt of her dress and shutting the door behind them.  “No, no, come on in.  It’s fine.”  Shaking her head to clear it, she showed them where to leave their coats before guiding them into the sitting room where everything was ready.  “Welcome to stage 1!”

The coffee table was covered in snacks, everything from mini quiche and pigs in blankets to pretzels and popcorn.  Four of Rose’s largest wine glasses stood ready, a bottle of red next to them with a bottle of white in an ice bucket.  “Sit, sit!  What do we want to start?”

“Red,” Tish said firmly.  “I don’t think we need all this food though; tonight is about drinking!”

Rose began pouring as the other women took plates and started sampling.  “I have it on good authority that if you eat first, you can drink more.”

Martha nodded in agreement, accepting her wine with thanks.  “It’s true.  Getting some meat is a very important part of the drinking process.”

Over the previous six months Rose had gotten to know Martha as a charming, sweet, tough, brilliant, classy girl, which was why it took a moment for the double entendre to process.  Choking on her own glass of wine, she almost fell off the couch in surprise.

“Martha!”

The woman burst out laughing, tears filling her eyes as she watched Rose flounder.  “Sorry, sorry!  I couldn’t resist,” she cracked up.  “You walked right into that one.”

Tish and Shonara got it then, snickering into their own glasses.  “So does that mean you’re no longer sexually vegan?” Tish teased, wagging her eyebrows.

Rose took a long sip of her wine to buy herself some time, unsure of how much to share.

“Your secrets are safe with us,” Martha promised, seemingly reading her mind.  “It’s a hen do.  If we can’t talk about our sex lives tonight, when can we?”

“We can all share,” Shonara offered with a wink.  “For instance, Leo will just be having whiskey at dinner tonight; he’s already eaten.”

After a moment the four women all howled with laughter, Tish high-fiving her sister-in-law.  “Very nice!”

“Your turn,” Martha prompted her sister, elbowing her.

Tish sighed dramatically.  “All right, all right.  I’m not ‘going steady’ with anyone at the moment, but… I’ve been having a lot of takeaway.”

Rose wolf whistled as they clapped, Tish bowing.  “All right, I suppose I’ll go… um, okay-” she tried to think of the right analogy for what they’d been doing- “so, no longer ‘vegan’, I’ll admit that, but… we’re not ready to wrap the sausage just yet.”

“Get it, girl!” Shonara high-fived her as Rose blushed, the other two cheering.  “Right, bride, your turn.”

Martha bit her lip, tucking hair out of her face.  “Okay, um, cone of silence, right?”  The other three nodded vigorously, drinking their wine as they waited.  “So, keeping with the theme… starting with our wedding night, we will be… keeping the sausage unwrapped.”

The room was silent as they processed this.  Rose stared at the blushing bride, mind whirling.  “That’s awesome,” she finally choked.  “Oh my God, that’s wonderful!”  Tish and Shonara broke out of their stupor then, squealing as all three tackled the now-laughing woman of the night.  They all squished onto the couch then, hugging and laughing.

“When was this decided?” Tish demanded, one arm wrapped around her sister’s neck.

“We had a scare right after we got engaged, and we were both surprised that we were disappointed when it wasn’t true.  Started talking, and… with where my career is, now’s actually a really good time, so we’re going to go for it.” Martha beamed.  “So, in some ways it is one of my last weeks of freedom.  Between now and the end of our honeymoon is my last chance to pig out on lunch meat and sushi and coffee and alcohol – once we’re back we’re both going on a clean eating kick, try to get as healthy as possible.  And Mickey’s so sweet, he’s already promised to give up everything I have to, suffer with me so to speak.”

“He’s going to be a wonderful dad,” Rose said sincerely, already picturing it.  “Feel free to borrow Tony any time to practice.”

“And Keisha,” Shonara cut in.  “Any time.  Really.  Please. I’m begging, actually.”

“Stop, you’ll scare her,” Rose scolded, whacking her arm.  “Shush!”

Martha leaned forward to see Rose, smirking.  “And, once baby Smith-Jones is here, you should feel free to borrow them at any time for ‘practice’.”

Rose scowled, instinctively shuddering.  “Um, no.  Babysit, yes, absolutely.  But don’t- don’t even put that into the universe yet.  Ugh.”

“Yeah, Martha, be nice,” Tish teased.  “You’re not the only one getting some serious meat after your wedding.”

“Tish!”

John walked up to the restaurant perfectly on time, meeting the other three at the door as they approached from the other side.

“Hey,” he greeted them, returning their fist-bumps and just managing not to roll his eyes.  He was easily twenty years older than all of them, and while that wasn’t an age difference he noticed with Rose, it was clear these three were still the in cocky invincible stage of young adulthood, a stage he wasn’t sure he’d ever even gone through.

“Thanks for coming man,” Mickey grinned, seeming genuine enough.  Then he snickered.  “Sorry the girls broke up… whatever it was.”

This time John did roll his eyes, hiding it by opening the door.  “We don’t want to lose our reservation.”

“Uh huh,” Mickey smirked on his way past.  “Whatever you say.”

Following them in, John prayed for patience.

They were seated quickly, and he took a moment to appreciate the restaurant.  Mickey had wanted a nice steak and whiskey dinner followed by drinks at a bar, so they’d come to one of the better steakhouses in London.  It had an old-time feel to it, dark colors and lots of wood and leather.  It had been a gentleman’s club back in the day, but had been a restaurant now for more than thirty years.  The clientele was still mostly skewed towards men, especially for business meetings over a meal.

John’s father and grandfather had brought him when he graduated first uni and then medical school, and he had fond memories of the place.

The conversation was, thankfully, of higher quality than he’d initially feared.  A healthy debate on football teams took them through to the entrée, but John was the only one to notice when Mickey merely picked at the steak he’d been eagerly anticipating.

“Is it not right?  For as expensive as it is, you should send it back if it’s not,” he murmured, not wanting to draw the attention of Leo and Jake.

“No, it’s good.  Great,” Mickey replied lowly.  “I’m just… it’s starting to feel real, now.”

John looked down at his perfect steak with regret, before sliding back from his chair.  “Come with me.”

He led the younger man through the restaurant to the back patio.  It was deserted, being early December, but it wasn’t too cold and gave them some privacy.  “What’s going on?  Are you having doubts?”

Mickey stared at his shoes, hands shoved deep in his pockets.  “I’m from an Estate.  The only reason I escaped that life was the Tylers took me and Gran with them, supported me going to school.  Martha is… Martha is better.  She’s a doctor, she does real good.  She’s beautiful, smart, funny.  Kind.  She’s way out of my league.”

“Do you love her?” John asked, and Mickey’s smile at the thought said everything even before the words came out.

“More than anything.”

John nodded, crossing his arms and staring across the patio at the wall for a moment as he gathered his thoughts.  “What do you know about Rose and I? As a couple, I mean.”

Mickey’s head jerked up, brow furrowing before he shrugged.  “Not much. Martha knows more, I think, but she won’t tell me.  ‘Cone of silence’, sort of thing, or so she said.”

“We met five and a half years ago,” he started slowly.  “In a bar.  It was… she was perfect.  Everything I’d ever wanted in a partner, when I bothered to think of such a thing at all.”

“But?”

John snorted.  “But I’m twenty years older than her.  I’m her parents age.  I realized I was falling in love, that I could genuinely see myself with this girl, this woman, forever.”

“What did you do?”

“Panicked.  Ran like hell.  Disappeared from her life overnight.  I stood her up for a date, and didn’t see her again until that dinner we all had back at the start of summer.”  Glancing down at the ground, he scuffed the toe of his shoe on a crack in the cement.  “I knew she was too good for me, too young, that I was too old and damaged.  That she’d wake up one morning and see the truth, and be horrified.”

“How’d that work out for you?”  Mickey was staring at him intently, and he met his eye evenly.

“It was the worst mistake I ever made.  I will never stop being grateful to get another chance, and stop mourning the five years we lost.  I know it’s terrifying, but she chose you, Mickey.  And I’ve had to listen to her- Martha, I mean- talk about you for the last three years, and she knows you.  Warts and all.  She thinks you’re worth it.  At the end of the day, it’s her choice who she spends her life with, isn’t it?  Who the fuck are you to choose for her?  If you genuinely believe she’s that smart and wise, you need to trust her opinion. That’s the secret of women, Mickey, and you need to learn it sooner or later.  She will always be smarter than you, in the ways that really matter.  Just go with it.”

Mickey nodded slowly, a half-smile appearing briefly.  “That’s… that’s exactly what Pete said,” he admitted.  “The Tylers, they’re the only family I’ve got.  That never bothered me, until I saw how close Martha’s family is.  I’ve never had that, not really.”

John clapped his hand on Mickey’s shoulder, grinning.  “You’re looking at this all wrong, son.  You may never have had that before, but a week from today you’ll have it for the rest of your life.  So long as you don’t let your fears overcome you.”

A weight had seemingly lifted off Mickey’s shoulders, and John turned to back inside before realizing he wasn’t being followed.  “What?”

“Martha wants a baby,” he blurted.  “I mean, I do too, but… she wants it now.  Soon.  Get pregnant immediately.”

“Okay.”  John crossed his arms, just watching the other man begin to pace.

“What if I’m no good?” Mickey finally blurted after a dozen turns around the small space.  “My dad left when I was a baby.  All I’ve ever had is Pete.  What if I screw the kid up?  I’m not ready!”

“Listen to me, son,” John started, stopping him with his hands on his shoulders.  “First, breathe.  Second – it doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters!”

“No, listen to me,” John insisted.  “What kids need, more than anything, is stability.  They need love and attention.  Right?  Being there, day in and day out, teaching them, playing with them, just spending time with them, that’s enough.  There’s always more, and some of it will come naturally, but that’s the biggest part.  That, and loving their mother.  I’ve seen you two together, for years, and I’ve heard even more stories.  As long as you stay a team, you put your relationship first, you will- do a great job.”  He almost said ‘kill it’, but given the topic it didn’t seem appropriate.  “All right?”

Mickey sighed, nodding slowly.  “Yeah.  Yeah, okay.”

“Now, two more things then we’ll go back in if you’re ready.  One – you will never be ready to be a parent.  I’m done my fair share of time in the obstetrics ward, and I’ve met men becoming fathers for the third and fourth time who were still scared shitless.  Just accept it.”

“Okay,” he said, though he didn’t look convinced.  “What’s two?”

“Talk to Martha.  Not today, or even tomorrow, but the sooner the better.  Do it before the wedding, so you go in on the same page.  What you decide doesn’t matter nearly as much as you deciding together.  Got it?”

“Got it.”

John waited until Mickey moved towards the door, following him inside.  When the other man turned towards the restrooms, John sought out their waiter, who happened to be standing nearby.  “Hi,” he started, waiting for the man to acknowledge him, “had a bit of nervous-groom syndrome; can we get out steaks reheated?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

When Mickey returned he was his usual cheery self, talking and joking as they finished their meals.  The bar offered whiskey sampler flights, and ever the teacher, John fell easily into lecture mode as he educated the younger men on the finer points.

Once the bill was settled they headed out onto the street, starting up the sidewalk with no particular destination in mind.  “Right, what’s next?” demanded the groom, throwing his arm around Jake’s neck and pulling him down to give him a noogie.

“Well,” the best man drawled, fighting him off with a laugh, “I was thinking… strip club?  Buy a shag?”

“No,” Mickey said firmly, stopping dead, “not a chance in hell.  I do actually want to get married.  I love Martha.  I don’t need to see other women in their knickers.”

Leo and John nodded in agreement, the younger man adding, “Shonara would kill me.”

“Rose would help.”

“All right, all right, was just a suggestion,” Jake protested, holding his hands up in peace.  “Don’t get your pants in a twist.  What’s your idea?”

Mickey shook his head, raising his arm and stepping to the curb.  “Taxi!”

As soon as they pulled up to the club John started laughing, shaking his head fondly as he climbed out of the cab.

“What?” Mickey asked, falling into step with him as Jake and Leo walked ahead, debating the cheapest way to get drunk.

“This is where Rose and I met,” he explained.  “I haven’t been back since.”

“D’you want to go somewhere else?”

John shook his head, holding the door for him.  They were there early enough the cover hadn’t started yet, and plenty of empty tables.  “Nah, no problem.  A year ago? Maybe.  Besides, tonight’s about you.”

They claimed a table for six, John buying the first round of tequila shots.  When they arrived they held the shot glasses up, and he gave a quick toast.

“To Mickey and Martha!”

The shots were thrown back, just as the DJ got started.  The three younger men immediately jumped up, heading to the dance floor.

“Coming?” Mickey shouted, but John shook his head.

“I’ll hold the table!”  It was a good enough excuse; it was hardly his type of music, and not his definition of dancing.  He wouldn’t mind if Rose was there, but had no interest in basically dry-humping a stranger.

Mickey gave him a thumbs up before disappearing onto the floor.  Leaning back in his seat John ordered a beer from the waitress, lingering over it as he watched the dancers writhe to the so-called music.

About an hour after they arrived all the hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he glanced towards the door to see Rose, Martha, Tish, and Shonara come in, laughing.  An involuntary smile crossed his face at the sight, partially at Martha in her tiara and sash but mostly at Rose.

She must have sensed his gaze, because she scanned the club until their eyes met.  A beaming smile spread across her face, drawing an identical from his own, and started his way.  The other women pulled her back, talking, and he waited impatiently to see what she would do.

They stumbled into the club howling with laughter, linked together arm in arm.  Shonara’s portion of the evening had been laser tag, and it was a smashing success.  Rose had felt like a secret agent in a movie, dressed for clubbing in a tiny dress and sky-high heels, sneaking around shooting lasers at her friends.  Martha had won as was only right, but they’d given her a fight for the title.

Tish’s suggestion was, naturally, drinking and dancing, though everyone was fully on board.  Rose didn’t miss the irony of the selected venue being where she had originally met John, and no sooner had the thought crossed her mind that her skin prickled.  Peering around the dark room, she spotted him sitting at a table by himself.

Grinning, she started in his direction before someone grabbed her arm, stopping her.

“Where are you going?” Tish shouted, and Rose leaned closer to be heard.

“The guys are here with a table.  Let’s join them.”

Shonara shook her head.  “No, no, no!  We’re supposed to be celebrating!  Dance with strangers, let them buy us drinks,” she protested.

Martha was eyeing the dance floor, face lighting.  “Do what you want; I’m going to go dance with my fiancé.”  And she disappeared into the crowd.

Rose looked at the two women before glancing over her shoulder at John.  “Yeah… sorry.”  Not sorry at all, she spun on her heel and sauntered towards where her boyfriend was sitting.  “Hi!”

“Hey, babe,” he said in her ear, pulling her onto his lap instead of letting her take the seat next to him.  “How’s your night going?”

“Great,” she enthused, playing with his tie, “better now.”  She shifted, angling herself better across his thighs, and drawing out of him a ragged moan she heard over the eardrum-shattering volume of the club.  “And what have you been up to?” Rose teased, refreshingly unworried about what had him aroused.

His arms were wrapped around her waist to support her, but he tightened them to bring her side closer into his chest.  “Thinking about the last time I was here.”

“Something good then?”

Before he could answer Tish appeared, smiling.  “Hi, lovebirds.  I can hold the table for a bit if you want to go dance.”

“Yes,” Rose decided, sliding off his lap and heading for the dance floor, dragging him by the hand.  “Thanks!”

She wormed her way through the crowd until they were in deep, none of their friends nearby.  Turning her back to John she pulled him against her, settling his hands on her hips as she began to dance.  It didn’t take long for his hips to fall into rhythm with hers as they grinded to the techno-pop. Rose lost herself in the beat, her senses overwhelmed by the crowd and the music but mostly the man behind her.

Despite her concerns he seemed to be enjoying himself, fingers rubbing circles in her skin through her dress as he pulled her tighter against him.  As much as she loved feeling him against her bum she eventually shifted, wrapping her arms around his neck as they moved.  He took advantage of the new position, capturing her lips in a searing kiss that left her breathless when they finally parted.

John’s arms kept them pressed together, palms blatantly cupping her bum, but in the dark club she doubted anyone would care if they could even see.  Time seemed to flow strangely, both flying past and yet dragging.  She was ready to crawl out of her skin and into his by the time she glanced at the table, only to see everyone else gathered around it talking.

Tapping his arm she nodded in the table’s direction, and his face soured before nodding.  They maneuvered their way there, Rose biting her lip all the while to keep from smiling as he kept her carefully in front of him.

“Hey,” she greeted the rest of the party, noticing Leo held two coats.  “You leaving?”

“Yeah, got to relieve grandma,” Shonara said apologetically, giving her a hug.  “Tonight was a blast, though.”

“It really was!”

Rose eyed Martha and Mickey, who seemed lost in each other, and wasn’t surprised when Martha leaned in and whispered to him, only for her oldest friend to jump up like he’d been scalded.  “Right!  We should go, early morning with wedding… stuff, thanks for tonight, see you later!”

Mickey practically ran out of the club, Martha laughing as she paused to say goodbye.

“Have fun,” Rose snickered in her ear as they hugged, and the bride smiled widely.

“Oh, I will.”

She disappeared in a whirlwind, leaving Rose, John, Jake, and Tish to stand around.

“We paid the bill,” Tish said, “so… if you want to go-”

John firmly pressed his hips against her bum, his vote clear, and Rose didn’t hesitate to accept the exit strategy.

“I think we will, thanks.  Tonight was a blast.”

He kept her close in front of him on the way out, and Rose managed to keep a lid on her laughter until they were settled in a cab.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, frowning, as his hand settled on her thigh and slipped just beneath the hem of her dress.

“You’re not as subtle as you think you are,” she teased, kissing his cheek.  “I don’t think you were fooling anyone.”  Her palm settled high on his thigh, making him jump.

John shrugged, and in the darkness of the cab she heard the fabric rustle more than saw the movement.  “I don’t care, honestly.  Pretty sure a couple near us on the dance floor were, uh, doing a bit more dancing than dancing.”

“Oh, they were,” Rose drawled, deliberately crossing her legs so the hem of her dress rode up even higher.  “In case you were wondering, that’s too exhibitionist-y for me.”

“‘Too exhibitionist-y’?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.  “Implies you don’t mind a little.”

They pulled up at their flat then, and Rose opened the door before smiling at him over her shoulder.  “Oh, you’ll see.”

She walked into the lift just as he caught up to her, and they slid closed as her laugh turned to a moan.

[rather-impertinent]

Girl Next Door Chpt. 4

A/N: Hello friends! It’s been a fkn hot minute since I last wrote any fic, especially this one! I am now free from the clutches of university coursework and exams, and thought to celebrate by finally releasing this chapter! It’s a long one, hopefully it’s worth the wait! Thanks for all your patience, let me know what you all think, much love xo

“No. Rosina is a lovely girl, but I think she’d be lovely for someone else,” he said thoughtfully, a gentle smile on his face. Caroline’s intoxicated state meant that she could not smother a grin at this news. As Dwight fell asleep that night, he convinced himself that he had imagined her reaction. The door to his flat finally opened, he entered, immediately turned on the light and unbuttoned his coat. He was quickly followed by Caroline, whose white heel caught on the door frame. She swore and stumbled clumsily, before falling right into Dwight’s arms.

An utterly inebriated yet incredibly beautiful, young woman had just fallen into his arms, inside of his own flat, and Dwight didn’t know whether to thank the Lord or curse Him. She made no attempt to move and dangled limply.

“Caroline? You okay?”

She mumbled incoherently, and Dwight realised that she was probably blacking out. At first, he encouraged her to walk, but she complained in unintelligible groans about having sore feet and “fuzzy legs” so Dwight resorted to carrying her. She was ridiculously light, he discovered, barely weighing more than Julia after a Sunday roast.

He kicked open his bedroom door with the ball of his foot and entered sideways, holding Caroline securely, her mouth slack in sleep despite the short walk to the bedroom. Once inside the room, he pressed the light switch on with his nose and then gently placed Caroline onto the bed, careful not to wake her. He carefully removed her heeled shoes and put them on the floor beside the bed. With a slight smile and shake of the head at the now softly snoring girl on his bed, he covered her body with the navy duvet and left to fetch her a pint of water and some much-needed aspirin for the morning. He placed the tablets and water on the somewhat untidy table beside his bed before stealing one of his pillows and a pair of pyjama trousers to go sleep on the couch.

Caroline supposed that the light that shone on her face to rouse her from her dreams was that which people speak of when they die, such was the relentless throbbing in her head. She reached for the pint glass of water on the bedside table and popped two pills out the packet that had been placed beside it, hoping to relieve her horrific headache and the painful dryness of her throat. She shielded her mascara clogged eyes from the light flooding through a gap in the curtains, before it dawned on her that those were not her curtains, and this was not her flat. She panicked slightly before her nostrils caught a whiff of a familiar scent. She brought the dark duvet cover up to her nose and sniffed. Dwight. She was in Dwight’s flat. As she considered the implications of this, patchy memories from the previous night flooded back to her, and she groaned, knowing she likely made a complete twat of herself.

Before she had time to contemplate this further, she heard a soft tap at the door. She cleared her throat: “Yeah?”

“Morning. Are you awake?” Dwight’s voice sounded just as rough as her own.

Caroline thought the answer was obvious, but replied anyway, “yeah.”

“Mind if I come in?”

She gestured helplessly to herself, how could someone possibly be so polite? “It’s your room!”

Dwight came in then, smiling but looking a little worse for wear, like he’d just finished a gruelling night shift. He was huddling two steaming cups of tea as he sat down on the bed, quickly handing one to Caroline. “How are you feeling?” he asked, a little smile on his face as he examined her tired eyes. “I didn’t know how you liked your tea, so I just guessed.”

Caroline accepted the mug with an amused expression and brought it to her lips, hoping it would return her voice. “Well,” she began, still croaking slightly, “when I woke up I genuinely thought I had died and ended up in Hell.” She took another glug of her tea, which was made perfectly with two sugars and a small splash of milk.

They both winced as Dwight’s laugh pierced their sharp headaches. “Ah, your first vodka hangover. Brutal. Now, no doubt, you hate me!”

She chuckled and met his tired gaze. “Now, no doubt, I hate you.” It was curious, thought Dwight, that a declaration of hate had managed to suck all of the air from the room. They hid their smiles behind their respective cups before Caroline examined her mug in dismay. “This is the most boring mug I’ve ever seen; it’s literally just white. Don’t you have any fun ones?”

Dwight’s brows furrowed in confusion as he took in the genuine dissatisfaction on her face. “What? Why would I need to have a ‘fun mug’? You just drink coffee out of it! Besides, I rarely get a chance to drink coffee out of an actual mug for a start; it’s usually shitty paper cups from the hospital vending machine!”

She scoffed and pointed at the offending mug. “Oh, live a little, Dwight! It’s the simple things that make life count!”

He laughed in disbelief, “Says you – who probably grew up in some fancy mansion in the countryside somewhere and had more money than God!” Her mouth fell open, and Dwight’s eyes widened in panic. Shit. He’s offended her and ruined everything, and now she’ll never speak to him again and – his thoughts were halted by a pillow whacking him in the face, causing some of his tea to spill on his tartan pyjama trousers.

“Fuck off, Dwight!” Caroline laughed. “I don’t live there now, and I don’t really have any money at the moment,” Her chin was held aloft in defiance, “I was just trying to give you some friendly advice about your shit cups!” He returned her smirk at this. “I’d give you some of mine, but they’re all of pugs… Oh, shit! My keys!” She whined, covering her face with her hand. “Ugh, I’ll have to go to the pub and get them, wearing the same clothes as last night and smelling like a fucking distillery, oh my G–“

A loud jingle in front of her face caused the end of her sentence to catch in her throat. “You have my keys?!” she exclaimed, an impressed smirk appearing on her face.

Dwight nodded and returned her smile, continuing to jingle the cluster of metal and pug keyrings. “Yep. I walked down to the pub earlier to get them, I know the owner really well. Besides, one of the disadvantages of being a doctor is that you don’t ever really manage to get much sleep, no matter how hungover and tired you are!” He chuckled, dropping the keys into her open hand.

“Thank you,” Caroline said sincerely, clasping her long fingers around the bundle of keys, meeting his gaze. She regarded him with amusement and raised an eyebrow in challenge at him, “I wonder how I could repay your noble deed, Dr Enys?”

“Maybe you could give me your phone number?” Oh, Christ. He did not just say that. Those words did not just come out of his mouth. He must still be dreaming; this is a nightmare. Or it’s true; alcohol kills the brain. All his brain cells must be dead for him to have blurted that out. What a twat. “Errr, I mean in case you ever lose your–“

She held up her hand, laughing at his lack of composure and the blush that coloured his cheeks. “Sure, why not?” she shrugged nonchalantly, while almost snatching his mobile out of his hand to enter her number. She entered it quickly and handed his phone back to him. “Test it to make sure I entered it right.” He nodded, thinking it was a smart idea – when really, she just wanted to have his number, too. Her phone lit up, displaying an unknown caller. “Great, it worked. I’ll just save your number, too.” She displayed her new contact ‘Dr Enys’ in confirmation.

He grinned and shook his head. He opened his mouth to ask her something when his phone rang so loudly it caused them both to jump. He noted the caller and excused himself without making any effort to vacate the room or even move off the bed.

“Morning,” he chirped.

“Afternoon, more like,” laughed Demelza. She cleared her throat overdramatically and waited. “So? Spill it.”

Dwight glanced involuntarily at Caroline, who pretended to text someone while he spoke on the phone. “What are you talking about?”

Demelza huffed impatiently. “What happened after the pub last night?” she drawled suggestively.

Again, he glanced at Caroline, hoping she couldn’t hear this. “Nothing.”

“Dwight! You better be kidding!” Demelza accused with a whine, and Dwight could hear Ross groan beside her on the couch.

“Give me the phone, love,” Dwight heard Ross instruct her. There was a moment’s pause. “Dwight, it’s Ross,” he croaked, his throat still burning from the near entire bottle of whisky he drank the previous night. “Listen, mate, do you actually mean to tell me you left the pub with not one but two beautiful women–“ Demelza slapped his bicep “–on your arm, and you didn’t even shag one of them?!”

“Yep,” he confirmed sardonically, slightly annoyed at their attempted interference in his sex life.

“Oh, for fuck sake,” Ross groaned, squishing his eyes together, “you were right, Dem: he likes her. He likes Caroline. That’s why he couldn’t shag Rosina. Why are you always right about these things?” Demelza’s excited shriek pierced Dwight’s ears, and she snatched the phone from her husband.

“I fucking knew it!” she gloated. “When did this start?”

Dwight looked at Caroline, who was staring absently at her phone, likely scrolling through social media, or so he hoped. “I really don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” he said through gritted teeth.

There was a moment of silence. “Why are you acting so weird? You normally tell me everything. Wait. Is– is she there right now? Cough once for yes and twice for no.” He coughed once. “Ooh, alright, we’ll continue this conversation another time,” she taunted, a smile colouring her tone, a tone that suggested that she would not forget to bring this up again. “Oh, by the way, tell Caroline I got her a job at the café.”

Dwight’s annoyance melted, and he smiled. “You did?! When?”

Ross linked his fingers through Demelza’s, and she giggled. “Yesterday, I texted John about 30 seconds after she asked for a glass of Moet. I like a girl with taste. Plus, I like her. She’s really funny, and lovely.”

“She is, isn’t she?” he agreed, before quickly clearing his throat. Demelza chuckled in victory. “Alright, I’ll tell her, thanks, Dem.” At this, Caroline’s head popped up from her phone, her face curious. “Bye!”

Caroline stared at Dwight as he placed his phone by her blanket feet. “Was that Demelza?” she asked innocently, knowing full well it was.

“Yeah, she says she got you a job at the café!”

Caroline spilt some of the tea on Dwight’s duvet as she happy-danced in celebration of her new job. “Sorry,” she mumbled as she tried to wipe it up with her hand, only spreading it further. 

“It’s OK, don’t worry about it. They’re due a wash anyways. Well done on the job! I’ll give you Dem’s number so you two can sort out a start date. What do you say we get you a celebratory breakfast that will simultaneously cure your hangover?”

Caroline shrugged. “Oh, Demelza already gave me her number last night. She’s so nice!” Dwight smiled in agreement. She sipped what remained of her tea, “What did you have in mind for breakfast?”

He stood up and placed his hand over his heart. “A waffle sandwich, the breakfast of champions,” he announced.

Caroline’s face contorted in disgust. “A waffle sandwich?”

Her expression caused Dwight’s face to fall. Thinking she must have misunderstood him, he elaborated: “Yeah. Like, potato waffles on a sandwich. It’s delicious. Have you never had one?”

Her laugh came out in a high-pitched tone. She threw the duvet cover off and gestured dramatically to her flawless, hourglass figure. “Does this look like the body of a woman who eats potatoes between slices of bread? I think I just gained half a stone thinking about it!”

Dwight managed not to allow his gaze to linger on her slender form. “Oh, come on. Did you not just tell me to live a little? You should take your own advice!”

Caroline narrowed her blue eyes at him and bit the inside of her cheek, considering the throbbing in her head. “You promise it will cure my hangover?”

“I promise,” he said, offering her his hand.

She took his offer of assistance and bent down to get her shoes. “Well, alright, then. But first I need to go home, shower and get changed. I should probably go pick up Horace from Mrs Figg, too. Can you wait half an hour?”

He could wait, and as soon as she left, he began to tidy his flat; washing the dishes and putting a small load of laundry on, tea-soaked bed covers included. Just as he was about to sit down, his phone pinged.

Caroline 12:11pm Hi! Sorry for taking ages, I had to sit down in the shower! Hangovers are the worst. I’m finally ready, but Horace is at my heels, is it okay if he comes too? X He’s really friendly. Plus, how can you say no to this little face? X

That was a cute little face, Dwight had to admit.

Dwight 12:11pm Of course Horace can come too x

Less than a minute later, she appeared at his door, wearing an oversized white woollen jumper and pink pug pyjama trousers while being draped in a fleece blanket. Horace growled at Dwight and stepped in front of Caroline.

Dwight laughed at her appearance and stepped aside to let her in, “You look comfy!”

“Oh, I am!” she confirmed with a grin as she entered.

He closed the door behind her and locked it. “What are those?” He asked, pointing to the bag of small, orange balls that dangled from her left hand.

She held them up and gave them a small shake. “They’re clearly oranges.”

He blinked slowly and let out a sigh, “I can see that but why?”

“Why not?” she asked, a tad indignant. “They have vitamin C and stuff, right? Plus, I need something to balance out all the carbs you’re forcing me to eat!”

“As a doctor, I can indeed confirm that oranges do have vitamin C.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, we may be hungover, but at least we won’t contract scurvy!”

Caroline groaned and swung the bag of tangerines at his side. “Oh, my God, stop! I can’t bear your terrible doctor jokes. If you don’t put a film on in the next ten seconds, Horace and I are leaving,” she teased, her nose aloft. Horace yapped in agreement, quite ready to leave right now, and continued to glare at the doctor man who had recently distracted his mum.

Dwight held his hands up in defeat. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry. No more shit jokes! What do you want to watch?”

Caroline hummed as she considered this and sat herself down on the beige sofa. She swept her feet up before encouraging Horace to jump up and join her. “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire,” she answered, almost automatically.

Dwight’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he placed his hand on his hips as he eyed the popular DVD boxset on the bookshelf. “The Goblet of Fire? Why?”

She looked at him as though the answer was obvious. “It’s the best one,” she announced with certainty, carefully smoothing Horace’s wrinkled brow.

He hung his head and shook it slowly, unable to process this information. “You’ve got to be kidding!” he insisted, “The Chamber of Secrets is the best. The Goblet of Fire isn’t even in my top 3!” The toaster pinged, signalling that the four potato waffles were at their peak crispiness.

Caroline glanced past Dwight and into the kitchen. “Well, then, why don’t you get my promised hangover cure and I’ll put The Goblet of Fire on and explain to you why you are wrong?” She batted her eyelids and smiled sweetly at him, and Dwight found himself doing her bidding.

“Are you always so demanding?” he called over his shoulder as he walked into the kitchen.

“I’m afraid so!” She called back, smiling, not in the least bit sorry.

As he busied himself in the kitchen buttering some slices of bread, Caroline noticed some piles of paper on the coffee table as she crossed the room to fetch the DVD off the shelf. She placed the disk into the side of the large TV – which hung on the wall – and made her way back to the sofa, where Horace remained seated, sulking.  Her curiosity getting the better of her, she pried at the documents on the table: several folders with titles she could barely understand, charts, graphs, something about insulin.

“Oh, sorry about all of that,” he said as he came back into the room, placing their sandwiches down on an uncovered part of the coffee table. “It’s for work; I’m going away on Friday.” He offered her a sandwich before gathering his notes and putting them to one side.

Her heart fluttered oddly at his announcement, and she accepted the proffered brunch with a degree of hesitation. “Away? Where?” She finally took a small bite, and then another, and another.

“Boston. I’m attending a medical conference; I’ll be there for about two weeks.” He had said so casually, negating to tell her that he was, in fact, a guest speaker on account of his pioneering research into type 2 diabetes.

Two weeks was a long time, she thought. “Impressive!” He couldn’t tell if she was genuinely impressed or mocking him. “But you’ll miss my first day in the café, when I win over the hearts of millions with my coffee making skills!” She continued to devour the carb-loaded sandwich, annoyed that she genuinely liked it.

Dwight observed this and chuckled in victory, not even feeling the need to comment. He reached for a tangerine on the table and flicked it up in the air with his wrist before catching it again. “Hm, yeah, I’m sorry. You’ll have to make me one when I get back.” He rested his feet on the table and settled back into the sofa, press play on the DVD remote.

Caroline smirked as she chewed her sandwich, “I’ll see if I can fit into my schedule.”

[raywritesthings]

Lost in Translation 10/?

My Writing Fandom: Doctor Who Characters: Donna Noble, Tenth Doctor Pairing: Doctor/Donna Summary: In a universe where people are born with the name of the person destined for them displayed on their skin, intergalactic soulmates can be rather difficult to navigate. AO3 link

Donna had experienced dematerialization, actual flying, and even being sucked up into the TARDIS — but never had she felt like she was falling while inside the ship. Until now.

What had she hung about for? Getting distracted in the middle of a bloody Dalek attack, real smart. She’d promised to stay right by her Spaceman, and now here she was about as far away as she could possibly get and about to die to boot. All because she’d kept thinking she was hearing some stupid voice in her head.

The console room grew hotter and hotter while Donna was stuck on the floor. She crawled her way up to the control panel. That voice was still murmuring on the edge of her hearing, getting louder as she got closer.

But not to the controls, she realized, as she came upon the glass jar containing supposedly the Doctor’s hand. It was glowing again and calling to her. Donna couldn’t seem to look away. Slowly, she reached out a hand and touched it.

Glass shattered as the jar broke open, and the golden light traveled up her arm and all through her. Donna fell back, unable to see anything beyond a golden haze.

It didn’t feel like fire, the way the Doctor had looked for those few terrifying moments. Instead Donna felt a sort of calm wash over her as she was filled with warmth. It was comforting and familiar, somehow, and for a minute she swore she could finally make out the voice she’d been hearing: Spaceman saying her name.

The light in front of her eyes receded, and she regained her vision in time to watch as the golden glow in her hands seemed to sink beneath her skin. Just as quickly, her panic returned.

“What the hell was that?” Donna demanded to no one.

The only thing she could think of were the Huon particles she’d been poisoned with two years ago. What had she done to herself touching that hand? When she looked for it, it had disappeared.

One of the coral struts was aflame, reminding her she was going to burn alive before she could die by poisoning. She needed to do something! Not just for herself but the TARDIS. She couldn’t just let her burn. But she wasn’t good enough at piloting to get them out of this mess!

Abruptly, Donna’s mind seemed to flash back with perfect clarity to one lazy afternoon when Spaceman had been showing her how to do certain bits of maintenance on the ship. They’d been lying half under the console side by side while he’d pointed out which wires fed into which buttons.

“Knowing how to fix her will make you a better pilot,” the Doctor had told her as he’d replaced some of the wiring that he’d claimed was stripped, though Donna had detected no difference between those and the other wires. He just liked to pamper his ship, she’d suspected. “Especially if I can’t do it myself.”

Donna had rolled onto her side to fix him with a look. “And why wouldn’t you be able to?”

He’d shrugged. “Any number of reasons. I could be busy. Or incapacitated. Or — well, there’s always Emergency Protocol One if things get really serious.”

“What’s Emergency Protocol—” she’d begun to ask, only for him to roll towards her as well and place a finger to her lips.

“No, no, no, no, no, don’t do that. It’s keyed to your vocal signature,” he’d explained when she’d done her best to frown around the offending digit. “You say it and we go off straight to your mum’s. Because that’s what it does. It makes sure you get home, whatever’s happened to me.”

The Doctor had removed his hand with some difficulty due to the close quarters, and Donna had considered his words. She hadn’t liked the sound of whatever happened to him, but she’d known it was foolish not to keep in mind the possibility. “Huh. Couldn’t have told me about that when I was stuck up on that Sontaran ship?”

His mouth had opened and shut a couple times. Donna hadn't even bothered to hide her smirk. “I needed you and her with me back at UNIT,” he’d come up with eventually. “Anyway, it turned out alright, didn’t it?”

She’d ducked her head, nearly brushing against his chest because she hadn’t wanted him to see her blush. He’d needed her? Daft Spaceman. “What’s next?”

“Oh! Spanner would be lovely. Got to tighten the bolts on the helmic regulator. Can’t have that going out of whack.”

In the present, the heat was growing near unbearable, but when Donna tried the scanner, it blinked on. Those Daleks must have released it from that chronon thing the Doctor had been going on about when they dropped the two of them. The ship was starting to work again.

“Emergency Protocol One!” She shouted.

An image flickered to life in front of her: Spaceman.

He wasn’t quite looking at her, nor did he react to the flames that were popping up here and there around them. It had to be a recording; he’d shown her how that worked, and she’d even made her own once on the sly while she’d sent him for tea.

“This is Emergency Protocol One. Donna, if you’ve activated this, something’s gone seriously wrong. Whatever we’re up against is dangerous, and I mean more so than usual. This safeguard is in place to get you home in case I am dying or already dead.”

What’s happened to him. She should’ve known. Donna was the one about to die, actually, but under his words she could hear the wheezing of the TARDIS engines, and the heat began to dissipate.

“Please don’t do anything rash,” he continued. “The TARDIS is not to be messed with. It’s dangerous, and it would hurt both of you. I know I can trust you to take care of her, Donna. Even if we didn’t finish your piloting lessons, she’ll be grateful for your company. I don’t know how she’ll get on without me, but if anyone can keep her going, it’s you.”

She wanted to scoff at these assertions, but the next words out of his mouth stole her very breath away.

“Donna, these past few months have been — well, they’ve made me the happiest I’ve been in a long time. Maybe ever. I wish I had convinced you to come with me that Christmas if it meant we’d have had more time. You mean more to me than I could ever possibly say.”

There was a lump in her throat that hadn’t been there before and Donna blinked furiously. It was the smoke from the dying fires that had her eyes stinging this way, not him.

“Never doubt your brilliance. Stay kind.” He wasn’t even looking at her, yet she nearly couldn’t bear the gentle warmth in his brown eyes. “And thank you, Donna Noble. Thank you for saving my life and making it worth living.”

She shrugged out of her jacket. It was too warm in here, and she needed her shirtsleeve to wipe at her eyes.

“Goodbye, Donna,” said the projected Doctor, and she knew he wasn’t really here, but she nearly cried out for him to wait as he disappeared. Why had he saved all that for when it was too late for her to respond?

Wait. It was taking her home. But did home mean back where the Earth was supposed to be or where it actually was? What had she done? She couldn’t leave the Medusa Cascade!

As the time rotor slowed and finally stopped pulsing, Donna sat on the floor, too scared of what she might have done to check the scanner or even the doors. Even if the Doctor managed okay with the others on that Dalek Crucible — and she hoped to God he did — what use was it going to be if she’d left them all stranded? How could she have thought to do that to him?

Before Donna could panic too much, however, there was a knock on the TARDIS doors. She nearly cried out in relief at the familiar voice. “Donna, love, are you in there?”

“Gramps!” She scrambles onto her feet, pulling herself up by the console and then laying her hands on it in thanks. “Oh, he’s right about you being clever!” Then she raced down the ramp.

When she threw open the door she found not just her grandad but her mother waiting on the other side as well. Yet the inevitable tirade she’d always anticipated if her mum had ever learned about any of this never came.

“Oh, Donna!”

She found herself pulled into a tight hug which she managed to return through her shock. “We’ve been so worried!”

Was she crying?

“It’s alright, mum.” Donna patted her on the back and tried not to let on how thrown she was by this reaction.

“Will it be alright, then? You and he’ve stopped it? Where is he? Where’s the Doctor?” Her Gramps asked, peering over her shoulder as if he expected Spaceman’s skinny frame to appear in the doorway any second, and Donna thought she might start crying, too.

“No, he’s — he’s still up there. I don’t know how, but I’ve got to get back.”

She only half-turned before her mother grabbed at her arm. “Donna, you can’t! Those Dalek things. It’s not safe!”

“I’m not saying it is,” Donna argued before stopping abruptly.

There was a sort of lurch in her gut, like how it used to feel as a child before she was about to throw up.

“Sorry, just a minute,” she excused herself, running straight for the house. Her mum and Gramps called after her.

Donna only just managed to stagger into the bathroom. She fell forward, her hands catching the lip of the sink, and watched as instead of being sick a wisp of some kind of golden mist escaped her mouth.

When she turned to see her family standing in the open doorway staring at her, all she could think to say was, “Mum, Gramps, I think something’s happened to me.”

“D- Donna,” said her grandad, raising one hand to point at her back. She felt her stomach do another flip. Oh God, was there still some bug on there?

But when she turned to look, that wasn’t what she saw. Instead, through the cloth of her top, something was shining. Donna tugged it down.

Her mark. Her mark was glowing now.

“Oh, you are kidding.” First it decided to disappear in the parallel world and now this?

“What is it?” Her mum asked, eyes wide. “What’s it doing?”

“How should I know? It’s never done that before.” Donna coughed up some more gold mist, and finally admitted, “There was this thing in the TARDIS—”

“The what?”

“His spaceship. The box sitting on your lawn, mum,” she hastily corrected.

“How can that box be a spaceship? It looks like one of those old telephone boxes the police had.”

“Sylvia, come on, you saw it appear out there just now,” said her Gramps.

Donna ignored them both, leaning forward to examine herself in the mirror. Was it her imagination, or were those rings of gold in her irises Spaceman had been going on about on Shan Shen brighter than usual? What was happening to her?

“I need to get back.”

Her way was still being decidedly blocked.

“You can’t!” Her mother repeated. “Those things were killing people!”

“And they’ll kill a lot more people if we don’t stop them.”

“I tried to tell you, love,” added her Gramps. “This is what our Donna’s been doing now, her and the Doctor. They stop all these aliens from hurting people.”

Her mother tried a different tack, waving a hand at her back. “We don’t even know what’s happened to you.”

Donna fixed her shirt to lie over her mark properly, even if the light it was giving off still showed through. “Well the only one who might is the Doctor, so I’d better go and get him, hadn’t I?”

“If you hadn’t been with him, this never would’ve happened,” said her mum.

“It’s not his fault.” Donna decided not to tell them it was his hand she’d touched that seemed to have got her this way.

Though there was a thought. He’d died in that parallel world, and her mark had vanished. Because never meeting him meant she’d never meet her soulmate. Now she’d touched his hand full of that weird generated energy or whatever, and her mark was glowing. Because…?

She knew she couldn’t be right. Like Rose had said, she’d met and would keep meeting a lot of people through her travels with the Doctor. And he had his own mark. It was stupid even thinking it.

Donna shoved those thoughts to the back of her mind. “He needs me, mum.”

“Well hasn’t that blonde girl found him yet? She was here, said he needed her.”

Donna froze. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You think I can’t read between the lines, lady?” Her mother’s voice finally took on that typical stern tone as she stepped forward. “I know just what you’ve been up to, even if it’s in space and not some office. Has he got money?”

“It’s not like that,” said Donna quietly.

“Those kind of men are all the same, and he doesn’t seem that different for an alien. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, they’ll use you till they find the next one — and a younger one, at that.”

Maybe a year ago, Donna would have given in, listened to her mother. She knew Rose meant something to the Doctor, even if she didn’t know what.

But she did know the Doctor. And she knew what she’d seen in his eyes the last few times they’d locked with hers. When they’d nearly kissed; when he’d almost died and only been able to ask for her; when he’d told her there was something they had to talk about once all this was over. Her mother wasn’t going to stop her from hearing what it was.

She was still carrying on. “When will you stop throwing yourself at them like—”

“He asked me along first, actually,” Donna cut across. “And I turned him down. Realized what a mistake that was, but we found each other again. Cause we had to. Your new best friend Rose told me that. We’re meant to be together.”

Her mother blinked in shock at her pushback. “Meant to?” A short laugh escaped. “You’re talking destiny now? You?”

“Donna’s mark’s in alien, Sylvia,” said her grandad. “She’s sure of it.”

“Oh, so now you think—”

“I don’t know what I think,” said Donna, not wanting to have to tell her mother the truth, that she knew what the Doctor had on his back, and it certainly wasn’t her name. “What I know is it doesn’t matter. He needs me, and I need him. End of story.”

“You said practically the same about Lance,” her mum reminded. “And how’d that turn out? He ran off after all that fuss with you disappearing.”

Donna closed her eyes for a moment, trying not to let that sting. It didn’t really, and only because of the very man her mother was trying to dissuade her from. “How do you think I ended up with Lance, mum? Do you think maybe it was because I grew up thinking I was some kind of failure for being born with something I had no control over and could never be loved because of it? Do you think maybe it was cause I was taught that if a man could be bothered to look at me twice I should count myself lucky? Do you think just maybe it was because I wanted you to finally be proud of me? Happy for me?”

Her mother had fallen back a step with every question as Donna had advanced, until she was practically backed up against the opposite wall in the hallway.

“Just once in my life I wanted to do something right by you. And it all went wrong — and probably you’ll say you knew it all along — but it went wrong in the best way for me. Cause meeting him, traveling out there with the Doctor, it’s shown me how much all of the stuff I’m supposed to have done by now doesn’t matter. I can’t let you down anymore, mum, cause I’ve got a whole different life planned out than what you ever dreamed of. And I hope someday that’ll be enough for you.”

Donna turned and marched away from them both.

She stopped at the front door and looked back. “For the record, Lance didn’t run off. He died after poisoning me for six months and trying to feed me to a giant alien spider, which the Doctor saved me from. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t even have a daughter anymore, so you can bet I’m going back for his skinny arse.”

“Good luck, sweetheart!” Her Gramps called just before the door slammed. She looked back to the house briefly. It was probably the last she’d be welcome for a while. Felt too good in the moment to worry much, though. With new resolve, she faced the blue box again and strode right through the doors.

Of course, none of that back there would do any good if she couldn’t get this ship off her mother’s lawn and back into space. She could manage the Vortex, perhaps, but she had no idea how to land it on the Crucible. Donna waited to see if another flash of insight or memory might occur to her. No such luck.

“Look, I know what he said in that message, and I don’t want to hurt you — or me, for that matter. But there’s got to be some kind of way to fly this thing without knowing the coordinates, cos you take us different places with the wrong ones all the time anyway.”

The ship was silent. Donna hoped she hadn’t offended.

“I’ve seen a world where the Doctor’s died, and it’s awful. I can’t let it happen again. Please, he’s so important to so many people. And to me.” She hesitated for a breath longer before confessing to an empty room, “I love him.”

The lights suddenly turned up very bright and the time rotor pulsed up and down. They weren’t moving, though. Was that just her way of saying she was happy? What, had she been hoping?

“Yeah, yeah,” Donna blustered. “I know you want to help him as much as I do. He needs us.”

The TARDIS gave a hum, then Donna started in surprise as one of the panels lifted up and drew back, revealing another panel underneath. Only instead of controls, there was a strange gel-like substance covering it. Donna stepped forward to get a better look, and saw a couple of divets  that were about the right size for a pair of hands.

“Oh, don’t tell me. I’ve got to touch that, too.”

The ship hummed again.

“I hate you both,” Donna grumbled. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and plunged both hands into the strange-looking gel.

The gel slid to cover her hands, and Donna suspected she wouldn’t be able to pull them out until this trip had ended. It was not the grossest thing to ever happen to her on her travels, she had to admit. She still wasn’t happy about it. Best to get it over with as soon as possible.

“Okay, now you gotta take us to the Doctor, right?”

At her words, the time rotor began to pulse up and down, and the ship began to dematerialize. Donna sent up whatever prayer she could think of off the top of her head that this would work and they’d actually end up back on the Crucible. And where the Doctor was. That was key. God, she hoped he was alright and hadn’t done something stupid in the meantime.

They landed, and the gel receded. Donna shook her hands out, though there didn’t actually seem to be any residual gel to get rid of. Still, she was tempted to go wash her hands. If things weren’t so dire...

She looked down at the doors. No one seemed to be trying to get in, and she couldn’t hear any Dalek voices on the other side. She hoped that didn’t mean they’d missed the Crucible entirely.

Wasn’t much use trying to be sneaky, was there? Whoever was out there would have heard her the minute she landed. So Donna pulled her jacket back on, grabbed up the mallet she’d used on the Sontaran, and walked down to the doors.

She had to hold in a cheer when she opened them to something familiar. They were in that room Davros had been in when he’d intercepted the subwave network! He was still there and looking at her, she supposed, though it was hard to tell when she couldn’t exactly decide where his eyes were. Was it just that blue thing in the middle?

There was a whole group of people, some she recognized and some she didn’t, all off to one side of the room, just as silent and surprised as he was. Among them was the Doctor, and she felt a smile stretch wide over her face.

“Happy to still see me, Spaceman?” She couldn’t help echoing.

He made like a mime for a moment, hands and face all pressed up against some kind of invisible barrier, which turned out to actually be real when a force field lit up wherever he’d made contact. “Donna!”

“Oh, thank God!” Martha looked almost as relieved as Spaceman, Donna was pleasantly surprised to note. She’d always liked Martha.

Donna made to run straight for them, only that Davros fellow raised his hand and electricity shot from it like the one bad guy in Star Wars. Not the one in the mask. She’d only ever seen them once on the insistence of an ex-boyfriend, though maybe they warranted another look if they were going to be educational!

All this Donna thought while bracing herself for some kind of horrible pain or possible death. There was no time to duck. Only instead of crumpling to the floor in agony, Donna merely staggered back a couple steps, the mallet slipping from her grasp, while the electricity seemed to crackle within and around her body. It didn’t hurt any more than a mild itch under the skin, and when she threw out her hands, it was suddenly expelled just like Davros had done.

“Woah! Okay.” Donna looked up at the others, all staring at her again in shock.

The Doctor looked about ready to climb the walls of his cell, he was so frantic. But he froze when Donna met his gaze, his brow furrowing. “Donna, your eyes!”

Donna felt her mouth drop open. “Seriously, you’re gonna do this now?”

He shook his head. “No, Donna, they’re glowing!”

Oh.

She came up to the other side of whatever barrier had been placed around him. “Yeah, I thought that’d stopped.”

“Doc, that looks like regeneration energy,” said Captain Jack.

“Or Bad Wolf,” said Rose.

“Regeneration? I thought that was just a you thing,” said some blonde woman to the Doctor, who didn’t even seem to hear it.

“Donna, what happened to you in the TARDIS?” He demanded.

“You mean besides nearly falling to death — Oi!” She only really registered Davros’ second attempt to hit her when she stumbled a bit as it bounced off her. She caught her balance by bracing a hand against Spaceman’s cell and felt a slight push when he brought his hand up to the same spot. With her other hand, she shook out the weird lightning blast in her attacker’s general direction. “Oi, do you mind?”

“Dalek Caan, why does she not die?” Davros snarled at some slimy, deformed thing sitting up high with a spotlight on it. “Your prophecy foretold it!”

“Pretty sure his prophecy’s full of it, mate,” another man Donna didn’t know remarked.

“It’s been wrong so far,” The woman called Sarah Jane agreed. When had she even got here?

“Did you open the TARDIS?” The Doctor was trying to continue his questioning, and she looked back at him. Struggling to follow all the rest of it was driving her mad.

“What, the doors?”

“Of course not the doors! You were already inside it!”

“Well then what was I supposed to open?”

“Nothing! Did the TARDIS do it? Was she trying to save you both?”

“Donna, if you’ve become the Bad Wolf then you can save us,” Rose told her, hands pressed against her own cell. “Get rid of the Daleks.”

“No, don’t do that,” the Doctor immediately disagreed. “Just let me out so I can fix it—”

“Wait, if she’s become the same thing Rose became, does that mean she can fix me?” Jack was looking between her and the Doctor now. “Can we do that first?”

“It’s not a queue, Jack! Nothing’s being done, I just have to set it right.”

“But if she’s harnessed Bad Wolf anyway then shouldn’t she use it? They’re trying to destroy all of Reality!” Rose exclaimed.

“Does anyone actually want to catch me up?” Donna broke in, hands planted on her hips. “What’s the big thing about wolves, anyway?”

Rose, Jack, and the Doctor all stopped arguing amongst themselves.

“Is it safe to say she doesn’t have it then?” Asked Jack.

The Doctor nodded. “Yeah.”

Donna rolled her eyes. She could have told them all that if they’d just bothered to actually talk to her rather than about her.

“Hey Boss, I think Davros called reinforcements!” Shouted the man whose name she still hadn’t gotten just as a door slid open to reveal a bright red Dalek.

“The female will be permanently eliminated!”

She recognized that voice, if Daleks could have individual voices. That was the one that had had her dropped down the bloody incinerator, wasn’t it? Her eyes narrowed.

“Donna, get back to the TARDIS!” The Doctor shouted.

“Bit late for that! Anyway, I think I’ve got a handle on this now.” Donna planted her feet and stared down the red pepper pot. “Want to have another go then?”

“Exterminate!”

The same shot she’d seen fell the Doctor came straight for her — and without her even sliding back an inch she managed to catch and release it. Instead of sparking against a wall like the last two had done, however, the rebound went wide and hit what looked like a control panel sitting off to the side. It exploded, and Donna backed away from the shrapnel into a familiar chest.

She looked up into Spaceman’s face. “How did you—?”

“The containment field came down. It must have been linked to that panel.”

“What have you done?” Davros howled, but he wasn’t looking at any of them. He’d wheeled that chair of his around to face the red Dalek still in the doorway. “Dalek Supreme, what have you done?”

The Dalek didn’t answer. It didn’t even move.

“Oh.” The Doctor was looking around, his mouth hanging open in a perfect circle that meant he’d just realized something incredibly important. “Oh, I see. You didn’t quite trust them all, did you? Your new Daleks, your children. Not when you’d weakened yourself to create them, not when they looked down on you. You couldn’t quite give up control. Built yourself a personal panel that overrode everything else, only you didn’t anticipate it getting destroyed.”

“And it controlled all the Daleks?” Martha asked.

The Doctor smirked. “Better than that. It controls the Reality bomb, doesn’t it?”

Davros was scowling now.

“Sorry, Reality bomb?” Asked Donna.

Spaceman blinked and looked at her. “Oh. Right. You weren’t there for that bit. The planets were an engine for a bomb that was going to destroy all of Reality. It’s fine now, though.”

“What, just like that?”

“Just like that,” he repeated with a grin. “All thanks to you.”

“Come off it,” she scoffed, then gave a squawk of surprise when he spun her around and pulled her into a hug.

“Never,” he said right in her ear, and Donna was actually rather glad to be in his arms because she was fairly certain she’d just gone a bit weak in the knees. His voice lost what she told herself had been an unintentionally husky quality as he added, “I thought I’d lost you.”

“No chance,” she murmured right back.

“So if it’s not the Bad Wolf, then what is wrong with Donna?” Asked Rose, and they both pulled back out of the hug. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“Er, I don’t really know,” the Doctor admitted.

Donna found she couldn’t quite look at Rose — her mum’s insinuations had been totally irrational, she knew that — not that the blonde was making much effort either with her eyes fixed on the Doctor, and she instead spotted Martha grinning at her. And she wasn’t the only one, because Donna noticed Sarah Jane with a little smile of her own next, and Jack gave her a cheeky little salute when she caught his gaze. What was that about?

“Suppose we should take care of that next,” Spaceman was adding.

“Your typical arrogance, Doctor, assuming you’ve already won. You will suffer!” Davros declared, raising his arm for a third time.

Donna felt the Doctor’s hands on her shoulders as he prepared to put her behind him.

She glanced back at him. “Oi, Time Boy, considering I’m the one with magic immunity I think I should stay in front.”

He looked down. “Right, okay.”

“I’m not sure it matters,” said Sarah Jane. “Nothing seems to be happening.”

They both looked. Davros was pointing his hand with the weird glove about as hard as he could, but no lightning effect occurred this time.

“You wired the controls for your own gauntlet into that thing?” The Doctor shook his head. “Blimey, it’s a wonder the life support systems are still online!”

“So, is that it, then? We’ve definitely stopped him?” Martha checked.

“Yeah, I think that about does it.”

Donna looked at the unmoving red Dalek again. “What about the Daleks, though? I didn’t actually kill all of them, did I?” She knew they were the worst of the universe, but she wasn’t sure how to feel if she had.

“No, they should still be alive inside their shells. Helpless. They’ll need someone to care for them,” said the Doctor. His gaze fell on Davros. “Someone like their Creator. How about that for a final victory, Davros?”

If looks could kill, Davros would actually be doing pretty well for himself at the moment.

“Instead of destroying life you can learn to nurture it. Walled off in your own separate second from the rest of the universe, of course,” the Doctor continued, then shared another smile with her.

“Can we go home now?” The older blonde woman Donna still didn’t know demanded. She was standing right in front of the doors to the blue box.

“Right, good idea, Jackie! Oh, that’s Jackie Tyler, Rose’s mum,” Spaceman told her. “And that’s Mickey.”

Martha turned her head sharply. “Sorry?”

“Er, Mickey.” The final stranger in the group gave a wave. “Mickey Smith.”

Martha was staring at him like she’d never seen another person in her life before. Interesting.

Donna decided to rescue her friend. “Donna Noble.”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” said Mickey, glancing at the Doctor. Okay seriously, what had happened while she was gone?

But her Spaceman hurried over to open the doors and usher everyone through. Donna brought up the rear.

“So what about the planets?”

“Um, they’re stuck,” he answered, tugging on his ear. “They’ll all have to be moved manually.”

Donna blew out a breath. “That’s gonna be a long night.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But you first.”

She shook her head. “If Huon particles couldn’t kill me in six months, I think I’ll be alright with whatever this is for a little while longer.” So far it seemed to be helping rather than hurting her, anyway.

She stepped into the ship, but he caught her arm before she could head up the ramp. Donna turned back around.

He entered as well, pulling the door shut behind him and keeping his voice lowered for some semblance of privacy as he said, “This isn’t something we should be taking a risk on.”

“So you want to risk twenty-seven planets instead? How am I more important than that?”

A pained expression crossed his face. “Donna, there’s something I should tell you—”

“Doctor,” Donna said, and he stopped. “You have been trying to tell me something all day. How about instead of saying you’ve got to tell me something, you just say it.”

He stared at her a moment before nodding. “Right, good. Good point. Here goes then.”

Donna watched and waited as patiently as she could while he looked at her, then away, then back again and drew in a deep breath.

“Careful, there’s some glass on the floor,” Martha called out to everyone up near the console, just as the Doctor had finally opened his mouth.

“Surprised it’s not worse in here after dropping into a molten z-neutrino core,” remarked Jack.

Spaceman looked over to the others. “Glass, what glass?”

God, was he distractible! She was tempted to haul him off to the nearest empty room and lock the door, except then she recalled this particular diversion was mostly her fault.

“Right, that would be the jar,” Donna sighed. She’d totally forgotten about the mess it had made when it broke open.

The Doctor turned back to her. “Which jar?”

She rolled her eyes. “Which do you think? The one you keep under the console, dumbo!”

“The one with his hand?” Martha’s nose was scrunched up as she looked around the grating. “I don’t see it anywhere.”

“Yeah, well it sort of disappeared,” Donna explained.

“Sorry, I’m not really following this part,” said Sarah Jane.

“I haven’t been following any of it!” Exclaimed Jackie. “This always happens around you,” she said to the Doctor, who Donna realized was staring not at Jackie but at her with a look of near horror.

“Donna, when did it disappear?”

“I was trying to tell you earlier. We were falling down the incinerator, and the hand had started glowing again, and I could hear it—”

“Hear it?”

“Yes. It — well it sounded like you. Saying my name.” She couldn’t look at any of them while she said that. It’d be too shaming. She studied one of the coral struts instead. “So I touched it, and it broke, and then all this golden light sort of rushed into me. I don’t know.”

“So that really was regeneration energy we were seeing earlier?” Asked Jack.

“Oh, so that’s stopped again? Brilliant,” said Donna with a wry smirk. “What about my back? How’s it doing?”

“Your back?” The Doctor repeated.

“Yeah, my mark was all glowing, too. Least I’ve stopped coughing the stuff up.”

She didn’t like everyone staring at her so scared and unsure. Donna made her way up the ramp and to the controls.

“Look, can we just get started before Davros invites himself aboard or something? Twenty-seven planets aren’t going to move themselves, and my mum’s already in a snit today.”

She initiated takeoff, which seemed to cause something of a stir amongst the others.

“Woah, maybe let the Boss do that?”

“She knows what she’s doing,” said Spaceman as he followed after her and continued where she’d left off.

“How?” Rose wanted to know. “Is it cause of the regeneration energy?”

He cast her an odd look. “No, it’s cause I taught her.”

Sarah Jane made some noise that was a cross between an exclamation of surprise and a laugh. “You letting someone else fly this thing? Well, if I was having any doubts before, I certainly believe it now.”

Donna looked at her. “Believe what?”

“When did you see your mum?” The Doctor asked right over her.

Donna shot him a look, but answered, “I stopped home. Emergency Protocol.”

“And then you got yourself back to the Crucible? How did you manage that?”

“With the goo machine you’ve got hiding under here,” she answered, rapping on the control panel twice.

She was afraid he was about to lose his impressive eyebrows in his hairline by this point. “The TARDIS gave you access to the telepathic circuits?”

“Is that what that was?”

“She shouldn’t have done that. That’s really dangerous if you haven’t had any training. One little bit of indecision or distraction, and you could’ve ended up anywhere!”

“Well it’s a good thing I was so worried about you, then, isn’t it?” She snapped. “Now can you stop with the interrogation!”

He deflated slightly, at least somewhat chastened. But then he turned on the puppy dog eyes. “Donna, I’m worried about you. Humans aren’t meant to interact with regeneration energy. It should’ve created some sort of biological metacrisis.”

Whatever that was, she didn’t imagine it was good. “Is that what’s happened to me?”

“No. That’s what’s so strange.” He was looking her up and down as he said it, and Donna pretended not to notice when his eyes strayed to her cleavage and remained there a while. At least he hadn’t pulled out the specs yet. “The energy protected you out there from Davros and the Dalek Supreme almost as if you’d just regenerated yourself. You said it rushed into you?”

She nodded.

“But it shouldn’t have. You’re not compatible.”

“Maybe not with just anyone’s regeneration energy,” Jack suggested. “But she could be with yours.”

Donna looked round at him. “Sorry, what?”

“No, maybe Jack has a point,” said Martha, doing her best to get a bit closer with all the bodies in the room. “Did the Time Lords ever try to transfer regeneration energy to their soulmates? Were there other Time Lords with human soulmates?”

Donna turned to look at the Doctor. His gaze kept darting between her and Martha, and he seemed afraid to say anything at all.

Donna didn’t have that problem.

“Sorry, what?”

Martha’s eyes widened. “You haven’t told her?”

“Not for lack of trying!” Ordinarily, Donna might have been amazed they could even hear him at that decibel, but at the moment her mind was preoccupied with something else.

“Told me what? Doctor, told me what?”

“How do you not know?” It was Rose who asked. She had her arms crossed and shoulders hunched and was looking at her like Donna’s mum or one of her friends back home always did when they thought she was being particularly dim.

“It’s not her fault,” said the Doctor. When she looked back at him, his tone softened. “Donna, the name on your back...the TARDIS doesn’t translate it because it doesn’t need to. Her library wouldn’t have any books on learning it because she’s built for pilots who already know how to speak it. And the Library wouldn’t have had any books on it because, well, you heard the Architect. I shouldn’t exist.” He took hold of her hands. “Your mark is in Circular Gallifreyan.”

“Your language.” Donna barely heard herself, her voice was so soft. The Doctor still nodded. “Your name.”

“Yes.”

The timid smile he wore slowly fell as Donna shook her head. “But that — that can’t be right. You don’t have my name.”

His head tilted quizzically. “Well, yes I do. You, er, you said you knew that.”

Donna gaped at him. “When did I say that?”

“When you told me about your mark! You said you knew about mine!” He reminded her.

She stepped back, her hands slipping out of his grasp. “That you had one, not that it was my name! You think that’s all the reaction I would’ve had if I knew it was my name? Just ‘oh, by the way, I know about it’?”

“Well, what did you think I had? How did you even know I had one?”

“That was probably my fault,” Martha said, eyes on the grating.

“Martha!”

“Oh, don’t get mad at her,” said Donna, then paused. “Wait. Did you know he had my name the whole time?”

Her friend still didn’t look up. “Er…”

“Martha!”

“Your name’s Martha?” Asked Mickey. Donna barely refrained from a retort for that rather obvious question.

“Er, yeah,” said Martha, looking up with a slight smile, probably glad to have someone not yelling her name at her. Donna would feel bad, but then this was supposed to be one of the most important moments of her life, and it was being witnessed by a whole peanut gallery of her idiot Spaceman’s friends who all already knew.

“Sorry, do we need to all go around and share names?” She turned her gaze back on said idiot Spaceman. “And while we’re on the subject, who all got to find out before I did? Just so I know.”

“Donna, I thought you were dead—”

“So you saved it for then?”

“No! It just sort of happened that way. I don’t know.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You were gonna do something really stupid before I showed up, weren’t you?”

A handful of yeses from the others rose up before he could answer.

“I thought you’d died,” was his stubborn rebuttal.

“So are we actually going anywhere or are you just gonna keep us in space?” Jackie demanded. “Some of us need to get home, you know.”

“Are you kidding?” Mickey dropped into the vacant jumpseat. “I could watch this for hours.”

“I’ll get the popcorn,” Jack offered.

“No one’s getting popcorn!” The Doctor snapped. Probably didn’t want them stealing the good stuff they’d picked up on the Cinema Planet. “Jackie’s right, you all need to go home. Especially you lot from the parallel universe.”

He began a complicated sequence of flipping switches, pulling levers, and pressing buttons that even Donna was having trouble keeping up with. As he rounded the console, he nearly went headlong over Rose who’d planted herself in his path.

“What do you mean ‘you lot’? Who all are you sending back to the parallel universe?”

“Well,” he said, edging around her carefully. “The, uh, the people from there?”

“But I’m not from there. I belong in this world. With you.”

“Rose—”

“I don’t care that our names don’t match. I know I’m supposed to be with you!”

Hold on, they both knew the truth now, not like in the parallel world, and she still wanted to treat Donna and the Doctor’s relationship like it was a non-issue? Not that they’d actually managed to get in to a relationship, but Rose didn’t have to know that.

Donna had to step back as he made a full ring around the console and passed her, Rose determinedly dogging his every step.

“Rose, you’ve barely gotten to live your own life. There’s so much ahead of you. Don’t you think you should give it a chance?”

“Why? You weren’t giving soulmates a chance until Dalek Caan brought that whole thing up. You hadn’t even told Donna!”

He cast her a guilty glance.

This was really happening, wasn’t it? Donna looked down. She didn’t want to watch what her mother had told her would happen play out. Bad enough she was about to be passed over yet again, and by her own bloody soulmate no less.

She felt someone brush shoulders with her and found Martha had placed herself at her side. Donna tried to convey her thanks with a smile but thought she failed rather miserably.

What the Doctor said, however, was, “You don’t know the whole story.”

“But I know how you feel about me. Maybe my name’s not on your back, but you like it. When I said it, that first time, it meant something to you. I saw it,” she insisted.

“Rose…”

Donna lifted her head. He was hesitating. There was something he was holding onto, something he was afraid to say.

“Doctor.” He looked right at her, and now she could see the indecision in his gaze, too. “Whatever it is, tell her. It’s kinder.”

Rose looked back and forth between them. “What is she talking about? Tell me what?”

The Doctor flipped a final switch, and the TARDIS landed.

“I do like your name, Rose. I liked it back on Gallifrey, too. I never told you, but my people used it as a name as well. Arktyior.”

It was the first time Donna — or any of them, she suspected — had ever heard him speak his own language apart from the name of his planet. The way the single word seemed to roll off his tongue, the very sound of it, was something else entirely. She felt mesmerized.

He drew in a breath, visibly pulling himself together after that. “And it was my granddaughter’s name.”

Beside her, Martha’s mouth fell open. And she wasn’t the only one. Rose took a step back, a look of horror on her face.

“No.”

“I’m sorry. I care about you a great deal, Rose. But not the way you want me to.”

Donna turned away as Rose’s eyes began to well up with tears; it was a hard thing to have to learn in front of all these people. Sarah Jane and Jack were both keeping their gazes lowered as well. She heard a pair of footsteps run for the door and the slam of it behind them. Donna knew without looking who it was.

Rose’s mother hurried after as far as the door but paused and turned back. “Thank you.” She left without waiting for a response.

No one said anything for a long moment. Then Mickey stood from the jump seat.

“Well Boss, safe to say I misread that one.”

“You should be off too, Mickey,” The Doctor said shortly. “The walls between worlds will be closing permanently again, and we’ve got to get back over.”

The other man frowned but took a step towards the door.

“Wait!” Martha started forward, and Mickey turned around. “When you heard my name...that meant something to you. You have a Martha?”

He raised his hand and touched the spot on his back where his mark resided. “Yeah. You have mine?”

Martha nodded and stepped closer. “Would you want to stay?” She turned quickly to the Doctor. “It’s not going to blow up the universe or anything, is it? It’s just, everything I’ve seen today, maybe it’s worth giving this soulmate thing a try.”

Donna found herself smiling at the unexpected turn things had taken. Who would’ve thought?

Spaceman, for his part, seemed puzzled. “What about Tom?”

Martha grimaced, and Donna cast her eyes up to the ceiling. “She’s not wearing the ring, you prawn.” Trust him to bring it up in the most tactless way!

“Oh! Sorry. Well, and congratulations, I suppose.”

Martha and Mickey exchanged shy glances, the sort Donna had always heard about when her friends or neighbors had waxed poetic about soulmates. The sort she’d never get now.

Jack was apparently thinking along the same vein. “There, you see? That’s the way it’s supposed to go.” He turned a grin on both her and the Doctor. “How did you two get that mixed up? You’ve known each other how long?”

“Since two Christmases ago,” Martha stated when they both refused to.

The captain let out a laugh. “Seriously? Doc, c’mon!”

“It sounds as though there was some miscommunication on both sides,” said Sarah Jane about as diplomatically as possible. It didn’t make Donna feel any less embarrassed.

Why did everything in her life always have to be some joke? Why did she have to be the one to meet her soulmate nearly two years ago and never realize it?

And if the Doctor really had known it was her name on his back all this time, why had he waited till now to say anything?

She felt stifled with all these people here and unable to act on any sort of impulse. She’d barely even gotten a moment to think, much less figure out how she felt about it. Donna found she, too, needed to get away from it all.

The ramp to one of the corridors was right beside her, and Donna did her best to slip away unnoticed; Martha and Mickey were too caught up in each other, Sarah Jane and Jack were questioning and teasing the Doctor, and Spaceman himself was concentrating on the controls to get them back to their universe. No one was going to miss her as per usual, even if they were all talking about her personal life.

She made it about two paces into the corridor before the now familiar call of “Donnaaaa!” rang out behind her.

Donna stopped with a sigh. And to think she’d been bemoaning the lack of romance.

[onewfantaesy]

can u maybe expand on the tinder thing n make a jongtae where they meet on tinder !!!

Taemin, 21

Me, on a daily basis: perhaps I’ve made too much pina coladaAlso me: but if I put it all in one glass then it’s technically only One (1) pina colada

My dogs are cuter than you 

🐶❤🐶🍹💃🏼

“So what do you think of my new and improved profile?” Taemin asked, shoving his phone in Kai’s face.

“Looks about as dumb as it usually does,” Kai mumbled, not even looking at it.

Taemin scoffed, called him a dick under his breath, and rolled over onto his stomach so he could go back to swiping left on fugly guys and bitchy girls he went to high school with. Being back in town while on break from university was really sad, dating wise. 

“You know what sucks about the shit ass age range on this hell app? I’ve seen way too many people who were in my brother’s class in high school. It’s fucking weird,” Taemin complained.

“Will you quit complaining?” Kai asked, pushing out his leg to kick Taemin in the shoulder. 

“I’ll quit complaining when I get laid,” Taemin said, whacking Kai’s legs with a couch pillow.

Two days later, Taemin was back at Kai’s house, and Kai only bothered to look over at him when Taemin started choking on his own spit.

“What the hell is wrong with you now?” Kai asked. “Do I have to call 911?”

“I fucking hate living here!” Taemin screeched. “Look at this insane bullshit!”

Kai took the phone that Taemin held out to him and looked at the Tinder message that was on the screen.

Jonghyun: Lmao what’s up mini Lee

“Who the fuck is Jonghyun?”

“Apparently one of Jinki’s friends! Since when does that loser have friends?” Taemin shouted. 

“Why did you swipe right on one of your brother’s friends?”

“I didn’t know he was friends with my brother!” Taemin said. “Jinki doesn’t have friends! He just goes to work and watches the National Geographic channel!”

Kai threw the phone back at Taemin and collapsed onto his bed in a fit of laughter.

“Shut up,” Taemin mumbled, kicking his feet at Kai’s knees.

Taemin sent a message to Jonghyun, because he was the first guy who hadn’t just sent a stupid gif. 

Jonghyun: What are you doing on tinder little Lee??

Taemin scoffed.

Taemin: I’m knitting sweaters wtf do u think I’m doing

Jonghyun: You’re a sassy one aren’t you?

Taemin rolled his eyes and fell against Kai’s bed.

“I’m already bored with this,” Taemin groaned, covering his face with one of his arms. 

“Just block him if you’re bored,” Kai said in a tired voice. “I thought we were gonna play video games?”

“In a minute,” Taemin whined.

Taemin: So are u gonna take me on a date or what

Jonghyun: You get right to the point don’t you?

Taemin: 🤷

Jonghyun: I’ll take you out if you don’t tell your brother about all this

Taemin: I generally don’t tell my brother about my tinder sexcapades

Five minutes later, Taemin smirked at Kai and said, “Guess who’s got a date on Friday.”

“What a little slut.”

“Didn’t say I was gonna fuck him on the first date.”

“I know you too well.”

Two days later found Taemin breathing heavily as he fell back against the pillows of Jonghyun’s bed. Jonghyun fell next to him and turned on his side, smiling. Taemin rolled his eyes. 

“You’re cute with your hair like that,” Jonghyun said.

“You mean all sweaty and sex-ified?” Taemin asked. “I know.”

Jonghyun laughed and ran his fingers through Taemin’s hair. 

“Round two in a little bit?” Taemin asked.

“Definitely.”

Taemin nodded and rubbed his cheek into Jonghyun’s bare chest. This was nice. Taemin could get used to this, even if it only lasted for the next week or so.

When he got a call from Jinki a minute later, Taemin knew everything else was too good to be true.

“What’s up brother?” Taemin asked, shoving a hand over Jonghyun’s mouth.

“Why are you at Jonghyun’s house?” Jinki asked over the phone.

“Who the fuck is Jonghyun?”

“Taemin just stop being an idiot for five seconds and tell me why you’re at my co-worker’s house,” Jinki said. “Don’t lie, I can see your stupid little Bitmoji with his on Snapchat.”

“Goddammit,” Taemin hissed. “You work with this guy?”

“Literally every day,” Jinki said. “So stop fucking my co-worker.”

“What makes you think I’m fucking him?”

“Half my friends from high school have sent me screenshots of your Tinder,” Jinki said. “Please don’t fuck people I know.”

“Buzzkill.”

“Taemin.”

“Bye brother talk to you later stop ruining my weekend,” Taemin said, ending the call before Jinki could say anything else.

“So is whatever this is gonna end because Jinki said so?” Jonghyun asked, frowning at Taemin.

Taemin smirked.

“If anything, the fact that he said to stop makes it even better,” Taemin said. “Round two?”

Jonghyun laughed and rolled on top of Taemin. Needless to say, Taemin ended up spending the night. Jinki was very unhappy.

[myaekingheart]

73. Red Dot

               Rain pounded against the roof, the sky dark and cloudy overhead. For Kakashi, it was the perfect weather to stay in and read. He made himself a quick bowl of tamago kake gohan and settled in for a night of Makeout Paradise. He was only three pages in, however, when there was a frantic knock at the door. He set his book down and answered, his heart jolting into his throat. Standing on his doorstep, soaked and manic, was none other than Rei Natsuki.

               “We need to talk” she insisted, pushing past him into his apartment. Her hands were shaking at her sides and for a moment he feared it didn’t have anything to do with being cold.

               “Rei, what’s going on? Is everything alright?” he asked, slowly closing the door and approaching. The minute he got close enough, she started slapping him on the forearm as many times as she could manage. “W-what was that for?!” he asked, recoiling. The longer he went without an explanation, the more panicked he became. He was almost too scared to get an answer.

               “You broke your damn promise, you asshole!” she shouted. She gripped her hair and began pacing the room. Her breathing was uneven.

               Kakashi blinked. “What are you talking about? What promise?” he asked. The only promise he ever recalled making was to keep her safe always. If she was upset about what had happened earlier that week, he could argue that she jumped into the fray on her own. Although, he admittedly did feel embarrassingly useless. He hoped that wasn’t the catalyst for her anger.

               With a frustrated groan, Rei pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets and tilted her head back, sharply turning before walking in the opposite direction. “You promised me you wouldn’t slip up!” she shouted. “But you broke your promise!”

               Kakashi cocked a brow quizzically, a sudden sense of fear creeping into his bones. “W-what do you mean?” he asked.

               And then she said it. The words fell from her mouth and every atom inside of Kakashi’s body froze. He felt like he was trapped within a dream, that at any moment he would either wake up safe and warm and unaffected or find the floor caving in, swallowing him up in an inescapable darkness. He could hardly breathe as the words reverberated through his head. “Kakashi, I think I’m pregnant.”

               He sunk down onto the edge of the bed, dazed and confused, recounting every second of their last night together. Had he pulled out? He could’ve swore he did. But what if he was too late? What if something happened? He definitely pulled out, though. Didn’t he…? He had to have pulled out. He always pulled out. Uneasy, he pulled Rei close to sit beside him. “A-are you sure? How do you know?” he asked. His eyes glanced uneasily down at her stomach. How far along was she? How long had she known? Did she want to keep it? Was it even his? The thoughts became increasingly panicked the faster his mind raced.

               “My period’s late” she murmured, wide eyes locked on the floor. She struggled to catch her breath. Tiny droplets of water fell from her hair onto her thighs. “My period is never late.”

               “D-did you take a test? Do you want to?” he asked. He was ready to run to the drug store and pick one up for her right now if she needed, not even caring about the potential rumors that could arise. He was certain people would have a field day at the sight of it: Kakashi Hatake of the Secondhand Sharingan, renowned ninja, buying a pregnancy test. But he would do it for her. All she had to do was say the word and he would go.

               Rei shook her head. “It might be too early, I don’t want to run the risk” she said. Though deep down, she was far too terrified to take one. She didn’t think she had the strength to confront that little pink plus sign. A frustration rose within her then, kicking her shoes off the floor and burying her face in her hands. She cursed the universe and whatever deity up above was controlling this whole freak show, if there was anyone at all. She really didn’t need this right now. Just when she was trying to get her bearings on her life and gain a sense of true independence, life had to pull her back like a dog on a leash and choke the fuck out of her. No, she had no room in her life right now for a baby. There was no way this could really be happening.

               “Have you had any other symptoms?” Kakashi asked her. A part of him felt extremely interrogative now, but he wanted all the information he could get his hands on. This was important and he needed the full story in order to know how to best process all of this, and thus react accordingly.

               “I-I don’t know” she said, and her body started trembling more violently. “I can’t sleep, everything I eat makes me feel sick, my whole body hurts. I don’t feel…right.”

               Kakashi knew full well that they were broken up, but this defied separation. He scooted closer and wrapped his arms around her tightly, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He hoped the embrace would help calm her, but if anything it just made her worse. She wiggled out of his grasp and slid back onto the bed, muttering a pained Oh god and wedged her head between her knees. He reached over and pulled the trash can up and into her lap, watched her hyperventilate with eyes squeezed shut as she suppressed nausea. His heart broke just looking at her, seeing all the pain she was in, and knowing it was his fault. And this wouldn’t even be the worst part. Really, this was only the beginning. She immediately reached out and gripped his hand tight then, squeezing it as tears streamed down her cheeks. All Kakashi could do was rub the back of her hand with his thumb and whisper soft nothings, then said, “I think you should spend the night.” She couldn’t even find the strength to protest. All she could manage was a quick nod through heavy breaths.

               Spreading a blanket out, Kakashi settled onto the floor. Giving Rei the whole bed was the least he could do. Deep down, he desperately wanted to curl up beside her and let her know everything would be okay, but he had to remind himself that they were technically still broken up. Rei had yet to say anything on the contrary, and he insisted on honoring that. And besides, he didn’t really mind the floor that much. He doubted he was going to get much sleep, anyway.

               “Kakashi…?” Rei then whispered, snapping him from his thoughts. She laid very still on her back, the trash can tucked right beside the bed in case she needed it in the middle of the night.

               “Hmm?” Kakashi asked, turning toward her.

               “If I really am pregnant…what are we going to do?” she asked. There was a weary desperation in her voice that scared him.

               Sucking in a deep breath, Kakashi replied, “What do you want to do?” It was her body and therefore her decision. Whatever she chose, he was willing to support.

               Rei shook her head and groaned. “You can’t just push all the decisions on me!” she whined. “This involves you, too.”

               “But I won’t be the one growing a baby inside of my body” Kakashi replied back. “Your body is going to go through hell, not mine.”

               The thought of it sent Rei’s entire body quaking again. She pressed her hand to her lower stomach and sucked in a deep breath, imagining the tiny embryo lurking inside of her uterus, an intruder she hadn’t expected and didn’t know how to manage. “Either way” she said in a sharp exhale, “This is your problem, too. I can’t do this on my own.”

               Blinking, Kakashi then asked, “You’re sure about that, right?”

               A jolt of anxiety rushed through Rei in response. Was he insinuating she was going to have to raise this child on her own? She clenched her fists at her sides in angry panic. How dare he. “About what?” she spat.

               “That it’s, uh…my problem” Kakashi said slowly.

               Rei leaned over the bed, lips pursed, and whacked him on the arm hard. “Who else’s would it be, you idiot?!” she shouted. “Did you really think I’d rebound that fast? Unlike you and your pyscho date.”

               “That wasn’t my fault” Kakashi defended. “She wouldn’t take no for an answer. I only agreed to avoid conflict.”              

               “Oh, yeah, and almost letting her steal your fucking eyeball totally conts as a relaxing little night out” Rei spat. She rolled back over shaking her head and staring up at the ceiling. “What a piece of shit.”

               Kakashi sighed and laid down, propping his hands behind his head. They sat in silence for a long while then, Kakashi allowing Rei some distance to cool off. Nothing he had to say would mean anything if she was this aggravated. After an appropriate amount of time had passed, he finally asked, “Rei…about this baby…?”

               “What?” she sighed. She hated the way that sounded. This baby. It made her skin crawl. Her stomach fluttered and she gripped the sheets to fight away the anxious nausea.

               Her still-lingering frustration almost deterred Kakashi from asking the question. Almost. “Do you want this baby?” he asked. “I mean, would you want to have this baby and keep it?”

               “I-I don’t know…” Rei murmured, squeezing her eyes shut tight. “I don’t know what I want to do.”

               Sucking in a deep breath, Kakashi sat up then and rested his head on the edge of the bed, reaching out to rest a comforting hand atop her stomach. “Master Jiraiya has taken Naruto under his wing, and Sakura has been studying under Lady Tsunade. I don’t expect to be as busy as I’ve been lately. I’ll have more freedom to take care of the both of you.”

               Rei rested her hand atop his and fed him a small smile, polite but uncomfortable. “I appreciate the offer” she whispered. “But still…”

               “What?” he asked. He felt a sense of mania rising up within him. He knew she was scared, and he didn’t blame her. But what other option did she have? He yearned for her to fall into him again, to just accept fate and curl up in his arms. If this wasn’t fate’s way of pushing them back together, then he wasn’t sure what was.

                “I don’t know…” she whispered. “Kakashi, I hate this. I don’t want to deal with this. A part of me almost wishes I could just fall asleep and wake up cured like this is the common cold or something. As if enough rest and fluids will get rid of the virus and everything can go back to normal.”

               A jolt of panic rushed through Kakashi in that moment. His hand involuntarily increased in pressure upon her abdomen. “You’re not saying you want to…?” he started, but Rei already knew exactly what he was after. She pressed a hand to her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut tight, horrific flashes of the procedure flickering through her mind. It was the easiest way out, but did she have the strength? Would she regret it if she did? She didn’t know. “Rei, listen to me” Kakashi said, brushing the bangs out of her face. “You don’t have to do this alone. I know you’re scared. I know this was unplanned. But please…just trust me. I’m not leaving you. We can make this work. I promise.”

               Rei looked back at him with tears in her eyes, chewing her lower lip to keep herself from wailing. If she let herself break down, she knew she would wake up everyone in the entire apartment complex. They didn’t need to know about this. Looking into his eyes, however, she could barely hold it together. This was all so fucked up. Her head ached from all the conflict. Things were never simple, were they? It was always one thing after another after another after another.

               She thought back to when she was a child, those silly ideas she had in her head of being the first pregnant ninja on duty. The idea that she could not only do both but excel. But she was just a kid back then. What the hell did she know? In reality, it wasn’t so simple. If she was to go through with this, if this was real and she received foolproof confirmation that she truly was pregnant, she would be forced to sacrifice everything she had worked so hard to achieve. And she would have no choice but to return to Kakashi, to depend upon him yet again. The offer was hard to deny when he was sitting right in front of her like this, desperation in those mismatched eyes and a tenderness to his touch. He didn’t have to say it for her to know he wanted this. The fact that she wasn’t as sure made her want to scream. Why wasn’t she sure? Why didn’t she know what she wanted? Why couldn’t she just make a goddamn decision?

               “Are you sure you’d want to do this?” she asked after a long stretch of silence. “I mean…it would be asking a lot. If we go through with this, what the hell would we even do? How are we going to handle this?”

               Kakashi drew her hands up to kiss them softly. “We can find a nice house, someplace with lots of room for the baby to play when she’s older. It would be the three of us together, and we could wake up to each other every morning and fall asleep together every night. We could be a happy little family. I would provide for the both of you. I would make sure you’re taken care of. I’ll stick by your side through the whole pregnancy, attend every doctor’s appointment and birthing class and read every book.”

               Here, Rei laughed softly and shook her head. “Are you sure that won’t ruin Makeout Paradise for you?” she asked. “I doubt you’ll ever look at vaginas the same way ever again.”

               Kakashi shook his head. “I don’t care” he said. “You’re more important.”

               It was at that that Rei frowned, a tinge of fear hitting the back of her throat. “I don’t want you to sacrifice everything for this” she said, an undercurrent of panic in her voice. “Maybe we just shouldn’t do this at all. Maybe we shouldn’t have this baby.”

               Gripping her hand a little tighter, Kakashi shook his head. “No, everything is going to be fine. Trust me” he said. “We can make this work. I know we can.”

               “But there’s so much shit to consider, Kakashi” she said. “What about work? What if things get hectic again and you can’t be here? Or worse…”

               He already knew exactly what she meant. Flashes of his father played through his mind, his limp body on the living room floor. “That’s not going to happen” he insisted. “I won’t let it.”

               “But you can’t always control those sorts of things, Kakashi” she whispered. “What if you’re on a mission that goes south? What if something happens and you don’t make it home? And you end up like…like Naru…? I just…I can’t risk worrying about that.”

               “What can I say to make you feel better?” he asked, cupping her cheek and scooting close enough to press his forehead against hers.

               “I-I don’t know…I don’t know” she whispered, closing her eyes and gasping for breath. She could feel the adrenaline course quicker and quicker through her veins, her pulse beating harder and faster. This was too much. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t think she could do this. She couldn’t abort the thing, but she couldn’t bring herself to accept motherhood and everything that came with it. Maybe this was all just some sort of fucked up dream. She’d wake up any minute perfectly unaffected. Everything would be fine. Everything needed to be fine.

               Sensing the unevenness of her breath, Kakashi began rubbing small circles on her stomach and whispering soft reassurances. He considered digging that ring up from inside his dresser, of getting down on one knee and proposing to her right then and there. He wanted to support her no matter her decision, but he knew that deep down there was no way she could bring herself to not get sucked into this. If she needed a consolation, he was more than willing to give it to her.

               “I always thought” she started, her voice a hoarse whisper, “that when I finally got pregnant, I would be prepared for it. It would be timed right, and I would be ready. But now…I don’t think I’m ready. I don’t think I can handle a baby right now but…but I can’t possibly back away from this. If this is even really happening.” She curled up with arms wrapped around her stomach and buried her face in the sheets. “I’m not ready to be a mom, Kakashi…I don’t think I can do this.”

               “Rei, shh…” he whispered gently, brushing the hair out of her face. “I know this is scary, but ready or not you have to make that choice. If you decide to do this, I promise you I will do everything I can to be the best father to this child. Have faith in me, Rei. You can depend on me.”

               There was that word again. Depend. A dark, spiky monster of a something rose up within her chest at the thought, a frustration and defeat. She groaned into the pillow and shook her head, squeezing Kakashi’s hand tight. “I know I can, but…” she started, but Kakashi intervened with a slew of desperate promises, repeating the same things he had said earlier in the night. He was so hungry for this, so set on forging this future with her. Deep down, she knew she wanted the same but…the timing was all wrong. She had unfinished business to attend to. In her current state she could not be a mother, even though she could not afford to grieve anyone else either. There was no way out. She was damned either way. “Kakashi, please…” she interrupted weakly. “Just…just stop. I just want you to…lay with me…”

               Kakashi blinked a few times, mildly taken aback, then settled and obliged. He carefully climbed over her and curled up behind her, tugging her close so that her back was pressed right up against him. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tight, kissing her freckled shoulder and the crook of her neck. “I’m sorry” he whispered. “We’ve done enough worrying for tonight. You should get some sleep. And if you want, I’ll take you to the hospital in the morning. We can see a doctor and figure everything out then.”

               Sucking in sharp breath, Rei nodded slowly and then closed her eyes. She wondered what time it was, how long she had been here, how long until the sun was to come up, and especially how different this would feel in nine months. She envisioned herself up all night, covered in breastmilk and spit up, frazzled and frumpy and deflated. A shiver ran down her spine at the thought. Having a baby was a monumental change. And then a terrifying thought occurred: even if this fell through, if something happened like a miscarriage that would arguably save her from the impending storm, and she was able to go through with her predetermined plan, what if she was never ready? Would she ever feel enthused and prepared for something like this? Her entire body fell into plateaued panic as she drifted off into an unresolved sleep.

               Kakashi watched as she dozed off, running a hand along her side, rubbing her lower stomach, and nuzzling the back of her neck. He fell asleep that night thinking about the future laid out before them and the promise of a baby. Everything was going to be just fine.

               Come morning, Kakashi rose bright and early. He hated leaving her side, but took comfort in knowing that he wouldn’t be gone for long. He raced to the market and picked up fresh fruit and her favorite pastries from that shop down the street. He worked quickly and quietly upon his return to plate everything, even going so far as to place a cute little flower on the breakfast tray. This was his best chance. He would surprise her with breakfast in bed, then get down on one knee and ask her to marry him. It would be the perfect start to the rest of their lives together. It was foolproof.

               Rei stirred awake to the sweet smell of fresh baked dough and warm fruit filling. The first thing she saw upon creaking her eyes open was the tray on the nightstand before her. A pile of pastries sat high on a plate, beside them a bowl of fruit—tangy strawberries, juicy mandarin oranges, big chunks of watermelon, blueberries and grapes and slices of banana. Then she looked up to find Kakashi sitting before her, a grin on his unmasked face.

               “I hope you slept alright” he said.

               There was something weird about all of this. Perhaps she was still just half-asleep, but she felt disconnected from her body and the world around her. Something heavy sat in the pit of her stomach. She slowly sat up, her head aching and her back sore. Her stomach cramped the moment she reached for a bite of food, wincing. Kakashi’s smile disappeared and he rushed to her side. She shifted in bed, and then it was very clear to her what was going on. Her face turned beet red and her heart dropped into her stomach. When she shifted, there was something warm and sticky slathered on her thighs. She peeled the sheets back slowly and there it was. Blood.

               Kakashi instinctively recoiled and Rei pressed a hand to her mouth, quizzical and embarrassed. “I got my period…” she whispered, touching the blood as if to ensure it was real. The more she thought about it, the more it all made sense. She had been under so much stress and had hardly been eating. It was no wonder her period had turned irregular. Her mind then flitted through every moment of the previous night, and she wasn’t sure whether she was supposed to feel relieved or disappointed. It wasn’t a problem after all. She was never pregnant in the first place. This was all just a gross overreaction and the thought of it made her so disgustingly embarrassed, she could crawl under a rock and die.

               Kakashi could feel the engagement ring bouncing around in his back pocket, suddenly so much heavier than before. He dropped down into his desk chair, eyes locked firmly on the blood. Could he still go through with this plan? Or were the current conditions no longer appropriate? He rubbed his forehead and sighed.

               “Oh god…I’m so sorry” Rei whispered, staring at the red stain on his white sheets. “I-I can try and get that out for you…if you want…”

               Kakashi shook his head. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it” he replied, trying to sound a lot brighter than he felt.

               A forced laugh escaped Rei’s lips then. “Well…I guess we dodged that bullet, huh?” she asked.

               “Mmhmm” Kakashi nodded. “Yeah…we did.”

               Another stretch of silence passed. The aftermath of their scare loomed over both of them tauntingly. “I’m sorry for what I put you through last night” she then whispered. “I’ve been in a really weird head space, I just…I wasn’t even thinking. I probably never should’ve come over in the first place.”

               “No” Kakashi rebuked. “I’m glad you did. You should’ve. You didn’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure if he could meet her eyes, before adding, “Besides, what if you were really were…you know? I would’ve rather you have been here. With me.”

               Rei nodded slowly, drawing her knees up to her chest. “Yeah…you’re right.”

               Kakashi fed her a brief smile, but inside he was dying. This all felt like such a cruel joke. The universe was taunting him, feeding him the promise of everything he ever wanted only to snatch it away when it was just within reach. His eyes skated to the untouched food on the tray, and he motioned for her to go ahead. “I know you haven’t been eating much lately. Please.”

               He was so hard to deny, especially after everything that had happened. She reached out and grabbed a pastry, pulling it apart and eating it slowly piece by piece. They sat in a long silence, nothing but the muffled sounds of the bustling morning streets permeating their space. Kakashi then reached over into his drawer and pulled out a half empty pack of sanitary pads, tossing her one. “You might need this” he said quietly.

               She caught it in mid air and turned it over in her hands, a small smile touching her lips. He had no reason to hold onto these—it wasn’t like she was a frequent guest anymore. The fact he still had them, however, was just proof of how desperately he was still clinging to hope. His disappointment was almost palpable, and Rei could feel her body sinking back into a fit of depression again. What if she had been pregnant? Would everything have been okay if the world had just given them this one unexpected thing? She couldn’t tell. But her autonomy…what else would’ve been at stake? She was forging her own path, one where Kakashi could not follow. At least now she knew she no longer needed to fear losing everything she had worked for, but in doing so had she lost something perhaps far more valuable? The same question from the past few weeks began to play over and over in her head: had she made a huge mistake? The answer wasn’t so easy. She pressed a hand to her aching, vacant stomach and then murmured shyly, “Thank you, by the way. For, uh…for taking care of me last night.”

               It took Kakashi all of his strength not to rush toward her and wrap her in his arms, to beg her to come back. He yearned for her. Soon she would get up and go home—who knew when she would be back? He needed to revel in every moment he had left with her here before he lost her again. He desperately wished he didn’t have to lose her again. Nodding slowly, he replied, “It’s not a problem.” If only he could’ve said what he really meant: I’m so in love with you.