#i cut my teeth on crossovers

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

hello! how are you? I hope everything is ok, it's me again, sorry for the inconvenience!

But I have a doubt, maybe this can even become a chapter

After the reader returns from Teyvat, all injured, having lost some fingers and teeth (from what I remember from Fitzgerald's chapter), Yosano is the only one who knew the total destruction done to the reader's body (Fitzgerald theoretically also know after having heard Pantalone and Ningguang commenting), having to take care of the reader and having her ability, well, we all know how Yosano's ability works, would she feel bad about having to use her ability on the reader to help him recover (even though it's the only way), besides, being a doctor, she has a greater understanding of things, do you think the reader's situation would make her sadder? Because she understand more about injuries, etc.?

thank you for your attention :)

Count them

Self-Aware BSD AU x SAGAU Imposter crossover

Self-Aware! Akiko Yosano x GN! Reader

Description: Yosano found another reason to hate her ability.

Warning: OOC. English is my second language. Injuries.

Set during last bits of Lost and Found, during Reader being unconscious.

Short fic.

A bit of comfort at the end.

______

Yosano has a strange relationship with "Thou Shalt Not Die".

She wasn't fond of it. Yet, there is no way she will dismiss its usefulness.

The ability was powerful, but, Yosano wished, that it could be activated differently.

But, when she got her chance, she missed it. She choosed something different.

_________

Yosano looked at the screen of Ango's computer. He recently got access to game files and find a way to alter their abilities.

"So... I could either choose my ability be able to heal any decease, be it chronic, internal, or incurable by modern medicine, or have "Thou Shalt Not Die" activated without fatal injuries, but stuck with physical external injuries?"

Ango nodded.

"Yes. I am sorry, but, you can't have both."

Yosano closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.

"Can I have some time to think about it?"

Ango smiles reassuringly.

"Of course, Yosano-san"

Yosano spent whole night, reading about diseases from real world. About experience medicine, about slim chances. And about not having chances.

In the morning, she chooses being able to choose any diseases.

_______

Yosano silently leave your room. She needs one moment to herself.

To write it down.

She returned to her room and took one of her books from the shelf.

A simple atlas medical book.

It took her few minutes to find pen and pencils.

She never thought about that part of her ability. About knowing what injuries her ability have healed.

You have many. And fatal injuries.

In no way it were good news, but, at least, there was no need for Yosano to hurt you more. To use her ability.

Yosano took a pen and opened the book.

Time to write them down.

______

Burned mouth

Broken ribs

Multiple burns on legs, arms

Cut off toes

Removed canines (all four)

Ear bitten off (old injury)

Shoulders were pierced (claws? old injury)

Multiple stabs in the chest (arrow, spears)

Left eye gouged out

Nose broken (not clear, if it was an incident, or from the hit)

All nails torn off

Patches of skin removed (all body parts)

Joint dislocated (rack?)

how dare they...

_______

Yosano hid the book with the list.

She won't show it to anyone.

She won't tell anyone about it.

The anger will fuel. Her anger already burns with rage.

They don't need to know. For nor.

Right now, they should focus on you.

And not on the desire to chop off everything that monsters have.

Right now, she should return to you. And wait for you to wake up.

_______

Yosano rubbed your feet.

"All toes are here." her voice was hushed and soft.

"All toes are her." echoed you.

Yosano carefully rubbed your knees.

"Your knees aren't dislocated."

"They aren't dislocated" repeated you.

It became your daily routine.

Yosano would point at every part of you, that were injured, showing you, reminding you, that you aren't injured anymore. That you are safe. That you aren't in pain.

Yosano finished with you and left for a moment to wash her hands.

When she returns, she sat down on the bed near you.

She squeezed your hand.

"[Y/N]... You will never be hurt again. You will never be scared again."

You nodded weakly. You still were scared. But, even so, you believed in Yosano's words.

Yosano carefully pet your head.

"Let's brush your hair."

Yosano helped you sit up and took a hairbrush from the nightstand.

Carefully and gently, Yosano brushed your tangled hair. You yawned. You had another sleepless night, and brushing made you sleepy. Yosano whispered.

"You can sleep, if you want. I will be here. We will be here."

'I won't leave. You won't dissapear. No one will hurt you. There will be no need to use my ability on you. For me to count them.'

"Sleep, My Dear Dango. Don't be afraid. You are home."

You doze off. You had no dreams. Just a healthy dreamless sleep.

______

Tag list: @myluckymoon @cocodrilofeliz @c4xcocoa @vvyeislazzy @whisperingwinters @nervousinfluencertidalwave @ayameshu @izzieg3987

[amaramizuki666]

DC x Dp crossover

Soul speak part.2

John and jason sat in the justice league's main conference room. "What do you think is going to happen?" Hood asked looking at the blond. "No fucking clue I tried to dig up stuff on this guy but I didnt find out much, just that he's been king for the past 10 years" Constantine muttered while lighting a cigarette. "Well you sold your soul to the guy so I get why he wants to talk with you, but what does he want from me?!" Jason sighs.

Jason is agitated, he dosnt understand what this ghost king wants from him. "I dont know red hood mabey it's because you died and came back to life, dont lie I can tell, you have the stench of death on ya" Constantine says blowing smoke from his lips. "You are suposed to be dead, not sure how you came back or how ya died but you arnt supposed to be breathing right now." John continued "and this king phantom is upset that I'm still alive or something?" Jadon asked and Constantine just shrugged mummblinging a mabey.

The door to the room slid open. Constantine and red hood felt a cold chill go up their spines. They turned their heads to see a kid that looked like one of the bats brood walk in, he had coal black hair and ice blue eyes. He was tall about a few inches taller than both john and jason. But he was still young looking, around late teens to early twenties.

They just watched the young man walk in front on them pull a projector from who knows where and plug it in. He turned it on, and on the wall of the room seemed to be a Google slide show presentation labelled, ghost adoption/how to form and keep your baby ghost core healthy.

"Ok so let's get this started shall we" the boy says turning to the other men in the room. "Excuse me who are you" Constantine asks flatly a puff of smoke leaving his lips "john Constantine, I know it's been a month but I know I'm not that forgettable" he replied smiling flashing them with his too sharp teeth, his eyes flashing green.

"What how are you-" jhon was cut off "alive? Well I'm not, not really anyway" the boy says tilting his head lightly unblinking at the men. "Wait your the ghost king. Are you possessing that kid or something" hood glared at the demon/ghost/thing. "No I'm not overshadowing , this is my body, you see I'm only half dead, but that's a story for another time, I'm here for in right now" phantom says still starring unblinkingly.

"Why are you in this form and not your other form?" John asked the king. "because it's less of a mind fuck, now" phantom says and clicks the next button on the presentation "let's talk about how we are going to form your ghost cores shall we".

"What are you talking about?" Hood snaps, annoyed "why am I here? Do you want to finish me off or some shit? Collect my soul?!" Hood interrogates green sleeping into his vision. Phantom looks at him walks over to where hood is seated and places his hand on his shoulder. "You are here because you are a starved baby ghost with anger issues, well halfa that hasnt formed a core yet".

John looked at phantom "and why am I here?" "Because you have a core, but it's very unhealthy, and to talk about how I kinda ghost adopted you" phantom supplied. John and jason where so confused "now back to the slides" phantom says. They then spend 3 hours and a half talking about ghost cores, ghost adoption, and how to keep ghost cores healthy.

On the flip side danny is also considering fighting batman for custody for red hood. He'll have to talk to sam and tucker first though. Sam was pretty upset he adopted john without informing them first. Not that he originally knew he ghost adopted him. I mean what was danny suposed to do with Constantine's soul eat it?

[kaythefloppa]

The Current Timeline of Wild Kratts:

Remember 3 years ago during the hiatus when I made that detailed post explaining the chronological lore of Wild Kratts and analyzed its timeline of a decade's worth of episode with a dash of my own HC involved in it and posted it onto the Wild Kratts fandom subreddit?

Yeah, I promised updates to it when the new episodes arrived, and here I am years later where the season has already premiered. Not to mention there were people who messaged me about legitimate errors I made that I accepted humbly, but didn't actually fix. Not to mention the crossovers that I completely ignored.

Well, much like in 2021, I had wayy too much free time on my hands and decided to go back and finally update that timeline. Unfortunately, Reddit's character limit prevented me from getting the edited version posted so I grit my teeth and decided to bring this fucker to Tumblr via copy and paste. Yeah, I'm not even kidding. So if you've ALSO got enough free time on your hands or are someone who read the original post who was desperately searching for an update, you've got it.

Full post underneath the cut: Warning, shit gets crazy down there.

The PBS Kids original animated show “Wild Kratts” has turned a decade old in the 2020's. Within that time, an autobiography, a 200 episode milestone, and a theatrical film based on the series is confirmed to be in development.

With new episodes of the show coming out, I figured that I’d analyze the show by making an analysis for its timeline. Like many shows, it does have continuity, but Wild Kratts is one of those shows which apparently has an extremely open universe where events happen within that universe, but they don’t seem to have a coherent timeline or any serialization. Many episodes are aired out of order and it’s hard to find a passage of time in a show which doesn’t rely on over-serialization in order to tell its own story.

I partly blame this on production errors as well as strict scheduling as well as the network focusing on releasing episodes in order of when they were produced as opposed to the intended date.

I’ll give it the benefit of the doubt that it doesn’t just rehash its timeline over and over again (unlike some other shows I know cough cough Arthur & Family Guy cough cough). Continuity does exist. It’s just figuring out how it falls in line that is the hard part.

I’ll update this post every time a new episode comes out. My plan is to analyze every single episode until the series finale so that we can determine how much time passes in the show. The way I'll order the timeline is by chronological order first. If there exists an episode or a group of episodes that do not contradict the order, but is not stated to go within this order, I will place them by original air-date and not production order.

I had found a website that lists every Wild Kratts episode (minus the hour-long specials) in order by air-date, unlike the Wild Kratts wiki & Wikipedia. Now, I did find some errors, as it claims that the first 2 episode aired on December 31st and not January 3rd, however I can forgive that as that has been a misconception for years and it got only the date wrong and not the order of episodes. So I was able to use that as a reliable source, more so than the fandom wiki. I am also running off of vivid memory based on my viewing experience as a kid, since I grew up with the show and have come to realize how much info I've retained from the universe of my hyperfixation and how I can use that to this post's advantage. Let's get into it.

Activate Analysis Powers!

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

SEASON 1:

Let’s start with the very first 2 episodes to be released: Mom of a Croc and Whale of a Squid.

In that episode, we see that the Kratt Brothers are already familiar with what’s around them. They’re familiar with the Minaturizer, their Creature Power Suits and Disks, and adventuring with the coolest creatures from oceans to trees (sorry, had to squeeze that reference in).

We see that some animals and inventions are introduced into this episode like the Hippo Sub, Crocodilla, and her daughters. However, let’s focus on things which aren’t introduced in this episode.

Most notably, the Gharial Power Disks and the Miniaturizer. Let’s focus on the disks first.

Near the climax of the episode, the Kratt Brothers use the Gharial Power Disks to substitute for Crocodile Powers since they did not have a disk. Gharials and Nile Crocodiles are both in the order Crocodillia, but were not in the same species nor family. That, along with different designs, makes gharials and crocodiles in general very different animals, which is why the activation didn’t hold up (I hope to god they actually make an episode around gharials in the next season).

Many people assume that this episode only takes place after Kerhonk since Chris uses Gharial Crocodile Power, but this is actually false. Listen closely to what Chris is saying.

“Ha! Crocodile. And a gharial is a type of crocodile!”

Now we’ve already established that a gharial is NOT a crocodile despite being a crocodillian, but let’s get to the important part. Chris is saying that as he pulls out his Crocodile Disk for the Creature Power Suit. Now here is the thing. He doesn’t pull out a Gharial Disk. He uses the Croc Disk to activate Gharial Power, but he doesn’t use a gharial disk to activate the corresponding power suit.

So if Aviva did invent Gharial Power by the events of Kerhonk, Chris would’ve used that instead of using the Crocodile Disk as a substitute. And assuming that episode predates Mom of a Croc, the Kratt Brothers would’ve obviously used the Crocodile Disk since they have used it before.

So that means there was some off-screen adventure where Aviva made Gharial Powers which took place before Kerhonk.

...But that would mean Chris would already have a Gharial Power Disk by the events of Kerhonk and Mom of a Croc. One of 2 things is likely the case. Either Chris didn’t have access to the disk and used Crocodile Power as a last resort (as we see, the disk holder doesn’t exist until Season 2, so he probably stuffs them in his pockets), or that episode exists in an alternate timeline, which we know isn’t the case since that episode’s continuity is brought up later (we will see soon).

So we’ve established that Kerhonk takes place after Mom of a Croc, which takes place after an unseen series of events that predate the series itself as we know it.

Now onto the Miniaturizer. We see it in this episode, but 4 episodes later in Mystery of the Squirmy Wormy, the miniaturizer is invented. That leads me to believe that the episode takes place before Mom of a Croc. However, if you look in the background, you can see that the Walrus Power Suit is in the background with a harness and strap over it. This debunks my original theory of this episode predating the invention of the Creature Power Disks.

With the Walrus Power Suit in mind, it has a harness and strap over it, which brings up the question of why?

My answer would be that the harness and strap was meant for the Walrus Suit after it was damaged in Polar Bears Don’t Dance.

So now we’re at the original pilot episode, the first piece of Wild Kratts media produced by PBS Kids (excluding the Flash games that came out a month prior and were removed 9 years later, *sobs*). Here, the operation of the suits is different. Here, Aviva modified the suits for arctic survival and all it takes is for them to touch the animals with the gloves and then press the button. In many episodes, the modification occurs with the existence of a Creature Power Disc, or the disk is seen off-screen.

But the more I see into it, the more it makes sense. Ever wonder why we don’t see some creature power disks of creature powers in the earlier episodes? Maybe it could be the same reason why we don’t see the Polar Bear and Walrus Disk for the Creature Power Suit.

Aviva pre-programs the Creature Power Suits into the animal that the user can activate into not because she prefers this over making discs, or because the discs are already inserted into the suit, but because this was before she began making Creature Power Discs. This explains why in many Season 1 episodes, we don’t see the disc itself because the power is preprogrammed into the suit.

So at what point does this end and Aviva starts making discs? Any could be. All we know is that this would soon become the norm over preprogramming the power into the suits.

Polar Bears Don’t Dance could possibly chronologically take place around the earliest in the Wild Kratts timeline.

In Mystery of the Weird Looking Walrus, Aviva talks about upgrading features into the Walrus Power Suit. Maybe she isn’t talking about inventing the suits, but modifying the suits, which is fitting considering the walrus suit somehow malfunctioned and got jammed (which was presumably due to the cold arctic ice).

In the same episode, Zach and Donita’s interactions appear to be as if they had met recently, with Donita referring to Zach as the one who “vomitted from clams under the table.” So already we’re forming a coherent timeline with these episodes and we’re not even half-way through Season 1.

There would be one inconsistency. In this episode, Aviva says Jimmy’s controller is waterproof (along with food-proof) but in Seasquatch, 16 episodes later, Jimmy’s controller is protected by a shrink-wrap, indicating that it isn’t safe from the environment. Well, here’s the thing.

That episode shows a second appearance of the Squid Power Suit and Bumper the Sperm Whale from the episode Whale of a Squid which aired alongside Mom of a Croc on the premiere date of the series.

There’s no reason not to believe that the whale episode takes place after Mom of a Croc, which we have already established, takes place long after Polar Bears Don’t Dance. With that, my only explanation is that Jimmy’s controller wasn’t 100% waterproof since salty water can actually be very damaging to technology.

In Octopus WildKratticus Koki lists down many Creature Powers shown. This includes Honey Badgers, Polar Bears, and Octopi. This indeed indicates that these episodes where these powers debut are placed before this episode (some say it’s a retcon, but I disagree since Martin could’ve activated Honey Badger Power after the events of Honey Seekers).

Now let’s address the continuity in the series.

In Season 1, the Kratt Brothers have 2 adventures in the Australian Outback: Ones with kangaroos and koalas. In the koala episode, Chris mentions Aviva inventing Thorny Devil Disks for the Creature Power Suits the last time they were there. Considering that the kangaroo episode was 2 episodes prior to this one, I’m making it count.

Mimic is a sequel to Cheetah Racer, which takes place after Falcon City. In Mimic, the Cheetah Power Disk is invented, which is later used in Caracal Minton.

A Huge Orange Problem takes place after Kerhonk since Schnozzle (I think that is his name appears and Chris and Martin refer to him by that name.) This means that Kerhonk is in the official timeline of WK, meaning the only explanation as to why the Kratt Brothers had little access to either the Gharial and Crocodile Power Disc is that they physically had no access to it due to misorganization.

The Food Chain Game introduces new Creature Powers treated as familiar powers, which indicates that they were already invented off-screen. No episodes introduce these Creature Powers so that means the episode can't be out of order.

In Masked Bandits, Chris and Martin originally intend to use Wolf Power as costumes for their Halloween party, but instead Raccoon Powers are activated and Wolf Power is instead invented in Little Howler.

Ok so let’s go over the established time-line so far. When listing down the time-line, I’ll first do the episodes that chronologically fit together, then I’ll list episodes through air-date if there’s no connection or contradiction between them, then I will go back to chronology if I need to.

Polar Bears Don’t Dance → The Mystery of the Squirmy Wormy → The Mystery of the Weird Looking Walrus→ Unnamed Gharial Crocodile Adventure Episode → Mom of a Croc → Whale of a Squid → Aardvark Town → Flight of the Draco → Platypus Cafe → Bass Class → Build it Beaver → Voyage of the Butterflier XT → Honey Seekers → Fireflies → Tazzy Chris → Octopus Wildkratticus → Walk on the Wetside → Elephant in the Room → Let the Rhinos Roll → Kickin’ it with the Roos → Koala Balloon → The Blue and the Grey → Falcon City → Cheetah Racer → Mimic → Kerhonk → A Huge Orange Problem → Caracal Minton → Zig-Zagged → Seasquatch → The Food Chain Game → Masked Bandits → Little Howler → The Gecko Effect → Flight of the Pollinators → Birds of a Feather → Googly Eye: The Night Guru → Stuck on Sharks → A Bat in the Brownies → Raptor Roundup → Quillbur's Birthday Present

And that’s the end of the S1 timeline

Season 2:

Now already, we can see that Season 2 is a continuation of Season 1. The Tortuga HQ has an upgraded design, most likely from Aviva, which foreshadows the events of “Tortuga Tune Up.”

For the sake of things, I will put Speaking Dolphinese and Blowfish Blowout at the start of the S2 timeline because we don’t see the Tortuga so there’s a high possibility of it retaining its original design from S1 (I’m not including Lost at Sea because that was a terrible special that did nothing but combine 2 unrelated episodes into a movie).

The Seahorse Rodeo takes place afterwards since in Tortuga Tune Up, we see Blimpy (who is now an adult) and Ocean Pony.

Next we have Tortuga Tune Up, which shows Aviva modifying the Tortuga for swimming mode. Obviously I like to think the Tortuga’s redesign was an attempt to fix it, until Aviva had realized something was amiss.

Rocket Jaw: Rescuer of the Reef is a part of the Coral Reef saga of episodes so I count it at the beginning of S2.

Then we have Bad Hair Day, Race for the Hippo Disc, Creature Power Challenge, and Termites Versus Tongues, all of which are the first 4 ep. of S2 and take place in Africa. I consider those 3 chronologically connected. Plus, Zach recalls stealing the Creature Power Disc in one episode.

Happy Turkey Day is a Thanksgiving-related episode but I can easily consider it to be in the timeline.

Bugs or Monkeys serves as the first installment of the Central American Rainforest/Coral Reef saga. Followed by Shadow: The Black Jaguar, Rainforest Stew, Secrets of the Spider's Web, and To Touch a Hummingbird.

Then we get a bunch of episodes taking place in the Sonoran Desert. First we have Rattlesnake Crystal, which introduces the Sonoran Desert. I include this directly after the hummingbird episode because here, Aviva modifies Eyelash Viper Power for Rattlesnake Powers.

In the episode “Roadrunner” Chris and Martin say they have only JUST arrived at the Sonoran Desert. That episode’s plot is focused around the Tortuga getting a resupply, which is fitting considering they just recently crashed.

I would put “Skunked” after Roadrunner since it appears that they have enough resources by now. Then we’d get “Gila Monster Under My House,” then “Desert Elves”

Aqua Frog would come next I assume, I see no reason not to.

Groundhog Wakeup Call and Journey to the Subnivian zone have little ties to other episodes so I can place them in order of air-date. Since Attack of the Tree Eating Aliens takes place in the spring, we can have them come after those episodes.

So the Season 2 timeline goes like this:

Speaking Dolphinese → Blowfish Blowout → Rocket Jaw: Rescuer of the Reef → Seahorse Rodeo → Tortuga Tune Up → Bad Hair Day → Race for the Hippo Disc → Creature Power Challenge → Termites V. Tongues → Neck and Neck → Happy Turkey Day → Bugs or Monkeys → Shadow: The Black Jaguar → Rainforest Stew → Secret of the Spider's Web → To Touch a Hummingbird → Rattlesnake Crystal → Roadrunner → Skunked → Gila Monster Under My House → Desert Elves → Unnamed Burrowing Owl Disc Creation Episode → Aqua Frog → Journey to the Subnivian Zone → Snow Runners! → Groundhog Wakeup Call → Attack of the Tree Eating Aliens

Season 3:

Now, a lot of misconceptions have been made around Season 3 in terms of both continuity and air-date. My stance? Don’t believe a goddamn word that Google, Wikipedia, or the Wild Kratts wiki says. They have been getting the episode air-dates wrong since the very beginning, which is the reason I have to organize them.

As a longtime fan of the show who has been there since the beginning, I pretty much know the air-dates of the episodes by heart and the order.

The first episode is Hermit Crab Shell Exchange, second is Where the Bison Roam, third is Bandito: The Black Footed Ferret, fourth is When Fish Fly, fifth is Osprey. All 7 of these episodes premiered from April 7th to April 11th, 2014 as a part of PBS Kids' Wild Kratts Week, celebrating the show returning for its 3rd season.

The episode to air after that is the double-length episode, Back in Creature Time, which despite popular belief is NOT the Season 3 finale. The last episodes of Season 3 were centered around Madagascar. But before that, we see some adventures in the cypress swamp and the prairie.

Now that we’ve cleared up the misconceptions that people have had about Season 3’s episode order for the past 7 years (yeah a BIG fuck you to Wikipedia for that shit) let’s address the order continuity wise.

The first 7 episodes aired from April 7-11th as part of PBS Kids’ Wild Kratts Week! Celebrating the show’s renewal of S3. All but one would likely remain at their place. All except for Where the Bison Roam and Bandito since it introduces the prairie arc.

Back in Creature Time was after a LONG hiatus. Just to give you a good idea as to how long it was, the first 7 episodes of S3 aired in April when I was still in school, then the Back in Creature Time special aired months later long after I had moved into a different house during summer vacation.

The first episode to air after Back in Creature Time was Mosquito Dragon and Crocogator Contest (they were aired together as part of a special called “Swamp Things” but that special sucked for the same reasons why Lost at Sea did).

Now, this is something I noticed. Mosquito Bots were already invented by the time of Back in Creature Time, meaning that episode takes place after Mosquito Dragon.

And if we’re to include the cypress swamp saga, that means that Back in Creature Time comes in around the middle of the S3 timeline chronologically. That’s not even including the prairie episodes.

There were also Madagascar episodes. I consider Lemur Legs is chronologically the first of the order since the Kratts enter Madagascar here, and the finale of this arc is Golden Bamboo Lemur, where they leave.

This will be hard to crack, but I might be able to do it.

A thing that I noticed was that the Dragonfly Power Suits got redesigns frequently in S3. In Osprey and Mosquito Dragon, it has basket legs, resembling its S1 counterpart, but in Florida Panther and Back in Creature Time, they look completely different. In-universe, this can be credited to Aviva redesigning the suit, so I tried to arrange the episodes in a way that would make the suit's metamorphosis (pun not intended) feel less jarring than if you were watching the episodes in production order or viewing order.

So the S3 timeline is

Hermit Crab Shell Exchange → When Fish Fly → Osprey → Crocogator Contest → Mosquito Dragon → The Search for the Florida Panther → Opossum in My Pocket → Slider: The Otter → Back in Creature Time → Where the Bison Roam → Bandito: The Black Footed Ferret → The Amazing Creature Race → Prairie Who → Mystery on the Prarie → Under Frozen Pond → Capture the Fishmobiles → Praying Mantis → Lemur Legs → Chameleons on Target → Aye-Aye → Lemur Stink Fight → Tenrec Treasure Hunt → Fossa Palooza → Mini Madagascar → Golden Bamboo Lemur

Season 4:

Once again, this season was distributed out of order and the years that have passed since its release, however, as someone who, once again, watched every episode the day they aired, I can correct the misconceptions.

Firstly, the first episode of S4 was The Last Largest Lobster, and the last episode was Musk Ox Mania. The 3rd episode was A Creature Christmas, followed by 5 additional episodes, one of which introduced Paisley Paver and Rex into the show.

Now the confusion is that A Creatire Christmas aired as the 3rd episode of S4, yet animals and Creature Powers in that episode wouldn’t be introduced until later. So I’ll list down all of the episodes that come before the Christmas special.

The Last Largest Lobster comes before Stars of the Tide (they literally aired back-to-back).

Panda Power Up comes first in the China-located episodes. Next up comes Golden Snub Nosed Monkey Man. Red Panda Rescue features both Giant Panda and Snub Nosed Monkey Power, so I imagine it comes next. At the end of that episode, Aviva alludes to Red Panda Power, which is present in “The Colors of China”

Pangolin Rescue follows that (remember, all of these take place before A Creature Christmas). Along with the Two-Tusked Narwhal Adventure, the Snowy Owl Invasion, the Puffin adventure, the Other Martins, and This Orca Likes Sharks.

At this point, we’ve covered all of the pre-Christmas episodes. Now let’s do the ones we have left.

Liturgusa Krattorum, Eel-lectric!, Sea Otter Swim, Box Turtled In!, Animals Who Live to be 100 years old, Archerfish School, and many others.

Something to note is that Aviva narrates how the villains have never before teamed-up. Ignoring the fact that it is not true, that episode would have to come before Krattorum.

Here’s the timeline of S4:

The Last Largest Lobster → Stars of the Tides → Box Turtled In → The Other Martins → Sea Otter Swim → Animals who Live to be 100 Years Old → Spirit Bear → Panda Power Up → Snowy Owl Invasion → Golden Snub Nosed Monkey Man → Red Panda Rescue → The Colors of China → Pangolin Rescue → Archerfish School → Baby Tooth & Kid Musky → Musk Ox Mania → Puffin Rescue→ Mystery of the Two Horned Narwhal → This Orca Likes Sharks → A Creature Christmas → Cheetah Adopted → Eel-lectric → Liturgusa Krattorum → Creatures of the Deep Sea

Season 5:

I’m gonna throw in my personal opinion… This is my least favorite season of the show. The premiere episode, Alaska: Hero’s Journey was pretty cool and in my opinion, jumped the shark for Wild Kratts as we know it. Not only did it establish continuity with previous adventures and use it as a key-factor for the episode’s story, but it introduced a Creature Power Suit for Koki and had a very mature theme and an awesome message.

And then it went downhill from there. A lot of episodes, whilst enjoyable, felt pretty weak. Some were forgettable, and it felt like it talked down to its audience more, and there were just a lot of things that I felt didn’t work. This is where I think the show began a heavy seasonal rot and I know I'm not alone in this.

Ok, opinions aside, the time-line of this season is a lot easier to decipher than the earlier ones because there were less episodes.

Even though Alaska: Hero’s Journey was the first episode of S5 to be aired, the Bald Eagle Power Suit was shown, yet it wouldn’t be invented until The Fourth Bald Eagle.

Many listings show Mystery of the North Pole Penguins as the S5 premiere. And given that there are no continuity errors in that episode, I can see it being the start of Season 5’s storyline.

In the next episode, Temple of the Tigers, Martin and Chris head to India to adventure with tigers. A majority of S5 takes place in India, including the episode where Paisley Paver and Rex return, so I view the tiger episode as the start of the “India” arc.

There are also several episodes centered in Europe, as part of what I like to call, the “Europe” arc.

Creepy Creatures would go near the end of this timeline, as we see many S5 Creature Powers and animals by then.

So here’s the timeline for S5

Mystery of the North Pole Penguins? → Temple of the Tigers → The Dhole Duplicator → The Cobra King → Sloth Bear Suction → Elephant Brains → Cheeks the Hamster → Fire Salamander → Komodo Dragon → Wild Ponies ---> City Hoppers! → Blue Heron → Choose your Swordfish → The Erminator → Hercules: The Giant Beetle → Creepy Creatures! → The Fourth Bald Eagle → Alaska: Hero’s Journey

Season 6:

This season in my opinion, was a slight step up from the 5th season, since we get to see more interesting animals, and the writing feels a lot more breathable. The color palette, I specifically would go without, because it just looks weird. What I do like is how they recasted Koki, a character of color, to be voiced by a woman of color, and I'm glad this change is permanent.

Instantly, we get an instance of a continuity error: Martin is shown to have a Jackrabbit Power Disc in the 2nd episode of S6, yet he doesn’t get it until the Easter special, In Search of the Easter Bunny. There’s actually a reason behind this. The original title for the episode focusing on bunnies was titled “Spring Bunnies” and was listed as the Season 6 premiere, however this was cut and the bunny episode was released almost a year later. My working theory is that because of tight schedules, “Spots in the Desert” was released before the introduction of the Jackrabbit Power Disc.

We return to the Amazon once again with the double-length episode, Amazin’ Amazon Adventure and we get some newer amazon episodes after that.

In a promotional video for Hero’s Journey, the Kratt Brothers said that Season 5 would have at least 23 episodes. My guess is that they had to cut down the last 5 episodes because of COVID or something.

There are two things that stand out the most to me in this season's timeline. For starters, in the Hammerheads episodes, we see that the brothers have an Antelope Disc for the Creature Power Suit despite there being no episode centered around those creatures or introducing a Power Disc. Much like the Burrowing Owl and Gharial Discs, we're to assume that there was an adventure focusing around that animal/an invention of that Creature Power Disc that was not televised, and thus is part of this season's lineup.

The second was how in one of the first episodes of Season 7, Chris expresses a desire to adventure with wolverines, despite that happening in the previous season. So in a rare case, this has to go in a different season's timeline to remain consistent.

Anyways, let’s go onto the timeline of the most recent season. I’ll be going off of habitat here just to be consistent.

In Search of the Easter Bunny → Mystery of the Flamingo’s Pink → Spots in the Desert → Wolf Hawks → Deer Buckaroo → Unnamed Antelope Adventure Episode → Hammerheads → The Vanishing Stingray → The Real Ant Farm → Mystery of the Mini Monkey Models → Amazin’ Amazon Adventure → The Great Froggyback Ride → Parrot Power → The Race to Goat Mountain → Iron Wolverine → Adapto the Coyote → Tartigrade Xtreme → Uh Oh-Ostrich! → The Great Creature Tail Fail → Cats and Dogs →

Season 7:

The long-awaited Season 7 has arrived as of 2023, marking the return of the show to PBS Kids after two years of a hiatus. With eight episodes having been released, 13 more confirmed on the way, and the 200th episode milestone airing in S7, fans have a lot to hope for. And thankfully it means new fodder for my timeline list.

As I've said before, The Race to Goat Mountain cannot be a part of Season 7's timeline since it has to take place before their actual wolverine adventure.

This in of itself is purely subjective but I like to imagine that Clever the Raven would be the first episode of S7. For a few reasons. One, it was the first episode of the season to be confirmed (in an interview with Jane Goodall). Secondly, compared to Outfoxed, it felt more like a season premiere. With the fanservice-callbacks, the villains returning, the simple-structure of the plot with no rising or falling action and the episode's overall writing, it basically marks off a check-list of everything in the show that you were missing out on for 2 years and everything that you're coming back to after such a long break. Plus it's my favorite out of all of the S7 premiere episodes. Call me biased, but this one's going first.

Our Blue and Green World was the first of the episode batch in 2024. Personally, I am putting it as the most recent spot in the S7 timeline, after the other 3 episodes. The reason being is because with Paisley Paver's redemption, this episode feels like a huge game-changer, one that the writers hint will affect the rest of the series. I think this special should've been the last to air in the batch just to get viewers hyped for what's next. It's basically like a mid-season finale of some sorts:

Three new episodes will air in November of 2024: Salamander Streaming, Bumblezzz, and Chimpanzee and Me. Until the episodes come out, I will list them in the timeline in their release date order.

Timeline of Season 7:

Clever the Raven → Outfoxed → Owl Odyssey → No Name Dream → Backpack the Camel → Fish Out of Water → Our Blue and Green World → Salamander Streaming → Bumblezzz → Chimpanzee and Me

CROSSOVERS:

There are three shows that Wild Kratts has crossed over with. One of which came out after I made this post, two of which before, but I decided to add them here just for the fun of it and to commit to the lore-dump of the timeline. Whether or not I'll extrapolate that into forming a huge novel about the expanded universe of PBS Kids, only time will tell.

Night Shift: (Odd Squad)

This was the first crossover the brothers had done with another show, Odd Squad, a live action math-based cartoon that is set to air its fourth season in 2024. The Kratt Brothers have their traditional live-action opening that is interrupted by Otis and Olympia solving their 'odd problem' a running gag with various different characters throughout the series as a 'cold opener.' The reason there is such a massive overlap between the two fandoms is because of that scene in the episode.

How to fit it into the canon? Well, since this is shot similarly to a Wild Kratts live action opener segment, then we can equate it with the "what if!?" element of the show. It should be noted that the Kratts are following a white-tail-deer, an animal they would later adventure with in Season 6. So you could have this episode take place directly before the "what-if?!" section of that episode that transitions into the animated story.

Wild Batts: (Nature Cat)

In 2015, PBS Kids launched a new nature based show known as "Nature Cat" featuring the titular cat and his gang of animals exploring nature. This special aired directly after Wild Kratts: A Creature Christmas, so PBS Kids often marketed both the WK Christmas special and the Nature Cat premiere, so much so that at the end of the Christmas episode, the Kratt Brothers themselves promoted the new Nature Cat special. It only made sense that these nature brothers from another mother teamed up! And thus we had Wild Batts! In this episode, Chris and Martin "Batt" have to find a new home, after their old one is destroyed, challening Nature Cat and Ronald's fear of bats in the process and learning more all about them. Several references to the Kratt's show are made, such as the classic "Living free and in the wild!"

How to fit it into the canon? In the episode's context they are literally bats, but in the context of the show itself, they would probably be in Creature Power Suits. And one thing interesting is that Chris and Martin are said to be Indiana bats, an endangered species of North American bats. We know that there is no singular Creature Power Suit for a generalized species as we've seen with the crocodillian, owl, and snake-based Power Suits. So it's possible that Aviva modified the Little Brown Bat/Vampire Bat programing with Indiana Bat Power. So this would probably take place post-Season 1. I have it take place in Season 6 since Wild Batts aired around the same time that Season 6 just started airing, ironic ain't it?

Oh, and the episode also makes bat references to other PBS Kids characters, such as Peg + Bat (Peg + Cat), George the Curious Bat (Curious George) Daniel Bat (Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood) and the Bat/Cat in the Hat. Now, the logical man within me says that these are easy puns to laugh at and not look into. However, the sick twisted fuck that is me says, connect that shit together. Since we've already established Odd Squad, we can probably say that there was an 'odd problem' turning these random PBS Kids characters into bats (probably including the Kratt Brothers if you don't buy the idea that they're in very convincing Creature Power Suits) and that the Odd Squad is able to save them with a reverse-bat-inator and they all go their separate ways, never to meet each other again until their grand return in PBS: Endgame (ok maybe I'm going too far into it but just a funny thought, also yes that is the one MCU reference I decided to cash in).

Cry Wolf: Molly of Denali

The 3rd of the Wild Kratts crossovers, airing in summer of 2022. This was a massive thing in the WK fandom, mainly because around that time, news had come out that the show would not air any new episodes until 2023, which was a massive low blow. This crossover between Wild Kratts and Molly of Denali, while not enough... at least damaged this blow and is an okay entry point to Molly of Denali, another pretty damn good PBS Kids show.

The Kratt Brothers help Molly and her dad track a missing pack of endangered wolves, learning more about them on the way. In the episode it's established that Molly is a huge fan of Wild Kratts, referencing their show a lot, implying that the Kratts we see here are 2D representations of their IRL selves rather than their 2D-in-universe selves. Still, I came here to overanalyze, and overanalyze I shall! Since the Kratts did their whole "what-if!?" skit in Odd Squad, then I could see the same happening here, just not being necessary for the episode's plot. I'll suspend my disbelief again because what the hell.

How to fit it into the canon? I'd have it come between Season 6 and 7. It aired around that time, and again, it was almost certainly done so as compensation for making fans wait 2 years for the new season to drop. Plus it lines up with my headcanon of Clever the Raven being the first in S7's timeline, since the brothers would still be in the mood to adventure with wolves.

So to conclude, all of these crossovers I see as very recent in the show, you could cut them out and lose nothing, but add them in and get more of something, which is what I'm doing. In terms of timeline to the crossovers specifically, here it goes.

Wild Batts → Night-Shift → Cry Wolf

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CONCLUSION: THE CURRENT TIMELINE OF WILD KRATTS

Polar Bears Don’t Dance → The Mystery of the Squirmy Wormy → The Mystery of the Weird Looking Walrus→ Unnamed Gharial Crocodile Adventure Episode → Mom of a Croc → Whale of a Squid → Aardvark Town → Flight of the Draco → Platypus Cafe → Bass Class → Build it Beaver → Voyage of the Butterflier XT → Honey Seekers → Fireflies → Tazzy Chris → Octopus Wildkratticus → Walk on the Wetside → Elephant in the Room → Let the Rhinos Roll → Kickin’ it with the Roos → Koala Balloon → The Blue and the Grey → Falcon City → Cheetah Racer → Mimic → Kerhonk → A Huge Orange Problem → Caracal Minton → Zig-Zagged → Seasquatch → The Food Chain Game → Masked Bandits → Little Howler → The Gecko Effect → Flight of the Pollinators → Birds of a Feather → Googly Eye: The Night Guru → Stuck on Sharks → A Bat in the Brownies → Raptor Roundup → Quillbur's Birthday Present → Speaking Dolphinese → Blowfish Blowout → Rocket Jaw: Rescuer of the Reef → Seahorse Rodeo → Tortuga Tune Up → Bad Hair Day → Race for the Hippo Disc → Creature Power Challenge → Termites V. Tongues → Neck and Neck → Happy Turkey Day → Bugs or Monkeys → Shadow: The Black Jaguar → Rainforest Stew → Secret of the Spider's Web → To Touch a Hummingbird → Rattlesnake Crystal → Roadrunner → Skunked → Gila Monster Under My House → Desert Elves → Unnamed Burrowing Owl Disc Creation Episode → Aqua Frog → Journey to the Subnivian Zone → Snow Runners! → Groundhog Wakeup Call → Attack of the Tree Eating Aliens → Hermit Crab Shell Exchange → When Fish Fly → Osprey → Crocogator Contest → Mosquito Dragon → The Search for the Florida Panther → Opossum in My Pocket → Slider: The Otter → Back in Creature Time → Where the Bison Roam → Bandito: The Black Footed Ferret → The Amazing Creature Race → Prairie Who → Mystery on the Prarie → Under Frozen Pond → Capture the Fishmobiles → Praying Mantis → Lemur Legs → Chameleons on Target → Aye-Aye → Lemur Stink Fight → Tenrec Treasure Hunt → Fossa Palooza → Mini Madagascar → Golden Bamboo Lemur → The Last Largest Lobster → Stars of the Tides → Box Turtled In → The Other Martins → Sea Otter Swim → Animals who Live to be 100 Years Old → Spirit Bear → Panda Power Up → Snowy Owl Invasion → Golden Snub Nosed Monkey Man → Red Panda Rescue → The Colors of China → Pangolin Rescue → Archerfish School → Baby Tooth & Kid Musky → Musk Ox Mania → Puffin Rescue→ Mystery of the Two Horned Narwhal → This Orca Likes Sharks → A Creature Christmas → Cheetah Adopted → Eel-lectric → Liturgusa Krattorum → Creatures of the Deep Sea → Mystery of the North Pole Penguins? → Temple of the Tigers → The Dhole Duplicator → The Cobra King → Sloth Bear Suction → Elephant Brains → Cheeks the Hamster → Fire Salamadner → Komodo Dragon → Wild Ponies -> City Hoppers! → Blue Heron → Choose your Swordfish → The Erminator → Hercules: The Giant Beetle → Creepy Creatures! → The Fourth Bald Eagle → Alaska: Hero’s Journey → In Search of the Easter Bunny → Mystery of the Flamingo’s Pink → Wild Batts → Spots in the Desert → Wolf Hawks → Night-Shift → Deer Buckaroo → Unnamed Antelope Adventure Episode → Hammerheads → The Vanishing Stingray → The Real Ant Farm → Mystery of the Mini Monkey Models → Amazin’ Amazon Adventure → The Great Froggyback Ride → Parrot Power → The Race to Goat Mountain → Iron Wolverine → Adapto the Coyote → Tartigrade Xtreme → Uh Oh-Ostrich! → The Great Creature Tail Fail → Cats and Dogs → Cry Wolf → Clever the Raven → Outfoxed → Owl Odyssey → No Name Dream → Backpack the Camel → Fish Out of Water → Our Blue and Green World → Salamander Streaming → Bumblezz → Chimpanzee and Me

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And there you have it so far folks. Thirteen years, seven seasons, 160 televised episodes, plus four crossover episodes amounting to 164 canon episodes in the current Wild Kratts timeline. More are on their way and more of this grand Creature Adventure is beyond the horizon. Keep on Creature Adventuring, see ya on the Creature Trail!

Am I a genius, or am I a genius?

[arting-block]

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 (𝟐) | Eleventh Doctor x MCU!Sorcerer Reader

❝𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵—𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩—𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥?❞

Summary: Recovery and revelations.

Genre: Romance, AU/Crossover

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, PTSD, graphic depictions of violence, mentions of killing, comfort

Words: 26.2K (yes you heard that correctly)

Reader: POC friendly, she/her, 24 y/o.

A/N: i wrote 6 whole drafts of this god-forsaken chapter all of which included more backstory and angst. trust me, this was going to be over 50k but i didn't think tumblr could handle allat.

previous chapter |

[KAMPOT, CAMBODIA  24 YEARS AGO]

The humid air from outside still somehow seeped into the old hut of the village shaman. Dark, moody clouds could still be seen over the night sky. A small abode tucked away from the main roads, separated on all sides by thick foliage and dense forest. 

Therula hated using Eldritch Magic more than anything, but cannot deny the ease of the sling-ring. Cracks of azure light cut through the air in front of the hut. Warmth from the (L/N) estate and its lavish tapestry halted, turning to centuries-old wood and tropical breeze. The door to the hut, covered in red talisman and chicken feet, was left ajar. Yellow candle light came through the crack of the door frame, enticing the young woman inside.  

Bright yellow walls and intricate drawings cover the old shaman’s home. Ink sketches of human bones against mandalas; the hollow sockets where eyes were supposed to be staring back. On the ceiling there was an intricate projection of the night sky. Nebula, stars, and planets floating against the inky black of space, much like the one Therula conjured in her own home. 

It smelled of incense and peppers. A horrid combination that made Therula (L/N) physically ill. Even without the pregnancy hormones, she would still gag at the sharp smell of the home. Silks adorning Therula clung to her clammy skin. Its ornate pattern, coupled with hand-woven lace seemed odd in the humble environment. 

Anxiety crept in her bones slowly. As if to draw out her unease for as long as possible. A dull cramp settled in her gut, making her seeming calmness falter. Therula placed a laced hand above her stomach, exhaling softly to get her mind under control. 

This is for her own good.

A new mantra she often found herself saying. It keeps her focused, reminding herself that sacrifices are worth it. 

Months of sleepless nights are finally catching up to her. No matter how much concealer or color corrector she puts on, there’s still the gaunt look under her eyes. Her skin is losing its usual luster, and her fidgeting increased tenfold. Very improper indeed, but she gave up trying long ago. 

With anxiety came the sudden rise in heat. Therula felt her chest, neck, and face starting to flush. Inch by inch, crawling up her skin until sweat collects at the base of her head. She couldn’t help but mutter a soft prayer, hoping a call to her patron will give her strength, “Planet of oceans and ice, I ask to strengthen my veins with your power.”

She spoke in an ancient tongue, one that no book held record of. A language passed down from mother to child, only spoken within family. 

On cue, the familiar chill of her magic materialized. It took root in her heart and quickly overtook her body. It wasn’t enough to send her teeth chattering, but enough to calm her. Above all, it was a testament of Therula’s bond to her planet. A sign that they were there for her, aiding her through this difficult time. 

Whilst Therula was acclimating, she failed to notice the shaman materialize behind her. She didn't feel the air shift or the feeling of magic crackle through the air. A sign of the old shaman’s abilities than the lack of awareness on Therula.

“Back so soon? And without your husband, no less,” a snide voice said from behind Therula.

Therula whipped around, placing a hand over her startled heart. She silently cursed herself for letting her guard down. 

The shaman is a raggard woman with a hunched posture and a perpetually hoarse voice. Her tan skin was wrinkled heavily, but still had some residual roundness of her youth. The whole of her chest is covered with amulets and thick, circular clusters of peppers which Therula believes contributes to her posture. Bright primary fabrics construct the robe she adorns. 

A stubborn woman and old enough to have seen Pluto’s full orbit thrice. Her bony hands are covered in dainty tattoos and the tips of her fingers are dyed bright red. The old shaman regards Therula with a piercing gaze and her wrinkled lips into an even thinner line.

Therula had only met the old woman once before. Months ago, when she was barely showing her pregnancy. Therula had come with her husband then, seeking arcane advice for something barbaric. Enestor wasn’t keen on seeing a traditionalist, especially if it concerns his wife and unborn daughter, but he knew how much it meant for Therula. 

At that time, the shaman pushed back at Therula’s request. Too risky, especially when the subject has yet to breathe air. 

Now, as her due date grew nearer, Therula acquired new information regarding her family history—around the curse plaguing her unborn daughter. 

Therula rolls her shoulders back, holding her head high, “He doesn’t understand the situation we are in.”

The shaman shuffles closer, the amulets clanging softly against one another. Peppers along her neck are still sharp with capsaicin, making Therula’s nose scrunch. The shaman’s gaze zeroes in on her large stomach. Beneath the extravagant dress and expensive lace, the shaman could feel the pulsing heartbeat of an unborn child. 

A grunt came from the shaman, “You make decision without husband? Something that will not be reversed?”

The same warning, the same displeased look. 

Something in Therula hardens under the gaze, hardening her voice as much as she could, “He’s not part of my practice. This is a matter that concerns me, no one else.” Her tone is final despite the obvious waver. Her hands stuck along the sides of her swollen stomach, both soothing the baby and her own nerves. 

The shaman’s smile is smug, almost proud. She wags a red dyed finger at Therula, “You are bold, I’ll give you that. Many people come to my hut asking for power. None have asked to take it away.”

A warning. Something irreversible that cannot and would not be undone. 

“Will you do it?” Therula asked, her nerves starting to get the better of her. The calm, collected façade chipping away. 

The shaman huffs, “You ask for impossible, I give you impossible. Although I advised against this, it is clear you are stubborn.”

The old crone beckons Therula to the other side of the room. Wood beneath their feet creak and groan under their weight. The small room only takes a few strides to cross. On the other side, a dark wooden door with a large magical seal painted in red. The brushstrokes are precise and delicate, but it looked more haunting than beautiful. As Therula approached closer, she could make out the grooves of a fingerprint along the paint strokes. The sound of keys clanging made Therula watch the old woman shuffle through her belt. 

Keys, small knives, and talisman were bunched up on a single loop of her belt. The shadows swallowed any definition, making it seem like one big mass. It was hard to tell which key started and the talisman ended. 

A few seconds of shuffling until Therula heard the click of the keyring. An old brass key was finally found. Carved by a dark metal with small flourishes. 

It seemed heavy by the looks of it. The shaman’s shaky hands lodged the key into the lock, twisting it with some strain. The door creaked open as the gears of the lock shifted. Therula could see clusters of lit candles of different colors in every corner of the room. Despite the numerous candles, it was much dimmer than the room previously. Ends of the walls were a dark, inky black with no discernible corners.  

Light from the candles gave a blue hue to the contours of their faces. The smell of incense wafted away to a damp, moldy smell. 

Shelves filled with exotic herbs and more peppers sat along the wall. Glowing bottles next to wet specimens. Even a few shrunken heads dangled in the dark corners. All of which were nothing surprising to Therula. An old crone of her caliber is expected to adhere to traditions, no matter how unsavory. 

In the middle of the room was a giant magic seal. Old Khmer script along its edges along with complicated geometric patterns in the same red paint as on the door. Therula found herself transfixed by the seal. It was a dying art in the magical world. With newer mages seeking Eldritch Magic, there was no need for manually hand-drawing seals. Here, in the small hut in Kampot, a piece of this tradition is marked in stone. 

In the dim lighting of the room, the red seemed dark and muddy. Almost like…

Something uneasy was felt in her gut. Therula took a deep breath, caressing her abdomen. The door creaked shut with the sound of a metal lock clicking, making the poor mother jump. The shaman snickers, no doubt trying to make Therula on edge. 

“I fail to understand why you come here. Plenty of other strong, young mages to do your bidding,” the shaman grunts, pouring glowing liquids and peppers into a wooden bowl. Her bony fingers found a stone pestle to grind the ingredients together, “Not that I mind. Rare to see such esteemed witch from powerful family come to old shaman. Many good elders from your clan to take care of your problem. Those who know this curse better than I.”

Therula shifts her weight, feeling a dull ache in her knees, “You’re the only celestial witch old enough to pull this off. Even the most promising witches and warlocks from my clan only have a planet to call upon. Rumor has it that you have a star. A large one at that.”

A planet for guidance is a feat in itself. Talented mages had taken decades of their lives trying to build a connection. Complete devotion wields pure energy to siphon off of. Planets, with their rich mythology and monstrous size, give unparalleled power to their mage. 

But a planet would only take you so far. 

The shaman smiles at the praise, “You need power to match the curse, yes? One that is old and of equal value.” She brings the wooden bowl to Therula, who hesitantly accepts. 

Fluorescent blue liquid sloshes inside the bowl. The sharp sting of peppers hits Therula, forcing her to aggressively blink away tears. The shaman once again took another look at the mother’s stomach. There was no doubt that the unborn child had the gift. A strong current of magic swirling in around the womb despite the soul not taking hold yet. 

A strong vessel, perfect for a powerful witch. 

“I wonder what your ancestors did to warrant such a nasty curse,” the shaman mutters, still loud enough for Therula to hear, “No doubt the caster pulled divine intervention. Your family is protected by the nine planets, yes? But that’s not good enough. Not pure enough.”

Curses, especially ones involving the soul, are notoriously difficult to break. The older the curse, the more it festers and grows. With time comes the destruction of knowledge, including customs and language. Sooner or later there would be no one alive, nor any record preserved, to break the curse. 

The old shaman was born centuries before, older than some of the elders in Therula’s clan. Her magic was cultivated during a time where magic was still abundant in the public mind. A celestial witch with a star as her patron. Pure energy, older than the curse festering in Therula’s child. Energy that is easy to bend and manipulate, especially when it comes to magical seals. 

Therula huffed, a bead of sweat dripping down her temple, “It has to be done. Trust me, I weighed any other possibilities.”

There wasn’t any other choice. Not one that could save both mother and child. 

“Each year fewer of us are being born. Not to mention the sickness that's spreading,” the crone says, still eyeing her stomach, “I’m sure you’re aware of the potential of your daughter—.”

“Potential means nothing when her life is at stake,” Therula snaps, her eyes burning despite placing the bowl away from her face, “Powers or not, she’s my baby. If there’s a chance to give her a better life, then I’m willing to take it.”

Months of stress pouring through each word; no mistaking the raw edge of desperation.  

The shaman’s lips pressed to a thin line, but said nothing. It was clear that Therula was going through with her plan one way or another, even if it meant going to a lesser mage to get the job done. At the very least the old woman could provide a safe, stable spell that won’t harm either the mother or the fetus. 

The shaman reaches within the deep sleeves in her robe, pulling out a small decorative dagger. It was gold, matching the amulets on her chest, and encrusted with blood-red rubies and rich emerald. The blade gleams despite the low lighting, curving down to a sharp point.  

“I need to ensure the seal will last. Blood from me—” the shaman wastes no time slicing her palm. The thin skin broke through, and her darkened blood dripped into the bowl in Therula’s hand. The shaman took the bowl and flipped the handle of the knife to Therula, “ —blood from you. Power from two witches, and their patrons, are better than one.”

Therula’s heart hammered in her chest, but her hand grasped the ornate handle with no hesitation. A slight burn emanated from her hand where the deep cut was made. She clenched her hand, watching the blood pool out of her fingers and into the glowing bowl. Fluorescent liquid bubbled upon contact. 

“You drink this the moment you go into labor.” The shaman decants the liquid into a clear jar. “The soul of your daughter will start to enter her body. This elixir will enter her bloodstream and create a barrier around her spirit. Once child is born, she will be cut off from magic. The older she grows, the stronger the seal. Her soul will attach itself to barrier and create unbreakable bond.”

Therula takes the glowing jar. It’s easily a cup of liquid and no doubt will taste like copper and spice. Her hands tightened their hold. Early victory could easily sour as there were still five weeks left in her pregnancy. Nothing is for certain until the time of her labor. Even then, Therula would still worry and fret over her child. 

“How strong? Nothing is unbreakable, you of all people should know that,” Therula bites.

The small kernel of hope did nothing to mask the skepticism. After many months of mental torture, it seemed too good to be true. 

The shaman smirks, all knowing with her centuries of power, “Not even a star could undo it.”

— — —

[PRESENT]

Sound is a distraction. It dulls your brain and nullifies your other senses. Silence, in the absence of numbing noises, makes the air coil around you. Your body becomes aware of forces beyond your control. 

It wasn't crippling, but always there. 

Vibrations of energy flowing inside your skull, through your bones. It fills space between your atoms, making your body denser. It’s been the background of your existence for so long, that a part of you feels empty. It feels…

Lighter. You feel lighter. 

The Doctor left the room to retrieve his companions: Amy and Rory Pond. Husband and wife who he swept away from their ordinary lives back on Earth. Rather, they became husband and wife during his time with them. Not too long ago, but he seemed unsure. His eyes are always going about from one side to the next. The Doctor then remembered why he went off on a tangent, saying it would only take a few minutes. 

“Get comfortable. Don’t exert yourself.”

It’s been a few minutes. You shuffled back to the meager cot against the far corner of the room. Each step sends an ache in every fiber and joint in your body. 

It’s unnerving. The quiet of the air. No overbearing weight on your chest. There’s space between your thoughts and air into your lungs. 

It’s a new feeling, too new to be comfortable with. 

Sitting on the edge of your bed you let the seconds tick by, hoping to gather your bearings, think things over before the Doctor and his companions arrive. 

Your hands drag against the edge of your wrappings. Numb, damaged fingers find the frayed threads to slowly unravel. Scratching would hurt, so you quell the urge to scrape your nails on your palms. Keeping your fingers occupied so that you can fuel your nervous tick. A habit you couldn’t shake off and one that your mother always disapproved of.

Scattered thoughts pass through your mind. 

Flashes of color. The familiar burn of your magic. The rush of adrenaline—

Your throat closes. You need to keep calm. Focus on the now, figure a way out…

Silence bites your mind. It makes your feelings more apparent and it frightens you. 

You don't know the next step. You always know—should always know. 

A Master of the Mystic Arts, always a step ahead of everyone else. Commander of spells with experience that came with being an apprentice for six years. You had a big role to fill the moment the Ancient One anointed you as her apprentice and you met her expectations step by step. 

You were powerful. Surrounded by heroes and supportive friends alike. 

You were on top of the world. Power imbued in the fibers of your body. All the knowledge the universe had to offer at the tips of your fingers.

So why did you wish to leave? 

Being stuck in space wasn’t the issue. Being stuck in a universe with no discernable way out isn’t what’s plaguing you. 

Why did you leave? Why did your only thought—your dying wish—was to leave the world behind?

You were supposed to be a brave soldier, fighting for the universe itself. You never caved, never wavered in the battlefield. When the blood spills from your teeth or bones break beneath your skin, you always get back up. 

You swore an oath, bound by blood, to serve humanity and in return was bestowed the highest honor a sorcerer can have. 

And yet…you’d wish to give everything up. To leave your family, Peter, the Avengers—even Stephen and Wong. In your dying moments you acted on selfishness. 

The guilt causing tension in your body wasn’t from failing to keep Wanda and Vision safe…

It was because you chose your own life above all others. Above your friends; above the billions of others who no doubt deserved it more than you. 

The only surefire way to get back is if someone opens a portal and brings you to them. There’s too many variables, too many worlds to slip into. Traversing through the multiverse is like gliding through hot syrup and pure madness. No one in their right mind would suffer the cost just for a ghost. 

There’s no guarantee that even if you manage to survive another trek without magical protection that you could sift through and find your universe. The equivalent of finding a needle in a larger, near infinite pile of identical needles. 

You’re stuck. 

Thump, thump, thump. 

Voices and footsteps echo outside. Growing louder, getting closer.

Your body stiffens, your ears trying to pick up their conversation. Closer and closer they come. You shake away any stray thoughts, focusing on the present.  

Their voices sound clearer. Accents, different from the Doctor’s. Male and female, young, agitated. Arguing about something. They're too far away for you to make heads or tails of their conversation. Their voices come fast, fluctuating between stuttering exasperation (the Doctor most likely) to scathing retorts (Amy, judging from the higher pitch) and a deep groan that oozes annoyance (Rory, process of elimination). 

Voices and footsteps grow louder as the seconds tick by. Jumbled noises smooth into intelligible words. Not enough to piece together their conversation, but enough to know that they were a few paces away. 

Whisper-shouting and rustling of clothing stops the moment they reach your door. 

The ornate brass door knob rattles against the steel door. Side to side, as if it’s stuck. The door creaks open, the voices hushed the moment you see three figures standing outside.

Red hair, plaid shirt with worn jeans, and curious eyes peek through the door frame first. A beautiful woman, with a round face and even rounder eyes. She steps into the space with an air of caution, but there’s no mistaking the piqued curiosity. 

A tall man with sleepy eyes and spiky blond hair follows behind her. He wears a comfy, soft sweatshirt and a pair of dark, crisp denim. He doesn’t appear fearful, but doesn’t look too happy to be here. You notice the squared shoulders and measured steps, reminiscent of those in the military. 

The Doctor comes in last with a mind swarming with unfinished thoughts. His hands sweep around his jacket, trying to fix his appearance before stepping beside the blond man. The tension from your conversation seemed to dissipate, leaving a rather aloof expression on his face.  

The woman—Amy, you assume—stares at you, unblinking as if to not miss any movement. Her husband with cool regard, but has a protective arm around her shoulder. Their eyes take in every bruise and discolored skin, waiting for the Doctor to speak up. 

You can’t help but observe them too. They stood far enough that you could take in the tops of their head and all the way down to the worn converses they both had. Human, but something tells you they’re a bit more than that. 

Everything about her and her husband seemed so…ordinary. Civilians with catalog clothes and that tentative look on their face. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume they would be another faceless civilian out on the streets of whatever city you’re stopping in. The three of them stand in opposition to you. Each with their own perception of you, ranging between caged animal to war-stricken soldier. Pity, confused, and sad. It’s almost suffocating. Beneath the hesitance was an undeniable feeling of sorrow. As if seeing you was a tragedy. 

You don’t like it. Despise it, even. It seems that in every corner, in every face you see, there was an underlying sadness for you. It seems the lingering stares follow you outside of the multiverse and into the green eyes of Amy and the steel blue of Rory. 

The Doctor doesn’t seem to notice his companions’ less-than-enthusiastic mood. He stands beside you, bending slightly to get to your eye level. “These two lovely chaps are my companions: Amy and Rory Pond! Ponds, meet the wonderful—and very much alive—(Y/N)!” He does some jazz hands towards you with a proud smile on his face. 

They each wave to you awkwardly. 

You lick the sharp skin on your lower lip, the tiniest of smiles on your face. “I’m assuming you’re the Nurses?”

Rory and Amy seemed a bit stunned at your poor attempt at a joke. You guessed the contrast of a beaten face and a strained smile was a bit jarring. 

Then, Rory chuckles. Airy and genuine. It seemed the tension between them lifted. Amy’s shoulders relaxed, letting a smile of her own to be seen. 

“That’s a good one, I see what you did there,” Rory says. “Though, for the record, I’m the only certified medical nurse here.”

Your brows pinch, turning towards the Doctor with suspicion. He doesn’t seem to notice your wary looks, simply beaming at you with that smile of his. 

You shift in your spot, “Uh, I should’ve asked this when I woke up. How long, exactly, was I out for? When I blacked out, I didn’t register time passing. At all. Lemme guess, a few months?”

You’re not stupid. Back in the jungle, lying in that ditch, you felt your soul bursting inside your body. If it wasn’t for your unwavering spite, that stubbornness to get up, to keep trying, you would’ve seen the familiar skeletal face of Death herself. 

So far gone, that enough time passed that you are able to walk. You clearly remember struggling to do so; the biting pain still lingers in your knees. 

Something flashes in the Doctor’s eyes. A shift in his cheery demeanor to something serious and foreboding. 

Caution, you thought. 

“Five days.”

You blink. Once. Twice. 

Maybe you shattered your eardrum on the way here. 

“Sorry, I thought you said five days,” you scoff, almost laughing at the ridiculous thought. Sure you may heal cuts and bruises relatively fast, but you were on the brink of death. Bones were broken, no doubt a ton of internal bleeding sprinkled throughout your body.  

A taste of lemon on your tongue, a warm energy above the nerves of your spine.

Truth, your body says. 

You look at the Ponds and see the same look of weariness. Amy gives a slight nod of her head, confirming what the Doctor said. 

Denial grips your mind. Doubt in their words despite the lack of obvious deception. It makes the settling realization hit a lot harder. 

“It doesn’t make any sense. I should be out for weeks—months even,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. “Damage like that, I wouldn’t even bat an eye if it was a year.”

Acceptance creeps up, denial withers and in its place the cold grip of anxiety. You feel the leftover stinging and the scattered numbness from your injuries. You’re still healing and nowhere near full health, but you could walk and think somewhat clearly. 

A distinct memory floats in your mind; the time when you sustained a nasty fall from an eight story building. While some magic had cushioned your descent, you still heard the crack of bone when you landed on your side. Your humerus had deep fissures which took three weeks to fully heal, even with the help of healing magic. Not to mention the physical therapy alongside it.  

No, there’s no way I could’ve healed like that on my own.

You lift your head up towards the Doctor. “Did you give me some sort of medicine? Some technology that could advance human healing?”

“Well, not exactly,” the Doctor says, trailing off at the end. “Most of the machinery here requires blood work and stem cell extraction. However, because your body was retaining so much heat, we quickly realized that it could damage our equipment. Our biggest concern was the amount of blood being kept in your body cavity—a big sign of internal bleeding. And boy did you have a lot!” The Doctor chuckled, but upon seeing the disapproving look of his companions, he immediately smoothed his expression.

Rory rolled his eyes, continuing where the Doctor left off: “When the Doctor initially scanned your body in the jungle, he identified the sources of your internal bleeding. Mostly in your spleen and around your abdomen from blunt force trauma. We thought we would need to take you in for surgery but—” 

“Your body cauterized the wounds,” the Doctor cut in, too eager to let Rory finish. “Initially we thought it was due to the burning you sustained, but upon closer inspection, I realized that the burning was localized to the wounds you had. Tried my luck and decided to nick one of your veins and observed what happened. Sure enough, you sealed it moments after.”

You almost couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Almost. At this point you were willing to believe that you were a long lost moon princess that can transform with a magical compact. Somehow that seemed more believable in your mind than crossing the entire multiverse. 

At your stunned silence, Rory clarified further: “What he means is that your body—somehow—burned off the areas where you were bleeding without damaging surrounding tissue. But that wasn’t the weirdest part.”

“That wasn’t weird?” you ask, wondering how much new information you could take before your mind breaks. “So I now have burnt tissue stuck in my body on top of CMBR? Are my organs constantly boiling?”

The Doctor taps the bridge of your nose, making you jump. “Good, you’re paying attention. Luckily your cognitive functions seem to be working fine. To answer your first question, no. Whatever burnt tissue remained was overtaken by healthy tissues. Your cells were rapidly dividing to fix whatever damage was left behind. Even your bone marrow was working overtime to bring back the blood you lost.”

“What about the second question?” you ask. “You said that I still housed the CMBR—Big Bang CMBR—in the tissues of my body. Correct me if I’m wrong, but shouldn't my insides be cremated by now?”

In a flash, the Doctor’s finger points dangerously close to the middle of your brows. “I’m a bit insulted that you think I forgot.” He retracts his hand and paces in front of you. “To answer your other question, yes and no. The heat is mostly concentrated towards your heart and your blood. After a few days your body returned to normal temperatures and the CMBR was safely stored. For the most part.” 

You can’t help but inwardly wince. Phantom licks of fire tingle around your hands, threatening to swallow you whole once more. 

Amy moves closer, peering at you. Less analyzing, more like gazing over your features. When your eyes met, you were surprised she didn’t falter. She moved one step closer, her hands tense at her side. A bit of fear clung to her skin.  

“You told the Doctor something, before we came in,” Amy prompts. Any caution melted, spurring her curiosity. “You came from another universe, yes?”

“Don’t entertain her,” the Doctor says, though there isn’t malice. He seemed more exasperated that his companions were considering your story despite his opposition. 

Amy ignored the Doctor, focusing her attention on you, eager to what you had to say.

It was hard to pinpoint where you could even start. Bruce crash landing on the foyer of the New York Sanctum or the Battle of New York years prior? 

Events in your mind cloud and blur together. Too fresh of a wound to recount, even though five days have passed. Your body is still tense. The adrenaline has long since faded, but you can’t seem to unwind the taught muscles in your body. It doesn’t help that you’re in a room with strangers and a humming environment that seems alive.

“I was in battle, protecting Earth,” you start, the words scratching your throat. You can clearly remember the panic and animosity on the battlefield. The air was sparked with rage and stank of blood. “An alien named Thanos wanted to kill half of all sentient beings from the universe in order to preserve resources. He managed to collect five out of the six Infinity Stones. Each stone represented a core trait of existence. Infinite power, that when collected together, could bend the entire universe to your every whim. They were remnants of the Big Bang, hence the CMBR in my body.”

Your voice wavers slightly. Tired, scabbed, numb fingers clench the cotton sheets beneath you. 

Guilt swirls, clawing the inside of your chest. Enough to force your words out with anger lacing each syllable. “My friend had the last stone. He was already injured and Thanos’s army had worn through our defenses. I swore that I would protect him. I took an oath to protect humanity, even if it costs me my life. I tried to stop him—I did what I could and it didn’t matter—”

You cut yourself short. Your eyes were trained on the linoleum floor but all you could see was blood. The sound of flesh being torn apart by alien teeth and the screams of Wanda pounding in your head. 

“The stones—my arms—I tried to stop him. I absorbed as much as I could and I wasn’t strong enough. But I didn’t care about the burns, all I wanted at that moment was to save my friend…And it wasn’t enough.”

It didn’t matter that you managed to hold off Thanos long enough for Wanda to break the Mind Stone. Your promise was null and void and perhaps deep down you both knew it. It was better to hope than go into battle with defeat instilled in your mind. 

Forcing your head upwards, you locked eyes with the Doctor.

Something passed through the Doctor’s face; his lips pressed to a thin line and his eyes holding what words would fail to say. 

Understanding. 

The atmosphere of the room was thick with tension. Though your rushed and jumbled recount of events left more questions than answers, the three strangers didn’t pry further. Amy seemed to be the one most visibly upset. 

Feather light steps and a pinched expression on her face, Amy sat down on your bed beside you. Her weight makes the old foam creak, the close proximity makes the emotion pouring out more apparent. Pity and empathy came off of her in waves. If it was anyone else, under any other circumstance, you would recoil at the feeling.

“You’re safe now,” Amy whispered, her hands on your shoulder accompanying the gentle words. “You don’t have to explain yourself. Not unless you’re ready.”

Citrus on your tongue and the waves of sorrow easing the tension in your body. 

You don’t let the tears flow. You scrape together any ounce of energy to let yourself fall apart. Not now. You’re not ready for that. 

Breathe.

A muffled groan leaves you, your shoulders sagging with the weight of…honestly, you don’t know what to call it. Overwhelmed is a vast understatement to what you’re feeling. A throbbing headache threatens to pound against your skull, your body still desperately trying to pull itself together. You were teetering dangerously close to the edge of your sanity; one wrong thought and you’ll plunge into a familiar abyss. 

The three strangers dare not to move, scared that they’ve pushed you too far. The Doctor’s bright, observant eyes watch every movement of your face, trying to gauge your reaction. 

A shuddering breath escapes you, and you force yourself to fill the empty silence. 

“I-I think I need some time…alone.” Your voice is cracked, barely audible to Amy. You lower your gaze to your clenched fists, barely keeping yourself from trembling. You feel too vulnerable, exposed like a raw nerve. You mumble a strained: “Please.”

Amy doesn’t move right away, lingering in her spot beside you. After a few moments, she gives a feather-light squeeze of your shoulder before standing up. 

The Doctor, despite his distance, seemed to hear you just fine. Shoving his hands into his pant pockets, he sends a tentative smile your way. “Of course, we’ll be out of your hair for the time being.”

He walks to the other side of the room, opening a cabinet to reveal a small fridge. He bends slightly, rummaging through the fridge before grabbing a glass pitcher filled with cold water and a mug from an adjacent cabinet. 

Long legs carried the Doctor back towards you, setting down the pitcher and water on a nightstand beside your pillows. Opening the drawer from the nightstand, you hear the sound of rattling before the Doctor retrieves an orange bottle with large, white pills. 

“Some medicine to help you sleep,” the Doctor explains. “Don’t worry, we ran tests for any allergens.”

You make no move from your spot, only giving the man a stiff nod. 

The Ponds observe silently, fearing that any sound could set you off. They wait until the Doctor ushers them to the door to finally move. Amy twists her head, trying to keep you within her sight even as the door was being shut on her. You catch the quiet panic in her voice as she talks to Rory, but they’re retreating away from your room before you could catch what they’re saying. 

The Doctor is the last to cross the threshold, lingering once more. The corner of his mouth twitches to a slight frown, before straightening to a thin line. “Give a shout if you need anything. Don’t try to leave the room, it can get a bit confusing navigating the hallways. I’ll come back in a few hours to change your dressings.”

He didn’t wait to hear your reply, softly shutting the door with a faint click. 

— — —

The second the door closed, Amy wasted no time dragging the Doctor down the corridor and into the console room. The Doctor protests against her harsh tugging, something about expensive wool, but she couldn’t care less. Her grip on his sleeve was like steel, unyielding even when the Doctor tried wiggling out of her grasp. 

When the familiar flight of stairs came to view, Amy shoved the Doctor forwards, causing him to nearly fall down them. His feet miraculously stumbled to place, albeit with little grace to his movements,  saving him from a nasty fall and possible regeneration. The Doctor stumbled the remaining steps before turning back towards Amy. 

“What was that for?” he demands.

Amy descends down the stairs rapidly, stomping towards the man. “You knew she was gonna be awake.” She pointed a finger square in the Doctor’s chest, her accusing tone pinning him in place. “You didn’t want us in the room with her. All week you’ve been dodging questions—hiding something. Why?”

The Doctor scoffs, which only fueled Amy’s anger. “I told you not to worry about it. Besides I was testing, you know how dangerous CMBR is? Dangerous, lethal. Does that not scare you?”

“You said the radiation levels were not a problem! You tell us what’s going on right now because whether you like it or not we are in this mess together. We found that girl together and that means that Rory and I are just as responsible as you are,” she reminded. 

The Doctor leans back, putting distance between Amy’s face and his. He looked to Rory for support but all the blond could offer was an exasperated look. 

The two of them had an inkling that the Doctor was avoiding them only in regards to the comatose patient in the med-bay. Stuttered, whip-fast excuses, and long winded explanations for his continued disappearance. They knew the Doctor tried to work around their sleep schedule, so Amy proposed sleeping shifts to catch him. It never worked and couldn’t confirm their suspicions, but they couldn’t ignore their gut feeling. He deflected questions from Amy and outright refused help from Rory. 

Amy leaned closer to the Doctor so he could see every inch of her displeased face. Rory, who usually let his wife do the scaring, stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Amy. Effectively creating a human wall against their Doctor. 

The Doctor raised his hands in surrender. “It was only a hunch—but I immediately went back to you two afterwards.”

Rory rolled his eyes. “Telling us after isn’t the same as letting us know beforehand. What happened to being a part of a team? Why did you feel the need to sneak around? We’re here to help.”

The Doctor heard the faint sound of disappointment from his companion, sending guilt straight to his two hearts. He sighs, running his hand through his hair for the umpteenth time. He hoped to have gotten away with it for longer. Alas, nothing could get past Amy or Rory. A part of him—a large one—was glad they were observant to see through his attempt at secrets.

“You’re right, I was sneaking around,” the Doctor admits sheepishly, though a part of him was unwilling to say it. “I wanted to be sure. This situation is unlike anything I’ve ever dealt with.” 

Amy scoffs, but lets a smile peek through. “Just hack it up already.”

The Doctor’s mood lightens a bit, letting him shift in excitement. “As you know, I’ve been trying to comb through her things, rather, what's left of them. Right when she was stable, I checked the driver’s license number on her ID. Y’know, run it through the New York DMV database to find any matches—”

Amy cuts the Doctor off, “But you didn’t find anything. She didn’t exist with no living relatives. You checked her DNA and knew she was human. You traced her back to around our time. We already know this, just tell us what you found out.”

“There, that’s the problem,” the Doctor states rather unhelpfully. Amy groaned. 

The Doctor pivots around, already ignoring Amy. “Girl crash lands in a jungle and has energy from the Big Bang. Wears clothes of a monk but clearly has defensive wounds meaning she was in battle. Odd, monks in battle. An oxymoron if I ever heard one.” He turns back to his companions but continues to ramble to himself. “Why would a New Yorker wear monk garb? A young one at that? Temples, monks. You don’t find enlightenment on the Statue of Liberty.”

Rory nudged Amy’s side, mouthing something to her: money. 

Amy’s eyes widened in realization, digging into her pocket. 

“Forget crashing, why voluntarily fight if you value all life?” the Doctor mumbled into his hand. 

“Doctor, I think I found some—” 

The Doctor cuts Amy off, not even looking in her general direction. “Stones? Who uses stones? Oh, who am I kidding, stones are cool, stones are sturdy and reliable. If I was the Big Bang I would be a stone too.”

“Doctor would you please—”

“Not now Amy, I’m in the middle of something.” The Doctor tries to maneuver around the console, but Amy grabs him by the shoulders, forcing him to acknowledge her. 

God, sometimes she wants to smack him, possibly knock his brain in the process. 

Amy shook the Doctor, glaring at him with enough heat to make anyone wither. “If you would just listen for once, I could tell you where she became a monk. Goodness, it’s like you get paid to ignore people.”

The Doctor looks to Amy’s hand. In it was a crumpled 20 rupee banknote. 

“National currency of the Federal Democratic Republic of Nepal. Odd currency for someone living in New York, isn’t it?” Amy smirked at seeing the Doctor’s eyes widened. 

The Doctor snatches the rupee, giving it a sniff and inspecting it under the TARDIS lights. It was real all right. He spun back towards his companions, “How come I didn’t see this earlier? Were you hiding this from me?”

“A taste of your own medicine,” Amy quips. “It was in her robes, not her wallet. Found it a few minutes ago when I was inspecting it.”

It was a stroke of luck that Amy managed to see the red bank note in the sea of red fabric. Whoever constructed the robes had a knack for secret pockets and seamless edges. At first glance, the pockets themselves were placed in rather odd places. It seemed as though they were slapped on haphazardly; one of them was adjacent to the armpit, another placed smack in the middle of the back. Most of them were empty, save for an odd post-it note or some receipts from Delmar's Deli-Grocery. The Doctor had already found no matches for the receipts or any deli in New York with a name like that. 

Pride bloomed in the Doctor’s chest. He gives Amy a giddy smile and ruffles her hair, “Oh, Amelia. What would I do without you?”

The red banknotes flips in his hand. Another clue for him to dissect.

“So our soldier-monk went to Nepal to be enlightened,” the Doctor observed. “Somewhere along the way she somehow gets recruited into a big war where monks are part of enlistment. Sounds like an awful system to be living under. Things happen, stones get collected, infinity becomes real, she crash-lands on Rwanda.”

“Think you missed a few steps,” Rory mumbled. 

The Doctor flicked the side of his head. “Plot holes in stories are what gives us clues. If her memories have been tampered there would be glaring problems with her story. Problem is, her story is just a big hole with bits of plot in them. A plot stew if you will. No, that’s not right.”

Amy leans against the console. “Maybe she doesn’t trust us to give the whole story. She didn’t seem like she was lying. Everything felt so…genuine. Besides, what else could cause those injuries if not…stones made from the Big Bang?”

“I’ve come from a whole line of medical professionals,” Rory adds. “Never had I seen burns look like that. The skin only split where her veins were. Any other normal injury would follow the pattern of the fire or lightning, not the pattern of your veins.”

The Doctor had to agree on Rory there. Nothing about this made any sense. Normally that would be a surge of excitement. Few things puzzled the Doctor, especially for days on end. What would usually be something of a game very quickly turned to a massive headache. 

You believed everything you said wholeheartedly, but everything that came out of your mouth seemed to contradict the thing before it. 

The Doctor rounds the console, finding the swiveling monitor, with Amy and Rory trailing behind him. His fingers type out something on the keyboard, the monitor beeping to life. 

Charts, data, and a scan of your body was shown. Text flashes, blocks of letters and numbers that could make anyone’s head spin. Amy had seen this screen many, many times, yet couldn’t make out anything in plain English. Rory’s nursing background gave some leverage, easily spotting medical terms and diagnoses that the Doctor gave. 

“Remember how I said that I couldn’t find a relative traced to her?” the Doctor asked, enlarging the scan of your DNA. Large parts of your genes were highlighted in bright orange and another set of text appeared: NO GENETIC MATCHES FOUND. The Doctor continued: “I checked everything. What diseases she’s immune to, her microbiome, and general physiology. All signs point to her being human, but it’s this that gives me trouble. This specific sequence not only doesn’t belong to any human, but doesn’t relate to any living species on Earth. It’s not spliced, it’s the same genome she was given to the day she was born.”

“So she’s an alien,” Rory said, albeit a bit unsure. 

“As much as she is human, yes,” the Doctor answers, typing more things out. “Monk working as a soldier, New Yorker with Nepali money, human with alien DNA. So alien that the sequence doesn’t match any known species—sentient or not—across the Milky Way. I even sent a sample to the Department of Intergalactic Biologics back in Andromeda. Nothing back yet, but I’ve been told that my case is top priority.”

Amy leans her body against the edge of the console. “Last time you asked them for help they took a month to reply back. If I recall correctly, that case was also top priority. Are you going to keep her here until then?”

“That’s the plan, yes,” the Doctor replied. There was an edge of frustration lined in his words. He hoped his normally erratic behavior covered it well enough. “Even if she did omit elements to her story, I doubt it will clear anything up. However, my reason for keeping her onboard is to monitor her CMBR. Specifically, how her body houses it. Or worse, if it can metabolize it.”

Amy’s lips pursed in thought. “Metabolize? As in eat it?”

“As in convert it to energy,” Rory corrects. He glanced at the Doctor for confirmation, to which the man nodded. 

“And that’s supposed to be a bad thing?” Amy asked. “Shouldn’t that be a good thing? That means that the radiation wouldn’t harm her or us.”

The Doctor shakes his head, his body wrung tight with tension. “You and I see her as who she is, as a sentient being with ambitions and goals. At best she could harness the radiation and be at peak physical performance at all times with little food. But not everyone will see her as such.” 

Amy’s eyes narrowed slightly in confusion at the Doctor’s purposefully vague wording. A part of her regretted trying to prod the alien for information. 

Realization of the Doctor’s word dawned on Rory nearly immediately. “She’ll be a battery.”

The Doctor let out a heavy sigh. “A weapon would be the correct term. That's why I couldn’t let her go to the hospital. Even a human one. At such a vulnerable stage, anyone could try to conjure ways to extract the energy inside of her. If not the staff, then surely any desperate enough group who are willing to get their hands on a stable energy source by any means necessary.” 

As much as your odd words and mysterious origin makes the Doctor’s temple ache, it relieved him that he and the Ponds were the first to find you. With countless wars and fights for resources plaguing galaxies across the universe, there’s no doubt in his mind that you would’ve been picked off and made into something less than. All things good and human would be torn away, and you would be left as a husk whose sole purpose was to give and give until you simply couldn’t. 

If what you said was true, that multiverses do exist, then that reality has already come true. The Doctor didn’t make it in time and the universe would have swallowed you into an unknown path where not even the TARDIS could track you down. So many possibilities sprung from his mind that he nearly forgot he was being watched carefully by the Ponds. 

The Doctor didn’t acknowledge the worried looks of his companions. With a deep breath, the man steadied his mind and straightened his back. Back to his old self. 

He clasped his hands and pivoted towards the Ponds. “Right, no point in worrying about the would have or could have. Focus on the now—the present and what we control. As Amy pointed out, our top priority should be our patient’s health and well-being. I’ll save the testing ‘til she’s in full recovery.”

“And how long would that be? A few days?” Rory asked. At the rate you’ve seemed to recover, it would be a matter of time before you were at your full strength.

“I don’t know,” the Doctor admitted. Arguably a worrying statement coming from someone like him. “Internal bleeding and bruising are healing exceptionally fast, but it’s her arms. Whatever force, power—what have you—had done that damage seemed to alter the way her cells repair themselves. It’s hard to tell why, but it’s not going to heal the same way the rest of her body does. That is a certainty.” 

“But she’ll live, right?” Amy asks, a bit fearful of what the answer would be. 

Rory looked expectantly at the Doctor as well. 

Once again, the Doctor is reminded of why he is so fond of humans and their planet. Why he orbits the Earth and adopted it like it’s his own. 

“The chance is never zero,” the Doctor reminds, but his grin betrays his own bias. “I think she’ll be okay.”

— — —

The medicine the Doctor gave you managed to knock you out for three hours. There was no label to tell you what exactly you were putting in your body, but you knew that the Doctor could’ve easily killed you in the five days that you were in his care. After drinking the entire pitcher of crisp water, you took a single pill. In no time, your body sagged against worn pillows and the warm duvet. 

You would’ve probably slept a lot longer had it not been for Amy desperately trying to wake you. 

“You have to get up,” she whispered, gently shaking your shoulder. When you stir slightly, she raises her voice a bit louder. “Rory says you need to eat. You can go back to bed after, promise.”

Sleep still clung to you, trying to pull you back to the soothing, dreamless state you were before. You had half the mind to ignore her, hoping that she will get the message and leave you be. As you shifted your body away from her hands, you felt a familiar ache in your stomach. A loud, rumbling growl that echoed inside your body. 

That certainly woke you up. 

Amy’s laugh further cemented your embarrassment, but you knew she wasn’t trying to make fun of you. She helped you out of your bed as your arms were incapable of hauling the duvet off of you. Still groggy with sleep, you allowed Amy to hover beside you as you stubbornly limp to the door. 

“The Doctor went out for supplies,” Amy says. “Just going to be me and Rory for the time being. We would’ve let you sleep longer, but Rory realized that the Doctor took out your feeding tube, meaning you haven’t had any food for twelve hours.”

“He knew I was going to be awake?” You had to remind yourself that you weren’t back on Earth with your limited technologies. They probably had your whole genome mapped and analyzed by now. 

Amy let out a frustrated sigh. “He had a hunch, but kept Rory and I in the dark. Turns out he wanted to interrogate you alone. He didn’t piss you off, did he?”

You tried to think back on your initial conversation with the Doctor. The confusion, the whip-fast talking, and the odd words he said. U.N.I.T.…Torchwood…

“The Doctor called me something.” You wracked your brain, trying to push past your sleep-deprived memories. “Spor…Sporgatuu? He got pretty upset, accusing me of trying to get him to join a club?”

Amy stopped in her tracks and gave you a questioning look. “He said that to you?” She gave a scoff and under her breath mumbled: “Unbelievable.”

“What? What did he mean by that?”

“The Doctor calls them a fringe, off-the-wall cult,” Amy starts. “One of the oldest in the universe. What we know is that they want the Doctor to join and they always send a woman to speak with him. I’ve only seen one of them, and I can tell you first hand that they got a few screws loose. They believe in magic and that their gods live in other universes. Don’t worry, I’m sure the Doctor knows by now that you’re not one of them.”

You gave a small chuckle. “He sure seemed pretty convinced back there.”

Amy rolled her eyes. “The Doctor is as stupid as he is smart. His heart is in the right place, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t do questionable things. How about we put away the multiverse talk and think about something else for a change. Like…how do you feel about stew?”

— — —

The kitchen wasn’t too far off from the med bay. You managed the distance without wincing or injuring yourself further. Inside, you could smell the cooking vegetables and feel the steam warming up the room. Rory stood at the stove with a plain black apron and some upbeat jazz in the background. You wanted to keep to yourself, opting to sit on the barstool on the kitchen island. Amy respected your silence, not wanting to further distress you and went to join her husband despite his insistence that he could handle cooking. 

She helped Rory with setting the table and poured you a generous serving. Dinner consisted of veggie stew and mashed potatoes. The steam kissed your cheeks and the plate was warm to the touch.

Rory became sheepish when you rightfully complimented his cooking. The steamed carrots melted on your tongue and the seasoning was a delicate blend of savory with a tiniest splash of sweet. The last meal you remember having was microwaved dim sum and expired fried rice. Between covert missions and temple duties, you didn’t think to restock your fridge or have any spare time to grab a decent meal. 

You learned that Rory was automatically elected to babysit you as the only human medical professional. The Doctor simply handed a communication device should he run into trouble. Amy wanted to stick behind, partially because she wanted Rory’s cooking, but also to see how you were doing. She knew how hard transitioning into TARDIS-life (as she called it), and hoped to make it smoother for you. 

After your first plate was cleared, your stomach still felt hollow and ravenous. By the third time Amy refilled your plate, Rory brought the cast iron pot on the stove to the counter in front of you. Breathing became a suggestion and shoving spoonfuls of stew became your sole priority. 

You didn't realize how much you missed home cooked meals. With missions across time and space, your options for food were limited at best. Slobs of unintelligible meat with exotic plants that could poison you were unfortunately very common. 

It was during the holidays or times where your body was on the verge of collapsing were when you could indulge in simple comforts. 

Warm food, cozy bed, time with your parents and siblings.

The thought makes you pause. Hunger that festered in your stomach for the past hour had evaporated, leaving a sour pain. 

Amy, who was observing you like a hawk, immediately picked up the miniscule change in attitude. “Something wrong?”

You cleared your throat. A scratchy, hoarse sound. You shook your head, “Sorry, just lost in thought. It's just…been so long since I had any good food.”

Just how long has it been? Weeks? Months?

It was better to consume anything remotely edible than be picky. You’d learned that the hard way. That didn’t mean that eating mystery meats and slobs was enjoyable. If anything, it made the juxtaposition of seasoned stew and creamy mashed potatoes all the more jarring. 

The two of them said nothing as you slowly ate the rest of your plate. By the time your spoon scraped the bottom of your bowl and your fork scooped the last bits of mashed potato, Rory had decanted the leftovers into plastic tubs. Amy took over dishwashing duty, thoroughly scrubbing the pans and utensils. 

Slowly, you rose from your chair with your empty plate in hand. Movement was difficult and your full stomach made you feel the beginning stages of sleepiness. Still, you made your way over to the couple and placed your plate beside the sink. 

“Thank you. Seriously, you don’t know how much this means to me,” you say softly.  

Amy seemed surprised at your admission. Then, a wide grin blossomed on her face. You returned with a small one of your own, pained as it was. 

— — —

The first time you wandered through the TARDIS by yourself was downright terrifying. When the Ponds supplied you with their information regarding the space-craft, you realized that you were far too tired to actually hold onto the information. Bits and pieces of the conversation stood out; bigger-on-the-inside, spatial warping, dizziness. Amy advised to call one of them to guide you around as it can be overwhelming to experience the TARDIS alone. 

Three days and some hours have passed since you’ve woken up on the strange ship. You’ve always had a speedy recovery—something you’ve come to loathe—and your altered cells have only increased it. Walking around the room can now be handled without any opioids or morphine (courtesy of Rory). Days were spent glued to the bed, broken by the timely visits by the Ponds or the Doctor. Rory made the executive decision to prescribe bed-rest. A week at least. 

Three days and you’re now starting to lose it. With all the sleep medication and sore limbs, you were practically welded to the mattress. 

You’ve walked down the hallways before, but always accompanied by one of the Ponds and never further than a few doors down to the kitchen. So when you woke up much earlier than anticipated, you made the impulsive decision to wander out. 

The door to the med-bay was a light blue tint over the steel; it silently shut itself behind you when you crossed into the hallway. Other doors were other versions of plain steel. You foolishly thought that if you kept track of the doors you’d see, you eventually make your way back to your squeaky cot until it was time for the Doctor to do his daily checkup. You told yourself that you’ll only be gone five—maybe ten minutes tops. 

Blue steel of the med-bay’s door marked the end of the hallway. You hadn’t walked for thirty seconds before you felt a strange shift in the air. As if something had moved and the air blew in response. Turning around, you expected to see the end of the hallway staring back.

An endless, repeating hallway met you instead. On and on it went that you could see a small vanishing point on the horizon. 

Maybe you were freaked out. A cold sweat overcame you and you started to walk back to where you came from. You twist your neck left and right to try and see the familiar door. All of the doors along the hallway were plain silver steel. 

Air billowed around you, like seconds before. This time, it fluttered your cotton shirt and the cuffs of your loose pants. You turned around, nearly jumping out of your skin. 

Blue steel inches away from your face. You turned back around and saw the same endless hallway. Looking at the reflective surface of the med-bay, your fingers hesitantly felt the metal, shocked that it was solid. 

Now you were more than a little freaked out. Maybe you were a little impressed. Was hallucinating part of the side effects of the drugs you were taking? No magic, so space-warping spells are immediately ruled out. You’d encountered many things, but the warping of space without the aid of some type of magic was perplexing. Scary, even. 

And very intriguing. 

It took some mulling and a lot of overthinking. The best hypothesis you could come up with is that the TARDIS is somehow telekinetic. When you panicked and tried looking for the med-bay, it immediately materialized, just out of your sight. 

So you wandered about away from the med-bay, longer than you had previously. You needed to put as much distance between you and the last known location of the med-bay so there could be no doubt. As you gingerly walked, you took the time to catalog the different doors. Most of this hallway was steel, but now that you’re taking time to observe, you realize the slight variations. Some were inscribed in alien language, others had tacky door knobs that didn’t fit with the aesthetic of the door, each one had a small plaque next to them. Some were numbered and others had plain English. Words like “pool”, “storage”, “1890s Costumes”, and other odd labels. 

Turning around, you see the endless hallway. Turning back, the same was met back. Closing your eyes, you plead:

I want to go to med-bay.

Air in front of your face swooshes away, kissing your eyelids. When you opened, the blue steel flooded your vision. 

You were still freaked out, but curiosity eventually won. 

You told yourself a couple minutes at the most to explore; that the Doctor would be waiting to check up on you.

Five minutes easily slipped to ten. Ten to twenty, and eventually you had been gone for an hour. Instead of the med-bay, you tried to summon different doors. Hell, you even opened a few rooms. 

The pool room (yes, a room full of pools) was huge, easily swallowing the med-bay by a few thousand square-feet. Costume related rooms were mostly a plain white room with racks of period clothing. Sometimes there were a pile of mismatched fabrics in the corner, as if someone haphazardly sifted through them. 

Easily, you’ve been in over fifty different rooms. You’d found another kitchen, which looked straight out of a 60s home magazine. Light green walls, pastel appliances, and a large fridge filled with various leftovers. It was bigger than the ones in New York, but smaller in comparison to the vast rooms of the TARDIS. 

You walked down the hexagonal archways, everything blurring together. You didn't mind the repetition as it made each room seem like a mystery. 

A few rooms stood out the most. Ones that had a name and had painted wood instead of steel. They were spread out from one another, taking you twenty to thirty minutes before seeing another one. 

Their knobs were round brass and when you went to touch it, there was a whisper of warmth. As if someone just held it before you. Some variations of these doors were present. 

“Martha” had grooves and was painted beige. 

“Donna” was a light blue with some flourish on the door knob. 

“Rose”, as the name suggests, was a dusted pink with small, colorful flowers. Each of them was locked shut, so tightly in fact, that the door knob didn’t wiggle no matter how much force was put in them. 

Old companions was the likely answer. People, like Amy and Rory, who were swept away from Earth and into deep space and time. You get the feeling that the Doctor locked them for a reason. 

Eventually, you made your way through the endless hallways, completely forgetting about the Doctor’s timely visit. Your hand glides through the oddly shaped hallway and your feet softly padding down clean floors. You didn’t have a destination in mind, just blindly walking in a straight line. It was repetitive, calming in the way meditation was. You didn’t think about potential meetings with masters, or the Infinity Stones residing inside you. 

Guilt was still there, always lingering in your body. Then again, there was always something weighing you down. Still, you kept walking, completely lost in your own bubble. 

Your body has healed remarkably since your waking. Soreness ebbed to stiffness and the nerves damaged had slowly, but surely, been repaired. Your hands haven't had the same luxury as the rest of your body. Still stitching itself together. Deep lines along your veins that had barely been scabbed over. Even if  weeks passed the Doctor believes it will take a year before your skin will finally close. Until then, gauze will cover them, keeping them safe from further damage. 

You hope your body will pull itself together soon. Residue energy from your universe—though terribly unlikely—could help speed things up. 

Air shifts behind you. 

Confused, you turn to see the med-bay materialize, even though you didn’t summon it. Footsteps were heard behind the door and before you knew it, the door swung open. 

The Doctor hung in the doorway, equally as confused. 

“There’s a lot of doors out here. Gets kind of confusing,” you say, as if it was the perfect explanation to your whereabouts. You slipped past the Doctor and into the room. 

The Doctor followed you, still utterly confused. “You could’ve at least told me you wanted to wander. You could get lost in there.”

“But I didn’t. It’s not that hard to figure out how to find your way back,” you say, plopping down on the squeakiest mattress. “Amy failed to mention how the TARDIS can warp space and is telepathic. Is it sentient? Did someone die here?”

A ghost, an emotional one especially, could explain the weird ship without delving into magic. Still spiritual, but not touching sorcerer territory. 

“Kind of, and no. If you knew your way back, why did you take so long to return? I had to get the Ponds out there looking for you.” The Doctor grabs several rolls of gauze and some ointments. 

You paused for a moment. Then, you answered honestly, “It was repetitive. I could walk for a mile and have the med-bay appear the second I command it.” 

I didn’t feel lost. 

For the first time in weeks—months even, you managed to entertain yourself without interruption. You had time to focus, shift your mind into a peaceful state. Even if it was temporary. You take any victory with stride, no matter how small. 

The Doctor unravels your gauze with surprising carefulness. You don’t see him much on account of your sleeping habits and his tenacity to leave the TARDIS for long periods of time. In the rare glimpses you do see, the Doctor is erratic as much as he is smart. Constantly bumping into corners, fumbling instead of walking, always in motion even when seated. 

It’s only when he engages in his namesake is when the Doctor is gentle and slow. Mumblings are few and his focused gaze is hidden behind his brown, wild hair. 

When the entirety of your right arm is revealed, it’s still as raw and tender as yesterday. Most of your skin seemed to remain intact, save for the deep, exposing gashes along your veins. A burn describes skin that's peeled and blistered. A cut would aptly describe the wounds you have. It’s clean, burrowing deep into muscle like butter. It winds and twists around your arms, only stopping around your bicep. From there, the only damage you see is dark, almost purple markings that extend to the middle of your chest and back. 

“It could be worse,” the Doctor notes, sincere and light-hearted.

A small chuckle escapes, but your words are dull. “It definitely feels worse.”

The Doctor reaches for the ointments, weird smelling pastes, and a saline solution. The saline is bottled in a dark, glass bottle written in a script that barely passes as English. After submerging a cotton round, the Doctor dabs the solution along the open wounds. Cold liquid cascades down, kissing the raw edges of your tissue. Up and up the cotton goes until all sides are discolored with flecks of blood and old ointments. 

You don’t mind the silence this process brings. It’s never awkward or boring. The cleanings don’t burn or sting anymore and the Doctor’s focus allows you to observe him. A habit you’ve gotten since you were young, always cataloging features of the people around you. Doctors, policemen, civilians. 

When the Doctor moves to get the next set of items, your eyes briefly meet. He doesn’t seem alarmed at your staring, even when he catches you often. He commented once how you often look at people more when they face away from you. You suppose he’s referring to the times where the Ponds interact with you. For a moment—perhaps for the first time—you really observed his eyes. A clear, muted green that easily slips into blue. The skin and features surrounding his eyes are young and prominent. It’s easy for his eyes to blend into his face and go unnoticed. But at this distance, you see him for who—what he is. 

“You’re old.” 

It’s a second too late and you realize how terribly you’ve worded your scattered thoughts.  

The Doctor looked startled. He immediately turns to the reflective bottles beside him and twists his head around, capturing his features on all sides. Before you could take back your words and verbalize what you actually meant, he scoffs, never taking his eyes away from his reflection. 

“Old? Me? Humans age, it’s natural, it’s supposed to happen.” You can’t tell if he’s talking to you or just rambling to himself. Then, he turns to you with concern, rubbing his throat. “It’s the neck isn’t it? Amy tells me that it’s the first place that starts to change. Or is it the hair? She tells me it doesn't suit me. Or was that Rory?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say, trying to cut in before he misunderstands further. “I mean, sort of—I just mean that you’re older than you appear. You still look young, but you’re for sure older than us, the Ponds and I. You’re immortal. At the very least not human.” 

Now that you’ve verbalized it, everything about the Doctor’s behavior and being makes sense. Apart from the odd clothing and overly loud personality, there’s something off about him. It really shows when the Ponds are also in the same room as him. It’s not scary or uncanny. So subtle that most wouldn’t be able to tell. But you’re not most.

It’s the misplaced, dated slang. The sense that he knows too much and isn’t afraid to show it. How he constantly refers to the Ponds as “people” but sometimes slips into “you humans”. It seems he catalogs every sensory input, from the subtle change in the air to the pumping of his heart, because his brain has the capacity to do so. 

The sheer happiness radiating off the Doctor is infectious. His wide grin and twinkling eyes, joyous that you’ve caught on. 

“What gave it away?” he wonders, an echo of childlike curiosity. He tilts his head, leans ever-so-slightly towards you. 

It’s clearer now. The weight of centuries lingering in the depths of his iris. How could you have not noticed sooner? It’s familiar. Being an apprentice of the Ancient One; having spent countless months—maybe years—traveling between worlds where time is merely another dimension for you to alter. You’ve met and befriended a god whose age transcends the thousands and more so deities who have made you their sworn enemy. 

You remember the first time you’ve met Rocket. How despite his appearance as a normal mammal, you could immediately spot his wisdom before he uttered a snarky question. The way the Collector carries himself and how his brother regards you as less than. But time always manifests. Maybe not in the grooves of one's skin or the white strands of hair, but in the eyes. Always. 

“I’ve seen enough to know. You hide it better than most.” 

The Doctor’s smile doesn’t fade. He still has your wrist in his hand, a gentle but firm grasp. When he squeezes it subconsciously, he finally remembers why he’s there with you. 

Something crosses his face. A thought that makes his brow twitch and his focus falter. “And what are you?”

It shouldn’t surprise you that he asks. You survived a shock of radiation that would’ve no doubt vaporized any other being. Your body heals at an accelerated rate to the point where it takes less than a week for you to walk again. 

It shouldn’t surprise you, but you’re caught off-guard nonetheless. 

Your throat tightens, your tongue feeling like paper in your mouth. “I’m a person. With thoughts and feelings.”

The Doctor stares a moment longer. His lips settle into a more neutral state, and he thinks over your response. You wait for a response, but he turns away. He then grabs a tube of blue paste, the one that smells like burnt rice, and resumes his care. 

You watch as his fingers glide over your hand. Starting with the middle of your palm and working his way out. To the lengths of your fingers, then the tops of your hand and up your forearm. The paste is dense and hard to manipulate. The tips of his finger catch on the sharp, dry flakes of skin and it stings. 

His response is delayed, so much that you’ve returned to watching his work on your arm in deep thought. When the Doctor speaks in a calm, observant voice, it glides through the silence. “You used the word ‘person’. Not ‘human’ or some snide comment that humans normally respond to when asked. Your first thought was to make me emphasize, to humanize yourself without saying it.”

The Doctor’s analysis cuts straight through you, pinning you in place. The way he says it is so matter-of-fact, as if reading from a book that is lying in front of him. 

To have the observation made by someone you know little about—

Your answer is rushed, almost shamed. “It’s just that…some people seem to forget. They’re more concerned about what I can do for them, feelings are second.”

You couldn’t blame the masters for doing so. You often took the hardest jobs, throwing away your childhood one mission at a time. Perhaps it was easier to treat you as a powerful soldier, pushing you to your absolute limits, because it’s easier than acknowledging that they’re enabling your suffering.

The Doctor doesn’t comment or try to analyze the words you say. Fresh gauze winds itself securely back onto your wounds. Your left arm was cleaned and wrapped at the fraction of the time it took your right. At the speed he was going, the Doctor still made sure to not harm you further. 

You don’t say anything when he piles the glass bottles into a drawer next to the sink. Nor do you acknowledge him when he goes towards the door. You feel his heavy stare and the questions that hang in the air. 

You don’t move from your spot until long after his footsteps fade away. 

— — —

In your travels you’ve come to know two things. One: you do exist in other universes. Two: none of them are sorcerers. None of them get their magic. They all seem to live ordinary lives, plagued with little threat, and return to their homes safe and sound. Sometimes there’s trouble in the form of being late to appointments or the forgetting of pants. It’s a break from fighting demons in realms without time. Perhaps you offer alternate versions of yourself fantastical dreams. In return you get to live out a life where you chose differently.

You’ve come to treasure these dreams. It was a break from the norm. So when you start to lie down and the TARDIS lights dim, it wasn’t dreams you were experiencing.

Instead of the normal dreams, ones where you live vicariously through the various alternate lives that you have, you have memories. Exact recreations. No autonomy; nothing you can do but simply watch.

— — —

Guilt festers. It grows and grows until you can do nothing but wallow in your anger. Anger is new. What used to be bottomless sadness that leaves you heavy has now been replaced by bubbling rage. 

You’re glad no one on board shares your gift of sensing energy. Behind every neutral look, every small grin, every dry-humored joke were storms of emotion. It hurts, physically pains you that you allow your grief to evolve. 

You deserve it. All of it. 

There was a point in time where the voice in your head sounded like yours. Then your mother’s. 

Wanda now whispers, her voice echoing in your ear like nails on a chalkboard. 

— — —

There’s a pattern to the dreams—memories, rather. 

If one night you experience a pleasant, mundane sliver of your life, the next will be filled with agony. Sometimes you’re lucky, and get a dreamless rest. But those are few and far between.

You’re not in bed, lying on a dingy cot that squeaks with any miniscule movement. Glowing orange walls are replaced with light green paint and white trim. Disinfectant morphs to a sweet, ambery vanilla from the candles your mother collects. 

The air is warm with the bristling of energy, and sunlight caresses every surface in the living room. 

You shouldn’t be here. 

“Are you okay?” 

A childish voice, one that rings through the air, in the silence of your thoughts. 

Snapping your head down, you meet the scrutinous gaze of your younger brother. Younger than you remember when you’d seen him last. He sits on the old Persian carpet your father loves dearly. No one is allowed to play on the good carpets, lest they ruin the intricate design underneath. Elio sits with his trucks and action figures scattered around him.

But your parents are away and you let him play as long as you’re watching. 

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m just tired from traveling. Probably be even more tired when I go back to the Sanctum.” 

“You’re leaving again.”

You feel his pain before his face betrays him. He knows it, hiding his eyes as he stares at the dozens of toys lying around him. Too many for one boy to play with. 

You were gone for three months, trapped in a universe that is comparable to Hell on Earth. Nearly missed your father’s birthday and Master Hamir’s annual potluck; the latter you don’t really care as much. 

No matter how sore your body is or how much work awaits you at your office, you make it a point to see your family after each mission. Always. 

“Not for a few hours at least. Seems like you’re stuck with me.”

For someone who’s age hasn’t passed the double digits, Elio doesn’t let his emotions show. You don’t blame him. Since you’ve gotten promoted, your visits have gotten shorter and shorter. Soon, you’re going to be regarded as just another adult in his life. 

No. You already are. The Elio in front of you is not the one you’d left behind once more. 

The floorboards creak, signaling the arrival of another member of the family. A pink ball of energy, with a fury that rivals your own.

“Elio! I told you not to take my stuff!” 

Lene’s shrill, whiny voice is almost jarring against the silence of the estate. Her puffy cheeks and wrinkled princess gown makes it known that she had just woken up. 

Elio doesn’t bother to look up from his toys. He responds in a calmer manner than his younger sister, “(Y/N) said I could play with your toys as long as you were still asleep.”

At the mention of your name, Lene freezes. Her face was so full of surprise that her eyes bulged out of her head. 

You’re situated on a couch right beside the entrance of the living room, yet Lene’s face morphs into shock at you. As if she’s seeing you for the first time. 

“I thought you left already,” she mumbles, her gaze wide and unmoving. 

You stare back, unsure of how she would react. 

And react she did. Not a second later, her nose scrunches up and tears begin to form. “Does…Does that mean—”

Lene couldn’t finish her sentence before a sob escaped her. Tears that are almost comically big started to bead off her eyes in droplets. Her shrill voice got louder with each cry. Immediately, you scrambled on the floor to embrace the small girl. Her tiny hands wrapped around you and you feel your shirt getting damp. 

“I’m not leaving for a while, okay?” you cooed softly in her ear. Scooping her up in your arms, you start to rock her, holding her tightly. “(Y/N) is gonna leave tomorrow morning, so that means you have the rest of the day with me!”

Your words did nothing but make your sister sob even harder into your chest. You can barely make out her words between each hiccup. “I-I already sl-slept all d-day!”

Glancing up at the window, you can see the sun making its descent. 

Not again.

“I’m gonna visit again soon, you’ll see me again,” you promised, trying to speak over her wails. Still, it feels empty when you say it. “Mommy and Daddy will come home soon and you can ask them to visit me in Nepal. Or what about New York? Don’t you wanna see New York?”

If it wasn’t for the fact that Lene is burying her face in your shirt to muffle her cries, you would for sure lose hearing in one ear. She shakes her head violently, gripping onto you tighter. 

You rock and bounce, still remembering the motions when she was just a small baby. You still see her as such, even now that she’s bigger than most kids her age. 

Her cries mellow into loud hiccups and her pudgy fingers grip onto your crisp shirt like a vice. You feel the wet patch where her tears fell, but you continue to rock her in your arms. 

“Are you really gonna leave tomorrow?”

You almost didn’t catch what Elio said. His voice sounded so small. Far away. His face is downcast, picking at the fibers of the rug beneath him. 

“He misses you a lot, you know. Looks up to you, more than anyone else.”

Your father’s disappointment hits you hard. As stoic as Elio always seems to be, you know how much you mean to him. How much he means to you. How you fight tooth and nail to make it home for the holidays, birthdays, and everything in between. 

To the world you’re Seraph. The Burning One. Master of the Mystic Arts. 

It’s hard to see yourself as anything other than that.

It was difficult to maneuver on the floor with a crying child in your arms, but you managed to lie down on your back next to your brother. Lene’s cries dwindled to violent hiccups as she curled up on your side. You turn your head towards your brother who avoids your stare. Stubborn. You pat the empty space next to you. 

Elio hesitates. For a moment, he stays rooted in his spot, contemplating. At this angle, you can clearly see the hurt on his face. Can feel the hurt. A constant stream of deep longing that pours and weaves between the space of spiritual and physical. Between dream and reality. 

With the wobble of his lip, Elio scoots to your empty side and hugs you tightly. The river of emotions is more intense, almost washing over you. It didn’t take long for his tears to follow. It's a silent cry, one that shakes his body but no noise escapes.

His grip is tighter, his hold on your bruising. The lack of outward passion and vigor doesn't diminish the intensity of his feelings. More so than the normal person. 

It's why he doesn't run to greet you at the door anymore. Why he tends to play next to you rather than with you. 

You don't know whether he naturally keeps his emotions to himself, or if it's something he learned from you. 

“They don't want a hero,” your mother once snarled at you. Her wrinkled eyes would pierce through you, full of hurt. “You're their sister. Act like it.”

You don’t remember how long you stayed on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Your shirt was drenched with tears, spit, and snot but you didn’t move or push them away. If anything, you pulled them tighter against you. 

You didn’t cry. Your chest didn’t ache nor did your stomach cramp from the guilt. You can’t allow yourself to. If you keep crying helplessly whenever you leave, it will only hurt you more. 

By the time the sun dipped past the horizon, your two siblings had long exhausted themselves. You wait an hour more before gently carrying them up to their rooms. With a help of some magic, you managed to tuck them in their beds without so much as a single stir. 

A buzz came from your phone, along with it a sense of dread. 

Master Rokda: The Elders request a debrief of your mission on Earth 75-C. Do not keep them waiting.

When you meet your parents at the front door, they don’t comment on the fact that you’ve put on your sorcerer attire. You promised to be gone for an hour and be back for dinner. 

You pretend not to notice the crestfallen expression of your father or the lack of emotion from your mother. 

— — —

Energy still fires in your blood. Taunting you. 

You should try. The very least you could do is try to harness the power you absorbed.

It’s easier to move now that most of your body has healed. Sleep is now in tune with your circadian rhythm meaning you can stay awake for longer. Your hands are still tightly bound with gauze with only your fingers being exposed. The Doctor replaces the wrappings everyday so you can clean and examine the progress. 

The Doctor had warned you that your arms wouldn’t heal the same, even with the technology he possessed. 

You shake your head, clearing unnecessary thoughts. 

Try. That’s all you have to do. 

Taking a deep breath, you perform some basic maneuvers that maximize the flow of energy throughout your body. Stiffness in your legs and arms are expected, but the strain is difficult to push through. Your muscles still remember the placement of your arms, the amount of force with each step, the way your lungs expand in your chest. 

Your body is used to taking. Greedily absorbing any energy you come into contact with. It’s hard to reverse what you’re used to. To release rather than to hoard. 

The power of the stones sits stubbornly in your body and around your soul. Once frenzied and bubbled, the energy slowly settled as the days passed. Burrowing deeper, melting into any space between your cells. 

You feel your body warm up. Heartbeats quicken and your breathing gets deeper. Your tempo doesn’t change, only the force behind each punch and step. Again. Again. Again. You focus on precision. Every valve of your heart, every cell moving in your body. The way your nerves spark and burn around your arms, down your spine, surrounding you. 

Again. 

Again.

Again.

It’s slow at first. Barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. A flow of heat blooming from your soul, bleeding into your physical body. Streams of static curl alongside the blood flowing, and it creates a strain against your movements. 

As if something’s holding you back. 

Fluid movements slow. Muscles start tightening as the stones’ power solidifies. No longer a scalding plasma, but a physical force that locks your body. 

Again.

Muscles beneath your skin grow taut. Sweat accumulates, forming a film around you. 

Again.

It’s starting to hurt. The fluid precision is slowly morphing to choppy, erratic motions. 

Aga—

The tension wins out against your body, locking you in place. You drop to the floor, gasping as your knees knock painfully on the floor. All at once you cease movement; not even able to twist your neck or limbs. 

You’re trapped. 

You can’t move. You can’t move. You can’t move.

All at once, the orange walls turn into the familiar grasslands of Wakanda. It’s hot. It hurts.

A scent that is so sickeningly sweet and leathery that hangs in the air like thick smoke. It mingles with the ash on your clothes and you can’t breathe. 

Screaming. You hear it in front of you. Around you. 

Breathe breathe breathe—

You can feel it—God you can taste it. Your own flesh searing off. It’s in your mouth, all over your body. You can’t breathe. Why can’t you breathe? Why can’t you move? 

You don't see the old creaky cot you’ve been sleeping in or the mirror next to the porcelain sink. You’re still on the field—no in the jungle. It hurts, it burns, everything is killing you. 

I want to leave. I want to leave. I want to leave—

The air hums with energy. The floor rattles and shakes. Someone’s—something’s panicking. 

Your body caves in on itself and your cheek smashes against cold flooring. 

You feel the strong pulses of energy flowing beneath you. It’s erratic. Alive. Your body tries to siphon it off. No, that’s not right. 

The energy is coming to you. It’s warm. Your hand reaches out, trying to meet it halfway. 

You see the door slam open, a rush of voices, and a burst of emotions mingling with the warmth. 

“You’re not meant for this.”

A voice. Familiar. It’s angry, bleeding with disdain and hurt. 

“Can’t you see this is killing you?”

Your mother’s voice sounds so clear. You miss her. Even if most of the words you spare to each other are angry. 

“Give up. Give up everything. This life isn’t meant for you.”

No. No it wasn’t. 

Only when you closed your eyes, and your consciousness slipped away, is when the taste of your flesh finally leaves your mouth. 

— — —

When you finally came to, it had only been a few hours since the Doctor had found you on the floor. 

He had parked the TARDIS beside the Ponds’ house, hoping to pick them up from their family reunion. The moment the three of them entered the console room did the TARDIS suddenly start acting up. Lights around the room started to flicker and the room seemed to pulsate with urgency. 

It wasn’t long before the med-bay materialized and the Doctor found you lying on the ground. 

There was a dazed look in your eyes, as if you were caught in a dream-like trance. Only when the Doctor came did the TARDIS return to normal. 

A quick scan of your body revealed nothing out of the ordinary. A temporary paralysis brought out by excessive movement. Or so the Doctor says based on what you told him. 

You were trying to gain movement back and became engrossed in your exercise. Not an outright lie, but you didn’t want to remember what transpired. 

You’re tired and you make it known. 

Thankfully, no dreams come to haunt you. Or the night after that. 

— — —

A full week has passed. At least, according to Rory. It certainly felt longer. 

You’re glad they respected your space and need to grieve silently. 

You reap what you sow. 

Today the voice is the sweet, gentle cadence of your mentor. Late mentor. 

Yesterday the memory was of an afternoon brunch with Stephen and Wong. Warm pasta with the side of your favorite juice. A rare day when the three of you forgo the sorcerer attire and wear something casual. Of course, you and Stephen transmutate your robes into jeans and a sweatshirt. Wong tends to spend his limited paycheck on “real clothing”.  

It’s only fitting that tonight’s memory is a violent contrast to yesterday’s serene moment. 

You knew it wasn’t real. All of this. The blood, the panic, the body, was all just a cocktail of chemicals made by your brain. 

You’re fine. You’re in bed, you’re safe.

The Ancient One lies a few feet from you. Her golden robes slowly turned a dark crimson from the gaping wound in her stomach. 

You’re screaming. The air cuts your throat, your lungs burn with the force you exert. An ear-splitting screech that pulls your entire body with it. 

Everything feels sluggish as you desperately try to crawl towards her. Your hand tries to stop the bleeding but the wound cuts through her whole body. The blood is cold, gushing around your trembling hands. You can’t stop shaking. 

Something in the air crackles. A twisting feeling in your chest.

“Does it pain you?” Kaecilius asked, bent down to the other side of the Ancient One’s body. In his hand was a bloodied time shard.

You can’t force a word out. Pitiful sobs leave you; tears slide onto the sickly skin of the Ancient One’s forehead. Every shuddering breath makes it harder to control your body. The Ancient One’s skin is cold, infecting your skin with chills. Why is it so hard to breathe? 

It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s—

Kaecilius hovers above you while the other Zealots stand by awaiting orders. 

No other master is around to help you. They’re guarding the Sanctums while the Ancient One tracked her former student. 

Except they knew you were coming. They knew that the Ancient One would try to fight Kaecilius one-on-one. 

She made you wait with the other Masters in the Hong Kong Sanctum, but something in your gut told you something was wrong. A cold feeling that spreads all over your body. 

It was too late. 

Kaecilius knew you would come. He aimed the very shard in his hand towards you. 

He knew the Ancient One would come to block it.

Your hand trembles in a way that makes you angry—boiling with rage. 

“I’ve heard many stories about you. How the Ancient One sends you away on long, grueling missions into the multiverse. How she makes you take powers from dimensions above without indulging the true secrets to her powers.” Kaecilius gently raises your chin upwards, forcing your eyes to lock. “You can be something greater. Join us and together we could bring Dormammu to Earth. He is a savior. Our savior against time. Against death.”

At this distance, you can see the flecks of brown in his light blue eyes. No regret whatsoever for the deaths and damage caused by his selfish actions.

There’s a sharp sting where your nails dig into your palms. Suddenly, everything hushed. The crushing despair and endless anger swirl in your chest.  

“What are you going to do about it, Seraph?” Kaecilius taunts.

Your body jerks awake, chest still struggling to inhale. 

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Glancing at the metal plating of the ceiling, you reminded yourself of where you were. Not in one of the Sanctums, or your lush room in Kamar Taj, or your room in your parent’s house. You’re a very long way away. 

You throw the blankets off your clammy skin. It’s cold, unbearably so. Every hair along your body stands and your skin rises with it. 

Forcing your body upright was a feat in itself. Your limbs are still numb with sleep and your head throbbed in pain. Bringing your hands to your temples, you tried to stop the panic rising or spreading to your head. The last thing you need is to lose focus. 

He’s gone. 

Dead, along with the others. You made sure of that.

You took a long, deep breath. The stitches along your ribs throbbed as your skin stretched. You let the breath go with a shudder. Repeating the process again, this time with less resistance. Again, again, again until you can stop the shaking. 

Control yourself.

Fear would only make you vulnerable. Others could die by your inability to control it so you smother the fear, the panic, the guilt until there’s only an ache left behind. A cavernous hole in your chest that weighs you down. 

The room is suffocating, the walls are too close, you can still smell the blood—

You need air. Real air. Not the recycled stuff coming out of the vents. Rising out of bed, you try to find some way out.

In your unrest you always find yourself wandering down the corridors of the living machine. Endless halls, geometric interiors. An almost sentient being confined in a box of wires and metal. 

Although you are in the depths of space, the TARDIS tries to mimic night on Earth with its lack of lighting. 

Your vision is hazy and grainy, greatly increasing the risk of your tripping over. Placing your hand on the wall, you let the worn pads of your finger feel the traces of the TARDIS circuitry. Energy, old and powerful, dances beneath the wires and metal. As if to sense your apprehension, the walls slowly glowed a soft orange. 

“Thank you,” a hoarse whisper of appreciation. Your throat is still dry and swollen.

Warmth envelops your spine and the rhythmic pulsing of energy beneath your fingers. A thanks back. 

With each step you take, the more your body seems to wake. Keeping your fingers on the wall, you let the TARDIS be your guide. There’s no words communicated between you, just instinct and feeling. 

The hallway is short, only one soft turn at the other end. You can hear a faint clattering of metal just beyond.

It takes you a long while before you reach the entrance of the console room. A wide room with various lights, colorful wires, meta, and glass. At the center of it all, a large contraption with a mix-match of levers, knobs, and buttons. It was unlike any spacecraft you’d ever encountered, and you’d seen many. You were sure Rocket would curse at the lack of standardized spacecraft mechanisms. 

Beside the entrance of the room—the front door to the TARDIS—was a large hole filled with more wires and more circuitry. You try to stay as quiet as you can so as to not disturb whoever was tinkering. As you approached the hole, to your surprise there was no one inside. 

The air shifted behind you.

“Can’t sleep?”

Spinning around you were face to face with the Doctor; in his hands a wrench and some alien-looking parts. 

“You scared the fuck out of me,” you grit, loud enough for the Doctor to hear. 

“Hey, what did I tell you about that, hm? No cursing. My box, my rules.” The Doctor passed you and tentatively stepped into the abyss of wires. The hole was only chest deep, but he bent down so he could fully disappear.

You followed him to the edge, but didn’t step inside. 

Sensing your staring, the Doctor turns slightly towards you, locking eyes for a moment. Turning back around, he unscrews a few bolts. “Are your arms bothering you again? I have some medicine stocked up in the back of the cabinet next to the sink.” 

Sitting down, bringing your knees to your chin. Phantom pains still come and go, especially after a rough night of sleep. No doubt the Doctor put two and two together. 

You pick at the exposed wires jutting out. The rubber casing rolling between your thumb and pointer. Bright red. The color of your robes, the color of blood. “You’re right, can’t sleep. I should be too old for nightmares and yet, here I am.”

The Doctor stops his tinkering, standing upright so he can peek up at you. Pity clearly displayed. You try not to scowl.

“No one’s too old for them. Dreams are a reflection of your life. Nightmares, as much as we hate them, do have their purpose.”

You grunt, half agreeing. Because to him, dreams are nothing more than a cocktail of bad memories and hyper-active imagination. Nothing you say will change that. 

So you wipe away the discomfort, the guilt that bleeds into anger. You remember why you left your room in the first place.

“I’ve been walking on my own for a while now. A week at least.” You continue to roll the wires and pick at the copper sticking out. You feel the Doctor’s eyes on you, but you don’t mind him. 

The Doctor catches on to what you’re implying. “You want to go outside. On Earth?”

You shake your head. Because what good would it do to bring you to an empty imitation of the real thing? “I don’t mind going on a different planet. I just…I’m starting to go a bit crazy walking down the maze outside my room.”

“Thought you liked walking aimlessly for hours on end,” the Doctor says, leaning against the edge. His voice balances along the edge of teasing. “I have a box that travels through space and time. Anything you want—anywhere you want, I can take you. Any historical figure, any future figure. We can go to the first pizza shop, y’know because you’re from New York.”

A breath of a laugh escapes. “Very observant of you Doctor. Truth be told, I don’t want to get back to Earth. Not for a while at least.”

You try not to think about what you left behind. 

They’re resilient, you often have to remind yourself, They will survive. They have to. 

The Doctor, either choosing to ignore your sullen words or just happy to have the chance to show you something new and fun, immediately gets out of the man-made hole with a broad smile. His hand, warm and inviting, takes yours and sweeps you off your feet. Giddy and mischievous, the Doctor tugs you along to the convoluted and intricate console. 

You’ve peered at it a few times, often when you perched yourself atop the staircase or in passing when walking through the TARDIS. Never this close. 

Knobs, dials, metal, plastic, glass, and other random items welded or bolted together. Either true engineering feat or complete nightmare, you don’t know. The way the Doctor immediately goes to press buttons and pull levers at such a speed to where there’s a gentle breeze when he zips past you is fascinating to see. The more you look, the more puzzling the mechanisms. Do your eyes deceive you or are you looking at a rotary phone that is bolted to the side of the console?

“Time and space, all within our grasp.” The Doctor rushes to your side and whips out a swiveling monitor and a mechanical keyboard. “Since it’s your first time traveling, I do have to lay down a few ground rules. Firstly, do not wander off no matter how many times Amy encourages you to.” 

The Doctor types out something on his keyboard, the monitor displaying characters in some alien language. Pictures of a planet and charts of data appear along with some notes. 

“Two, never ever drink what’s being offered. More often than not it’s going to make you puke and have an aneurysm.” The Doctor spins around to smack and pull whatever’s in front of him. All of which is nonsense in your eyes. When he turns back to you, his gaze is serious and his finger points between your eyes. “Third, the most important. Always have fun!”

A lever with a cherry red handle is pulled down and the room shakes with energy. The TARDIS pulses, sings with power that flows and ebbs in the air. 

Your hands clumsily find purchase on the edge of the console, bracing as the shaking worsens. The sparks of energy lap at your skin and trickle into your flesh. Warm, tantalizing energy that makes you feel rather than empower. 

The TARDIS is alive. 

As if reading your jumbled thoughts, the energy pools toward you. Caressing your shaking body, enveloping you in a comforting hug. It doesn’t seep into your body and get absorbed by you, but simply hovers. 

When the shaking ceased, only then did the energy rippled in the air, settling to a stillness once more. 

— — —

The door to the outside opens, and the bright light from a foreign sun momentarily stuns you. First, you feel the crisp air kissing your face. Next come the smells of dirt, ocean, and salt. Shouts of street vendors, ships docking in the bay, and children laughing. 

You open your eyes and the light settles. Colors bloom into your vision with colorful signs, exotic tapestry, and anything that could possibly be eaten or made being sold in crowded huts. Clear, open blue sky and buildings that remind you of the bustling coast of Greece. Vendors of varying species, colors, and size all hustle anyone walking in hopes to purchase their goods. An entire city, alive and thriving off the coast of a foreign land on a planet across the Milky-Way. 

“The Veskarla Markets from the planet Tresh,” the Doctor says with pure delight, “Haven’t been here in centuries. Met their queen once, she was a very nice lady. Though, she would later put a nasty bounty on me. It’s not my fault that I didn’t know chickens were seen as a declaration of war.”

Amy steps in next to him, observing the scene in front of her. “You really start cracking open history books before going to places. Would save us from all the trouble you keep bringing.”

The Doctor sniffs, fixing his tie. “Reading history is not my style. No, I would much rather experience history rather than think about it from a dingy old book. It’s good for you.”

You ignore the chatter, focusing on securing the black leather gloves you nabbed from one of the costume closets. The cloak you adorn is light with breathable cotton and slightly bigger on you. The color of the midnight sky, swallowing you from head to toe. A stark contrast to the lively colors that surround you. 

Taking in a deep inhale, you relish in the soothing the air gives your lungs. The stuffy ventilation from the TARDIS is slowly leaving your body. 

“Now remember,” the Doctor warns, pointing between the Ponds. “Stick together. We have fresh meat here with us and I don’t want to get into another nasty skirmish with Treshian royalty. No adventures today. Just simple, fun leisure.”

Rory scoffs, “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

Amy skips over to you and links up your arms. “You boys get more food and supplies. We’ll venture in the markets.”

The two men nod and scurry away into the depths of the city. The Doctor excitedly mouths off any fact he can remember about Treshian wildlife while Rory tries to read off a supplies list. It took only a few seconds before a current of people swept them out of your sight. 

You look back at the tall blue box that is parked in a very obvious area. It sat snugly beside two open restaurants facing the main road. 

“Wouldn’t someone notice the TARDIS there?” you ask, pointing at the very conspicuous timecraft. 

Amy waves her hand dismissively. “Trust me, the Doctor left it parked outside Buckingham Palace when Queen Victoria first ascended the throne. If no one on the streets of London cared, I think we’re safe here.”

That was another thing you were getting used to. The jarring recounts of time-travel that slip into every conversation. A part of you still doesn’t believe their stories or the figures they’ve met. You’re glad that the Doctor decided to simply travel through space rather than time; the mere idea of time-travel feels taboo to even think about.  

Weaving through the sea of people is difficult when Amy is speed walking effortlessly, practically tugging you by the arm. Your steps, whether it be from the lack of exercise or grogginess, are far less graceful. A few times your boot hits a stay cobblestone or your shoulder roughly hits a pedestrian. Somehow, you manage to stay linked with Amy. 

“Two fish! Great price, the best in the galaxy!”

A vendor with purple hyde and jagged yellow teeth shove two fish in your vision. His many eyes on his face stare expectantly. You peek around the cramped shop, eyeing the walls of fishing rods and weathered nets. Clear basins filled with various marine life are tucked beside the vendor. All the colorful fish were clearly displayed, while the ordinary ones were stored in the depths of the shop. 

Before you could utter a reply, Amy manages to haul your body down the block. You force your stiff legs to carry you faster until you’re walking in tandem. 

“That vendor—Did he speak English? How come I can read the signs posted?” Your eyes follow the cluttered wooden huts and their weathered signs. On a different planet with various species that no doubt immigrated here, there should be shouting in different languages and tongues.

Amy laughs, bumping her shoulder with yours. “The Doctor didn’t explain? Typical. I can’t explain in detail, but the TARDIS can go into your brain and translate everything for you. Words, shouts, anything really.”

Everything you learn about the TARDIS, both from your own observation and tidbits of what others tell you, makes your decades of knowledge of the arcane feel rudimentary. Science that borders on sorcery would be revolutionary back home. A strange universe indeed.

The two of you continue down the single street along the edge of the city. Vendors continue to shout and shove. There seemed to be an endless, unbreaking street with hoards of people acting as a current to pull you through. The worn shoes you hastily put on were not ideal for walking. The tough soles of your boots feel more stone than rubber. You don’t complain, having needed the exercise after essentially being a human vegetable for a week. 

You quickly realized that Amy was looking to do more personal shopping rather than gather items from the Doctor’s supply list. Each shop you stopped inside was ornate and featured odd trinkets. While Amy converses with the vendors, you tend to hover behind like a shadow. 

For an intergalactic merchant hub, Veskarla lacked any shops for weapons or machinery. From the hundreds of shops you’ve passed through, there only seemed to be fish, jewelry, or clothes for sale. Any knives being showcased were for decoration only, often using shells for the blade and gold plated wood. Perhaps there was a different district that handled metal and tools. 

After passing by a myriad of fish sellers and net makers, Amy finally stops by a large shop. It’s lavish with teal paint and gold trim around the frames of the large glass windows. Large, chunky pearl necklaces the color of iridescent snow enticed your eyes. 

Amy lets out a low whistle, taking in the shiny entrance. “It doesn’t hurt to take a peek, right?” 

Amy’s sight has caught a beautiful bracelet made from pearls and gold. In fact, the entirety of the shop is dripping with dazzling gems and shiny trinkets. What made the pearls and gold special is that it lets out a twinkling sound whenever there is a breeze passing by. You seemed to have entered a more wealthy part of the markets as now the crowd has dwindled to about half than it was before. The people around you have more intricate clothing with gems and pearls sewn into them. Vesklara is a city of seafood and jewels, judging from how even the lower income district of the town seemed to also carry these goods, albeit at a lower quality. 

Immersed in the distinctions between Orthalian gold or Treshian silver, Amy doesn’t notice your wandering gaze. While the crowd had certainly diminished, it doesn’t mean there wasn’t a myriad of beings still pushing their way through the markets. Very little seemed to interest you. Most of the items sold were nothing you haven’t seen before. 

After taking a glance around the store, you ended up going back outside. A warm breeze brushed over you, carrying the smell of the sea with it. 

You were glad to have a change in scenery. The nightmare that befell you hours before is now at the back of your mind. Being grounded, tethered to a living, thriving city with people and stone to stand on brings an ease back to your body. It doesn’t replace the electric hum of the atmosphere back home, but it does allow you to feel connected to the space around you. You feel the rush of excitement, the displeased customers, the swell of pride for a city that is the crowned jewel of Tresh. So caught up in your musing, you almost failed to hear the stall across from you, across the sea of beings. 

A boy, whose back faces you is pleading with a grumpy vendor. His clothes are dirty and ragged with spindly limbs and matted hair. You peer over to Amy, to see her still obsessing over the bracelets. 

Without a second thought, you cross between the crowds of people. Limbs and pointed joints shove into your body, but you force yourself through. When you exit out of it, you find yourself next to the small boy. You can see just how frayed the edges of his shirt are. How the deep blue skin in his legs and arms are smeared with dirt and scrapes. His long black braid has leaves sticking out of it. 

“Please sir. Just let me try once,” the boy, who looked no older than ten, asks pitfully. “I’ve been saving for a while now and—”

The vendor grunts out, slamming his fist against the wooden counter. “How many times do I have to tell you boy? We don’t serve your kind here.” 

You see how the boy’s face crumpled. His shoulders cave and his lip wobbled. “Please…just once. If I lose, then you will never hear from me again.”

The vendor laughs at that. Cruel and full of teeth. You step back to see what the man is selling—or rather promoting. 

Proto’s Festivities! Try Your Luck or Buy Trying!

Three red targets are parched behind the counter, similar to ones in amusement parks. There’s scratches and indents, but more so on the wall behind them. When you look to the side, you see a stack of daggers hanging from the wall, blunt from repeated use. What really caught your attention was the ornate items dangling from the ceiling. Pearl necklaces, polished leather shoes, and laced fabrics encased in gold. 

“Can I help you lady?” 

Your attention snaps to the large alien who stands behind the counter. His face looked like an unholy union between a pig and a snake; reptilian eyes and mouth with a large snout placed in between. The collar of his shirt is stained with grease and the purplish hue of his skin glistened with sweat. 

Proto towers above you with a questioning gaze. 

“Do you serve humans?” you ask, sharper than you realized. 

Proto’s beady yellow eyes scan you from head to toe. A noise, something akin to a snarl, emits from his throat. Scratching at his chin, he answers, “Not my preferred customer. But I suppose money is money.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Then let me play in place of the boy.” 

The child’s eyes widened, mouth agape. He takes a small step towards you, a small look of hope graces his features. “Y-You would do that?”

Proto lets out another laugh, louder than the first. It drones on for a few seconds longer than necessary, and he goes to wipe his eye with a pudgy finger. He wheezes, “You—ha—You’re gonna play for him, yeah? You and your tiny human form? Is this a joke?”

You reach out your hand towards the boy expectantly. His hold on the gold coins in his hands tightens, just for a moment. Then, he relinquishes his hold, placing the heavy currency on your palm. The leather in your gloves squeaks when you close your hand. 

Slamming the coins down on the counter, you cease the light-hearted attitude of Proto. “The goal is to hit the targets, correct? Money is money. Let me play.” 

Proto’s eyes narrow at you in suspicion. Picking up one of the three coins, he holds it up to his face, inspecting every groove minted on the metal. Once he deems the coins genuine, he looks at you with wickedness on his face. A grin that shows the rows of teeth caked in plaque. 

His hand reaches for the knives hanging on the wall, picking off the shortest and dullest ones from the set. His face inches towards yours with a condescending grin. “Yes, you simply hit the targets and your efforts will be rewarded. Simple as that.”

There’s a concerning amount of insincerity dripping from his voice; glee and dishonesty practically oozing from every word. Proto slides the knives to you whilst pulling the coins towards him with his other hand. 

You take in one of the knives, flipping it in your hand experimentally. There seemed to be no weird center of gravity or any odd characteristics that might give away foul play. You can make do with the dull edge. Looking at the targets ahead, you can easily make the throw blindfolded. You move to raise the knife, but Proto stops you. 

His finger wags in your face. “Ah, ah, ah. I didn’t say we could start yet.” 

You hear the click of a button, then the whirr of machinery. 

The red targets seemed to jerk and slide, the machine beneath them creaking and groaning from overuse. Red circles move from side to side. There’s no pattern to the speed or direction of the targets’ movements. 

Your lips curl to a snarl, at which Proto starts laughing once again. 

“Oh! Is the tiny human regretting her choices already?” Proto slaps his leg as he wheezes out another belly laugh. “Look at that face! You’re practically seething! Ha!”

This son of a bitch.

You ignore the howling mass of scum behind the counter, focusing on the blurring vision of red targets. Gripping the tip of the knife, you steady your breathing, bracing your knees. A lingering, dull throb still haunts you, but you ignore it. Focus. 

Twisting the knife in your hands, you try to find the target with the slowest movement. Judging by the choppy movements and run-down shop, Proto might’ve never had any repairs. You can make out the large patches of rust and hear how the gears catch onto one another. A harsh, screeching sound that barely makes the targets falter. Click, click, click. You stand still, counting the gap between each miniscule falter of the machine. 

Ten seconds exactly. 

Proto’s laugh continues. He grins, wider this time. “Is the tiny human having second thoughts? I forgot to mention this before, but no refunds. Ha!”

You quell the urge to dig the blade into the gummy flesh in his thick neck. It might take some hacking, but it would be worth it to shut him up.

The squeaks of the machine snap your focus back. You take a steady inhale, clearing your mind of murderous thoughts. This wasn’t about you. 

Focus. 

Metal scrapes against metal in an awful pitch. The targets blur, and the laughing continues. 

You hear the familiar click, click, click. 

Inhale. One. Two. Three.

Quick as a whip, your body snaps in motion and the blade lodges cleanly into one of the targets. 

A gasp comes from the boy beside you. Proto’s howls of laughter cease. 

Another knife finds its way in your hand and you repeat the motions. You eye a target, trying to predict its motion. Whatever force you exerted on the first target had altered the motion of the machine. It was slower and the falter in of the targets’ movements were longer. 

Click, click, click. In another flash, the knife lands clean in the middle of another target. 

You hear the shuffle of feet and the whispers of passersby.

“There’s no way she would make that shot.”

“Isn’t that Proto? I thought he was still in jail.”

“Come on! Shoot it already!”

A crowd has formed behind you, but your sole focus is the last of the shuffling targets. 

Its movements are faster than the last two. Almost a blur of red that dances between one side of the stall to the next. Your body tenses, being still longer than previous tries. Your brows furrow, your muscles flexing beneath your skin. 

Proto seethes in his corner, nostril flaring like an animal. The crowd draws nearer, trying to get a better look at what you’re doing. 

Excitement buzzes in the air. Fueling you. 

The scrape against metal, and the tune of click, click, click. 

One.

Two. 

Three.

The knife whistles in the air, the crowd goes still. Wood snaps and buckles, caving under the pressure of your throw. 

For a split second, your heart stops. Then, a wild cheer erupts behind you. 

Under the sheer power of your throw, the target snapped backward, nearly breaking off the machine entirely. Still, your knife sits lodged in the wood, swinging erratically with the rest of the set. The machine lets out one last howl before the rust and age finally forces it to stop. The metal groans and creaks in protest before succumbing to its fate. 

Proto’s jaw unhinges, gaping at the sight. 

The boy with deep blue skin and rags for clothes is beaming. Tears prick his eyes and he’s jumping up and down in sheer joy. Before you could say anything, the boy leaps into you, giving you a bone-crushing hug. Maybe you were lucky that you heal fast. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” the boy squeals, pressing his face against your stomach. He releases you and points to an item hanging off the rack inside the stall. “That one! I want that one please!”

You follow his finger, trying to find what the boy wanted so bad. 

Red robes sewn with a delicate lacing of pearls and gold. Decadent craftsmanship that no doubt took months—maybe even years to create. You dare say more intricate than the attire you’ve seen around the whole market. 

You couldn’t fight the smug grin even if you tried. Proto looked furious. “You heard the boy. Give him the robe.” 

Proto huffed, looking monstrous and wrathful. If there weren't so many watchful eyes, you were sure that he would try to skin you alive with one of your dull knives. Begrudgingly, Proto marched up to the robes and snatched it off its hook. With a nose-flaring glare, he tosses it to the gleeful boy beside you. 

Above the cheers of the small crowd, you hear the familiar shouts of your group. 

Amy is jumping up and down, similar to how the boy was moments before. Rory hollers with the crowd, waving his hands in the air. 

The Doctor comes barreling towards you, clasping his hands on your shoulders. He shakes you with a big smile on his face. “Bra-vo! Splendid, that was absolutely—positively—brilliant! Well done!” 

Hands from the mass of people shake and prod you. Praise and cheer ring hollow in your ears.

When you turn to look at the boy, his toothy grin is aimed right at you. Only for you. Tears flow in rivers down his face, curving around his smile. “Thank you!”

Sincerity, joy, relief. It flows from the boy and straight to your chest.

Only for him do you smile. It’s small and beaten around the edges, but a no less genuine thing. Something warms the hollow in your chest. A crack in your armor, one that makes the pain erode away. Ever so slightly. 

— — —

“How on Earth did you manage that? I thought you would be stiff from sleeping all week.”

You take a bite out of your dessert, taking a moment to ponder Rory’s question. “One of the first things I learned when I started training. Knives were much easier to handle when you’re twelve.” 

The sky is turning a hazy orange and the shops along the coast of the busy town are still alive. The small café tucked away in an alley deep in the city where their hours of operation start when the sun lowers in the sky. 

After destroying Proto’s machine, you walk the boy to his family who live in a small house at the edge of town. Only when you arrived at his front door did he give you his name: Rivolo. His parents were both equally shocked at what the boy delivered and were eternally thankful for what you did. You were simply glad to give the boy a chance to have new clothes to wear. Though, the strain of your body lingers, especially in your upper back. 

For the first time, the four of you collect around with food and drinks, talking. It started with little stories about the last few hours when you departed. Rory bought a new weighted blanket with fabric that behaved like water. The Doctor tried bargaining with a seamstress for a new jacket and ended up being kicked out of the establishment. Supply runs and odd occurrences transitioned to earlier adventures. Mostly the Doctor talking about famous historical figures with such clarity it might as well have happened yesterday. 

“I did have a knife throwing contest whilst traveling during the Ottoman Empire.” The Doctor takes another heapful of shaved ice and condensed milk. His mouth is full when he speaks: “I still technically have another date set up. You’re going to come with me.”

“Is that a threat?” you muse, picking at your own bowl. 

“Most definitely.”

Streetlights that dot along the pier were the first to alight. Then the ones along the edge of town, until the cobblestone streets are bathed in warm light. Stars are beginning to twinkle in the sky and the ocean breeze makes the air drop significantly. It doesn’t stop the people who journeyed here from crowding around bars and enjoying the dusk. 

Rory is the first to groan out, stretching his arms over his head. He rubs his stomach, his eyes pinching close. “I think I ate enough for three. God, it feels like my stomach is about to burst.” 

Surrounding him were piles of fish bones and dessert bowls. At least he had the courtesy to stack them. Amy and the Doctor lean against one another, the former sharing her husband’s discomfort. You had the foresight to order enough to quell your hunger, not enough to inhibit movement. 

“I’ll clear these up, you guys get back to the TARDIS.” You take the hefty load of plates and bowls into your hands with little effort. “I can find my way back. Go before it gets too dark.”

The three of them huff and groan, slowly rising out of their seats as if it pains them to do so. 

Amy pats your shoulder with a grimace. “You’re an angel, thank you.”

Rory gives the Doctor his shoulder to lean on as Amy trails behind them. You couldn’t help but watch them stagger down the street. 

A family. A unit. Whatever the three hold runs deeper than friendship and would be an understatement to say so. 

Walking down the alley, you try to locate the front of the café. With the crowds of people blocking the entrances of any open building made it all the more challenging. You walk in slow, measured steps, careful to not trip over any wobbly stone that pokes out. When you do manage to slip into the right café, the sun has more than set. The chill in the air turns into a cold breeze that flutters your cloak and makes the hairs on your body stand on edge. 

You don’t feel safe. If you had the thunderous power of the multiverse behind you, then you wouldn’t feel so paranoid walking through the narrow alley. No weapons adorn your legs, no phone to call for help. You cursed under your breath. 

Pulling on your hood, you let the dark fabric cover you completely. You keep towards the edge of buildings, always scanning ahead for any activity. Find a crowd, blend in. Easy enough when the entirety of the marketplace is still buzzing. 

It’s hard to pin down exactly where you are. Your eyes squint in the low light, trying to find any landmarks to help you journey back. You don’t realize how lost you are until the crowds slowly disappates and the lamps along the streets get fewer and fewer. 

Shit.

You should’ve swiped the knives from Proto. A dull blade is better than no weapon at all. 

Straining for any signs of life, you try to backtrack your steps. Maybe if you make your way back to the café, then you could wait for the Doctor to come get you. 

Your foot was already pivoting before you caught a faint glimmer of red fabric out of the corner of your eye. 

Turning around, you see a familiar cloak with pearls and gold stitched along its side. 

Rivolo!

What better way around the city than the boy who lived here? With newfound determination, you follow the trail of red down another alley. Your legs are loose from walking, already catching up to the fleeting figure. 

Your feet soundlessly trek the uneven streets, bobbing and weaving through tight corners and miscellaneous boxes lying around. Rivolo seems to dash just out of reach, always dodging out of sight whenever you cross another street. 

“Rivolo!” you call out, trying to keep the fabric in your sight. The boy is a few ways ahead, delving deeper into the city. You quicken your pace. 

In a matter of seconds, you’ve managed to close the gap between you two. The boy is fast but you have a decade or so of running through the boroughs of New York under your belt. You push through the burn in your muscles. Your hand stretches outward and you catch the scruff of the hood. 

With a twist, you reel the boy back and spin his small body around. 

Your chest heaves, putting your hands on your knees. “I’m so sorry, I tried calling you but you were too far away. I need some he—”

You freeze, the blood in your body running cold. 

The person you’ve tracked down wasn’t the innocent boy with a long braid and toothy grin. In the low light, you can clearly see the robe this stranger adorns. The intricate stitching, the same glimmering pearls that twinkle under the light. You reel back, as if the sight of it offends you. 

Whatever you caught looked almost human. Its flesh was a ghostly pale that looked sickly under the streetlights. Gaunt face with a long nose and bulging eyes. His iris looks like a small pinprick, wild and focused on you. No hair on his head or on his face. When you observe longer, you see the imprint of scales along his skin. 

You narrow your gaze, your voice an echo in the silent alley as a deadly whisper. “Where did you get that cloak?”

The alien eyes you up and down, tilting his head to the side. His words are impish, almost nasally in tone. “Hm? Who are you? You don’t seem related to that Ikrallian boy.”

“I’ll ask you again.” Your hands shoot out, gripping the color of the red cloak. The alien falters at your harsh movements. “Where did you get this cloak? A boy named Rivolo had it earlier.”

He didn’t seem frightened by your tone. Boredom is set in his features, as if you’re inconveniencing him. He ponders for a moment, only for his features to light up in mock realization. “Oh, that’s his name. Did he have blue skin and freakish hair? Y'know, introductions never came up. I could barely hear my own thoughts because of his screaming.”

Pure delight drips from his mouth. The thing in your hands snickers as if he’s letting you in on some inside joke. 

Your heart pounds in your ears. 

Something poked your ribs, and the man’s mouth curled to a sneer. “Now, now. Usually I don’t like fighting women. Gets too messy and there’s always so much crying. If you just walk away, go back to where you came from, I won’t have to gut you in this alley.”

The familiar heat of rage bubbled in your chest. Tension in your body cramps your muscles, threatening to snap.The knife the man holds starts dragging up towards your ribs, teasing the soft flesh there. The thing chuckles, his breath fanning your face. 

“Maybe I should. ‘Cause then you can see your friend…what’s his name again?” He tilts his head up, pretending to think. “Ah, Rivolo. He probably bled out by now. Oh—where are my manners? I haven’t introduced myself. The name’s Beetle—”

Your fist connected to his jaw with a sickening crack. 

Beetle’s body flies out, landing into the ground in a heap. You take lungfuls of air, trying to cool down. The alien twitches before rolling back to his feet. Blood dribbles out of the corner of his mouth, but his grin still remains. 

Wiping his chin, he hunches down, the knife in his hand gleaming in the moonlight. His nasally, gruff voice cuts through the still air. “Just my luck, a lady who can fight. Now I won’t feel so bad when I drain you on the street.”

His body caves in before he launches himself. 

You stagger to the side before you twist around, dodging his slashes. When he gets too close, trying to aim for the spot where your heart lies, you grab his arm and pull him across your body. Using your leg and stiff muscles, you use his momentum against him and slam him to the ground with his arm twisted behind him. In the quick second that he’s off-guard, you stomp on his hand, forcing him to let go of his knife. The knife, you realized, had dark substance caking it. 

Blood. 

You hear something crack before Beetle’s body rotates beneath you. Dislodging his arm out of his socket allowed him to sweep your body off balance and bounce back up. You land on the ground, your jaw connecting to stone with a pained groan. The stitches under your clothes throb painfully. 

Beetle swings his dislocated arm back, forcing it in the socket once more. He laughs at the face you make. 

A dull cramp locks your joints. Cold air and strained tissue squeeze your nerves, sending pain throughout your body. You try to brace yourself on your forearms, but a heavy foot stomps on your back, forcing your back down. Your chin collides with stone and your teeth rattle in your mouth. 

“I’m starting to like you like this.” He raised his foot from your back momentarily before slamming it down. Air is forced to leave your chest as you cough beneath him. His other foot is planted just beside your head, the other digging between your shoulder blades. “Maybe I’ll let you go just so I can chase you down the street. I’ll let the fear settle in, then delight in your screams when I finally catch you—”

You put every ounce of strength into maneuvering over to his ankle and bite. Your teeth sink into skin, catching the tendons of his foot. Warm liquid gushes in your mouth, spilling between your teeth. A shrill howl of pain and the weight lifts off your back. Beetle falls, desperately grasping his ankle. Blood seeps, coloring the pavement beneath him. 

“You fucking cunt!”

You roll to your side, hacking out the bitter blood into the cobblestone. With a grunt, you rise to your full height, swaying slightly.

A mouthful of iron is on your tongue. It mingles with the ocean breeze and sours in your mouth. Your steps are silent and methodical. Half limping, half striding to your target. 

The red cloak Beetle wears beckons you closer. Your heaving comes from the barely hidden wrath that bubbles. You reckon you looked more like a rabid animal than a human. When you approach Beetle, you grasp the back of the hood and yank it. His smaller, stout frame unraveled from the flowing cloak and you held it tightly against yourself. 

Something warm trickles down your abdomen. Bringing your hand to the bottom of your rib, you feel the cotton of your shirt being soaked. Your stitches torn and the thin skin broken. All the energy you had gained this past week has been sapped, leaving you trembling. 

You spare the alien a cold, withering stare. Your bloodied mouth is twisting to a snarl. “Thank every single star under this sky that I am not in full health. If I see your wretched face ever again, I will not hesitate to rip you apart. Bone by bone.”

Kill him, leave nothing behind.

Your voice sounds unfamiliar in your own head. A monotone, apathetic edge, almost clinical in nature. 

Another voice rings over. Young, still full of life. 

Don’t be the monster everyone expects you to be.

Peter did not understand the beaten path you’ve forged for yourself. Nor did he understand the continuous nature between black and white; to him, good deeds and bad ones are objective without nuance. 

Beetle is hunched, body held taut with caution. Gauging to see what you’ll do next. 

No matter how much you want to wring his neck like a stubborn piece of cloth, you can bring yourself to spare mercy. Just this once. You will alert the proper authorities and hope that Beetle is injured enough to not stray too far. 

Karma will see to it, sparing you of the role of judge, jury, and executioner. 

“(Y/N)? Is that you?”

A voice, accented and childlike. 

You back straightened, whipping around to the entrance of the alley. A shallow breath escapes your throat and relief washes over you. 

“Rivolo, y-you’re safe.” Your voice is raw around the edges, and you catch the unease in his face. You stagger towards the boy, bleeding and hurt. When you grasp his narrow shoulders, you utter a rushed, “What happened?”

The boy maneuvers to your side, pulling your arm over his shoulder. “I went to get food for my family. I was trying to get back home before a strange man tried taking my food. He stabbed me, but it didn’t matter. My species don’t bleed out easily.” 

At the sound of his voice, Beetle thrashes around. His head jerked and his mouth frothed in fury. 

“Of course you survived. Of course! Even after I went after your heart—just my fucking luck!”

Beetle rolled to his stomach with a murderous gaze. His teeth bared and his back hunched like a prowling animal. 

So much for mercy.

You hurriedly unlatched yourself from Rivolo and shoved his cloak in his arms. “Go find the Doctor and the Ponds. Run as fast as you can from here and whatever you do, don’t look back.”

Sounds of bones cracking turns your attention to the heaving alien. Beetle’s finger is shoved in his ankle, forcing his bony finger into his Achilles tendon. Blood gushed out more, spilling over his leg and arm. With a strained growl, Beetle rearranges the fiber in the back of his ankle.

Anger and determination pulse in the air. A warning.

“Go, go, go!” You shove Rivolo into the open street. He scampers away, and you see him retreat out of sight. 

You couldn’t anticipate the speed at which Beetle came at you. Without warning, Beetle sent a punch straight towards your stomach. As if his punch was a singularity, your body caved inward, warping around his balled fist. You slam against the wall, not even a moment to think before another punch lands squarely on your cheek. Whipping your head to the side, you feel your skull throb painfully and the vessels inside your face break. 

Beetle’s hand wraps around your throat and slams your head into the stone wall behind you. His hold constricts, closing your windpipe as he kneed you in the abdomen. Once. Twice. You try to squirm out of his way, blocking his repeated attack with your hands but you’re losing strength.  

You’re getting lightheaded. Everything hurts. Bile tries to climb its way up your body, but Beetle’s hand prevents anything from getting in your body or getting out. 

The sickly creature looms over your face. His earlier grin and playful façade completely wiped clean. “Do you know what I hate more than cunts who fight dirty? Hm?”

Another kick. Your organs contort inside your body, trying to accommodate the point of Beetle’s knee. If choking you out won’t kill you, internal bleeding certainly will. You try to muster a cough, only to choke on your own mucus. 

His face draws closer, into your ear as you desperately gasp and thrash in his hand. His words sliding across your skin like sandpaper. “An ugly, bleeding woman. No matter where I stab, you’ll always look gross and disgusting when you die. I suppose it isn’t such a loss though. I do enjoy watching your life get snuffed out. And once I dump your body on the street, I’m tracking your little friend next.” 

You don’t stop writhing, even when he keeps slamming your head against the wall. Even when he sends another punch to your face, bursting your lip open. Even when the next one lands in the middle of your face and you feel blood gushing out. It hurts, your lungs burn. Your soul rams against the confines of your body, trying to break itself free. 

His laugh is cold, void of any real humor. 

“What are you going to do about it?”

The words cut through your mind like an arrow. Everything stills, and for a moment Beetle's eyes morphed into a light, steely blue. 

Glass and stone contort, fractals that dance in the background with magic humming in the air. A blade made of air and crystal that drips crimson blood, the markings of Dormammu's power etched in your mind forever. 

“What are you going to do about it, Seraph?”

The hush of the world around you. A moment where nothing exists but the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your head. 

A goal carved its way to the forefront of your mind, silencing all other thoughts, wants, needs. 

Make him bleed. Make him suffer— 

The heat came first. A thunderous roar that synced with your heart, it flooded your body with a burn. Energy that lights up your cells and singes the ends of your nerves. 

Grasping the thin, pale wrist of your attacker, you focus the energy that’s building. It lights up your body with a crack. Beetle’s smug face falters. The bones in Beetle’s wrist snap and crumble. You feel the fragments ripple beneath his skin and his tendons bunching as your grip gets tighter and tighter. 

A blood curdling scream rips through Beetle as he jerks away from you. With his weight finally off your throat, you collapse against the wall trying to catch your breath. Releasing the hold on Beetle’s wrist, you stagger to your feet. Every ragged inhale sends shocks of pain from your midsection. Using the wall for support, you lift yourself up. Everything feels numb, your legs and arms feel like static. 

You watch as Beedle clutches his swollen hand. When he jerks his body, his hand rotates dramatically, detached from the forearm entirely. You give no warning, no ounce of preparation. Before Beetle had a chance to blink, you were already towering over him.

The first punch made Beetle’s head turn so sharply that you thought you’d broken it. A loud, thunderous sound came, echoing in the narrow back alleys. The sounds of Beetle’s ragged breathing and heartbeat were the only indications that he still lived. The next hit was just as hard, with no time to react. Each blow you deliver slices the space between you, turning his skin to paper and bones to glass. A precision that comes with years dealing with the worst outcome possible. A lingering notion that each blow you deal is fatal. 

Sometimes the flesh caves and splits where you hit. Blood splatters on your gloves, making it increasingly difficult to continually land punches. When the blood in his face makes your fist slide off his skin is when you move to kicking his body. Over. And Over. Wherever your foot lands, his body jerks accordingly. Again and again.   

Only when you stop your onslaught do you manage to get your heartbeat to steady and your breathing to even. 

Your body is a furnace. It trembles trying to keep whatever power lies in your veins. When you move, it feels distorted in a way. Your mind is still hazy from the oxygen deprivation, near floaty in feeling. One foot in front of the other, you move through the stagnant air. The thrashing, bleeding alien tries to crawl away from you. Your hands shoot out from your robes, catching his ankle and dragging him close to you. 

Mixing in with the salty ocean air and the blood coating your teeth is a taste you’ve come to hunt for. It’s sweet, addictive and delights you so. 

Beetle’s fear is palpable. As he lays shaking below you, he doesn’t tear his gaze from yours. 

“You hurt my friend.” Beneath the soft whisper of your words, an undeniable edge of wrath can be felt. “I gave you a chance to run and you used that as an opportunity to attack me. You’ve made your decision and I have no choice but to see it through.” 

The scum twisting and groaning doesn’t get a chance to fix his mouth before your foot connects with his sternum. Not enough to break it completely, but enough to knock all of the wind out. You can’t move effectively without the entirety of your midsection erupting in pain. You crept your foot up Beetle’s chest, seeing the realization hit him.

A barbaric move. But it’s clear that Beetle has already done more, if not worse, on innocents. When your foot meets the middle of Beetle’s neck, you ignore the spark of delight at the sight of his terror. You slowly apply more of your weight as thin hands try to wrap around your shoe. 

His feet kick wildly trying to land a hit but his strength is weaning. You offer him no taunting words, no remorse for what you’re doing. Beetle was trying to kill you from the start and it would be dangerous to let him wander. 

You didn’t want to spill blood on your first day out, but you’re too worked up to care. What’s another death to you? 

Beetle squirms, trying desperately to throw you off. Murderous intent swallowing his eyes, directed only at you. Whatever good he managed to do, it will never balance the harm he confessed to doing. He would be better off as fertilizer, the only way his existence would ever be a net positive. You wouldn’t mind if his dying breath lingers in your dreams. 

You don’t find it in yourself to care. 

Movement dwindles and the fiery passion is slowly dying the longer your foot lingers. Copper and sugar invade your nose in harmony. 

Beetle spasms and gargles. His already pale skin gets impossibly more stark.

Just a bit more—

You feel the air shift, a presence just beside you. But you felt it a second too late. 

A blur of black and a crackle of light is all you see before a powerful punch sends you flying backwards. Your body tumbles down further into the alley, rocks and sharp debris awaiting you with each hit. Your momentum finally stops when you collide into a stack of wooden crates, splintering the wood upon impact. You let out a pained hiss through your teeth, trying to move.  

Moonlight scatters where the streetlamps fail to illuminate. Shadows bend and warp most of your vision, but you spot the imposing figure easily. It’s tall, whatever it is. Humanoid in shape, covered head to toe in fabric. You’re too far away to see any clear details, only a vague, smokey outline where light manages to hit. 

Something else invades the charged air. For a moment, the pent up anger and murderous intent evaporates leaving behind something primal. 

Hairs on your body stand on end. Dread suffocates you. It surrounds the cloaked figure and you wonder how it managed to sneak up on you. 

Your body trembles, nearly collapsing down into the pile of broken wood again. The energy you’ve mustered up has already started to disperse. 

Beetle gasps loudly, wheezing with such ferocity you think his heart would climb up his throat. The pungent smell of blood and sweat hangs in the air, encasing him. 

The imposing figure doesn’t spare him a single glance or word. No mask or identifiable features could be seen, but you feel the weight of his gaze. An inhuman, powerful energy accompanies it. Grasping the leftover wood that surrounds your body, you force your weakened body to get up. To fight, to stand your ground. 

Beetle hacks and coughs. “You were there the whole time?” His voice is raw, his words barely intelligible. “Why didn’t you come sooner?” 

The figure offers no words or acknowledgement, never turning its head away from you. Your skin prickles and a dull instinct makes your hand twitch. 

Beetle turns his head, ready to mouth off to his companion. When he sees the figure’s hard gaze fixated on you, Beetle’s face morphs to a furious sneer. 

“You’re my assignment! Are you kidding me? What about the Ikrallian boy?” 

Your ears perk up, your body on high alert. They wanted you here. Beetle may not have realized, but he wasn’t just a simple passerby. Assignment…had they…planned this? 

Then it clicked. Maybe it was your proximity to the Doctor, perhaps they believe they could kidnap you to have leverage over him. You did spend a good few hours with him and the Ponds, traveling around the market. Why would they target him? For the TARDIS perhaps? Amy did say that it was the last of its kind. A powerful machine that could travel anywhere would be a target for any criminal worth their salt. 

But why Rivolo? Why target him? Cruelty for cruelty’s sake?

“(Y/N)!” A startling loud echo of your name, one that seems to have a series of footsteps that follow. It was behind you. “(Y/N) are you there?” 

Before you even had the chance to turn your head to the direction of the voice, you hear the thundering steps halt behind you. 

The Ponds are out of breath; Amy grabbing onto your shoulder for support while Rory has his hands on his knees. Their skin glistened with a mixture of sweat and humid air, their chests heaving with exhaustion. 

“We…Rivolo…help…” Amy could barely muster up the words, her head hanging low, trying to even her breathing. Whatever relief she had when find you was wiped clean when she got a look at your face. No doubt the blood from your nose had already crusted on the lower half of your face. “What the hell?”

Rory was already tensed beside you two, staring at the two figures in the alley. He cleared his throat, gesturing towards Beetle. “Is this why you couldn’t find your way back?”

You move out of Amy’s concerned hold, putting yourself in front of them. “You shouldn’t be here. Go find the Doctor—”

“There you guys are!” 

As if the mere mention of his name summons him, the Doctor rounded the corner also out of breath with the familiar blue alien boy behind him. The Doctor’s arms flail as he forces his feet to stop. “How many times do I have to have the talk with you two? Hm? No wandering! No running off in foreign lands! It’s rule number one when traveling. I don’t expect much from (Y/N)—”

His tangent stopped when his mind finally caught up with the present. His face frozen, looking over your newly battered face. Rivolo cowers behind him, clutching his jacket in a tight fist. 

You cursed under your breath. It’s one thing to have to fight, it’s another to look after four individuals who don’t seem capable of fighting. You’d barely healed enough to walk properly and now you could look forward to another week of mindless wandering in the sterile hallways of the TARDIS. Great. So much for a first day outside. 

Beetle hauled up his shaking body, his two legs appearing as though they might snap under his own weight. Hunched and heaving, Beetle clutches the midnight fabric that encases the figure. Even from this distance, you can clearly see the pure hatred plastered on his face. “Why wasn’t I made aware of this? I thought the boy was the target!”

It was then that the dark figure finally directed its eye-less gaze to the trembling alien beside him. Beetle doesn’t falter, instead gripping tighter on the fabric to stabilize himself. 

When the figure spoke, it was a deep, rumbling sound. Smooth and unhurried. It carried through the salty breeze as if they were speaking right next to you. “Target the young Ikrallian and remain in the city thereafter. Your duty has been fulfilled.”

There was something in the tone of his voice. Such finality, a sureness that everything that has happened was meant to be. Dominos falling into place. 

“Target the Ikrallian boy…” you thought, everything rushing in your head at once. I was their target. By attacking Rivolo, it would guarantee that I would try to follow him. Why me? They don’t know who I am. 

The eye-less figure slides his head in your direction. You feel its glaze stripping you, peering through skin and muscle. It shakes off Beetle’s grip like he’s nothing more than a speck of dust, stepping towards you. Feather-light steps with only the sound of plated armor clinking together being heard, its glaze holding yours. 

You force yourself into a defensive position, trying to lock into every movement. The figure stops a few feet away from you and you can make out the reflective surface of armor underneath a billowing cloak. There’s enough light to show the texture of the cloak and the buckles along its waist, but the place where a face should be is pure darkness. No curve of a nose, or sockets where eyes would be, nor a mouth to speak from. A smooth, glossy surface that reflects your bruised face. 

“Who the hell are you?” you hissed. Your warped reflection moves, highlighting the swollen jaw and caked blood across your face. “Did you purposefully lure me out here? Am I some unlucky passerby you just so happen to choose for your sick little game?”

The figure takes a few, slow steps towards you. The way his body moves seems streamlined; no unnecessary sway of his arms when he stands still nor any miniscule movement of his chest to indicate that he’s breathing. 

When he speaks, it’s calm, barely passing a whisper. Still, you hear it loud and clear. “We know what you are. Where you are from. What you will become. You will come to shape my past; I too shall shape yours. You will fight me, here in this city. It would mark the beginning of the end.”

“End of what?” you demand. You try to shake off the way his tone makes the hair at the back of your neck raise. The total resolve of his voice, as if whatever you do will make no difference. 

“The end of everything.”

taglist:

@angelxx7 @namenotimportant1373 @mxacegrey @krokietino @kanemxyoo @talia-the-gemini @floyd-le @fandom-lover-4 @ainttalkinboutlovesblog @dap11 @loliakeoghan23 @redsakura101 @xcharlottemikaelsonx @animatronicanime @venomsvl

[johnwickb1tsch]

andar conmigo ~ part 6

A Walk in the Clouds/Don John crossover outline/fic- Paul Sutton x fem!Reader x Don John triangle ~ You grow up at Las Nubes vineyard, and have to go home to your dying father. You take your fake new husband, Sgt Paul Sutton, with you...Your old flame don John does not like this at all. Warnings: nsfw fluff 🥰 chapter map

Part 6

“I’m still not sure I understand this siesta thing.”

“It’s just a break from the hottest part of the day.” You smirk to yourself. “And maybe an excuse, for the men to sneak home from work to make love to their wives.” Or, someone else’s wife.

“Ohh. Too bad my wife is so busy writing,” he teases, and finally you look up from your notebook. His long body is sprawled out on the bed in just his undershirt and trousers, his hands behind his head. 

Here you are, hallucinating a story while staring at a piece of paper, trying to repair the damage wrought by the duck pond, while that specimen of a man is laid out for you? 

Maybe there is something wrong with your brain.

“Mi amor, my poor, neglected darling,” you lament dramatically, setting down your pen. His gaze sweeps over you in just your white slip, a warmth in his dark eyes that suspends all your higher brain functions. This man.

It’s so different, from the way Juan looks at you. Appreciation, over possession. If you were a horse, Juan would break you with the whip, while Paul offers you the carrot.

It’s almost more dangerous, in a way. You just might accept the bit with a smile and orange in your teeth, rather than a kick. 

He watches you intently as you hike up your skirts to climb into his lap. He wraps his arms around you with a contented sigh, pulling you close. You cup his face in your hands, caressing his high cheekbones with your thumbs. He’s so handsome. Pretty, even. Beautiful. But it’s his pure earnestness that truly cuts you to shreds, that makes you want to throw everything out the window and just give him everything.

Of course, you kiss him, and he kisses back, a deep moan called up from his chest. His arm locks around your waist; he flips you onto the bed below him, as though you weigh nothing. With his long body stretched out over yours, you kiss and twine, as though desperate to devour each other. His large hand cups your breast, caressing your nipple with his thumb as he kisses the soft mounded flesh. It sends a frisson of pleasure straight to your center, filling you with even more desperation for this man. The emptiness in you aches to be filled by him; caught up in this madness, you feel as though you’ll never be complete, without him.

You are relieved, when his hand slides down your curves, bunching in the skirt of your slip, pulling it up your thighs.

And you want to scream, when he draws back, pressing his forehead to yours with a shaky laugh. “I’m sorry,” he says sheepishly, smoothing back down your slip, much to your disappointment. “I want you, so much.”

“Don’t be sorry.” You laugh at yourself, this ridiculous position you find yourself in with your legs tangled with his, grinding on each other through your clothes, and the uncontainable joy and clawing desire it calls up inside you. “I want you too.”

“Yeah?” He sounds almost surprised–which seems ridiculous, considering.

“So much. So much I feel like…I might be losing my mind.”

Again he flashes that guileless smile, so open and wholehearted. “Can I touch you again, y/n?”

“Please?” You hear how desperate you sound, yet you can’t quite bring yourself to care. He kisses you again, and the world goes fuzzy and golden edged, in this man’s arms. His paw of a hand squeezing the flesh of your buttocks drives you mad enough–his long fingers stroking your center make you see stars.

“Paul?”

You think you sound more beast than human in that moment.

“Y/n?”

“You could…make love to me?”

He moans at the thought, his face buried in your hair. “There’s nothing I want more…” He starts to kiss down your neck, then your chest, grazing your erect nipple through the thin fabric of your slip with his lips. “But I’m not sure…” He keeps going, kissing down your torso, rucking your skirts up over your hips to press his mouth low on your belly. “That I can stop…” His tongue dips past the waistline of your panties, and you cannot help but moan, fisting the dark silk of his hair between your fingers. “When you need me to. You’re so beautiful and soft and I…I want to lose myself inside you.”

You watch him down the length of your body as he draws your panties down your thighs, baring you to him in the light of day. You should be embarrassed, but from the expression on his face of such pure adoration, you just can’t muster it. You feel like a goddess, in this man’s arms. You want to accept your due, revel in his offering. You want to worship him too.

“I would trust you to,” you sigh as he kisses the inside of your thigh, your empty cunt aching to be filled by this man. “I think…you’re the only man I do trust.”

You can tell this means the world to him, by the raw expression on his earnest features, by the need in his polished ebony eyes. 

“Y/n…” He gives that shaky laugh that melts your heart for him. “God, you know how to tempt a man.”

“Not really,” you protest. It just all comes so easily, with him. 

“I didn’t mean…” He sighs, resting his cheek on your thigh. “Just…that you exist. That’s enough, for me. I’m crazy for you.”

“Oh Paul.” You shift your hips, trying to relieve some of the agonizing tension this man inspires in you. You’ve never had a man's mouth down there, and just the thought of it fills you with equal anticipation and dread. 

“I…can’t,” you pant, stars still in your eyes. “Paul, that’s so…” The best thing you’ve ever felt. He kisses your thigh again, a devious glint in his eye you’ve never seen before. 

“Easy, sweetheart,” he soothes gently, and then he kisses your center. You think you’ve never felt anything so wonderful–until he licks you full on, tearing a surprised moan from your lips, arching off the bed as though you’ve lost control of your body. “Shhh,” he cautions you with an adorably sly smile.

“Can we try something?”

“Yes?”

“It’s something…I heard the boys talking about coming back from leave when we were in France. They called it soixsante-neuf.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Sounds exotic.” 

He laughs a little again, undressing you both and maneuvering you with gentle hands until you are side by side, but flipped, and you are face to face with his lovely, straining manhood. Oh. Now you get it. 

“Are you sure this is…” Possible? dies on your tongue, as he spreads your legs and licks your needy clit again, pulling you to him like a delectable treat with a strong grip on your thigh and buttocks. You moan–too loud, and for a moment you fear you’ve woken the house. Anyone below your window will have no doubts about what you two are up to in your room. 

Although, you doubt they would guess exactly how you’re going about it…

You take his velvety length into your mouth as far as you can, careful of your teeth from this new angle, loving the feeling of his plump head sliding against your tongue. This time he lets out a muffled groan, and you find a rhythm together, a maddening, wonderful, desperate feast of pleasure upon each other. You are afraid you will smother him with your thighs, robbed of your self-control as he brings you to pieces with his silky sweet tongue. He spills inside your mouth as you moan your ecstasy, and like a woman dying of thirst you swallow his every drop down. 

Wrung out, you curl together like cats in the bed, boneless and sated and so very very happy. Paul presses a soft kiss to your thigh, laughing quietly to himself in that unassuming way that clenches your heart.

“I would say I’m kicking myself for not bringing any condoms on this trip…but that wasn’t half bad.” It occurs to you that most men just back from war, fresh off a marriage annulment would have filled their suitcase with as many condoms as he had chocolate. He is so sweet, your Paul. It’s becoming harder and harder to think of him any other way. 

This time, you laugh with him, at the both of you. “Maybe you’re right, Paul Sutton. We do…balance each other out…very well,” you admit breathily. That’s when it occurs to you that soixante-neuf must mean sixty-nine, but also, you cannot help but think of that Eastern symbol you’ve seen in books, the yin and the yang.  

He looks down his body at you with a glitter in his polished ebony eyes that makes your heart flutter all over again. “Yeah?” He starts to kiss the inside of your thigh once more with those plush lips that rob you of all your reason, but you worm away with a cry, unable to stand it so soon. Giggling, you crawl up the bed into his strong arms again, and there you snooze together, taking a bit longer for your siesta than the usual time allotted. 

Ah well. 

Who could begrudge the newly weds your time together, after all? 

You can only think of one man who would.

[niqhtlord01]

ROOSTER TEETH CHAMPIONSHIP CROSSOVER!!!!

What’s this?

Are we still on the air?

What the hell do you mean we haven’t had a fight in several months?

Well we’re going to have to fix that right now!

Greetings all you crazy fighting fans to yet another Rooster Teeth Championship Matchup!!!!

We’ve gone pretty hard with the family tree of Rooster Teeth characters and in this special we decided to mix things up with a special crossover event by special request!

You know them, you hate them, and Michael Bay betrayed them! Give it up for the TRANSFORMERS!!!

Optimus: *Drives in as big rig and transformers. Ruby: *Drooling excitedly Optimus: Do not be alarmed, I mean you no harm. Ruby: *Twirls Scythe Ruby: I have so many questions!!!! -----------------

Yang: *Rides in on motorcycle and jumps off. Bumblebee: *Jumbled radio noises Bumblebee: I-Too-Love the FEEL-of-a-FLASHY-Entrance. Yang: You get any k-pop on that? Cause I’m ready to rumble! Bumblebee: *Arm cannon forms Bumblebee: Kids-these-days. -----------------

Salem: *Grim part ways as Salem walks through. Starscream: I will grant you the honor of being the first to kneel before Lord Starscream! Salem: I kneel before no lord; and least of all the lord of cowards. Starscream: *Primes arm cannons Starscream: You! You shall pay for your insolence! ----------------

Constructicons: *Roll in and transformer into Devastator Qrow: *takes sip of flask Qrow: So are you all just standing on top of each other or do you do the cheerleader pyramid in there? Devastator: A wise guy huh? Devastator: We’ll see how wise you are when you’re nothing but a smear on the pavement! Qrow: *Transforms scythe Qrow:  Guess I’ll just keep cutting until I find out or passout. ---------------

Soundwave: *Transforms from boombox and ejects laserbeak who proceeds to rest on his arm Cinder: Oh look, another one of Ironwood’s toy soldiers. Soundwave: (In Monotone) Oh look, another humanoid with parental issues. Cinder: *Roars in anger as she draws dust blades ------------------------

Penny: *Slowly descends into ring with rocket boots Shockwave: A most interesting construct to have come from a primitive species.  Penny: Well that’s certainly kind of you to say. Shockwave: (Charges cannon)I shall enjoy dissecting you on my operating table and revealing your secrets. ------------------------

Roman: *Walks in twirling cane Swindle: Interested in some wares of questionable origin? Roman: I don’t pay for things I’ll just steal later. Swindle: (Pulls out cannon from pocket dimension) Oh be still my beating spark. --------------------------

Ozpin: *Walks in sipping tea Megatron: You remind me of my own world’s leaders. Ozpin: I only do what I think is best for my people. Megatron: (Charges arm cannon) They said the same thing while my people wallowed in chains. ---------------------------

Tyrian: *Flips in laughing before licking wrist blades. Blitzwing: (Head spins) And they say I have a few screws loose. HAHAHA! Tyrian: Is it not madness for sheep to speak peace with wolves? Blitzwing: (Head spins again) Well hot spark! I need to write that one down! ---------------------------

Nora: *Smashes through wall, twirls hammer, then smiles as she holds the grenade launcher. Omega Supreme: Hostiles will be neutralized. Nora: Have you seen how cute I am? (Smiles) How could I be hostile? Omega Supreme: (Alarm blares) Priority target registered! Neutralizing with extreme prejudice! -----------------------------

Shockwave: *Walks in scraping cannon arm barrel against the floor Arthur: So you are what qualifies as a scientist? *Scoffs Shockwave: The sum of your knowledge is little more than a speck of dust compared to the vast knowledge I have obtained over my 10 million years of existence. Arthur: (Adjusts gloves)  10 million years and yet you remain subordinate to a petty tyrant. ----------------------------

Emerald: *Walks in flexing her scythe pistols Jetfire: I can see we are birds of a feather. Emerald: What could I possibly have in common with a 6 story talking robot? Jetfire: (Takes fighting stance) That loyalty and honor are not so easily wasted by those worthy of it. ----------------------

Cardin: *Walks in hefting large mace Hound: I hear you think ur self to be tough slag. Cardin: I’m the toughest fighter there is. Hound: (Laughs as he draws heavy pistol) Hound: Kid, I’ve  purged energon slags tougher than you. -------------------------

Optimus: *rolls in and transforms Ironwood: Stand aside, I won’t ask again. Optimus: I can see there is still good in you human; remember who you are fighting for. Ironwood: (Charges up arm, gets angry) I have never forgotten, who I am fighting for.

[jaynovz]

Silverflint “In Peril” Fic Rec List

Hi guys! I got an anon a few weeks ago requesting Silverflint recs with the prompt: “one of them being in danger/peril/kidnapped (or anything akin to that) and the other going just above and beyond to save him. something with the vibe, if you hurt him i'll kill you.” 

There were hmmm not as many as I thought with the EXACT getting rescued parameter but I compiled some similar ones as well. Enjoy.

--

Affinity by Magnetism_bind

Summary: Silver spends his time while captured by Hands thinking of Flint and ignoring his feelings for the man.

It's a little harder to do so after Flint rescues him.

Notes: Oneshot, 4.6k, definitely the best and most faithful example of the prompt as submitted. Silver is held hostage and brutalized by Israel Hands and Flint rescues him.

Another Way by x_etoile_x

Summary: Silver doesn’t get the chance to turn back and attack the Spanish soldiers when he and Flint are captured on the warship, so he needs to come up with a different plan. Things get out of control. A retelling of their time on the warship at the beginning of S2, in the aftermath of this.

Notes: Long fic, 29k. Fantastic story on many levels. For the list, first chapter has a direct fulfillment of the prompt--Flint is in danger, Silver goes above and beyond to save him.

Fifteen Men in September by ballantine

Summary: Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum! Drink and the devil had done for the rest Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!

A Black Sails origin story for the song.

Notes: Long fic, 34k, just a fantastic read. There is a pivotal scene where Silver kills a man on Flint’s behalf and then further scenes of both of them in peril, Silver gravely ill. Very much the “going above and beyond” and “if you him I’ll kill you” vibe.

we were never meant to survive (but what if we did) by explosiontimothy, inwardphae

Summary: Since you still haven’t told me your name, I shall call you Jonah. You are so obsessed with sea and water that you’d make a home out of the belly of a whale if only it meant not to touch foot on solid land ever again. What if you get stuck there? I’d be forced to make my way to you and drag you out, cut the whale’s skin with my knife like a shark with its teeth and carve my shape out of it. And yours. There are two fighters, on opposite sides of the time war. They have never met but they know each other's names. But names are powerful, untamed things when they are spoken out loud. So they don’t call each other by their names, ever. Until, one day, they do. The Silverflint Time-Travel AU no one asked for, but you're all getting anyway.

Notes: Long fic, 46k, big concept sweeping crossover with the book This is How You Lose the Time War. Without spoiling, this story very much embodies “going above and beyond to save him.” Top tier.

darkness in his fingertips, eyes just the same by Jaynovz

Summary: A desperate fear is welling up in Silver. Flint, injured? How grievous a wound must it be to keep Flint from a battle? To prevent him from heading up the rescue party? Flint, who Silver had seen take a warship with a shot shoulder, Flint, who shrugged off injuries from raids with an annoyed grimace as if they were minor inconveniences. Silver’s heartbeat is too fast and too slow at the same time, ice creeps around him from all sides at the stark reminder that Flint is mortal. The man who would sneer at God, who would sail straight into a tempest, who seemed to control reality with his demons… Silver has seen Captain Flint bleed, yes, but it’s never mattered like this, never truly hampered him.

And on the heels of this fear is something far less enfeebling, something Silver embraces: a dark vortex of rage.

Notes: Oneshot, 4.3k. A reaction to in peril. An alt canon take of early s4 where Billy injures Flint at the Underhill Plantation. After Silver returns, he murders Billy for the insult. “If you hurt him, I’ll kill you” exactly.

frail and fragile bars by Ajaxthegreat

Summary: “I think you fuck,” Silver says. By which he means, with great intent: I think you are human. I know you are human. I see you.

Notes: Long fic, 21k. A very excellent story overall, and for this list specifically, it features Flint taking a sword to protect Silver in battle and Silver murdering the man responsible.

how we could be brought here by love by mapped

Summary: A 4x03 AU where Flint receives a minor injury in the battle of Nassau Town and Silver is very shaken by it.

Notes: Oneshot, 3.7k. Not a rescue so much as Silver’s intense reaction to Flint being hurt. I think it fits the vibe.

in over our heads by Jaynovz

Summary: Set at the end of 2.1.

The remaining Walrus crew want Silver flogged.

The experience creates some altogether unexpected outcomes.

Notes: Mid-size fic, 13k. Silver is flogged, Flint is very affected by that, takes care of him after, and they both learn a lot about each other ahem. “If you hurt him I’ll kill you” vibes definitely feature.

please do not let me go by natlet

Summary: Vulnerability, it turns out, is a blade that cuts both ways.

Notes: Series, 5 stories, 39k words total. An overall excellent series of Silverflint fics, however the one I’m thinking of for this list is the fourth, all pale and panting, where Flint is gravely ill and Silver goes above and beyond to take care of him. 

--

As always, let me know if you have a suggestion for an inclusion and I’ll give it a look. Thanks.

[ampheenix]

I'm at my highest peak, I'm ripe, about to fall (capture me) - CHAPTER 1

(BSD/MHA CROSSOVER FIC)

It was just a normal mission.

In and out, quick and easy- for Double Black, anyway. If Mori had sent grunts they wouldn’t have lasted five seconds with this particular Ability user, who seemed to enjoy slinging interdimensional frisbees at her enemies.

How annoying… but Dazai couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. This woman and her backup sure were giving his dog a lot of trouble, and it was kinda fun watching Chuuya struggle for once… battles like this were normally a cinch for him.

Whoops!

A bullet whistled past just before Dazai ducked back behind the rubble. The rubble he was STRATEGICALLY PLACED at (he was not hiding, as Chuuya seemed to believe and scoff at; figures that his dog wouldn’t understand simple logic. The simple logic being that he, for all his talents, was not bulletproof- and he wouldn’t put it past Chuuya to let a missile or two slip past his ability if he annoyed him enough.)

(Of course he wouldn’t mind a bullet to the brain, but unfortunately silly Chuuya’s aim was so inaccurate it was always a bullet to an arm or leg, and ended up being a painful inconvenience instead of sweet relief.)

Dazai poked his head back out, adjusting his bandages- this area was so dusty and dirty, it was starting to soil the cloth. He could already see stupid Mori smiling condescendingly once he saw his bandages, and chiding him for not being able to keep himself clean during battle… Ugh.

“SHITTY DAZAI, COME OUT AND USE YOUR ABILITY ALREADY!! I KNOW YOU’RE HIDING OVER THERE LIKE A COWARD!!!”

Ah, his dog was calling for him.

Dazai got to his feet, dusting the grime off of his clothes in a leisurely fashion, before making his way out from his ahem, strategic placing. His lips curled up into a grin when he saw Chuuya looking tired out for once; it was always nice to see him get humbled.

Dazai picked his way over all the grunts that had been firing carelessly earlier, now scattered in heaps on the ground. How messy of Chuuya, it was almost as if he had deliberately piled them in order to hinder his owner to the rescue.

“CHUUUUYAAAA, I’M HERE~” Dazai sang carelessly, doing a hop, skip and jump over a few bodies on the ground before coming to a stop beneath where the Gravity user was floating. Chuuya shot him a harried look, clearly out of breath as he continued to dart and dodge around the enemy’s rapid-fire attacks, hardly getting in any hits himself.

Yup, this Ability user certainly wasn’t your average run-of-the-mill… Dazai let out a slow hum, eyes narrowing. He had expected this mission to be somewhat difficult, but it was surprising that Chuuya had had to expend so much of his energy so early.

The Ability user was a tall, slender woman with flowing black hair, skin white as snow and an unnervingly wide grin. She floated in the air, slinging shimmering, dark-as-night disks through the air that arced in glittering curves… and where they landed, Dazai had already noted, they left deep holes in their wake.

Not your average holes, either. It was almost like they erased the land itself, leaving that odd, shimmery darkness all the way through. He had checked!

Dazai shuddered dramatically, who knows what would happen if someone fell through! Perhaps he should test that theory later, preferably with himself. Or, if Chuuya annoyed him enough, he could command him to jump in for the sake of scientific discovery.

Anyway, as fun as it was watching Chuuya put so much effort into living (so fascinatingly ridiculous) he should probably cut this short. It was rather tiresome watching that smug smile widening on the Ability user’s face; he had a nagging urge to put a bullet through her whitened teeth. Perhaps more than once.

Dazai let out a melodramatic sigh, stretching and rolling his shoulders- figures he’ll have to finish this irritating woman off for his dog. “CHUUYAAAA! IT’S TIME!!” Dazai announced with a bright smile, glancing up at the fiery-haired boy who was even more exhausted now, sweat beading on his forehead.

He barely had a second to shoot a glare down at Dazai before darting out the way as another shimmery disk whistled past, missing him by a hair. “IT’S ABOUT TIME, HURRY UP ALREADY!!”

Dazai smiled to himself, before sending a swift nod to Chuuya, both of them exchanging another glance quicker than you can blink before-

“Whoosh!” Dazai hummed brightly to himself as he flew through the air like an arrow, radiating scarlet light. This was the fun part, really, it was almost like he could fly- it was a shame he had to focus because if he didn’t, he’d probably get disc-ed and die and Mori would be annoyed with him.

Dazai’s eye glinted as he neared the woman, who continued to grin infuriatingly wide even as he was swooping in closer and closer- His mind raced faster and faster, everything coming to a head as he reached out, fingers inching closer and closer as the woman’s glowing hands conjured another disc, he was so close he could t-

“SHITTY DAZAI!!!!” A panicked yell interrupted his thoughts and he turned to see another disc zooming behind directly for him because the one she was “creating” with her hands was a DIVERSION, WOW, very original…

My, she really thought Dazai wouldn’t notice? Now that was just insulting, really.

Not to worry though, he knew his dog was observant. He was jerked out of the way in the nick of time, the disc cleaving through thin air and then straight through a broken-down building near them, leaving that shimmery midnight hole in its wake. Hm, fascinating.

Dazai reached out, natural curiosity overring caution of wellbeing, as that strange and dark shimmering substance looked almost… liquid. He wasn’t stupid though, he had gloves on, and his finger was just about to make contact when-

“MACKEREL, DON’T TOUCH THAT WEIRD SHIT!!” He was jolted out of the way just in time again, and let out a sigh of disappointment, unsurprised. Honestly, Chuuya was so boring, if he didn’t let Dazai experiment with weird substances that inexperience could kill him someday, you know. Probably. Maybe… Not really.

In any case, if weird substances kill him someday it’d be by choice, not by pure stupidity.

“Come now Chuuya, can’t I have a little fun?” Dazai whined, crossing his arms petulantly. He whipped his head to the side as a disc whistled straight past, nearly turning him into an Antoinette. Hm, as irritating as this woman was, at least she had better aim than Chuuya.

What a shame she’d be dead within the hour, truly. Dazai’s eye darkened as Chuuya sent him soaring through the air again, reaching out to touch and end all this, once and for all- he was getting a bit sick of beating around the bush.

His hand was getting closer and closer once more, ready to cut off this woman’s power and life in one fell swoo-

Wait.

Dazai felt a third set of eyes on him and darted around, instantly on his guard and- oh. Shit.

A second woman, identical to the first one, glided from the shadows of another building. Dread growing in the pit of his stomach, Chuuya tugged them both backwards through the air, unnerved as more and more clones of the Ability User emerged, still smiling wide.

“D-dazai, what the hell? Why didn’t you warn me about this? Is this another one of your twisted games or what?!” Chuuya scowled, eyebrows furrowed furiously as he turns to the other but Dazai is too shellshocked to respond, mind racing.

This… wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t in the intel.

But it was nothing Double Black couldn’t handle.

Dazai shook himself, giving Chuuya the look, and the other’s eyes cleared with understanding. “Shit, you couldn’t have warned me? Ugh, just don’t take too long like last time.” Chuuya let out a huff, shoving his hands in his pockets as he shot forwards to the first Ability user.

Dazai’s eyes darted around faster than you could blink, assessing the situation- it was a shame he wouldn’t be able to focus on watching his dog enter the Corruption state, beautiful as it was, but there was no time.

This was serious, he had to… hmm…

“Dazai! DAZAI!! LOOK O-”

Chuuya’s words were cut off unnervingly quickly, and Dazai stiffened completely. He knew what that meant, and he didn’t want to. A sense of horror filled him as the scarlet light around him started fading, the zero gravity surrounding his body disappearing completely as he fell through the air.

Shit.

 “No, no, no, no!! Chuuya?!” Dazai’s voice cracked against his will as his head snapped up and around, searching the air frantically as he plummeted. Where was he, WHERE WAS HE? “CHUUYA!”

He spun and found a disc swerving through the air swiftly towards him in a downward spiral, and- fuck, fuck, this must be the one that had gotten Chuuya, and it was coming straight for him and there was no time to dodge-

Dazai Osamu’s last thoughts were nothing but terror, dread and grief… and a sick sense of ironic relief, as though he had craved to die all his life, he had never wanted it to be like this.

THIS.

AH. AHDJ. !ADJSKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII#IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII101110110101000**101010110101011010101010101010101010101#@#%!01010101010102393892804822087152HHDHDHDHHHHHHHHHHHH42

01110011 01101111 01110101 01101011 01101111 01101011 01110101 00100000 01110011 01110101 01110000 01110010 01100101 01101101 01100001 01100011 01111001 00100001- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

-

-

-

-NO.

-THIS IS NOTHING.

-THERE IS NOTHING HERE.

-THERE IS ONLY DARKNESS.

-GO.

something whispers to the Boy-Shaped Wrongness in the space.

-GO. GO. GO. GO HERE.

-GO HERE NOW.

something shoves the Shape through the empty.

-GO. THERE IS NOTHING HERE.

something shifts the Boy-Shaped Wrongness over There.

something ends the Boy-Shaped Wrongness where it was Here, marvelling at such a short-lived mockery of an existence.

and something WAKES THE Boy-Shaped Wrongness UP.

SH. SHjdH.

DKSJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ%JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJDDDD$DDSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS010101010013101031010100130^@#$13J101301J10J1J03XJ131-1310100101@@000000101010101JKCM=

01100111 01100001 01111001 00100000 01110011 01100101 01111000------…….

Dazai Osamu splutters to a start, breathing heavily. His skin feels a bit strange, almost like it’s been peeled off, stretched and squashed, and then applied back onto his bones once more.

And his eye… he can feel the air on his other eye. It’s uncovered.

That fact alone jolts him up, eyes still closed, as he’s not looking forward to seeing a very displeased Mori standing by his deathbed. After all, he’d blacked out and almost died, and Chuu… Chuuya…

Dazai pushed that thought down for later. When it fought back, he viciously pushed it further and further until it was a scrunched up ball of agony at the back of his skull. Then, he inhaled deeply, as it smelled like… vanilla?

Mori’s “hospital” always smelt vaguely of blood and despair (even though it was deep cleaned daily) along with assorted chemicals. This… smelt sweet, but not the sickening sweetness of Mori’s smile. It was something very different.

Finally, Dazai opened his eyes, blinking blearily as his surroundings blurred and refocused.

First, he gawked.

And then, he gaped.

“Ah, good, one of you has finally awoken.”

Because sitting in front of him was a completely unfamiliar old lady squinting at him with a hint of suspicion in her eyes, hands folded in her lap, and standing beside her were… a series of ridiculously buff strangers.

Oh, and a white rat/bear/cat/?? who was smiling at him with the light of humanity in his eyes, despite obviously being an animal of some kind.

And wait, the lady had said one of you? Meaning it wasn’t just him? Dazai felt his heart leap into his throat, craning his neck, and finally noticed someone else lying in one of the other hospital beds, with- with very distinctive fiery red hair.

Chuuya was alive.

Dazai swallowed, blinking furiously as his eyes drifted across all the strangers before him, thoughts now filled with endless question marks.

Because… what the fuck?

[inkedroplets]

No idea how to tag this but I've had a few anons ask about my Supercorp/MCU crossover fic and wanted to share a snippet since I haven't actually posted anything in ages. Tagging @sideguitars because they've had to listen to me ramble about this plenty.

I got turned around somehow… 

It seemed utterly ridiculous for Lena to lose her bearings so easily when the Royal Palace of Valaskjalf was such a distinctive landmark to use as a kind of north star but all the same she was lost. 

Maybe I should have just stayed the night, she thought, wondering if turning down Sif’s offer to stay the night was a mistake, after all. There was certainly plenty for them to talk about. Or rather, plenty of questions that Lena had about Asgard that Lena would have dearly loved answers for. Although she wasn't sure that would constitute pillow talk in Sif’s book. And  

She was about to try her luck cutting down a side street to see if she might be able to spot her temporary lodgings when a jovial voice boomed out from behind her. 

“Lena Luthor!” 

She started, instinctively reaching for the baton stashed in one of her heels and relaxed when she recognized to whom the voice belonged to. 

“I didn't mean to startle you,” Thor apologized. “I must have stepped lighter than I meant to. Loki is usually more the one prone to sidiling.”

“You’re fine,” Lena assured him. “Force of habit,” she explained, stowing her baton away without missing a step. “Usually when someone shouts my name from behind they want to take a swing at me. Or call me a bitch,” she said. “Or they did back on my Earth.” 

“Only a coward would try and attack from behind,” Thor rumbled, sounding scandalized although his expression softened a bit almost at once. “Just don't tell Loki I said that.” 

Lena mimed turning a small key close to her mouth.

“You're lost, aren't you?” Thor said.  

“Woefully so,” Lena admitted. “Probably should have paid closer attention on the tour.” 

“It was a pretty lousy tour,” Thor said fairly. “We don't get many visitors. Although that appears to be changing.” He pointed down a street that veered right. “Your quarters are that way,” he explained. “From the palace it’s two lefts, you can't miss it.” 

“Two lefts,” Lena repeated. 

“And from Lady Sif’s it's two rights and then a left…” 

Fucking hell. 

Instinctively, Lena began to walk faster, either wanting to reach her quarters as quickly as she could, alarmed at how easily Thor kept pace with her. 

“Stark told me about this,” he said as he strode along beside her. “The stroll of… No.” He shook his head, brow furrowed for a moment before he snapped his fingers. “The walk of shame,” he said, looking infinitely pleased with himself. “That is what this is called, right?” 

“Oh God,” Lena groaned.

“Not that the name makes much sense. Shame is the last thing you should be feeling. Lady Sif is a fine friend and an even finer warrior,” Thor said sounding as if he were speaking to himself rather than to Lena. “It’s no wonder she caught your eye.” 

If another tear in the universe opened up right now, Lena thought, I would jump in no questions asked. 

“Thank you for the directions, Thor,” Lena said, through clenched teeth, relieved when she saw they had arrived back at her temporary lodgings. 

“Don't mention it,” Thor said, clapping her warmly on the shoulder. “We’ll talk more tomorrow,” he said, striding off in the direction of the palace. “I have some combat pointers I could give you.” He swung his hammer in a slow kind of golf swing. “For any other cowards that would try and engage you from behind.” 

“Maybe not the best choice of words,” Lena mumbled to herself. “That's very generous,” she said a little louder. “Thank you, Thor.” 

“Of course, if you prefer, Lady Sif would be more than happy to as well, I'm sure. Especially since you two are already so well a-”

“Good night, Thor!” Lena called out before closing the door behind her. 

[moondal514]

Bingo card for @justleaveacommentfest

Got sick today so ended up having enough free time to read enough fic to fill out the whole thing 😂

For the fics I read and commented on for each square see below the cut

brand new fandom: the bull & the china shop by gravitationals

fic written by a friend: too young to give into forever by @adverbialstarlight

five times fic: Devoutly to Be Wished by yunitsa

college au: i can't believe you bought that by @sarah-yyy

hurt/comfort: To Think of You by kaneki

there was only one bed: A Little Bit Mine by @badgerjaw

title is a song lyric: (she makes me feel so ill at ease) my heart's really on its knees by @valancietrinit

fic over 10k: anti-hero by @alltheworldsinmyhead

a work in progress: up from a dream by @seasy33

enemies to lovers: famous last words by @tarmairons

fic older than 10 years: That Certain Look a Victor Has (The Burning Bird Remix) by @souridealist

crossover fic: to be your dream / 濫 by @touchmycoat

free space: TRAINWARD by seclusion

royalty au: there were things i wanted to say to you but didn't for fear that you would hear me by lithopsornot

canon divergence: teeth by @evanfixes

fic from an old fandom: Some strangeness in the proportion by trailingoff

body swap fic: Necromantic Adventures in Bodyswapping! by @liesmyth

fic under 1k: my teeth will only cut your lips, my dear by @triglyceride

first kiss/first time: I can't fight it, you try driving by @gideonisms

pirate au: collision course by @cameliawrites

wedding fic: 『来日方长』living daylights by @aroceu

mutual pining: The Good Year by @banjjakz

fix-it fic: blood, dust, ashes by @veliseraptor

idiots in love: The Two-Headed Calf by malneiro

fake relationship: 三 (All Good Things) by magspie

[shadesofdeviant]

SO...I thought I'd actually do WIP Wednesday for the first time in a LONG time. And I thought I'd share a bit of my current WIP, my Good Omens x Doctor Who Crossover because I'm super excited about it. I was gonna post a bit smaller than this but I couldn't work out a good place to crop it. I'm enjoying this so much. And I hope everyone else does too. Most of it is beneath a cut cause I'm posting a fair chunk haha.

Tagging those who I know are interested in this: @lauranthalasah and @celestialcrowley I would tag my usual WIP Wednesday buddies but I don't think any of them are Good Omens or Doctor Who fans. 😂 😂 😂 

"Doctor?!" Crowley yelled as he staggered down another endless corridor, cursing softly as the floorboards rippled and rolled beneath him like a shoreline lapping against the sand, the rising crests of the wood giggling like naughty children as they tried to trip him before they ran away up the hallway. As he raised his hands to catch himself against the walls with the heels of his palms, the gold embossed skulls in the centre of the damask pattern wallpaper started to scream in agony, the noise a cacophonous crescendo that built and built until he managed to find his footing and snatched his hands back. “Donna?!” He tried again as he idly tugged at a random door as he passed by. Yet just like the immeasurable number of doors that had gone before it, once again this door failed to bend to Crowley’s will and remained firmly locked in place.

The air inside the toy store was permeated with the sour decay of age, cloying, damp and irritating at the back of the throat. Whatever magic this strange toymaking entity wielded was wild and hostile as it pressed in around him, settling over his shoulders like a weighted blanket, growing heavier and heavier the longer he walked, stiffening his legs and arms until he was wading through the atmosphere, a band of pressure tight around his chest almost like a child was holding him like a doll as it walked him across their imagination, the threat of being crushed beneath their sticky fingers tingling at the back of his mind. From somewhere beyond the endless corridor, a sharp, terrified scream erupted into the air and Crowley lurched forward on instinct, racing down the corridor towards what he assumed was Donna being attacked. Or at least, he tried to. If he thought the weight of the magic around him was heavy before, now as he tried to come to the rescue of some poor soul, Crowley found himself being weighed down even more, his knees threatening to buckle beneath the strain, feet scraping across the floor as he tried to lift them for each step. Eyes blazing gold and fully snake-like as he pushed back against the magic surrounding him, Crowley snarled and thrashed as he moved, power crackling beneath his skin as the anger burned within him. “Fuck this.” Crowley hissed as he reached the next locked door, barely able to lift his arm to try the handle from the compression enveloping him right down to his true form. “I’ve had enough of this shit.” Gathering what strength, he could, Crowley snarled as he pulled up sharply on his demonic power and snapped his fingers, gritting his teeth as electricity coursed down his arm and sparked from his fingertips as it battled with the toymaker’s magic. His power coiled and weaved snake-like around that of this foreign entity, lashing out viper-quick and sinking its venomous fangs into the stream of power to try and force it into submission until the door in front of him started to creak open. “Nein nein nein!” The sudden voice at his ear was loud enough to rattle his eardrum and rather unceremoniously shattered Crowley’s concentration, his power falling away into glittering wisps and dissipating into the air uselessly and taking what was left of his strength with it. “Naughty demon, not playink by ze rulez.” The Toymaker snarled as he suddenly loomed up over Crowley’s head, the sharp contours of his face darkening as his entire frame seethed and pulsed enraged. “Crowley!” Hearing his name, Crowley turned his head and frowned as he spotted the Doctor and Donna running towards him, those once familiar chocolate brown eyes wide in fear as the Time Lord tried to reach them even as the corridor continued to expand beneath their feet. “Very vell. Haff it ge-your way.” The Toymaker sighed, before his hands suddenly slammed into Crowley’s chest, pushing him backwards with one sharp shove causing him to go crashing through the now cracked-open doorway. For one extended moment, Crowley seemed to hover in the air, the area where his stomach should be, dropping as he fell backwards in slow motion before time seemed to remember to move and Crowley slammed into the floor in the new room with a broken grunt of pain. The Doctor’s hand reaching out towards him uselessly from seemingly miles away was the last thing he saw before the door slammed shut and the room plunged him into darkness.

[artzychic27]

Mirroverse Crossover- Max

"Ah, so we finally meet."

Maxiro tilts his head as he walks into the room. "I guess so. Now then, I suppose this is the part where one of us shares something about ourselves and you decide to critique me for no reason other than to get a rise out of me and see if I'll retaliate in a violent way so that you and your acquaintances can have a good laugh and mock the heroic ideals my friends and I hold."

Maxdrome tents his fingers and his grin widens. "Excellent. I see my astuteness remains the same."

"Yeah, it looks like it-"

"250 IQ says 'what?'"

Maxiro rolls his eyes. "Please, that's one of the oldest gags in the book. Also, my IQ is 300, or so they say. The test wasn't made to go any higher. Also, I was ten at the time when I took it, so now might be the time to see if anything has changed."

Across the room, Maxdrome sharply inhales through his teeth. "Moving on... I'll go first." The other tech genius takes his seat across from his villainous self. "It all starts years back. I was seven and a half, and had just built my first pair of rocket boots-"

"That's impressive. I was seven when I made my first arm cannon," Maxiro eagerly chirps, not noticing his counterpart's eye twitching. "I was also in the midst of creating a visor that could shoot lasers. See, I got the inspiration from-"

"AHEM!" Maxdrome loudly says. "As I was saying... My rocket boots were the key to my debut in the world of heroics- And yes, before you say anything, I was obsessed with becoming a hero," he quickly adds, seeing Maxiro about to say something. "They were my idols, my inspiration, but... I lacked one thing... Powers. So, what do I do? I created my rocket boots and became Incredi-boy, sidekick to Mr. Incredible, the greatest superhero of the generation. I tried to prove myself to him, help him stop several big-name villains, but how does he repay me?" Maxiro flinches when he slams his fist down on the table. "He humiliates me!"

With an almost crazed laugh, he smoothes back his pale dreadlocks. "And that's when I realized, heroes are just glory hounds. Think about it." He stands and approaches Maxiro, circling around him like a shark. "The superheroes- male and female want only the glory, the attention, the huge bonuses that no one should just expect to receive after saving a dozen lives. And those costumes, ugh! Please don't get me started at all. Skin tight, revealing, and doing nothing to protect their vital organs all just to be marketable to adult audiences. They don't care about saving lives- No. No, they just want to be celebrities without any of the talent and gods without any of the immortality. Meanwhile, I wanted to save lives, but it would seem as though I didn't make the cut not only because of my lack of power but because my ideals didn't line up with countless other heroes."

Maxdrome sighs and slams a hand down on Maxiro's shoulder, gripping it before whispering to him. "It's like they say... Never meet your heroes." Patting his shoulder, the villain heads back to his seat, inhaling deeply as he tilts his head back.

🤖🦹🏾

"Oh, Dios mío," Demolition Denise whispers, horror across their face that mirrors the other heroes in the room.

Marilan slumps in a nearby seat. "I'm just gonna sit for a while."

Kimules stares at the villainous version of his friend through the bubble for a while. "He wanted to be a hero?"

"Yeah, until your fellow heroes ruined his dream," Alix Khan snarks, earning a glare from the demigod. "Well, it's true. It was a hero who humiliated Max, and it was heroes who helped him to realize that the world of heroics is nothing but a whole damn popularity contest. You people just do it all for the glory."

"That's not true!" Kimules retorts, but deep down, he can't help but wonder if she's right while looking back and remembering how he gained instant fame after putting his training to use so he could defeat the hydra. He got dozens of sponsorship deals, fan clubs were formed, and people are still sending fan mail. As if sensing his thoughts, AriOndine takes his hand, and with a reassuring smile, kisses him on the cheek

"Oh, you're one to talk Mr. Big Shot of Olympus," Kimton smirks.

"I think we've established at this point, that the words you say have no value," Sabrinocchio says unapologetically, earning a somewhat impressed look from Madame Sabrina.

"HUSH!" Madam Aurore hisses, bouncing on her toes as she watches the bubble. "I wanna watch robot boy blow his lid!"

Jeanatoa grins, his tooth gap on full display. "Bet he'll cry when Maxdrome shows off his Omnidroid? Oh, I bet he'll cry!"

"I'm sorry, his what now?" TiAlysa questions, cocking her hip to the side.

🤖🦹🏾

"You sly dog," Maxdrome chuckles dryly. "You got me monologuing"

"Did I, though?"

"Yes, you did," the villain quickly retorts. "Now that I've shared my backstory..." He leans forward, his chin resting in his hand. "Tell me about yours'. What makes you tick?"

Maxiro blinks. "Well, my life is fairly normal. I mean, I'm a child prodigy, so there's that. I was bored one day and decided to graduate high school when I was ten, then with all that time to myself, I..." His voice trails off as he rubs the back of his neck. Maxdrome looks intrigued.

"Go on..."

"I'm not too proud of it, but I got into bot fights-"

"Ah, so the hero boy isn't as innocent as I thought," Maxdrome smirks.

Ignoring that, Maxiro continues. "I just wanted some extra money; I was a minor with a high school diploma; who'd hire me? I actually fought using what I call a megabot- Meant to be deceptive in appearance so no one would suspect a thing. Its body is comprised of magnetic joints, which allow it to split into smaller parts and attach to opponents, taking them apart and utterly defeating them with their own weapons. I uh, I even fitted it with laser eyes, which was not entirely easy, I'll tell you that. It got the job done. until one of my competitors destroyed it after I swindled him out of his winnings by pretending to be inexperienced. Thankfully, Terrance- my cousin- got me out of there in time. I mean, we got arrested, but then bailed out." He looks up in thought. "That's about it for me. Now, this is the part where you mock me for something, perhaps my megabot getting destroyed by some angry sore loser."

Maxdrome sputters for a moment. "That- that's exactly right! How do you call yourself a genius when your creation was beaten by mere human strength?!" Tapping several buttons on his high-tech wristlet, he pulls up a green-colored hologram showing a spherical robot with five tentacle-like attachments ending with four claws. "Behold, Omnidroid v.8! Merely the eighth prototype for what I have in store, this baby and all those who came before are designed to learn as it fights its' opponents and take out any and all threats to its existence."

Maxiro adjusts his glasses as he looks over the hologram, his eyes growing with horror when he notices the X's crossed out over the faces of superheroes. "This thing... Killed superheroes?"

"... I mean, you've gotta break a few eggs, right?"

"You're sick!"

"Sick? Maybe. A young man with a vision? Yes! I can't have any threats interfering with my plans. Besides, it's their own fault. Superheroes were banned by the public, and forced to go into retirement after Mr. Incredible destroyed a monorail! We don't need destructive idiots like that! We need real people with some ounce of awareness!" Maxdrome expands the hologram, showing several other prototypes along with the crossed-out images of superheroes. "Once the people see a normal, everyday person defeat my masterpiece with nothing but intelligence, the word "super," will be a thing of the past! I'll make millions selling my inventions, unlike you making a measly hundred with your pathetic bot fights!" He barks out a laugh. "Why have a genius intellect if you're not going to use it right?"

For a moment, Maxiro is silent. Maxdrome leans back in his seat with a smug expression, believing he's won, but then all of a sudden, his hologram glitches out. "What the-"

"Basic hacking," Maxiro finally says. "Kid stuff. Learned it when I was three. Now, I'll admit, you've got a good plan going on here. Create evil robots, kill heroes, show up to defeat your creation, and look like the hero to gain fame and fortune. In spite of your brilliant mind, you have many fatal flaws as a result of your megalomania, cynicism, vindictiveness, desire to make superheroes obsolete, your pathological desire for attention, and your ego."

🤖🦹🏾

"Oh, snap," Kimules chuckles.

🤖🦹🏾

"Chief among these, you are so obsessed with becoming a hero that you failed to account for the fact superheroes are banned by society, according to you."

"I-"

"Even if you had succeeded," Maxiro continues, "you would have endured constant scrutiny from the government, and it is possible that the government could have eventually discovered your crooked dealings with weapons and your murder of various superheroes. In addition, your use of technology would have resulted in your eventual destruction if it was hacked or malfunctioned. And, in the event that you had succeeded in your goals, your technology would eventually become obsolete."

Maxiro stands and taps something on his phone, pulling up Maxdrome's hologram again, only blue, and illustrating Maxiro's words with images of the Omnidroids and the villain.

"Lemme. break it down for you. Your Omnidroids are artificial intelligence, designed to learn, evolve, adapt- Stop me if I'm going too fast- You clearly lack contingency plans for when your robot eventually turns against you, and it will. Your Omnidroid will take out anything it deems a threat. Your control over it is a threat to its existence."

The hologram shows the Omnidroid crushing Maxdrome in its metal claws, much to the villain's growing horror.

"Now, if your plan had succeeded, your weapons and inventions would have possibly also resulted in more terrible wars and arms races, making the world far more dangerous." Maxiro sits back down and cuts off the hologram using his phone. He tilts up his glasses with his middle finger and looks his alternate self right in the eye. "Suffice to say, for all your genius, you are very short-sighted and have no thought about the consequences of what you will unleash if you achieve your goals. Now, if you fail because any living superheroes decided to get off their asses and defeat that thing, well, who knows? They'll probably become legal again, and it will all be because of you. So, if you fail, congrats. You'll finally be a hero."

With that, Maxiro pulls a small pack of gummy bears out of his jacket pocket and pops one in his mouth while Maxdrome stares off into space. "On the topic of bots, I've been working on these ones called microbots."

🤖🦹🏾

Everyone, even the villains is left in stunned silence. King Nath, shakily, gets down on the floor and lies there with his knees tucked to his chest, Queen Rose Candy walks to a corner of the room and just stands there with her face toward the wall, and Kimton looks very pale as LeOndine tries to snap him out of his shocked daze.

"I don't feel safe now," Honest Nino murmurs.

Cosettewether opens and closes their mouth. "... He's... He's right... About everything. There is no way to spin that around! No matter what, Max... He loses! Even if we win, he still loses in the end!" They murmur a bunch of political jargon the others don't understand as they try to figure out a way for Maxdrome to go through with his plan and come out on top.

"Yeah, that's our Max," Kimules says with a proud smile. "He's scary smart, but he's good at calling out bullshit."

@msweebyness @imsparky2002

[stardustloki]

Not without me.

When some visitors show up on Pabu in their shiny space-yacht, Omega isn't expecting it to mark the end of her settled life there.

Unfortunately, they want to take her newest brother, former Jedi Padawan Cal Kestis, on their mission to restore the Jedi Order.

If he has to go, Omega doesn't intend to let him go alone. -

(A continuation of my TBB and Fallen Order Crossover. Context probably not necessary, but if you want you can read the first and second parts.)

Tags: Gen, Omega & Cal Kestis, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Omega's abandonment fears vs Cal's Order 66 trauma: fight!, @summer-of-bad-batch

-

Read it below the cut or on ao3 here.

Omega pushed open her brother’s door, probably with more force than necessary given how hard it slammed into the wall, but she found she didn’t much care. Ever since Phee’s new 'friends' had shown up in their shiny space-yacht this morning, asking to speak to Cal in private, people had been keeping stuff from her. It was like everyone had decided to treat her like she was ten again, and she’d kriffing had it. So, here she was, in his doorway, going to get answers. 

“Are you ever planning on knocking?” Cal asked, the familiar resignation clear in his voice. Well, he wasn’t yelling at her to get out his room at least, so that was promising. He turned to face her, one eyebrow cocked as he dropped the shirt he’d been shoving into his backpack in order to fold his arms.

Wait… why were all his clothes dumped on his bed? Omega felt something in her chest turn to ice as she ignored his question. “You’re going with them, aren’t you?”

Cal sighed, wiping a hand across his face as she gritted her teeth and fixed him with her strongest glare. Anger, it was definitely anger she was feeling, not terror, not the ground suddenly disappearing out from under her feet.

“Yes,” he said, and maybe she would care more about how conflicted he looked if she felt like she remembered how to breathe.

"When were you planning on telling me this? When you were already in hyperspace?" Incredulous fury was bubbling up inside of her, but why try to calm it when he had clearly almost finished packing and hadn't even bothered to tell her first. He was just gonna leave them, without even discussing it.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you," Cal replied, grimacing. "And I wouldn't have just gone into space without telling you first. But yeah... I am going with them.”

“Why!?”

He dropped down onto the bed, sitting atop his strewn clothes, and grimaced. “Cere and Greez are looking to rebuild the Jedi Order, and they need me to help. They won’t be able to succeed without my powers.”

Omega almost gaped at him. He barely knew these people, how could he know if they could be trusted? And he was planning on leaving their family to go on a suicide mission? “But you were a padawan. Surely they could get someone better, a proper Jedi, they don’t need to use you!”

Cal’s expression darkened, his jaw setting. “Yes, because there are so many Jedi Masters left to choose from now. You can barely move for them. As soon as you turn up on a new planet, there are five there to greet you personally. Have you forgotten the Empire slaughtered my people?”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” she snapped, suddenly wanting to burst into tears. She folded her arms.

“Whatever,” Cal said, turning to shove more of his clothes into his backpack.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

He was silent for a moment as he continued packing his bag, still not looking at her. Finally, he spoke. “I have to do this Omega. The Jedi were my family. Everything I knew, everything I cared about was destroyed. If there’s any chance of getting it back, I have to take it.”

“But,” Omega said, feeling everything falling apart around her, feeling like she was eleven, standing in front on Echo on Coruscant again, as he told her he was leaving the Batch to go help other Clones instead, “we’re your family too.”

Cal stilled. “I know. And you guys have been… you guys have been the best. But I can’t sit here, relaxing on the beach, pretending like I don’t know what the Empire did to my people. I can’t stay here knowing there might be a way for us to live on.”

“Okay,” Omega said quietly, anger draining out of her as resignation swept in. “Okay.”

She slumped down on the bed beside him, and he wrapped an arm around her, drawing her close. Thankfully, this wasn’t going to be the last time this happened, not if she had anything to do about it.

When he let her go she twisted to face him, her voice filled with new purpose. “If you’re going, I’m coming with you. You need back-up and the others are retired. Plus, Pabu’s getting kinda boring anyway, I sort of miss people shooting at me. ”

“No,” Cal said, voice flat. “The others would kill me.”

“Excuse me, we both know I am more than capable of defending myself. I can handle whatever situations you guys get yourselves into. Wherever you go swinging your lightsaber into, I’m gonna be there to get you out.” And I’m probably gonna be right beside you shooting stormtroopers, she added internally, but best not to bring that part up first.

“Omega, you’re fifteen.”

If she could have rolled her eyes any further they would have been in the back of her head. She huffed. There were many good things about Pabu, and a few things that kinda sucked, but the worst, the absolute worst, was that somehow the adults had convinced Hunter and the others that anyone under the age of eighteen was incredibly fragile, and should be kept overly protected and never allowed to do anything adventurous or interesting ever. **

Her clone-brothers also completely ignored her when she pointed out that there was one rule for her, another rule for them, because technically, if you didn’t count their triple-enhanced ageing, they were all ‘minors’, Cal was the only one of them who was actually eighteen. What's more, when she tried to tell other people that her ‘older brothers’, Hunter, Wrecker, Tech and Crosshair, were actually younger than her no one ever listened.

It was infuriating.

“I was getting shot at and scamming Imps out of credits when I was twelve, how is this any different?”

“Hmm, good luck arguing that,” Cal said, completely nonplussed, adding another pair of socks to his bag.

“I’m gonna argue it over the comms when I’m already on the ship,” Omega replied, shrugging, as she leapt up off the bed. “When are you leaving?”

Cal sighed. “In twenty minutes - Greez admitted he doesn’t want to stay anywhere too long because he thinks the Haxion Brood might be on his tail for gambling debts, and he wants to be gone before they arrive.”

This latter part almost gave Omega pause, but then she figured that if a load of bounty hunters did descend on Pabu, despite the fact they claimed they were retired now, her brothers would be more than capable of dealing with them. Also, it was probably just another reason why she should come along, she reckoned that if they did run into any of the Brood, she and Cal would probably be able to win back the money the guy owed and then some.

Twenty minutes. Okay. There wasn’t really much time to think this through.

“Well,” she said. “I’m gonna throw some stuff in a bag then say bye to Lyana. Tell the others I’m crying in my-” hmmm, no, that kinda made her sound too pathetic- “that I hate you, I've stormed off and I’ve taken one of the boats out. See you on the ship!”

And with that, she raced out of the room.

It would be good to see the galaxy again.

-

-

** Footnote: despite Omega’s opinions here, we all know the guys still have no concept of ‘dangerous situations you probably shouldn’t put a child in’ and she gets to do all kinds of fun stuff. They’ve just wised up a little bit since putting her in situations she gets shot at in, and, at 15, Omega finds their increased responsibility stifling.

-

I hope you guys enjoyed!

Honestly, it’s up to you whether you think teenage-Omega actually manages to go off with the crew of the Mantis!

Omega: how dare you leave without telling me >:( Also Omega: okay, so if Cal's gonna be in danger guess I gotta leave without telling anyone :)))

[bengiyo]

My Love Mix Up TH Ep 5 Stray Thoughts

Last week, Half realized he had let Atom down after getting the shit slapped out of him by Mudmee, and worked to apologize and reassure Atom of his friendship. After being falsely accused of cheating by his teacher, the teacher made Atom become the manager of the basketball team. This proved difficult for Atom, who was trying to get over Kongthap, but ended up feeling jealous of another girl he thought had a crush on Kongthap.

Oh, okay we're at a camp now.

The fantasy sequences are fun. Also amused at them running the guy on the stretcher, because that can't have been the best way to get him down.

Is this meant to be an ATOTS crossover since the actor's character is named Yod again?

They used PPL for the food sharing scene, of course.

Nice job saving the homie, Half.

I just skipped 30 seconds of built in ads to see a show ad. FFS

🎶 You would not believe your eyes if 10 million fireflies... 🎶

Fourth probably didn't have to act that much. He struggles with heights.

The spartan camp remains the weakest part of the KH story.

Okay, this outfit looks good on Fourth. I like having Aaron scare people.

Oh, everyone got fun outfits.

Hold on, they're letting them act! They let them have a few actual exchanges in the same shot without a cut.

Singing over the building tension is a bit heavy handed.

Why do those look like human teeth marks??? Is this a zombie flick now????

Congratulations. We have reached the talking stage.

The flash back to explain the shrine scene was a bit weird.

Next week the dating era begins.

Kieta Hatsukoi Thoughts: I don't want to be harsh to the Thai show this time, because I actually think this skiing trip in the source material is quite bad, so doing their own thing is fine. That being said, the withholding of food based on their performance feels especially cruel when it isn't a lesson in the strength of the collective that ends in a BBQ. This episode felt especially long for not that much gain. I also wish they hadn't broken up Atom's confession with the snake nonsense. It breaks the flow of Ida seeing Aoki properly.

[callmearcturus]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

tagged by @lo-fi-charming

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 82, 83 if you include the one I wish I hadn't orphaned.

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 2,721,477 words

3. What fandoms do you write for? Oh boy. Homestuck, The Magnus Archives, Mission Impossible, Borderlands, Welcome to Night Vale. Some one-offs in other fandoms. First really cut my teeth on The Dresden Files.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? Let's seeeee.

dustsceawung (The Magnus Archives) with 4,600 kudos

a steady hand, a delicate man (The Magnus Archives) with 3,316 kudos

dripping with alchemy (Borderlands) with 2,663 kudos

The Eurydice Suite (Homestuck) with 2,164 kudos

I'll bring the motion (The Magnus Archives) with 2,163 kudos

5. Do you respond to comments? When I have something fun or interesting to say, yeah. I don't wanna just say "thanks!" on every comment so I tend to try to repay the comment with a tidbit or something?

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Hmmm. See I'm a Happy Ending Guaranteed kind of writer so I don't know. Maybe we float before the sea at dusk because it's technically a bad end?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? GOD that's hard... I think maybe all the world is earth and water or the Five Years Later ending of The Eurydice Suite.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not anymore. 8)

9. Do you write smut? what's smut never heard of her

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? I'm going to choose to interpret this as "fusions" instead of "crossovers" and in that case I have written....

Homestuck/Inception (The Eurydice Suite), Homestuck/Kinda Sorta John Wick (so we don't kill the ones we love), Homestuck/Fallout New Vegas (out here the good girls die), and WTNV/Good Omens (all plans are golden in your hands)

Out of those, I think the New Vegas one is the most out-of-left-field.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? By now, at least 10 times that I'm aware or.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? A few times, yep! Russian and Ukrainian I think.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? BOY HAVE I.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? I despise this question and if this question had a face, I would punch it. I assume this has to be a ship I have written since this is a writing questionnaire.

In my heart of hearts, it's Karkat and Kanaya. I enjoy their platonic love more than any romance pairing....

SEE THE PROBLEM WITH THIS QUESTION is that I... think for me personally, the pairing is a vehicle of the wider story/themes, so I can't say "Oh its DirkJake" because to me the KTOWL DirkJake is wildly different from, like, TES DirkJake.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? The barely-inspired-by-Hellboy AU that I should probably just write as an original story. But I won't because I'm a coward, lmao.

16. What are your writing strengths? Consistency and structure, I think. I'm a tradesperson, not an artist.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I feel like I lack a lot of foundational material that other artists have due to my lack of education and just generally not knowing things. Like, the kind of works I personally admire and learn the most from, I lack the toolset to create myself, which is constantly frustrating.

Structure is sometimes a shackle, and I often feel like I can't execute something truly Artistic because to me, writing is a trade, not an art.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I do this sometimes and lemme tell you, every single fucking time I do, I rigorously check everything.

Like, I recently agonized over whether a character would use Verzeihung versus Entschuldigung in a fic, and that was a solid hour of research. Worth it tho!

I'm of the opinion that if you're just going to use google translate or something, then I would elect to write it as ["Excuse me," he said in overly-polite German as he passed], but that's me.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Uuuuuuuuh ppppppprobably Gundam Wing or something? Way back in the era when you could post smut on FF.Net.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? Could it be anything other than KTOWL? Honestly.

I am taggingggggg @arquiving and @interropunct

[lifesupreme-if]

sorry if this is intrusive but what’s this crossover that keeps getting mentioned with your girlfriend? is it something you can talk about or it supposed to be private? sorry again if this is too much have a nice day

brigid and i screamed, high fived, and started jumping around in their room and yelling about this ask thank you so much

the crossover is between lost birds (@if-lostbirds), my favorite western dystopian post-apocalyptic-and-also-on-the-verge-of-the-apocalypse sci-fi game, and a life supreme! the cast of a life supreme remains in their original universe and positions while the lost birds cast crosses over into the world of cyberpunk 2077.

find brigid's take on it here

dylan remains a fixer but the merc who takes the place of The Merc and stands by her side most prominently is the gunslinger/eli sharpe, born the child of some arasaka executives and run away. they are Disgustingly in love and obsessed with each other because they both are characters with an insane sense of devotion and loyalty. sharpe would kill for her, has, would throw themself into certain death for her — and dylan, in all of her love for them, would pull them back from it: her greatest merc is also her greatest weakness.

(shoutout to the AU within an AU where the two of them stayed at arasaka and fall headfirst into the most toxic, loyal, blood-bound relationship that will kill them both)

stéphanie interacts most prominently with the ghost and the traitor/william rhys, both of which she's brought into her home without a second thought for stranger danger.

ghost is still an odd thing that doesn't talk and can throw a grown man over their head, but they look like a lost and hungry child and so stéph is keeping them and feeding them. they are polite and quiet and helpful, working in the kitchen with stéph and owning all of her heart.

william washed up on the shores of pacifica and though he's skittish, clumsy, and awkward, stéph's taken him in and thrown him to work front of house for the diner. when he wakes screaming in the middle of the night, she offers kindness, a listening ear, and a warm mug at her table. (they're only a year apart in age and naturally they are developing the biggest crushes on one another.)

dorothea is of the roving band of nomads that snuck the ghost into the city after picking them up from a desolate area of the NUSA.

[locked] is assigned the hunter as a corporate bodyguard. only one fleshy limb between the two of them, and both with reputations with teeth, they open their soft sides to each other. contractually speaking, she owns them. in practice, however, she's wrapped around their finger, happy to find a friend, and in love with them—they dig up old vids from the hunter's baseball playing past and watch them together.

while aspects of the crossover mimic the plot of A Life Supreme to get the ball rolling, the merc is not there to connect everyone together, and so it does not follow the same storyline. the ranger/swann and the archangel take on an antagonistic role that targets eli sharpe and features them amongst their grandest plans. dylan, for fear of the sway archangel has, has no choice but to send sharpe on the jobs given from them.

little tidbits under the cut because i will take ANY opportunity to talk about this crossover thank you so much!!!!!!

• dylan and sharpe both work on getting sober together.

• they also do things like stare at each other uncomfortably and kiss with tongue in public. the mox have been trying to find a way to kick them out of lizzie's for months.

• sharpe is widely known as dylan riley's attack dog: they are aware of this. they revel in this. they do scare off other mercs, sometimes.

• rhys watched vids on chivalry to learn how to treat stéphanie in a relationship, and also he is. a foot and a half taller than her. stéphanie is THRIVING.

• ghost, stéphanie, and rhys all sleep in the same bed together at night: rhys is too tall for the bed, stéph starfishes over him, and ghost curls up like a cat on top of them both.

• [locked] and the hunter look frightening in public and then go home and infodump about old movies together.

• the hunter cherishes the feeling of [locked]'s human hand against their skin. they hold it to their face in tender moments.